#thanks for that introspection stranger

[dannysapro]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! Get to know your mutuals and followers (no pressure)

Any and all cookies.

Game nights with friends (I like the tabletop game nights more than video game nights but both are always fun)

Assembling things (furniture, Legos, other kinds of figures that require assembly)

Visiting a local coffee shop the rare times I'm ever out of town. Also, coffee in general.

Talking to My favorite people about literally anything.

[dilf-luvr-4evr]

Counting Down the Days to Being Yours 🕊️💍

for dearest @emerald-ranch <3 I sincerely hope this is according to what you imagined!! 👉🏼👈🏼 I’m sorry it took long! I wanted it to be perfect :( thank you for trusting me with your wonderful idea 🫶🏼🥺 this playlist was in heavy rotation during the writing process!! happy belated valentine’s 🥰

my first proper Arthur fic! (f!Reader, BIG FLUFF where everyone is alive 🤩🙏, possible inaccurate wedding rituals in 1899, church photo just for aesthetic, you can marry wherever you please :) (arthur photo by sealevils on pinterest!)

Arthur had not returned to camp for almost two weeks. It wasn’t anything new to you but usually, he’d at least let you know. Try as you might to shrug it off but you get plagued by the ugliest thoughts. God forbid! You always yelled out-loud before your imagination gets the chance to be spoken into existence.

The days had dragged on for so long that it made you self introspect. You didn’t really know why you should when he left you on very good terms. Very good terms.

Both of you made passionate, burning love the night before he left. And a little bit more upon waking up. You let him sleep in again as you attended to Miss Grimshaw, getting him a plate of stew on your way back. While waiting for him to wake, you even cleaned his guns. He said he loved you multiple times — a kiss accompanying every declaration — before getting on his horse. That is, after Miss Grimshaw had to separate y’all herself.

Impeccable timing and divine intervention; as if he knew you’d fetch him yourself if you had to wait any longer, Arthur finally came back home to you. A far cry from the last you saw him. But again, nothing new. You were just extremely relieved.

Frankly, he looked like shit. Handsome, still. But very dirty. Speckles of mud were all over his face but far more concerning, he was drenched in blood.

Adding to the list of questions you were about to ask, what you saw him untie from his Hungarian half-bred was a giant bison that’s been chopped up. Some of the people in camp that crowded around him cheered, knowing they’ll be fed good tonight.

Still, it was all so odd to you. There was no way it’d take him two weeks just to take down a bison. It would need much more than this bribing to stop you from questioning him as much as you’re glad he’s home.

Even stranger, Arthur was awfully quiet the whole time you helped him bathe by the lake. Not a single I miss you. Didn’t let you touch his grimy clothes though that’s never been a problem before.

“Arthur, are you sure you’re okay?” You asked for the thousandth time.

“I’m just fine darlin’, I promise,” he tightly smiled, still avoiding your eyes. Though this pained and scared you, you’d wait until he’s ready to open up.

He changed again when you shaved him and cut his hair; just as quiet but his eyes never wavered from your focused expression. Like he can’t believe he’s reunited with you, only looking away when you talked to him.

“Darlin’?” He’d ask.

“Yes?”

“N-nothin’,” he mumbled. This went on over and over in the silence of his tent, a contrast to the singing and eating outside. He refused to join them either despite being the star of the show.

After you were finished with cleaning him up, he held on to your hand and made you sit in front of him without a word. You blinked a couple of times yet remained seated on his cot.

“Arthur-”

“Darlin’,” he started again, clammy hands tightening their grip on yours.

“Yes?” You’d say again and again if he asked you to.

“I’m sorry. For scarin’ ya.” And he was instantly forgiven. Not that you could stay mad at him for long. You weren’t even sure you were mad at him in the first place.

“S’okay,” you smiled, your thumb brushing his hand. He smiled with you though it didn’t last very long.

“The bison’s a gift.”

“A gift? From who?”

“That ain’t what I meant,” he huffed. “I meant-” he shifted uncomfortably on the cot. “I meant.. my gift. To you.”

A snort left you before you could control it. “To me?” And why you would ask for a bison or when is beyond you.

“Just hear me out will ya?” He huffed again, cheeks all red. You just nodded, trying your best not to laugh.

With a deep breath, he continued.

“I love you,” he said softly before looking at your hands. He didn’t even let you say it back, just kept talking. “And I’ve been thinkin’.. When I was away..”

“I know I ain’t much of a hunter. And I’m even less of a man. Hell, I’m even worse with words,” he chuckled. “But darlin’..”

He exhaled loudly and you knew. It all made sense now. He’s about to propose to you.

Arthur’s eyes widened and his heart raced at the sight of you gasping and tearing up. He kept holding your hand, strangely finding comfort in what’s currently scaring him. And maybe that’s exactly why he wanted to marry you.

“If you’ll let me.. I’ll try. I- I’ll always keep you fed. And I’ll take us away from here. Far away, I swear. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go. No more runnin’.”

You cried like you never cried before. The way his eyes twinkled when he said it even though you knew how much it scared him. The way he’s willing to chase down a dream to make you smile.

He was looking at you like a puppy, waiting for you to say something before, “shit-” he realized he forgot to pull out the ring.

Like a man possessed, he dropped to the ground, searching for the ring from his blood-stained clothes. Watching him clean it with his shirt made you laugh, pouring more tears out of your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he grinned all flustered, turning back to you.

There he was, already on one knee, a plain gold ring — a symbol of his hard labor you’ve witnessed all too well — humbly offered between his fingers.

Sure you’ve imagined it a couple of times before. How it would happen, if it ever would. You loved him too much to ask him to leave the gang; his family.

But unbeknownst to you, he hears your silent pleas. Sees how you stood by him.

He loved you too much to make you stay.

“Marry me darlin’. Let me give you a proper life. What do you say?”

In a swift breath, you answered, “yes.”

And you’d say it again and again if he asked you to.

“You quittin’ yet?”

You didn’t have to look to know who it was, the voice as familiar as the back of your hand.

You could also tell who it was from that damn joke he’s been telling over and over from the second you said yes.

You sure? Ain’t thinkin’ of backin’ out? Y’know you still got time.

Be it a jest or a genuine query, you know deep in your heart that you’ve never been more sure of anything else in your life.

A scoff left your lips, followed by a roll of your eyes. Yet you smiled.

“You think I should?” you feigned curiosity. Silence. You turned your head to find Arthur leaning on the clothesline post, a contemplating look on his face. Among the fingers that grabbed his belt, the shiny golden ring gleamed in the daylight. “Well?”

A second passes and then, “Nah.. I ain’t lettin’ ya.” Said with that crooked smile of his.

“Then I’m beggin’ you to stop askin’ me!” you laughed, dropping the clothes you were washing in the bucket. Oh how he loved your laugh. He’ll keep asking the dumbest questions known to man if it meant hearing you laugh.

“Arthur, leave the poor girl alone, will ya?” Hosea called out by the horses.

“Just gimme a minute!” Arthur replied before returning his gaze to you. He noticed how Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Karen paid attention to his little interaction with you and that made him a little sheepish. Back to being a teenage boy whenever he’s around you.

“Where you headed?”

“I asked you a question first,” he crossed his arms. The stupid smirk won’t leave his face and neither won’t the glint of mischief in his eyes. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til you answer me.”

“What question?”

“Are you quittin’?”

“Well do you still wanna marry me or not?” You raised your brow. Blush creeped on his cheeks, making the girls giggle.

“More than anythin’ in the world, ma’am,” he said shyly, his hat now covering his face. You pushed down the twitching on your lips. God, the way he makes you feel.

“Then I ain’t quittin’ the wedding.”

“Good.” He’s lucky he’s got a handsome smile, the bastard. And that he’s got the most patient lady.

“Now where you headed?”

“Just.. Takin’ care of wedding stuff with Hosea,” he was rather mumbling at this point, shying away from the audience.

“‘Kay, be careful,” you chuckled, turning to your laundry again.

There was shuffling and before you know it, he was crouched down next to you.

“Not gonna give your husband a kiss goodbye?” He whispered as if the girls wouldn’t still try to pry. Well. Nine days until your husband. That made you smile a little too wide for your liking. And then kissed him anyway. Silly, stupid man.

Your silly, stupid man.

“Come back to me,” you softened, patting his cheek. His baby blues shone under the shade of his hat. But then again, they always do when they’re looking at you.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured as he stood up, smiling so wide, he was almost chuckling from how smitten he was.

Now with the golden band snug on the end of your palm, you could say that you quite literally have him wrapped around your finger.

He tipped his hat, bid the other ladies farewell, and went on his way. He had very important matters to attend to.

There are many things Arthur is capable of. Wedding organizing is apparently not one of them.

Yes, he’s used to thinking on his feet. Despite the most complex situations, there’s always an answer to him.

Even if it means occasionally punching his way out.

But he can’t really punch the wedding caterer can he? Or the man who tailored his suit. Or anyone else in the wedding business for that matter.

Good news is he’s finally done. Got himself a priest to officiate the wedding and paid off the new house; a quaint little thing he figured you’d like. He hoped you’d like.

Dutch made him look for a place to wed to which Arthur obliged. Wouldn’t want to expose the current home and put the gang in danger.

So Heartland Overflow it is.

He remembered taking you there, wanting to show you this silver dapple pinto. You ended up falling asleep in the meadow as he scouted for it. He decided to sleep next to you till noon. One of his favorite days. The perfect balance between wind and warmth and you.

The place gave him another idea that went according to plan like dominoes lining up to his luck. He invited Albert Mason who he happened to meet during one of his wedding ventures. Almost got bitten by an alligator in the process but he’ll be damned if he won’t get to capture your smile on the big day.

This wedding ain’t half bad considering. Perfect in fact. More than he could ever expect and the entire time, he kept imagining your reaction to seeing it all unfold. Maybe he was good at wedding organizing after all.

Still. He felt like he’s made more decisions in the past few days than he’s ever made in his entire life.

Being the impatient man that he is, he rode back to camp with a scowl as opposed to Hosea who looked like he enjoyed himself too much. A view you have come to enjoy as of late.

“Someone’s happy,” you teased while you made your way to him. He got off his horse with a scoff, hand immediately snaking around your waist as both of you walked to your shared tent. You didn’t forget to smirk back at Hosea, a silent agreement to share whatever happened to Arthur today. For later.

“Don’t even start,” he grumbled, only stopping to kiss your temple. “Won’t bother if it ain’t for you.”

The statement made you smile. A mental note was made to treat him good tonight. “At least that’s the last of it. Ain’t it?”

“Yep,” the word stretched out mid sigh, a popping-like sound at the end of it. His hold on you tightened, emphasizing his relief as well as excitement to show you everything he’s schemed. The action automatically pulled you closer and you giggled, a melody that never failed to warm his heart. You could convince him that this was all worth it by that single sound alone.

“Found a dress yet?” He asked, mingled with a grunt as he sat on his cot. You leaned on his shoulder, staring into the distance whilst he took off his boots. The sun had just settled below the horizon, coloring the sky purple.

“No,” you exhaled. “I don’t know..”

“Hate to sound like Strauss but you only got three days darlin’.” That elicited a chuckle out of you. And though you’ve kept count, the fact that you’re actually marrying him still made you giddy.

“Startin’ to think you’re gettin’ cold feet.”

“I’m not,” you clicked your tongue, slapping his back and earning a laugh from him. It boggles you how much this running joke entertained him.

“Well for what it’s worth, I’d marry you in anythin’,” he smiled, kissing the top of your head. His arm had returned to rest by your waist. “In rags,” followed by a nuzzle of his nose against your chin. “Darlin, I’d marry you in nothin’.”

“Mister Morgan!” You blushed at the way he whispered it, slapping him again. He was cackling like a damn crow.

“Yes, Mrs. Morgan?” He carried on, making you roll your eyes even when the giggle that left your lips betrayed you. Damn him.

“I’m serious Arthur! I can’t decide on what to wear,” you pouted.

“Alright, alright,” he nodded, chuckling the last of his amusement out as he wrapped both of his arms around you, chin perched cozily on your shoulder. “We can getcha a new dress if you’d like?”

“You know that’s out of the question. We can’t spend more than we already have.”

Arthur heaved a sigh, having to think again.

“Well-” He thought for a moment. “Wear the one I like.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Which one’s the one you like?”

“You know,” he said in this very obvious tone, looking up at you in disbelief. It was obvious from your lack of answer that you didn’t catch on.

Suddenly, he was picturing you in the dress in order to describe it to you. Oh how that white dress made you shine. How it hugged you in all the right places, showed him just enough of what he wanted to see..

It never ends well with you in that dress.

He scoffed, hiding how hot he was for you. His poor bride is fussing and here he was, constantly trying to jump your bones. It was funny because you could always tell from the way he rubbed the back of his neck.

“You know the damn dress, I ain’t gotta tell ya,” he reasoned, getting up from his cot to leave and ignoring your giggly complaints. “I got things to attend to.” Meaning adjusting his pants.

He’s had enough wedding related thinking anyway. Plus, how could you not know?

He sat in front of the mirror. The face he’s bored with looked a little different today, polished.

Just him all alone inside his tent possibly for the last time.

He’s getting married. How strange.

Sure he knows it, took two weeks to contemplate it. Maybe more. But it seems like everyday it keeps dawning on him.

He’s getting married.

The gang left him some time to himself for once, waiting outside with the faint buzzing of gnats and the swishing of Flat Iron Lake.

It’s been a while since he had to properly get ready for something. Used to be a habit of his when he realized he liked you. Until you took over for him. Not that you minded how he looked at all. Felt unreal for him to look back on those days.

There wasn’t a single benefit he got from cleaning up. He doesn’t see himself differently. But he took note of what you loved about him, made sure he looked good enough for you to like. His fingers adjusted the forget-me-nots in his jacket pocket that he picked this morning.

Oh, look at how they bring out the blue in your eyes! You had said when he gave you the same flowers some time ago. Something that stuck with him ever since.

He looked around his cleaned ‘home’. Though he’s never really stayed in the same place for very long, the walls of his tent along with his wagon had been constant. It never actually occurred to him that one day he won’t sleep here again.

Suppose when you first fell asleep in this very cot with him, he sort of knew. He just didn’t think he’d actually get it; a new life with you.

A smile tugged on his lips. Who knew a no-good outlaw like him could be this lucky? How far he’s come. That after everything, he’s actually getting something good.

He tried to not get all soft, turning to the mirror again. But upon seeing his face, he laughed.

“Lucky bastard, ain’t ya?”

And how right he was.

He didn’t realize how much of an understatement that was until the ceremony started and he finally saw you.

You didn’t end up wearing a new dress by any means. Just the one he requested which you decided to alter a bit. At least that’s what you think he requested. But goddamn.

It was like the second time he first saw you.

He was starting to regret his decision to not smoke at all this morning. It ain’t like you never kissed his cigarette-reeked mouth, right? His heart was beating so loud, he barely noticed how you were already stood in front of him. In that dress no less, the sun above you just right. Your eyes looked at no one but him, that very smile to accompany the rest of his days.

The girl of his dreams.

The girl of his dreams who’s suddenly whisper-shouting “Arthur!”

“-can you repeat these vows?” The priest said. Which Arthur realized he had been tuning out.

“Y-yes,” he answered with a clear of his throat, trying not to get distracted by another one of your smiles.

It went smoothly. You actually said I do and kissed him and didn’t run away. Albert took the pictures and everyone liked the food and especially the drinks and Arthur made it till the end without a single cigarette after all. Although he did indulge in some drinking.

Javier was strumming a slow song. The day came and almost went with some still dancing alongside you and your husband.

He had one hand holding your own whilst the other one held on to the small of your back. You laid your head near his heart, partly from exhaustion, mostly from content. The two of you swayed with the gentle breeze that grew with time.

“You regret marryin’ me don’t you? That why you were cryin’?” He joked yet again, recalling to how you cried during your vows.

“I am regretting it now,” you shot him a glare before leaning on him again. You can feel the warm rumbling of his laugh from his chest and it made you smile.

“Did you like the kiss?”

“Of course,” you nodded against him. “I like this too,” with a touch to the flowers in his pocket. “And oh this place.. It’s perfect, Arthur.” And it really was. A wedding straight out of a book and it was yours.

Now he doesn’t think he’d be able to stop smiling. He breathed a sigh of relief so big, it almost lifted your head off his chest. There was no telling who squeezed whose hand first.

“Felt a little.. different though.”

Panic striked through him. So sudden, that he had to pause dancing. “Meanin’?”

“The kiss. You didn’t taste like cigarettes. Not that I mind,” you looked up at him, this lovesick gaze in your eyes. Despite how soft it all was, it was like a slap to his face. This perfect woman is his wife.

“Darlin’..”

“Hm?”

He didn’t even know what he was going to say. He kept looking at you as if checking if this was all real. Being a little drunk did not help. Neither did your distracting lips.

“Do you still like the kiss?” Was what he managed to say.

You laughed and pulled your husband into the millionth kiss that night.

Your husband who now smelled like alcohol instead. Who’s been asking you the same question all night since he drank.

If only you could convince him just how perfect this wedding was. Though not more than he is <3

my masterlist

thank you for reading!! 🫶🏼

[mylovesstuffs]

The Colour Was Crimson — Kwon Soonyoung

One dies. One lives. One forgets.

There is no logic to the moment you chose to trust him; a knight who might hand you over come morning, a man who said little and promised less. He was supposed to stop you. You were meant to keep running. And yet, in the cold hush of a forest steeped in rain, with prophecy wrapped around your neck like a noose, you find yourself leaning into the warmth of the only person who hasn’t asked you to be anything but alive. Beneath a tattered cloak and a leaking roof, you share a night together suspended in something like safety

Genre: Historical fantasy, romance (?), slow burn, dramatic realism, introspective character study, strangers-to-???

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung × runaway princess!reader

Content: Runaway royalty, stormy night in a shared cloak, strangers-to-something, knight × princess dynamic, prophecies, fate vs. free will, existential introspection, emotionally repressed knight, one-bed trope (?) (cramped hut edition), wounded pasts, survival in the wild, bittersweet comfort, philosophical undertones, reluctant alliance, prophecy entanglement ("one dies, one lives, one forgets"), themes of sonder, and that classic thunderstorm backdrop

Warning: Light references to past violence, implied political escape/war themes, mentions of blood and prophecy-related fate/death

Word count: 2179 words

A/N: LISTEN. this was soonyoung’s birthday fic and i was six minutes from flopping the entire mission by not posting on time. i posted this thing RAW at 11:59 KST. not even a title. no tags. no genre. no under the cut. just running on time and blind panic. if you blinked, you’d have no clue who it was for unless you read 80% through and saw the name of the member 😭 (yes, his name was written after lots of blabbering) anyway. it’s barely here, but here. this fic was born in a swamp of my deeply romanticised obsession with the, one night under a shared cloak trope. also knight soonyoung. stoic. leather. prophecy-haunted. emotionally constipated. yeah. this is my first draft with all the frizz of one, but i weirdly love it. shoutout to my discord pals who witnessed the meltdown in real time (you know who you are), and to tumblr’s draft system for always being the final boss.

happy birthday to the man who contains multitudes: tiger and tulip, chaos [confusion in gose too] and choreography, laughter and love, heart and hurricane. you’re the type of person who could lead an army into battle and then cry because the confetti cannon missed its cue. a man who dances like the stage is on fire and loves like his heart was never once broken. your laughter is loud, your spirit louder, and somewhere in between the two, we all fell a little more in love with life just by watching you live it. stay wild. stay tiger. stay soonyoung. happy birthday, our horangi. i'll always be the #1 supporter of horangi cult ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ

The mud clung to your boots dragging you down with every step. Rain lashed the trees, a wild downpour that turned the forest trail into a treacherous mire. Branches clawed at your hood, soaked through from hours beneath the weeping sky. Still, you pressed on, breath shallowed with shoulders hunched beneath a worn cloak no longer fit to shield you.

You stumbled, again. And then a hand gloved in ash-toned leather, caught your elbow firmly.

“I told you to step where I do,” came his voice, deep and tacit.

You didn't thank him, never did. Instead, you replied, “Perhaps if you talked more and glared less, I’d know where to step.”

He did not answer; rarely ever did. A stoic knight forged in duty, sworn to a kingdom not your own—and against better judgment, aiding a runaway princess whose name he dared not speak aloud.

Lightning carved a split in the sky, the brief flare illuminated the path ahead; if it could be called that. Just endless trees and endless rain. Somewhere, far behind you, the clamor of hounds and steel still echoed faintly through the hills. They hadn’t evanesced, yet.

Tightening the straps of his leather satchel, “keep moving,” he said.

But the storm had other plans. By the time you stumbled upon the hut that was barely wide enough for two to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, it was already half-swallowed by the woods, cloaked in moss. An old hunting shelter, perhaps. A relic of some forgotten war. You stepped inside, mud dripping from your hem. He followed wordlessly, shutting the creaking door behind you. The roof wept in places, but it was better than the wrath of the storm.

He shrugged off his sodden cloak, jaw tight. You eyed it, then him. “Well?” you asked.

He stared. “Well what?”

You huffed, peeling off your own cloak and wringing it out. “You were talking too much for someone who usually says nothing at all,” you said, voice sharp as sleet. That earned you a glance, but nothing more.

The storm howled. Wind seeped through the cracks in the timber walls like breath through clenched teeth. You shivered. Without a word, he shifted closer as he noticed, unfurling his cloak. It was soaked, but still warm from his body. Seeing this, you hesitated a little bit.

“What?” he asked. “Dared the woods, but frightened of my cloak?”

“It’s not that,” you murmured, taking a seat beside him. “Just... I’m not used to kindness that doesn’t ask for something in return.”

He didn’t answer for a long time. “I’m not being kind. I don’t want you to die of cold before I hand you over.”

You glanced up at him. “So you will hand me over?”

A pause, then, softer, “I don’t know yet.”

Rain danced on the roof like pearls rolling across wood. You curled beneath the shared cloak, closer to him than proprietary would ever have allowed, were you still in court and not in this forsaken patch of wilderness where rules meant little and survival meant more.

“Do you believe in prophecy?” you asked in a hushed voice.

He turned to you, his profile carved from shadow and ember-glow. He’d lit a small fire, somehow, despite the wetness, and it flickered now between you, casting a crimson gleam against his cheekbone. “No,” he said. Then, “Yes. Perhaps.”

“There’s one about me,” you said. “About the girl who runs, and the man who stops her. One dies. One lives. One forgets.”

“Romantic,” he said, with dry disinterest. But his eyes stayed on you.

“It’s not meant to be,” you said, lips curving bitterly. “Prophecies never are.”

Another silence. It wasn't tense at all, just… heavy with sonder. The ache of two lives that should never have crossed. The fire cracked, and he shifted. You watched the lines of his face which were drawn and tired, but noble in their own way; seraphic, almost, when the flames caught just right. You thought of the courts he came from, the sword at his hip, the blood he’d drawn, the blood he refused to speak of.

And you — a girl who’d once worn silk, now cloaked in dirt and guilt and secrets. A girl who once smiled for paintings, now pressed into a hut with a man she barely knew but already trusted more than anyone else.

“Why did you come with me?” you asked.

He didn’t look at you. “I don't know.”

“Liar.”

“Verily,” he said, with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

Minutes passed, and the fire dimmed. You felt his breath before you heard it. It was slow, steady. Then he shifted just enough for your shoulder to brush his.

“Sleep,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“Try.”

“Will you watch?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “I’ll watch.”

And so, you dared to close your eyes, against better judgment, in a hut barely wide enough for two, under a storm that tried to drown you, beside a man who might hand you over come morning—and yet, in this moment, was the only thing in the world that felt safe. Alas, fate was cruel.

But for one night, beneath a shared cloak, beneath thunder and whispers of prophecy, you let yourself believe otherwise.

-

When you woke up, it was still raining. Grey light seeped through the broken shutters, ash-pale and cold. You were still beneath his cloak, tucked against his side like some weary burden he had forgotten to push away. He hadn't moved. Not much, anyway.

You shifted slowly, limbs sore from sleep and too many miles. His arm, heavy with the weight of leather and muscle, slid from your shoulders with a reluctant grace. He was awake, you realized.

You felt the rigid stillness of someone pretending otherwise, before he spoke.

“You stayed,” your voice was hoarse. “I thought you’d vanish before sunrise.”

“I thought about it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

His reply came slow. “Couldn’t get the fire going again without you snoring on it.”

You snorted. “So I’m good for kindling, then?”

“Among other things.”

A beat of silence before you managed to say, “such as?”

He didn't answer, again. You sighed not being amused, running a hand through your tangled hair. Mud crusted the hem of your sleeve; your fingers were stiff. The world outside felt like it was still made of rain. But for now, the hut held.

You glanced at him—jaw shadowed with stubble, cloak collar damp, his sword hilt resting at his side like a limb. Kwon Soonyoung. The knight of the southern border, the man whose name you only learned when you'd already fled three nights’ worth of roads with him.

He wasn't a friend, not per se, or at least, yet. But not an enemy either.

The first time you saw him was on the border road, your skirts were still too fine for your path. Crimson silk, pearl-studded hem; stolen garments from a carriage you'd bribed your way into before ditching the wheels and running barefoot into the night.

You were breathless and desperate. And he stood on the bridge under the clear blue sky of dawn, unmoving like a statue carved from fate itself.

“Turn around,” he said, not even drawing his sword.

You stepped forward. “You don’t want to do this.”

He tilted his head. “No. But you were talking too much for someone on the run.”

You flinched from recognition; it wasn't made of fear. He knows.

“I won’t go back,” you said, hosting your voice thin as mist. “Even if it kills me.”

He regarded you for an uncomfortably long stretch of time, his gaze steady and unblinking, though, in truth, it was rare to see his eyes flutter at all. And then, to your astonishment, he shifted only a fraction just like that, a simple pivot of boot against stone, but it was enough to create a space through which you might pass. No bargain was struck. No conditions laid. No commands issued. There was only the sound of the wind altering its course through the trees, and the strange, almost imperceptible weight of a decision made by a man who spoke little but once carried orders that ended wars.

You stepped forward, cautiously, your breath caught in your throat like a trespass half-expecting the reprieve to snap shut like a trap around your ankles. But he moved behind you with his footfalls, deliberate and unhurried; neither threatening nor companionable, merely present.

And when, driven more by confusion than courage, you finally turned to ask what tethered him to your uncertain path, his reply came with the same restraint that marked all his actions: “Perhaps I am waiting to see how this ends.”

“You dreamt,” he informed you without warning, breaking the hush with the same low, even gravity that marked all his observations: never a question, always a statement. You looked up with the remnants of sleep still clinging to your thoughts. He adjusted his cloak. “You said something, in your sleep,” he continued, his gaze not really meeting yours. “Something about fire... and fate. And the color red.”

“Not red,” you corrected, as if naming it properly mattered. “Crimson.”

He studied you openly this time for a moment with that same unreadable stillness he wore like armor. “A name?” he asked at last.

You hesitantly answered, “A warning.”

The space between you seemed to draw in the silence. The rain outside, though muted by walls, seemed to press inward now. You remembered the dream, though already the edges have begun to fray. Images rose in flickers: a long corridor lined with mirrors that refused to show your face; a voice, disembodied and cold as wind across stone, whispering not prophecy, but verdict—One dies. One lives. One forgets. A prophecy spoken beneath an eclipse. You swallowed.

“I’ve heard those words before,” he said. “On the battlefield. Whispers from an old seer before the siege of Ilyra.”

“Do you believe it now?” you asked.

He gave no answer, but his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword as his jaw tightened. You took the clue. Even without words, you both knew what hung between you.

You had stopped by the river sometime near dusk, though the light beneath the trees was so uncertain it could have been any hour between afternoon and nightfall. Your feet raw from the ill-fitting boots you’d taken off a sleeping stablehand three villages back, throbbed with each step, and you’d finally surrendered to the pain, lowering yourself to a moss-slick rock with a hiss that escaped despite your resolve to remain quiet.

Soonyoung had settled himself across from you perched on the length of a fallen tree. The dagger in his grip caught the dim light as he dragged the whetstone down its edge with a nice rhythm. His expression was, as always, unreadable, carved from whatever discipline exile required.

“I’m not the kind of girl who believes in romance,” you had said then, not looking at him, as if the words might sound less like a confession if spoken to the water.

He didn’t look up saying, “good.”

“But if I were...” you ventured, testing the edge of something less guarded, “I’d want it to happen during a storm.”

This time, his hand paused just briefly enough to be noticeable if one was watching. The dagger stilled, and so did the air between you. He resumed the motion without haste. “You’ll regret saying that.”

There had been something in his tone which was dry, unflinching, but not unkind that made you smile despite yourself. It wasn’t a smile of victory or charm, only the soft foolish curve of someone who still believed they might unearth warmth where others had found only cold. “Why?” you asked, meaning it.

And that was when he truly met your eyes for the first time without the usual wall of disdain, without the carefully measured detachment he wore like chainmail. “Because storms end,” he said.

“If we survive this,” you turned toward him now, more serious than you meant to be, “if the prophecy doesn’t kill us, or the king’s men don’t find us… what then?”

He didn't look away, for once, he didn't avoid the weight of what you were asking. “Then I go back,” he said.

“To what?”

“To nothing.”

"And I?"

“That depends on whether you still believe you’re meant to run.”

What followed was not merely silence, but thick with all that remained unsaid between you, brimming with the weight of choices half-made and truths withheld out of mercy or pride.

Without a word, he reached for the cloak and drew it around you both once more. There wasn't much warmth left in it, but it was something. And so, you realized, was he.

You allowed your head to rest just beside his shoulder. He did not shift away or speak.

And in that space of lull that came before action and decisions had to be named aloud, you found yourself wondering, if sonder was truly enough. To glimpse the infinite in someone else and, despite it all, still choose to stay.

⌦ ⚔️ © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

[1982grapejuiceblues]

Passenger Seat Purgatory

Official Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 1

Stranger Lanes Part 2

Summary: Y/N and Harry hit the road, but the awkward tension between them rides shotgun. They’re starting to see the cracks in each other—and not looking away. As miles pass and rain rolls in, silence becomes its own kind of intimacy. Harry opens up in small, devastating ways. Y/N starts to notice the space he makes for her without asking. Nothing has technically happened. But something has changed. And they both feel it.

Warnings: Themes of emotional repression and avoidance | Underlying grief and unresolved tension | Quiet introspection and identity discomfort | Subtle emotional vulnerability and layered silences | Light language and dry sarcasm | Close quarters / confined travel setting | Low-key mental and emotional exhaustion

A/N: Okay. I definitely meant to upload this yesterday but school decided to kick my ass instead :). Sooooo this part is almost 5x longer than the first one as an apology. I hope you guys love it! Reblog or comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Thank you guys for all of the love on my writing so far! You're letting me live my author dreams!

Word Count: 6.6k

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

It was too early for this.

Not just early in the morning, but cosmically early—early in the emotional timeline of her life, early in the grieving process, early in the “maybe I’m healing” montage she hadn’t even started yet. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t yelled. She hadn’t even unpacked her bag from the day she left their apartment.

So why was she putting on deodorant and brushing her hair and zipping a bag for a road trip with Harry Styles, of all people?

She sat on the edge of her sister’s couch, wearing leggings that hadn’t seen a gym in three years and a sweatshirt she’d stolen in high school from an ex she couldn’t even name now, and stared at her duffel bag like it had personally betrayed her.

“What’s his name again?” her sister asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing a coffee she didn’t offer to share.

Y/N sighed. “Harry.”

Her sister raised an eyebrow. “Like the Harry?” She had heard about Harry before.

“Not that Harry.” Y/N lied about it not being that Harry.

“Is he cute?”

Y/N gave her a look. “Please don’t.”

“Okay, but like, in a moody, tortured poet kind of way?”

“He’s a history teacher.”

“Oh, so hot.”

“Stop.”

Her sister grinned. “Just saying. Stranger things have happened.”

Y/N didn’t reply. Because yes—stranger things had happened. Like Ben leaving her for Claire. Like Claire still hosting the group trip like nothing had changed. Like Harry texting Outside with a capital O and expecting her to get in the car like this wasn’t a terrible, terrible idea.

She stood. Brushed a loose hair off her leggings. Picked up her bag and her coffee and her dignity, all of which felt heavier than they should’ve.

“I’ll text you when I’m safe,” she said, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

“Or when you’ve fallen in love,” her sister called after her.

Y/N didn’t dignify that with a response.

-

She was going to regret this.

That was the first thought she had when she opened the door and stepped outside into the thick, humid air of barely-morning. The kind of morning that felt like it had woken up angry. Everything was sticky and dull and breathless, like even the sky knew this was a terrible idea.

She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, blinked blearily at the dim light, and tried to remember why she hadn’t canceled.

Because you didn’t want to rent a car.

Because you didn’t want to fly.

Because Claire and Ben don’t get to take the lake house from you too.

Because you said yes before you really thought about what it meant to sit in a car with a man you’ve spoken to fewer times than you’ve spoken to your mail carrier.

Because pride was a strange, stubborn thing, and she had a lot of it.

That last one, mostly.

The street was quiet. Her sister’s neighborhood was full of people who watered their plants before 7 a.m. and waved from driveways in terrycloth robes. Y/N squinted at the idling SUV at the curb and immediately hated it for being early. She hated early people. Early people were smug. Early people had things figured out. Early people didn’t get dumped via iMessage and then run away to their sister’s apartment for ten days and count it as survival.

He was leaning against the car.

Of course he was.

Harry Styles, history teacher, tragic cardigan wearer, and now—apparently—her chauffeur.

She’d only ever seen him in school clothes, behind a desk or walking the halls with a book tucked under one arm like a priest with a sermon. He’d always been a bit of a mystery. Quiet. Formal in a way that felt deliberate. Sometimes funny, in that deadpan, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of way. Claire used to say he was emotionally constipated but predictable, which she’d claimed was its own kind of romance.

Y/N had never had a strong opinion about him. Until now.

Now she hated that he looked good in the morning.

He wore a heather green crewneck that looked impossibly soft and navy joggers that managed not to look sloppy. His curls were pulled back in a low clip, tendrils escaping around his ears, and his sneakers were clean in a way that made her suspicious.

He glanced up when she approached.

“Morning,” he said, like it was a greeting and a challenge at the same time.

She squinted at him. “Barely.”

He didn’t smile, but his mouth shifted, just enough to make her wonder if she’d passed some kind of test.

“Bag in the back?” he asked.

“Unless there’s room for me to emotionally collapse on it, yeah.”

He popped the trunk without a word.

Of course his trunk was organized. Not neurotically so, but enough to make her feel immediately self-conscious about the contents of her bag, which included an unwashed hoodie, three different snack pouches, and a copy of The Idiot that she hadn’t opened since 2021. He had a soft-sided cooler, a rolled sweatshirt, a single canvas tote, and a car emergency kit that looked unopened but also alphabetized.

She placed her bag beside his, closed the trunk carefully, and opened the passenger door.

The scent hit her first.

She paused.

“Seriously?” she muttered under her breath.

The car smelled like cedarwood and something smoky, maybe sandalwood or something else she couldn’t place but made her want to crawl into the glove compartment and die. It was clean. Not “just detailed” clean, but like someone had wiped the dashboard with an actual cloth and then decided to be a better person in the process.

She slid in, shut the door, and stared at the cupholder.

There was a travel mug waiting there. Ceramic. Matte black. Condensation beading at the rim.

She looked at him. He was already buckled, adjusting the rearview mirror with the kind of quiet confidence that made her want to pick a fight.

“What is this?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her. “Hope.”

She blinked.

“With oat milk,” he added.

Her throat caught. “How did you—?”

“You told Claire at the Christmas party. Said it was the only thing keeping you from setting the copier on fire.”

She stared.

“She thought it was funny,” he said. “I thought it was understandable.”

Y/N picked up the mug. Warm. Smelled good. Sharp and cinnamon-laced and completely unfair.

She took a sip.

It was perfect.

She took another sip, more to prove she wasn’t grateful than because she needed it.

He pulled out of the driveway, turned onto the main road, and the silence settled in like fog.

-By the second stoplight, she’d counted five things she already hated about this.

1. He hadn’t asked if she was comfortable.

2. He hadn’t asked what she wanted to listen to.

3. He hadn’t made any effort to make small talk.

4. He drove like someone who thought he knew better than Google Maps.

5. His sweatshirt looked too soft for someone who probably ironed his pillowcases.

She glanced at him.

He had one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift like he’d been born to look mildly disapproving of everything. His profile was sharper than she remembered. His jaw tense. His brow relaxed, but focused. He didn’t look tired. He looked deliberate.

She hated that word. It sounded like something Claire would say about a man she wanted to fix.

“So,” she said, breaking the awkward quiet like a hammer to glass. “Do you make every woman you road trip with make a vow of silence?”

He didn’t flinch. “Only the interesting ones.”

She sipped her coffee. “Guess I’m safe, then.”

“Too early to tell.”

Her head turned sharply toward the window so he wouldn’t see her smile.

The silence after that was longer.

They drove past rows of identical houses, a gas station, a strip mall with one of those apocalyptic Sears buildings that still had signage but no lights. She counted her breaths. She counted the cracks in the road. She thought about Claire, and Ben, and the way people chose each other like items on a menu—easy to reorder, easy to replace.

She hated the ache that was starting to settle in her ribs. Not sharp. Just dull. Like a bruise she kept pressing to make sure it was still there.

“Playlist?” Harry asked suddenly.

She jumped slightly. “Sorry?”

“Do you have one?”

“For what?”

“For this.”

“This as in… the drive?”

He nodded. “Or we can do silence. I’m fine either way.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You say that like silence is a virtue.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes it is.”

“You say that like someone who’s never been trapped in a car with a talker.”

“Worse,” he said. “A karaoke person.”

Y/N made a face. “You don’t sing in the car?”

“Only to prove a point.”

“What kind of point?”

“The kind where people stop asking me to.”

She stared at him. “That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You haven’t heard my rendition of Wonderwall.”

She snorted into her coffee.

He didn’t look at her. But his hand tapped the steering wheel once. Twice.

“I have a playlist,” she said after a beat.

He glanced over.

“It’s called Escaping the Ashes of Ben’s Assholeishness,” she said, completely straight-faced.

His lips twitched. “Catchy.”

“You might not like it.”

“That’s okay.”

“I didn’t make it for you.”

“Even better.”

There were a thousand things she could’ve said next.

Something about the weather. The traffic. A comment on the road signs or the ridiculous names of nearby towns or the way she still hadn’t wrapped her head around the fact that she was in a car with Harry Styles and not her ex-boyfriend, who had somehow been reduced to a soft blur in the background of this new, sharper discomfort.

Instead, she said nothing.

She leaned her head against the window and watched the streetlights flick past like slow, blinking eyelids. There was something grounding about the repetition of it. Familiar. Something she could fall into without thinking too hard.

The playlist she’d pulled up was playing softly through the car speakers. A song she didn’t remember queuing up—something slow and instrumental, meant more for background than singing along. It filled the silence just enough to make it feel intentional.

Harry didn’t speak either.

He drove like someone who liked to be efficient, not fast. No sudden turns, no sharp braking, no muttered curses at traffic. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t check his phone. He didn’t even glance at her unless she moved too suddenly and broke the stillness between them.

She hated how aware of him she was.

It was just… proximity. The awareness of another person in a confined space. The way you could feel someone shift their weight, adjust the air conditioning, take a sip of coffee. The quiet rituals of someone else’s existence playing out next to yours like choreography you hadn’t learned.

He reached for something in the center console. A tiny move. Not dramatic. Not pointed. But her eyes tracked it anyway.

He pulled out a pack of mints.

Offered one to her without looking.

She blinked at it, taken off guard, then took one and mumbled, “Thanks.”

He popped one in his mouth too, then put the pack back without comment.

They drove another three miles in silence.

Then—just as Y/N was beginning to think maybe the silence had shifted from awkward to companionable—Harry reached out and paused her playlist mid-verse.

She blinked. “Excuse you?”

He didn’t look at her. “I’ve been patient.”

“Patient?”

“Yes.”

“It’s been an hour.”

“An hour of acoustic therapy and feelings. I’m losing circulation in my brain.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Are you mocking my playlist?”

“I’m intervening.”

“Harry.”

“It’s all sad-girl-folk and indie men in emotional crises.”

“That’s the vibe.”

“It’s a hostage situation.”

She leaned toward him a little, offended on a spiritual level. “What exactly do you want to listen to, then? Gregorian chants? Ambient rain for men who bottle their feelings?”

He didn’t smile, but his dimple flashed anyway. “I was thinking something with a beat. Something you could tap your foot to without wondering if your ex is dating your therapist.”

“That is an unbelievable mischaracterization of my playlist.”

“I counted three songs that literally had the word ‘devastation’ in the chorus.”

She threw her hands up. “Whatever. The coffee absorbed the playlist, you know. I tasted it.”

“Which explains the lingering aftertaste of betrayal.”

She gaped. “You wouldn’t know real music if it punched you in the face and forced you to drive cross-country with it.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a warning.”

He reached for the console again, and she smacked his hand away. Lightly. Mostly on principle.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered. “The disrespect. The treason.”

“I just want to show you what Real music sounds like.”

“I’m sorry—did you say Real music? Like, capital-R real?”

He nodded solemnly. “Uncomplicated. Joyful. No metaphors involving weather patterns or seasonal depression.”

“You mean trash.”

“I mean taste.”

“Fine,” she snapped, yanking her phone out of the aux cord and tossing it into the cupholder like she was surrendering a weapon. “Let’s hear it. Educate me, Styles.”

He clicked something on his own phone. The speakers crackled.

Then, unapologetically, the opening horns of “September” by Earth, Wind & Fire filled the car.

Y/N blinked. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just raised an eyebrow, smug. “Tell me this doesn’t slap.”

“I will not.”

“I knew it.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re lucky this is a classic.”

He nodded toward her. “You’re welcome.”

She muttered, “Still treason.”

But she didn’t stop tapping her foot.

-

Eventually, she sat up straighter and reached for her bag.

Harry glanced over. “Need something?”

“Snack,” she muttered, unzipping the top flap.

She rummaged through a tangle of receipts, a hairbrush, a travel-sized deodorant, and a book she knew she wouldn’t read, then pulled out a half-squished protein bar and a small bag of sour gummies.

When she glanced up, he was watching her.

Not judging. Just… curious.

“What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked back at the road. “You’re the first person I’ve seen mix beef jerky with peach rings.”

She grinned. “I’m a woman of depth.”

“You’re a woman of chaos.”

She shrugged and tore open the bag. “Want one?”

He hesitated. Then, surprisingly, said, “Yeah.”

She held it out, palm open.

He grabbed one. Popped it in his mouth like it was a dare.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

Then: “Terrible.”

She smiled.

It didn’t get easier after that. Not really. But something shifted.

Like an ice cube sliding to the bottom of a glass.

There was still silence, but it changed shape. Less sharp. Less performative. Like they’d agreed, silently, not to fight each other for control of it anymore.

She still wasn’t sure what she thought of him.

He wasn’t warm. He wasn’t friendly. But he wasn’t cruel, either. He was… dry. Thoughtful. Occasionally funny in a way that took her a beat too long to register.

She wondered what Claire had seen in him.

And then immediately hated herself for wondering.

She didn’t want to think about Claire. About Ben. About how they were probably already halfway to the lake house, laughing, adjusting the radio, sharing snacks like this whole thing hadn’t cost anything.

She bit down hard on another gummy and forced herself not to spiral.

-

An hour passed. Then another.

The sun rose higher. The road got quieter.

Somewhere past a county line she didn’t catch, Harry pulled off onto a small exit and parked beside a mostly empty gas station.

“We should stretch,” he said simply, already unbuckling his seatbelt.

Y/N blinked. “We’ve been in the car for like two hours.”

“Exactly.”

She rolled her eyes, but followed him out.

The morning air was warmer now, heavy with humidity and the smell of asphalt. She stretched her arms overhead and let her spine crack. Harry rounded the car to check the trunk—not for any reason she could see, just a ritual, maybe. Something to do with his hands.

She watched him lean in. The shape of his shoulders under his sweatshirt. The way he squinted against the sun.

He was quiet in a way that made you want to fill the silence. But also… didn’t mind when you didn’t.

She didn’t say anything.

They stood there for a beat—both on opposite sides of the car, pretending they didn’t notice each other pretending not to look.

Then he said, “You want a drink?”

She blinked. “From the gas station?”

“No, from the champagne bar next door.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure. Surprise me.”

He paused. “That’s a dangerous request.”

“I like dangerous,” she said automatically, then immediately regretted it.

He didn’t comment. Just turned and walked inside.

She stood by the car and let herself breathe.

The air was thick. Her shirt clung to her back. Her skin felt too loud. This whole trip was still a terrible idea—but at least it was her terrible idea.

She took another breath. Looked up at the sky.

Waited.

A bell jingled faintly from inside the gas station.

Y/N shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then bent down to retie her sneaker for no reason at all. Her thoughts were loud in the kind of way that made everything else go muffled. Too many layers pressing in at once.

Her body was here—standing in some no-name town parking lot in a sweatshirt she’d slept in, next to a man she barely knew—and her mind was somewhere else entirely. On the cabin. On the trip. On the fact that Claire had texted the group chat that morning with a photo of the lake, the caption “Already missing you all 😭☀️” like she hadn’t detonated everyone’s lives like a bottle rocket in a paper bag.

Ben had liked the message.

Y/N hadn’t opened it. But she’d seen the preview. She always saw the preview.

She clenched her jaw and squinted at the sun.

The door opened behind her. She turned.

Harry walked toward her, holding two drinks and a small paper bag. His sweatshirt sleeves were pushed halfway up his forearms, and he looked annoyingly like a catalog ad for “man who actually hydrates.”

He handed her a bottle. “Coconut water. With pineapple. I don’t know why.”

She took it without comment. “Bold choice.”

He shrugged. “You said surprise you.”

“I thought you’d go for something weird. Like pickle juice.”

“That’s for emergencies.”

She snorted. “You’ve had pickle juice in an emergency?”

“Multiple times.”

“You concern me.”

“Good.”

He handed her the bag next. “And this is insurance.”

She peeked inside. Salt and vinegar chips. Her favorite. The kind no one ever bought because they smelled like regret and tasted like childhood trauma.

She raised an eyebrow. “How did you—?”

“You smell like salt and vinegar chips.”

She blinked.

He deadpanned, “In a good way.”

She stared at him. “You are so weird.”

He took a sip of his drink. “Takes one to road trip with one.”

They got back in the car with slightly less formality than before.

The first leg of the drive had been stiff—two strangers in a borrowed narrative. Now, something had softened at the edges. Not warmth, exactly, but give. Like maybe neither of them had the energy to keep up the armor.

Harry passed her the aux cord.

She blinked. “Really?”

“I’ve accepted that my taste in music is wrong.”

She grinned and took it. “Wow. Growth.”

“It’s the coconut water. It’s humbling.”

She plugged in her phone and queued up her real playlist—not the petty one she’d joked about, but the one she’d made the night before, lying awake on her sister’s couch, scrolling through songs she used to love before she started thinking about Ben every time the chorus hit.

It was a little sad. A little nostalgic. Some Phoebe Bridgers. Some Noah Kahan. A surprisingly upbeat Maggie Rogers track she wasn’t ready to delete.

The first song started. Something acoustic and slow.

Harry didn’t comment. He just drove.

-

They passed the first state sign a few minutes later.

“Welcome to Indiana,” it said.

Y/N stared out the window.

“God, this state is flat.”

Harry hummed. “It’s a character builder.”

“You ever driven it before?”

He nodded once. “Last summer.”

“With Claire?”

His jaw twitched. Just slightly.

She looked at him. “Sorry. That was—”

“It’s fine.”

She paused. “You don’t have to talk about her.”

“I don’t plan to.”

“Okay.”

They drove in silence for a minute.

Then he said, quietly, “You don’t have to either.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Ben. Claire. The whole thing. You don’t have to explain it to me.”

She exhaled slowly. “Thanks.”

He nodded.

Another mile passed.

Then she said, “He told me over text.”

Harry didn’t respond.

She glanced at him. “Did you know?”

He shook his head. “Found out the same day.”

“Oh.”

Another pause.

“He didn’t even call,” she said, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “Just… texted. Said they didn’t plan it. Like that made it better.”

Harry’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “She said the same to me.”

Y/N blinked. “They really rehearsed that line, huh?”

He didn’t smile. But the corner of his mouth lifted like a twitch of recognition.

“They probably high-fived after,” she said.

“Used Comic Sans in the group chat.”

“Changed their couple name to ‘Clairben.’”

Harry snorted.

Y/N stared at him.

“You can laugh?” she asked, mock-shocked.

He looked over. “Barely.”

“Well, I’m honored.”

“You’re the only person I’d let joke about it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why me?”

He shrugged. “You’re the only one who lost what I did.”

The quiet stretched between them like something intimate.

Then she said, “God, that was a lot for hour three.”

He nodded. “We can go back to talking about pickle juice if it helps.”

She laughed.

Not a sharp, sarcastic one.

A real one.

The kind that felt like something cracking open, just a little.

-

“This is going to get old fast,” she said, voice scratchy with disuse.

Harry glanced over. “What is?”

“Us. Pretending we’re both above this. Like we’re not dying to ask each other a hundred things.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he said, “You first.”

She hesitated.

“Go on,” he said, glancing at her with something dangerously close to amusement. “Ask what you want to ask.”

She considered him.

Then: “What do you listen to when no one’s around?”

His mouth pulled to the side. “What makes you think I don’t want people to know?”

“You insulted my playlist.”

“I insulted your emotional soundtrack. Big difference.”

She grinned. “So what is it, then? Classical? Country? Binaural beats for introspective brooding?”

He clicked the blinker and passed a semi-truck before answering.

Then he said, deadpan, “Taylor Swift.”

She blinked. “Shut up.”

“Not all of it. Just the sad ones.”

“That’s all of it.”

He shrugged.

“No way.”

“‘The Archer’ makes me feel things.”

She stared at him, slack-jawed. “You’re kidding.”

He didn’t respond.

“Oh my god.”

He reached into the center console, pulled out his phone, and handed it to her. Unlocked. Open to Spotify.

She scrolled.

There it was.

‘slow sad soft girl stuff’

Followed by a second playlist:

‘but make it worse’

She cackled.

“You’re a fraud.”

“I’m layered.”

“This is better than therapy.”

“Good. You still owe me for the coffee.”

She handed his phone back, still laughing, and shook her head. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“You will.”

He said it like it wasn’t a threat. Like it was a fact.

And for the first time since getting in the car, Y/N wasn’t sure if she wanted to argue with him.

-

They crossed the Ohio border sometime after noon.

There was no grand moment to mark it—no welcome sign, no sudden scenic shift, no playlist change that declared new state, new energy. Just a quiet, almost imperceptible flicker in the landscape. Like someone had dimmed the edges of the world just slightly and turned up the saturation.

The air outside was different. Thicker, maybe. The clouds looked lower, stretched across the sky like someone had dragged a thumb through watercolor. The green of the trees deepened. The horizon moved closer.

Y/N cracked the passenger window two inches.

It let in a soft stream of warm, highway-scented air: part grass, part exhaust, part something faintly metallic and nostalgic. It wasn’t fresh exactly, but it was real. Unfiltered. A reminder that the world outside the car still existed, even if everything inside it had started to feel like a suspended dream.

Harry didn’t say anything.

He just adjusted his own window in response—mirroring hers almost exactly. Not quite open, not quite shut.

It was such a small thing. So easy to miss.

But her stomach fluttered anyway.

She told herself it was the air.

They didn’t talk for a while after that. And the silence this time wasn’t the same as before.

It was… still.

Not tense. Not bored. Not even peaceful.

Just still.

Like both of them had finally exhausted the need to posture. Or like they’d sunk into the drive, accepting that the car was its own universe now, separate from the lake house waiting at the end and all the people inside it they didn’t want to see.

Y/N pressed her forehead lightly to the cool edge of the window glass and stared at the blur of countryside rolling past. Faded red barns. Billboards half-eaten by time. Rows of cornstalks standing tall like sentries with nothing better to do.

She felt… quiet inside.

Not numb. But not angry either.

And not okay.

But closer to it than she’d felt in days.

Her phone buzzed in the cupholder. She ignored it.

The group chat had gone off three times since they got back on the road.

She knew it was Claire. It was always Claire. Claire and her sunny updates and peppy links and “so excited for this week!!” energy like she hadn’t just rewired the entire social structure of their friend group without asking.

Y/N didn’t want to see it.

She didn’t want to see if Ben was typing back. Or if no one was. Or if someone had the audacity to laugh-react to something she said.

The longer she went without looking, the heavier the phone seemed to grow.

Still, she left it.

She focused instead on the slow pull of the road. On the sound of Harry’s turn signal when he moved into the left lane. On the low hum of the tires beneath them. On the way the light filtered through the windshield and hit the edge of his profile like a spotlight he was determined to ignore.

His jaw was tight. But not angry. Just… alert.

He hadn’t spoken in almost an hour.

Y/N didn’t know why that made her want to speak more.

“So,” she said, voice a little too loud in the quiet, “are you one of those people who refuses to stop unless someone’s actively pissing in the car?”

Harry glanced at her, barely moving. “I’ll stop whenever.”

“Will you?”

He nodded. “If it’s necessary.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And what counts as necessary?”

“Bathroom. Gas. Snacks. Existential breakdown.”

She tilted her head. “How many of those have you had today?”

He pretended to think. “Two.”

She laughed.

“I was going to stop in about twenty minutes,” he added. “There’s a place I know. Quiet. Not too gross.”

She blinked. “You plan your rest stops?”

He shrugged, eyes back on the road. “Only if I’m not traveling alone.”

Y/N folded her arms, studying him. “Is that supposed to be thoughtful or controlling?”

“Take your pick.”

She didn’t answer.

Because both were true. And because the longer she looked at him, the more she didn’t know what she was looking for.

-

The rest stop wasn’t flashy.

Just a little gas station off the highway, next to a faded diner that looked like it hadn’t changed its menu since 1994. A few parked cars, one semi, a teenage couple holding hands by the vending machines like the world was ending.

Harry parked in the back of the lot, under a patch of shade.

“You want anything?” he asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“I can come in.”

“You don’t have to.”

She stared at him for a beat. “Don’t make decisions for me.”

He blinked. “I wasn’t.”

She grabbed her wallet. “Good.”

They walked in together.

The inside of the gas station was cold and humming and smelled like three conflicting air fresheners and a fryer that had never fully recovered from its third consecutive oil cycle.

Y/N let out a low breath through her nose as the fluorescent lights buzzed above them like something out of a coming-of-age movie where the protagonist has a panic attack in a cornfield.

Harry headed for the coolers like a man on a mission. He didn’t ask what she wanted. Didn’t offer suggestions. Just grabbed a bottle of water, turned toward the snack aisle, and scanned the options with the intensity of someone trying to defuse a bomb.

Y/N trailed behind him, less decisive. She paused in front of the candy, wondering if she wanted something sweet or something salty, or if she just wanted to stand here for a second longer, in a place that didn’t know anything about her.

Harry plucked a granola bar off the shelf and tossed it into a basket he must’ve grabbed without her noticing. Then he looked over his shoulder.

“Anything?”

She blinked. “I’m debating between Sour Patch Kids and emotional regression.”

He nodded like that was a reasonable choice. “They’re two for $5.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “You’ve done this before.”

“Couple times.”

She studied him. “With Claire?”

His eyes flicked to hers. Then back to the shelves.

“Once,” he said. “She hated long drives.”

Y/N waited. But that was all he offered.

She picked up a pack of peanut butter pretzels and added it to his basket without asking.

They paid at the self-checkout, standing side by side like civilians in line for jury duty. Harry scanned the drinks, the bars, the gummy candy, and pulled a five from his wallet before Y/N could even reach for hers.

“You don’t have to—” she started.

“I want to,” he said simply.

She didn’t argue.

She wasn’t sure why.

-

Outside, they found a bench tucked into the side of the building that was half in the sun and half in the shade. They sat without discussing it, each choosing opposite ends.

Harry unscrewed his water bottle and took a sip.

Y/N opened the pretzels and offered him the bag. He took one without looking.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the cars drift in and out of the lot, like time was trickling sideways.

Y/N let her head fall back against the wall behind them.

“Do you miss her?” she asked, before she could think better of it.

Harry didn’t flinch. But he didn’t answer right away either.

Then: “No.”

She turned to look at him.

He was still staring ahead, expression unreadable.

“I miss the shape she left,” he said after a moment. “But not her.”

Y/N blinked.

That was too honest. Too clean. Like he’d been waiting to say it to someone, even if he didn’t realize it until just now.

She swallowed. “I don’t know if I miss Ben or just the idea of not having to start over.”

Harry nodded.

“That’s the worst part,” she added. “The paperwork of it all.”

“The what?”

“The breakup admin,” she said, waving a hand. “Deleting playlists. Untangling passwords. Having to tell your landlord. Or your mom.”

His mouth curved just slightly. “Yeah.”

Y/N looked down at the bottle in her hands. Watched condensation slide over her thumb.

“I haven’t cried,” she said, more to the bottle than to him.

Harry didn’t respond.

She turned toward him. “Do you think that’s normal?”

He shifted slightly. “I haven’t either.”

They looked at each other.

Not in a cinematic way.

Just… long enough.

Long enough for it to feel like a kind of agreement. A pact sealed in shared inertia.

“Ready?” he asked eventually, voice quieter now.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

But neither of them moved.

-

They didn’t talk much on the way back to the car.

Harry held the door open for her—not dramatically, just like it was something he always did—and she climbed in without comment. The air inside was warm again, the kind of still that settled when heat built up through windows and expectation.

He turned the ignition.

The playlist resumed.

But it felt different now. Like the words sat heavier. Like every lyric was now a little too close to things they’d said out loud.

Y/N reached for her phone in the cupholder. Her finger hovered over the screen. She didn’t want to skip the song—but she didn’t want to hear it, either.

“You want something else?” Harry asked without looking.

She paused. “You mind?”

He shook his head. “Dealer’s choice.”

She scrolled for a moment. Then tapped into an older playlist. Something less curated. A mix of upbeat tracks she’d added at random over the past few years. A little chaotic. A little messy. But real.

The opening chords of “You Make My Dreams” by Hall & Oates filled the car.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“What?” she said, adjusting her seatbelt. “It’s a bop.”

He didn’t answer. Just glanced sideways at her.

She grinned. “If you don’t sing the chorus, you’re a sociopath.”

He stared straight ahead. Completely blank.

Y/N pointed at him. “You’re thinking about it.”

“I’m thinking about muting it.”

She gasped, clutching her chest in mock horror. “The betrayal.”

“I have a reputation to protect.”

“Oh yeah? What reputation is that? Local sad man with tragic playlists and no rhythm?”

He deadpanned, “Rhythm is for the emotionally needy.”

She smacked his arm.

Just lightly. But the moment her fingers touched him, she felt it.

Warmth.

Tension.

An awareness that settled fast and sharp in her chest.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. But his jaw ticked.

Y/N pulled her hand back and looked out the window like she hadn’t noticed.

-

Twenty minutes passed.

The playlist ran through two pop bangers, one throwback, and a cover of “Fast Car” that Harry didn’t comment on but she caught him listening to—subtle, but there in the way his thumb tapped once against the wheel in rhythm.

The sun was higher now, and the inside of the car was bright. It lit up the dust on the dashboard. The curve of Harry’s wrist. The faint smudge of sunscreen on Y/N’s knee where she hadn’t rubbed it in all the way.

She glanced at him.

He looked relaxed. Or as close to relaxed as someone like him could get. One arm resting on the center console, the other loose on the wheel. His mouth was slightly parted. His hair had mostly fallen out of the clip now and curled around his temples like he didn’t care.

She hated how much she wanted to touch it.

Which, of course, meant she couldn’t think about anything else.

He broke the silence first.

“I used to drive just to drive,” he said, voice low and casual.

Y/N turned toward him.

He didn’t look at her. “Like, when I couldn’t sleep. I’d just get in the car and go. No destination.”

She didn’t respond. Just waited.

“I liked being in motion,” he added. “It made things feel less stuck.”

Y/N swallowed.

“Claire didn’t get it,” he said. “She always thought I was running away.”

“And were you?”

He glanced at her. “No.”

She looked out the window. “I think I was.”

They didn’t say anything for a long time after that.

-

They drove another thirty miles without a word.

But somehow it didn’t feel silent.

There were too many things pressing against the quiet now—shared snacks, shared playlists, the memory of that shoulder touch neither of them had acknowledged but both had felt. And the rest stop. And the cookie. And the part where he’d said “You’re the only one who lost what I did.”

All of it buzzed just under the surface.

Like a song you knew the words to but were too afraid to sing.

Y/N didn’t try to fill the space. She didn’t need to. The stillness had texture now. A rhythm. A shape. And every so often, when the wind shifted through the cracked window or Harry adjusted the mirror or her knee bumped the side of the console, it felt like the quiet might dissolve entirely.

It didn’t.

But it could have.

And that was worse.

-

They were just outside Columbus when the sky started to change.

It wasn’t dramatic—no thunder, no sirens, no ominous clouds—but the light dimmed gradually. Like someone had turned down the contrast on the world. The warmth faded. The sky went flat. A breeze kicked up across the open fields on either side of the highway.

Y/N sat up a little. “Is it supposed to rain?”

Harry didn’t check the weather. Just flicked the windshield wipers once to test them and said, “Probably.”

A few minutes later, it started.

Not a downpour—just a slow, steady patter. Enough to blur the edges of the road. Enough to make the interior of the car feel even quieter. Even smaller.

She pulled her sweatshirt sleeves over her hands.

Harry didn’t say anything. Just turned the music down slightly and leaned forward like he was settling in for something.

They passed a rest area and a church and a field of wind turbines that stood like patient giants in the haze.

Y/N reached for her phone, checked the time, checked the map, then put it down again.

Four hours to go.

She exhaled, tried to hide it.

Harry noticed.

“You okay?” he asked, not pressing.

She shrugged. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

“Everything I haven’t dealt with yet.”

He was quiet for a beat.

Then: “You have to, eventually.”

She looked at him. “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

He glanced over. “You haven’t cried.”

She frowned. “Neither have you.”

“I’m not saying I’m a good example.”

She huffed a quiet laugh.

He added, “I’m just saying… eventually, it catches up.”

Y/N stared out the window again.

“Do you want it to?” she asked.

Harry didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly: “Sometimes I think I’d rather break all at once than leak forever.”

That hit her in the chest.

She blinked. Hard.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “You can’t just say things like that while driving through cornfields.”

His mouth twitched. “Sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“No,” he admitted. “I’m not.”

They didn’t speak again for a while.

But it was different now.

The quiet wasn’t holding back anymore.

It was waiting.

-

They stopped for gas just past Dayton, and Y/N went inside to stretch and pretend she wasn’t watching how long he stayed in the car after she left.

She bought two granola bars and a pack of gum. Put her phone on airplane mode. Washed her hands slowly. Avoided her own reflection in the bathroom mirror because she didn’t want to see how tired she looked. How vulnerable.

When she came back out, Harry had one leg up on the driver’s seat, door open, rain lightly misting his hair.

He looked at her like he was about to say something.

Didn’t.

She got in the car.

He followed.

- 

The final hour of the drive passed in near silence.

She didn’t mind it.

By then, everything that needed to be said had already happened between the lines.

By the music.

By the food.

By the window rolled down in unspoken agreement.

She watched the sky start to clear again. Watched his knuckles shift on the wheel. Watched herself in the passenger-side mirror and thought, I don’t know this man. But I don’t think I mind being stuck with him.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Taglist: @this-is-tiny-mia @goldensunflowerssss-blog @notsosweetcreature @ohmygoldboots @pradastardust @hsbbyhunny @meganrose139 @reeadyreeady @harrys-flower-vol-6 @sunshinextemptress94 @somebunnybaby @justsimplybands @witch-rry

Next Part

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

July 2nd

~*~

1. Hi! I'm in the mood for...

A) Any fics where Wei Wuxian gave his golden core to Lan Wangji, because just imagine the angst that could come from it.

B) Fics where Wei Wuxian lives an ordinary life and Lan Wangji still finds and falls in love with him. Optional if Wei Wuxian is also a cultivator, he just prefers to not do that; sometimes, you just want a more peaceful life, you know?

C) Anything where the Burial Mounds are inextricably tied to Wei Wuxian, after his 3-month stint, like he's a walking avatar for them; bonus points if he sometimes speaks for the souls there or they speak through him.

Honestly, that last one could be Wangxian or gen, I just really like the idea of Wei Wuxian being essentially possessed by the Burial Mounds.

Thanks in advance!

1B)

and his wanting grows teeth by yukla (T, 25k, WangXian, AU in canon setting, lwj is a traveling cultivator, wwx is the adopted son of a village chief, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pining, the smallest bit of mystery, typical jiang family dynamics, warmth and belonging and the conflict between duty and desires, light elements of horror, and his wanting grows teeth [podfic] by esbielle)

❤️ Seen and not heard by eatmyass (E, 51k, wangxian, case fic, no sunshot, kid fic, dadxian, strangers to lovers, found family, LWJ pov, pining, fake/pretend relationship, first time, falling in love)

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

Inter-Sect Politics for the Absolute Beginner by Elpie (Horribibble) (M, 3k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Brothels, BAMF WWX, Chaotic WWX, Humor, JGS Being an Asshole, Justice, JGY & WWX Friendship)

Hidden in the Clouds by Karmiya (E, 17k, WIP, WangXian, Teenage Wangxian, historical sex work)

1C)

🔒 between the shadow and the soul by Reverie (cl410) (M, 22k, wangxian, JYL/WQ, JC/NHS, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family, Dark WWX, Feral WWX, Memory Loss, Magic, Magical Realism, Protective LWJ, Protective JC, Protective JYL, Grief, BAMF WWX, POV Alternating)

build me no shrines by occultings (microcomets) (M, 54k, WangXian, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, First Time, Getting Together, Confessions, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sentient Burial Mounds, Case Fic, Post-Canon, CQL Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Light Angst, Flashbacks, mild body horror, foot washing, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy, …then sexual intimacy, playing fast and loose with mdzs lore, WWX learning to accept intimacy without deflection, occasional LWJ humor agenda, 🔒[Podfic] build me no shrines by flamingwell)

Florescendo by flowercity (FaoriE) (T, 9k, WangXian, Sentient Burial Mounds, Canon Compliant, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Introspection, there are wangxian scenes but theyre not the focus, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, poetic prose, Character Study, Parallels)

Looked so alive, turns out i’m not real by KatAnni (M, 36k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sunshot Campaign, Canon-Typical Violence, Heavy Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, Necromancy, Demonic Cultivation, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sentient Burial Mounds, WWX’s Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies)

Cultivating immortality by KizuKatana (E, 231k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Mutual Pining, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, unreliable narrator, Found Family, First Time, novel canon relationship dynamics)

🔒💙 A Heart Undying by NonsensicalRambling (M, 114k, WangXian, Undead WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical dead things the burial mounds, Fix-It of Sorts, Canon Divergence, Eventual WangXian, No Yīn Tiger Seal, Morally Gray WWX, Animals Eating People, WWX’s questionable choices, Morally conflicted LWJ, Oblivious WWX, WWX Creates a Sect | Yiling Wei, YLLZ WWX, Sect Leader WWX, LWJ & WQ have an Understanding) (link in #17)

~*~

2. Hi hi! This is my first time doing this so I’m not sure if I’m dining this right. I’m in the mood for a deaf wei Ying fanfic. There was one fanfic I remember reading where the cast were reacting to the show or book and it had Wei ying be deaf and Lan Zhan was translating for him. Though I am in the mood for any other good Deaf WWX fic @idol-fan-eve

please don’t let me be misunderstood by sysrae (T, 3k, WangXian, Modern, College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, getting hit by cars, Past Child Abuse, Friends to Lovers, Abusive YZY, Caring LWJ, Injured WWX)

A Silent Song by SpicyReyes (E, 3k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Deaf!WWX AU, fix it....?, tentative fix it label ig, Temporary Character Death, novel canon)

🔒 A Comedy of Errors by stiltonbasket (G, 1k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Deaf WWX, Misunderstandings, Comedy, wwx Cannot Hear and he's using it to his advantage, Sign Language)

one october day; by Red (zuwujun) (M, 107k, WangXian, PTSD, Traumatic Brain Injury, Established WangXian, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Car Accidents, Triggers, Modern AU, Deaf/HOH character, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Memory Loss, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending)

Mo Dao Zu Shi: 观看: 《桀骜不驯编年史 {Watch: The Untamed Chronicles} by SilverBeetle (G, 63k, WIP, WangXian, Poly Junior quartet, Deaf WWX Not Deaf MXY, two time periods, Watching the Show, watching the series, WWX falls into water during Waterborne Abyss, Mix between book donghua and TV series, Mentions of kidnapping, talk of kidnapping, Shown Kidnapping, Shown Torture, Desertion Talk, WWX is on the Asexuality Spectrum, Genderqueer WWX, YLLZ WWX, Kidnapped WWX, BAMF WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Mpreg, Miscommunication, Golden Core Reveal, Fluff and Angst, Sentient Golden Core, Sentient Blood Core, Intersex WWX, Protective LQR, Protective LWJ, Good Uncle LQR)

~*~

3. itmf fics that surround wwx pregnancy. i know you have a comp for that but i need one that just talks about the journey of his pregnancy @mikaoyoo

Train Rides Change Everything by Seriana (E, 508k, WangXian, SangXu, ChengJue, ChenLi, Modern AU, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Mpreg, Abusive Jiang Family, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Slut Shaming, Fluff and Angst, Unplanned Pregnancy, Abusive YZY, Bad Parents JFM and YZY, Beta JC, Omega JYL, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Beta NHS, WC Being an Asshole, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Misunderstandings, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scenting, Scent Marking, Slow Burn, Forced Marriage, First Time, Forced Bitching - Omegaverse, Alpha WX, Minor Character Death, Murder, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, drug overdose, Sexual Tension, Omega JC)

On The Way Home by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 58k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mpreg, Non-a/b/o mpreg, Unprotected Sex, Unexpected Pregnancy, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Pining while fucking)

All I Want by Selenay (E, 47k, WangXian, Modern AU, No Powers, Mpreg, Post Holiday Romance, Consequences, Reunions, Idiots in Love, Teacher WWX, Rating earned in later chapters, Handwavey Biology)

They Have a Son series by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 79k, WangXian, ZhuiYi, Mpreg, overly indulgent nonsense, Curtain Fic)

sweet lotus petals, unfolding in the sun by stiltonbasket (G, 33k, WangXian, Unplanned Pregnancy, Tooth-rotting fluff, Reincarnation, Curtain fic, Mpreg, Medical inaccuracies)

🧡Brilliant Mistake by brooklinegirl (E, 53k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sex Pollen, Mpreg, dubcon, Modern Cultivators, Dubious Medical Science)

~*~

4. Hi! I don’t know if this falls under itmf or looking for a specific fic, but are there any wangxian fics set in the httyd AU? I just watched the new movie a few days ago and can’t get it out of my head. Thanks in advance, you guys are amazing!! @petra2402

Only Time Will Tell by nockingarrows (G, 4k, WangXian, Inspired by How to Train Your Dragon, Mostly Fluff)

🔒Romantic Flight by ClassyGreyDove (howandwhyamistillhere) (G, 984, Female WangXian, Rule 63 Alternate Universe - Always a Different Gender or Sex, Alternate Universe - How to Train Your Dragon Fusion, First Dates)

~*~

5. ITMF: do you know some good het Wangxian fics? Thanks! (I already read "wing bones touching", "The Housewife's Guide to Causing Chaos", "sweet hay and the flowers rising" and the series "queer het wangxian fics my beloveds <3") @dream-about-dancing

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

So You Want to Start a War by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 47k, JGY/QS, JGY/WWX, WangXian, JL & WWX, WIP, Reincarnation, Half-Sibling Incest Mention, QS does the ritual instead of MXY, WWX as a woman, JGY Is His Own Warning, Canon Divergence, A little manipulative WWX, WWX can do almost anything with talismans, cause he is a genius and he founded a whole new way of cultivation half-dead, Impersonation, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, WWX Has PTSD, Pregnancy) Qin Su uses the sacrifice ritual to resurrect Wei Wuxianä

When the Hills Are All Flat, and the Rivers Run Dry by stiltonbasket (G, 13k, WangXian, WIP, Historical, Royalty, Female WWX, Emperor LWJ, Identity Shenanigans, or: the one where bridexian runs away from the emperor, and then runs straight into his arms, Parents LWJ & WWX, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Humor, Love at First Sight, Happy Ending, Female LXC, Gender Changes)

🔒 Marking a Position by exmanhater (E, 6k, WangXian, Pegging, Cunnilingus, Anal Fingering, First Time, Irresponsible Uses of Spiritual Energy, WQ Has a Plan, Makeshift Harnesses, Gender Changes, Always a Different Sex, LWJ's Endless Well of Feelings, Biting, Marking)

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

~*~

6. Hi hi! I've been craving some Lan Zhan AND/OR Wen Qing confronting Madam Yu, lately. I just know those two would not be intimidated by her and also, already cannonically hate her guts postmorthous.

these all have Lan Zhan confronting Madam Yu:

A Measure Of Time by NebulusCharlie (Not Rated, 309k, WangXian, Revenge, Darkji, jiang bashing, Protective LWJ, protective wwx, Time Travel Fix It, good uncle lqr, Murder Babies, Heavy on the angst in the middle but i swear it gets better, Canon Typical Violence, Kidfic, Hugs, Good Parental Figures, Found Family, bad Qingheng-Jun, Heavenly Trials, destroying the Yin Iron pieces)

Consequences by Remma3760 (Not Rated, 58k, WangXian, XiSu, XuanLi, Canonical Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Good Uncle LQR, WWX is a Lan, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Bad Parents JFM and YZY) (),

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious) there are a few confrontations in this fic but the most dramatic occurs in chapter 39

🔒 His Knight in Shining Armour by celerydragon (E, 23k, WangXian, dead dove do not eat, Curses, Sexual Abuse, Child Abuse, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Slut Shaming, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, yu furen sucks, protective lwj, Hurt/Comfort, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, mild dirty talk, Biting, Outdoor Sex) but please mind the tags on this one,

Thunderstorm in the Library Pavilion by ZamaShines (M, 22k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Hurt/Comfort, Bad Parent YZY, Abusive YZY, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Whipping, Astraphobia, phobia - thunder, Thunderstorms, Panic Attacks, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, WWXn Needs a Hug, and gets the hug, Good Sibling JC, Good Uncle LQR, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts)

🧡 To have and to hold by Moominmammashandbag (M, 78k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major character injury, CQL verse, Happy Ending)

use the wood brought in by the tide by Lirazel (M, 27k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Warning for Physical Abuse, Falling In Love With Your Husband, pining for your husband, Sibling solidarity, dealing with your in-laws, lwj’s typical inner maelstrom of emotions, WWX Whump, Protective!LWJ, lwj&jyl friendship, intimate hair brushing, Skinny Dipping, Growing Up, Establishing boundaries)

~*~

7. hi, idk if this is niche but, any wangxian dirty dancing aus?

(now, I've had) the time of my life by fardimensions (E, 4k, WangXian, Dirty Dancing Fusion, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, dance as prelude to sex, Anal Sex, Mirror Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, very little tho, mainly sex and vibes, a brief mention of sex in high school but no one is underage, Summer Camp, Masturbation)

c'mere, lover boy by wynrose (E, 4k, WIP, WangXian, Dirty Dancing AU, Inspired by Dirty Dancing (1987), reluctant dance partners to lovers)

~*~

8. For the next ITMF: I would love any recs that feature Wei Wuxian & Jiang Yanli as a strong platonic relationship (background or not) - whether they're framed as friends, siblings, etc.

Ugly Duckling by Witch_Nova221 (T, 57k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Ballet, Ballet Dancer WWX, Ballet Dancer LWJ, Theatre, Dance School, Swan Lake, Pointe Shoes, boys on pointe, [Podfic of] Ugly Duckling by Witch_Nova221 by AuntieIroh)

Sail Away Sweet Sister by sami (M, 73k, WangXian, YZY/CSSR/MDM Lan, MingLi, Time Travel, EXTREME Canon Divergence, Wide Focus Narrative, Some People Live/Not Everyone Dies, Most Named/Canon Characters Live, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Families of Choice, Parenthood, this work contains a major tonal shift, Fluff, Angst, Underage Sex, not particularly explicit, but not at all ambiguous, PTSD, Only a tiny bit, Unforeseeable consequences, The butterfly effect, Slightly Dark JYL, Asexual Characters, but that’s not really the focus, Canon-Typical Violence, [Podfic] Cold read of Sail Away Sweet Sister by kisahawklin)

🔒 If ever by apathyinreverie (M, 5k, WangXian, Family, Siblings, some darker themes briefly mentioned, Protective JC, Protective JYL, instantly smitten lwj, Yunmeng Siblings Dynamics, street kids jiang siblings, Fluff, Alternate Universe, the war starts earlier, it changes things)

thunderstorms by antebunny (G, 11k, JYL & WWX, JYL & JC, JYL & YZY, canon divergence, fix-it, character study, BAMF JYL, YZY 's A+ parenting, angst, childhood trauma, hurt/comfort, yunmeng siblings, protective siblings, cultivator JYL, OOC JYL)

use the wood brought in by the tide by Lirazel (M, 27k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Warning for Physical Abuse, Falling In Love With Your Husband, pining for your husband, Sibling solidarity, dealing with your in-laws, lwj’s typical inner maelstrom of emotions, WWX Whump, Protective!LWJ, lwj&jyl friendship, intimate hair brushing, Skinny Dipping, Growing Up, Establishing boundaries) (link in #6)

🔒Egg Tarts, Almond Crisps, and Visiting Sects by Winterstar1412 (G, 8k, Yunmeng Siblings-centric, Yunmeng Siblings Dynamics, Yunmeng Siblings Bonding, Yunmeng Jiang Sect, Pre-Canon)

Between the sinners and the saints by Moonlit_dewdrops (T, 16k, WangXian, XuanLi, Time Travel Fix-It, Happy Ending, JYL-centric, Canon Divergence, Family, lots of yunmeng siblings fluff, Soft JC, JYL and JZX Live, WN and WQ live, Found Family, Implied ChengQing, POV JYL, Protective JYL, Badass JYL)

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

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, What if WWX saw the first siege of the burial mounds and said Nope to the war, OCs, OC point-of-view for one chapter for plot reasons) Although it’s a small part of the story, I really love Wei Ying & Jiang Yanli’s dynamic in Lay my body down

~*~

9. hi, itmf fics with lan bros. they can be a background relationship or the main focus. angst, fluff, canon, doesnt matter. My only requirement is that it should make me have feels about them

Meng Yao vs. the Board of the Homeowner’s Association Series by Ariaste (M/T, 119k, WIP, XiYao, WangXian, Modern AU, Established Relationship, xiyao and wangxian are both already married, Family Feels, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Slice of Life, Discussions of Past Trauma, wwx’s canonical kinks, HOAverse) Might not be a perfect fit as it is a series of fics - does have Lan Bros and their chaotic relationships.

A Brother's Woes by pupeez4eva (M, 2k, WangXian, Crack, Humor, Time Travel, Wangxian's usual brand of shamelessness, LXC is just done, Seriously the Hanshi is right next to the Jingshi, he's not getting any sleep guys, LXC goes to the past and decides that agenda no.1 is to stop Wangxian from being quite so shameless) it is crack and awesome. Love LXC and his thought about Wangxian/hus brother.

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

🔒 in the shadow of moonlit flowers by Reverie (cl410) (T, 56k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, cloud recesses, NHS & LWJ friendship, developing relationship, LWJ pov, minor injuries, autistic LWJ, implied/referenced child abuse, aka YZY warning, genius WWX, light angst, hurt/comfort, WWX protection squad)

🔒Whatever you do by apathyinreverie (T, 8k, WangXian, somewhat darker cultivation world, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, BAMF LXC, not Jiang friendly, YZY Bashing, wwx is appreciated, genius wwx, everyone is a little darker in this, except for wwx, who is still sunshine personified, Fluff, Possessive LWJ, Fix-It)

~*~

10. Hi!! I just finished my exams and now I need some feel good recs. Something with good sibling JC or Yunmeng siblings feels, canon divergence or fix-its maybe? A little angst is fine. I have a huge list of fics ready but I wanna start with some sibling love.

Love you, love your work and thank you for all you do. I hope you're happy and healthy, and everything goes well in your life.💕💕 @shylurker111

Losing My Mind by pupeez4eva (T, 6k, wangxian, JC & WWX, Humor, Protective JC, JC drinks a potion that lets him hear people’s lustful thoughts, Teenage LWJ has a lot of feelings, Canon Divergence, Takes place when they are studying in Gusu) a fun story in which JC matchmakes Wangxian and regrets it

❤️ And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 138k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together, And Time is But a Paper Moon [PODFIC] by sami, Winterstar1412, [Podfic] Cold read of And Time Is But A Paper Moon by kisahawklin, multiple translations available) (multiple podfics and translations available) pretty much this whole series has strong good Yunmeng Sibs vibes though also plenty of angst (which is mostly external to the sibs)

Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Fix-It, Lynchpin [PODFIC] by Opalsong, [PODFIC] Lynchpin by Gwogobo)

🔒Continuation by thefaceofno (T, 13k, WangXian, Canon Continuation, wwx builds a lotus pond in cloud recesses, Hair Brushing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, Pining, gay disaster lwj, Post-Canon Fix-It)

Hope Dangling by a String by KouriArashi (M, 70k, wangxian, canon divergence, fix-it, everyone lives, angst w happy ending, hurt/comfort, psychic bond, telepathy, communication, emotional/psychological abuse, jiang family feels, lan family feels, canon-typical violence, canon-typical politics, improper use of sacred forehead ribbons, gratuitous hair washing)

Practical Considerations by teawater, the_anthropologist (E, 97k, WangXian, JC & WWX, LXC & WWX, LQR & WWX, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Found Family, Spouses to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Politics, Scheming, Lán Elders are assholes, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, eventually BAMF LXC, learning to make decisions, Learning Self-worth, Self-Esteem Issues, Sweet Wangxian, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, JC is a big asshole, he improves somewhat but it’s open-ended, WWX learns to stand up for himself, Quote: Come Back to Gusu With Me, POV wwx, POV LWJ, POV JC, Golden Core Reveal, Teacher wwx, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Sunshot Campaign, WWX Protection Squad, Feelings Realization, WWX protector of the twin jades, Protective LWJ, Protective WWX, Protective LQR, Demonic Cultivator WWX, WWX is Loved, Married WangXian, Genius WWX, Everybody Lives)

what was once your pain (will be your home) by Jenrose (T, 51k, WWX & WZL, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Sunshot Campaign, Golden Core Reveal, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, POV WZL, Enemies to Bodyguard, Location: Burial Mounds, grievous bodily harm, But they get better, eventually, Graphic Descriptions of Physical Injuries and the Aftermath)

in a dream, i was home by thelastdboy (M, 25k, WangXian, POV LWJ, Canon Divergence, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds, Time Travel Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Different First Meeting, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, Sentient Burial Mounds, CSSR and WCZ Live, Families of Choice, Protective LWJ, Everybody Lives, Temporary Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, WWX Leaves the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, Golden Core Reveal, Fluff, Developing Relationship, Wen Remnants Live, WQ Lives, WN Lives, No Sunshot Campaign, BAMF WWX)

a life without sun by thankgodforpandas (T, 30k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Mutual Pining)

family by antebunny (G, 8k, WangXian, XuanLi, Fix-It, Angst, Fluff, Found Family, actual family, Everybody Lives, JC is a good bro, Epic Tsundere JC, wwx's horde of gremlin children, Canon Divergence)

~*~

11. Hello! Does anyone have recommendations for fics where WWX sets out to seduce and win over Lan Zhan, without knowing LWJ is already down bad for him?

I would love some arranged marriage au, or maybe WWX doing it for other reasons, like wanting to marry lwj to get away from Lotus Pier/Madam Yu.

Thank you!

Mutually Assured Seduction by misscam (M, 4k, WangXian, Fluff, Humor, Sexual Humor, Sexual Content, CQL!verse, some inspiration from the novel, Post-Canon)

願陛下 | by his majesty's decree by sweetlolixo (E, 40k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Concubine WWX, Harems, Pining LWJ, LWJ is not a dragon in this one but he descended from them :), Childhood Sweethearts (sort of), Romance, minimal angst, Happy Ending, NHS & WWX are concubine BFFs, LWJ has NO EYES for anyone besides WWX don’t worry the harem is only for the plot setting, Fantasy, Pregnant WWX, Possessive LWJ, Fluff) If a royalty AU is ok, then I’d also recommend 願陛下 | by his majesty's decree

~*~

12. Hi!! For the next itmf I’m looking for lwj reacting differently to the “you’re in love with mianmian” thing? Either some canon divergence at the xuanwu cave or even a modern au with a parallel situation is super welcome 🤗 @pinsluke

~*~

13. hi! this is an itmf request and i'm looking for anything with a) somewhat of a focus on wwx being thin or having at least somewhat disordered eating (from burial mounds/starving as a child/mistreatment or otherwise such as eating disorders). also would be great if there's recovery or lwj noticing. i've read one or two where lwj is happy to see the weight gain on wwx and is obsessed with his tummy or any healthy weight on him so if there's anything with that too that'd be great. modern or canon time is fine! and b) any focus on jgs being generally gross, especially with wwx. any sort of harassment or innuendos or anything like that. or any focus on wwx dealing with that sort of thing from anyone really. it'd be great if someone noticed and like stepped in or anything but it's fine if it's something he hides and people don't realize until later.

thank you so much for all your hard work! :)

13A)

a kind of emptiness by ScarlettStorm (E, 11k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Eating Disorders, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorder Recovery, low angst, Happy Ending, seriously in spite of the tags this fic is very soft, Tender smut, Frottage, Praise Kink, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note) Specifically about eating disorder

leave all your love and your longing behind by ScarlettStorm (E, 143k, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic, Meet-Ugly, Panic Attacks, autistic lwj, neurodivergent wwx, the neighborhood asshole dog, if you’ve met one then you know, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Happy Ending, for everyone including the asshole dog, Eventual Smut, switch rights, Sex Toys, horny yearning, Masturbation) Food issues in backstory, happily chubby now (and appreciated by LWJ)

💖 the absence of hunger by parsnipit (M, 27k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Starvation, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Body Worship, Praise Kink, ft. WWX’s really fucked up relationship with food, PTSD, Flashbacks, Blood and Injury, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Cannibalism)

🔒the aftertaste of desperation by moonshine (princemin) (M, 4k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Nightmares, Cannibalism, Corpse Eating, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Trauma, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

underweight by sixstepsaway (E, 7k, WangXian, sex used as bribery lmao, Eating Disorders, Anxiety, full time dom!LWJ, consensual control, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs)

13B)

Wei Wuxian, Who's That? by bumbledees (T, 48k, wangxian, crossdressing, pining, sibling feels) note that Wei Ying is dressed as a woman when Jin Guangshan propositions him in this one

Cotton Wool by incendir (M, 34k, WangXian, LJY/OMC, ZhuiLing) which isn't really tagged but does get quite dark

~*~

14. hiya! this is an itmf request!!! i was wondering if there's any fics out there where wwx had a kid and either lost it or maybe gave it up? i've seen the one where jin ling was his biological child that he gave up to jyl and jzx bc of their issues with fertility, anything like that. it can be lwj's kid or not! preferably with lwj not having known about the pregnancy or child, and maybe not finding out until much later. tysmmmm!

I'll Take Such Great Care of You by CheekyBrunette (G, 50k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, Modern, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Family Feels, Domestic Fluff, Angst, LWJ Adopts LSZ, LSZ-centric, LSZ Needs a Hug, i think it's a canon-typical tragic backstory, so i will say there will be mentions of dangerous and uncomfortable situations from the past, but probably nothing worse than the source material, Panic Attacks, Claustrophobia, Nightmares, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Organ Harvesting)

🔒 Winter sun (back in my arms) by barisan (T, 19k, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian, WWX & Wen Remnants, Modern AU, Teacher WWX, LSZ is a Wei, Bio Dad WWX AU, Implied past WWX/Other, Prosecutor LWJ, Adopted LSZ, Found Family, Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, WWX gets a stable support system and a cute ferret, Some romcom vibes that come with coparenting with the man who adopted your long lost son, Bad Uncle LQR, Homophobia, But it’s LQR being an asshole (nothing graphic), Happy Ending)

~*~

15. Hello, I read an interesting meta about WWX alcohol abuse after the war and now I asked myself are there fics about this theme? Even a minor mention would be interesting.

if i had the strength by agloeian (M, 16k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Fix-It, somewhat of a case fic, Heaven Official’s Blessing inspired gods & ghosts, No Spoilers for Heaven Official’s Blessing, Mild Alcohol Abuse, Mental Health Issues, WWX is not in a great place for a lot of this fic, He Gets Better Though!, this fic is all about learning to give yourself the help you give others tbh, Baby LJY, recovery fic, Accidental Baby Acquisition)

Elder, an Aesthetic by MarbleGlove (G, 8k, JC & WWX, Fix-It, Post-Sunshot Campaign)

🔒the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break by RoseThorne (E, 110k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Fix-It, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Handfasting, Panic Attacks, Getting Together, First Time, Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, /Referenced Torture, Scars, Chronic Pain, Golden Core Reveal, First Time, Switching, sex-related injury, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, LSZ is a Wèi, Good Sibling JC, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Disability, Scheming NHS, Disabled Character)

~*~

16. Heyooo!! For the next ITMF i reaaallyy want some House M.D. type wangxian fic 😭😭😭 it can be Sherlock Holmes or Moriarty The Patriot too!! Kinda want something that has them solving mysteries ig?? But it would be great if someone could find a specific fics thats similiar to these shows i writed 🙏🙏(if not at least curse fics 😔) ANYGAYSS as always thank u in advance!!💖 @for13years-i-play-inquiry-foryou

Wearing Down Every Bone by CSHfic, VSfic (E, 30k, WangXian, Groundhog Day, Time Loop, Temporary Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Curses, Pining, Getting Together, Time Travel, Night Hunts, Hurt wwx, Mystery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Use Your Words, Mutual Pining, Depression and Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, gratuitous use of empathy) it’s not an au/crossover, but it is a mystery case fic

The good rain knows its season by raitala (M, 103k, WangXian, WIP, Modern Cultivation, Reincarnation, Night Hunts Case Fic, WN has waited nearly 1500 years to play third wheel, Love story for the ages, Urban Fantasy, beijing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cultivating with dubious consent, Horny qi transfer) modern cultivators—they do investigate together along with other characters

🔒The Adventure of the Empty Coffins by TheWanderingHeart (G, 30k, XiCheng, Sherlock Holmes AU, Detective LXC, Doctor JC, Crack Treated (sort of) Seriously, Case Fic, but mostly banter and cuddles, Attempt at Humor, Married but not Married, Domestic, Poor LQR, Post-Canon-Alternate-Canon)

Wangxian Sherlock Holmes AU Series by spicecandy (T, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, No Powers, sherlock holmes fusion, Murder Mystery, Case Fic, Roommates, omg they were roommates, Love Confessions, Getting Together, Detective WWX, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealousy)

Rouge et Noir by jadztone (E, 23k, WangXian, Sherlock (TV) Fusion, Slow Burn, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs)

The Killing Fields of Gusu by Sian265 (E, 29k, WangXian, AU, No Golden Cores, No magic swords, murder muystery, Serial Killer, Sherlock Holmes WWX, Older Characters, Graphic Violence, Psychological Horror, NC17)

~*~

17. Hello! ITMF Jin Zixuan surviving the ambush at Qiongqi path and helping Wei Wuxian in that moment. Thank you!

Run Off The World by Sapphire_Roses (M, 377k, wangxian, XuanLi, SongXiao, WIP, Not Everyone Dies AU, Canon Divergence, Wen Remnants Live, Flashbacks, YLLZ WWX, WWX Creates a Sect | Yiling Wei Sect, Sect Leader WWX, Married WangXian, OCs, POV Outsider, Morally Grey Characters, (Do Take That Tag Seriously), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Developing Friendships, Fluff, Attempt at Humor, Yunmeng Siblings Feels, Gusu Siblings Feels, Sibling Bonding, Pining, Character Study, Tenderness, Mild Smut, POV Alternating, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Minor Character Death)

these are all very divergent but include Jin Zixuan surviving and helping Wei Wuxian in some way:

An Old Cardboard Produce Box for a Cradle by julomaiboulomai, mischiefseven (T, 25k, WangXian, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Canon Divergence, Sentient Burial Mounds, Golden Core Reveal, Everyone Lives)

Counting Brushes by Fortune_Maiden (T, 6k, NHS & NMJ, NHS & WWX, and backgroung WN JC and LWJ, Fluff and Crack, Or at least it was supposed to be Crack, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Because of Paintbrushes, Shamelessly Indulgent, Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort, WangXian, Diverges from Qiongqi Path)

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

Home and the Heartland by Witch_Nova221 (T, 210k, WangXian, XuanLi, Burial Mounds, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, Slow Romance, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Self-Discovery, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence)

Fowl Play by Alwritey87 (G, 2k, JYL/JZX, JZX & WWX, JC & JZX, JYL & JL & JZX, JC & JL, Everyone Lives, JYL & JZX Live, Awkward JZXm JZX & WWX Friendship, Good Person JZX, JZX Tries, Married JYL/JZX, JL Loves JC, JZX & WWX recreate the scene from the titanic but on a sword, JL & WWX Bonding, WWX makes it to JL's 100th day celebration, Happy Ending, JZX's happy family, Ducks save the day, JZX loves his wife)

~*~

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!***

[tteotlma]

Sugar and Skin

5. Unspoken Proximity || Previous - Next

A grocery run leads Bucky straight into familiar territory except this time, outside of the café, outside of routine, she feels different. More real. More tangible in a way that unsettles him.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (8kw)

tw: 18+ MDNI; 18+ MDNI; mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of alcohol, drinking, lingering touches, close proximity, unspoken intentions, introspection a/n: omg sorry guys... i didn't know what to write for this chapter and idk if u can tell LOLLLL i also kinda got lost a little bit writing and rewriting so.. if u can tell just pretend u cant ty. anywhoo enjoy 8k words of writing!!

“Thanks for coming so quick guys.” Steve sat you guys in his waiting area, allowing you and Sam to sit on the loveseat against the window display, while he sat on the armchair resting against the wall perpendicular to the sofa. The coffee table in the center was littered with papers, and folders. 

“No problem, I’m just glad we’re able to finally talk.” You sat on the side closest to him, and he gave you a small smile. 

“What’s all this?” Sam gestured to the mess scattered in front of you. 

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk about.” Steve’s tone suddenly changed, and his eyebrows drew together. A sudden wave of anxiety was building in your stomach, but before you could say anything he continued. 

“Well you see, somehow things have sort of shifted,” The words come out of his mouth slowly, as if he’s trying to think of what to say as he’s saying it. “And well…” He rubs his palms on his jeans. 

“Oh my god Steven, just spit it out!” You accidentally barked, the wave in your stomach finally crashing into an ocean of apprehension of all the things that could possibly come out of his mouth. 

He jumped in his seat. 

“It’s just becoming a lot more than I anticipated, I’m worrying it’s becoming too much.” The words fly out of his mouth. 

“I’m…” You pause to look at him, his eyebrows are still knit together, ”Unbelievably underwhelmed.” You deflate in your seat. Sam lets out a laugh. 

“What are you talking about?!” Steve panics moving closer to the edge of his seat to pick at the loose papers. 

“What are you talking about?” You sit up watching him scramble. 

“Betty—you know the one from that crafts store down on Narrow Blvd.—“

”Knotty by Nature.” Both you and Sam speak at the same time. 

“Right, well she heard what was happening and decided to take it upon herself to invite all these groups she’s somehow affiliated with,” He grabs a paper off the table and begins to read it aloud. “Filthy hands club, Pounded Clay Association, Neon Noir, The Indigo Hour Society—“

”Jeez, who didn’t she invite?” Sam scoffed, whether he was being facetious or not was unknown. 

“I’m more focused on what it is these clubs actually are.” You said, repeating the groups names he’s listed so far. 

“It doesn’t matter, what matters is that her sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong has now turned something small into something drastically huge.” Steve put his head in his hands. 

You watched him for a second before giving a small side eye to Sam, who quickly returned the look. 

“Let me get this straight,” Sam started, “You’re upset because you’re going to be getting potential customers?” 

A second passes, no sound is made save for the air conditioner softly whirring. Steve lifts his head. 

“You think I’m an idiot?” He suddenly gets serious and you take in a deep breath to mask your laugh. 

“I think what Sam means is that shouldn’t you be looking at this like it’s a good thing? Why are you freaking out?” 

“Because I had planned for this to be a simple thing you know—a few close friends, a handful of walk-ins, some drinks, some music. But now, thanks to Betty it’s turning into a whole-ass networking event.”

“Isn’t that sort of to be expected?” Sam asked. Steve narrowed his eyes at the man beside you. Before Steve could say anything you spoke up. 

“What he means is.. what’s the big deal?” You try to dig your friend out of the growing hole he’s finding himself in, but it turns out you dove headfirst beside him instead.

Steve huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back on his seat. “You two are so damn helpful, really.” He shot you both a look before rubbing a hand over his jaw. “The big deal is that Betty’s list of groups didn’t just bring in a few old people—it brought in everyone,” He lets out a panicked sob (definitely on the brink of a tantrum) “Now instead of a chill small thing—which I wanted—I’m now anticipating artists, painters, curators, and god knows who else all expecting some kind of official event.” 

You and Sam exchanged another glance, but this time you held your tongue letting the grown man pout and whine. 

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And thanks to the flyer she made, people are expecting food.” His gaze flicked to you pointedly.

You blinked. “You mean… more than just desserts?” 

Steve nodded, exhaling sharply. “Yeah… and I know I already asked for your help the other day, and I hate to ask for more, but—“ 

“You should hate to ask for more,” Same cut in, crossing his arms. 

Steve shot him a glare before looking back at you, his expression softening just slightly. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t trust you, and I know you love a challenge.” He gave you a weak smile. 

You pressed your lips together, pretending to consider it, even though your excitement had already begun bubbling under the surface. It was true, you did love a challenge. 

It had been ages since you got to flex your actual culinary skills—pastries were your specialty and of course your passion, but you couldn’t lie that savory was always a tempting mistress. 

Steve saw the shift in your expression and immediately leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend like you’re not already swimming with ideas.” 

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “I hate you.” 

“You adore me.”

”Debatable.” 

Sam scoffed. “Unbelievable. I hope you know she’s about to carry this entire thing.”

Steve lifted a hand, grinning. “And that’s why I asked.” 

You started grabbing the strewn about papers. “I keep forgetting under all that ink and jewelry you’re just a baby at heart.” You joked, replaying his dramatic behavior in your head. 

Steve rolled his eyes, but the grin didn’t leave his face. “Yeah, yeah. laugh it up.” 

You smirked, stacking the last of the papers into a neater pile. “I’m just saying—big, bad tattoo artist panicking over a party? You’d think you were planning a wedding.” 

Sam let out a loud laugh, slapping his knee. “Damn, she’s got a point.” 

Steve narrowed his eyes at both of you but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “I just want it to be right.” His voice was quieter now, more honest.

You softened slightly, patting his knee. “It will be.”

For a moment, the three of you just sat there, the weight of the conversation finally settling into something manageable. Sure the event was bigger than what Steve had planned but with the way things were coming together, it was starting to feel real.

You tapped your fingers on your chin. “Okay, if we’re doing this, we should do it right.”

Steve sat up again, nodding eagerly. “Agreed.”

Sam raised a brow. “What’s the plan, boss?”

You bit your lip, thinking. “Well, for one, we should probably have more than just pastries. If people are drinking, they’ll need actual food too—something yummy and more than just a bowl of chips and a cup of dip. 

Steve’s eyes practically sparkled. “God, I knew asking you was a good idea.”

You grinned. “You owe me, Rogers.”

Sam whistled low. “Man, he’s getting off easy. If it were me, I’d be negotiating for free ink at this point.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t have any tattoos in mind yet, but maybe I should start thinking about it, huh?”

Steve smirked. “Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll take care of you.”

Sam gave you a pointed look. “See? That’s a good deal.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I’d want the tattoo to mean something, though. I can’t just get inked from here for the first time for the sake of it.” 

Steve smirked, “Oh come on, just a tiny one,” He suddenly grabbed your forearm, angling it straight up, and with his other hand he lightly grabbed your wrist. “Right here.” He taps delicately at the soft skin of your wrist, absentmindedly thumbing your pulse as he continues to talk. 

Sam leaned in slightly, his tone casual—too casual. “What about a rolling pin? Or maybe a piping bag?” He smirked. “Right here.”

Before you could react, his fingers brushed lightly over the side of your neck, just beneath your ear. His thumb dragged against your collarbone as he tugged gently at the neckline of your shirt, exposing a little more of your skin.

“Or a knife.” He teased.

You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes. “I am not getting a knife tattooed onto my collarbone.”

Sam grinned, leaning in to “inspect” you. “Or,” he continued, “the side of your neck.” He joked, grazing his finger down the side of your neck. 

Before you could retort, the bell above the door chimed.

The shift was immediate.

Bucky stepped inside, the shop’s soft lighting casting shadows over his sharp features. His eyes flicked toward you first. Then to Steve’s hand still wrapped around your wrist. Then to Sam, whose fingers had just grazed your collarbone.

His stare was unreadable. Blank, even.

You felt the heat creeping up your neck as Sam casually dropped his hand, but Bucky wasn’t looking at him anymore. His gaze had flickered back to you, his jaw set.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t acknowledge anyone.

Didn’t even pretend to.

Instead, he walked past the three of you without so much as a nod, his steps slow, deliberate, carrying him deeper into the shop without a glance back.

The silence he left in his wake stretched.

Sam exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering under his breath, “Dude’s got a weird fucking vibe.”

“Sam,” you warned, shifting slightly where you sat.

Sam just raised his brows, leaning back against the loveseat. “What? I’m just saying.”

You shot him a look.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t weird.”

Steve, patted your hand before letting go and flipping through the papers in front of him, barely bothering to look up. “That’s just Bucky.”

Sam let out a dry laugh. “Right. Just Bucky.” His fingers tapped idly against his knee. “Dude walks in, looks like he wants to murder someone, doesn’t say a word, then disappears into the back like he’s some broody action movie character.”

Steve smirked. “Jealous?”

Sam’s expression turned flat. “Of what?”

Steve shrugged, grinning now. “He’s got that whole ‘mysterious, quiet, probably dangerous’ thing going for him.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and I’ve got the whole ‘charming, personable, actually fun to be around’ thing going for me.”

You snorted. “Sure.”

Sam turned to you, feigning offense. “Wow. That was uncalled for.”

Steve chuckled, finally setting down the papers. “Look, Bucky’s just—” He waved a hand. “He keeps to himself. That’s how he’s always been.” 

Sam scoffed again, shaking his head. Then, his gaze flicked toward you. “And you? What do you think?”

You hesitated, pressing your lips together.

You thought about the way Bucky’s stare had lingered for just a second too long. The flicker of something behind his eyes before he shut it down completely. The way his shoulders had tensed before he turned away. The other night still weighing heavily on your mind.

“…I think he’s just quiet,” you said finally, though you weren’t sure why it came out softer than you intended.

Sam’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind his expression. Then, with a scoff, he leaned back against the loveseat again, shaking his head.

“Quiet,” he repeated, like he was testing the word.

Steve, oblivious to the shift in energy, reached for another paper from the pile in front of him. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

You didn’t respond. Instead letting out a deep breath, shifting where you sat. 

“We should probably head back,” you said finally, smoothing out your pants. “Peter swears he can be left alone for long, but we know he worries.”  

Steve frowned slightly but nodded “Yeah, yeah, of course.” 

“Don’t worry, Steven. I’ll come to you soon with more ideas.”

Steve’s face brightened at that, his worry giving way to childlike excitement. “You mean it?”

You grinned. “Of course. You know I can’t resist a challenge.”

His responding “awe” was warm, genuine, and before you could react, he was grabbing you.

It wasn’t just a hug—it was a Steve Rogers hug. A full-force, rib-crushing, lift-you-off-the-ground kind of hug that had you letting out a startled yelp before melting into it.

“Steven—oh my god—”

He just squeezed you tighter. “You are the best.”

Your breath came out in a short laugh, face half-smushed against his shoulder. “Okay, okay, let’s not break my spine.”

Steve finally set you back down, but before he pulled away completely, he pressed a firm, affectionate kiss to your temple.

It was nothing.

And yet, as you stepped back laughing, hands smoothing over your hips where your shirt had ridden up, something in the air shifted. It wasn’t anything tangible, nothing obvious, but it was there—lingering, humming beneath the surface like the faintest static charge.

Like the temperature had dropped just slightly, like the warmth of the moment had dulled by a fraction, like something had changed without you quite knowing how or why.

You laugh died as you turned and saw him.

Bucky stood just beyond the threshold between the back of the shop and the main floor, his presence still and quiet, but impossibly heavy. He wasn’t just lingering, wasn’t just standing in the background like he usually did, half-invisible, watching the world move around him. No, this was different. This was something else.

His stare was unreadable, his expression impassive, but there was a weight behind his gaze. And for a fraction of a second, so brief you might’ve imagined it,  you thought you saw something flicker there but then, just like that, it was gone.

Bucky blinked, his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly before his features smoothed into something neutral, carefully blank, as if he hadn’t just been looking at you at all. And without a word, without so much as an acknowledgment, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the back, leaving nothing behind except the distinct, unmistakable sensation that something had just happened.

Something you weren’t entirely sure how to name.

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the lingering press of your own fingertips against your sides, the rise and fall of your breath, the faint, inexplicable feeling that whatever had just passed between you had been fleeting but significant.

Sam let out a slow, deliberate exhale beside you, arms crossing over his chest as he tilted his head, his gaze sliding from you and Steve, completely unaware that Bucky had returned for a moment.

“You two are so damn affectionate.”

——

Bucky wasn’t in a bad mood. Not really.

He was just… irritated. Restless. Something he couldn’t quite name but had been sitting on his chest since this morning, tightening like a vice, making everything feel just a little too sharp. The kind of feeling he couldn’t shake, no matter how many times he rolled his shoulders, no matter how much he tried to push it aside.

And coming home to a mostly-empty fridge sure as hell didn’t help.

Bucky stood there, one hand braced against the fridge door, staring at the contents like they might magically change if he looked at them long enough.

They didn’t.

Eggs. Bagels. Three cans of beer.

His jaw ticked.

With a sharp exhale, he swung the door shut, perhaps with more force than necessary, before dragging a hand down his face. He was not in the mood to go grocery shopping. He wasn’t in the mood to do anything, really. But he also wasn’t in the mood to deal with the hunger clawing at his stomach, so he grabbed his jacket and keys before he could talk himself out of it.

The store was quiet. At least there was that.

The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, buzzing in that way that always made his temples ache. He moved through the aisles without much thought, grabbing things at random, barely registering what he was throwing into his basket.

Pickles. A loaf of bread. Canned fish.

Something about the selection in his basket felt wrong, unsatisfying in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was too easy, too thoughtless, just a collection of things he grabbed on autopilot because the idea of putting in actual effort—of standing in front of a stove and making something that required patience—felt exhausting. He hadn’t realized until just now how little he actually cared about what he was eating, as long as it was quick, as long as it was simple, as long as it was enough to shut his body up and get him through another night.

So he kept walking, moving without thinking, scanning shelves without really seeing them, mind drifting in that restless way it had been all day. An older couple stood near the dairy section, murmuring to each other as they checked expiration dates, and he adjusted his grip on the basket, his fingers curling tightly around the handle, jaw flexing as he exhaled sharply through his nose. The feeling hadn’t left him—the unease, the static hum beneath his ribs, something unsettled and stretched thin.

And then—

He saw her.

His body went still before his brain could catch up, every thought in his head grinding to a halt as his muscles locked up, as his pulse fumbled mid-beat and his breath caught somewhere between inhale and exhale. It was an instinctive kind of reaction, one he wasn’t prepared for, one he couldn’t immediately shake.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about this moment before. He had. Not in any real, intentional way, but in that vague, distant way you think about things that seem inevitable. They lived in the same area, worked just down the block from each other—of course they were bound to run into each other somewhere, at some point, in some random, mundane setting.

He just hadn’t expected it to be now.

Not when his head already felt too full, his patience too worn down from a morning spent pacing between his fridge and his couch, knowing damn well he had nothing to eat but still refusing to do anything about it. Not when he already felt off balance, like something was pressing in at the edges of his mind, something he couldn’t quite name, something that had settled under his skin ever since he’d walked into the shop earlier and seen her under the weight of Steve’s hands, under the warmth of his laughter, under the kind of casual, easy familiarity that had no business making his stomach twist the way it did.

And certainly not when he was standing in the middle of a grocery store, clutching a basket full of things he didn’t even want, looking at her like he’d forgotten how to function.

She wasn’t behind the counter this time, wasn’t tucked into the space he had unconsciously confined her to, the setting where he had let himself believe she belonged. She wasn’t sliding receipts across a register, wasn’t greeting him with her usual knowing look as he grumbled out his order, wasn’t framed by the soft glow of café lights and the scent of coffee beans and sugar.

She was here.

In the same dim, soulless grocery store, under the same too-bright fluorescents, in the same aisle, in the same moment.

And Bucky had no fucking clue what to do with that.

His stomach tightened, something low and unfamiliar coiling behind his ribs, and he hated it—hated the way his feet stayed glued to the floor, hated the way his hands curled a little tighter around the basket, hated the way his chest went tight at the sight of her outside of where he was used to seeing her.

Because she looked different here.

Not in any way that actually mattered—she was the same, same soft curves, same warm expression, same quiet confidence in the way she carried herself, like the weight of the world had yet to leave a mark on her. But without the buffer of familiarity, without the safe, predictable rhythm of their usual routine, she felt different. More real. More tangible in a way that unsettled him, in a way that made something inside him pull taut.

And then—

She turned.

And her eyes met his.

His stomach lurched, fingers twitching where they gripped the basket handle, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

The world continued around them, carts rolling past, the faint murmur of an old pop song crackling through the overhead speakers, the butcher handing off a neatly wrapped package to another customer—but everything else seemed to pull back, like the static had narrowed to just this one moment, just this one stretch of space between them.

She hesitated, just for a beat, just long enough that he could see the flicker of consideration in her expression, the weighing of options, the silent question of how she was supposed to react to this just as much as he was.

And then—

She smiled.

Small. Almost hesitant. Like she wasn’t sure if she should, but was doing it anyway.

And Bucky—Bucky fucking Barnes—panicked.

Not outwardly. Not obviously. But something inside him jolted, something in his chest pulling tight, something hot and uneasy rushing beneath his skin before he could stop it.

Because the last time he’d seen her—really seen her—she had been staring at him in that same quiet way, that same careful, lingering gaze that had almost felt like it should have been followed by something else. A touch. A brush of fingertips. Something. She had stopped herself then, just before she left. He had, too. But for one stupid, fleeting second, Bucky had wished she’d followed through and touched him.

And now she was here, smiling at him, soft and tentative, like she was still figuring him out, still testing the edges of whatever this thing was between them. And Bucky? Bucky was still an idiot, still standing there, stiff and rooted to the spot, still gripping the handle of his basket like it might somehow sprout wings and fly away, taking him with it.

His grip tightened, his jaw flexing, something sharp settling behind his ribs. He felt—fuck, he didn’t even know what he felt. Off balance. Too aware. Like his body and brain were moving at two different speeds, tangled up in a static hum that had been following him since this morning.

Since he had walked into the shop and seen her under the touch of Sam and Steve, her laughter bright. Since he had seen Steve grabbing her, her shirt rumpled beneath his grip, with the man’s lips pressed to her temple. Since something in his gut had twisted in a way he didn’t like, a way he refused to name.

And now she was here, standing under the same too-bright grocery store lights, watching him with an unreadable expression. She quickly bid the butcher a quiet goodbye, slipping the neatly wrapped package into her basket before shifting it in her grip. Then, she turned and took a few light steps towards him.

Bucky had to force his legs to move, to meet her at the last step, though every muscle in his body locked up at the effort. His usual instinct was to turn the other way and pretend he didn’t see anything, but this time, he found himself wanting to stay. And yet, despite everything, he still couldn’t move.

Instead, he just stood there, too aware of the way his pulse jumped slightly at the sight of her approaching.

“Hi,” she said quietly, looking up at him, the soft curve of a smile still on her lips, and Bucky swore he felt some of the tension in his neck loosen just a little.

He blinked, his grip tightening on the basket, the plastic straining under the tension of his hold. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way she was looking at him made his thoughts slow, made his brain stall like an old engine caught on itself.

She looked… the same. Of course she did. But something about seeing her here, in this mundane, everyday place, without the scent of coffee curling in the air, without antiseptic clinging to the walls, without flour dusting the edges of her sleeves or the tips of her hair, made her feel different.

More real.

More… something.

“I didn’t know you shopped here,” she said after a second, glancing around as if taking in the store for the first time.

“I don’t shop much,” he admitted, and immediately hated how stupid he probably sounded.

She glanced down at his basket. Bucky could practically see her take it in, scanning the sad collection of groceries before her gaze flicked back up, something unreadable playing at the edges of her expression.

She gave him a weak, knowing smile.

“I can see that,” she murmured.

Bucky felt something twitch at the corner of his mouth before he shut it down, the faintest urge to smile pressing against his cheeks.

There was a beat of silence. A moment where they just… stood there, in the middle of the grocery store, and Bucky realized how little he actually knew about her outside of their usual routine. Outside of the coffee, the ink-stained counters, the pastries.

And she didn’t know him either.

It should’ve been as simple as that.

But then she shifted, the light rustle of fabric pulling him from the thought, and he hated how acutely he noticed it.

“I just stopped to grab some stuff for Steven’s event,” she said, adjusting the weight of the basket in her arms. “Or, I guess… the both of yours’ event.” She chuckled lightly as she corrected herself.

Bucky’s brow lifted slightly, but he quickly shook his head. “No, it’s totally all him,” he said, scoffing under his breath. “I just work for him.”

She stared at him but gave a small nod, lips pressing together as if committing the response to memory.

“But I thought that wasn’t until next month?” he asked.

“It is, but… after this morning, I had a few ideas I wanted to try out right away,” she admitted, fingers lightly twisting the plastic handle cover of her basket.

Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, watching the way her fingers moved—twisting the plastic tube against the metal like she was already thinking ahead, her mind already somewhere else.

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt heavier. Not exactly uncomfortable, but there.

She shifted on her feet. “Um, I’m about done here…” She glanced around, then back at him, eyes flicking over his face for a second before settling.

Bucky felt his grip on the basket tighten. “Yeah. Me too.”

Her gaze flickered to his basket again, hesitating for a second.

“Um—d-do…” She bit her lip, exhaling softly before trying again. “I can—”

Bucky just watched her, something stirring in his chest at the way she fidgeted slightly, the blush creeping up her cheeks, her lips rouge from biting them.

“I can make dinner,” she suddenly blurted out.

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together, but he stayed quiet, just watching.

“I—I’m not gonna be able to eat everything I’m making tonight,” she continued, stumbling over her words slightly. “If anything, I probably would’ve given you guys the leftovers anyway—” She was thinking out loud. She shook her head, trying to get back on track. “I-I mean… only if you’d like.”

She trailed off, shifting on her feet, and Bucky could see it—her grasping for a way to save herself from the awkwardness of the offer.

So he saved her instead.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah. Sure.”

Relief washed over her features so quickly, he almost chuckled. Instead, he just nodded, keeping his expression cool—at least, he hoped he looked cool. He honestly felt a little dumb, standing there trying not to look as thrown off as he actually was.

They made their way to the registers, and as he went to set his basket on the conveyor belt, she reached out.

“Um, you can leave that here,” she said, motioning toward his items.

Bucky blinked. “What?”

She nodded toward his basket. His brows furrowed slightly, about to protest, but she cut him off before he could. “There’ll be leftovers you can take home.” She reasoned, giving a small shrug.

Bucky sighed through his nose but didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped past her and let her unload the basket.

“If anything, I’m probably doing you a service,” she teased him lightly.

Bucky let out a scoff.

As she scrambled in her purse to find her wallet, Bucky reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and swiping his card before she could react.

Her eyes widened. “What? No, Bucky—”

“It’s fine,” he said simply, grabbing the receipt from the cashier. “Consider it a trade.”

She stared at him, lips parting like she wanted to argue further, but then she exhaled, shaking her head with a soft huff. As she reached for the bags, Bucky once again made sure to move before she did, and he grabbed the bags and made his way to the exit.

They stepped outside, the cool air against his skin as he walked her to her car. He helped her load the groceries into the trunk, shoving his hands into his pockets when they were done.

She hesitated for a second, then reached into her bag, flipping the receipt over and scribbling something onto the back.

“This is my address,” she said, handing him the receipt.

Bucky took it, fingers grazing the paper before slipping it into his pocket, the ink warm from her touch. His gaze flicked over the street name, barely processing it before she stepped back, giving him one last look. Then she climbed into her car.

He stood there for a moment, watching as her taillights disappeared down the street.

And then, with a sharp exhale, he turned, heading toward his own.

The drive wasn’t long enough.

It wasn’t long enough to sort through the static still buzzing in his head, wasn’t long enough to shove this thing—whatever this was—into a neat little box where he didn’t have to look too closely at it.

He hadn’t exactly realized what it meant when she offered to cook for him. Hadn’t let himself think about it, not fully. But it finally clicked when his car rumbled to life beneath him, when the city blurred past his window in the glow of passing streetlights.

It wasn’t just a meal. It was something else entirely—something Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to name.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as he switched lanes, grip tightening on the wheel. She was cooking for him. Not just for Steve, not just for the event, but for him. And for what? Because she was just nice? Because she had extra food and didn’t want it to go to waste? Or mayb—

No. That wasn’t it. Couldn’t be it.

He was making this into something it wasn’t. Overcomplicating it. This was about work. That’s all. Just food. Just an exchange. One that benefited her, too. He should think of it like an investment—something that helped his best friend’s event, something that made sure Steve’s business kept thriving. That was it. That’s all this was.

So why did his fingers tighten around the wheel? Why couldn’t he shake the way she had bit her lip, looking almost nervous, her voice trailing off before she had finally blurted out the offer? Why did it feel like there was something between the lines he hadn’t been ready to read?

His jaw flexed as he turned onto her street. The tension in his chest hadn’t eased, hadn’t faded, even as he pulled into a spot near the curb. He shifted the car into park, fingers drumming idly against the wheel before finally looking up.

She was already waiting.

Standing under the glow of the streetlamp, bags in hand, rocking slightly on her feet. She wasn’t looking around, wasn’t checking her phone she was just standing there, like she was waiting for him. Just him.

For a second, he stayed put. Gripping the wheel too tightly, trying to ignore the restless pull under his skin. Trying to remind himself this wasn’t a big deal. Just dinner. Just a thank-you. A friendly gesture.

But it felt like something else. Something heavier. Something he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, grabbing the receipt she had scribbled on, tucking it into his pocket before stepping out of the car. The cool night air hit him, but it didn’t do much to settle the tightness in his chest.

His gaze flicked across the street. Just a glance. Then another. Something about the sight made his stomach pull tight, but he pushed it aside and forced himself to move.

His boots were loud against the pavement, the sound muted by the quiet hum of the street. She must’ve heard him coming, because she turned, adjusting the weight of the bags in her arms.

“Everything okay?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Bucky blinked. Realized, belatedly, that he’d been staring across the street again. “Yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Just—” His mouth pressed into a line. “Just thinking.”

She watched him for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. But she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for the door, and Bucky stepped forward, grabbing the handle first, pulling it open for her.

She gave him a small, amused look before stepping inside. Bucky followed, feeling the weight of something settle in his chestr.

Not yet.

Bucky followed her into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a quiet whump, sealing them inside a space that suddenly felt too small, too still. The silence settled heavily between them, thick and suffocating, pressing in from all sides. The hum of the fluorescent light overhead and the faint whir of the elevator climbing floors should have been nothing more than background noise, but right now, it was deafening.

He could hear everything—his own breathing, hers, the almost imperceptible rustle of fabric as she shifted beside him. The steady flicker of the numbers above the door marked their slow ascent, each floor clicking by in excruciating increments. He clenched his jaw, adjusting his stance, feeling the weight of his own awareness pressing down on him. This was awkward. Too awkward.

She stood next to him, hands curled tightly around the straps of her bag, fingers flexing slightly, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. He could feel her presence in a way that made his stomach clench, too aware of the way she smelled—warm vanilla with something deeper, richer, something that curled in his chest and made it impossible to ignore just how close they were.

It shouldn’t have been this unsettling. But there were no distractions here. No counters between them. No clinking coffee mugs, no scent of roasted beans, no bustling grocery aisles. Just them. And that realization sat heavy on his chest, a weight he wasn’t ready to examine too closely.

He cleared his throat, the sound sharp against the quiet, a weak attempt to break the tension. "You, uh…" He glanced at her bag, then flicked his gaze back to her. "You cook a lot?"

She turned to him, blinking as if she hadn’t expected him to speak. For a beat, she just looked at him, like she was weighing something, trying to decide what to say. Then she shrugged, shifting her grip on the bag. "Not as much as I’d like," she admitted, her voice softer now. "I mean, I bake all the time for work, obviously, but… cooking? That’s different."

The elevator doors slid open, breaking the moment before it could stretch too long. She stepped out first, leading the way down the hall with Bucky following at a measured pace. He could feel his own pulse in his throat, unsure why this felt so... significant.

Her apartment was small but warm, the scent of something citrusy lingering in the air, mixing with vanilla in a way that made his chest tighten. She set the bags on the counter and glanced at him over her shoulder, a question in her eyes before she exhaled, like she had decided not to ask it.

“You can sit if you want,” she murmured, pulling out a few ingredients, her fingers deft as she began unwrapping the steak.

Bucky hesitated for a beat before pulling out a chair, his hands resting on his thighs as he watched her work. She was comfortable here, in her own space, moving with an ease he found almost hypnotic. He realized then that he hadn’t actually seen her outside of the café before, hadn’t really let himself think about what she might be like beyond the soft glow of pastry cases and the scent of coffee beans. But here she was, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, and still, something about her made his chest ache.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, watching as she carefully sliced the bread, her focus trained on her task. “So, what are you making?”

“Steak crostini,” she answered, glancing up at him briefly before going back to her work. “With hollandaise.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, lips pressing together as he nodded. “Fancy.”

She huffed a small laugh. “Not really. Just something I like, that can feed lots.”

“You do this often?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the cutting board, at the careful way she seasoned the steak.

She shrugged. “I cook for myself, but mostly… I just like feeding people. It’s nice. Feels like a way to take care of someone.”

Bucky’s throat tightened. He didn’t have a response to that, didn’t know how to put into words the way those simple sentences made something in his ribs press uncomfortably against his lungs. He wasn’t used to people like her—people who did things just because they wanted to, because it made them happy.

And maybe that’s what made this feel different. Because she wasn’t asking for anything in return.

He cleared his throat again, fingers tapping against his thigh. “You uh… you grew up around here?”

She shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “No. Moved around a lot, actually. But this place? It’s the first one that’s felt like home.”

Bucky studied her, the way she said it like it was something she had fought for. And for some reason, that struck him harder than it should have.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah. I get that.”

She watched him for a moment, then turned back to the counter, her fingers deft as she reached for a bottle of wine from a small rack beside the counter, tilting it toward him in question. “You drink?”

Bucky blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

She smiled, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet before pouring a deep red into each. “Figured it’d pair well,” she murmured, handing one to him before picking up her own.

He took the glass, feeling the weight of it in his palm, and hesitated before taking a small sip. The warmth of the wine spread through his chest, and suddenly, the tension inside him felt a little less sharp.

She let out a soft sigh and turned back to the cutting board and then slid a small bundle of asparagus toward him. “Why don’t you prep these?” she asked, her tone light, teasing. “See if you remember how to hold a knife.”

Bucky let out a dry scoff, shaking his head as he reached for the bundle. “I think I can manage.”

She smirked. “I don’t know. You don’t seem like the vegetable-chopping type.”

Bucky snorted. “What type do I seem like?”

She shrugged, eyes twinkling as she leaned against the counter. “The kind who survives off black coffee and whatever takeout doesn’t require talking to anyone.”

His mouth quirked, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he focused on trimming the ends of the asparagus, his hands surprisingly steady. He hadn’t done this in years—not since before everything—but muscle memory kicked in, guiding his hands with careful precision.

She moved closer, leaning just past him to reach for a saucepan, the faintest brush of her arm against his shoulder making his breath hitch. She didn’t acknowledge it, but he felt it, the warmth of her body so close that for a moment, he forgot what he was doing. He forced himself to keep slicing, though his movements slowed, as if suddenly hyper-aware of every tiny motion.

A quiet hum left her lips as she stirred something on the stove, the rich scent of butter and herbs filling the air. She turned back to him, spoon in hand, and lifted it slightly. “Here, taste this,” she said, stepping closer.

Bucky blinked, glancing between the spoon and her, hesitating for just a second too long. “Uh—”

She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head as she nudged it toward him. “C’mon, it’s just sauce. Don’t look so suspicious.”

Still, there was something intimate about it, the way she had just tasted it herself, the way her fingers barely brushed his when he finally took the spoon from her grasp. He swallowed before bringing it to his lips, the warmth of the sauce settling on his tongue, rich and velvety with just the right hint of lemon.

He exhaled slowly, nodding. “Damn. That’s good.”

She grinned, pleased, before turning back to her station. “Good. Because I’m not taking criticism from a man who probably lives off instant ramen and black coffee.”

Bucky smirked, shaking his head. “I know good food when I taste it.”

She raised an eyebrow, turning back to stir the sauce. “Oh? And here I thought you only ate out of convenience.”

Bucky huffed, shifting his weight as he reached for another asparagus spear. “I didn’t say I don’t eat well.”

The words felt defensive in his mouth, so he covered them up by focusing on slicing. He wasn’t about to admit that he had a taste for things beyond quick meals and coffee. After all, he had been the one slipping extra pastries into the bag every morning, using Steve as an excuse. He had been the one peeling them open later, in the quiet of his own kitchen, savoring them more than he’d ever let on.

She moved around him again, this time slower, closer, like she wasn’t in a rush to put space between them. The warmth of her body lingered in the air between them, and Bucky could feel it, could feel her. The scent of her perfume mixed with the buttery aroma of the sauce, something delicate and grounding all at once.

“Can you hand me that?” she asked, pointing at the cutting board beside him.

Bucky grabbed it, but as he passed it to her, their fingers brushed again, a fleeting press of warmth that neither of them acknowledged aloud. His stomach twisted, unfamiliar and slow, something far too careful for what he was used to. He swallowed, exhaling softly as she took the board from his hands, her fingers lingering a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

She turned back to her work, moving with the ease of someone comfortable in her space, but he caught the way she bit her lip, just for a moment, before letting out a quiet breath. Like she felt it too.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick, charged, but not tense. It was full of something else entirely, something that made Bucky want to keep talking just to keep her looking at him the way she had been all night, soft, curious, a little amused.

“You always cook alone?” he asked, watching as she plated the crostini, careful and precise.

She paused, just slightly, before offering a small shrug. “Most of the time. It’s nice, you know? Therapeutic.”

Bucky nodded slowly. He understood that. The solitude of a routine, the way something as simple as cooking could feel like control in a world that never quite slowed down.

“Don’t mind the company?” he asked, quieter this time.

She glanced at him, then down at the plate she was finishing. “No,” she admitted, almost hesitant. “I don’t.”

Something shifted in his chest, something that made his fingers twitch against the edge of the counter. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t know what to do with it.

She reached for two plates, carefully arranging the crostini before sliding one toward him. “Here,” she murmured. “Try it.”

Bucky hesitated, then picked up a piece, taking a bite. The crunch of the toasted bread, the richness of the steak, the smooth tang of the hollandaise...it was damn near perfect.

She watched him, her lip caught between her teeth. “Well?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re good at this.”

Her shoulders eased, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. “I know.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… natural. Easy.

She poured another splash of wine into his glass, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky let himself linger, let himself enjoy the moment. He wasn’t in a rush to leave. He wasn’t looking for an escape.

Instead, he just sat there, across from her in the quiet warmth of her kitchen, feeling something settle inside him that he still didn’t quite have a name for yet (or maybe he was acutely aware).

Eventually, the night had to end. The plates sat empty, only a few stray crumbs left behind, and their glasses carried the last traces of deep red wine. She stretched her arms above her head, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips, the movement so casual, so unguarded, that it caught him off guard. He swallowed, forcing himself to look away, to focus on the slow, inevitable rhythm of the night winding down.

She walked him to the door, her steps unhurried, as if she wasn’t quite ready to break the spell either. Bucky shrugged on his jacket, the warmth of her apartment still clinging to his skin, seeping into the fabric.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “It was good.”

She smirked, leaning against the doorframe, her arms folding loosely. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

Bucky let out a breath of a chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah. Just haven’t had something like that in a while.”

Something flickered across her expression, something soft and unreadable, but she didn’t push. Just nodded. “Well… goodnight, Bucky.” She said softly, leaning against the door frame.

He nodded back, lingering for half a second longer than he should have. “Goodnight.”

The door shut softly behind him, but the air in the hallway felt colder, emptier. He let out a slow breath, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck before stepping toward the stairwell.

Outside, the night air hit him, crisp and grounding, but as always the warmth from her still hadn’t fully faded from his skin. He let out a breath and—without thinking, without hesitating—he jaywalked straight across the street, his boots striking pavement in an easy, familiar path.

And when he reached the other side, when he stepped up to his own building and turned toward the door, something made him glance back.

His stomach twisted as his gaze flicked up.

Right at her window.

His lips pressed together, breath catching slightly as realization settled in his chest like a slow ache. That was why he had felt the pull earlier, why something in his gut had twisted when she’d given him her address. Because now, standing in his own place in front of his window, it clicked.

He could see her window from his.

And if he could see hers, then she could probably see his too.

--

a/n: again thank you so much for your patience again huhuhu~

please reblog to support! I also love feedback, and comments :)

Literally your comments are hilarious

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[patricia-taxxon]

With all due respect, you are very tactless when you phrase certain things and when people, politely even, tell you that it was thoughtless or mayhaps even racist, as has been the time before, you flip and go in defensive mode and finding different excuses instead of internaly trying to parse why exactly is it that people, black people in particular, have told you that what you said was racist. That is not a good look no matter how you twist it into victimhood, SPECIALLY when people are actually being very polite in informing you about it instead of assuming the worst. Introspection is important there. Like with the latest posts you made, it's not up to autistic black people to "realize" they are autistics, that's systems that have put them in that position and the framing on them as the group that is missing something rather than a group that is being DEPRIVED of something feels at odds with what you supposdely where trying to say, specially as a white person. If you were talking about it you simply would've talked about the systems and their effect on that community instead of whatever is it that you hoped to convey with that post. It really has a stench of white savior to as if autistic black people hadn't formed interiority about their own reality and I hope you realize that and hear friends telling you that instead of assuming everyone out there is just "not understanding you" or even missconstructing it on purpose.

Thank you, I don't think I'm flipping out, I feel like I explained myself & I'm leaving it at that instead of hiding it or doing a performative apology for approval. I'm not going to tokenize anyone to defend myself, as i feel is being suggested by the last paragraph. i will continue to be tactless as long as the people i care about are able to know what i mean, because i used to deal with disagreements online by fawning at strangers & endlessly explaining and clarifying in a way that helps no one & i'm trying to change that.

[mxmsuki]

a kid playing soldier.

INTRODUCTION one

pairing: abby x fem!reader

content & warnings: WLF abby, angst (and more angst), age gap (reader between 17 - 18 yo, abby 23 years old), slow SLOW burn, slightly smut, emotional hurt/comfort, heartbreak, introspective, raw, heavy with longing, reader turned WLF, multi chapter fic, no ellie/joel, reader insert, no reader description, no use of y/n, female reader, wlw, reader is virgin, 18+ only, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!!!

This is my first time writing, English is not my first language, so please be patient with me. Any constructive criticism is accepted as long as it is done with respect. I write what I'd like to read okay?

CHAPTER 2: the rookie

The days pass in quiet loops.

Wake. Work. Study. Sleep.

Sometimes, you even eat.

You stopped counting how long you’ve been here after the third week. Maybe four now. Long enough for the cot to stop feeling temporary. Long enough for the shadows beneath your eyes to fade from sickness to something else—fatigue, maybe. Grief, definitely.

The medbay is cold in the mornings, always smells like bleach and copper. Nora doesn't talk much, but she watches. Every tray you clean. Every bottle you label. Every time your hands hesitate.

She starts calling you Rookie by day four.

"Let's go, Rookie."

Not your name. Not even close. But it sticks. Not cruel. Not kind. A place to start.

She tosses a battered paperback onto the table between you one evening.

"If you're gonna work here, you better start learning more than where the gauze goes."

It's a medical book. Old, yellowed pages. You trace the diagrams with quiet fingers, hungry for distraction. For use. Nora doesn't wait for thanks. She just walks off, muttering something about stitches and idiots.

You take the book back to your room. Flip it open under the dim lamp. Terms you don’t know. Anatomy sketches. But you study. You always study.

That night, you can’t sleep.

You stare up at the ceiling, old springs creaking beneath your back every time you shift. The cot groans under your weight, too narrow to curl up properly, too stiff to stretch out.

The room smells faintly of bleach and something sweet, maybe the soap Casey uses. You try to focus on that instead of the persistent ache in your leg or the scratch in your throat. Instead of the emptiness that stretches wider in the dark.

Across the room, Casey stirs. The sheets rustle, and then settle. She makes this little noise when she breathes out almost a whistle. You think it might be a snore. You’ve grown used to it.

Somewhere between your first night here and now, the two of you stopped being strangers.

You never had a moment, really. No dramatic shift. Just a slow, quiet unfreezing.

It started a few days after your arrival, in the cafeteria. You were sitting at one of the edge tables, staring blankly at your tray, at the gray lump that claimed to be stew, but smelled like wet cardboard. You weren’t even sure you were hungry, just tired.

Casey had slid onto the bench beside you like she’d been doing it forever.

"Let me guess,” she said, tapping her tray with a plastic fork. “You’ve never had WLF sludge stew."

You blinked at her, unsure if it was a joke or a warning.

"That," she continued, pointing with her fork, "isn’t meat. It’s revenge. Served warm."

You snorted—surprised by the sound—and shook your head.

She grinned. Not smug, just satisfied. Like she’d done something important.

You didn’t speak much that day. But the next night, she sat closer in the barracks. The night after that, she threw you a rolled-up pair of socks and said, “They’re clean. Mostly.”

Now, at night, you talk sometimes.

Not about anything important. Not yet.

About the people who walk funny, like that one guy from the armory with a permanent limp and a belt that squeaks. About the smell in the hallway by the medbay. About how one of the lights in the commons flickers like it’s trying to send Morse code.

You haven’t told her about Jake. You’re not sure you ever will.

But last night, she told you about her little brother. How he used to eat cereal with orange juice when they ran out of milk.

And the night before that, she told you she used to sleep on a trampoline. Not on it, technically. Beneath it. Like a fort. Said it felt safer than a bed, somehow.

And tonight, in the dark, you wonder if maybe, eventually, you’ll say something back.

Not everything.

But maybe just: I had a brother, too.

You don’t say it yet. You just close your eyes and pretend you’re not holding onto that sentence like it might shatter if you breathe too loud.

Across the room, Casey shifts again. A mutter. Then silence.

You stare at the ceiling.

Still awake. Still listening.

And slowly—so slowly—you realize this doesn’t feel quite like before.

Still lonely. But not alone.

The MP3 player rests by your pillow. It still doesn’t always work. But sometimes, it plays.

Then you press play.

Dancing Queen.

The sound crackles softly in your ears.

You close your eyes.

.

You’re ten, maybe eleven. Sitting in a patch of sun, picking pebbles out of Jake’s boots while he fiddles with the old MP3. He finally gets it working and shoves one of the buds into your ear.

“You’re gonna thank me later,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because this is the greatest band of all time.”

He hits play, and “Dancing Queen” crackles to life.

You groan.

“Seriously?”

“It’s a masterpiece.”

“It’s cheesy!”

“Cheesy is good. You’ll get it when you’re older.”

He bops his head, mouthing the words dramatically, and you giggle despite yourself.

.

Present day. You don’t giggle now. But you hum along softly.

And you remember your firsts days with seventeen.

When he was still alive.

The next morning, the routine repeats.

You arrive early to the medbay, like always. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, buzzing in your bones, and the cabinets rattle when you open them too hard. The air smells like alcohol and old gauze. You like it here, though. It’s quiet. Structured. Clean.

You organize the cabinets while Nora stitches a soldier’s shoulder. He winces, swears under his breath, and she tells him to shut up before she accidentally sews his mouth closed.

Later, she hands you a clipboard and jerks her chin toward the back wall.

"Alphabetize the meds,” she says. “Don’t screw it up. I’ll know."

You nod and get to work.

You hum as you go. Not loud, just a whisper of a tune under your breath, half-lost beneath the crackle of the intercom and the rustle of bandages. It’s a habit. Something to fill the space in your head.

Your fingers move without thinking. Sorting bottles. Labels. Lot numbers.

"Chiquitita, tell me what's wrong…"

The lyrics slip out softly. Barely a breath. You don’t even realize you’re singing until a voice speaks behind you, playful and familiar:

"No way. Did you just sing ABBA?"

You freeze.

Turn slowly.

Manny stands in the doorway, hand pressed to a cut on his eyebrow. His WLF uniform is half unzipped, a sweat-soaked t-shirt clinging beneath it. He grins like he just caught you stealing cookies.

“I thought I was the only one with taste around here,” he says.

You stare. Unsure what to do.

Your throat tightens.

He gestures toward the shelves, toward you.

"Chiquitita, huh?" His grin widens. "That’s cute. You look like one."

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“That’s your name now,” he adds, teasing but kind. “Chiquitita.”

Heat floods your cheeks.

You glance down at the pill bottle in your hand, suddenly very interested in the expiration date.

He laughs, soft and warm.

"Don’t worry, hermanita. I won’t tell anyone you’ve got good music taste.”

You look at him again. Really look.

There’s something easy about him. Not flirtatious, not mocking, just light. Friendly. Familiar in a way that makes your chest ache a little.

He reminds you of Jake. Not his face. Not his voice. But the way he stands. Like nothing can touch him. Like he’s been hurt before and decided to laugh anyway.

You glance toward Nora. She’s still stitching. She doesn’t look up, but you think she’s listening.

Still, you smile. Just a little. Just enough.

That night, you skip dinner. Just want quiet. You sit in one of the old storage rooms on the second level. Nobody goes there much. Too dusty. You like it.

You rest your chin on your knees.

You hear footsteps echo in the hall.

The door cracks open.

A figure steps inside. Not searching, just passing through. Carrying a stack of folded blankets under one arm and a sealed medical crate in the other.

Broad shoulders. Rolled sleeves. A messy braid.

Your breath catches.

It’s her.

Abby.

She doesn’t see you. Her eyes scan the shelves briefly. She moves like she’s done this a hundred times, all strength and certainty. She sets the crate down with a quiet thud, and as she does, her arms flex beneath the weight. Muscles shifting, sleeves stretching. Effortless.

You blink. Heat flares under your cheeks. You look away, even though she hasn’t looked once.

She straightens, adjusts the blankets on her arm, and walks back out without a word, without a glance.

The door swings shut behind her.

You don’t move for a long time.

Your stomach twists.

You don’t know why.

In your room, you pull the journal from under your mattress. The one Nora slipped you with the med book. "Might help," she’d said, like it didn’t matter if you used it or not.

You write like you’re speaking to him. To Jake.

You tell him about the medbay. About the stew. About Casey and the cracked ceiling tile above your bed.

And you tell him you’re scared.

That being here is like being underwater. That sometimes, you forget his voice until the music starts.

Your birthday is next week. Eighteen. Not that anyone knows.

Jake would’ve remembered. He always did.

Even when there wasn’t anything to give. No candles. No cake. Just a quiet “happy birthday” before dawn, maybe a smooth rock shaped like a heart or a half-melted candy bar saved from a raid.

It was never much. But it was always something.

Now, it’ll be nothing.

Just another day you survive. Another night you don’t sleep. Another number you carry, alone.

You pause. The pencil hovers.

Then, almost like muscle memory, you sketch a little star in the margin. A habit from before. From safe places.

And then—without thinking:

Abby has huge arms. Like, scary huge. Why do I keep staring???

You stare at the sentence.

Your eyes widen.

What—

You furiously scribble it out, like the page just insulted you.

“No,” you mutter. “Absolutely not.”

Your heart is doing something weird in your chest. Not fear. Not quite.

Just weird.

You try to focus. You draw a little heart next to the star. Then you tap your pencil. Then you write:

Probably just respect. Muscle respect.

Then immediately:

That’s not a thing.

You drop the pencil. Cover your face with both hands.

This is fine. Totally normal. People think about arms sometimes. In an... admiring way. Right?

You peek at the page again.

And before you can stop yourself:

seriously though her biceps???

You groan into your pillow.

.

The next morning, the light through the cracked window wakes you.

You stretch, groggy, and start gathering your things. Casey’s already tying her boots, humming something under her breath.

As you reach under your mattress for your journal, the corner snags and the book slips from your hand—flopping open to a page from the night before.

Your heart stops.

You scramble to grab it, but Casey’s head tilts slightly in your direction. Her eyes flick over, just for a second.

A beat.

Then, as you clutch the journal to your chest, she says:

“Bold choice using double question marks.”

You freeze.

“…What?”

She doesn’t look at you, just shrugs, wiping dust off her sleeve.

“Nothing. Didn’t read it. Just saw question marks. Chill.”

You swallow hard, cheeks hot.

“Right.”

She grabs her coat and stands. “Besides—whoever has the biceps, good for them.”

You stare.

She winks, then walks out, casual as anything.

You flop back onto your bed for exactly two seconds before groaning into your pillow.

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

taglist: @elliewilliamsbb @trizxyp @kiewii @littlelittlebear @abbyismywife @wiildandfluorescent @honney-bonny @siiri0307 @mikanlove4 @depressedsourcandy

.

chapter 2 is heree, i hope you like it! remember this is slowww :)

taglist? comment to be added!

get to know me :)

@strangergraphics <3

DISCLAIMER

[nevernonline]

✧.* the pages of us; jww

synopsis: Wonwoo, a quiet and introspective writer, stumbles upon The Reading Nook, a small, tucked-away bookstore owned by Y/N, a passionate book lover. their shared love for literature draws them together, but the secrets hidden within the bookstore’s collection may hold the key to both their futures.

paring: wonwoo x fem! reader. 

genre:strangers2whatever  

warning/s:mentions of substances (alcohol), death of a parent.

word count: 15k

content: . non-idol idolings

note: non rlly edited prob weird typos, xo. 

The autumn wind tugged at Wonwoo’s jacket as he walked aimlessly through unfamiliar streets. The world around him buzzed—cars honking, people chattering—but his mind was elsewhere, tangled in unwritten sentences and half-formed ideas. When he saw it, he stopped.  

Nestled between a bakery and a flower shop was a small bookstore, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze: The Reading Nook. The warm glow spilling through the windows beckoned him, promising sanctuary. Without hesitation, he stepped inside.  

A bell jingled as the door closed behind him, and the city’s noise melted away, replaced by the soft hum of jazz. The scent of aged paper and faintly spiced tea wrapped around him like a blanket. The space was a labyrinth of towering shelves, cozy armchairs, and scattered stacks of books.  

Behind the counter, a young woman sat perched on a stool, engrossed in a book. Her oversized sweater hung loosely around her frame, and a pencil peeked out from behind her ear. A steaming mug sat within arm’s reach. At the sound of the bell, she looked up, her eyes meeting Wonwoo’s.  

“Lost?” she asked, a hint of teasing in her tone.  

He hesitated. “Uh, No. Not really. I just needed a change of scenery.”  

Her smile widened. “Well, welcome to The Nook. Are you looking for something specific, or do you prefer letting the books choose you?”  

He shrugged, glancing around. “I’m not sure. Inspiration, maybe. I’m a writer. Or trying to be.”  

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “A creative soul, then. I love to see it.” She closed her book with a soft thud and hopped off the stool. “Lucky for you, this place has a knack for unsticking writers. Come on.”  

She led him past rows of novels and poetry collections to a corner that seemed quieter, almost sacred. Pulling a worn book from the shelf, she handed it to him. “This one’s a personal favorite. It might be just what you need.”  

Wonwoo flipped through the pages, his fingers brushing the edges of faded paper. “Thanks,” he murmured, though something on a lower shelf caught his eye.  

“What’s that section?” he asked, pointing to a small, tucked-away shelf labeled Oddities & Curiosities.  

Her laugh was soft and warm. “Oh, that’s the fun shelf. A collection of random finds—some rare, some downright strange. Wait here.”  

She crouched down and pulled out a slim, weathered journal bound in dark leather. She placed it in his hands, her expression thoughtful. “This is special. It’s been here forever. People call it the Muse’s Journal. Writers seem to like it. It’s basically a sacred text.”  

The leather was cracked with age, the pages filled with scribbled notes, odd sketches, and cryptic messages in faded ink. One phrase in particular caught his eye:  

“Every ending is a beginning in disguise.”  

He ran his fingers over the words, as if they might dissolve. “This almost feels like it’s meant for me.”  

She watched him, her gaze softening. “It tends to have that effect.”  

Their eyes met for a brief moment, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Then she broke the spell, gesturing toward the counter.  

“Let me ring those up for you.”  

At the counter, she slipped a hand-drawn bookmark into the journal before sliding it toward him. “Consider this a welcome gift,” she said with a smile. “Don’t be a stranger—I want to hear how it goes.”  

He nodded, tucking the journal and bookmark into his bag. “Thanks... Y/N,” he said, glancing at the nameplate on the counter.  

The bell jingled as he stepped out into the crisp autumn air. Inside, Y/N lingered by the counter, her fingers brushing the edge of her mug. She found herself wondering about the quiet writer who had wandered in, carrying stories he wasn’t ready to tell.  

Wonwoo’s apartment was small and spare, its corners cluttered with books and scattered drafts of his unfinished manuscript. The city hummed outside, but within the four walls, it was quiet—too quiet. He dropped his bag onto the table and pulled out the journal Y/N had given him, the leather cover cool under his fingertips.

He opened it carefully, the faint scent of old paper filling the room. The handwriting inside was uneven, a mix of bold, confident strokes and faint, hurried scrawls. Sketches of stars and swirling patterns filled the margins, and snippets of phrases seemed to leap from the pages:

To find the ending, look within.

Time folds like pages.

You already know the answer.

Near the middle, he found a folded scrap of paper tucked between the pages. Carefully, he opened it. Written in the same hurried scrawl were the words:

The key lies where the light breaks.

Wonwoo tilted his head, puzzled. It felt like a puzzle piece, disconnected but tantalizing. He sat down at his desk, pulled out his laptop, and opened the document containing his manuscript. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

For weeks, he’d stared at this screen, unable to write. But now, the words in the journal buzzed in his mind, stirring something deep within. He scrolled to the last paragraph of his story and began to type. Slowly at first, then faster.

The narrative began to flow, his characters moving through the scenes as if they’d been waiting for him to find his way back. The world outside faded as Wonwoo lost himself in the story.

The bell above the door jingled softly as Wonwoo stepped into The Reading Nook for the second time. It was raining outside, the kind of steady drizzle that dampened everything except his resolve to return. He shook off his umbrella by the door and glanced toward the counter, where Y/N was scribbling something in a notebook.

She looked up at the sound of the bell, her expression shifting from focus to a faint smile. “Back already?”

Wonwoo shrugged, setting his messenger bag on the counter. “The journal,” he said simply, pulling it out and sliding it toward her. “It’s... strange, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like it knows what I need to hear before I do.”

Y/N’s fingers brushed the journal as she picked it up, her movements slow, almost reverent. “That’s what people say about it,” she replied, her tone measured. “It has a way of finding the right person.”

Wonwoo tilted his head, catching the flicker of something in her voice—hesitation, or maybe unease. “You’ve had it for a long time, haven’t you?”

She nodded, her gaze lowering to the journal. “It was one of my mother’s finds. She used to say every book had a soul, but this one...” She trailed off, her expression softening as if caught in a memory. “This one feels alive.”

Wonwoo hesitated before asking, “And the notes inside? Like this one.” He unfolded the small slip of paper he’d found tucked in the pages. “What’s ‘where the light breaks’ supposed to mean?”

For a moment, Y/N’s guard slipped, her brows knitting together in a way that told him she knew more than she was letting on. Then, just as quickly, she recovered, flashing him an enigmatic smile. “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it’s a metaphor. Writers love their metaphors, don’t they?”

Wonwoo gave a small laugh, though her deflection left him unconvinced. He decided not to press further, sensing that whatever secrets she was guarding weren’t ready to be shared.

“Mind if I stick around for a while?” he asked, changing the subject.

Y/N gestured toward the back of the store. “Go ahead. There’s some nice spots in the back corner by the staircase.”

Wonwoo found his favorite armchair nestled in the back corner of the store, near a shelf overflowing with worn poetry collections and dog-eared philosophy books. He placed the journal on the small table beside him and opened his laptop.

As the hours slipped by, the steady rhythm of rain against the windows created the perfect backdrop for writing. Y/N occasionally passed by, carrying stacks of books to reshelve or pausing to check in on him.

“How’s it going?” she asked during one of her rounds.

He glanced up, smiling faintly. “Better. The words are coming easier today. It’s strange—I haven’t felt this focused in weeks.”

Y/N arched a brow, setting a mug of tea on the table beside him. “Maybe it’s the bookstore’s magic,” she said lightly, though there was a touch of sincerity in her voice.

“Maybe,” he agreed, taking a sip of the tea. It was spiced and warm, the perfect antidote to the cold rain outside.

Y/N leaned against the edge of the shelf, her arms crossed. “What’s the problem anyway? Plot? Characters? Dialogue?”

“All of it,” he replied, gesturing helplessly at the screen. “It’s like I’ve forgotten how to write.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Want to try an exercise? Something I do when I’m in a creative rut?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “You write?”

“I dabble,” she said with a shrug, though a faint blush crept up her cheeks. “Mostly for myself. But the exercise works. Close your laptop.”

He hesitated but followed her instruction, snapping the laptop shut.

“Now,” she continued, “pick a random object in the room. Anything.”

Wonwoo glanced around, his gaze landing on an antique globe sitting on a nearby shelf. “That.”

“Perfect,” Y/N said, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. “Tell me about the person who owns it. What do they do? Where have they been? What’s their story?”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the prompt. Slowly, he began to speak. “They’re... an explorer. Someone who’s seen the world but is always looking for something they can’t quite find. Maybe it’s a place, or a feeling, or—”

“A person,” Y/N interjected softly, her eyes meeting his.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice quieter. “A person.”

They shared a small smile before Y/N stood, brushing her hands on her sweater. “See? You’re not blocked—you’re just overthinking. Write like that, without the pressure.”

Their conversations began to spill beyond writing. That evening, after the store had emptied out, Y/N brought over not two mugs of tea this time, but two glasses of whiskey chilled with a thick cut ball of ice and sat beside him in his corner.

“What’s your story, Wonwoo?” she asked, breaking the companionable silence.

“My story?” he repeated, taking a sip of the drink to buy time.

“Yeah,” she said, tucking her legs beneath her. “You know all these characters and worlds, but what about you? What made you want to write in the first place?”

He hesitated, her question striking a chord. “I think It’s the only way I know how to make sense of things. Of people. Writing lets me put the world into words, even when it doesn’t make sense in real life.”

“That’s beautiful,” she said softly.

He gave her a shy smile, unused to such direct praise. “What about you? Why books?”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the shelves around them. “Books were my escape growing up. My mom used to say a good story could take you anywhere, even if you couldn’t leave where you were. She started this place so people could find those stories.”

“Did you always know you’d take over?” Wonwoo asked.

“Not at first,” she admitted, tracing the rim of her mug. “I thought I’d do something else, but when she passed, I realized how much of her was here. Keeping the store alive felt like keeping her alive, too.”

Her voice wavered slightly, and Wonwoo reached out instinctively, his hand brushing hers. “She’d be proud of you,” he said gently.

Y/N looked at him, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thanks, Wonwoo. That means a lot. To creative breakthroughs,” she said, raising her glass.

“And to mysterious journals,” Wonwoo added with a smirk, clinking his glass against hers.

The whiskey was smooth, warming him from the inside out. He leaned back in his chair, feeling the tension of the day melt away.

“Once,” Y/N said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, “a guy came in asking if we sold books printed on edible paper. Said he wanted to consume knowledge literally.”

Wonwoo laughed, nearly spilling his drink. “Did you find him anything?”

“I tried to sell him a cookbook. He wasn’t amused.”

He shook his head, still grinning. “This place must be full of stories.”

“It is,” she said, her voice softer now. “But not just the ones on the shelves.”

“What do you mean? 

Y/n smiled, shaking her head slightly. “I feel like all of my core memories were here. WIth my mom. With customers just like you, I read about sex for the first time here with my friends just spending our day giggling at the words, I had my birthday parties here, all of that. When I was younger I thought there was something hiding beneath the walls of the bookshelves like a treasure hunt. I even drew my own map, all of it. It’s just something special.” 

Wonwoo’s grin softened as he leaned back in his chair, his glass of whiskey resting loosely in his hand. He took in Y/N’s wistful expression, the way her eyes shimmered with nostalgia. “That’s really beautiful,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It sounds like this place has always been more than just a bookstore for you.”  

Y/N laughed softly, a touch of self-consciousness in her tone. “Yeah, it’s kind of silly, isn’t it? Most people probably see it as just another store, but to me…” She gestured around them, her hand sweeping across the shelves and corners bathed in golden light. “It’s everything. A home, a memory box, a time machine, even.”  

“You made a treasure map?” he asked, his lips twitching into an amused smile.  

“Oh, yeah,” Y/N said, her cheeks flushing. She sat up straighter, miming the act of unrolling a scroll. “I was convinced there were secret passages hidden in the walls or, like, a chest buried under the floorboards. I even roped my friends into searching for hours. We’d sneak around with flashlights after the store closed, trying not to get caught.”  

“Did you ever find anything?” Wonwoo asked, playing along.  

She smiled mischievously. “Well, I did find an old tin box stuffed behind a loose board in the back. Turned out to be a stash of my mom’s notes and doodles from when she was designing the store. She’d drawn all these little floor plans and written these whimsical ideas for themed sections. It was like finding a treasure, but instead of gold, it was her imagination.”  

Wonwoo’s brows lifted in surprise. “That sounds even better than gold.”  

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, her voice softer now. “It was.”  

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The store felt alive around them, the silence filled with the weight of its stories. Wonwoo glanced toward the rows of shelves, his gaze lingering on their uneven, timeworn edges.  

“You’ve spent your whole life here,” he said finally, his tone contemplative. “It’s like you and this place are woven together.”  

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”  

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his dark eyes meeting hers. “You’ve built something that carries so much meaning—not just for you, but for everyone who steps through that door. I mean, look at me. I was completely lost, and this place pulled me in. It’s rare.”  

Her smile returned, small but genuine. “You really think so?”  

He nodded without hesitation. “I do. And I think your mom would be proud of what you’ve done with it.”  

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her glass for a moment, her gaze dropping to the amber liquid inside. “That means a lot.”  

She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “What about you, though? What’s your version of a treasure map? Did you ever have a place like this growing up?”  

Wonwoo paused, considering the question. “Not really. My family moved around a lot, so I never had the chance to get attached to any one place. But I guess that’s why books became so important to me. They were the only constant.”  

“Did you have a favorite?”  

He chuckled, the sound soft and low. “I had a beat-up copy of The Little Prince. I carried it everywhere. The pages were falling out by the time I hit high school, but I couldn’t let it go. It felt like it understood me in a way nothing else did.”  

Y/N smiled, her eyes lighting up. “That’s one of my favorites too. It’s so simple, but it stays with you.”  

“Yeah,” he said, his expression turning thoughtful. “I think that’s what I want my writing to do. I want someone to pick up my book and feel the way I felt holding that one—like it’s speaking directly to them.”  

“That’s a pretty amazing goal,” Y/N said. “And if your manuscript is anything like the pieces I’ve seen you scribble on napkins around here, you’re on your way.”  

Wonwoo laughed, feeling his cheeks heat under her praise. “Well, that’s high praise coming from the owner of the coziest, most magical bookstore in the city.”  

“Oh, we’re the only magical bookstore in the city,” Y/N quipped, raising her glass in mock toast.  

“Fair enough,” Wonwoo said, clinking his glass against hers again.  

The night deepened, the whiskey bottle slowly emptying as their conversation wandered from books to music, from childhood memories to dreams they hadn’t dared to share before. The air between them grew warmer, the initial reserve giving way to an easy intimacy.  

By the time the clock struck midnight, Y/N found herself leaning against the arm of her chair, her head resting on her hand as she watched Wonwoo animatedly describe a scene from his favorite film. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so at ease with someone.  

Wonwoo caught her gaze and paused mid-sentence, his smile softening. “What?”  

“Nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Just you talk about stories like they’re alive. It’s nice.”  

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a quiet sincerity, he said, “I think it’s because they are. And you—you’re part of why I’m starting to believe in them again.”  

Her breath caught, the weight of his words settling in her chest. For once, she didn’t know what to say, so she simply smiled, the corners of her lips curving upward as warmth spread through her.  

Outside, the rain began again, tapping lightly against the windows, as if the universe itself were trying to write the next chapter of their story.  

The clock on the wall chimed softly, breaking the stillness. Y/N glanced at it and sighed. “We should probably call it a night. I have to open up in the morning.”

“Right,” Wonwoo said, though he was reluctant to leave.

As he gathered his things, Y/N walked him to the door, her steps slow.

“Thanks for staying,” she said as he shrugged on his coat.

“Thanks for the whiskey,” he replied with a smile. “And for letting me hijack your bookstore every day.”

“You’re not hijacking it,” she said, her tone warm. “You’re just  adding to its story.”

He paused, her words settling in his chest like a quiet truth. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Wonwoo.”

As he stepped out into the cool night, he couldn’t help but glance back at the softly glowing windows of The Reading Nook, already looking forward to returning to its quiet magic—and to her—tomorrow.

The morning at the store was unusually busy, with regulars and passersby drifting in and out. The faint hum of chatter and the occasional scrape of chairs filled the air, blending with the soft jazz playing from the speakers. Y/N moved easily between the shelves, offering recommendations and ringing up purchases with her usual calm efficiency.

Wonwoo arrived just past noon, carrying the journal tucked under his arm. He pushed the door open and was greeted by the cheerful jingle of the entry bell. Y/N, stationed behind the counter, looked up and gave him a warm smile.

“Back so soon?” she teased.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he replied, returning her smile as he made his way to his usual spot in the back corner.

But today, instead of pulling out his laptop, Wonwoo placed the journal on the table and opened it. His fingers traced the faint ink of the unfamiliar handwriting as he flipped through the pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.

After the rush died down, Y/N joined him, carrying two steaming cups of coffee. She placed one beside him and leaned against the edge of the table. “You’ve been staring at that thing all week,” she said, nodding at the journal. “What the hell is so fascinating about it?”

Wonwoo looked up, his expression thoughtful. “It’s strange. The more I read it, the more it feels like the writer was leaving clues for someone, almost like they wanted to be found.”

Y/N’s curiosity piqued. She pulled up a chair, sitting across from him. “What kind of clues?”

He turned the journal toward her, pointing to a section where a paragraph had been underlined. “Here, for example. The writer talks about a ‘hidden heart’ beneath the shelves, something meant to outlast them. And here—” He flipped a few pages, showing her a sketch of what looked like a rough map. “This is a drawing of something, but I can’t figure out what. It’s like they were mapping out a part of the store.”

Y/N leaned closer, her brow furrowing. “Let me see that.” She studied the map, her fingers brushing the edges of the page. The sketch showed a series of lines and rectangles, vaguely resembling the layout of the bookstore, with an X marked near the back wall.

“That’s... odd,” she murmured. “It does look like the store, but this corner doesn’t exist anymore. My mom remodeled years ago to add the café section.”

“Could there be something behind the wall?” Wonwoo asked, his voice low with intrigue.

Y/N bit her lip, considering the possibility. “Maybe. But I don’t remember her ever mentioning anything like that.”

They spent the next hour poring over the journal together, comparing the map to the store’s current layout and trying to piece together the cryptic notes scribbled in the margins. Phrases like “For the dreamers who wander” and “Seek, and you will find” were scattered throughout, written in a looping, elegant script.

“This feels like something out of one of your novels,” Y/N said, glancing at Wonwoo with a small smile.

“I know,” he replied, his excitement evident. “It’s almost too perfect.”

“But if there’s something hidden, why hasn’t anyone found it before?”

“That’s what we need to figure out,” he said, standing abruptly. “Where’s that back corner? The one your mom remodeled?”

Y/N hesitated but stood as well, leading him toward the café section. They stopped in front of the wall that now housed shelves of cookbooks and travel guides.

“This is where the X would be,” she said, gesturing toward space. “But if there’s anything back there, it’s been sealed up for years.”

Wonwoo ran his hand along the wooden paneling, his expression thoughtful. “It wouldn’t hurt to check, right?”

Y/N disappeared into the back room and returned with a small step ladder and a flashlight. Together, they began carefully inspecting the wall, knocking on the panels and listening for any hollow sounds.

“Here,” Wonwoo said after a few minutes, tapping on a spot near the floor. The sound was noticeably different, dull and hollow compared to the rest.

Y/N crouched beside him, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “You think that’s it?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

They worked together to carefully remove the lower panel, revealing a small recess hidden behind it. Inside was an old, dust-covered wooden box, no bigger than a shoebox.

Y/N’s breath hitched. “Oh my God.”

Wonwoo reached in and gently pulled the box out, placing it on the floor between them. It was heavy, the wood worn and etched with faint carvings of stars and vines. A small latch held it shut.

“Do we open it?” he asked, looking at Y/N.

She nodded, her hands trembling slightly. “We have to.”

As Y/N stared at the box and its mysterious contents, a nagging thought began to creep into her mind. She looked at the map again, then at the journal, then at Wonwoo. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Wait a second,” she said, her tone suddenly sharp. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“This.” she gestured at the journal and the box, her voice rising slightly. “This whole... treasure hunt. It’s because I told you about my stupid childhood treasure map last night, isn’t it?”

“What? No fucking way.” Wonwoo said, his brows knitting together in confusion.

Y/N stood and crossed her arms, glaring down at him. “It’s just too convenient, okay? You show up here with this mystical, cryptic journal I gave you, right after I tell you how I used to dream about finding treasure in this store. And now, look. We’ve ‘found’ a hidden box in the wall? What are the odds of that, Wonwoo?”

Her words hit him like a slap, and he rose to his feet, looking genuinely hurt. “Y/N, I’m not making this up,” he said, his voice steady but defensive. “Why would I even go through all this trouble just to mess with you?”

“I don’t know.” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re a writer. Maybe you thought it’d be funny, or it’d give you material for your next book?”

“Seriously?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You really think I’d fake something like this? For what? A laugh?”

Y/N hesitated, suddenly unsure. Her anger fizzled as quickly as it had flared, leaving behind an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and guilt. She bit her lip and glanced at the box again, its contents undeniably real.

“Well,” she muttered, her voice quieter now. “It just seems too perfect. Like something out of one of your stories.”

Wonwoo sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his expression softening. “I get it. It does feel like something out of a book. But that’s what makes it so amazing, Y/N. It’s real.”

She looked at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all she saw was sincerity—the kind that made her chest tighten.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice small. “It’s just…this place means a lot to me, and I guess I got defensive.”

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “I get why you’d be suspicious. But I promise, this journal, this box—it’s as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath and sat back down, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders. “I guess I owe you the benefit of the doubt,” she said with a sheepish smile. “You’re not exactly the pranking type.”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo replied, his lips quivering into a small smile. “Although now I kind of wish I had thought of this. It’s a pretty great story.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Don’t push it.”

Inside the box, they found an assortment of items: a stack of faded letters tied with a silk ribbon, a small leather pouch filled with pressed flowers, and a single gold key. At the very bottom was a handwritten note on yellowed paper.

Y/N picked it up and unfolded it carefully, her eyes scanning the elegant script.

“For those who cherish stories: The heart of the dreamer lies not in the treasure itself, but in the act of seeking. May you find what you didn’t know you were looking for.”

The note was signed with her mother’s name.

Y/N stared at the signature, her throat tightening. “She left this here,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Wonwoo placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “She wanted you to find it.”

Y/N blinked back tears and looked at him. “But what does it mean? The key, the letters... What was she trying to tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo said softly, “but I think we’re only just beginning to understand the story.”

They sat there in the quiet of the bookstore, the mystery unfolding around them like the opening pages of a long-lost novel. The key glinted in the soft light, a silent invitation to continue the journey.

After a moment of silence, she reached for the journal again, turning it over in her hands. “So... if you’re not messing with me, what do you think this all means? The key, the letters, the note...”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo admitted, crouching beside the box once more. “But I think your mom was trying to leave you something—not just in the literal sense, but maybe a piece of herself. Maybe she wanted you to find it when you were ready.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, her fingers brushing over the note. “She always did love a good mystery.”

“Well, lucky for you, you’ve got a mystery writer here to help,” Wonwoo said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “All right, detective. Where do we start?”

Wonwoo held up the gold key, letting it catch the light. “With this,” he said simply.

The gold key gleamed under the soft light of the bookstore, its intricate details catching Y/N’s eye. It was old, heavy in Wonwoo’s hand as he turned it over thoughtfully.

“So,” he began, “any idea what this might go to?”

Y/N shook her head, her brow furrowing as she stared at the key. “Not really. It’s not from the register, or the front door, and it doesn’t look like any of the locks I’ve seen around here. It’s  too decorative.”

Wonwoo placed the key on the table, its metallic clink filling the quiet space. “Could it belong to something in the back room? Maybe there’s an old chest or cabinet hidden back there.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “There is an old storage cabinet in the back, but it’s just filled with leftover inventory and random junk. I don’t think it even has a lock anymore.”

“Well,” Wonwoo said, standing up and grabbing the key, “let’s find out.”

The two of them moved through the store, weaving between shelves and heading toward the back room. Y/N flipped on the overhead light, revealing a space cluttered with boxes, stacks of old books, and various odds and ends that had accumulated over the years.

“There,” she said, pointing toward a tall wooden cabinet tucked against the far wall. It was scratched and weathered, its once-polished surface dulled by time.

Wonwoo approached it, crouching to examine the hardware. “Looks like it used to have a keyhole, but it’s been replaced with this newer latch.” He stood and glanced around the room. “What else could it fit?”

Y/N frowned, scanning the room. Then her gaze landed on an old wooden chest half-buried beneath a pile of dusty books. Her heart skipped a beat. “That,” she said, gesturing toward it. “It used to belong to my mom. I haven’t opened it in years.”

Wonwoo crossed to the chest and carefully cleared the books away, revealing its ornate design. It was carved with swirling patterns and faint images of stars and moons—details that mirrored the etchings on the box they’d found.

“This has to be it,” he said, his voice low with anticipation.

Y/N knelt beside him, her hands trembling slightly as she handed him the key. “Go ahead,” she said.

Wonwoo hesitated for a moment, then slid the key into the lock. It fit perfectly, turning with a satisfying click. The lid creaked as he lifted it, revealing the chest’s contents:

Inside was a collection of items that seemed to have been frozen in time. There were stacks of faded photographs, a leather-bound notebook, and a small music box. Among them was a sealed envelope with Y/N’s name written in her mother’s handwriting.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She reached for the envelope, her fingers brushing the paper lightly before pulling it free.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asked gently.

She nodded, though her hands were shaking as she opened the letter.

The letter was written in the same elegant script as the note they’d found earlier. Y/N’s eyes scanned the words, her voice barely above a whisper as she read aloud:

"My dearest Y/N, If you’re reading this, it means you’ve found the box and followed the clues. I always knew you would—your curiosity has always been your greatest strength. This store is more than a place for books; it’s a sanctuary for dreamers, just like you.

The chest holds pieces of my story, but it’s also a reminder to create your own. The key isn’t just for unlocking the past—it’s for opening doors to the future. Keep seeking, keep dreaming, and never stop believing in the magic of stories.

With all my love, Mom.”

Y/N’s voice broke as she finished the letter, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wiped at her eyes, laughing softly. “She always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

Wonwoo smiled, his own eyes glassy. “She sounds like an incredible woman.”

“She was,” Y/N said, clutching the letter to her chest. “And somehow, she still is.”

They spent the next hour carefully going through the chest. The photographs captured moments from her mother’s life: her standing in front of the bookstore on opening day, laughing with friends at a party, and sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by books, her smile bright and full of life.

The notebook turned out to be her mother’s journal, filled with musings about the store, her dreams for its future, and even sketches of book displays.

But it was the music box that brought the most unexpected surprise. When Y/N wound it up and opened it, a soft, haunting melody filled the room. Beneath the mechanism was a small, folded piece of paper.

Wonwoo picked it up and unfolded it, his brow furrowing. “It’s another map,” he said, holding it up for Y/N to see.

This one was simpler than the first, but it clearly pointed to a specific section of the bookstore: the poetry aisle.

“Of course,” Y/N said, shaking her head with a teary laugh. “That was her favorite section.”

“Looks like the treasure hunt isn’t over,” Wonwoo said, his smile growing.

Y/N glanced at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. “You really are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Are you kidding?” he said, standing and offering her his hand. “This is the best story I’ve been part of in years.”

Y/N took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. “Then let’s go see what else she left behind.”

The poetry section was nestled in one of the coziest corners of The Reading Nook, lit by warm, golden light from an antique floor lamp. The shelves were crammed with well-loved volumes, their spines a kaleidoscope of faded colors. Y/N and Wonwoo crouched together, studying the map they’d found in the music box.

“It’s pointing right here,” Wonwoo said, tapping a spot on the map that corresponded to a low shelf at the far end of the aisle. “You think there’s something hidden behind the books?”

“Only one way to find out,” Y/N murmured, already reaching for a stack of slim poetry collections. She began pulling them off the shelf, careful not to damage the fragile covers.

Wonwoo joined in, working methodically as the gap widened. Behind the books, they found an old wooden panel, its edges rough and worn. A faint carving was etched into the wood—a heart with an arrow through it.

Y/N ran her fingers over the carving, her pulse quickening. “This has to be it,” she whispered. “It matches the note in the journal about the ‘hidden heart.’”

“Is it loose?” Wonwoo asked, leaning in closer.

Y/N pushed gently on the panel, and it gave way with a soft creak, revealing a small compartment. Inside was a folded piece of parchment and a brass locket.

She carefully picked up the parchment and unfolded it, her eyes scanning the page. Before she could fully process what it said, the jingle of the front doorbell shattered the quiet.

“Y/N?”

The voice was sharp, authoritative, and instantly recognizable. Y/N froze, her blood running cold. She turned slowly to see her estranged aunt, Evelyn, standing at the entrance to the poetry aisle. Evelyn was tall and impeccably dressed, her tailored coat and polished heels making her look as though she belonged in a boardroom rather than a cozy bookstore.

“Who’s that?” Wonwoo asked softly, sensing her sudden tension.  

“My aunt,” Y/N muttered, her voice tight. “And she doesn’t visit for small talk.”  

Footsteps echoed down the aisle before Evelyn appeared, impeccably dressed in a dark tailored coat and stilettos that clicked sharply against the hardwood. Behind her trailed a man in a crisp gray suit, carrying a leather briefcase. His expression was unreadable but efficient, like a man who had won many battles in court.  

Evelyn’s sharp gaze fell immediately on Y/N, then flicked to Wonwoo and the cleared shelf. Her lips twisted into a thin, mirthless smile. “Well, this is quite the scene,” she said. “Still playing your little bookstore games, I see.”  

“What do you want, Evelyn?” Y/N asked, her tone defensive as she stood, tucking the parchment behind her back. Wonwoo quickly picked up the locket and slipped it into his pocket, his movements discreet.  

Evelyn gestured to the man beside her. “This is Mr. Calloway, my attorney. I brought him here to settle some legal matters concerning this store.”  

“Legal matters?” Y/N repeated, her stomach knotting.  

“Correct,” Calloway said, his voice as polished as his appearance. He opened his briefcase and produced a stack of papers, handing them to Evelyn.  

Evelyn stepped closer, holding the documents out to Y/N. “This property is not yours outright, dear. It belongs to the family, and I’m here to claim my share. Effective immediately, I’ll be taking ownership and moving forward with plans to redevelop this space into something profitable. The bookstore has had its time.”  

Y/N’s jaw tightened as she refused to take the papers. “You can’t just walk in here and take the store. My mother left it to me.”  

Evelyn gave a small, cold laugh. “Your mother left behind a mess. Do you have any idea how much debt this place is in? How much is it bleeding every month? I’m doing you a favor, Y/N. You can’t save this place—it’s a relic.”  

Wonwoo stepped forward, his expression calm but his voice firm. “With all due respect, ma’am, this place is more than just a business. It’s a community hub, a home for people who need it.”  

Evelyn’s eyes flicked to him, her disdain palpable. “And who, exactly, are you?”  

“Wonwoo,” he said, offering a polite nod. “I’m a writer, and I’ve been spending a lot of time here. Enough to know how much this store means—not just to Y/N, but to the people who come here.”  

“Another dreamer,” Evelyn muttered, shaking her head. She turned back to Y/N, her expression hardening. “You can surround yourself with all the idealists you want, but it won’t change the facts. I’ve already spoken to the developers, and they’re eager to get started. Your little bookstore is standing in the way of progress.”  

“I won’t let you do this,” Y/N said, her voice trembling but resolute. “This place isn’t just mine—it’s my mother’s legacy. You have no right to take it away.”  

Calloway cleared his throat, his tone measured. “Legally speaking, your aunt does have a valid claim. Without a specific stipulation in the will granting you sole ownership, the property reverts to shared family rights. Evelyn has chosen to exercise her claim.”  

Y/N’s heart sank, but before she could respond, Wonwoo stepped in again. “That’s interesting,” he said, his voice smooth. “Because we just found something that might make things a bit more complicated.”  

Evelyn’s sharp gaze locked onto him. “What do you mean?”  

Wonwoo shot Y/N a subtle glance, silently urging her to trust him. “I mean, Y/N’s mom left behind a lot of things in this store. Memories, letters, documents. Who’s to say there isn’t something legally binding among them?”  

Y/N caught on quickly, her hand tightening around the parchment. “That’s right. My mom was meticulous—she wouldn’t leave this place unprotected.”  

Evelyn’s confident facade faltered for a split second, but she quickly recovered. “If you have something concrete, I suggest you present it to a lawyer,” she said coolly. “Until then, this store is mine to do with as I please.”  

Wonwoo moved to stand between Y/N and Evelyn, his posture calm but firm. “You’re not taking anything today. Not until we’ve had a chance to go through everything and get legal advice of our own.”  

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can stall me?”  

“Not stall,” he said, his voice steady. “Protect what’s rightfully hers until the truth comes out.”  

There was a tense silence before Evelyn sighed dramatically, turning on her heel. “You have 48 hours to present proof. After that, I’m filing the necessary paperwork to take control.” She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze icy. “Don’t waste my time.”  

She strode out of the store, Calloway following closely behind. The doorbell jingled sharply as it shut behind them.  

Y/N slumped against the shelf, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “She’s serious,” she whispered. “She’s really going to try to take this place.”  

“She won’t,” Wonwoo said firmly, pulling the locket from his pocket. “Because we’re going to find out exactly what your mom left behind. And if there’s even the slightest chance this parchment can stop her, we’re using it.”  

Y/N straightened, her resolve hardening. “She’s not taking this store, Wonwoo. I don’t care what it takes.”  

He smiled faintly. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s figure out what else your mom wanted you to find.”  

Together, they returned to the hidden compartment, determined to uncover the secrets that would save the bookstore.

The tension from Evelyn’s visit still lingered as Y/N and Wonwoo returned to the poetry aisle. Y/N’s hands shook slightly as she gently unfolded the parchment again, staring at her mother’s handwriting. Wonwoo sat beside her, leaning closer to read over her shoulder.  

The note was more cryptic than her mother’s previous messages, written in elegant script:  

"Look for the words that open doors.  

Find the book where the stars meet the sea,  

And inside, you’ll discover the key to everything."

Y/N exhaled sharply, brushing her hair out of her face. “What does that even mean? ‘The stars meet the sea’? It sounds like a riddle.”  

“It is a riddle,” Wonwoo said thoughtfully, his brows furrowing as he studied the note. “But it’s also specific. Think about your mom—did she ever talk about a particular book that had something to do with stars or the sea?”  

Y/N hesitated, her eyes scanning the shelves around them. “She loved poetry. And she had a way of finding meaning in everything. If this is a reference to a book, it’s probably one she treasured.”  

Wonwoo stood and began browsing the nearby shelves, running his fingers along the spines. “What about the ones she kept separate from the main inventory? Rare or personal copies?”  

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “The display case in the main room. She kept her favorite editions there.”  

The two of them hurried to the display case, a vintage piece with glass panels that housed a carefully curated selection of books. Y/N unlocked it with a small key she kept on her necklace, the faint scent of old paper wafting out as she opened it.  

“‘Stars meet the sea,’” Wonwoo murmured, scanning the titles. His gaze stopped on a slim, navy-blue book with a constellation design embossed on the cover. Where the Stars Meet the Sea, it read.  

“This has to be it,” Y/N said, reaching for the book. She opened it slowly, her breath catching as something fluttered out from between the pages and landed on the glass.  

It was a folded piece of parchment, similar to the others, but heavier this time. Wonwoo picked it up carefully, unfolding it to reveal a sketched blueprint.  

“This... is a layout of the store,” Y/N said, her eyes widening as she recognized the familiar shape of the rooms and shelves.  

Wonwoo pointed to a section marked with an X near the back of the building. “What’s here?”  

“That’s the storage closet,” Y/N said, frowning. “I’ve been there a million times. There’s nothing special about it.”  

“Maybe there is,” Wonwoo said, already heading toward the back. “Your mom clearly wanted you to find something, and I don’t think she’d send you on a wild goose chase.”  

The storage closet was cramped and cluttered, packed with old boxes and supplies. Y/N and Wonwoo worked side by side to clear the space, uncovering the back wall. That’s when Y/N noticed something strange: a faint seam in the wood paneling.  

“There’s something behind this,” she said, brushing dust off the edges.  

Wonwoo grabbed a nearby screwdriver and began prying the panel loose. It took some effort, but eventually, the panel gave way, revealing a hidden compartment built into the wall.  

Inside was a small wooden box, secured with a delicate latch. Y/N’s hands trembled as she unfastened it, revealing a stack of letters tied with a ribbon, along with an aged leather journal.  

“These are my mom’s,” Y/N said, her voice breaking. She picked up the journal, flipping through the pages filled with her mother’s familiar handwriting. “It’s... it’s like she’s talking to me again.”  

Wonwoo watched her quietly for a moment before speaking. “I think we should take a break. You’ve been through a lot today.”  

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “But there’s so much to—”  

“Later,” Wonwoo interrupted gently. “Let’s take a minute to breathe. You’re not alone in this, Y/N. We’ll figure it out together.”  

She hesitated but eventually nodded. “Okay. You’re right.”  

Back in the main room, Wonwoo took it upon himself to lighten the mood. While Y/N sat curled up in one of the armchairs, he went to the small kitchenette in the back of the store. A few minutes later, he returned with two glasses of wine and a plate of crackers and cheese he had found in the pantry.  

“Wine and snacks,” he said with a soft smile, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “It’s not much, but I figured you could use something to take the edge off.”  

Y/N laughed softly, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “You really didn’t have to do this.”  

“I wanted to,” he said simply, handing her a glass.  

They sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping their wine. The quiet hum of the store enveloped them, warm and comforting.  

“This place really is magic,” Wonwoo said eventually, his voice soft.  

Y/N glanced at him, her heart tugging at the sincerity in his expression. “You think so?”  

He nodded, meeting her gaze. “It’s not just the books or the memories. It’s you. The way you talk about this place, the way you care about it... it’s inspiring.”  

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, her fingers tightening around her glass. “You’re just saying that.”  

“I’m not,” he said firmly. “You make this place what it is, Y/N. Your mom might have started it, but you’ve kept its heart alive. And I think that’s worth fighting for.”  

Her throat tightened at his words, and she managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Wonwoo. For everything.”  

“Always,” he said, his voice low and steady.  

For the first time that day, Y/N felt a flicker of hope. Whatever secrets her mother had left behind—and whatever battles lay ahead—she wasn’t facing them alone. And that made all the difference.  

Y/N leaned back in the armchair, swirling the last sip of wine in her glass. The dim light of the bookstore wrapped around them like a cocoon, soft and intimate. But the weight of the day still clung to her like a second skin—her aunt’s cruel words, the lawyer’s smug expression, the constant fear of losing everything.  

She sighed, staring into her glass. “I don’t get it. How can someone like Evelyn have the same blood as my mom? They’re polar opposites. My mom gave her life to this place, and Evelyn just... wants to turn it into concrete and drywall.”  

Wonwoo, who had been sitting cross-legged on the floor near the armchair, tilted his head thoughtfully. “Your aunt is  something else, huh?” he said carefully, a hint of amusement in his voice.  

Y/N let out a sharp laugh, startled by his tone. “That’s putting it lightly.”  

“No, seriously,” he said, leaning forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. “She stormed in here like a villain from some soap opera. All she was missing was a dramatic evil laugh and a pet cat to stroke menacingly.”  

Y/N snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. “Stop it. She’s bad, but she’s not a cartoon character.”  

“Are you sure?” Wonwoo countered, his grin widening. “She walked in here with her heels clicking like a countdown to doom and a lawyer who looked like he was ready to auction off your soul. I half-expected her to twirl her hair and say, ‘You’ll rue the day you crossed Evelyn!’”  

That did it. Y/N burst out laughing, the tension in her chest loosening with every chuckle. She doubled over slightly, her glass wobbling in her hand.  

Wonwoo sat back, clearly pleased with himself. “See? Laughter’s good for stress. And let’s face it, your aunt is absurd enough to be a villain in one of those cheesy romance novels you keep tucked in the corner.”  

Y/N wiped at her eyes, still giggling. “You’re not wrong. She’s dramatic enough to fit right in.”  

“And her lawyer?” Wonwoo continued, warming to the subject. “He had the personality of an empty notebook. No offense to him, but I’ve seen potted plants with more charisma.”  

She laughed harder, almost spilling her wine this time. “Okay, okay, now you’re being mean!”  

“It’s not mean it's true,” he teased. “Seriously, though, who shows up with a lawyer for a family dispute? It’s like she planned this whole takeover with a PowerPoint presentation and a laser pointer.”  

Y/N leaned back into her chair, her laughter quieting to a soft, lingering smile. For the first time all day, she felt like she could breathe. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.  

“But I’m helping,” he said, a boyish grin lighting up his face.  

She nodded, warmth blooming in her chest. “You are. More than you know.”  

There was a brief pause as they locked eyes, the humor fading into something quieter, more intimate. Wonwoo’s expression softened, his voice dropping to a gentle tone.  

“Your aunt might be a lot to handle, but she doesn’t define you, Y/N. Or this store. You’re stronger than she is, and you have something she’ll never understand—passion. You care about this place. That’s why you’ll win.”  

Y/N’s smile wavered, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “Thank you, Wonwoo. I don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”  

He reached over and gently plucked the glass from her hand, setting it aside. “You’d figure it out. You’re pretty incredible, Y/N. I’m just here to remind you of that.”  

She felt her cheeks flush, her heart thudding in her chest. “You’re really good at this whole pep talk thing.”  

“Years of practice,” he said lightly, leaning back with a small smile. “But honestly, it’s easy when it’s you. You make it worth it.”  

The warmth in his words settled over her like a comforting blanket, and for the first time in days, she felt the storm inside her quiet.

Y/N grabbed the wine bottle from the kitchenette, glancing over her shoulder at Wonwoo, who was sprawled lazily on the floor with his glass in hand. “Alright, Mr. Mysterious Writer. If we’re going to drink more wine, you’re spilling some juicy secrets.”  

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Secrets? What makes you think I have any?”  

“Oh, please,” she said, settling down across from him with a grin. “You’ve got that whole brooding, quiet thing going on. There’s definitely something juicy under there.”  

He chuckled, shaking his head as she refilled their glasses. “I think you’re overestimating how interesting I am.”  

Y/N leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. “Try me. What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”  

“Embarrassing?” he echoed, groaning dramatically. “You’re really starting with the hard-hitting questions.”  

“Absolutely,” she said with a smirk. “This wine isn’t free, you know. Payment in absolutely cringe-worthy stories, please.”  

Wonwoo took a sip of his wine, stalling as his ears turned faintly pink. “Fine. When I was in college, I joined a karaoke contest because my friends dared me. I thought I was nailing it—singing my heart out to some cheesy pop song. Turns out, the mic was off the whole time, and everyone was just laughing at me lip-syncing like a maniac.”  

Y/N burst out laughing, nearly spilling her wine. “No way. What song was it?”  

He winced, looking away. “...‘Call Me Maybe.’”  

Her laughter doubled, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Stop. Stop it right now. I’m picturing you doing those little hand motions for the chorus.”  

He groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Why did I agree to this?”  

“Because you secretly love making me laugh,” she teased, nudging his knee with her foot. “Okay, next question. What’s the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done? Please tell me it’s not sneaking a library book home after hours.”  

Wonwoo smirked, tilting his head. “First of all, that’s a perfectly respectable crime. Second, I did once skip a whole semester of lectures to follow a girl I liked to a different city.”  

Y/N’s mouth dropped open. “Wait—seriously? You followed her?”  

He shrugged, his grin turning a little sheepish. “It wasn’t as creepy as it sounds. We were kind of seeing each other, and she was moving away for an internship. I thought it was romantic at the time.”  

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” Y/N said, laughing as she set her glass down. “What happened?”  

“She broke up with me two weeks later,” he admitted, his tone dry.  

She gasped, clutching her chest like it physically hurt. “No! That’s awful.”  

“It was definitely character building,” he said with a dramatic sigh, earning another laugh from her.  

“Okay, last one,” she said, leaning closer with a sly smile. “Do you have any current crushes? Like, hypothetically, someone who owns a charming little bookstore and drinks wine with you at two in the morning?”  

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Hypothetically? Are we talking about Evelyn?”  

Y/N smacked his shoulder lightly, her laugh bubbling over. “Oh we’re definitely talking about Evelyn. I feel like you have a thing for terribly evil women who’d be mean to you, like a kink or something.”  

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling as he leaned toward her slightly. “I usually do. But, I don’t know, Y/N. Shouldn’t the question be... do you have a current crush? Someone who maybe sings ‘Call Me Maybe’ like their life depends on it?”  

Her cheeks flushed, but she kept her grin. “I don’t know, Woo. That doesn’t really sound like my type.”  

“Oh, really?” he said, his tone playful. “What’s your type, then?”  

She pretended to think, tapping her chin. “Hmm... someone who doesn’t follow girls to other cities or embarrass themselves at karaoke contests.”  

“God the pain,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest like she’d wounded him. “Guess I’m out of the running.”  

She smiled, her gaze softening just a bit. “Not necessarily. You’ve got other redeeming qualities. Like pouring wine which is an important one. At least to me.”  

His grin widened, and he lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Well, I’ll take that as a win.”  

Their glasses clinked together, and as they drank, the teasing energy between them lingered, warm and electric, filling the quiet bookstore with something that felt a lot like possibility.  

Y/N grabbed the wine bottle, a mischievous glint in her eye as she refilled their glasses. Wonwoo watched her curiously, his grin still lingering from their back-and-forth.  

“Alright, my turn,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever done in this bookstore when no one was around?”  

Y/N froze mid-pour, her face immediately turning red. “Oh no. Nope. No way in hell. Not telling you.”  

Wonwoo straightened, his smirk growing as he caught the look of panic on her face. “Oh, come on. You can’t not tell me after that reaction.”  

“It’s not even that bad,” she tried to brush it off, waving a hand as if swatting his question away.  

“That means it’s terrible, and now I have to know,” he teased, his eyes narrowing playfully. “What did you do, Y/N? Did you accidentally set a book on fire? Did you steal candy from a kid? Spill it.”  

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Ugh, fine! But you can’t laugh.”  

“No promises,” he said immediately, leaning forward with interest.  

She peeked out from between her fingers, sighing dramatically before finally admitting, “Okay. When I was like thirteen, I... I used to practice kissing on the spines of the books.”  

Wonwoo blinked. “What?”  

Her face turned crimson. “You heard me.”  

It took a second for it to register, but then Wonwoo doubled over laughing, his shoulders shaking as he nearly spilled his wine. “The spines? You made out with the books?”  

“I was thirteen!” she squealed, trying and failing to stop herself from laughing too. “And my friends had all kissed someone, so I panicked! I thought—‘I need to practice!’ And the books were there. Don’t judge me.”  

Wonwoo fell back against the floor, wheezing between bursts of laughter. “Oh my god—what books? Please tell me it was like an encyclopedia.”  

She shot him a glare, though she was laughing too hard to look serious. “No. It was whatever I could reach. Mostly YA romances, okay? I thought maybe the romance would transfer through the spine or something.”  

“You were out here trying to absorb love through osmosis?” he gasped, holding his stomach as he laughed.  

“Yes.” she said, her voice high-pitched from embarrassment. “I don’t know how I thought it worked.”  

Wonwoo sat up, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Y/N, that’s—that’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m never going to be able to look at these books the same way again. Like how can I pick one up without wondering if your lips touched it.”  

“I hate you,” she said, burying her face in her hands again. “I should’ve taken that secret to the grave.”  

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said, grinning. “This is prime blackmail material. Just wait until you’re being all serious about the store one day, and I remind you of your spine-kissing phase.”  

She peeked up at him, her lips quaking into a smile despite herself. “You wouldn’t dare.”  

“Try me,” he said smugly, raising his wine glass like a toast. “To Y/N, the Bookstore Casanova.”  

“I’m never telling you anything ever again,” she muttered, shaking her head as she took a sip of her wine.  

“Too late. I’m already your confidant,” he teased, leaning closer with a smirk. “But for the record, I think as a teenager you were pretty resourceful. I mean, who needs practice with people when you have books?”  

“Exactly.” she said, pointing at him with mock seriousness. “See? You get it.”  

“I don’t,” he admitted, laughing again. “But it’s endlessly entertaining.”  

Y/N groaned, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re the worst.”  

“And yet, here you are—drinking wine with me. But, tell me, do you think the kissing books hacked helped?” he shot back, his eyes twinkling.  

“I don’t know? I’ve never kissed myself? Honestly I haven’t kissed someone since my last relationship which was..” Y/n pretended to flip through her imaginary calendar. “Two years ago?” 

“Interesting no one ever confirmed it.” 

She shook her head, muttering, “Regretting this more by the second.” But her grin gave her away, and the lighthearted energy between them filled the quiet bookstore with warmth—like something rare and perfectly imperfect, just like their ridiculous conversation.  

Wonwoo’s teasing grin softened slightly as he tilted his head, watching her with a flicker of something warmer in his gaze. “Two years, huh?” he said, his tone quieter now, though the playful glint in his eyes lingered.  

Y/N shrugged, trying to brush it off. “What can I say? I’ve been busy running a bookstore and, you know, kissing spines.”  

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “That’s a real tragedy, though. All that practice, and no one’s benefited from it?”  

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she said, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the heat creeping up her neck. She raised her glass to her lips again, trying to hide behind it.  

Wonwoo set his own glass down on the table beside them, leaning forward slightly. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make her pulse quicken, “I could help with that.”  

Her breath hitched, and she lowered her glass, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Help with what?”  

He shrugged one shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching into that faint, irresistible smirk. “You know. Test out whether all that spine-kissing really paid off.”  

Her laugh came out more like a nervous squeak, and she immediately covered it with a cough. “You’re insufferable, Jeon Wonwoo.”  

“And yet, you’re still here,” he echoed his earlier words, his gaze holding hers now with a steady intensity that made her heart thud painfully against her ribs.  

For a moment, the world outside the bookstore seemed to vanish, leaving only the golden glow of the little lamp, the lingering scent of old paper and wine, and the space between them that suddenly felt charged.  

“You’re not serious,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.  

“Maybe I am,” he said simply, his smirk softening into a small, almost shy smile.  

Before she could overthink it—or talk herself out of it—he leaned closer, his eyes flickering down to her lips and then back up to meet her gaze. He paused there, just inches away, waiting.  

Her breath caught, and something about the way he was so close, so patient, made her feel brave. “Wonwoo,” she murmured, a smile tugging at her lips. “Are you trying to be smooth?”  

“Is it working?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing, but his gaze was sincere.  

She didn’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, she closed the gap, brushing her lips against his in a tentative, featherlight kiss.  

It was gentle at first—soft and unhurried, like they were both figuring out how this was supposed to feel. But when he cupped her cheek with his hand, tilting her face slightly, the kiss deepened, and Y/N felt her heart flutter in a way it hadn’t in a long time.  

When they finally pulled back, just enough to catch their breath, he was smiling, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek.  

“So,” he said, his voice still low and warm, “was it worth the two-year wait?”  

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head as she rested her forehead against his. “I don’t know yet,” she teased. “Might need more data to be sure.”  

His grin widened, his eyes crinkling in that way that always made her stomach flip. “I think that can be arranged.”  

And in the quiet, cozy little bookstore, with books watching silently from their shelves, Y/N had the distinct feeling she’d just uncovered the most unexpected treasure of all.  

The next few days passed in a blur of wine, laughter, and quiet moments shared between Y/N and Wonwoo. The chemistry between them seemed to grow with every secret they uncovered in the bookstore, every old clue leading them deeper into the mystery of the hidden treasure. But there was something else too—a shift, a quiet understanding that their connection had changed from something purely fun and teasing to something more real, more complicated.

The bookstore had become their shared sanctuary—where clues were scattered in dusty corners, and where they spent hours combing through old journals and books in search of the final pieces of the puzzle. Every clue brought them closer to something monumental, but with each step forward, Y/N’s estranged aunt Evelyn seemed to grow bolder, more determined to shut the whole thing down.

On one particular evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the bookstore was bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, Y/N and Wonwoo found themselves in a small, cluttered storage room hidden at the back of the shop, sifting through yet another pile of old papers. The room was quiet, save for the sound of rustling pages, the occasional clink of glasses, and the low hum of conversation between them.

Y/N paused, eyes scanning a faded letter that had caught her attention. "Wait, this is it," she said, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and smoothing it on the table. "This has to be the deed."  

Wonwoo looked over her shoulder, his hand instinctively resting on her back. "Are you sure?"  

"I’m pretty sure," she muttered, tracing the yellowing edges of the paper. "It’s an old deed, but it looks like it’s in my name—well, my family's name, technically. It’s the bookstore's legal deed."  

Wonwoo leaned closer, studying the document with a frown. “This is the real thing,” he said, his voice almost reverent. “This could be the key to everything.”  

Y/N smiled, but her heart was still heavy with worry. "Yeah, but Evelyn’s not going to give up. She’s already trying to pressure me into selling. And she has a lawyer with her now. They’ve already threatened to drag me to court."  

Wonwoo straightened, his gaze sharpening. “Then we need to make sure she doesn’t get her hands on this.” He grabbed the deed and tucked it carefully into his jacket pocket.  

Y/N stared at him. "You’re not seriously thinking of hiding it, are you?"  

“Not just hiding it,” he said with a smirk. “I’m going to make sure it’s safe. If she’s going to play dirty, then so are we.”  

With that, he walked over to a small cupboard, pulling out a set of old, heavy keys. "I know a place. You trust me, right?"  

Y/N hesitated but then nodded. "I do.”  

Their hands brushed as he passed her the keys, and Y/N couldn’t help the way her heart skipped a beat. Wonwoo had been a constant presence since they’d started this treasure hunt, a calm and steady anchor in the chaos of relentless threats. And as much as they were both focused on the task at hand, Y/N couldn’t ignore the way their connection had deepened—the way her heart beat faster every time he was near, the way his presence made everything feel safer.  

As Wonwoo led her out of the room, they were interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming open, followed by the sharp click of heels on the hardwood floors. Evelyn’s voice rang out, cold and sharp.  

“Y/N, I know you’re here. We need to talk."  

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and she exchanged a brief, tense glance with Wonwoo before they both hurried to the back, hiding the deed for the time being.  

“I’m not letting you get away with this.” Evelyn continued, her voice laced with venom. “I will take everything from you if I have to, including this bookstore. Your parents’ legacy won’t mean anything if you don’t sell to me.”  

Y/N’s jaw tightened. “Evelyn, you don’t own this store. You never will.”  

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” Evelyn’s laugh was cruel, echoing through the empty aisles.  

The tension in the air thickened, and Wonwoo placed a reassuring hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, I promise,” he whispered, his voice low and steady.  

Y/N nodded, taking a deep breath. “You’re right. We’ll figure this out.”  

But in the back of her mind, she knew that Evelyn wasn’t going to stop. The woman was determined, and Y/N needed to be just as determined to protect what was hers. She wasn’t going to let the bookstore go without a fight—not when it had meant everything to her growing up.  

Later that evening, as the bookstore quieted down and Y/N sat at the small table in the back corner, sipping on a glass of wine, she looked up at Wonwoo, who had been quietly scribbling in his notebook for the past hour.  

He looked up from his writing and caught her gaze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m almost finished with my book, you know,” he said, his tone casual but laced with something deeper.  

Y/N raised an eyebrow, setting her glass down. “No way? About what?”  

“About a treasure hunt,” he replied, eyes glinting with mischief. “About two people who find something they didn’t expect—something more valuable than they could have imagined.”  

She grinned, leaning forward with curiosity. “And what do they find?”  

“The treasure,” he said, his voice quieter now, “isn’t what they thought it would be. It’s the connection they have with each other. The way they work together to uncover something bigger than themselves.”  

Y/N felt her heart flutter at his words, the weight of his gaze making her pulse quicken. “That’s really sweet.  

“Well,” he said, his lips curving into a teasing grin, “it’s inspired by real life, isn’t it?”  

She laughed, her cheeks warming as she glanced down at her wine glass. “I guess it is.”  

Wonwoo’s tone turned more serious, though the playful edge never quite left his voice. “I think we make a pretty good team, Y/N. And I’m not just talking about the treasure hunt.”  

Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down around them. “Yeah,” she murmured, a soft smile crossing her lips. “We do, don’t we?”  

Their eyes met, and in that moment, Y/N couldn’t help but feel the connection between them deepen. Everything they had uncovered—the clues, the threats, the mystery of the bookstore—had brought them to this place, to this unexpected, complicated bond that was far more precious than any treasure they might find hidden in the walls.  

And as the night grew deeper, and they prepared to face whatever Evelyn threw their way next, Y/N knew one thing for certain: no matter what happened, she wasn’t going to face it alone.

The next morning, the sun had barely risen, casting soft beams of light through the dust-covered windows of the bookstore. Y/N had barely slept the night before, her mind whirling with thoughts of Evelyn’s threats and the looming confrontation that awaited her. But she had a plan now, one that gave her a sense of clarity and strength. She wasn’t going to let her aunt take what was hers.  

With the deed securely tucked in her bag and the letter from her mother—a last message of trust and love—Y/N stood at the edge of the bookstore, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she had to confront Evelyn’s lawyer head-on, to show them that she wasn’t just some helpless niece who could be pushed around. The store was hers, and now, she had the legal proof to back it up.  

It was a short walk to the lawyer’s office, but it felt like the longest journey of her life. As Y/N entered the glass-fronted building, she was greeted by a stern receptionist, who asked for her name.  

“I’m here to see Mr. Calloway,” Y/N said firmly, her voice steady despite the nerves bubbling just beneath the surface. “Tell him it’s regarding the deed for the bookstore.”  

The receptionist glanced at her curiously but nodded, picking up the phone to make the call. A few moments later, Y/N was ushered into a sleek office, the kind of place that smelled faintly of expensive cologne and old leather-bound books. Mr. Calloway, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a stern expression, stood behind his desk. He motioned for her to take a seat.  

“Ms. Y/N, I presume?” Mr. Calloway’s voice was smooth, but there was a certain edge to it. “I’m afraid you’ve come here for nothing. The property’s ownership is already in question. Your aunt is prepared to take this to court.”  

Y/N didn’t flinch. “That’s not necessary,” she said, her voice unwavering. “I have the deed to the bookstore.”  

She slid the crinkled paper across the desk, and Mr. Calloway eyed it with some skepticism. “And where did you come from?”  

“This is the deed my mother left for me,” Y/N replied, her fingers curling around the letter she’d brought with it. “And along with that, she left me the money to renovate and make this store my own. She made it clear in writing that this place was meant to be mine. I’ve spent my life here, and I’m not going to let anyone take it away from me.”  

For a moment, the lawyer was silent, his gaze flicking back and forth between the deed and Y/N’s determined face. He finally sighed, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. “Well, it’s clear you have some legal standing here,” he said slowly. “I’ll need to make sure everything is in order, but I’d advise you to be prepared for further legal action. Your aunt is not someone who backs down easily.”  

“I’m not backing down either,” Y/N said, standing up and grabbing the deed from the desk. “I’ll be taking the store back, starting now.”  

Mr. Calloway looked surprised but didn’t protest. “Very well. I’ll have this taken into consideration.”  

Y/N left the office with the deed still clutched tightly in her hand, feeling a surge of relief and adrenaline. Her heart was racing, but now, she knew she had the power to protect the place she loved. The fight wasn’t over, but she had just won the first round.  

With the victory still buzzing in her chest, Y/N made her way straight to the bookstore, her thoughts already turning to the next steps. She needed to tell Wonwoo. He’d been by her side through all of this, and now that she had the deed, they could finally take the fight to Evelyn and her lawyer together.  

When she arrived at the bookstore, it was nearly empty except for a few early morning customers, browsing the shelves. The usual quiet was soothing, but Y/N couldn’t help the wide smile spreading across her face as she spotted Wonwoo, hunched over in a corner with his notebook, scribbling away.  

She couldn’t contain herself anymore. She rushed over to him, feeling lighter than she had in days. "Wonwoo!" she said, practically bursting with excitement.  

He looked up, his eyes softening as he noticed the huge grin on her face. "What’s all this about?"  

“I did it,” she said, breathless, her chest heaving as she held up the deed. “I went to Evelyn’s lawyer, and I staked my claim. I have the deed, the money my mom left me for renovations, and now—” She paused for effect. “Now, the bookstore is mine.”  

Wonwoo’s face broke into a grin so wide it almost seemed unreal. He immediately stood, his arms open as if to embrace the whole victory. “Y/N, that’s amazing!”  

Without saying another word, he pulled her into a tight hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around once, before gently setting her back down. Y/N laughed, the joy bubbling up inside her in a way she hadn’t felt in weeks.  

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, stepping back and looking at him with gratitude. “You helped me every step of the way.”  

Wonwoo smiled softly, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “That’s what partners do.” His tone was lighter now, teasing. “Although, I think we should celebrate this properly.”  

Y/N raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Oh? How do you plan to do that?”  

Wonwoo leaned in just slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well,” he said, his voice lower now, “I’m thinking of wine... and maybe even a celebratory kiss?”  

Y/N laughed again, her heart racing in her chest. "You’re lucky I like you, because you’re so corny, Jeon Wonwoo."  

“Lucky?” he repeated, leaning back, mock offense in his voice. “I’m not just lucky, I’m deserving.”  

“Alright, alright,” she said, pulling a bottle of wine from the shelf. “You’ve earned it. But just so you know, this is just the beginning. We still have a lot of work to do.”  

“I know,” he said, pouring them each a glass, “but I think we deserve a break, don’t you?”  

They clinked glasses, and for a moment, the world outside the bookstore seemed to fade away. They had won today, but they both knew that this was just the start of a much larger fight. 

As they stood there, the glasses of wine in their hands, the air between them still crackling with the energy of the moment, Wonwoo’s smile faded slightly. He took a deep breath, setting his glass down on the nearby table. There was something different in his eyes now—something deeper, something more vulnerable. Y/N noticed it immediately, her smile faltering slightly as she watched him.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice softer now, the excitement of the day momentarily giving way to a more serious tone. “You’ve gone quiet all of a sudden.”

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking to the floor for a moment before meeting her eyes again. He hesitated for a second longer, as if weighing his words carefully. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he began, his voice steady but laced with an earnestness that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “And I guess now is as good a time as any.”

Y/N set her glass down too, her attention fully on him now. She could feel her pulse quicken as the tension in the room shifted, her curiosity growing.

“When I first started coming here, I didn’t expect much. I was just looking for a quiet place to escape and get away from the chaos of the world, y’know?” he continued, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he spoke, as if grounding himself. “But then, I started coming more often. And eventually, it wasn’t just the books that kept bringing me back. It was... you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him, but this... this wasn’t what she’d anticipated. She searched his eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. “Wonwoo, I—”

“Just let me finish,” he said, cutting her off gently, but there was a softness in his voice that she couldn’t ignore. “At first, I thought I was just drawn to this place because it was peaceful. But then I realized it was you—your passion, the way you cared about this bookstore, the way you lit up when you talked about your mom, the way you had this fire in you that I couldn’t stop noticing.” He took a small step closer, his voice growing more sincere with each word. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Y/N. Not in the way you see the world, not in the way you’ve brought me into this... this little adventure of ours.”

Y/N’s heart was racing now, her chest tight as she absorbed his words. There was no mistaking the sincerity in his eyes, no doubt in her mind that what he was saying wasn’t just a passing thought.

“I used to think I knew what I wanted,” Wonwoo went on, his voice barely above a whisper now, “but you’ve changed that for me. This place... you... have made me see that there’s more to life than just work, than just existing. You’ve given me a reason to want more, to want... us.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hand instinctively reaching out to grasp his, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. “Wonwoo...” she whispered, her voice soft but full of emotion. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

His thumb gently brushed over the back of her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. “I do. I care about you, Y/N. More than I thought I could care about anyone. You’ve completely turned my world upside down, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

For a long moment, they stood there, the quiet in the room wrapping around them like a cocoon. Y/N could hear the steady beat of her own heart in her ears, the weight of his words settling deep within her chest.

“I don’t know what to say,” she finally whispered, her voice unsteady. “This is... I didn’t expect this.”

Wonwoo smiled softly, a hint of nervousness breaking through his usual cool demeanor. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. I don’t want to hide how I feel anymore.”

Y/N felt something shift inside her, the words she had been holding back finally finding their way to her lips. “Wonwoo, you’ve changed my life too. I’ve never met anyone who just, I don’t know, gets it the way you do. You make me feel like I’m not crazy for wanting this place to mean something more. You’ve made me feel seen. I care about you too, so much more than I ever expected.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, his eyes lighting up in that familiar mischievous way. “Well, I guess that’s a good thing, considering we’ve already been on a treasure hunt together.”

Y/N laughed, but it was different this time. It wasn’t just a response to his teasing—it was a laugh filled with something deeper, something more real. “You’re right,” she said, her voice more certain now. “I guess it is.”

Wonwoo stepped closer, his hand finding hers, fingers intertwining. “So, what do you say? Want to keep going on this treasure hunt—with me?”

As Y/N held Wonwoo’s hand, her heart raced with a mixture of excitement and a little bit of disbelief. She hadn’t expected any of this—the bookstore, the adventure, and most certainly not the way he was looking at her right now, like he’d just found the last piece of the puzzle he didn’t even know he was searching for.

“You really know how to throw someone off balance, Jeon,” she teased, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I thought we were just celebrating the deed and now you’re confessing your feelings. Seriously, could you not make it so dramatic?”

He chuckled, leaning closer, the mischief still dancing in his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for drama.” 

She rolled her eyes, but her smile never left. “Well, I’ll give you this—you’re a much better treasure than I ever thought you’d be.”

“Aw, look at that,” Wonwoo teased, raising an eyebrow. “I’m your treasure now?”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “I guess. I mean, who else would tolerate my crazyness?” she said with a wink.

His response was to step even closer, giving her a sly grin. “Someone who’d do anything to stick around,” he said softly, before dipping his head and placing a quick kiss on her forehead. “You’re stuck with me now.”

She grinned up at him, her heart light. “That’s just fine by me.”

The days that followed felt like a whirlwind of excitement and resolution. With the deed officially in her hands, Y/N returned to the bookstore, determined to move forward. Evelyn’s lawyer had called to warn her that her aunt wouldn’t give up easily, but once the truth came out—that her mother had left the store specifically for Y/N to own, with funds to renovate and keep it alive—there was nothing Evelyn could do. She tried to fight, of course, but without any legal grounds or the right to contest the inheritance, it was a battle she couldn’t win.

Y/N’s lawyer had done the heavy lifting, and with everything in order, Evelyn was forced to concede defeat. The store officially belonged to Y/N—her mother’s legacy was hers to continue. But Y/N made one last effort to seal the deal. She sent Evelyn a letter, with a cheeky twist of her own: “Thanks for the help, but I think I’ve got it from here.”

It was a small victory, but it felt sweet, and Y/N couldn’t stop grinning as she turned back to the shelves, breathing in the familiar scent of old pages and dust. The Nook was officially hers.

The real fun began after that.

Weeks later, the bookstore was buzzing with activity—not from the usual morning crowd, but something much more exciting. Y/N had spent countless hours refurbishing the place, brightening the atmosphere with new coats of paint, adding cozy reading nooks, and ensuring every corner reflected her personality. But there was one thing she couldn’t do without him. Wonwoo had been her right-hand man through every part of it, turning the back office into a cozy writers’ retreat and organizing all of the books so that they not only looked great but also told a story of their own.

And now, the biggest thing was happening: the bookstore was hosting Wonwoo’s book signing. He’d completed his manuscript, inspired by all their adventures, their treasure hunts, and the mysterious secrets of The Nook. His book was a hit, and now, with the launch underway, Y/N was standing beside him in the middle of their bookstore—the place that had started it all.

She caught sight of him as he set up for the signing, adjusting the small display table with the first copies of his book. His smile was wide, and he looked so comfortable in his own skin now—more at home than she’d ever seen him before. He caught her eye, and for a moment, everything else faded away. 

“You did it,” she said, walking up to him with a grin. “You’re officially a second time sexy best selling author.”

He grinned back, his eyes twinkling. “And I couldn’t have done it without a treasure hunt partner like you. Where would I be without my muse?”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, giving him a playful shove. “Yeah, yeah. Just sign my copy, won’t you?”

He laughed, taking the book from her hands and scribbling a dedication. “To Y/N, the true treasure of The Nook.”

She raised an eyebrow, feeling a familiar warmth spread across her chest. “You’re really laying it on thick now.”

“I’m just being honest,” he teased, handing her the signed copy. “You changed my life, remember?”

Before Y/N could reply, the first customer walked in—an eager reader looking for a signed copy of his book. The rest of the day was a whirlwind of introductions, book signings, and laughter, the bookstore alive with the kind of energy Y/N had only dreamed of before.

As the event wound down, with the last few customers having left, Wonwoo and Y/N were left standing behind the counter, both a little tired but still glowing from the success.

“So,” Wonwoo said, his voice low as he leaned on the counter next to her, “what do we do now?”

Y/N looked around, taking in the bustling bookstore, the little crowd of people chatting about his book, the laughter, and the life in the space. She felt a contented sigh escape her lips.

“We keep going,” she said with a grin, her eyes meeting his. “We keep making this place even more ours.”

Wonwoo leaned in, his face softening. “And how do we do that?”

Y/N leaned back against the counter, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “We keep finding treasures, Together.”

The following months were filled with more than just book signings. With the store officially thriving under their shared ownership, Y/N and Wonwoo were building a life together, discovering new mysteries, laughing over silly inside jokes, and creating their own stories within the walls of The Nook. Whether it was fixing up a new corner for readers, writing new books, or simply sitting together and reminiscing about their treasure hunt, they had found something real—something both fun and serious in its own way.

As for Evelyn, she had finally backed off, realizing she had no place left in Y/N’s world. Y/N had reclaimed her space—not just in the bookstore, but in her life. And with Wonwoo by her side, they were ready for whatever came next.

And so, The Nook became more than just a bookstore—it became their home, their story, and their future.

[magic-shop-stories]

Hi, C! You write the most amazing headcanons! They're so detailed and beautiful. Would you be willing to make headcanons for OT7 with a plus-sized girlfriend? I'm trying to start loving my body more rather than conform to any beauty standards. Thank you 💜💜💜

💌 Reply:

Hey there... first of all THANK YOU SO SO MUCH for this beautiful request, I am absolutely with you and that might be one of the reasons it took me so long to write this (I'm sorry) , because I really tried not to make it too much about myself and had to take a break while writing. (not that this is an entirely bad thing but it felt pretty personal at some point and I was scared it would be weird)... anyway - I really hope this is what you wanted and what you were looking for 💜 feel hugged and free to ask for more -c -

BTS OT7 x Plus-Size Partner 

NAMJOON

HOW HE LOVES YOUR BODY

Intellectual Worship

Namjoon doesn’t just see your body

he studies it

not with clinical detachment

with the awe of a man who believes every curve is a stanza in an epic poem

Late-Night Conversations

catch him staring at your stretch marks in bed

fingertips hovering like he’s afraid to smudge a masterpiece

“These, are like the rings of a sequoia. Proof of growth. Survival.”

you laugh nervously

“And far more interesting than my tree metaphors.”

Artistic Parallels

takes you to the Leeum Museum

stands you in front of a Yayoi Kusama infinity mirror

“You’re like this... endless, luminous. Too vast for any frame.”

Protective Advocacy

at a cafe, a stranger mutters:

“She’s lucky to land him.” 

Namjoon turns slowly

voice calm but eyes blazing

“Luck implies randomness. What we have is physics... inevitable as gravity.”

pays for their coffee

“Enjoy the latte. And the introspection.”

after a bad dysmorphia day, he draws a bath scattered with lavender and his own favorite books

“Join me. The water displacement theory is more fun with two.”

HOW HE CELEBRATES YOU

Words as Armor

Love Notes

slips a handwritten quote into your lunchbox

“You are the universe, expressing itself as human for a little while.” — N.T.

adds a PS

“P.S. Your kimchi pancakes are better than the cosmos.”

Lyrical Tributes

writes a verse about your hips for his solo album

“A cradle for the moon / my hands too small to hold such grace.” 

lets you hear it first

“Too cheesy? I can… edit.”

you cry?

he panics

“Good tears? Please say good tears.”

Acts of Service

Food = Love

learns to bake your childhood dessert

despite burning/ruining it three times

presents the fourth with singed eyebrows

“Uhhh... I am a quick study. Eat.”

Nature Therapy

plans hikes to hidden temples

insists on carrying the picnic basket

“Your strength isn’t measured by a backpack. Let me… contribute to the ecosystem.”

HOW HE GROWS WITH YOU

Learning Curve

Mistakes

accidentally buys you a “fitness tracker” as a gift

realizes his error when you freeze

spends the night researching intuitive eating

leaves a tear-stained apology note

“I’m sorry. I’ll be better.”

Education

bookmarks essays on fat liberation

debates toxic diet culture with Jungkook

“Hyung, it’s just a salad...” “It’s never just a salad.”

Shared Vulnerability

Confessions

admits he used to equate “health” with thinness

“I was wrong. Health is… waking up excited to live. You taught me that.”

Mutual Healing

lets you see his own insecurities

= stretch marks from rapid muscle gain, scars from idol pressures

“We’re both… works in progress. Beautifully unfinished.”

HOW HE DEFIES THE WORLD FOR YOU

Public Statements

UN Speech

diverts from his climate script

“Sustainability isn’t just for the planet; it’s for our souls. We must sustain joy, self-love, the radical act of existing unapologetically.”

camera pans to you in the front row

he doesn’t look

he doesn’t need to

Fashion Rebellion

wears a custom suit jacket lined with fabric matching your favorite dress

“So you’re always with me. Even when they crop you out of photos.”

Private Revolutions

Home Sanctuary

turns your shared bedroom into a tech-free zone

“Here, you’re not a ‘body’, you’re my home.”

Legacy Building

plants a gingko tree in your name

“In 100 years, this will remind someone that love outlives labels.”

JIN

HOW HE LOVES YOUR BODY

Playful Devotion

Jin’s love is loud, bright, and relentlessly affectionate

doesn’t whisper metapho

declares your beauty like it’s a universal law

Food = Flirtation

drags you into the kitchen for “mandu-making lessons”

they devolve into flour fights

him smearing filling on your nose

“Yah! You’re supposed to eat the mandu, not wear it!”

pauses, tilts his head

“Though you do look delicious.”

Confidence Contagion

when you shyly adjust your dress, he swoops in, spins you

“STUNNING! ABSOLUTELY STUNNING!”

shouts so loud the neighbors text to ask if he’s okay

“Tell them I’m enlightened.”

he smirk

Public Pride

Red Carpet Flex

chooses matching outfits for events

your billowing silk gown to his sharp tux

whispers

“They’ll say I’m your arm candy. Joke’s on them... I’M THE SNACK.”

Social Media King

posts unedited candids of you mid-laugh

sauce on your chin

captioned “Masterpiece (and also bibimbap).” 

blocks trolls with a flair

“Bye, haters! My GF’s thighs could end you.”

HOW HE CELEBRATES YOU

Dad Jokes as Armor

Affirmation Warfare

you groan about jeans?

he gasps

“You hate pants? Same. Let’s burn them!”

tosses yours into a bonfire (they’re actually his)

presents you with a satin robe

“Now this is fashion. And by fashion, I mean me staring at your legs.”

Silly Serenades

writes a troti song about your curves to the tune of “Super Tuna.” 

“My baby’s soft, my baby’s round, my baby’s the best snack in town!” 

performs it ONLY for you

Acts of Service (Chaotic Edition)

Spa Sabotage

books a couple’s massage

then bribes the staff to let him DIY it

ends up kneading your shoulders like bread dough

“I am a natural. You’re welcome.”

Fitness? FUN-ness

drags you to a trampoline park

“We’re not here to ‘exercise’... we’re here to bounce haters out of our brains.”

flips mid-air

breaks a spring

blames Jungkook

HOW HE PROTECTS YOUR PEACE

Shutting Down Critics

Clapbacks with Class

at a fanmeet, someone asks:

“How do you stay fit dating… her?”

Jin freezes

laughs

“How do you stay rude dating… your personality?”

crowd roars

later, he buys you ice cream

“They’re just jealous I’m taken. Understandable.”

Family Defense

an aunt side-eyes your third serving at Chuseok?

Jin piles more kimchi on your plate

“She’s cultivating mass. For… science. Right, jagiya?”

winks

“Eat up, my little researcher.”

Private Sanctuary

No Mirrors, No Problems

covers the bedroom mirrors with K-drama posters

“Now we can focus on what really matters... my face.”

lets you peel them off one by one when you’re ready

Bad Day Protocol

brings you his childhood teddy bear, and a bucket of fried chicken

“Fluffy’s on hug duty. I’m on wing duty. Cry if you need to... I got napkins.”

HOW HE GROWS WITH YOU

Learning (the Jin Way)

buys you a “diet” cookbook as a joke

realizes it’s not funny when you flinch

burns the book in the backyard while roasting marshmallows

“New rule: no diets, just s’mores.”

binge-watches My ID is Gangnam Beauty with you

“See? Even the ‘perfect’ girl’s miserable. Let’s stick to our drama, it’s way funnier.”

Shared Vulnerability

admits he used to worry about “matching” society’s couple standards

“But then I realized... why be a ‘power couple’ when we can be a comedy duo? Way more Oscars.”

joins you in a plus-size yoga class

“Hyung’s flexible... prepare to be amazed!”

sprains his ankle

you half-carry him home

“See? You’re the strong one. I’m the damsel.”

HOW HE DEFINES FOREVER

Proposals & Pancakes

hides a ring in a pancake stack

“Eat up! There’s a surprise…”

panics when you almost swallow it

“WAIT! SPIT IT OUT!”

you cough up a diamond

he kneels, syrup in his hair

“Marry me? Hyung’s a mess without you.”

Wedding Vows

“I vow to always steal your fries, defend your honor, and remind you that you’re the original visual.”

Legacy of Laughter

teaches your future kids to roast diet culture

turns your love story into a webtoon:

“Worldwide Handsome & the Goddess of Chaos.” 

you’re the protagonist

he’s the “plucky sidekick”

YOONGI

HOW HE LOVES YOUR BODY

Unspoken Reverence

doesn’t wax poetic

he observes

his love language is in the pauses between words

= the way his calloused fingertips linger on the softness of your hips when you pass him in the kitchen

as if memorizing the topography of a place he calls home

Studio Sanctuary

builds you a corner in his studio with a velvet couch he salvaged from a flea market

“You’ll distract me"

grumbles, but leaves the door cracked when he works.

later, you find a demo track titled “Adagio for Softness”

melody mirrors the rhythm of your breathing

Practical Praise

notices you avoiding mirrors

replaces the bathroom one with a vintage oval frame etched with “Proof of Life” in Hangul

“Now it’s art. Stop glaring at it.”

Defiant Intimacy

Private Rituals

traces the stretch marks on your thighs during thunderstorms

“These look like soundwaves. Let’s sample them.”

records the static of his fingertips against your skin

loops it into a beat

“Hm. Better than most synth pads.”

Nighttime Honesty

wakes you at 3 a.m.

voice rough with sleep

“You’re warm. Like… stupid warm. C’mere.”

pulls you into his chest

nose buried in your hair

“S’nice.”

HOW HE PROTECTS YOUR PEACE

Silent Advocacy

Industry Shade

overhears a producer joke about “idols dating outside their league.”

Yoongi cancels their collab

replaces it with a track featuring your laughter

lets the diss track speak for him

“Your ego’s a skip button / I’m the whole damn album.”

Public Moments

at a fansign, someone asks if he “prefers petite girls.”

he deadpans

“I prefer people who don’t ask dumb questions.” 

later, buys you tteokbokki

“Eat. You’re my human shield against idiots.”

Safe Spaces

Fashion Rebellion

sneaks you into his closet

lets you borrow his oversized hoodies

“They’re warmer on you.”

doesn’t admit he loves how you drown in them

Tech Guardian

sets up a spam filter on your phone after hate comments

“Keyboard warriors are amateurs. I’ve fought bigger demons.”

he means sleep deprivation

HOW HE CELEBRATES YOU

Subtle Grandeur

Mixtape Love Letters

creates a playlist called “For When the World Sucks” 

filled with Nina Simone, your shower singing, and ambient rain

leaves it on your phone with no explanation

Food = Affection

masters your grandma’s kimchi recipe

“It’s not for you. Just… the fridge was empty.”

lets you catch him smiling when you moan over the first bite

Growth & Grit

Learning Curve

googles “how to support body positivity” at 4 a.m.

accidentally lectures Jungkook about diet culture

“Hyung, I just wanted ramyeon...” “Read the room.”

Shared Scars

shows you his shoulder surgery scars

“Used to hate these. Now they’re just… proof I survived.”

kisses the stretch marks on your stomach

“Same energy.”

HOW HE DEFIES EXPECTATIONS

Creative Rebellion

Lyricism

writes a verse for Agust D

“They say love’s a narrow lane / fuck that, mine’s a wildfire.” 

lets ARMY assume it’s metaphorical

you know better

Photography Passion

sneaks candid shots of you:

mid-laugh, flour in your hair, napping with Holly

exhibits them anonymously at a indie gallery titled “The Muse They Can’t Crop”

Quiet Revolution

Home Rituals

bans scales from the house

“We’re not scientists.”

replaces them with a vintage radio that only plays calm songs

“Better for the soul.”

Legacy Building

funds a scholarship for plus-sized dancers

“Talent’s not a size. And I’m rich.”

J-HOPE

HOW HE LOVES YOUR BODY

Unshakable Hype Man Energy:

he doesn’t just accept your bod 

celebrates it like it’s his life’s mission

love language = amplification

turning your insecurities into anthems

Morning Rituals

whistles dramatically when you walk into the kitchen

“Wow. Who gave you the right to wake up looking like a whole sunrise?”

dances around you while you make coffee

hip-checking the counter

“Move over, world! The main character’s here.”

Dance Floor Devotion

creates a TikTok series called “Choreo for Every Body” 

he designs moves highlighting your curves

like the “Soft Shimmy” (a shoulder roll that melts into a hip sway)

“Joyful Jiggle” (a bouncy step that makes your laughter the beat)

fans lose their minds

you blush?

he reposts your duet with 🌟#REALMUSE

Fashion as Rebellion

Custom Designs

collaborates with a size-inclusive brand to launch a line named “Hope’s Horizon.” 

signature piece?

= sequined bomber jacket with “Art Never Fits in a Box” embroidered inside the collar

his only request: you model it first

“You’re the blueprint, baby.”

Everyday Glam

sneaks into your closet and replaces old hoodies with cropped cardigans in bold patterns

“Trust me... your waist deserves frame status.”

when you fret, he strikes a pose in the mirror beside you

“Look at us. Visual violence.”

HOW HE PROTECTS YOUR PEACE

Shutting Down Noise

Live Stream Justice

during a VLIVE, a comment pops up

“Is your girlfriend on a diet for the tour?” 

Hobi’s smile doesn’t drop, but his eyes turn glacial

“Diet? Nah, we’re on a joy diet. Today’s menu: self-love tacos and zero fucks.”

blocks/reports the user mid-laugh

“Next question!”

Behind-the-Scenes Boss

catches a stylist muttering about “limited options” for your red-carpet debut

next day, he arranges a meeting with the design team

“I need five looks. Her size is ‘iconic’... make it work.”

leaves humming “Cypher Pt. 4” louder than necessary

Safe Space Curator

Mirror Magic

covers your bathroom mirror with sticky notes

“J-Hope’s #1 Crush Lives Here”* / “Warning: Hot Person Zone” / “You’re 100% My Type (All Types Are My Type).”

Guilty Pleasure Defense

catches you side-eyeing a dessert menu

slides it toward you

“Hobi's paying. Hyung’s also judging you if you don’t order two.”

HOW HE GROWS WITH YOU

Learning Through Love

Mishaps to Moments

buys you gym gear as a “fun surprise!”

realizing too late it echoes toxic diet ads

you freeze?

he backtracks

“Wait, no... I’m the gym! Dance with me!”

cue an impromptu living-room workout to “Chicken Noodle Soup.” 

ends with you both breathless

“See? Fitness is… whatever makes you feel alive.”

Education with Flair

drags you to a body-positive dance workshop

volunteers you both for the front row

“If I can’t nail the waacking, no one can!”

spoiler: he nails it

you both leave sweaty

Vulnerability in Verse

Lyric Diary

writes a song called “Army of One” about your journey

chorus: “You fought a war I never saw / Let me be your ceasefire.” 

plays it on loop in the car until you memorize the words

Confessional Nights

admits he used to think love was fixing people

“But you’re not broken. You’re… masterpiece.”

pokes your dimple

“And I’m the lucky bastard who gets to frame you.”

HOW HE REDEFINES “PERFECTION”

Stage Revolution

Concert Spotlight

surprises you during his “= (Equal Sign)” solo by pulling you onstage

screens zoom in as he whispers:

“They need to see what real magic looks like.”

you freestyle

he matches your rhythm

all sharp grins and softer edges

ARMYs trend “Hobi’s Muse” for weeks

Choreo Easter Eggs

hides a move in “Dynamite” where he pats his belly and blows a kiss to your seat

fans decode it as “Love Yourself” in sign language.

it’s not

he’ll never tell

Private Celebrations

Anniversary Extravaganza

rents a carnival for the night

wins you a giant plushie,

drags you on the Ferris wheel

“Look...the stars are clapping for you.”

gets sick when you ride it together

Scrapbook of Smiles

fills a photo album with candids of you mid-laugh

double-chin and all

captions: “Proof the world bends toward joy.”

JIMIN

HOW HE LOVES YOUR BODY

Tactile Affirmation

his hands are never still

they trace the swell of your hips during movie nights

knead the softness of your thighs after long days

cradle your face like you’re made of stardust

“You’re so warm."

murmurs, pressing his cheek to your belly

“This is where the sun lives, isn’t it?” 

you tense?

he nuzzles closer

“Let me stay here. I’ve been cold for so long.”

Mirror Rituals

after his own brutal history of body scrutiny, he hates mirrors

until he stands behind you in one

fingers laced over your stomach

“Look. See how we fit? Like we were sculpted for this.”

kisses the pulse point below your ear

“Every part of you… it’s where I belong.”

HOW HE PROTECTS YOUR PEACE

Food as Rebellio

reminded oh his own diets, he now cooks with reckless abandon

masters your favourite family recipe

feeds you bites off his fork with a defiant grin

“They told me food was the enemy. But look... this is love.”

you hesitate?

he licks sauce from your chin

“You’re not ‘cheating.’ You’re living.”

Safe Spaces

scouts restaurants beforehand to ensure comfy seating

“No, hyung... the booth, not the chair. She deserves to relax.” 

carries a sweater in his bag to drape over your lap if a dress rides up

“Not because you need to hide. Because the world doesn’t deserve you yet.”

HOW HE CELEBRATES YOU

Dance of Devotion

in the privacy of your living room, he choreographs a duet just for you

“Follow my lead."

lets you steer, his hands firm on your waist as you sway

“You move like the ocean. Powerful. Unstoppable.” 

records it on his phone

watches it when he’s away

“My favorite performance.”

Affirmation Arsenal

leaves sticky notes in your makeup bag

“Your laugh is my favorite sound.” “Your stretch marks glow like moonlight. Let them shine.” “You’re the reason I believe in softness.”

HOW HE CONFRONTS HIS PAST TO CHERISH YOUR PRESENT

Shared Scars

one night, he shows you a photo from his trainee days

gaunt cheeks, hollow eyes

“I used to think this was strength”

voice cracking

“But you… you’re the strongest person I know. You carry your heart and mine.” 

wipes your tears with his sleeve

“Don’t cry. We’re free now.”

Defiance in Detail

buys you lingerie in his favorite color

“Wear it for you, not me. But if you want me to beg, I will.” 

when you model it, he doesn’t look at your body

he stares into your eyes

“You’re so… bright. How do I deserve this?”

HOW HE SILENCES THE NOISE

Public Shield

at a fan event, someone shouts:

“How do you stay fit dating her?” 

Jimin’s smile drops

“How do you stay rude dating your personality?” 

crowd gasps

later, he tweets: “Love isn’t a weight class. Blocked.”

Private Vows

throws out his old scale

replaces it with a Polaroid camera

“Every time you feel ‘too much,’ take a photo. I’ll write why it’s not enough… because you’re infinite.”

HOW HE LOVES HIMSELF THROUGH LOVING YOU

Healing Loop

watches you apply lotion, mesmerized

“Can I…?”

kneels, massages it into your calves

“You’re so gentle with yourself.”

whispers

“Teach me.” 

lets you rub arnica into his dancer’s bruises 

“See? We’re both learning.”

Legacy of Light

tattoos a tiny sun behind his ear

“So I never forget where my warmth comes from.”

TAEHYUNG

ARTISTIC ADMIRATION: YOU ARE HIS MUSE

Portraits of Devotion

his camera roll is 90% you

not posed or filtered

but candid

= you laughing mid-bite of tteokbokki, sunlight catching the curve of your hip as you stretch, your reflection in a rainy bus window

he prints them as polaroids and tacks them to a corkboard titled “My Living Louvre.”

Exhibition of Love

rents a tiny gallery space for your birthday

the exhibit? 

“Unedited: A Celebration of Human Light.” 

each photo is paired with a handwritten note

“This is the moment I realized joy has no size.”

Body as Art

sketches you during lazy Sundays

charcoal smudged on his cheek

“Stop moving; your collarbone looks like a bird mid-flight.”

frames the drawing beside his bed

“So I remember to dream in your shape.”

WHIMSICAL AFFECTION: LOVE AS PLAY

Fashion Alchemy

Taehyung raids thrift stores to craft outfits that scream you

velvet corset over a flowing skirt? 

“You’re a Baroque painting come to life.” 

baggy overalls with sequined boots? 

“My disco-era goddess.” 

he’ll argue with stylists who suggest “slimming” cuts

“Why hide a masterpiece?”

Matching Magic

designs couple outfits where his look is simple

letting yours shine

neon tracksuit for him

billowing silk gown with your favorite flowers embroidered for you

posts it

“She’s the main character. I’m just the hype man.”

Spontaneous Joy

Midnight Adventures

drags you to a 24-hour arcade

wins a giant plushie

declares, “This is your body double. Flawless.” 

lets you name it something ridiculous

Foodie Love

feeds you hotteok at 3 a.m.

wiping syrup off your chin with his thumb 

“You eat like… a happy bear. It’s my favorite thing.”

PROTECTIVE FEROCITY: YOUR KNIGHT IN BERET ARMOR

Shutting Down Noise

at a party, a model mutters:

“How’d she bag V?” 

Taehyung loops an arm around your waist

grinning dangerously

“Funny, I was just wondering how you bagged audacity.” 

later, he slow-dances with you alone on the balcony

“Let’s never come back here. Unless you want to.”

Digital Defend

a troll comments “Lose weight” on your joint selfie

he replies with a close-up of his middle finger

“Artistic interpretation of my feelings.”

floods your posts with heart emojis

“Now the algorithm knows what’s important.”

SHARED CREATIVITY: BUILDING WORLDS TOGETHER

Collaborative Projects

turns your stretch marks into a mural

mixes gold paint to trace them on a canvas

whispering

“Kintsugi for the soul.” 

hangs it in the living room

guests ask: “What’s it mean?” 

he winks

“That brokenness is just light waiting to shine.”

writes a song called “Velvet Thunder” 

it's about your laughter

records your voice saying “I love you” as the outro

ARMYs sob

you sob harder

Vintage Love Letters

finds a 1950s typewriter to write you love notes

“Dearest, your beauty is timeless. Unlike this machine... it keeps jamming. Just like my heart when you walk in.”

GROWTH & VULNERABILITY: LEARNING TO HOLD SPACE

His Confessions

after a photoshoot

“I used to think love was about fixing people. But you… you’re not broken. You’re a whole damn symphony.”

lets you see his own insecurities

“We’re both… art in progress. Messy. Human.”

Rituals of Reassurance

starts “Gratitude Sundays”

listing things he loves about your body

“Your arms... they feel like coming home. Your thighs; my favorite pillows.”

when you have a bad day, he wraps you in his oversized denim jacket

“This is my armor. Now it’s yours.”

JUNGKOOK

HOW HE LOVES YOUR BODY

Unfiltered Adoration

Jungkook’s love is loud, tactile, and unapologetically sincere

doesn’t intellectualize your curves

celebrates them with the enthusiasm of someone who’s found his favorite playground

Playful Worship

pokes your stomach during movie nights just to hear you laugh

“It’s so soft. Like a marshmallow. Can I nap here?”

falls asleep with his head on your lap

arms wrapped around your waist like a koala

Gym Buddy Redefined

drags you to the gym

but it’s all about fun

challenges you to weightlifting contests

cheering when you out-lift him

“You’re a beast! Let’s get matching ‘World’s Strongest’ shirts!”

posts a boomerang of you togehter

Protective Instincts

Public Defense

at a fan meet, someone whispers:

“How’d she getJungkook?” 

he overhears, slings an arm around your shoulders

grins

“Nah, I got her. Took six months of begging. Right, jagiya?”

crowd erupts

your face burns

he kisses your temple

“Worth it.”

Private Reassurance

after a bad day, he notices you avoiding mirrors

silently lifts you onto the bathroom counter

stares into your eyes

“You’re perfect. Let me list why.”

proceeds to ramble about your laugh, your thighs, the way you “look like a goddess”...

HOW HE CELEBRATES YOU

Adventures in Joy

Jungkook turns self-love into a thrill

Spontaneous Photo Shoots

drags you to a photobooth

squishing both of you into the frame

“Smile! We’re gonna be legendary.”

keeps the strip in his wallet

shows it to everyone

“See? We’re, like, visual icons.”

Food = Love Language

masters your favorite desser

feeds you bites mid-VLive

fans freak out

“What? She’s my taste-tester. And my muse.”

licks frosting off your thumb

“Accident.”

Secret Romantic

Custom Gifts

learns embroidery to stitch “Jungkook’s Favorite Masterpiece” on a hoodie

"forces" you to wear it on dates

“Proof you’re mine. And also… comfy.”

Late-Night Serenades

sings “My Time” with rewritten lyrics

“Your time, your curves, your fire—I’m just lucky to be here.” 

records it as your alarm tone

“Now you’ll wake up to art.”

HOW HE GROWS WITH YOU

Learning Curve

accidentally buys you a crop top

thinking it’s “cute."

reads your hesitation

immediately donates it and replaces it with a cozy sweater

“I am an idiot. But I’ll learn.”

watches documentaries on body positivity

texts you clips at 3 a.m.

“THIS IS WHY SOCIETY SUCKS. YOU’RE A GODDESS.” 

debates haters on social media

gets blocked

“No regrets.”

Shared Vulnerability

admits he used to equate “fitness” with being thin

“But you’re the strongest person I know. Changed my whole… brain.”

flexes your bicep (let's you)

“See? This is goals.”

Mutual Healing

lets you see his own insecurities

“We’re both… human. But humans are kinda magic, right?”

HOW HE DEFIES THE WORLD FOR YOU

Public Rebellion

Stage Shoutouts

dedicates “Euphoria” to you during a concert

“This song’s about feeling alive. She taught me what that really means.”

ARMYs sob

you melt

Fashion Flex

wears a “Love Has No Size” shirt under his stage outfit

flashes it during encore

trends for days

manager sighs

“Worth it”

he smirks

Private Oaths

Home Sanctuary

turns your shared space into a no-criticism zone

“Here, you’re everything. Outside noise stays outside.”

plays WWE wrestler to “defend” you from imaginary haters

you laugh until you cry

Legacy Building

tattoos a tiny heart on his ribcage

your initials inside

“So even when I’m old and saggy, I’ll remember who loved me first.”

[gamesetattach]

In Flight

Jannik Sinner x Reader Thank god for simple pleasures like airport crushes and some healthy internet stalking

Airports always had a way of making you feel both restless and oddly introspective. It was something about the transient energy of the place—everyone coming and going, lives intersecting for brief, inconsequential moments. Today, though, as you sat at your gate waiting for your flight, you were more preoccupied than usual. Work had been hectic, and all you wanted was to sink into your seat on the plane and zone out for a few hours.

You were scrolling through your phone when someone tripped over your carry-on bag. Startled, you looked up to see a tall guy wearing a sheepish expression with a mop of red curls pushed into his hood.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, crouching down to straighten your bag.

“No, I'm sorry,” you said quickly pulling the bag closer, taking in his tall stature. His green eyes were sharp yet kind, and there was something endearing about the slight awkwardness in his movements. “No harm done.”

He smiled, a small, self-deprecating quirk of his lips. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

You waved it off. “Happens to the best of us. Travel days are chaos.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said, straightening up. “Have a good flight.”

With that, he walked away, leaving you to watch his retreating figure. Nothing like a good old airport crush to leave you a little flustered.

---

Boarding was uneventful until you reached your row and realized who your seatmate was. There he was, the red-haired stranger from earlier, already settled into the window seat. He looked up as you approached, recognition lighting up his face.

“Looks like we meet again,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You chuckled, sliding into the seat next to him. “Small world, I guess.”

The flight took off, and for a while, you both kept to yourselves. But turbulence brought a moment of shared humor as the drink cart wobbled precariously beside you, and that was all it took to break the ice.

“So, are you traveling for work or fun?” he asked, turning slightly toward you.

“Work,” you said, surprised he initiated conversation. “I’m in marketing and design. What about you?”

“Work as well,” he said vaguely. Prompted by your raised eyebrow, he added, “I play professional tennis.”

“Oh,” you said, you get the impression that he was downplaying and felt a bit embarrassed for not recognizing him. “That explains the racket bag. Sorry, I don’t follow tennis much.”

“No apology necessary,” he said, laughing. “It’s kind of nice, actually.”

From there, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You learned his name—Jannik—and talked about everything from travel mishaps to favorite movies. He was funny, quick-witted, and refreshingly down-to-earth.

As the flight went on, you found yourselves leaning closer for the sake of your other seat neighbor, your heads nearly touching as you shared hushed stories. At some point, conversation died down with the mutual understanding that it was time for sleep to take over.

You both drifted off soundly, only to wake up realizing you’d fallen asleep against each other. You straightened up quickly, your cheeks burning as you muttered an apology.

“No, it's nothing,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve had worse seatmates.”

The plane landed, and as you gathered your things, you hesitated. The tragic romantic in you wanted to leave it at that—a chance encounter, a pleasant story. But another part of you didn’t want it to end there.

Summoning your courage, you tore a corner from a piece of a napkin and scribbled your number on it. Just as he slung his bag over his shoulder, you handed it to him.

“In case you ever want to continue the conversation,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

He looked at the paper, then at you, a surprised but pleased expression on his face. “Thanks. I think I might just do that.”

---

Days turned into weeks, and you found yourself checking your phone more often than you’d like to admit. But the call or text never came. You told yourself to forget about it, but it was hard not to replay the moments you’d shared on the plane.

Meanwhile, Jannik couldn’t stop thinking about the missed oppurtunity. His team noticed his distraction—missed cues during practice, an uncharacteristic quiet during briefings. Finally, his coach pulled him aside.

“What’s going on with you?” his coach asked, not unkindly.

Jannik sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I met someone. On a flight.”

“And?”

“And she gave me her number, and I... I lost it,” he admitted, looking genuinely distressed. “I didn’t even realize until I went to text her.”

His coach gave him a pointed look. “Well, what do you know about her? There must be something you can use to find her.”

Jannik thought back to your conversation. You’d spoke of the city where you lived and touched on the type of work you did. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

---

After some online sleuthing and a bit of luck, Jannik found your agency’s website. It took a few phone calls and a lot of convincing, but he eventually got a message through to you.

You were in the middle of a meeting when your laptop brightened with an email notification. Opening it, your breath caught as you read the sender’s name.

“Hi,” the email began. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but we sat next to each other on a flight not long back. I’ve been trying to find you because I lost the number you gave me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I've left my number here and if you’re interested, I’d love to meet up sometime. – Jannik.”

A smile spread across your face, and for the first time in weeks, you felt the anticipation bubble up again. Maybe this wasn’t just a fleeting moment after all.

---

It took a bit to overlap with your schedules and travel, but soon enough, you found yourself walking into a cozy café, your nerves buzzing with equal parts excitement and apprehension. Jannik was already there, seated at a corner table with a cup of coffee in front of him. When he saw you, his face lit up with a smile that eased some of your tension.

“Hi,” he said, standing to greet you. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Neither was I,” you admitted, shaking his hand before sitting down. “But I’m glad I did.”

The conversation picked up where it had left off on the plane, as if no time had passed. He asked about your work, genuinely interested in the projects you were passionate about. You asked about his tennis career, surprised by how humble he was despite his accomplishments.

“I’ve been thinking about that flight a lot,” he said at one point, his voice soft. “You made an impression.”

You smiled, looking down at your coffee. “A good one, I'm hoping.”

The hours slipped by, and before you knew it, the café was closing. As you walked out together, he hesitated, glancing at you with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

“Would you want to keep spending time?” his accent lilting a bit, as he rushed to add, “If you have the time?”

You nodded, your ears warming. “I’d like that.”

---

Let me know if you'd like a part 2 xx

[libellule-ao3]

NSFW - 🔞 | ⚠️ Physical & emotional abuse + heavy theme | Ominis Gaunt x F!OC | Currently 45 000 words

Tags: hurt/comfort, strangers to lovers, developing relationship, emotional intimacy, dark themes, introspection, trauma, pov alternating, sexual tension, smut etc.

A/N: Thank you, @tamayula-hl, for enhancing a cover that was already perfect in my eyes. I was truly touched that you decided to revisit and refine it. It’s more beautiful than ever. 😭🙏💕

Summary : Ominis Gaunt, the pure-blood wizard, struggles in the shadow of a prestigious name he despises. Evelyne Lavandin, a Muggle-born torn from her family, no longer knows where to put down roots.

Two souls marked by solitude. Two paths that were never meant to cross. But can one ever truly escape what binds us?

In Chapter 6 (5k words), published today:

Plagued by doubt, Ominis tries to uncover the source of Evelyne’s suffering, all while battling the shame of a desire he never chose. The carriage ride to Azkaban, meant to be nothing more than a journey to visit Sebastian, becomes the stage for a confrontation where every silence says too much—and every word, too little.

Then comes the test of trust.

Excerpt and AO3 link under the cut ⬇️

The silence spreads through the atmosphere, insidious as poison, seeping under his skin and clinging to his nerves, still electrified by the night. His heart keeps beating, to the rhythm of a battle lost before he knew how to fight it.

Evelyne is gone, but her absence erases nothing.

His friend had left her mark everywhere...

In the folds of his sheets, where her body had curled up against him like a shivering grass snake seeking warmth.

In the air he breathes, saturated with her scent, a mixture of wild herbs and rosat geranium intertwined with a more personal fragrance.

In his lower abdomen, where the fire continues to smoulder.

Ominis remains frozen, unbearably tense, despite the painful pressure of the pillow held tightly against him. He would like to erase the moment. To pretend that the night had never happened, as if Evelyne had not collapsed against him with the frenzy of a mortally wounded animal, as if she had not cried in his arms until she abandoned herself, vulnerable, in a way she never allows herself.

Alas, his flesh remembers everything.

The warmth of her exhale at his neck, her shoulders shaking with sobs, the quivering of her lips against his collar as she tried to contain her pain, which had nevertheless broken her modesty like floodwaters breaching a dam.

And him?

He did nothing. Nothing...

Except hold her. Protect her.

A true gentleman… Ominis Gaunt did nothing inappropriate; not even the slightest indecent thought crossed his mind, and yet his body betrayed him.

Chapter 6 — "Sap Beneath Bark" available to read on AO3 → [link]

Please forgive any grammatical errors. (ESL writer)

[bangaveragewhitewine]

such a flirt!

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, established relationship)

May 1992

Flirting with Eddie Munson was in your top five favourite things to do. To flirt and be flirted with was written through him like a stick of rock candy. Feeling secure in your relationship, you don't let it bother you too much - you know that no matter how many women (and men) gave him doe eyes and fluttered their lashes, Eddie would be going home with you. 

That being said, you saw red when Crystal showed up. 

A follow-up to crazy-mad for you & I'm yours, all yours. (part of the Happy Hours series)

Word count: 7.9k

Content / Warnings: Jealous!Reader, feeling insecure & spiralling, comparing yourself to another person, mention of being cheated on in the past. A tiny fight (kinda). Female OC. Flirting, turned all the way up to eleven. Bi-panic 😈. This is 18+ if you are not 18 please read something else; semi-public sex, fingering, a hefty helping of dirty talk, slight perv!Eddie and mention of bruises left after sex. Eddie ‘Motormouth’ Munson, a certified menace.

This one is quite introspective, a look into Bartender-reader’s self-doubt and insecurities. 

Author’s note: Well girls, we’re back. I really can’t get these two out of my head. Thank you to bestie @specialagentmonkey for proofreading ♥️ 

Flirting with Eddie Munson was in your top five favourite things to do.

To flirt and be flirted with was written through him like a stick of rock candy. Perfected and fine-tuned over time, Eddie was smooth-talking, honey-tongued and could undress you with a simple glance - all things that had drawn you to your co-worker-turned-boyfriend. To bear witness to his talent (one of many, to be fair) had helped you to up your own flirt-game; figuring out how he liked to be flirted with, what made his pupils blow wide, or his tongue dart out to wet his lip. Flirtation was part of the very foundation of your relationship with the curly-haired rocker. 

Working together made your flirtation extra fun, a tool for extended foreplay while you poured shots and beers, while Eddie checked IDs and did his rounds to make sure no one was bumping coke in the bathroom (again). 

It also meant that you both had seen your other half be flirted with by strangers more times than you could even quantify. It was part of the job, a grin-and-bear-it part that sent Eddie home with more than one feather boa or a smeared lipstick mark on his cheek from a bachelorette party (bachelorettes loved your boyfriend, and you understood why). It also often meant you could make a few extra dollars on tips if and when you allowed it, extra dollars to buy a book or new tape you wanted or pay for takeout on your next night off together. 

You felt secure enough in your relationship to not let it bother you too much, knowing that no matter how many women (and men) gave him doe eyes and fluttered their lashes, Eddie would be going home with you. 

That being said, you saw red when Crystal showed up. 

It had started off as a usual shift; a Friday night in early May; the weather was warming up and the new cocktail menu you had put together was already proving popular. You and Eddie arrive together after an afternoon of lazy sex, reading together in bed and taking turns to make coffee before hauling yourselves up for a shared shower and a pre-shift diner dinner. 

By now you had all but officially moved into Eddie’s little apartment. You spent the odd night apart if you were meeting friends, or if Eddie had a gig, but oftentimes he would come crash at your place instead of going two more blocks home. His little one-bed apartment had begun to feel very much like home. You felt the question might be coming soon after he was a little too interested in your lease agreement and when it was up for renewal. If you had paid a little more attention, you might have noticed the dogeared YellowPages bookmarked with a scrap of paper on a page of addresses of key-cutting places on your side of the city.

You walked in the back door of Jackie’s, Eddie hot on your heels with his fingers dipping into the back pocket of your denim skirt to poke the mouth-shaped bruise he had bestowed upon your asscheek. It was in the tender purple-black stage, and he loved to rile you up by pawing at it.

“Quit it!” you hiss at him, scowling over your shoulder. “You’re a fuckin’ menace, Munson.” 

Eddie’s clever comeback is cut off by a roar of laughter from the bar. The bar doesn’t open for another hour so it’s only the other staff in before you.  

“Weird.” Eddie double-checks his watch to make sure he didn’t keep you late making out in the car or lose an hour somewhere. 

“Definitely weird,” you agree. “Is it someone’s birthday? Shit…” You think through the calendar in your head. Frank’s birthday isn’t for another two weeks… 

Eddie shrugs and cranes his neck as you turn the handle of the staff room door. “Go ahead out, nosy. Be there soon.”

Eddie pauses, makes sure you’re alone, and takes advantage of the distraction in the bar to press you against the doorframe. With an almost predatory grin, he leans in for a slow filthy kiss. Taking your surprised little gasp for an opportunity to slide his tongue against yours, he pulls that little gasping moan that he loves right from your throat. 

“Love you,” he murmurs before grazing your lip with his teeth. “Don’t miss me too much.”

He smacks a final kiss to your warm cheek and gives your achy butt one more squeeze before hot-footing it to the bar to see what’s going on. 

You hear his throaty laugh as he leaves you close to panting against the wall. “Asshole.” 

The staff room door muffles the noise as you scowl to yourself, left throbbing between your legs in more ways than one. As you swipe on some lipstick and tie your apron with a bow, you contemplate just how to get Eddie back for kissing you like something straight out of a smutty romance novel. After a final once-over in the mirror, you head out to join in on whatever is going on. 

Sitting on the bar, holding court, is the most stunning woman you have ever seen. She’s got these shiny green siren-eyes that command attention with hypnotic power. She reminds you of a copper-haired Kelly Bundy with deep red lips and the perkiest tits you have ever seen. 

She’s hot. 

She’s also got her hand on Eddie’s shoulder, toying with the freshly trimmed ends of his hair and twisting the coils around her long manicured nails. 

It makes something acidic unfurl and burn in your chest. 

He doesn’t even look over when you step out from the back, too busy nodding along to whatever the reincarnated Birth of Venus is saying. 

Through the sheer black of her blouse, you can spy ink that will have taken hours to press into creamy blemish-free skin, black and sharp and perfect. She carries an air of ‘your friend's cool older sister’, something utterly unattainable that makes you feel like an awkward teen again. 

Michelle beckons you over, flashing a smile when she sees you. “Hi sweetie,” she squeezes your hand with a little whisper. 

“Who’s -?” you mouth silently, not wanting to interrupt when this siren-woman has everyone hanging on every word. 

Before she can even answer, the goddess has everyone laughing again and she turns her attention on the late-comer to her one-woman show. You. 

“Oh hi! You’re new!” Her voice is sultry and smoky-smooth. “I’m Crystal, used to work here way back. You’re…?”

New? In a couple of months, it will be two whole years since you first stepped foot inside Jackie’s and scored a job the same night. 

You plaster on a smile, feeling tiny as you gaze up at the goddess on her plinth. You tell her your name, eyes darting to Eddie briefly but Frank has his ear while Crystal questions you. 

Michelle wraps her arm around your shoulders. “She’s a superstar. Our cocktail queen! Designed the new menu and everything,” she squeezes you against her and leans her blonde head against yours. 

“Oh, cute! You have to make me something later, okay?” Crystal insists, glancing at the board behind the bar where your carefully curated creations have been colourfully chalked up by Eddie’s artistic hand, complete with little illustrations of cocktail glasses - you had teared up when they surprised you with it. 

Crystal taps Eddie’s shoulder. “Ed, what’s good on the menu? Is there anything better than my Long Islands? You know, I used to make him drinks after every shift.” 

You watch your boyfriend smirk before he catches your eye. “Those were lethal, Crys. There’s not one bad drink on the menu. She worked super hard on it, best sellers all round.” Eddie winks at you, smiling proudly. It should settle then twisting discomfort in your chest but it barely touches the sides. 

“You’re such a flirt, Ed. My god.” Crystal laughs and shoves his shoulder gently before hopping down with her graceful long legs. “You got a cigarette? We better let them get the bar prepped. Friday nights are always so crazy here.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Crystal flashes a smile your way, something playful. “See ya later for that drink.”

Warm-cheeked and grey-matter scrambled, you watch Eddie pat down his pockets as Frank and the other bar staff tell Crystal how good it is to see her again. Jeff is already walking ahead toward the door, playing it smooth and cool though his eyes are hearts on stalks like a cartoon character. 

“Inside left, Ed,” you say, pointing out where his battered pack of smokes were hidden. You had slipped them in there after all. 

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief, a grin on his face - he plans on quitting or at least cutting down but right now, a shift without smokes doesn’t bear thinking about. He’s about to say thanks but you have already turned your back to hide your pink cheeks, ashamed of the jealousy coursing through you. 

It pisses you off more when he doesn’t come over anyway for one more kiss. Your lips still buzz from the swoon-worthy smooch he had laid on you but it turns to a sting as he turns and follows Crystal instead. 

You distract yourself with your to-do list before the bar opens and ponder over the history your boyfriend may or may not have with Jessica fucking Rabbit. 

You’re lucky not to lose a finger with how furiously you chop wedges and slices of lemons and limes, feeling totally on edge when you think about Crystal and Eddie laughing and smoking together. The last time you had seen another girl touch his hair he had very kindly moved her hand and directed her to the bar to buy a drink from you, ‘the hottie bartender, she’s my girlfriend - tell her Eddie says hi’.

Michelle lets you stew a bit as she checks the taps and restocks the straws and napkins. She catches you swearing at an unopenable jar of maraschinos, fearing you may smash the jar and slice your hand if you don’t quit knocking it on the counter. 

“Okay, what’s going on? Did those cherries kill your grandma?” she asks, taking the jar from your lime-juice-sticky hands. 

“Nothing's going on. I’m fine.” 

Liar. You’re actively thinking about how good Eddie and Crystal looked side-by-side and you hate it. Red and black, his favourite colours.

“Do you have cramps? Are you and Eddie fighting or somethin’?” she asks, hand on her hips. 

“No, and no. Just… Ugh.” You know Michelle doesn’t give up until she gets an answer. You love and hate her for it, she’s definitely one of your best friends for life now - especially when she opens the cherries without breaking a sweat. 

“Spill, babe.” She spears four cherries with two toothpicks; one for you and one for her. 

You accept it with a little smile that fades quickly and use the distraction to figure out how to say what you want to ask without sounding like a crazy person. 

“Crystal… Did she and Eddie…?” You brace for impact. 

Michelle raises one thin brow as she chews the sticky red fruit. “Go out? Fuck? Nuh-uh, don’t think so. You’d have to ask him though, babe. She’s just… super flirty. They were friendly, and I think she had a little crush on him.” She shrugs, “He left for tour before she quit, she moved out west.”

You nod, chewing the second cherry without really tasting it. “Yeah,” you sigh. “I guess… I just thought he might’ve told her I was his girlfriend or something.” 

Michelle watches your shoulder slump and pulls you in for a one-armed hug. “Maybe he should’ve. He did hype up your cocktails - he does that when he’s checking IDs y’know, gives out recommendations and everything. Totally whipped, huh?” 

She kisses your head and squeezes you to her side. “Don’t let it get to you. Crys will get bored soon, especially if he’s not flirting back. She’s a Vegas gal now, I doubt we’re to her standards anymore.”

You lean your head against your friend and fold yourself into a hug. “Thank you. You’re the best.” After a few moments, you speak again. “She’s so pretty.” 

“Ugh, I know. Makes my piss boil, she’s so hot.” 

You both break into giggles as you squeeze each other extra tight, pinky-swearing to have a girls’ night the next time you both have the same night off. 

With a little boost from Michelle, you finish setting up the bar and write up the night’s drink specials on the menu boards. You turn the music up to cover the sound of Eddie’s throaty laugh as it carries from inside the door, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in your gut. 

It’s busy from the off tonight and though you had plenty to distract you as you poured and mixed drinks, tendrils of jealousy crept in and coiled around you like boa constrictors. You half-watched Crystal flit and flirt around, distracting the other bartenders when she wasn’t lingering far too close to the door for your liking. 

Why hadn’t he ever mentioned her before? Had he flirted with her like had with you before you got together? Was she going to take her job back and take your boyfriend too? 

If she didn’t seem so fond of your boyfriend, you might just be in awe of her and want to be her best friend. Alas, your hang-ups don’t extend such kindness and instead make you bitterly territorial as you shrink into yourself, feeling like a toe in comparison to her. 

You want to take your overloaded brain out and shake the stupid thoughts out in a chilled silver shaker, strain them away before screwing your head back on so you could be normal about the woman who might have no ulterior motive for hanging around your boyfriend. 

Around nine thirty you step away from the bar to take your turn collecting empties from tables; the crowd is cheerful and you move around them with ease. Crystal isn’t anywhere and you see Eddie chatting to Frank by the door before the big boss heads home for the night. Your shoulders relax a little, hoping that Michelle is right and the redhead had decided to find somewhere a bit more salubrious for the rest of her night. 

It’s almost time for your first break; you need a stone-cold Diet Coke and ideally a joint - but that’s a post-shift treat, so fresh air will have to do. 

The catchy part of En Vogue’s My Lovin’ plays on a loop in your head as you drag yourself to the back door with your fizzing pint glass of Coke and lime. The ice clinks out of tune with your hum-singing. 

You’re almost at the door when you realise there’s someone else out there before you. The rest of the staff is behind the bar and Eddie doesn’t take his five minutes this early (not when the door is peak-busy). You try to spy through the gap in the door where it’s propped open with a crate and see a flash of shiny copper, perched on your stool. 

The click of ice against glass gives you away and Crystal turns her head, spotting you peeking. She’s not even supposed to be out here, but at least she’s not haunting Eddie - small mercies, you guess. You give her a tight smile and step outside.

“Oh, hi. Is it your break?” 

“Yeah. Just my five.” You shrug and sip your drink, leaning against the cool bricks as Crystal eyes you from behind the smoke of her menthol cigarette. 

“Want one?” she asks, offering the packet out. 

You do. You miss the menthol burn from high school parties. “Sure. Thanks.” 

She gives you a little smile and passes you the packet, a new Bic lighter under her thumb to light you up. 

“Is it nice to be back?” you ask, filling the silence after your thank you as Crystal looks at her nails. Up close you can see a few of her tattoos beneath her sheer blouse; a rose on her shoulder, a fierce trad style leopard on her inner arm.

“Oh yeah. Missed the guys, they’re such sweethearts.” She smiles and watches you sip your drink. You feel like a lamb next to her, an elegant lioness. “You like working here?” 

“I really do. They’re kinda like family now.” It’s no word of a lie. 

“Cute. It was one of the best places I worked.” She stubs her smoke under the block of her heel. “You work with Eddie much?” 

And there it is. 

You take a long minty drag. “Yeah, pretty often. We’re usually scheduled on the same shifts.”

Crystal nods her head. “Super hot right? Somethin’ nice to look at to make the night go faster huh?” You watch her lips curve into a coy grin.

Your own smile is a little at her expense. 

“Oh for sure.” You double-fist your drink and cigarette, tapping the ash off carefully. “That’s why we don’t let him behind the bar, leave him by the door to draw in the girls.” You echo Frank and Michelle’s teasing of your boyfriend; his heavy pours and clumsiness with glasses are the main reasons he stays stationed on security, but it’s fun to tease him. 

Crystal laughs at that, head thrown back. “Right?! And such a flirt!”

It’s the second time she mentioned that tonight. It wasn’t a lie - you’re simply used to being the only subject of Eddie’s well-practised flirtation after seven months of being his girlfriend. 

It rattles around your head, clanging like a bell. Such a flirt! There are a few beats of silence before she speaks again.

“Hey, do you know if he’s seeing anyone?” Crystal asks. “I’m flying back out on Sunday. The rockstar thing really does it for me.”

You feel a stone - nay, a boulder - sink in your belly and take another drink as she continues. God, you wish you had spiked this for yourself, smoky-sweet rum or clean sharp vodka. The chill of the ice and menthol can’t dampen the burn in your chest, a heady mix of jealousy and rage. 

“I was going to try and link up with him when he was on tour, I was in L.A. for a bit before the move to Las Vegas. I thought he might stick around out there a while,” Crystal digs around in her purse for her compact and lipstick as she speaks, prettying her already stunning self up for your boyfriend. “Maybe tonight’s my night,” she says, touching up her powder before looking at you for an answer.

You blink a few times, bathing your sticky tongue with cold Coke before you can speak. 

“Sorry, Crystal.” Your voice is surprisingly steady for how all over the place you feel. “Yeah, he’s definitely got a girlfriend. Together almost a year.” You blow menthol smoke into the air, feeling it turn your mouth acrid in a way that can’t be balanced by your sweet drink. You crush the half-smoked cig under your boot and push off the wall to head back inside.

“Guess tonight’s not your night,” you say, shrugging.

It’s a little bitchy and mean when you could just put her out of her misery. Instead, you just turn and head back inside, cutting your short break even shorter. You shut the door behind you, slamming it just hard enough to make a point.

You should have just told her, acted like a grown-up instead of a jealous teenager with a chip on your shoulder. The anxious little worm in your brain had decided for you, calling out ‘don’t tell her, she won’t believe that Eddie would want a girl like you when goddess-women like her walk the earth!’

As you rest your back to the door, you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. 

In for four, hold for four, out for four. 

Eddie isn’t like Connor. He’s not like Eric either. 

Years of hurt and heartbreak, being someone’s number one until someone better, prettier, funnier came along, had made you wary of dating when you boxed up your life and moved to Chicago. You had gone on a few really crappy dates last summer before getting together with Eddie, before he showed you the real him (unexpectedly sweet-hearted, willing to get a bloody nose in a fight for you). 

His flirty nature had made you wary of having your heart broken by a charming ladies' man all over again. But that’s not your Eddie. He had promised you that wasn’t him, showered you with love and promised you were it for him. He never seemed frustrated with affirming his feelings for you, promising you it was the real deal. He loved the heartbroken girl inside you just as much as he adored the woman you are now.

Having a borderline existential crisis on your five-minute break wasn’t the respite you had planned from the busy bar. As you splash cool water on your wrists and spritz your warm cheeks with rose water, you just hope that Crystal isn’t one of the girls who sees a man with a girlfriend as a fun challenge rather than off-limits. 

When you feel a little less shaky - or steady enough to not drop every glass you pick up - you tag one of the other barmen to go on his five and slot back into your pit of self-loathing, hidden behind a smile and the beer taps. By the time you shake up six Appletinis and a tray of Blowjob shots for a table of girls celebrating a birthday, you have convinced yourself that Eddie would probably be better off with Crystal instead of your petty jealous ass. 

You’re so deep in your wallowing that you miss Eddie darting from the door to your side of the bar. His hand is tapping the drink-slick bar top to get your attention before you even see him. 

“Psst. Hey, c’mere. Need to talk to you.”

Are you in trouble? Had Crystal told him about your less-than-friendly behaviour? You plaster a smile on, one that he sees right through. 

“Ed, I’m working. What’s wrong?” you ask, stepping away from your station to hear him better over the music. 

“M’working too, it’ll just take a sec.” Eddie leans forward, smiling cheekily. “You’re my girlfriend, right?” 

Your cheeks heat up. Shit. He knows. 

You nod. “Yeah…”

“Lemme hear you say it?” he tilts his head, batting his lashes a little playfully.

You sigh and roll your eyes, pretending that your heart isn’t beating out of your chest, even though it feels a little bruised. “I’m your girlfriend.”

He looks triumphant and amused and pulls your hand in between his own, holding it like a treasure. “Okay, good. Why didn’t you just tell Crys that?”

The rolling boil of hurt that had been bubbling in your chest all evening and into the night doesn’t evaporate with Eddie’s loving little touch. 

“Why didn’t you tell her, Ed? You could’ve told her fuckin’ hours ago that I was your girl.”

Your heads are close together as Eddie leans in to hear you over Alannah Myles crooning Black Velvet.

Expecting you to be a little more playful, matching his energy, he sobers and frowns, studying the hurt marring your pretty face. “Oh shit. Honey…” 

“It hurt, Ed. You had like two chances right off the bat... How many more did you miss, huh?” 

Eddie’s brows disappear under his bangs. “Fuck, it’s not like that. I didn’t realise… Didn’t even think. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Good.” You squeeze his hand anyway, proud of yourself for not minimising your feelings to just go back to normal. 

“Baby…” “Eddie…”

His Bambi eyes aren’t enough this time. But you know he’s going to feel like shit because he hurt you, which makes you feel crappy for ever doubting him. 

“Can I kiss it better?” Eddie’s pouted lower lip is obscenely kissable. 

A mid-shift kiss is usually Eddie’s reason for waylaying you at the bar, though he can usually hold off until your break together. He leaves Jeff to man the door when it’s quiet so he can claim his sugar tax or borrow your lip balm (he really has an impressive collection of euphemisms for begging a kiss from you). 

You’re usually very forthcoming, and right now you would love a kiss but the opportunity to fuck with him and get a little payback for his romance novella bullshit earlier (getting you worked up before the longest shift of your life) feels too good to miss. Your scheming lifts your mood from the doom spiral, just a little.

Yeah, flirting with Eddie was core to the foundation of your relationship, but so was fucking around with him. 

You meet his baby cow eyes with your own gaze, looking through your black-coated lashes. 

“You love me?”  “To the death.” “Then you can wait.”

Eddie’s jaw drops. One hand clutches his heart as the other holds your hand even tighter. “Baby… You’re really withholding a kiss right now? I said sorry! And I meant it!” 

You roll your eyes, classic drama queen Munson. You fucking love him. 

“I am.” “You’re killing me.”

You smile and lift his hand to kiss the back of it. “Then suffer. I’ve got customers to serve, Ed. See you at twelve - maybe you’ll get a kiss then.” 

You pat his cheek and turn away, hearing the thud of skull versus countertop as he groans like a wounded man. 

He’s going to be insufferably lovely for the rest of the weekend to make it up to you.

Your re-found spring in your step has you back in your usual flow as you pour beers side by side with Michelle. Eddie has dragged himself back to the door to sulk, but not before tossing scowling puppy eyes over his shoulder at you. 

“I should be pissed you’re slacking off to talk to your boyfriend but whatever that was made you actually smile, so I’m here for it.” She grins and bumps your hip with her own, your signature move together as you work in tandem. 

“Just a wee bit of payback. I’ll tell you on girls’ night,” you promise, hearing her laugh as you ring up your customer. 

Spirits lifted, albeit at your boyfriend’s expense, you make it through the peak of the night without spiralling any further. In fact, your distraction is all Eddie Eddie Eddie.

At least until the scent of freshly spritzed Dior Poison wafts over the bar as you catch sight of copper and red next in line for you. Crystal. 

She looks just as gorgeous when she’s a little bashful, giving you a warm smile - a promise that she comes in peace. 

You’re cringing, wishing you could duck behind the bar, but you definitely owe her an apology. 

“Hi.”

“Hey, Crystal. I think I owe you a cocktail…”

She smiles, her creamy cheeks blushing in the dim light of the bar. “What do you recommend? I’ve heard you’re like, the queen of mixology and know exactly what drink people will like.” 

You can hear Eddie’s praise of you in her words; his little alchemist, his sexy potion-mistress. He took his role of taste-tester in chief with the utmost seriousness. 

“Mm, I do my best. You like cherries?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“I do.” 

She lifts her arm to show you a stick and poke cherry tattoo on her wrist. 

“Tequila?”

“Girl… Are you in my brain right now?” 

You grin and shake up a mix of cherry liquor, ginger syrup, tequila and lime juice with ice - adding a little extra cherry syrup just because. You pour the mixed margarita into a chilled glass with salt and sugar rim and a cherry garnish. 

“Don’t even think of getting your purse out,” you say as you slide it across the bar. “I’m sorry for being weird.”

Crystal accepts the proffered straw and slides it into her drink, taking a slow sip. Her eyes blow wide as the flavours of cherry and earthy tequila bathe her tongue, zinging sharp with bright lime. “This is amazing.”

You smile and shrug. “It’s my personal favourite, and… Well, you strike me as a woman with excellent taste too.” 

The thick tension and coiling vines of envy from before are totally gone now as you both share a knowing smile. 

“Sorry for flirting with your boyfriend. I definitely wouldn’t have if I knew…” Crystal squeezes your forearm where it rests on the bar. “Nothing ever happened between us, just friends when I worked here. We flirted back and forth, just for fun. That’s all.” 

You nod, feeling more at peace now. “He’s fun to flirt with, I don’t blame you. We started off just flirting too. And bitching at each other. Just for fun.” 

Crystal smiles and sips her drink again. “He’s crazy about you. You know that right? Only has eyes for you. He’s got it bad.” 

Feeling your cheeks and chest heat up, you nod again. “I do, I’m kinda crazy about him too. Literally crazy tonight, apparently. I’m really sorry I was a total weirdo with you earlier.” 

Crystal extends one hand, long red nails pointed at you, and you take it to shake. “Water under the bridge, babe.”

You wish you hadn’t wasted your time spiralling when you could have been making a friend.

She squeezes your hand, making sure you’re looking at her. “Y’know, I was gonna ask earlier if you were single even if Eddie wasn’t… The hot bartender thing also does it for me.”

Oh, she was good. 

So good that your brain goes static for a few moments. 

The hot girl thinks you’re hot. She’s totally flirting right now. It feels…good?

Crystal fixes you with that siren stare, black lashes sweeping her cheeks when she blinks slowly. Your face and chest flame hot as you become the focus of her flirtation.

“Uh… I… Wow. Really? Sorry… We kinda ruined your night, huh?” Your voice is shakier than you would like, your tongue thick in your mouth, but she finds it endearingly sweet.

“Nah, you made me this yummy drink. And hey, if you two are ever planning a trip, Vegas can be lots of fun. Come find me maybe?” 

Crystal drops you a wink before disappearing into the crowd like a breath of cherry smoke, a napkin with her number left on the bar for you - for you and Eddie. You fold it into your back pocket, another little thing to tease Eddie with when you get on your break with him.

Being flirted with and propositioned while you were working had never been quite so fun or exhilarating. Usually, it made you feel icky, but now you feel like you’re zinging with electricity that helps you power through the thirsty queuing customers cleaning spills and collecting glasses until you’re tagged to go on break again.

You uncap a beer for yourself, shoving lime in the tall neck, and take one for Eddie with you when you head out back to meet him. You pause to swipe more rosy lipstick on before shouldering past the heavy exit door. 

Your brain hurts from the tornado of different emotions you have experienced on your shift so far, but the chill of brick against the back of your head and the cool beer on your tongue helps. 

As always, you hear your boyfriend before you see him. Tonight is heavy boots pounding on stone as he rushes back to you, unable to stand another second of being un-kissed. 

“Medic? We have an emergency!”

For a moment you think he might not be fucking around, but the way his eyes glint when he sees you proves otherwise. 

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit outta me,” you tut. 

“Thank god you’re here! It’s life or death.” His breath comes quick as he stops in front of you, holding your face in his hands. “There’s a dying man, he needs urgent mouth-to-mouth.”

Your brow rises as you fight the urge to grin. “Oh yeah? Poor guy. Sounds fatal.” 

“It is. He was a total idiot and now he’s not got long left.” 

Those baby cow eyes shine with genuine regret, sparkling with a sprinkle of mischief that is so innate to Eddie Munson. 

“Well, maybe I can help. But I don’t think he’s totally in the wrong.” Your hand slips over his shoulder, touching butter-soft leather. “There’s also a crazy woman on the loose - you might have seen her… I think it might be all my fault.”

“Nah. Only saw this crazy-beautiful woman. She looked kinda sad though… Broke my heart a little.” 

You look up into Eddie’s eyes, feeling more than in love as you close the gap between you. Pillow-soft lips press against your rose-tinted mouth, kissing away any remnants of worry and sadness as he wraps you up in his arms. 

“I fuckin’ love you, baby,” he murmurs, barely breaking away to remind you of what is true. “M’sorry.”

“I love you.” Your palm curves, moulding against his neck and you can feel his pulse hammering beneath. You move back slightly, so you can tell him what was bugging you without being waylaid by the need to kiss him. “I got so in my head. It just…”

Eddie’s head rests against yours as he listens. 

“I got really jealous.” It’s barely a whisper when you speak it out loud. “It was stupid because it was all in my head.” 

Eddie runs his nose against yours, lips tracing its path until they press your forehead. 

“S’not stupid if it’s real to you, princess.” Eddie holds you against him, pressing kiss after kiss to your busy head. “I wish I could’ve made it better sooner. It’s not nice to hear that I made you doubt me. I’m not going to hold it against you, I promise.” 

You direct him back to your lips, kissing him when words fail you. 

“M’sorry,” you whisper against his mouth. “I never doubted you, Eddie. I just.. it was me. I didn’t get why you’d want me when Crystal was right there. She’s the hottest woman ever.” 

Eddie scoffs. “Are you jokin’ with me? Baby, you are the hottest woman ever.” 

“Eddie, it’s fine. We both have eyes - she’s hot,” you admit, smiling a little. “Wanna hear something funny?” 

He nods and presses one more kiss to your mouth. 

“She was trying to flirt with me too. I was just too up in my head to realise…” 

Eddie grins, shaking his head. “As she should, you’re smokin’.” 

Your arms wrap around him, hugging tight. “We’re all good now. I made her a drink, she prepositioned me…” you say, totally offhand. 

You brace for Eddie’s reaction. 

A ten thousand-watt grin almost blinds you when Eddie peels himself back. “Oh yeah? That is kinda hot…” 

“Shut up.” Your voice wobbles with laughter. “Don’t worry, babe. She said you’re invited too. If we’re ever in Vegas, that is…” 

Brown eyes blow wide - Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself. “H-whaa?”

Pressing your face against the soft black cotton of his t-shirt, you giggle against his chest. “You heard me. She was crushing on both of us tonight.” 

“That… I… My brain has stopped working…” “Stop imagining it, Edward.” “I’m not.” “You are! I can feel your dick on my leg, dude!”

Eddie takes two steps back, hands on his head as he spins in a circle. “I’m in some parallel realm. Did I die? Oh, I did die… See? This is why you should’ve kissed me earlier! I’m flatlining here! Medic!”

His dramatic ass has you cackling, cheeks hurting as the no-game nerd inside him fails to comprehend what you just told him. You were both interested in exploring with each other in the bedroom and had already broadened your tastes with him, but neither of you had anticipated stumbling across this unopened door…

“So I’ll throw her number in the trash?” you ask, sipping your beer with a pointed raise of your brow. 

The nonsensical goblin-yelp that comes from Eddie’s mouth makes the bubbles fizz up the back of your throat, making you cough and splutter. He’s an absolute dork and you adore him.

He presses pause on the dramatics to check on you, making sure you’re not going to choke on lime-spiked beer.

“Hot.” Eddie laughs as he wipes the fizz from your lip, then pats you hard on the back. He pouts as you pinch your brows at the sting of beer in your nose. “Poor baby.”

“Dick.”

“Yeah, your dick.” His cheeky grin softens. “You’re the only woman for me,” Eddie says, cupping your face again. “I mean it. It’s hot as fuck that we were kinda prepositioned like that, but you’re it. I only want you.” 

You pull him in for a kiss again, deeper this time as his tongue licks against yours. The zing of electricity that runs the length of your spine pushes you closer to Eddie.

“Yeah? Even if Elvira rocks up?”  “She’s my hall pass, baby. Just like you and Keanu.” “Mmmm...okay.” 

Eddie drags you in for another smiling kiss. You feel small in comparison to the breadth of his shoulders, the subtle bulk he carries - you love it. His hand rests on your neck as he presses up close to you, thigh slotted between yours where your skirt pulls tight across the plush part of your legs. The well-loved denim bunches and slips higher as Eddie crowds you against the brickwork - he’s amped up and wound tight too many kiss-less hours and the revelations of the last few minutes. It’s easy to match him, mirror the needy grasp of hands on denim to pull him close.

His kisses soothe any whisper of doubt or fear that haunted you since your shift started.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy, princess. S’hot that you’re crazy for me,” he murmurs against the side of your mouth before diving in again for another filthier kiss. 

Your nails graze the back of his head, fingers twisting and tugging in dark brown curls to draw that pleasured little noise from the back of Eddie’s throat and swallow it all for yourself. Hips shift against the meat of his thigh; silky lace on denim dark enough to mask the damp mark you’re bound to leave there. 

Eddie’s mouth moves down to your neck, seeking out that spot that makes your jaw drop open and your lashes flutter. One big ringed hand dips lower to encourage your hips to roll and rock against him, propped against the wall with his lean strength holding you up. “That’s it, baby. I gotcha.”

It’s easy to forget you’re at work, where any one of your co-workers could come looking for you or Eddie, but when he’s touching you like this and making you burn for him you can’t spare the space in your brain to care. You’re sure that you should both be on some sort of formal warning by now after how many times you have been caught making out and groping each other on your breaks. You had given him a hand (and head) more than once on the clock; some nights were slow and called for a distraction. 

And nights like this? When you need each other so desperately, they were something else entirely. 

“Ed..” Your voice sounds whiny and pathetic in your own ears as you clutch at his shoulders. 

“That’s me, doll,” he murmurs, “M’gonna make it up to you okay? Say sorry for making you jealous’n’sad.” His fingers slip up beneath the bunched hem of your skirt, touching the warm spot on the front of your underwear as his forehead presses against yours. “Can I? Just a little somethin’? Promise I’ll make your head all empty when we get home. Yeah?”   

You’re a weak woman, rendered boneless and speechless as Eddie’s fingertips press there. With a lazy nod, dragging him back for a kiss, you roll your pelvis against his hand. 

“That’s it.”

You feel his smile against your mouth as he pushes your underwear to the side, enough to feel how wet you are as his fingers press and dip and stroke. Eddie drags your slick gloss up, easing the friction as he circles his thumb.

“Oh Jesus,” you gasp, a shuddering breath as he pushes two fingers inside with ease. You hold him to you, clutching the back of his neck.

Eddie spares you a cocky comment in favour of kissing you again, stroking up inside you before beginning to fuck into you. He doesn’t stop his kisses when your jaw slackens, tongue meeting his with lazy strokes as blood rushes in your ears. 

“That’s it, just let me take care of my girl.”

My girl. It gets you every time. 

He feels the pulse and gush, a Pavlovian reaction, and presses deeper. 

A slow pleasured smile spreads on your face as his fingers fill you. Eddie watches, eyes heavy-lidded, before moving back to kiss your neck. 

Motormouth Munson keeps his title as he murmurs filth against your neck, punctuating praise and promises with sucking kisses and scrapes of teeth, soothed by his slick tongue. 

“That’s my girl, I know what she likes. Need it so bad, don’t you?”

“Oh, you’re so fuckin’ soaked for me. Can feel you pullin’ me in, princess.”

“You been so worked up all night, huh? I’m gonna take such good care of you. Not leavin’ our bed tomorrow until you forget your own name. Gonna show you just how much I love you, baby.”

You choke down your moans, quietening yourself to breathy gasps and pleas in Eddie’s name. The fear of interruption, of getting caught, gets you both going. 

Eddie hoists your thigh up to his hip, widening you more more more as his fingers find, then curl and press on your spongy spot. 

Your moan is muffled against his shoulder, still too loud to be decent and louder still in Eddie’s ears. 

“Fuck, there we go. Oh, you’re so fuckin’ close already, huh? Gonna come for me right here?” His voice is low and rough, words ground out as you feel him hard against your leg.

“Yeah,” you whimper, already shaking. “G-uh.. Oh god.” Your back arches away from the brick as his fingers speed up, thumb pressing hard circles in tandem. “Eddie… Fuck, fuckkk!” 

He nods, speeding up just enough, just like he knows you need. Eddie squares his jaw as he listens to the sloppy wet sound of his fingers between your legs. Your jaw drops, brow creases; blissful agony. Eddie steals another kiss, soaking up the little noises you make when you’re close, the noises that make him throb in his jeans. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Come for me.” 

You leave the marks of your teeth on his leather-clad shoulder, biting back your moan as you obey. Eddie makes you come hard, making you drip over his silver rings. Eddie has to hold you up, keep you steady as your body convulses with absolute bliss. You hold on like he’s your life raft; he is your life raft - steady and sure when you falter or fall.

Eddie keeps you close, basking in your glow as you catch your breath. The hand on your thigh moves, cups and cradles the back of your head so you don’t bust it too hard against the wall. 

“Fuck, baby. That was a big one.” He smiles when you smile, pliant and lazy, brushing kisses and praise against your hot cheek. He reaches to prop the stool beneath you to take your leaden weight. 

“There she is, my pretty princess.” When you open your eyes, you can see the flush on his cheeks and the pulse of the vein in his neck. 

You’re so utterly spoiled by this man. You kiss his lips, softer now as you come back to life, to earth. You’re shaky, breathless but you feel alive. You feel loved. 

“That was… Full marks, no notes.” 

Eddie raises a fist, triumphant like John Bender. “I know what my baby needs.”

He makes you giggle and bite your lip as he licks the taste of you from his fingers. “Sweet.”

You pass him your open beer to down as his prize, as you put yourself back together, sliding your ruined underwear off over your boots to use in lieu of a rag. 

Eddie snatches them just as you consider trashing them (not that you were going to, they weren’t cheap). “Mine.” He’s breathless from sucking down the fizzy beer as tucks them into his pocket.

Your laugh is shaky but you don’t even fight him on it. It’s not the first pair he has pocketed mid-shift, nor will it be the last. 

“Pervert.”

He shoves them against his nose for good measure, living up to the accusation. “Oh yeah. That’s the good shit.” He winks before shoving them back inside his leather jacket, right by his heart. A romantic pervert at least. 

“That keep you going for the rest of the night? Until I get you home?” Eddie asks, before starting on the second beer; he shares a few sips with you.

“Mm, just about. You have promises to keep, rockstar,” you say, pulling him in with fingers hooked in his belt loops. “I wanna return the favour but ‘Chelle will kill both of us if we disappear again…”

“I’ll survive. Be strong.” He musters up faux courage as you press kisses to his face. 

“My brave boy.”

Your arms wind around each other, hugging and holding your other half close. 

“Y’feeling a bit better than earlier?” Eddie runs his hands up and down your back; his voice is sincere and sober.

“Mmhm. Much better. Not just ‘coz you made me come. But that did help.” You smile and tuck your head under his chin. 

He hums a happy noise and presses his lips to your head. “Glad to be of cervix. I mean, service.” 

“Ugh. Really?” You can feel him laughing, shaking with it. 

“It’s a good one!”  “Eddie, my love - what’s a cervix?” “It’s like…womb-adjacent.” You can hear his smugness. “Hmm, don’t need to know how you know that.” “Did biology three times.” “Oh. Okay.” 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. You tilt your head to look up at him and smile when he kisses you again. 

“If I help you clean up later we can get fries on the way home. You’re going to need your strength, baby.” 

His eyes glint with that look that makes your tummy flutter. 

“Deal.”

Eddie cups your face and kisses you with a soft sweetness, something like a peach, that contrasts with his filthy promises of taking you apart and putting you back together later. 

He helps you up from the stool, making sure your knees don’t buckle and your skirt is pulled down properly to cover up your lack of underwear. 

Eddie makes you spin for him, admiring you with his kiss-bitten lip between his teeth. “Mm, one more time for me?” 

You roll your eyes at him before tucking yourself under his arm.

“Love you.” Eddie pulls you in for one more peck before opening the back door for you. 

“Love you more, rockstar.” You feel like a girl being walked to homeroom as he smooches one more kiss against your cheek. 

As he backs away, not wanting to be the first to turn, Eddie points a finger at you, “Love you most.” 

You roll your eyes, grinning anyway as he backs around the corner with the Bender-fist raised in the air again. 

Eddie Munson might be a flirt, such a flirt, but he is all yours.

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️ 

Tags: @oneforthemunny @munsonmecrazy @parmawiolets

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Jan 24th

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1. Any fics that have wwx coming back and lwj is the lan sect leader?

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2. hii itmf a fic where there is acknowledgment or focus of the fact that mxy's body is smaller/younger than wwx's original would've been! same idea as All Technicalities by DummyDiplodocus like an outsider pov of it like jc or the juniors. or lwj noticing it! doesn't necessarily have to be the focus btw just like it's there. tysm!!!! :)

a tide in two seas by occultings (microcomets) (E, 80k, WangXian, Modern AU, Parallel Universes, Modern with Magic, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Established Relationship, Mild Horror, Case Fic, mildly sci-fi, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Married Couple, Love Confessions)

🔒 Forget Myself in Memories by geethr75 (T, 10k, JC & WWX, JC & JL, JL & LJY & LSZ & OYZZ, WangXian, LXC & NMJ, JYL/JZX, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Time Travel Fix-It, Juniors travel to the past, Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, double trouble, Past WWX meets future WWX in MXY's body, Past JC meets future JC, JL and his jiujiu, Sect Leader JL, Sect Leader OYZZ, Sect Heir LJY, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, JGY dies as Meng Yao, SS and JZn dies, JGS dies, WQ and WN lives, JYL and JZX Lives, no golden core transfer, No golden core melting, The Juniors save the day, WWX saves the day too, Alternate Timelines)

Brothers, Brothers-in-Law and Husbands by xxxMiaHikarixxx (G, 7k, WangXian, LXC/JC, LWJ accidentally hurts WWX, Injured WWX, WQ is alive, protective Lans, protective JC, for once both LXC & JC are good, Wedding, Protective Wen siblings, LJY and LSZ are best boys)

Out with the new, in with the old by XxRainbowHeartxX (T, 13k, WangXian, LXC/JC, Curses, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff and Angst, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Bodyswap, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt WWX, Sad WWX, Family Feels, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Memories, POV WWX, Unreliable Narrator, Light Angst)

Is Your Old Body Considered a Halloween Costume? by The_peregrine_falcon (G, 3k, WangXian, WWX’s original body, Junior quartet makes an appearance, LQR’s blood pressure is going up, LWJ is chief cultivator, Fluff, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon)

Saw My Life in a Stranger’s Face by timetoboldlygo (T, 27k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Married Life, Domestic Fluff, Light Angst, wwx’s face changes post-canon to look like his original face, Slight Panic Attack, because lwj doesn’t recognize his husband, the mortifying ordeal of not knowing your own body, the terrifying inevitability of change, taller!wwx theory)

What Is Left Over by Loriqod (T, 30k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Yunmeng brothers, Post-Canon Fix-It, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Happy Ending, WangXian in Love, bite-sized angst, Canon-Typical Violence, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Training Montage)

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3. I'm in the mood for wangxian fics where lan zhan is struggling to come to terms with his love of pretty clothing and femininity/or some repressed gayness/internalized homophobia. Explicit fics generally preferred but I'm not picky. Thank you!! @pussyaside

See all this and more for just ten dollars a month!series by ScarlettStorm (E, 382k, WangXian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, Modern, Getting Together, Pining, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans au, repressed LWJ, sex worker WWX, in this house we support sex work, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, hornt™ way too many details about onlyfans probably, mental health, therapy is good actually, Angst, Nonbinary NHS, Established Relationship, Fashionista LWJ, Fluff and Smut, they’re horny and in love, Domestic Bliss, tender kink, Fiber Arts, autistic LWJ, Neurodivergent WWX, switch rights, a soupçon of gender, get in losers we’re introspecting about queerness, Genderfluid Character, Gender Exploration, Hurt/Comfort, past trauma, But They’re Working Through It, aggressive mutual caretaking, knitter LWJ, genderfluid WWX, Adhd WWX, Feminization (absolutely not forced and in fact very desired feminization), Date Night, they’re just disgustingly in love and they gotta fuck about it)

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

Soul Deep by El_Toro (G, 1k, WIP, JC/NHS/WWX/LWJ/WN, Polyamory, Nonbinary LWJ, Modern, Trans WN, LWJ Wears a Dress )

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4. Are there any wangxian fic where nobody believes they are married it could be modern setting or any anything else

Marital Claims by yeolinski (M, 5k, WangXian, Lawyers, Established Relationship, Marriage, Married Life, Accidental Marriage, the juniors are interns, nobody believes they're married basically)

‘cause it’s worth the sacrifice to finally be strong by MichelleFeather (G, 4k, WangXian, LSZ & LWJ & WWX, LQR & LWJ & WWX, 3zun, Modern, reverse trope, Jiang Family Bashing Everyone sucks, Established WangXian, Married WangXian, Married WangXian Have Children, Good Uncle LQR, Child LSZ, LWJ & WWX Adopt LSZ, Homophobia, Supportive LQR, Friends to Lovers, they met in middle school, cutting off people who aren't supportive, Good Person JZX)

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5. Hello! ITMF Fics set pre-Sunshot Campaign where it is just the teenage characters being young, dumb, and having fun. It could be the Cloud Recesses study arc or an au teen arc. Bonus points if Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Nie Huaisang are besties and dealing with teen crushes (LWJ). I just want something light and fluffy where all the characters are happy, please! Thank you so much!

🔒 The Golden Cutsleeve by syrus_jones (E, 77k, WangXian, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Aged-Up Character(s), WWX POV, WWX is a gremlin, Internally Screaming LWJ, No Sunshot Campaign, First Times, Accidental Sex, Masturbation, PWP, Porn with Feelings, WWX experimenting with things he shouldn’t like always, Happy Ending, Porn With Plot)

Bet Your Heart by Vamillepudding (G, 14k, WangXian, LXC & WWX, Canon Divergence, Romantic Comedy, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together)

it’s just (aah) a little crush (crush!) by sweetlolixo (T, 9k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Romance, Fluff, Pining LWJ, Humor, Courting Rituals, Teen Wangxian)

lan xichen by antebunny (G, 6k, LXC & LWJ, WangXian, LXC & WWX, Canon Divergence, Fluff, LXC needs friends, LXC is Tired, LXC is wangxian's #1 fan, drunk LXC, Getting Together, Cloud Recesses Study Arc)

loveliness by orphan_account (T, 1k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Pining, Teen Romance, Getting Together)

Orchids in Lotus Pier by Vamillepudding (G, 21k, WangXian, JC & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Romantic Comedy, Mutual Pining, Protective JC, Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings)

Pigtail Pulling by protos_metazu_ison (G, 3k, WangXian, Fluff and Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans)

🔒 Three changes. by orange_crushed (M, 18k, WangXian, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Cloud Recesses, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Friends to Lovers, Romantic Comedy, Kissing, Fade to Black, Mild Sexual Content, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot No War AU, Falling In Love, Non-Graphic Violence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Sparring, Harm to Animals, Don’t Worry The Animal is Fine Wangji Makes Sure of That, Developing Friendships, Wangji Makes Friends At Summer School, teenagers in love, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, First Time)

🔒 Tangible by apathyinreverie (T, 2k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Canon Divergence, LWJ is smitten, and furious about it, WWX is just as smitten, and shows it by pestering LWJ for attention, who just wants some peace and quiet to read, although if he gets to hold the sunshine disciple in his lap while doing so, he's actually more than fine with that, Fluff, Humor, Possessive LWJ, First Kiss, Getting Together, the library scene)

A Purrfect Day in Gusu by DrJLecter (T, 21k, WangXian, JGY/LXC, LWJ gets turned into a cat, WWX thinks it's hilarious, Canon Divergence, Cloud Recesses, no Wen clan, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Idiots in Love, Happy, Cute, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, Supportive LXC, Meddling LXC, Matchmaking, matchmaking LXC, POV WWX, NHS Knows Everything)

For the Sake of a Smile by Reikosama7716 (Not Rated, 94k, WangXian, WWX/Everyone, CSSR/WCZ, WIP, Older WWX, Oblivious WWX, Jealous LWJ, Possessive LWJ, ProtectiveJC, JZX's Attempt in Public Confession, WWX and his ducklings, Everyone is young and gay for WWX, WWX and Jiāng siblings are cousins, Canon Divergence, LQR Metaphorically Qi-Deviates, WWX in his YLLZ appearance, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Third wheeling of unfortunate sect disciples, Not Everyone Dies, LWJ is princess carrying WWX, WWX is self-proclaim gege, QHJ tries to be a better parent, LWJ's attempts to buy courting gift, Cold Springs, Disciples peeking at WWX, Cinnamon Roll WN, CSSR's shameless flirting attempts, LWJ reading 'books', NHS translates bird language, JZX playing straight man for once, LXC too, XY is a Little Shit, Shameless WWX, Implied "Everyday is everyday", Papa Lan ships it and he's the MVP at it, Papa Lan: Is it possible for my son-in-law to conceive?, Sect Leader WQ, JYL being dark and maybe a secret sadist?)

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6. Hello! 👋 for the next itmf id like a fanfic in which lwj is talkative with wwx, but ONLY with wwx. Or, if that’s too specific, a fic that shows the difference between how lwj behaves with other people and how he behaves with his Wei Ying.

Thankssss :D

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7. Hi! ITMF some 5+1 fics

together all along by stellarmusings (G, 5k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, Modern, 5+1 Things, Getting Together, Misunderstandings, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Domestic Fluff)

Cotton Wool by incendir (M, 34k, wangxian, LJY/OMC, JL/LSZ, JC & WWX)

Criteria by incendir (T, 10k, LSZ & LWJ, wangxian, OCs)

one of our own by glitteringmoonlight (G, 7k, WangXian, Post-Canon, wangxian is mentioned but not the focus, this is just the lans being a wwx defense squad, people being nice to wwx, people being mean about wwx but immediately getting shut down, POV Outsider, 5+1 Things)

Revenge is a Side Dish Best Served With Tea by merakily (G, 7k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Protective LWJ, Petty LWJ, Fluff and Humor)

You Are My Euphoria by orphan_account (M, 18k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Making Out, 5+1 Things, Mutual Pining)

💖 You, Asleep and Dreaming by etymologyplayground (M, 9k, WangXian, LWJ POV, 5+1 Things, Literal Sleeping Together, Sharing a Bed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Intimacy, Getting Together, Fluff, Post-Canon, Undressing, wwx’s ‘angry lwj’ kink)

A Start on How by misscam (M, 7k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, Modern, College/University)

had a marvelous time ruining everything by livinginaworldofnoise (G, 8k, WangXian, Modern, Established Relationship, Fluff and Crack, tfw you're trying to propose but you're thwarted by some cats your boyfriend found under a dumpster, Marriage Proposal, assuming wangxian's new kittens stop thwarting them, WWX is only slightly less feral than these kittens if we're being real, [Podfic] Cold read of had a marvelous time ruining everything by kisahawklin)

🔒 Lessons in Belonging by Nyatci (M, 12k, wangxian, Modern, Childhood Friends to Lovers, POV LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canonical Child Abuse, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Not Jiāng Family Friendly, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Homophobia, Good Uncle LQR, background 3zun, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assumed Asexuality, but it’s just an assumption, some mild non-overly-explicit smut, LWJ really wants to put a ring on it, so he does, Domestic Fluff, wangxian adopt a-yuan, 5+1 Things, softer than how the tags make it sound)

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

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8. Hi! For ITMF, I am looking for well-written fics where WWX goes through qi deviation (I've read Twelve Moons and a Fortnight). Thanks! @kesterling

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9. Hello! Have you got any pre canon fics as in after Wei wuxian's death, lan wangji's grief(ofc one need not ask for that specifically it'd always be in a fic) and his relationship with lil A-yuan(and other lan disciples) Ik it's not totally wangxian so perhaps I shouldn't ask for it, but I don't know where else to ask and I couldn't find anything myself. I wanted to read it cause the way juniors admire him in the main book, it's so heartwarming and enough to show how good lan wangji was with them. So yeah if you've got anything...

❤️ To be of use by Erisette (Not Rated, 53k, WangXian, Found Family, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Father-Son Relationship, Missing Scene, Good Teacher LWJ, LSZ is an angel, LJY is the best of brats, Cloud Recesses, Seclusion Lite(TM), Everyone under 20 at Cloud Recesses worships Hanguang-jun, Fluff, Hanguang-jun is the coolest, Worldbuilding, this is not sad tho even though it's set in the time jump, the fluff-to-sads ratio is v high, Mojo’s post) This is one of my favourite fics

🔒 the map of days by everythingispoetry (M, 20k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood, Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX’s Death)

Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Not Rated, 19k, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian, dad wangji, LWJ’s Questionable Parenting Skills, Grief/Mourning, Recovery, Injury Recovery, Hopeful Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses [podfic] by someplacelikebolivia)

it’s a long road but we’re not alone by Stratisphyre (M, 61k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Parenthood, Grief/Mourning, Family Feels, Reunions, Golden Core Reveal, Getting Together)

Inquiry by incendir (G, 10k, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian)

🔒 Response by Aki_no_hikari (G, 12k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Feels, Love Confessions)

🔒 藕断丝连 by RoseThorne (G, 456, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Memory Loss, Memories, POV Third Person, POV LSZ, Rituals, lotuses)

🔒 A voice long gone by Vrishchika (M, 11k, WangXian, WIP, Angst with a Happy Ending, Epistolary, Grief/Mourning, Stream of Consciousness)

~*~

10. Thanks so much for all your amazing work!! For the next itmf, can I have some delicious angst with a happy ending based on misunderstanding. I just really love the docs where lwj reads wwx all wrong and is a jerk and then realizes the error of his ways. Especially if he isn't so subtle about his opinions and disdain. I just require a happy ending. Also not a fan of wwx forgiving too easily. He deserves to have lwj grovel or suffer a little, too.

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

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

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 108k, WangXian, Modern, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)

🧡🔒 Truth Will Out (when caught on video) - End_OTW_Racism! by KizuKatana (E, 178k, WangXian, WN & WWX & WQ, graphic depictions of violence, modern cultivation, canon divergence, YZY abuses WWX, caught on camera, partial core removal, WWX kicked out of Jiang sect, livestreamer WWX, meet ugly, dual cultivation, smut, no war)

🔒 Snow by kuro (M, 38k, WangXian, Modern, Snow, Sick Character, Caretaking, Fluff, Sugar Daddy, only they’re like… bad at it, Angst, Rabbits, Food, Sexy Times, occasionally)

the earthquake in the room by phnelt (E, 39k, WangXian, College/University, Modern: No Powers, Canada, Getting Together, Mentions of lwj/others, inter-faculty romance, strangers to lovers to frenemies to lovers, mostly book characterisation)

🔒 Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down by KizuKatana (E, 63k, wangxian, WQ & WWX & WN, Modern Cultivation, weapons-grade thirst, Getting Back Together, Trying REALLY hard to not still like your Ex, but failing, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Canon Divergence, Case Fic, LWJ’s canonically big dick, sort of a ‘thirsting for your co-worker ex’ vibe, it eventually gets worked out, Mutual Pining, Guest-starring LWJ’s canonically poor communication choices after romantic cave encounters, novel canon relationship dynamics, basically this fic is about escalating sexual tension)

🔒 The Second Jade of Lan’s late but incendiary sexual awakening by KizuKatana (E, 41k, wangxian, First Time, LWJ’s Horny Grip, LWJ does not know what hit him, and yet somehow he still realizes it before WWX, canon wangxian dynamics, college AU, LWJ starts off annoyed at WWX, But quickly discovers both his competency kink and a caretaking kink, Genius WWX)

Betrothed by Dixielis (E, 10k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Hybrids, Fox WWX, Dragon LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Miscommunication, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy)

what you have tamed by lianhua_lianzi, Senforza (E, 94k, WangXian, Animal Traits, misunderstandings, Courting Rituals, Pining, Lan family dynamics, Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage, Wangxian break up but get back together, Eventual Happy Ending, Implied Mpreg, Unresolved Sexual Tension, unintentional and eventually resolved “gaslighting”, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX) lan zhan fucks up so bad prepare to cry on this one but the happy ending makes it better

~*~

11. Heyo, are there any Wangxian fics where its actor Au? Like the who mdzs plot is actually a show and the actors are all friends/couples or actor au where they act in stuff and its really dramatic and Wangxian is also dramatic? Please and thank you and I hope you have a nice day or night😁 @yasssbassss

call me, beep me by myung (T, 39k, WangXian, MM/WQ, JC/WN, JYL/JZX, Social Media, Modern, Actors, Celebrity, Chatting & Messaging)

~*~

12. Hello, could you please help me find fics where WY is ashamed of his scarred and malnourished body during cloud recess period or in modern au (where no lost core or war happened, only Jiang family)

Thank you!

🔒💙 Holding shreds by barisan (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, Body Swap, Not for sexy shenanigans, Chronic Pain, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jiāng Family Bashing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Getting Together, Smart WWX) I'm not sure if Wei Ying feels ashamed of his scars in these but he's definitely uncomfortable with people finding out about them.

🔒 Warming up (to him) by barisan (T, 9k, LQR & WWX, WangXian, Hypothermia, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Temporary Character Death, Medical Inaccuracies, YZY Abuses WWX, JFM Bashing, pre-wangxian, Good Uncle LQR, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort)

~*~

13. Do you have any Lan Xichen focused fics without xiyao? :) <3

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

🔒💖 Drag Me Into Your Coffin (I Will Drag Your Sins Into the Light) by the5leggedCricket (G, 2k, Canon Divergence, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel Fix-It, BAMF LXC)

🔒💖 Alternative Choices by StarClearWaters (Readoutloud) (T, 20k, WangXian, LXC/WQ, POV LXC, Protective LXC, Time Travel, Temporary Character Death, Butterfly Effect, Mpreg, Panic Attacks)

🔒💖 The blame game by apathyinreverie (T, 13k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, WWX & WQ, LXC & WWX, Fix-It, Time Travel, LXC time travels, Canon Divergence, Possessive LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Fluff, Siblings, Romance, Golden Core Reveal Golden Core Fix-It, crack-y idea taking itself far too seriously)

🔒 Postlude: Lan Xichen by treemaidengeek (G, <1k, Grief/Mourning, Post-Canon, Angst, Past 3zun, LXC needs a blanket and some hot chocolate, smol fic full of feelings, preceding larger fic full of even more feelings) and the rest of the series sort of counts—it's focused on Lan Xichen/Song Lan, so spotlight on both of them

~*~

14. Hi I was the confused newbee i think im doing this right 🙈. I have a kink for fics with wei ying's frist time with a guy is Lan Zhan. Could you plz help me find some long fics like this. I don't have any other preference in what the fic is about it can be a fix it/retelling/time travel etc any thing will do as long as Lan Zhan is his first male partner.

I hope i did this right🙈🙈🙈😳 @wangxianbff

a tide in two seas by occultings (microcomets) (E, 80k, WangXian, Modern AU, Parallel Universes, Modern with Magic, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Established Relationship, Mild Horror, Case Fic, mildly sci-fi, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Married Couple, Love Confessions) link in #2

i'm the one for your fire by occultings (microcomets) (E, 43k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mind Reading, Enemies to Lovers, it's only enemies to lovers in WWX's one braincell, Misunderstandings, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Whump, brief illness/injury, Pining, light bdsm in the first chap, Cherry Magic AU, Getting Together, [PODFIC] i'm the one for your fire by occultings by mulberry_graceful, i'm the one for your fire [podfic] by esbielle)

Once Patience Bears Fruit by FinallyGotTheInvitation (E, 109k, WangXian, WIP, Immortal LWJ, Immortal LSZ, Mortal WWX, soon to be Immortal WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, almost every character diesand then, ALL CHARACTERS LIVE, And I mean ALL, be prepared for some returning faces, Fluff, Smut, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Oblivious WWX, Protective LWJ, uncovering the past, Reincarnation, Sex Magic, magical sex, "dual cultivation", novel canon, Age Difference, Drunken Kissing, Light Bondage, Major character death in a flashback, Angst, "Straight" WWX, Until he finds out he is in fact not straight, WWX has a bit of self discovery, Power Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Intercrural Sex, LWJ Has a Big Dick, Orgasm Edging, Anal Sex, Praise Kink, WWX is a Brat, Virginity Kink, blowjob, Multiple Orgasms, Biting, WWX is a Tease, POV Alternating)

the earthquake in the room by phnelt (E, 39k, WangXian, College/University, Modern: No Powers, Canada, Getting Together, Mentions of lwj/others, inter-faculty romance, strangers to lovers to frenemies to lovers, mostly book characterisation) link in #10

Walk the Circle in the Other Direction by notevenyou (E, 31k, WangXian, Modern, College/University, High School, Coming Out, Homophobia, Bad Parenting, Alcohol, Recreational Drug Use, Vomiting, Panic Attack, Bullying, Minor Injuries, Blood, Fighting, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Oblivious WWX, honestly not as dark as the tags make it seem, bisexual WWX, WWX/MM, sex between a man and a woman, [Podfic of] Walk the Circle in the Other Direction by notevenyou by AuntieIroh)

Marriage of duty by ninho_emy (M, 33k, WangXianm Rape/Non-Con, A/B/O Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, Mpreg, Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Happy Ending, First Time, First Kiss, Rape between the main characters)

~*~

15. Hi! I’m in the mood for WWX and JC not going to back to Lotus Pier while occupied by Wen. JC doesn’t lose his core. WWX doesn’t get forced into an alternative cultivation method. Any ideas? @hairybeardtongue

Wei Ying & Jiang Cheng don't return to Lotus Pier in these because Jiang Cheng injuries Wei Ying so I'm not sure if these fit really: 🔒 Bright Voice Roughly Rendered Softly Silent by Preludian_Staves (T, 26k, WangXian, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, No Golden Core Transfer, Muteness, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Not JC Friendly, Confessions, Angst, Choking, Red String of Fate, Appearances by Paperman WWX, Inventor WWX, Good Uncle LQR, WWX Goes to Cloud Recesses, Feelings Realization, Caretaking, Supportive Lan Family, Genius WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Protective LWJ, Protective Lan Family, Character Death (not wwx or lwj)

Obscuring the Sun by Karmiya (E, 24k, WIP, WangXian, WWX & WN, the sunshot campaign, Past Domestic Abuse)

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

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, What if WWX saw the first siege of the burial mounds and said Nope to the war, OCs, OC point-of-view for one chapter for plot reasons) Jiang Cheng returns to LP on his own in this one and is imprisoned by the Wens but doesn't lose his core

~*~

16. Hello! ITMF Wei Wuxian cultivating a new golden core? Not modern, please. Thanks everyone!

💙🔒Away from Trouble by Ilona22 (M, 15k, WangXian, Not JC Friendly, WangXian Get a Happy Ending)

Discarded by teawater (E, 187k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dying Lan children, Hurt/Comfort, YL WWX, Golden Core Reveal, Case Fic, Depression, Family Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, and it’s not always dark, POV Multiple, BAMF WWX, dubious morals in the Lan sect Feels, Pining, Grief, Fix-It, BAMF LWJ)

Overcome by thunderwear (E, 7k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, First Time, First Kiss, Feelings Realization, Love Confessions, Marriage Proposal, Idiots in Love, Fix-It)

Practical Considerations by teawater, the_anthropologist (E, 97k, WangXian, JC & WWX, LXC & WWX, LQR & WWX, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Found Family, Spouses to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Politics, Scheming, Lán Elders are assholes, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, eventually BAMF LXC, learning to make decisions, Learning Self-worth, Self-Esteem Issues, Sweet Wangxian, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, JC is a big asshole, he improves somewhat but it's open-ended, WWX learns to stand up for himself, POV WWX, POV LWJ, POV JC, Golden Core Reveal, Teacher WWX, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Sunshot Campaign, WWX Protection Squad, Feelings Realization, WWX protector of the twin jades, Protective LWJ, Protective WWX, Protective LQR, Demonic Cultivator WWX, WWX is Loved, Married WangXIan, Genius WWX, Everybody Lives)

Sunder by naqaashi (E, 32k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Mutual Pining, Emotional Sex, Porn with Feelings, PWP, Light BDSM, Fix-It, POV LWJ, YLLZ WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Light Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Grief/Mourning, Five Stages of Grief, Suicidal Thoughts)

the breaking of your soul (upon my lips) by sunsandships (M, 40k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Mutual Pining, Golden Core Reveal, Happy Ending)

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence)

~*~

17. Hello! Im in the mood for A/B/O mating run fics either Lan wangji or Wei wuxian are the alphas thankyou! @lunamooonn

~*~

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!***

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 11 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - Just an FYI - the fics being posted now were finished months ago. I haven't written anything for the fandom in quite a long time and at present have no drive to do so. Once Midnight and Rusty are finished posting that will be it from me for the forseeable. Thank you for coming along for the ride.

Chapter Summary - Spencer pushes through another barrier on his way to recovery. But when a face from his past shows up out of the blue it threatens to destroy everything between the two of you.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - male masturbation, Spencer’s incredibly dirty thoughts, brief mention of three ways, handjobs, oral sex (f receiving) and penetrative sex (both p in v and p in a) all by way of Spencer’s imagination (Spencer is basically writing his own smut fic in his head), self inflicted wounds, talk of weight loss, swearing, arguing, yelling, tears, sad Luke, bit of a cliff hanger ending. WC - 7.6k

Chapter 11 - All My Ex's Live in Texas

The sentiment, to be able to love someone we must first learn how to love ourselves, felt oddly poignant in this moment, as Spencer stood in his bedroom, in front of the full-length mirror tucked away in his closet. 

It wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, he often gave himself a cursory glance before he left the lodge of a morning, giving himself a brief once over. 

It also wasn’t something he made a habit of doing. He kept the mirror inside the closet for the purposes of not having to look at himself for long periods of time. 

But this was for entirely therapeutic purposes. 

And the idea of having to love oneself before allowing others into our heart rang true in an entirely different way. 

Spencer needed to be able to engage himself physically before he could expect anyone else to do the same. 

It had been four days since his trip to Doctor Ortega’s office. In those four days the two of you had participated in a string of increasingly heavier make out sessions, three of which fervent enough to yet again cause Spencer to come in his pants, but as yet had not graduated onto anything more intimate. 

Yesterday the two of you had ridden your respective mares into Pipe Creek for Spencer to collect his new prescription and Doctor Ortega had caught him on his way out. 

She’d taken him aside and reminded him that in order to take back control of his own body, he had to truly own it himself before he frivolously tried to hand it over to someone new. 

And that’s what led him here. Standing in front of his full-length mirror, naked as the day he was born. 

The only part of his body that was concealed was his casted arm, he’d even gone as far as to remove the dressings from his bicep, thigh and stomach. 

The wounds were all at various stages of healing, scabbing over and starting to scar. They would all leave their marks upon his skin for the rest of his life, a constant reminder that he’d been to hell but was desperately trying to claw his way back. 

He focused on them for longer than necessary, trying to distract his mind from the task at hand for as long as he possibly could. You’d gone to the grocery store with Rusty and wouldn’t be back for a while. He had time for his introspective. 

He inspected each cut with a keen eye, taking note of how each brandished him, pictured what they’d look like once solid and pink against his alabaster flesh. 

This was not an activity Spencer relished. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at his naked form in such a manner. It felt clinical. Yet another experiment. 

Spencer liked experiments so he tried to keep that in mind as he took himself in as a whole before slowly ingesting each individual facet that made the full Spencer Reid picture. 

Start at the top, work his way down. Cold, removed, distant. 

Still got a good head of hair, not like William. Good hair. Thick hair. No greys. Almost forty and no greys. That’s pretty good going considering the stress I’ve been under. 

Nice eyes. Friendly eyes, that’s what JJ called them. Or was it kind eyes? Nice no less. Brown with gold flecks mom always used to point out. 

Bags under the eyes aren’t so nice. When did they get so purple? I look like I’ve never slept a day in my life. 

Nose. Lips. Chapped lips, such dry lips. How does Y/N kiss me? Need to buy chapstick. Must remember to buy chapstick. 

Need to shave. Or do I? I don’t hate the stubble, it makes me look tougher. Wonder what Y/N’s opinion on it is? Maybe I should ask her. 

His eyes trailed slightly lower to his torso. 

Still so skinny. Didn’t I put on weight? Where did that go? Mom always says I look like I’m not eating. Have I been eating? When did I get this skinny?

Lost weight in prison. Couldn't eat after…my mouth was always too sore. Thought I’d put it back on. Did I lose it again? How? When? 

He raised his hand in absent-mindedness and ran his fingers along the visible bones of his sternum, protruding through his milky skin. He pulled a face and dropped his hand again, somewhat unamused. 

His eyes briefly flitted back over the cut on his left side, garnering his attention once again before flicking to his stomach. 

Definitely lost weight, but how? Hip bones are more prominent. Got one of those little v-cut muscles I was always jealous of on Luke. Did I get that from riding? It does require core strength. I’ve never noticed it before. 

He continued quickly past the appendage where his attention was supposed to be, down to his legs. He’d always had strong thighs, thick thighs but they were somehow even meatier than he remembered. 

Is that from riding too? Must be. Good legs, definitely not terrible legs. Sturdy. Load bearing. 

I’m stalling. 

He closed his eyes with a loud huff, feeling incredibly self conscious all of a sudden. Opening his eyes again he forced his gaze between his legs where his flaccid member hung in a bed of pubic hair. 

And here we are, the thorn in my side. The bane of my goddamn existence. My…

…it’s not gonna get hard if you berate it. 

He grit his teeth and stared almost aggressively at the length of flesh and muscle between his legs. 

Masturbation should not be this difficult. 

It felt forced. He wasn’t aroused, not even a little. On the occasions in his life he had turned to self pleasure, it was only because he was incredibly horny, which wasn’t a regular occurrence for him unless he was in the act itself. 

He’d never just sat and thought I’m bored, maybe I could jerk one off. What was normal protocol here? 

His new phone had the internet and he would probably be able to look up a porn site. But what porn? Spencer didn’t even know what kind of porn he liked. 

He found both men and women attractive, where would he even begin? In an ideal world, what kind of sexual desire would…oh…oh! 

He stared at his cock as it twitched very slightly, heart beat picking up at the simple thought. He kept his eyes trained downwards while he contemplated it again. 

I like both men and women, I find them equally attractive. Specifically one man and one woman so what if I could have both? 

Again he twitched, before his very eyes his cock started to swell. His mouth fell open, chest heaving with his breaths. 

Y/N and Luke? Together? And me. All three of us. Together. Touching. Kissing. Or I could just watch, I’d be pretty happy to watch. 

Again he was amazed by the sudden jerk of his shaft, swelling slowly but surely. 

Oh this could work. I think this might work. 

He wrapped his hand around his shaft without too much thought in case he might talk his way out of this. He was only semi-erect but the speed in which it had happened meant he could be fully aroused in no time. 

He kept his eyes open, trying to force himself to watch as he started his slow strokes but his mind was wandering quickly down a sinful rabbit hole. 

Standing over them while she straddles him, her bare thighs pressed against his bare thighs, taking hold of his hard cock in her hand. 

Hearing Luke moan as his Adam’s apple bobs at her touch. Her beautiful, petite hand, unable to wrap all the way around his shaft. But she tries, she tries so hard. She wants to make him feel good, wants to give me a show.

Luke’s looking up at me, his eyes blown out with lust. 

“Come closer, cariño, let me touch you.” 

Oh how I happily oblige. 

Whilst she’s stroking Luke I kneel on the bed next to them and Luke is immediately taking me in his own large hand. I moan and my head falls back against my shoulders at his touch. 

He strokes me in time with her strokes on him. The sound of flesh on flesh echoing in the room. Moans and heavy breaths. 

There’s another hand on my jaw, I look at her and she draws me in for a deep kiss. Her tongue explores my mouth while Luke’s hand pumps my cock. 

My other hand finds her breast and I knead it beneath my fingers, pinching her hardened nipple in my hand. 

Yep, that’ll do it. 

He was fully erect in his hand now, stroking himself at an almost furious pace. His hand twisted and tightened, staring at his cock in his own hand in the mirror. 

Laying on my back and she’s on top of me, lowering herself down, slowly, slowly. Inch by inch I watch myself disappear inside her silken walls. I can feel the way her body stretches and pulls around my hard cock. 

Luke is behind her, palming her tits, kissing her neck. She’s whining, moaning because she’s so tight and I’m so big. 

“How does he feel, baby?” Luke whispers against her flesh once I’m completely sheathed inside of her.

“Fuck, he feels so good.” She starts to rock back and forth on top of me, eyes staring intently down at me. 

One of Luke’s hands travels downwards, to the juncture where our bodies meet. His index finger pressing against her clit. 

She vibrates around me, sending shockwaves down my cock. The moan that leaves my lips is nothing short of feral. 

Frantically fisting his own cock whilst imagining the pleasures of being with the both of you and his head was already leaking against hand. He swiped his thumb through it, legs buckling a little at the sensation and using his precum as lube. 

He was gnawing on his lip, watching the way his cock throbbed in his hand. It was a heady sight to behold. He thought he’d be disgusted by it. Was it wrong that it turned him on more? 

He looked good like this, strong, virile, dare he even say, sexy? He felt powerful as he watched his face contort in the pleasure he was bestowing upon himself. His staunch thighs shook beneath him. 

His thick and heavy length pulsed against his palm. 

She’s on her back, legs spread for me. I leave a trail of kisses across her soft skin but I’m in a hurry, I need to get to my final destination. 

Once my face is buried between her folds, I lap up at her arousal before my tongue settles on her swollen bud. She writhes beneath me at the contact, trying to move away. But I stop her with an arm across her abdomen. 

She moans and screams as I take her in my mouth, suckling on her sensitive clit. Like a man possessed I work between her legs, like she’s my favourite meal. 

I can feel a heat behind me, and hands on my hips guiding me up onto my knees. I comply because I’m so wrapped up in the way she tastes on my tongue. 

Then there’s something pressing into me from behind, I’m being stretched but in the best possible way. 

As Luke fills me up I moan into her core, making her squirm. The sounds in the room are melting into the walls, the smell of sex is heavy in the air. 

Luke thrusts into me hard and fast and I take two fingers and plunge them inside of her waiting heat while keeping my mouth on her desperate clit. 

She’s rocking against my face, coating my lips and chin in her arousal as my fingers sink inside of her. 

Luke is grunting as he fucks me, filling me up in a way I haven’t been filled in so long. Between my legs I can feel my cock twitching, pulsing, close to the edge without being touched. 

“Oh fuck,” Spencer mumbled, legs trembling. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ.” 

More precum leaked from his tip, coating his hand as he thought of eating you out while Luke fucked him. His head was hazy, his breaths ragged.

“Fuck, Spence, I’m close. So close.” She screams as I plunge my fingers in and out of her and swipe my tongue over her clit. 

Luke’s thrusts are growing more violent, his balls slapping against my ass. 

“Make her come, Spence. You can do it, cariño.” Luke encouraged me and I pick up my speed.

Soon enough I feel her walls clenching around my fingers and she’s coming undone at my will. She’s convulsing beneath me and I know it’s all because of me. 

And as I feel her coming, moaning my name, my own orgasm starts to pinch at my stomach and I know it won’t be long before I’m…

…“fuck, fuck, fuck!” Spencer screamed as he gripped the base of his shaft and started splattering streaks of his come all over the mirror. 

He kept stroking himself through his orgasm, his legs undulating back and forth as he expelled himself on the reflective surface, covering his hand in his sticky seed. 

He watched every small movement of his body, his quivering thighs, his leisurely strokes on his spent cock, his chest dragging up and down with each shallow breath. 

His brain was foggy but his vision was exceedingly clear. He was fascinated by the way his body moved, how one small ripple in one muscle caused another to flex and so on and so forth. 

The contours of his body seemed so sharp in his post orgasm haze, every pull or push, every pulse, every dilation. 

He’d never looked upon himself with such startling clarity before as his shaft started to soften in his hand, it was all becoming clear.

This is my body. I can see it. I can feel it. My body belongs to me. My body doesn’t belong to anyone but me. 

I am whole. I am whole. 

I am Spencer Reid and I am whole. 

He was so lost in his newfound captivation of his own frame, he didn’t hear you enter the lodge or call his name. He also didn’t hear the bedroom door open or your footsteps on the wooden floor.

It wasn’t until your face appeared in the reflection behind him that he registered his company. 

“Uh, hi?” A smirk adorned itself on your features as you regarded him, soft cock in his hand and the distinctive come stains on the mirror. 

You couldn’t stop your gaze flitting up and down his body. You’d never seen him completely naked before, uninhibited, exposed. 

You tried to make a mental note of every dip and curve of his glorious body. He really was a sight to behold.

“Hi,” he replied, returning your smile. 

“Everything okay here?” 

He let go of his length, turned to face you. His pupils were blown out wide. 

“More than okay.” He nodded. 

And suddenly he advanced on you, smashing his lips against yours and not caring in the slightest that he was naked and sticky with his own come. 

He grabbed at you, pawed at you hungrily. His wandering hands got you out of your clothes in no time at all and soon the two of you were falling back to the bed. 

He was on top of you, kissing you with reckless abandon. He could already feel himself growing hard again between your bodies. 

His tongue desperately explored your mouth as though it were the first time, he manoeuvred you both so he was on his back and you were straddling him. 

He hissed as he got an unhindered sight of your breasts as you sat atop him. Needy hands wandered until they were palming them, pinching your nipples between his deft fingers until they stood to attention, not allowing himself to be impeded by his cast. 

You moaned and rocked back and forth on top of him, his hard cock gliding between your folds. Spencer whined and bucked against you. 

He removed his hands, letting his casted arm fall back to his side. His good hand circled around your wrist, gripping it tight and moving your hand so it hovered above his cock.

You stared at him, silently questioning him. Spencer simply nodded in response and let go of your wrist. 

You sucked in a breath, cautious as you lowered your hand closer to his throbbing member. When your hand wrapped around his base he moaned in fervour. 

His eyes rolled back into his skull, back arching off the bed. You slowly started to move your hand up and down around him but he was soon bucking into your hand, setting the pace for you.

His desperation was evident in the surges of his hips snapping back and forth fiercely. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as his eyes landed on you again. 

He smiled up at you, the ethereal being perched on his thighs whilst working to bring him the utmost pleasure. 

He was whole. He was finally beginning to feel whole. 

***

It was getting late by the time the BAU finally wrapped up in Texas. Luke had agreed with Rossi that he would take one day off to visit Spencer before he joined them back at Quantico. 

Given the hour, Luke intended on getting a hotel for the night in Bandera town. He drove those forty some miles north from San Antonio in his SUV, fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel as he tuned into a country and western radio station. 

The back seat was full of gifts and cards which Garcia had sent to the police precinct for Luke to deliver to their old friend for his birthday which was just a few days away. 

Luke’s nerves flooded his body, causing his stomach to form into tight knots. The closer he got to Bandera, the more anxious he grew, palms sweating against the wheel. 

He was under no illusion that Spencer would be happy to see him, especially with him showing up unannounced. But in Luke’s defence he had tried to call Spencer several times over the last few days to inform him of his visit. It wasn’t his fault Spencer didn’t answer. 

It was nearing eleven pm by the time Luke arrived in Bandera and try as he might he couldn’t get himself to the hotel. 

He couldn’t wait another minute. He needed to see Spencer now. 

He took the turning off the main road with the directions Garcia had sent him. He drove a little ways up a dirt track until he came to a stop next to another car. 

Killing the engine he frowned himself. He didn’t think Spencer had a car. He supposed he could have purchased one any time. 

He slid out of the SUV, dropping to the dirt and closed the door behind him. There was a small single storey lodge a few hundred yards up on the left. 

There was a light on. 

Luke swallowed, smoothing out his shirt and running his fingers through his hair. His chest swelled with nerves and his legs shook a little as he started towards the lodge. 

***

Spencer’s second orgasm seemed to come quicker than the first, your small, dainty hand bringing him to completion in no time at all. Chest heaving with his breaths, he immediately pulled you down by the back of your neck so he could kiss you. 

He was whole. He was whole. They didn’t win. 

He kissed you fiercely, his come sticky between your bodies but neither of you minded. His hand stayed on the back of your neck, pinning you to him. 

“You’re amazing.” He mumbled against your lips. 

“No, you’re amazing.” You replied. 

You wanted to tell him you were proud of him but you didn’t want to make a big deal of it or have him think you were patronising him. Instead you continued kissing him, grinding your bodies together as you did so. 

Spencer felt like every single one of his nerve endings were on fire. He was overstimulated, he could feel every thread of the sheets beneath him, feel every negligible movement of your body as it moved against his own. 

It was eye opening. He’d forgotten how this was supposed to feel. Intimacy wasn’t meant to make him feel guilty, pleasure wasn’t designed to cause him pain. 

He’d neglected to remember how it should feel. Two bodies coming together, becoming one. Becoming whole. 

He felt as though he could well be floating, his body lighter than air. He needed more. He needed so much more. He needed everything and he needed it with you. 

He gripped the back of your neck firmly, tongue roughly exploring the deepest recesses of your mouth. The sound of heavy breathing filled the room alongside soft moans and the friction of skin on skin. 

And for the second time that night, Spencer didn’t hear the door to his cabin open or the heavy footsteps on his hardwood floor.

***

Worryingly, Luke found the door to Spencer’s lodge was ajar, not quite closed all the way. His hand immediately pressed against the butt of his gun in its holster, ready just in case. In his experience, nothing good came from doors being left open. Least of all way out here in the sticks. 

He hesitantly pushed it open and took a step inside. The space was small and mostly full of books which didn’t surprise him at all. There were a few paper grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Nothing looked out of place or disturbed. 

He let his hand fall back to his side, trying to calm his erratically beating heart. Spencer could be scatty sometimes, perhaps he’d just been in a hurry. There was nothing to panic about. 

He stepped closer towards the closed door past the kitchen, for which he assumed was the bedroom. It was only as he drew closer that he started to register the sounds of heavy breathing.

His first thought was that Spencer might be having a panic attack. He’d had them a lot after prison, Luke knew all too well what they looked like. Perhaps he’d started to have one when he arrived home with groceries, it would explain why the door wasn’t closed properly and why the bags were still on the counter. 

Another wave of unease washed over him and he quickly pushed open the door without a second thought. 

The two bodies on the bed came into view and Luke felt as though the whole world came crumbling down around him in a single second. The body on top with their back to him was definitely female. The body beneath, laying on the bed was obscured from view but Luke would recognise those soft moans anywhere. 

“Wow,” he croaked out the single word as tears flooded his vision. 

Spencer suddenly sat up in bed, glaring at Luke over your shoulder. His mouth fell open, eyes wide in shock at the ghost standing in his doorway.

“L-Luke?” He stuttered. 

“Luke?” You hissed without looking over your shoulder. “As in…?” 

“Hmm.” Spencer nodded. 

You were still in his lap, trying to hide your naked frame against Spencer’s. You needed to leave. You couldn’t be part of this. You swung yourself off of the bed and in one swift move sprinted to the bathroom before you could give this stranger an eyeful. 

You’d left Spencer exposed and he quickly pulled the sheet around his body despite the fact Luke had seen him naked hundreds of times before. He hadn’t seen this version of him though, the one with the cuts and scabs from self abuse. He stared at Luke and Luke and him. Seconds seemed like hours.

He noticed Luke’s gaze flicker down to his arm and his brows pinched together.

“What happened to your arm?” Luke asked in concern. 

Spencer didn’t know whether he meant the cast or the cut on his bicep but he didn’t ask. 

“Riding accident.” Spencer clenched his jaw. “What are you…why are you here?” 

“We were in town for a case. I tried to call, you didn’t answer. The door was open and I thought something might have happened to you.” The hurt in Luke’s voice was palpable and Spencer felt a little guilty that he’d had to walk into this. 

“Uh, lemme get dressed okay? I’ll meet you outside?” Spencer chewed on the tip of his tongue, half thinking his overstimulated brain was imagining the man in front of him. 

Had he given over so entirely to his fantasy that it had begun to feel real? Was this all part of his vivid speculation? Was he in fact still masturbating in front of his mirror? 

No, it was all too real. The sadness in Luke’s eyes, the way his shoulders slumped with the weight of seeing his ex in bed with someone else. The way you’d so hurriedly scampered off to the bathroom. 

This was real life, even if it did feel like a nightmare. 

Luke nodded stiffly and turned about on his heels. Spencer watched his retreating form pad out of the bedroom and close the door behind him. 

Spencer got to his feet and started gathering up his clothes from the floor. He tapped on the bathroom door as he was fighting with his boxers.

“Are you okay?” He called when he got no answer. 

“Your ex is here, what do you think!” You hissed in response. 

“I had no idea he was coming here, Y/N. I didn’t invite him.” He was stuffing his legs back in his jeans, trying to ignore the way the fabric scratched his open wounds. 

“What the hell is he doing here then?” 

“I don’t know! I have no idea.” He grabbed his t-shirt whilst still working on the button of his jeans. “I need to deal with this, hopefully I won’t be long.” 

“Okay.” You whispered, hearing his footsteps head away from the door. 

He pulled the t-shirt down over his torso as he swung open the bedroom door. Through the window in the front door he could see Luke pacing the length of his porch. 

Spencer exhaled, raking his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it from his previous activities. He swallowed around his dry tongue and stepped towards the door. 

A frigid burst of air hit him as he stepped outside, joining Luke on the porch. Luke stopped in his tracks and glanced at Spencer. Even in the darkness he could see the tears in Luke’s eyes. 

“So, you’ve moved on, huh?” Luke folded his arms across his chest. 

“It’s been two years, what did you expect?” Spencer shrugged. 

He hated that even after all this time Luke could still cause all the air to leave his lungs. He looked much the same as Spencer remembered in his mind's eye that last time he saw him. He had an extra few creases around his eyes, a few more greys peppering his hairline, but otherwise he remained unchanged.

“What did I expect? Well for starters I expected more from you than leaving without a damn word! I expected that you wouldn’t completely cut me out of your life! I expected…maybe I hoped that I wasn’t the only one still pining like an idiot.” He choked back a sob. “So she gets the healed Spencer Reid? She gets to have you now you’ve worked through your trauma? When I was the one that spent a year by your side after, trying to help you? How is that fair?” 

“You think I’m healed?” Spencer’s voice raised a little. “You think I’ve worked through my trauma?”

“It looks that way to me. I seem to remember the last time I tried to get you into that position you pinned my arm behind my back!” Luke spat. 

“You have no idea what this is like for me.” Spencer shook his head angrily. “She is the first person I have been able to get close to and even still I’m terrified I’m only one second away from breaking down at all times. It’s been four years and this is the closest I’ve come to moving past what happened to me but I am by no means suddenly shiny and new. I haven’t had sex with her, is that what you want to hear? At this point I’m not even sure I can! 

“You can’t just show up here after two years and think you know what I’m going through. I have to take medication every day just so I am not completely crippled by my trauma. I blackout when the stress gets too much, I dissociate because my mind can’t handle the pain. Don’t come here and assume you know what I’m going through. You have no idea.” 

In the bathroom you heard raised voices outside and worried about Spencer’s rising anger and what could happen if he let it get out of control. You snuck back out and found your clothes, quickly redressing and creeping into the living room. 

From the kitchen you could see them through the glass pane in the front door without them being able to see you were watching. You told yourself you weren’t eavesdropping, you just wanted to be ready in case Spencer needed grounding. 

You tucked yourself away in the corner, eyes on the side of Luke’s face. You felt that swell of familiarity again that you couldn’t place. Your fingers kneaded your achy jaw as you listened.

“You were supposed to come back! I gave you time, I gave you space. I thought if I did those things you would come back and we would be okay again.” Luke rubbed his eyes to try and stem his tears.

“That’s not my fault, Luke. I didn’t ever give you a reason to believe that would be the case. I’m sorry I left without telling you, I know I should have said goodbye. But I can’t change that. This is my life now, I have no intentions of coming back to DC. I’m sorry if you thought that I would, but I never gave any indication that I would.” Spencer rubbed his hand on his jeans, focusing on the rough texture. 

He needed to stay tethered, he couldn’t let the anger bubble and cause his mind to detach. 

“Did you love me?” Luke’s voice pitched. “Did you ever really love me like you said you did?” 

You knew that voice, you were sure of it. You just couldn’t place it. 

“How can you even ask me that?” Spencer softened. “Of course I did.” 

“But it was easier for you to run away than try and make things work with the man you supposedly loved?” Luke exhaled. 

“I had to leave. After everything that happened, after Merva, it was just too much. I needed to get away from DC, away from it all.” Spencer sniffed loudly. 

“You could have talked to me instead of running away, Spencer. It’s what I was there for. But you never talked to me.” 

“I couldn’t talk to you, Luke. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I just wanted to forget.” Spencer’s eyes filled with tears and he rubbed his palm roughly against his thigh, focused on the material of his jeans. 

“You know I know what happened right?” Luke shrugged. “I know what happened to you in prison. I read the medical reports.” 

Spencer froze. His rampant rubbing of his thigh stopped, he felt like his breathing stopped. He glared at Luke while he processed his words. 

He’d read the report. He’d known all along. 

Inside your brows pinched together. Prison? Spencer was in prison? Surely you must have the wrong end of the stick? Spencer did not seem like the type. There must be something you were missing. 

“You…how could you?” Spencer croaked. “How could you do that to me?” 

“You wouldn’t talk to me. I was worried about you.” 

“Worried? You were worried? So you invaded my privacy? Those reports were not your concern Luke! I figured Prentiss would have to see them but you…I can’t believe you would do that to me.” Spencer’s voice raised again and felt the anger in his stomach. 

Deep breaths, take deep, calming breaths. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. Feel something beneath your hand, ground yourself. This will be okay. One, two, three, four, five.

“Maybe if you’d talked to me I wouldn’t have felt the need to.” Luke didn’t know why he was trying to justify himself, he knew what he’d done was wrong. “How did you ever get cleared to come back to work? You were clearly struggling.” 

“Oh please, we wrote those questions. You think after fifteen years of profiling I didn’t know the right things to say to the bureau shrink so she would reinstate me?” Spencer clucked. 

“Did you ever tell her you were ra-”

“Don’t you dare you say it.” Spencer cut him off. “Don’t you dare.” 

Your head was spinning with the new information. Prison. Profiling. Bureau? What did this all mean? Your cell phone was on the counter next to the bags and you reached for it before hiding back in your corner. The arguing continued outside while you brought up a Google search. 

Spencer Reid + bureau

Within less than a second, hundreds of search results popped up on the little screen, articles upon articles. You quickly skim read some of the search results as your hand shook around the device. 

The youngest academy graduate recruited to the FBI’s illustrious Behavioral Analysis Unit, twenty two year old Doctor Spencer Reid…

With his three PhD’s, and IQ of 187, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid was hand picked by BAU founder Jason Gideon…

After a high speed chase in Mexico the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit are on the scene. It’s thought that a member of the team is involved…

BAU Member SSA Doctor Spencer Reid acquitted of charges against him…

Hostage situation involving two members of the BAU…no further information is known at this time…

Your head swam. Your stomach lurched. This couldn’t be true, yet it was here in black and white. 

You were sleeping with the enemy. The sweet, kind cowboy you’d rescued from the desert was a former FBI Agent. 

Three PhD’s? An IQ of 187? Doctor? 

What the fuck was going on? You knew there were things he hadn’t told you but did you know him at all? And what led to an FBI agent going to prison? And what happened to him in prison that Luke had ascertained from his medical records?

You felt dizzy. You pushed yourself back up against the wall so you wouldn’t collapse. Luke’s raised voice brought you back around.

“You could have told me! I would have understood, I could have helped!” 

“No one can help me! Why don’t you understand that?” Spencer yelled back. 

“She seemed to be doing a fine job.” Luke scoffed, nodding his head towards the door.

“Goddamnit, would you let that go?” 

“Let it go? How the hell can I let that go? Every time I close my eyes I will see her on top of you!” Luke threw his arms up into the air. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger, okay? I’m sorry I pushed you away. But I am finally starting to move past what happened to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you but Y/N is…she makes me feel like I can heal. And I need that Luke, I need to heal.” Spencer sniffed again, feeling his tears dangerously close to falling.

Luke didn’t appear to be listening though, his brows pinched together as he rolled something over in his mind.

“Did you say Y/N?” He rubbed the side of his neck. 

Your back went rigid. Hearing him say your name dislodged something distant in the back of your mind.

“Have you seen this woman? Her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N and we have reason to believe she’s been seen in this area.”

“Yeah, why?” Spencer’s voice broke through your memory. 

“I…I’m not sure.” Luke looked deep in thought. “Can I…? One sec.” 

Spencer watched in confusion as Luke turned and headed down the stairs towards his SUV. He wrapped his good arm around himself in protection and to stave off the cold night. 

“Have you seen this woman? Her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N and we have reason to believe she’s been seen in this area.”

“I don’t know nothing, ‘bout nothing.” 

“Can you take a closer look at her photo ma’am? Your neighbour seems to think she’s been staying here.”

“Again, I don’t know nothing, ‘bout nothing.” 

“Would you mind if we took a look around?”

“You got a warrant?” 

“No…”

“Then get the hell off of my property.”

Magnolia Springs, Alabama. Mrs Royce, the kindly old woman for whom your mother had been best friends with all throughout childhood. She’d offered you a place to stay after you escaped custody. That was until her nosy neighbour recognised you from the wanted posters. 

You’d buried your mom’s money under a tree in the wooded area behind her house and watched from a distance as two FBI Agents had come to her home to question her. Even though she hadn’t seen your mother in more years than she could count, Mrs Royce was fiercely loyal, and hadn't said a word. 

You hadn’t had a great vantage point for which to see the agents, only caught small glimpses of them from where you hid in the back of the house. But they’d introduced themselves as -

- Agents Phil Brooks and Luke Alvez. 

Luke was hurrying back from his car with a manilla folder and Spencer stayed stock still while he awaited him. Luke opened the folder and pulled out a sheet of paper which he proffered to Spencer as soon as he was close enough. 

“What is this?” Spencer frowned at the paper.

“Is this the woman? I only saw her from the back. She coulda changed her hair? Is this her?” Luke jabbed a finger at the photograph in the corner of the page. “She escaped from a max security facility a few weeks ago. Phil called me.” 

To Spencer’s credit, no matter how many years it had been since he’d needed to to use his poker face, he was still an expert at it. His expression didn’t even so much as flinch as he looked at the photograph of you on Luke’s printout. 

He was right, you had changed your hair. But it was without a doubt you looking back at him from that mugshot. He glanced away, back at Luke and shook his head.

“No.” He lied. “I’ve never seen this woman before.” 

Luke’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny, watching for any little twitch, any tiny hint that Spencer was keeping something from him. But the truth was, even though they had dated and Luke thought he knew Spencer better than anyone, he never could read Spencer. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me would you, Spencer? Because this woman is dangerous, and if you’re lying to me, that’s harbouring a fugitive. I don’t need to tell you that comes with a prison sentence.” Luke observed again. 

Even at the mention of prison, Spencer’s features didn’t change. 

“I’m telling you Luke, I don’t know this woman.” He waved the paper in front of him. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

Your own brows pinched together. You peered out the window to see the paper in Spencer’s hand but it was too dark to see exactly what was on it. But you were certain he would know it was you in the photograph. So why was he lying? 

“Right, I’m just being paranoid I guess.” Luke huffed, snatching the paper back from Spencer.

“I think you should go Luke, it's late and you shouldn’t have come here.” Spencer returned his arm to its position wrapped around him. 

“I’m staying down the road for the night. Maybe we can meet tomorrow for coffee or something?” Luke tucked the file under his arm.

“No,” Spencer shook his head. “I don’t want this Luke. I moved out here for a reason, to get away from my life in DC. To get away from…from…”

“From me?” Luke croaked. 

“From everyone.” Spencer corrected him. “You will always have a place in my heart, Luke. I did love you but I’m not the same man I was when we started dating and I’m never going to be him again. You have to let me go, Luke, please? Please just let me go.” 

Luke wanted to argue, he wanted to argue with every fibre of his being. He didn’t drive all the way out here to have it end like this. 

But Spencer’s sad eyes and downturned lips forced him to bite his tongue. Spencer had been through an immeasurable amount of trauma and he was just trying to make it through to the otherside. Luke couldn't help him, he tried, but he’d failed. Perhaps the best thing for Spencer’s wellbeing was for Luke to walk away, to let him go once for and for all. 

Luke huffed a breath out through his nose and took a few steps backwards. He navigated the steps whilst never taking his eyes off of Spencer. 

“I wish it could have been different.” Luke’s first tear fell and he didn’t try to hide it. “You were the love of my life.” 

“I know.” Spencer scrunched his face up as he felt his own tears ready to escape. 

“But I wasn’t yours.” Luke spoke for him with a weak shrug of his shoulders. “I want you to be happy, Spencer, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Just promise me you’ll check in? I’m not asking for daily phone calls or anything like that but please stop ignoring me when I reach out. I’d really like to still be a part of your life even if only in a small capacity.” 

“That, uh, sounds reasonable.” Spencer nodded. 

“And call Penelope more. She worries about you more than anyone.” Luke shrugged, still walking backwards toward the SUV. 

“I will.” He nodded, swallowed thickly. But he was sure if you were who he now knew you to be, he’d never be able to talk to any of his old team ever again.

He felt overcome with discomfort. The goodbye he’d avoided two years ago now here at his feet. Spencer didn’t like goodbyes, it was why he’d left without them the first time. 

Goodbyes were endings. Full stops. The closing of a book. Spencer had wanted to keep the story open, unfinished, just in case he ever had the impetus to write that final chapter. But it had been penned for him. Luke had snatched the metaphorical pen from his hand by coming here and effectively completed their story. 

“Uh, goodbye then I guess.” Luke shrugged as he reached the car. 

“G-goodbye, Luke.” Spencer whispered. 

The book slammed shut. Or perhaps it was the car door. Either way, Spencer Reid and Luke Alvez’s story had come to its bitter end. 

He stood on the porch and watched as Luke started the engine before putting the vehicle in reverse. He continued to observe as the headlights cast an eerie glow on his land as the SUV turned around. He still just stood there as Luke’s car took to the dirt track back to the main road and soon vanished from sight. 

He huffed out a breath, rubbed his eyes to disperse the tears before turning to the door and practically throwing it open. He marched inside and found you in the corner of the kitchen, back pressed up against the wall. You’d been listening, of course you had. 

Spencer stayed on his side of the kitchen counter, worried what he might do if he came too close to you. He needed the barrier between you. He slammed his good hand on the counter top but you didn’t even flinch. His eyes were manic as they looked at you, large and wild. His chest was heaving erratically.

He opened his mouth several times to speak but the words kept getting stuck in his dry throat. Minutes of painful silence stretched between you while you kept your eyes on each other. 

Eventually Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw set in a tight line when he finally spoke. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He spat the words like venom on his tongue. 

You straightened yourself, squared your shoulders as if it might somehow intimidate him. When you spoke it was with equal malevolence. 

“I was going to ask you the same thing, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid.”  

More silence followed, reaching out into the sparse caverns that gorged their way between you. The wicked talons of the unspoken words weaved around you, wrapping you both in their icy clutches. 

You were both acutely aware that whatever conversation was about to transpire between you would inevitably make or break this fledgling relationship. You were no longer who you had been just hours before. A lonely cowboy and a weary traveller no more. All that remained was an FBI Agent and a Fugitive. 

It seemed inescapable that this could only end in one of two ways -

Either he called the cops on you and you were thrown back in prison, having the key thrown away and left to rot for the rest of your life behind bars. Or one of you would wind up dead. 

And you were not going back to prison. 

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @mavellover1819 @babyspiderling

[nice-and-accurate-fictions]

Forced proximity

Just lock them in a room together, throw away the key and enjoy the show.

Courage (A Reverse Trope Story), by SpectrallyDistracted. Rated E, 30k. P. May 25.

This funny, deep, fluffy enemies to lovers human AU made me feel all the feels and ended safely on warm and fuzzy. Crowley and Aziraphale despise each other, but find themselves accompanying Maggie and Nina on holiday out of loyalty. It’s going to be a long week. Romantic and sexy, the fic explores the many ways courage can manifest, from the courage to recognise your mistakes to the courage to let yourself be vulnerable (and everything in between). Superfluffy ending.

Growing On Me, by Hermiola. Rated M, 120k. P. Jan 25.

I subscribed to this fic when it first came out and had been wanting to read it since then.

I'm SO glad I finally got to it! (Thank you Good Omens Fic Club on Discord!)

I loved it. 

Enemies to lovers, forced proximity human AU. Crowley is a rockstar in need of a lyricist. Enter erotica writer Aziraphale.

The humour throughout the story was a treat and more than once I got looks from my fellow commuters because I was giggling or snorting laughter. 

Crowley and Aziraphale's slow journey into introspection was very sweet to witness. 

I'm always partial to fictions that feature the Them and Warlock, and their characterisation here was spot on and really entertaining; I will love Hermiola's Warlock for life! 

This story was captivating, entertaining, sexy, incredibly funny, and made me want to read more whenever I had to put it down. Virtually no angst. A new classic!

Waking Up Slow by the_moonmoth. Rated E, 88k. P. Jan 22.

Human AU set in lockdown... in a cottage... aawww. Aziraphale knocks a stranger apparently unconscious and gives him CPR. Not until after does he remember he has been exposed to covid. Funny, witty, sweet, hot, this fiction has it all.