#omg. my first fic on here

[seokminfilm]

light | jeon wonwoo

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

warnings: non-idol au, friends to lovers, fluff, kissing, mentions of the beach, hugging (physical touch in general), wonwoo & reader are on a date (as platonic friends), (they're not platonic anymore), so fluffy dear god

now playing: light, wave to earth & apocalypse, cigarettes after sex

The salt air tickled your nose as your feet hit the sand, and Wonwoo walked quietly beside you, hands in his shorts pockets as he looked ahead of him. He smelled like faint cologne and sea salt, and his frames glinted in the shimmering moonlight as he looked over to you.

"Did you have fun?" His voice was deeper than the ocean stretching miles away in front of you, and you looked to him, nodding as you looked down at your sandles. "I did, Wonwoo. Thank you for all of it." 

Jeon Wonwoo and you were on a date—an official, planned out date, with a set time and place and everything. You two had been friends for a long time, and it was obvious that there was something between you, as stated by your mutual friends.

As friends, you had put off the date for a while, still hanging out as just the two of you did normally, even if people called it a date. You had finally had enough of your friends and their whining, and Wonwoo and you decided to go on an official date to appease the hungry crowd (that being your nosy friends).

Even though you and Wonwoo did what the two of you always do—walk around town, stop in shops to browse and buy, and finish your night at the beach while sharing some street food—it felt different, for some reason. The air between you two wasn't suffocating, but wasn't as light as it usually was. There was a weight in the air, one you could sense as you breathed silently beside your friend.

"The water feels so good." You say aloud, toes getting a splash of sea water as you slip them off. Wonwoo takes them in his hands, smiling at you as you wade out a little bit, letting water engulf your legs as drops of it stain your skirt.

The night sky sparkles with stars you never noticed during your nights with Wonwoo here, and the streetlights in the distance lit the sand farther away from you with a soft, inviting glow.

"Wonwoo, come on!" You wave out to him, and Wonwoo laughs nervously, eyes crinkling as he cracks a smile. "I don't want to get wet, [Y/N]. I just took a shower before we left my apartment." He frowns slightly, but you know he isn't actually sad.

"Wonwoo, please! It'll be fun! Plus, it feels good," You bargain, and Wonwoo sighs, laughing to himself as he places your sandals farther away from the rising tides. He slips off his shoes too, sighing as he places his glasses in his shoe before making his way into the ocean. He moves stiffly towards you, obviously not very elated to be in the water, but smiling because you look so happy in this moment.

You reach out to him, hands sliding up his hands and forearm as you pull him to you. He laughs at the impact, and you do too, stumbling at the tide's waves as your hair brushes the water a few inches below you.

Wonwoo's sharp gaze watches your expression change as the moonlight dances across the water, lighting up your back and appearing as if you have an aura around you. You look like an angel to Wonwoo, innocent and pure with nothing but love and goodness in you. It makes him nervous, how beautiful you look.

"Wonwoo?" You question, noticing how quiet he's gotten. He's still looking at you, dark eyes piercing yours as he smiles just slightly. "I'm sorry. You just look—" Your head tilts just slightly, hair falling across your shoulder as you look up at him with confused eyes. "I look?"

"You just look so pretty." Wonwoo says softly, and you blush, not hearing something like that come from Wonwoo's lips before. Your stomach filled with this warm, fuzzy feeling, and your eyes widened, taking all of Wonwoo in as he fell silent again.

The only sound that was between you was the constant wash of the waves against the shore and the crickets and other night insects and animals that may have been running around.

The air was warm and salty around you, quickly enveloping you in a warmness you hadn't felt before. Your body was warm with Wonwoo's touch, and you couldn't help but close your eyes, too in the moment to keep them open.

Wonwoo stared as you did so, lips pink and pretty as he did a double take. The feeling in his chest was getting hard to ignore, and he couldn't seem to think rationally as he stared at your droplet-dusted cheeks and damp hair. Before he knew it, his hands were wrapping around your waist and pulling you close to him, hugging you tight as he let out a sigh against you.

His nose was buried in your hair, and the sweet shampoo and salt mixed together to create this smell that comforted him and calmed him down, allowing him to think of what he wanted to do to you.

He wanted to kiss you, hold you against him as he told you he had loved you since you two had met in the coffee shop two years ago. Wonwoo wanted to let you know how special you were to him, and how important you were to who he was as a person.

Wonwoo was ready to love you, and he was hoping you would be ready to love him back.

"Wonwoo." You said gently, opening your eyes as you pulled back from him slightly. You were thinking the same things Wonwoo was at this moment in time, and it came easy to you as you leaned in, following Wonwoo's lead as his lips finally touched yours.

The kiss sent sparks through your body like fireworks, and you allowed yourself to bring your hands to Wonwoo's tousled hair as he sighed against you.

Time slowed, as if it stopped to watch this turning point in you and Wonwoo's relationship, cheering you on for making the move. Your whole body felt like it was made of sparkles, warm bursts of light that ran through your blood.

When you finally came to and pulled away, you and Wonwoo let out a breath in sync, both blushed and ragged from the kiss. Wonwoo's sharp eyes looked at you as he pressed his nose to you, and you took him in, hands in his as he opened his lips to speak.

"I love you. I've loved you ever since—" 

"Ever since we met at the coffee shop." You finish, and Wonwoo pauses, surpised as you laugh lightly. "I've loved you since then." You say, and Wonwoo smiles, hand cupping your cheek as he nods.

"Me too." He says simply, and the two of you go quiet again, lost for words as you stand in each other's embrace once again.

"I'm ready to love you, if you're ready to love me." You whisper, and Wonwoo pauses, breath stuck in his chest as he watches you. It's as if you took all the words from his mouth without trying. He couldn't speak, too overwhelmed by you to even function properly. It took everything in him to not kiss you again. 

He just nodded, a smile on his face as he slowly leaned in. His lips brushed against yours ever so lightly as he replied with a whisper just a few seconds later.

"I've been ready." 

feedback & reblogs are appreciated! i read every comment or repost you leave :)

[iamhereinthebg]

I really need to do a idk how long text about my hcs/guesses from canon stuff on the mysteries again for my new au

It's eating my brain

[girl-named-matty]

Me: Okay, I finished Divine, no more long fics I'm SERIOUS. Also me barely two weeks later: *sighs in Killian and Silas are getting their own series*

[telesodalite]

Been thinking about idw1's outliers lately, and how sort of wild the whole concept is from a worldbuilding standpoint, and it struck me that most confirmed outlier abilities tend to be really useful, or flashy, or powerfully dangerous, and few to none tend to be like, really boring, or totally impractical, or even entirely useless? Which, doesn't really make sense when considering the fact that outlier abilities are seemingly random.

Surely not everyone who's born an outlier gets something useful?

And I don't mean like, "good" useful, but any sort of useful, even if that means you can kill people with your voice, or give a power boost by exploding yourself, those are still "useful".

But surely there had to be some with abilities that were totally impractical, or nonbeneficial, or at the very least just insignificant or purely aesthetic and pointless?

[wingedtimemachinesoul]

“Time is sentient, George, and it does not stand with being manipulated.”

The Essence of Time ch 1 ✨

George Weasley has always loved the color gold. It was half his Hogwarts house. It was also something his Weasley house never had within its four walls. It was earned, through blood, sweat, and tears of his own merit in his joke shop— school drop-out notwithstanding. Gold, from its hue to its shine to its value, is beautiful. Not in a greedy way, just an unattainable beauty that always seemed to walk beside him, companionably. Something he could admire, and then partake in, while having both nostalgia and longing all at once.

Gold interested him, it always did. Now, in the After it taunts him. In his dreams, in his memories, in every bleeding moment of his existence. Even in the Before, when he was a shell of a man, merely clinging to his firewhiskey and living on despite all desires, gold did not bother him as such. Nothing bothered him, he didn’t have a care in the world. In the Before, he was a pair without his match. Left in a limbo of sorts, one foot in the world and one foot in the beyond, following after Fred. Each day was a test— or at least it felt like one. What decision would he make today: stay or leave? It was a cruel choice, and many that he doesn’t quite remember making consciously. Most he probably did not, if he was being honest with himself.

The first of April 1999 brought it all to a head, and dragged George Weasley kicking and screaming by his remaining ear. That was the last night he had to make that particular choice, and if his current circumstances are of any indication, he definitely had no clue what was waiting for him on the other side.

George’s first birthday without his twin sent him tumbling into the arms of the bottle. Following that, he stumbled down the narrow stairs which led to the back of his shop, aggravated and searching for his wand.

The spell wouldn’t work, when he whispered or when he shouted. It just wouldn’t. He slammed the offending wood against his wrist over and over— wild sparks ricocheting off the shelves. Explosions and liquids and fireworks and bubbles filled the air, crowding the space and overwhelming his senses. He screamed until his voice caught in his throat, until all he had left was soundless sobs, that rocked his body against the floor. It was pointless— his wand refused to harm its master. To break the allegiance it so cherished.

He chucked the black walnut against the wall, sending gold sparks flashing through the dark workroom. Pointless. Utterly pointless. George let out a hoarse moan, the choice floating above him, mocking him.

I tried! He roared to no one. To the great beyond, he really didn’t know. It was the Before, it’s all a blur to him now.

But did he, really?

The shop creaked at times. Whether the age, or the weight, or the magic of a building full of laughter, they never knew. They were accustomed to the sound, even joked more than once that 93 Diagon Alley just liked to check in, say hello.

At that moment, on George’s twenty-first birthday, but not Fred’s, their home creaked. The stairs actually. They were steep, and narrow and many.

It was at the bottom of these wooden stairs, well after high tea time, late on the first of April that Hermione Granger found one lone broken man. The morning of the second of April found that broken, twenty-one year old man safely tucked in his bed, Skele-Gro resting offensively on his nightstand, and his collarbone wrapped tightly. His friend holding tight to his hand on the uninjured side of his body and staring at him with her all-seeing owl-ish eyes. And on that morning he couldn’t face her, nor on the third morning. He couldn’t face himself, either. He had avoided that choice for three-hundred and thirty-four days. He limped through the sunlight and the moonlight, not living, but not doing the other thing either. And then when he finally made a choice— the world in all its buggery wouldn’t let him do it. Not his magic. Not his home. Not his friend. So he avoided her gaze. He stayed silent and didn’t answer her questions, her pleas. He sat and breathed, and fumed, and mourned. But she didn’t give up. It was a battle, apparently, the kind he hasn’t played in a very long while. Hermione Granger played very well, George soon learned. She could play the long game. She could outsmart anyone, he already knew that, but battle strategies? Warfare? Color him impressed. She met his silence with presence. She emboldened herself to solidify her right to be there, in his home. She washed his dishes, all one million of them that had piled up from his despicable human needs. She scourgified his laundry, and mopped his floors the Muggle way. She gave him a satisfied, if not small, smile under her flushed skin, slightly damp from the hard work. On the fourth morning, over the black tea she handed him, she hummed a tune he had never heard.

What song is that?

A smirk had graced her lips and she could’ve shocked the pants off Merlin himself with what she said next.

Hit Me Baby One More Time.

Muggles and their music. George hadn’t smiled in three-hundred and thirty-seven days. He smiled that day.

So Hermione stayed, teetering around his home and his shop in some unspoken agreement they made. He never received the first Howler full of hysterics, the mediwizards never arrived to cart him off to St. Mungo’s, and Hermione maintained her visits. His family never heard a word of what happened, and he never complained when his friend turned her key into his lock and announced they were nipping to Tesco for crisps since he didn’t have anything.

The anniversary came and went, but George did not grieve alone. He may have wanted to. He may have felt a twinge in his collarbone, and he may have glanced one too many times at his stairs, but he was not alone. Instead, he saw his mother for the first time in six months, his friend with a watery smile in the shadows, watching. Spring turned into summer, and with the heat came sunlight. Glorious sunlight that sparkled off the pond at the Burrow, and turned the hairs on his arms white. The sunlight glistened in Ginny’s hair like a fiery halo, and reflected off Harry’s glasses. It tinged Ron’s skin pink, and brought out the golden flakes in Hermione’s brown eyes. George had forgotten she had such striking eyes. The first time he had noticed the color was years ago at Hogwarts, when she had been wearing a gold chain around her neck, its pendant tucked under her robes. The necklace brought the color out in her eyes, but had done nothing to hide the deep rings of purple underneath. The sunlight brought many memories back to him in the Before. The memories brought pain. But the pain brought ideas. Memories and ideas. An idea that Hermione didn’t like. That was illegal. You don’t understand, George— it cannot be done. Hermione… please. It took many more nights, weeks even, but his friend agreed to look, to see. But no promises, George. At the dawn of fall, her key turned in his lock and wide, owl eyes met his. The gears started turning before she even finished speaking. They would have to travel far, to meet with a Mistress Linnea Birger in Sweden, an expert.

She was rude and unhelpful and George brooded the whole portkey home. As Hermione kicked her shoes off by his front door, he was still grumbling about the international forms he’d filled out in the Portkey Office of the Department of Magical Transportation. The long-suffering sigh and a cup of steaming tea finally soothed his temper. The slam of a book upon his coffee table was as natural to him as the creaking of 93 Diagon Alley. Finally, finally, the night of the winter solstice Hermione says she has it. Nothing about this will be easy, George. Nothing really ever is, is it? The Headmistress will not be pleased when she speaks to her Gargoyle in the stairwell, but the pair are hopeful she could be distracted with joy in the After. Hope, a dangerous feeling indeed. The last Time-Turner, preserved by Professor Dumbledore for services to the school in 1994, lays within the Headmaster’s office. How Hermione knew that is beyond George’s knowledge, but he’s following her lead. They walk in silence, each step bringing them closer to George’s nightmares. The seventh floor, once a place of such fun, now left just as scarred as the rest of them. The castle mourned too. Its magic was ancient and deep, more complex than any have understood. It withstood the great battle, but the castle lost too many that day. One barely a man, who brought such joy into these walls, such cleverness and bravery. A man who breathed life into this magic, kept it going even in the dark, just as he was taught. They would fix this. This pair, one newly formed and one broken, would restore just a bit of what the castle lost that night. They would succeed. They had to. The wall has been repaired and it's waiting for them in the left corridor. George keeps his eyes on Hermione, her spellwork upon the old Time-Turner more rapid and complex than he’s ever seen. The dust, golden and sparkling, swirls up around them. It sticks to his clothes, tangles in her hair, brushes his ear. He doesn’t ask questions, he just watches her work, entranced. The dust creeps up her neck, and she pauses for a split second, wildly seeking him out.

Time is sentient, George, and it does not stand with being manipulated.

What? It’s too late. The Before is rapidly shifting, the ground under them is trembling. Their hands rip apart and George didn’t even remember reaching for her. Spells begin flying over their heads, and George vaults in front, shielding his friend’s body with his own. She pushes him off, landing a shield over their heads and scrambles back as green flashes around them. "Hello, Minister!" George lurches, a visceral response. Nonononono— Hermione, she’s faster. She moves like a cat, vaulting over stone and wood, shoving her way through the bodies and the blood. He didn’t even hear her cast, didn’t see her wand move, but the wall stood still and Fred laughed and Percy adjusted his glasses and Fred laughed and laughed. One moment George was across the corridor and the next his arms were around his twin. Blood and snot and dust and tears— madness. Total madness. “She did it! Oh, Fred, she saved you. Hermione did it. Hermione! Fred, you’re here!”

Fred patted his back. Fred!

“HERMIONE! You did it, Hermione!”

George gripped his brother so tightly it must hurt, but Fred didn’t complain.

“Georgie? What’s wrong?”

George loosened his grip on his twin, a beaming smile on his face. Gold dust still coated his hands, mingling onto Fred’s shoulder.

Fred peered back, concern and bemusement resting on his freckled face. “And who is Hermione?”

[missdarhk]

sooooo hypothetically speaking, if I were to write a modern day odypen fic where he is a professional dancer and she is famous (maybe actress? dont know yet) and they get paired up together in a 'dancing with the stars ' type of show, with sprinkled fakedating in the mix, would anyone be interested in reading that

[billy-royalton]

The demons simply would not leave me be until I got this out. Didn't have "Writing Sprace Fic" on my 2025 Bingo Card but here we are! I hope you all enjoy.

5 to 1 on Romeo | Spot/Race | T | 3,128 words | Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Spooning, Bed Sharing, Established Relationship/Situationship ("situationship" because it's Sprace)

Through his one good eye, he looks up. Spot Conlon’s green eyes shine down on him. Race can’t tell for sure, but if he had to guess, he’d say Spot was smiling at him. “Heya Spotty,” he groans into the dirt. It’s the last thing he remembers saying before his eyes close and the static in his ears rings loudly like a bell. And then there’s nothing. Just a big black hole of nothing that Race welcomes eagerly.  - Race gets a beating from some Brooklyn newsies who don't know any better. Spot comes to his rescue.

Jack doesn’t like him going to Sheepshead Bay. 

“It’s not our turf, Race,” he said. “S’pose you get hurt out there? Some Brooklyn brawler who don’t know you. I can’t do anythin’ to stop ‘em.” 

"Stop 'em?" Race asked, slightly offended. Like Jack thought he couldn't hold his own against any newsie — Brooklyn or not — that came in his way. “Listen, Jack, I'll be just fine. Ain’t nobody gonna soak me out there. ‘Cept for maybe the bookie if I don’t pay up,” he added with a laugh. 

Jack didn’t like that, a scowl forming across his face and thinning his lips. “There ain’t no track in Manhattan you could go to?” he sighed. 

Sure there was. Race knew all the seedy hideouts he could place a bet. Every underground fighting ring, every basement poker game, every dark corner to make a few extra dollars. He visited them often enough, more often before he started hawking the papers in what his ma might have called “an honest living.” (That is, if he ever spoke to her again.) 

But Race knows Sheepshead. He knows it better than he knows Manhattan, even after all these years of walking the streets. Uptown, Midtown, Central Park — he’s got his route mapped out and he stays the hell away from the Brooklyn borders during the day if he can help it. 

Race lit his cigar and blew a plume of thick smoke straight into the air. “I can hold my own, Jack. I ain’t gettin’ into any trouble I can’t get myself outta.”

Read the rest on archive.

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Just saw this comment on a story posted a month ago.

*cries in Eddie Munson Solo Series no one wanted to read, interact with or request for*

No shade to the person that commented this on their own fic if you recognize it. It's not their fault. I'm not mad at them. More crying in the tags.

[muldersfingers]

Just my weekly post telling fic writers how much I love you all

[firewoodfigs]

all the love we unravel

Summary: It’s the mission that leads him to think that she’s almost incandescent in the morning light like this: safe and warm and here.

SPYxFamily | twiyor | chapter 1/3 | rated M

🏷️: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, humor, mutual pining, “for the mission” loid forger

for @nightofnyx8 — happy birthday! 🩵

[teh-nos]

For the three other Scottish folk around here: a daft Still Game drabble written in Scots.

Title: Deid (AO3) Fandom: Still Game (TV) Rating: Teen Pairing: Jack & Victor Wordcount: 100 Summary: Jack an Victor make plans fir when they're deid.

[kavehayati]

I can’t believe people assign Kaveh the yandere trope sometimes like that is SO ooc he literally wouldn’t ?! I mean I personally don’t care if he is or isn’t but canonically speaking bro let his own mother whom he loved so dearly to leave FOR HER SAKE even though he was so hurt by her going … he would not trap somebody like he would probably end up killing himself from guilt like are you serious 😭

[jianghushenanigans]

Its... its my immortal except Nirvana in Fire. Thats it thats the fic.

*

I suddenly remembered this exists and was crying laughing about it and have decided to inflict its existence on tumblr you’re all so very welcome

[demonicfarmer69]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù, 魔道祖师 | Módào Zǔshī (Cartoon) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín/Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī Characters: Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī Additional Tags: Masturbation, Bottom Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Mutual Masturbation, Mentioned Jīn Guāngshàn, Post-Sunshot Campaign (Módào Zǔshī), set after lwj leaves seclusion, Accidental Voyeurism, Sex Toys, Boypussy, 69 (Sex Position), Inappropriate Use of Zǐdiàn (Módào Zǔshī), Belly Bulge, Size Kink, panty sniffer lwj (LOL), Edging, Overstimulation, power bottom jc/virgin lwj, Vaginal Sex, historically inaccurate underwear, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Loss of Virginity Summary:

All Lan Wangji wanted to do after a bothersome discussion conference was to go to his room and unwind. Coincidentally, Jiang Wanyin also had the same idea, but in a very different way.

[jadepetals]

*holy fuck, it’s GALLAVICH time* 💖🧑🏻‍🦰🧑🏻💖- You are getting this message because you are awesome. Please share one Gallavich fic or art or post that you’ve enjoyed recently, or share something you’ve created recently, or just feel free to say how much you love them! & pass this on to your fellow Gallavich fans!

it took me 3 years to answer this but it doesn't matter cause as far as i'm concerned it's always gallavich time. ANYWAY i'm gonna share some of the fics i've been enjoying recently because i could not mention just one.

i've recently finished The Fine Art of Falling For You by @goodkwuestion . What can i say about this that you already don't know? it's so soft and wholsome it made me wanna throw a pillow against the wall sometimes, but as with every other fic from this author my favourite part are ALWAYS those original characters.

then a mountain at my gates by @gardenerian . i jut love any fics with this kind of plot what can i say, i literally devoured this in one sitting.

i also love fill in fics so i obviously enjoyed Love can damage your health by @energievie . tw for 3x6 for those who don't like reading about it tho, it happens before that and nothing bad happens but you can never be too safe.

ok and now to what i am currently reading yayy

just started Undead Agents of Chaos by ElizaPembroke which is a really cool canon divergence fic that i can't wait to finish.

and i obviously can't finish without mentioning The Menagerie by @crossmydna which is my favourite WIP currently, if you haven't started it yet go do it immediatly.

and to close this off i'd like to invite everyone to check out everything that's being shared for Gallavich A.U.gust 2023 (@gallavichthings)!

[crybaby-bkg]

it was three years on the third of this month since I started writing fics for bnha 🥲 and to think I started writing fics again bc of a bkdk dream that I couldn’t stop thinking about :))))