#this fic is killing me but also i like it

[moon-fics]

So I dont know if this is your style but I figured I lose nothing by asking!

I have been really wanting to see a Bob Floyd x reader, baby announcement using B.O.B (since hangman calls him Baby on Board) like reader wear a shirt with BOB right on the stomach as a hint to either the dagger squad or Bob himself and it takes way to long for people to get it 🤣 just a thought!

Your fic's have been a saving grace for my Lewis Pullman hyper fixation!

I love this idea! It's so cute and I KNOW the dagger squad would be so excited.

You cannot believe you let Jake and Nat convince you of this. Is the idea cute? Yes. Will this put a smile on Bob's face? Also, yes. So, in theory, this is a good idea. It's witty and adorable, which Bob loves.

Except you've been standing next to him the entire night, and he hasn't mentioned it. It's gotten to a point where Nat pointed at your shirt a complimented it in hopes Bob realizes. He, instead, complimented it as well.

It's comedic and torturous. You want so badly for him to figure it out on his own, but you aren't sure he will. It's not because he's stupid; he's far from that. He's just a little oblivious to the hint you're dropping. In other words, he's not picking up what you're putting down.

You haven't had a lick of alcohol either, of course, for the baby's sake. However, that can't even be seen as a hint, either, because you don't get drunk on the regular. So, you're stuck hoping something will click in his brain.

"Hey, you're looking a little different," Jake says. Your eyes snap to him with a glare that could kill him where he stands. Jake's eyes are darting between you and Bob with an expression that can only say 'come on, man'. You quickly realize he's trying to aid the process. "Have you been doing anything new?" He says with a smirk.

"A lot more cardio," You say through gritted teeth. Bob's attention has already been grabbed by the conversation. His eyes were bouncing back and forth. "I thought this shirt really showed that off." You cannot be anymore clearer.

"You do look amazing," Bob agrees with a sparkle in his eyes. "You've been glowing recently," He adds with a smile.

"Yeah, I just find it weird she's wearing a shirt with your call sign on it," Natasha finally joins in. She plants the butt of her pool stick on the ground as her investment in the topic grows. "Y'know, it reminds me of those stickers people put on their cars. What's it stand for again?" She taps her chin.

"Oh, baby on board," Bob answers with a nod. You want to slam your head into a wall. He is right on the money, and yet, he is somehow using it as printer paper. "I always thought those were cute," He chuckles. Natasha and Jake are left staring at him with amusement.

Bob turns towards you and glances at your shirt for the thirty-first time tonight. His smile drops after a few seconds, and his eyes widen. They flicker to lock with yours, and there's a question on his tongue he can't quite get out.

"Is that what it means?" He asks loudly. He already knows the answer, but he just needs to hear you say it.

"Yeah, it is." You can't stop the grin from growing on your face as his eyes light up. The moment he knows the answer, he's lifting you off the ground. His arms are tight around your torso, and you can hear his laughter.

"I'm going to be a father!" He cheers while placing you back down. Bob's enthusiasm gathers the attention of the rest of the dagger squad. Everyone besides Jake and Natasha is surprised. They all let out a few congratulations while clinking their drinks together.

"Fucking finally. I was starting to think I'd have to just straight up tell him," Jake jokes with a slight nudge to your arm.

"I would have snapped his arm for ruining the surprise," Natasha steps up next to him. Before she can say anything else, Bob is pulling you away. He's already heading out of the bar with a mission in mind.

"Honey, where are we going?" You ask in a sing-song voice.

"I just found out my wife is pregnant. I'm spending the rest of my life pampering you," He says while pulling out the car keys. He says that as if he doesn't already do that. However, you won't say anything to argue against him. You know it's pointless.

[cheftsunoda]

hiiii i love your works, especially your poly ones! i don’t really know your guidelines but i cannot get this idea out of my head! could you do a poly fic with alex and charles where reader is a performer at the f175? it could have inspiration from any singer you’d like (though i think tate mcrae would work WONDERS) thank you!!!!

taste — cl16 + alexandra saint mleux

smau + blurbs

charles leclerc x!singer reader x alexandra saint mleux

yn is skeptical when asked to perform at the f175 event— she doesn’t know much about f1, she feels like her songs are maybe a little too much for a classy event. however, after much convincing from her manager and her assistant she agrees— which would be the best move she’s ever made.

fc : sabrina carpenter

(a/n) : hi anonnn! thank u for the love and support. i almost picked tate and then i could not shake the idea i got so— i had to pick sabrina:) i hope you enjoy cutie pieee🩷

also two posts in one day?? who am i? being productive for once:)

—

yourstruly_yn

london, england 📍

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, lando & 5,109,004 others.

yourstruly_yn : lets hear a little commotion for the dress 🗣️ but in all seriousness i had so much fun at the F175 event last night— thank you @/f1 for having me and i hope no one noticed how sweaty and nervous i was around all the attractive people! YAYYYYYYYY

—

view 290,021 other comments.

username0 : she is so real for that caption

↳ username10 : she kills me bc she is also hot as hell like girl— they probably have a crush on you too

↳ lando : we do

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ username0 : aadsjsf lando

username15 : yn!! who was your favorite??

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ yourstruly_yn : they were all incredibly kind but charles and carlos are incredibly charming…

liked by charles_leclerc and carlossainz55

oscarpiastri : i think my girlfriend got more excited to meet you than she ever was about me

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ yourstruly_yn : she is the cutest on the planet🤍 nice to meet you both!

liked by oscarpiastri and lilyzneimer

↳ lilyzneimer : omg i love you yn

↳ yourstruly_yn : love you moreeeee

lando : if you think you were nervous— you should’ve seen ollie ten seconds after you gave him a hug. he wouldn’t move.

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ olliebearman : lando i stg

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ lando : you’re his celebrity crush 🤐

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ olliebearman : i am literally gonna slash your tires. im embarrassed.

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ yourstruly_yn : don’t be embarrassed cutie pie. if it helps i couldn’t tell you were nervous hehe

liked by olliebearman

↳ kimi.antonelli : you broke him. he is smiling and wont blink

liked by yourstruly_yn and lando

carlossainz55 : tan hermosa, mi amor💙 blue means you are a williams fan, no?

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ yourstruly_yn : i like whichever team invites me to the paddock first

↳ scuderiaferrari : HEYYYY YNNNN

↳ williamsracing : guaranteed she’s a williams fan!

↳ redbullracing : blue means REDBULLLLLL

↳ mercedesamgf1 : YN PLS WE R BEGGING

↳ alpinef1team : come with us yn PLEASEEEEE

↳ yourstruly_yn : ferrari it is then ❤️💛

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ lando : someone fire the mclaren admin. r you even working???

↳ mclaren : i have feelings yanno?

alexandrasaintmleux : you are absolutely stunning and such a great performer! loved meeting you 🤍

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ yourstruly_yn : omg says you. you are literally so beautiful. i was nervous to talk to YOU.

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

maxverstappen1 : you managed to make this event that i did not want to attend— tolerable— and i thank you for that:)

liked by yourstruly_yn

charles_leclerc : incroyable😻🤍

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ username15 : OMGGGGGG

username22 : did anyone see how alex and charles looked at her?? the camera kept panning over to them during her performance

↳ username14 : yes omg i thought it was just me

—

The second my heels hit the red carpet, I felt my soul leave my body. The flashes were relentless, fans were screaming my name, and somewhere behind me, my assistant—Jules—was whispering “Posture, babe! Chin up! Shoulders back! Breathe!” like I wasn’t already trying not to pass out from the nerves. I tugged my dress down slightly—custom, couture, and tight—and smiled for the cameras, praying they couldn’t see how badly my palms were sweating.

“You’re good,” Jules whispered, stepping just behind me, clipboard and chaos in tow. “You look like a goddess. You sound like a legend. And every single man in a race suit just turned to stare.”

I laughed under my breath and turned my head slowly. Sure enough. A wall of F1 drivers stood just a few steps ahead—all of them in slick tuxes. And every. Single. One. of them was watching me like I was the main event. God help me.

Charles Leclerc, standing with his girlfriend Alexandra, gave me a soft smile. One of those movie-star ones, with the head tilt. Smooth. Alexandra gave me a subtle once-over, biting her lip and nodding slightly like she approved.

Lando Norris nudged Oscar Piastri and whispered something, and Oscar blinked twice like he’d forgotten how conversation worked. I gave them a little wave and watched as Oscar physically recoiled in shyness while Lando just grinned and mouthed, “Hi.”

Pierre Gasly winked. Subtle like a sledgehammer. And then—

“Hi. Um. Hi.”

I turned and found Ollie Bearman. Sweet baby Ollie. Standing just off to the side with wide eyes and flushed cheeks like I’d personally descended from the heavens.

My assistant whispered, “That’s the one who listed you as his celebrity crush on a podcast.”

Oh my god. He’s even cuter in person. I stepped toward him slowly, letting the cameras click away, and smiled wide.

“Hi, Ollie, right?” I asked softly. “I heard I might be your celebrity crush.”

His whole face went scarlet.

“Uh—I mean—yeah! Yeah, I mean—wow, this is so weird, I didn’t think you’d, like, actually know—oh god,” he rambled.

I couldn’t help it—I opened my arms. “C’mere, then.”

He blinked. “Wait—like—a hug? Right now? In front of—everyone?”

“Unless you don’t want one?”

“I DO,” he said way too fast, stepping forward like his feet were moving on autopilot.

I gave him a gentle hug, careful not to crush the front of my dress, and felt his heart pounding through his suit. When we pulled back, he looked like he might cry or combust.

“You’re doing great,” I whispered with a wink. “Can’t wait to watch your rookie season.”

He made a choked noise that might’ve been a thank you—or possibly a prayer.

And somewhere behind me, I swear I heard Jules mutter, “You just made that poor boy’s year.”

As we walked into the venue, I could still feel the heat of all those driver stares and Ollie’s stunned silence behind me.

I leaned toward Jules. “Okay but what is in the water at Ferrari? Because damn.”

—

“Okay,” Jules said, sticking a protein bar into my hand. “You’ve got fifteen minutes before you go out, your dress is still flawless, and I bribed hair and makeup with champagne to stay on standby. Now come stress-stalk the hot ones with me.”

I took a bite of the bar and followed her to the side curtain. We peeked out like two teenage girls spying on the cool kids at prom. Except the cool kids were all F1 drivers. And actual gods.

“I mean,” Jules whispered, “look at them. It’s like the Avengers of being sexy and emotionally unavailable.”

She pointed with the subtlety of a brick wall. “There’s George Russell looking like a romance villain. Carlos is definitely flirting with that engineer. Lando’s doing finger guns. Why is he always doing finger guns?”

I choked on my protein bar. “Because he is Lando.”

Then Jules nudged me. “And look. Center of the room. Ferrari. Your favorite brand of thirst.”

I leaned in and—yep. There they were. Charles, glass in hand, relaxed and charming as ever, laughing at something Lewis said. And next to him, Alexandra in a floor-length black gown that looked like liquid obsidian, eyes scanning the room like she was bored of everyone. God help me, I had a problem.

“Okay,” I whispered. “You know how I said I had a tiny crush on Charles?”

Jules gave me side-eye. “Yes. You also said you’d let him ruin you.”

“Well,” I said, dragging the word out, “I might… also have a thing for Alexandra. Like. A very serious thing.”

Jules blinked. “So… double Ferrari crush?”

“I’m panicking.”

“Don’t panic. Just flirt back. They’re both clearly into you.”

“No, they’re not—”

I froze mid-sentence. Alexandra had turned. She was looking right at us through the curtain. Like she knew. Her eyes met mine, and for a second I thought she might wave or say something—Instead, she smirked and winked.

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

Jules lost it beside me, half-screaming into her sleeve. “SHE WINKED. YN. SHE WINKED. THAT WAS SEXUAL.”

“I think I blacked out for a second,” I muttered. “Was that real? Did that just happen?”

“Do you want me to slap you or get you water?”

“Neither. Just bury me in this curtain.”

We both ducked back behind the fabric, clutching each other like we’d seen a ghost. A hot, model-tier, vaguely intimidating ghost who might be flirting with me in front of her F1 driver boyfriend.

I blinked slowly. “I’m going to combust on stage. If I pass out mid-song, tell the crowd it was from artistic overwhelm.”

Jules just grinned. “You’re about to have both a Ferrari driver and his impossibly hot girlfriend wrapped around your finger. Honestly? Diva behavior. Proud of you.”

—

The lights dimmed, and the crowd quieted like someone had flipped a switch. One golden spotlight bloomed at center stage. I stepped into it slowly, heels silent on the slick black floor, the slit in my gown cutting dangerously high, the corset cinched just enough. The strings swelled, slow and seductive. The first lyric left my lips like a whisper laced with smoke. I let the silence hang between each word—like a dare. I wasn’t rushing tonight. No big notes. No high belts. Just something slow, smooth, sultry. Velvet draped in starlight. The kind of performance you don’t just watch—you feel. I found them in the crowd within seconds.

Charles.

Back straight. Head tilted. Watching me like he was trying to memorize the lines of my body, the way my hand slid slowly down my hip, the exact pitch of my voice when I purred through the second chorus. He looked dazed. Like I was singing directly into his bloodstream. And Alexandra?

God. She was absolutely still—spine like a string of pearls, lips parted ever so slightly, eyes locked on mine. No smile. Just hunger. It wasn’t even subtle. Her gaze was heavy, almost possessive, like she was deciding how I’d taste.

I sang the bridge soft and breathy, leaning into the mic like it was a secret. I let the hem of my gown fall back just enough to reveal the shimmer of my leg, and Alexandra’s fingers twitched around her champagne glass.

I saw her lean over. Whisper something to Charles. He smirked. He didn’t look away from me when he did it. When the final note hit—drawn out and decadent—the lights dropped. Silence. Then an eruption. Applause. Cheering. The kind that shakes the floor and rings in your ribs. I exhaled for the first time in three minutes. Backstage, Jules was waiting with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“You witch,” she breathed. “I just watched Charles Leclerc forget how to breathe. And Alexandra? Babe. She looked like she wanted to eat you alive.”

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to slow my heartbeat. “So… it went okay?”

Jules laughed. “They’re both going to find you before this night’s over. And I’m betting you’re not going home alone.”

I sighed and took a drink of water and started to get changed into my evening gown. Hair and makeup came in to touch me up. I stood up, checking myself in the mirror and smiled.

Jules nudged me. “Go be charming. Make the rounds. Let the world bask in the glow of your slay.”

So I did. Smile on, perfume lingering behind me like a trail of sin, I moved from driver to driver like it was a party game.

George kissed my hand and told me I “redefined elegance.” Lando was sweet talking me as he tried to get me to sit in his lap. Oscar blushed so hard I thought someone should check his temperature.

But it was Ollie who melted my entire heart. He nearly knocked over his glass trying to stand up straight. “Hi. You—uh. I mean. That was—like—wow. You’re…”

I smiled and opened my arms, and he just melted into a hug like a starstruck golden retriever.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “You’re very sweet.”

When I pulled back, he was blinking fast, cheeks flushed pink, like he couldn’t decide whether to pass out or propose. Jules was already filming. But then—then—I turned and saw them.

Charles and Alexandra. Still together. Still impossibly composed. Still looking at me like I was the most fascinating thing in the room. I smoothed my gown even though it didn’t need smoothing and took a slow breath before making my way over.

“Hello,” I said, somehow keeping my voice light despite the fact that my soul had already left my body.

“Bonsoir,” Charles echoed, eyes raking over me in that maddeningly slow way. “You were…” He exhaled. “Incredible.”

“She knows,” Alexandra said, her voice soft and low, like silk drawn across bare skin. “She had every man in the room losing his mind.”

I blinked. “I was just… singing.”

Charles tilted his head. “That was not just singing.”

And Alexandra? She leaned in a little, close enough that I could smell her perfume—jasmine and something warmer, richer. “I think you know exactly what you were doing.”

I laughed—nervously, stupidly. “Are you flirting with me?”

Alexandra smiled. Slow. Dangerous. “Do you want me to be?”

My brain short-circuited. “I—”

Charles stepped in, just a little, voice low and amused. “You look like you might need another drink.”

“I need a tranquilizer.” I muttered under my breath.

Alexandra’s eyes sparkled. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m—” I touched my cheek. Burning.

She grinned. “Blushing. And glowing. It’s a very good look.”

Charles offered me a glass of champagne. “For recovery.”

I took it. My fingers brushed his. I didn’t recover.

—

I was mid-sip of champagne, trying to cool down both physically and emotionally, when I felt a soft hand brush against mine. Not urgent. But deliberate. Alexandra. She leaned in like she was about to whisper something, her breath tickling just beneath my ear.

“Come with me for a second?”

Not a question. A gentle command wrapped in silk. I didn’t even think—I just nodded. She slid her hand down to my wrist and guided me through the edge of the ballroom, past glittering gowns and conversations I couldn’t hear, until we slipped into a quiet hallway behind the venue. Dim lights. Velvet-lined walls. The faint hum of the music muted behind gold-trimmed doors. And then she stopped. Turned. Faced me.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” she said, eyes trailing down my figure like I wasn’t real.

I swallowed. “I’m just a pop star with stage fright.”

She laughed—low, rich. “No, you’re a woman who walked onstage and hypnotized a room full of people… including my boyfriend.”

My breath hitched. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, I’m not upset.” She stepped closer. “He hasn’t looked at someone like that in a long time. But neither have I.”

I blinked. “Alexandra…”

“I’m not trying to scare you,” she said, voice softening. “I just wanted a moment. With you. Away from the cameras. Away from Charles, even.”

That surprised me.

“You did something to me up there,” Alexandra said, eyes burning into mine. “The way you moved. Sang. Looked at us. Like you knew we were watching.”

“I did know,” I whispered.

Her lips curled slightly, like she liked that answer. Like it confirmed something for her She stepped even closer. Close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, the delicate scent of her perfume curling around me like silk.

“Do you always make it this hard to look away from you?”

“No,” I murmured. “Just tonight.”

Just for you.

Her hand moved slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, knuckles grazing the curve of my jaw. I was holding my breath without realizing it. And then—softly, like she was testing gravity—she leaned in. Her lips brushed mine. Barely. A whisper of contact. Warm. Careful. Intentional. I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just… felt. The way her mouth lingered against mine for a second longer than necessary. The quiet intake of her breath. The soft press of her palm to the side of my face as she deepened the kiss just slightly, like she wanted to make sure I understood this wasn’t an accident.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were darker. Focused. Her thumb brushed my cheekbone gently.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I first laid eyes on you,” she said.

My heart was hammering so loud I was afraid she’d hear it.

Then, from the end of the hallway—

“Alex?”

Charles. Her gaze flicked toward the sound—but only for a moment. When she looked back at me, she smiled. Not a flirty smile. A promise.

She tucked another curl behind my ear and said, low and soft, “We’re not done.”

And then she turned—just like that—and disappeared back into the light. I didn’t move for a full thirty seconds.

—

“JULES!”

I stormed back into the green room, nearly tripping over the train of my dress as I slammed the door shut and pressed my back against it like I was being chased.

Jules whipped around mid-text, wide-eyed. “Oh my god. What happened?”

“She kissed me,” I hissed, clutching my clutch like it might save me from cardiac arrest.

Jules blinked. “Charles?”

“No. Alexandra.”

Her phone clattered onto the vanity. “YOU’RE KIDDING—”

“She pulled me into the hallway, told me I was dangerous, and then she kissed me like- like—l”

Jules let out a sound that could only be described as a strangled squeal. “On the mouth??”

“No, Jules, she kissed me on the elbow—YES ON THE MOUTH.” I paced wildly, nearly running into the rack of backup dresses. “And then she smiled and said, ‘We’re not done.’ Like she didn’t just light my entire nervous system on fire.”

Jules grinned. “I told you you were the main character tonight.”

“I thought she was going to slap me for seducing her boyfriend with my eye contact and instead she kissed me like she was the one seduced!”

Before Jules could reply, a gentle knock sounded on the door.

I froze. “That’s either the PR team coming to fire me or Charles coming to duel.”

Jules arched a brow and opened the door like she’d been waiting for this moment her entire life. Charles and Alexandra stood there. Unbothered. Gorgeous. Slightly glowing. Like they knew what they were doing.

“Uh-Hello,” Charles said, eyes locking with mine immediately.

Alexandra’s smile was soft, unreadable. “We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not,” Jules chirped, already stepping aside like the most chaotic wingwoman. “I was just about to force her to drink water and sit down before she passed out.”

Charles tilted his head slightly, amused. “Would it be alright if we stole her for a little while?”

I blinked. “You want to…?”

Alexandra took a step closer, voice calm and warm. “The event is over. We were thinking of getting a drink. Something quieter. Off-site.”

Her gaze lingered on my lips just a second too long.

“Only if you’d like to come,” Charles added, his tone deceptively casual, but the way he looked at me, sharp and curious, told a different story. I stared at both of them. This glittering, impossible couple who had just casually invited me into… something. Jules behind me was vibrating.

“I—” I cleared my throat. “Yeah. I’d… like that.”

Alexandra smiled like she already knew I’d say yes. Charles offered me his hand.

And as I placed mine in his, I whispered over my shoulder to Jules, “If I don’t come back, tell the label I died doing what I loved.”

She winked. “Getting kissed by dangerously attractive people?”

“Exactly.”

—

The hotel suite was too perfect. One of those penthouse setups, city skyline visible through floor-to-ceiling windows, jazz playing faintly from somewhere. There was a tray of cocktails already set out, like they’d planned this. Because they probably had.

“Pick your poison,” Charles offered, already shrugging off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

Alexandra was by the window, slipping off her heels, her back arched just enough to make my throat go dry.

“I—uh, anything’s fine,” I managed.

She handed me a coupe glass with something pale and sparkling inside. “This one’s sweet. You strike me as someone who likes the bite underneath the sugar.”

My brain short-circuited. “Sure. That’s… accurate.”

We sat. Alexandra beside me. Charles across. Too far to touch—but not too far to stare. And he was staring.

“Your performance,” he said, swirling his drink slowly, “was magnetic.”

My face was hot. “Thank you.”

“No,” Alexandra chimed in, eyes not leaving mine, “You don’t understand. The way you held the room. The way you held us. It wasn’t just good. It was…” She paused. “Deliberate.”

I blinked. “You noticed that?”

“We notice everything,” Charles said, voice quiet. “Especially you.”

The air shifted. Subtle, but immediate. I took a slow sip of my drink to fill the silence, only to realize I’d already downed most of it. Alexandra gently took the glass from my hand, setting it on the table without breaking eye contact.

“Can I ask you something?” she said. I nodded.

“Have you been thinking about it all night?” Her voice was like velvet. “The kiss.”

“Yes,” I breathed. Instinctive. Honest.

Charles leaned forward slightly. “Good.”

I felt like I was floating. Or falling. Or both.

He stood, walked toward us, and crouched down in front of me, his eyes gentle but dark with something heavier. “And if I kissed you right now?”

My breath hitched. “I don’t think I’d stop you.”

He smiled—something slow and real—and then his lips met mine. Warm. Curious. Steady. Alexandra’s hand slid along my thigh as he kissed me, her touch grounding and electric at once. And when Charles finally pulled back, she was right there, her kiss softer this time, more familiar, like a secret.

They didn’t rush. Didn’t overwhelm. They just… took their time. Kissing me. Touching me. Watching me fall apart slowly between them.

At some point, Charles whispered, “You’re shaking.”

I laughed—breathless and bright. “I’m overwhelmed.”

Alexandra tucked her face into my neck, her lips brushing my skin. “Then let us take care of you.”

And they did. Together. All night.

—

I woke up somewhere between silk sheets and a mild existential crisis. The first thing I felt was the ache in my body—gentle, sweet, and impossible to ignore. The second was the arm draped across my waist, warm and possessive. The third was panic. Because oh my god I had slept with both Charles Leclerc and Alexandra Saint Mleux. Like… actually slept with them. Not a dream. Not a delusion. Not a spicy fanfic my brain invented mid-tour. Real.

I very gently peeled Charles’ arm off me and slid out of bed in a tangle of limbs and regret-tinged euphoria. Alexandra shifted slightly, her face still angelic against the pillow, hair loose and wild. I was doomed.

I threw on my robe and tiptoed into the living room of the suite like I was escaping a crime scene. I grabbed my phone from the couch and immediately dialed Jules. She picked up on the second ring.

“Did you die?” she asked, voice still scratchy with sleep.

“I think I’m in a romantic crisis,” I whispered. “A sexy, slow-burn, European art film kind of crisis.”

There was a pause. “Where are you?”

“Charles and Alexandra’s hotel suite.”

“NO.”

“Yes.”

“YOU DID NOT—”

“I did!” I hissed. “And I liked it! But now I don’t know if it was just a one-night thing or if I imagined all the feelings or if they’re going to ghost me and continue being a power couple while I spiral into a ball of public humiliation and inner monologue hell!”

Jules let out a long, slow whistle. “Okay. Breathe. Did they say anything this morning?”

“I didn’t wait for anyone to wake up! I ran like a Victorian mistress fleeing the manor after an illicit affair!”

Suddenly, I felt arms wrap slowly, carefully, around my waist. My soul left my body. Charles’ voice was quiet, close, still rough from sleep. “You’re not a mistress, chérie. You’re the one we couldn’t stop thinking about all night.”

I turned so slowly. Charles looked impossibly good for someone who had just woken up—hair messy, eyes soft, mouth still curved in that stupidly charming half-smile.

“I—hi.”

He smiled. “Hi.”

Then Alexandra appeared in the doorway, wrapped in her robe, leaning against the frame like the muse of every chaotic bisexual daydream I’d ever had.

“You left the bed,” she said, eyes on me. “I was almost offended.”

“I was panicking,” I admitted. “Respectfully.”

Charles chuckled softly. “We figured you might.”

I blinked. “So… it wasn’t just a moment?”

Alexandra came closer, gently brushing a piece of hair from my face. “It was everything but just a moment.”

Charles nodded, his hand still holding my waist. “We’ve been watching you all night. Not just on stage. Every laugh, every glance. We didn’t want one night. We want more.”

My breath caught. “You’re serious?”

“Very,” Alexandra murmured, eyes locked on mine.

I bit my lip. “I just—I didn’t want to assume, and this morning felt like I was living in an A24 film with no context.”

Charles grinned. “Then let’s give it context.”

Alexandra laced her fingers through mine. “Let us take you to breakfast. Talk. Figure this out… together.”

I nodded. Maybe too quickly.

“And can Jules come?” I asked. “She’ll explode otherwise.”

Charles laughed. “She can interrogate us over coffee.”

Alexandra smirked. “We’re not scared.”

I smiled, a little shaky, a little high on everything.

—

I was already seated at the rooftop restaurant by the time Jules arrived, but I heard her before I saw her—heels sharp against the stone floor, her sigh loud enough to part the clouds above London. She slid into the seat beside me, sunglasses still on, expression unreadable.

“I need someone to explain to me, right now, why I woke up alone in a hotel bed while you were off having a ménage à trois with Monaco’s golden boy and someone with the face of a literal angel.”

Charles chuckled beside me. Alexandra just sipped her coffee.

I closed my eyes. “Jules, please.”

“No, no, I’m calm. I’m totally fine. Just wondering if I need to make laminated flashcards for your next PR disaster so I can keep up.”

Alexandra reached across the table, gentle and poised. “I’m sorry we surprised you.”

Jules finally took her sunglasses off, blinking like she was assessing a very expensive art piece. “Surprise isn’t the word I’d use. Ambush, maybe. Sexy ambush.”

Charles looked amused. “Would you like to ask us anything?”

Jules leaned back, folding her arms. “Are you in love with her?”

The silence was instant. Clean. Like air being vacuumed out of the sky. My fork clinked softly against the edge of my plate.

Alexandra didn’t flinch. “I think we’re at the beginning of something that could become that.”

Charles nodded, his voice quiet. “We didn’t plan it. But we felt it. And we’re not walking away from it.”

Jules turned to me. “And you?”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know what it is yet. But it didn’t feel casual. Not even for a second.”

There was a long pause before Jules exhaled.

“Well,” she said, “as long as you don’t get your heart broken without me being there to destroy someone’s car, I guess I’ll allow it.”

Charles raised his brows. “Noted.”

Alexandra smiled, then turned to me. “Did you really think we’d ghost you?”

“I didn’t know what to think,” I admitted. “I woke up and it felt like—like maybe it wasn’t real. Or maybe it was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t,” Charles said simply.

“It was a beginning,” Alexandra added.

I looked between them. Both beautiful. Both grounded. Both looking at me like they weren’t going anywhere. I leaned into Jules for a second, like I needed one last anchor to who I was before all this. And then I looked back at them.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s see where this goes.”

Alexandra reached for my hand. Charles smiled like the sun had just risen for the first time. And Jules, of course, flagged down the waiter.

“If YN is showing emotionally vulnerable today,” she muttered, “I’m going to need another cappuccino and a pain au chocolat. Stat.”

—

yourstruly_yn

liked by lando, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux & 5,090,002 others.

yourstruly_yn : i leave quite an impression…5 feet to be exact ;)

—

view 389,002 other comments.

julesss : hey. from a pr standpoint not a bestie standpoint — i thought we agreed to warn me before soft launch was initiated.

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ yourstruly_yn : was hoping since you love me so much you wouldn’t care

↳julesss : blah blah

lando : can the man on slide 4 fight

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ yourstruly_yn : idk if he can fight but he can certainly toss me around

liked by charles_leclerc

alexandrasaintmleux : you. are. unreal. 😻

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ yourstruly_yn : my goddess. i love you

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

↳ username00 : is that alex in the first pic?? ↳username10 : i believe so but who is the MANNNN??

↳ username15 : plot twist : it’s charles?

↳ username00 : delusion

pierregasly : finally someone in the paddock shorter than yuki

liked by yourstruly_yn

↳ yourstruly_yn : us short ppl still together. leave that man alone.

↳ yukitsunoda0511 : YEAH LEAVE ME ALONE.

—

alexandrasaintmleux

liked by yourstruly_yn, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc & 875,021 others.

alexandrasaintmleux : in love with love.

—

view 82,090 other comments.

charles_leclerc : lucky me 💐🤍

liked by yourstruly_yn and alexandrasaintmleux

yourstruly_yn : this is so cute. you are so cute. i am obsessed.

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

julesss : aw omg

liked by yourstruly_yn and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ username00 : jules??

↳ username15 : isn’t that yn in the third pic??

↳ username8 : i think so

↳ username7 : who is in that second pic?? yn and charles…

↳ username00 : delusional

↳ username11 : charles was seen wearing that exact outfit the other day

↳ username00 : why would alex allow that though?? let alone take a picture of it.

arthur_leclerc : i think it is time for me to meet this mysterious blonde.

liked by yourstruly_yn, alexandrasaintmleux and charles_leclerc

—

f1gossipgirls

890,374 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Uh Oh! Trouble in Paradise? Charles Leclerc was seen out in Monaco last night kissing none other than YN LN. As far as we know Charles is still in a relationship with, Alexandra Saint Mleux, who has grown close with YN LN recently. Charles caught in another cheating scandal? Not shocked.

—

username0 : oh poor alex

username8 : i always thought yn was better than this

username10 : yn really befriended alex to steal her man. disgusting behavior.

username15 : y’all are all blaming yn when charles is a known cheater. it takes two.

username17 : oh boyyyyy.

—

twitter!

Coming two days after cheating rumors— Pop star YN just dropped a new music video, and it’s already broken the internet. The sultry visual stars none other than Alexandra Saint Mleux — longtime girlfriend of F1 driver Charles Leclerc — in a steamy, intimate role alongside YN herself. The two share lingering touches, smoldering glances, and yes… a full-on kiss halfway through the video. And just when fans thought they couldn’t scream any louder, Charles Leclerc makes a surprise cameo at the very end — leaning in a doorway, watching the two walk away, hand in hand. Romance? Art? PR power move? Whatever it is, the internet is obsessed. One thing’s clear: YN knows exactly what she’s doing.

—

view 509,024 other comments.

username0 : oh yeah im def gay

username10 : this was art

username15 : does this confirm throuple?? or did yn just steal alex??

username22 : charles rlly just stood there smirking and watching them kiss I AM djnfjnajd

username14 : i need a cigarette

username21 : FINALLY things are getting interesting again.

—

yourstruly_yn

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, olliebearman & 10,032,005 others.

yourstruly_yn : will not be further elaborating at this time. think what you want.

tagged : alexandrasaintmleux and charles_leclerc

—

view 810,005 other comments.

username00 : im sorry but the first thing i noticed was the height difference between her and charles and im obsessed

alexandrasaintmleux : thinking a lot of things. all unholy.

liked by yourstruly_yn and charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc : thinking what im going to do to you both

liked by yourstruly_yn and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ username00 : CHARLES????

↳ lando : my EYES

lilymhe : replayed that kiss 20 times and started thinking about my sexuality

liked by yourstruly_yn and alexandrasaintmleux

julesss : oh i love you and i hate you at the same time. so iconic.

liked by yourstruly_yn

username20 : this is how i find out yn is for the girls too??? magical day for the gays

—

(mv blurbs)

We were seated on the edge of the bed, camera crew resetting lights for the final wide shot.

Alex was fixing my lipstick for the fifth time. “You smudge more than anyone I know.”

“That’s because people keep kissing me,” I grinned.

Alex raised a brow. “You complaining?”

Charles, from behind the monitor, didn’t even look up. “If you are, we can stop.”

I turned  and gave him a pointed look. “I never said anything about stopping.” 

The room went quiet for a second, the air thick with that electric, unspoken something that had grown between us. 

“Just for the record,” Alex said as she handed the lipstick back, “this video is the least scandalous thing we’ve done lately.”

We all laughed. But no one said she was wrong.

—

Charles stood in front of me, tall, annoyingly smug, his eyes tracing every line of my face. “Nervous?” he asked.

“No,” I lied. “You?”

He smirked. “Terrified.”

I gripped the tie and tugged him closer—hard enough to wipe the smirk right off his face. He hit the wall behind him with a soft thud and grabbed at my hips, for a split second, we just stared at each other.

His voice dropped just enough for me to feel it in my spine. “You’re very good at that.”

“Acting?” I said, forcing a grin.

He shook his head. “Ruining me.” 

—

“Final shot!” someone shouted.

I was jittery, buzzing with adrenaline and nerves and something else I didn’t want to name. Alex slipped her hand into mine just before the take, her thumb brushing over my knuckles.

“You okay?” she whispered.

I nodded. “You?”

She grinned. “I’m having the time of my life.”

Charles was watching us from across the room—his cue was to lean in the doorframe, casual. Except he didn’t look casual. He looked… captivated. Like he was seeing something he wanted to memorize. The camera rolled. We walked away. I didn’t look back. I didn’t have to. I already knew he was still watching.

—

I don’t usually watch the playback. But the second the monitor lit up with that slow-motion shot of Alex kissing me, of Charles in the doorway looking like sin incarnate in a suit—my curiosity got the better of me.

“Looks good,” the editor muttered.

Understatement of the century.

Alex watched too, arms folded beside me. “You know this is going to break the internet, right?”

“I’m not sure the internet deserves this,” I said, only half joking.

Then Charles joined us, cocked his head and said, “We look good together.”

We. Together. I didn’t say anything. But I felt it in my chest.

—

The hotel room was dim, lit only by the flicker of my phone screen and the soft city lights bleeding through the curtains. The three of us were a mess of limbs under the plush duvet — Alexandra draped across my stomach, her long hair tickling my skin, and Charles curled behind me, one hand tucked under the hem of my oversized tee, the other lazily holding his phone. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that only exists after everything explodes. My phone buzzed again. Then again.

Alex groaned without lifting her head. “You checking it or just letting it vibrate us to death?”

I grabbed it and squinted at the screen. “Trending in 24 countries. There’s an edit of you and me kissing with the caption ‘real cinema is back.’”

Charles chuckled, chin resting on my shoulder. “Do they like my cameo?”

“Someone said you looked like the sexy villain interrupting two sapphics mid-flirt.”

He grinned, unbothered. “Fair.”

Alex finally rolled over, her cheek now on my thigh, scrolling through her own feed. “There’s a thread analyzing the whole video. They know, YN.”

I looked down at her. “They think they know.”

Charles hummed behind me, warm and sleepy. “Let them talk. It’s our story.”

And somehow, with both of them tangled around me, I didn’t care what the world thought. Not right now.

“I think we started something,” I whispered.

Alex looked up at me. “Or maybe we’re just finally letting it happen.”

Charles kissed my shoulder again, quieter this time. “Either way, I’m in.”

And just like that, I silenced my phone. Let the world spiral — we were safe in the eye of the storm.

—

charles_leclerc

liked by yourstruly_yn, alexandrasaintmleux, carlossainz55 and 12,930,000 others.

charles_leclerc : my girls.

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

[thatgayunoriginalbastard]

This is just reminding me that I started writing a four chapter fic where Odysseus accidentally kills Telemachus because he thinks he's a suitor, even going as far as fully cutting off his head as an intimidation thing during the "All of you who have done me wrong, THIS WILL BE YOUR FATE!" line. He doesn't even find out what he did until he goes to Penelope and she recognizes the bloodstained owl face pin he took from Tele's body (a pin that he had left for Telemachus when he went to war that Tele didn't feel worthy of wearing until Athena started training him) and she freaks out, informing him that he killed his son, burned his corpse, and dumped his ashes in the ocean like he did to all the other suitors because he didn't want any of the suitors to get a proper burial. So suffice to say, he's not doing so hot.

Meanwhile in the underworld, Odysseus' crew is just hanging out when some random kid shows up while they're talking about stuff, the kid having overheard them talking about the war and wanting to hear their stories since he never got to hear any. After a bit, the kid mentions that he wants to hear stories to learn about his father which makes most of the crew worry because that means that one of them is reuniting with their kid in the underworld but Eurylochus puts together who the kid is and with Polites he figures out that Ody killed Tele (though the two of them don't tell the rest of the crew)

Months later, Odysseus, Penelope, Athena, and Ctimene are questing to go to the underworld to get Telemachus back with all of them having very complicated emotions about the whole situation, they make it to the underworld, they talk to Hades and Persephone, and Hades says that for him to get his son back, he must convince everyone under his charge who died that he deserves to get Telemachus back. Drama ensues as he tries to get 600 men to let his kid who happened to die as soon as he got home, the kid who he sacrificed 36 of them to get back to, come back to life and be with him. And even more drama comes as it turns out Telemachus counts as someone under his charge who died and has to also be convinced that the father he dreamed of meeting for twenty years who also fully cut off his head while in a bloodthirsty rage is someone that he wants to go home to, having gotten closer to all the crew (especially Eurylochus and Polites) over the past several months and left stewing with his thoughts.

so...yeah I should probably finish writing that lol.

athena realises odysseus had never seen his son in song 38

[p3terparker]

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: peter is too shy to make a move on you

𝘄/𝗰: 0.7k

𝗮/𝗻: hi everyone i'm back from the dead after being gone for over a year as usual give me grace with this fic i haven’t written in forever but i’m trying 😭 i miss writing for peter so much ♡♡

it’s no secret peter is shy. ever since the beginning of your relationship, which was months ago, you were always the one to initiate things between you two. he was too shy to even hold your hand or start a cuddle session. you don’t mind that; in fact, you even find it quite cute how he starts to blush when you do something as simple as kissing him on his cheek. it’s endearing, but sometimes you don’t always want to be the one to make a move, which is why you had completely deprived him of any physical touch.

you can tell he’s bothered. he’s been staring at you as soon as you two sat on the couch together and put on your guy’s favorite TV show. he not so subtly coughs to get your attention, but you choose to ignore it as you hold back a giggle. it’s obvious he wants to cuddle, but you’re not going to give him what he wants unless he does it himself.

as the show progresses to the next episode, you finally decide to speak up after feeling his eyes on you throughout the entirety of the first episode.

“you need something peter?” you ask while looking away from the TV you were watching.

“what? oh um, no. why do you ask?” he stumbles over his words as a slight blush creeps over his face.

“because you’ve been staring at me ever since you got home” you giggle

“oh.. sorry” he murmurs out timidly while finally looking away from your face and towards the TV.

that was the last thing that was said before the next episode started and you were engulfed in the show you were watching again.

it didn’t take long for his attention to fall back onto you, staring at you in disbelief because you’re not giving him what he wants. it’s killing you inside to not just wrap yourself in his arms, but you have to stand strong. you continue watching your show for another 15 minutes before peter finally reaches his breaking point.

“why are you doing this to me?”

you pause the show and get a good look at him. he has a small pout and a look of sadness painted all over his face which causes you to feel a twinge of pain in your chest.

“doing what?”

“ignoring me”

“i’m not–”

“yes you are. you didn’t give me a hug or kiss when i got home and now you’re not cuddling with me like you always do” he cuts you off and lets the words pour out frustratedly.

you kind of feel bad but at the same time can’t help yourself from laughing at how frustrated he is over an issue he could’ve avoided by just making a move on you.

“you know you could’ve kissed me and cuddled me yourself, right?”

now he’s silent because you just called him out.

“yeah but… i don’t know how” he timidly says.

“what do you mean you don’t know how?”

“you make me nervous. you’re my first relationship and i don’t know how to initiate anything between us without making things awkward” he quietly states, barely able to make eye contact with you.

“aww peter, come here” you say while finally embracing him. you can feel the tension release from his body as soon as he lays his head on your chest.

“you could never make things awkward between us peter. and as for me making you nervous, do you know how nervous you make me? like seriously, you’re insanely hot and also have the sweetest personality ever”

“stoppp” he whines but gives you a look that tells you he secretly loves what you’re saying.

“alright alright, but i'm serious peter. nothing you say or do could make things awkward between us. you don’t know how much i want you to initiate something for once, i’m tired of practically wearing the pants in our relationship” you laugh while semi-joking.

you don’t know if it’s the entirety of the little speech you gave him or the comment about you wearing the pants in your relationship that caused a change in his demeanor, but suddenly he flipped your position to where he has you pinned beneath him on the couch and passionately kissed you.

“who’s wearing the pants now?”

[pennyellee]

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨

title: ANUBIS chapter two pairings: yandere mafia namjoon x barmaid f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 16,8K

beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17

summary: “You are something I can sin for” An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that’s what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where you’ve resented Namjoon with every fibre of your being and every word that came out of his plump lips after what he had done to prove his power. Unfortunately, you will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | injury, blood, experiencing pain, and undergoing medical recovery, IV's, strong painkillers, banter, alcohol, explicit language, themes of control and possession within a romantic relationship, explicit content, mentions of violence, mentions of religion and God, sexual tension, nipple biting, cockhumping, teasing, cowgirl, unprotected sex (stay safe!), creampie, and other...

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone. I am also no medical professional.

author's note: hi there, my lovely fairies, sweating our tits of in da head aren't we? I'm a winter girly, northerner, so i'm very happy behind the keyboard, my desktop and open scrivener, very much unemployed right now, BUT, with my master's degreeeeeee! Not gonna romanticise that though, week before that was rough as fuck and I'm gonna pray for any of you who are going through some hardship right now, that the future is gonna be okay. Anyway, I rewrote this chapter several times actually, and it shows, but I found a sense it for the plot, thus here it is my loves. Also there is a "back to 1996" masterlist so all the fics will be together in separate place. See ya in 10 days for another preview of another 1996 project :))) Without further ado, enjoy, fairies! ♥

love, p.

masterlist 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔

Kim Namjoon always got what he wanted. And, for reasons you couldn't yet understand, he had chosen you.

You're drifting—slipping in and out of consciousness, your body a foreign thing, heavy and unresponsive. The pain pulses through you in waves, each throb a reminder that you're still here. The world around you bled into a swirling vortex of red and black, edges blurring, fading. You hovered somewhere between life and death, unsure which realm you were clinging to.

"Joon..." The name was a breath, a whisper that might have been swallowed by the fading light. Yet, somehow, you felt him.

And then he was there. Not the Namjoon who had claimed you with his possessive touch, the one who twisted love into an inescapable knot, not something you didn't want to escape. This Namjoon was before all that. Before the walls, the darkness, the power plays, and the fear of losing you that had become so familiar in his eyes. This Namjoon, standing before you, was softer, gentler. He offered that unguarded warmth you used to adore, before everything changed. Before he killed a man for simply touching you. Before he took your passport, caging you, preventing you from flying free. He'd taken precautions, you knew, to keep you. But you wished he hadn't. You wished he didn't feel so insecure about your feelings.

"Peach," he murmurs, his voice low, the way it used to be when he wanted you to feel safe. "You're still with me, right?"

You longed to reach for him, to feel his skin against yours, but your body remained stubbornly unresponsive, heavy and alien in the haze of pain. In this fever dream, movement wasn't necessary. In this moment, his presence was enough. He was enough.

You remembered him like this. The days before his obsession, before he lost himself in the need to control. He was here now, the Namjoon you first knew, the one who looked at you with wonder, who made you feel seen, truly seen, not just a passing thought.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" he asks, a hint of that old, unspoken tenderness in his voice. His eyes hold something like longing, something that makes your heart ache in a way you've almost forgotten.

Not precisely. It's more like your hearts remembered each other before your minds had the chance. But then the ache starts—sharp, sudden. Why did it change? Why did he change? 

You try to speak, to ask him the question that's been burning inside you for so long, but your voice is barely a whisper. 

"Why did you change?" 

But perhaps he never did. Perhaps this was the man you were always meant to meet—just not the man you wanted him to be.

Maybe this is the truth, and everything before was a lie.

He steps closer, but there's something about him that feels unreachable now. Something distant in his eyes that wasn't there before. The space between you grows, even though he's right in front of you. His smile is bittersweet, almost like he's mourning something that can never be.

"You're asking the wrong questions, Peaches," he says softly, his words like an echo of something you almost understand.

His words strike you, but before you can process them, before you can reach for him, the dream starts to slip away. His figure begins to fade, like smoke in the wind. You try to hold onto him, to him, but it's like grasping through a void.

If a life of Kim is what you must choose, you choose to hold onto the idea of who he was to you. The Namjoon you fell in love with. 

You never thought of it as love until he chose you. Choose you truly. You thought about this in the dead of the night when he slept soundly on the other side of the soft bed, and you rationalised what had happened over the past year of him choosing you over and over again, no matter what. 

Choose sounds better than possess. 

Maybe you just need to admit your feelings and accept whatever this world has to offer. Whatever he has to offer. Something tells you, though, that these thoughts will merely flee if the spark wasn't readying to be lit into a flame that would take over all your senses.

The pain intensifies, a new wave crashing over you, drowning out everything, even him. And just like that, the Namjoon of before is gone. Vanished. Leaving you with nothing but the empty ache of the man who once was. Thus, now you must fall in love with this rendition of his persona. The reincarnation of Anubis himself, risen to walk among mortals once more.

"Peaches!" a voice echoes, low and steady. It's not Namjoon. The tone is sharp, urgent, familiar, but not as you expected. Not in the way you wanted. But it was him, your mind seeked to see before you went. That means something right?

"Stay with me, Peaches. I'm not letting you go—. She's losing a lot of blood!"

His hand grips yours tightly, and the pulse of his touch is steady, firm, and real. It's a contrast to the lightness of Namjoon's touch, but it's grounding, anchoring you in the chaos of the moment. He's not a dream and you're not a ghost.

The warmth of his skin against yours is different from what you expected. Just raw, undeniable care. A family. He's a family. He's here, with you, when it counts the most. 

"Jungkook," you whisper, the name escaping your lips before you even realise it. You try to focus on him, on the steady rise and fall of his chest as he hovers over you, pressing his hands onto your side, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any sign of recognition.

His lips press together tightly, and his eyes soften, but there's something fierce in the way he looks at you. "This cannot be how you go, Peaches," he huffs, and there's a finality in his words, a promise that cuts through the fog.

Your chest tightens, the effort to breathe becoming harder. But he's here. Jungkook. The one who's keeping you tethered to life.

"Nam-Namjoon, where is Namjoon?" you manage to rasp, and it feels like the only truth you know. 

He doesn't answer at first. Instead, he adjusts his grip on you, moving you carefully, lifting you as if you weigh nothing. And in that moment, you realise—he's saving you. 

"He's coming," 

is the last thing you hear.

You wake to the sound of firewood crackling. The sheets under you are impossibly soft, smelling faintly of lavender and cedar. Everything aches, but it's no longer sharp but dull. It's the kind of ache that tells you you've survived.

"About damn time," a voice echoes and you try to adjust your eyes to the lighting in the room.

Princess.

She's curled into a velvet chair, legs tucked under her, a book in her lap that she clearly hasn't been reading. Her eyeliner is smudged just enough to betray she's been here a while—longer than she'll admit.

"You scared us with that sleeping beauty stunt you pulled." 

You barely remember the pain, the blood. You barely remember anything, really.

You try to sit up. 

"I wouldn't, not yet at least" she warns, turning a page anyway. "It didn't go in, but it scraped you hard enough for Yoongi having to stitch you up."  

Your throat's very dry. "How long have I been out?"

"Two days. Maybe two and a half. Time's weird up here."

You blink slowly, trying to make sense of it. "Where's...?"

"That man has ears like a wolf, and I'm guessing they are tuned to the frequency of your sweet voice, so he will be here in a minute." She smiles, avoiding your question, shutting the book and placing her hand on her pregnant belly. 

"Jungkook?" you whisper, barely able to form the name. The weight of your memories is slow to return, but you know he's part of it. Part of what brought you back from the brink.

Princess doesn't answer right away. Instead, she tilts her head, her smile fading just enough to show something else—a flicker of concern, maybe, or maybe it's something more complex. Something that doesn't need to be said.

"He was very stubborn and did not want to leave you, but there was nothing more he could do for you,-" she studied your face for a second. You must look like death. Princess leans forward slightly, her expression unreadable. 

"—and after a call from certain someone, while you were on Yoongi's table, plus a final command from Hoseok to stay in New York, finally got him to obey."

There's something about the way she says it—something that hints at a deeper layer, a decision made in the shadows, one that you weren't fully aware of. Princess' lips curl into a small, enigmatic smile, one that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Now, ask me whatever it is you want to know before he'll kick my ass outta here, my friend. Even though I'm higher in rank, that man has the balls to do that." 

The words sink in slowly, heavy and disorienting, like stones being dropped into a calm pond, sending ripples across your mind. 

"What happened?" The first logical question that came to your mind. Boring for her majesty. 

"An ambush, raid, an absolute shit show, a message, low blow even for them." She lists every possible naming for the event that almost took you away. Princess' nonchalant attitude only added to the confusion, making it clear that this wasn't something she was rattled by, even if it should have been. You blink slowly, trying to piece together the fragments of what you've heard so far, your mind racing through everything you've been through, everything you don't remember. 

"Who—" 

"Luens." She is giving you information way easier than Namjoon ever would, hence you push more. 

"Why?" 

"We humbled yet another of their sons-" you're not sure whether it's the gravity of what she's saying or the sheer nonchalance with which she says it that makes it all the more unsettling. You blink at her, trying to process her answer, but it only raises more questions.

"Humbled?" you repeat, confusion lacing your voice. The way she phrases it makes it sound like a simple matter, but there's no way that's all there is to it.

"To his grave." The coldness in her tone sends a chill through you, and a deep, gnawing unease settles in your stomach. There must be a lot of analgesics in your system that you cannot even feel the side where you've been shot at. 

"And they chose to do that at church?" That is sinister even for you, a non-believer. But you've sinned there too, so who are you to judge?

"It's sacred ground for our clan. Perfect for striking fear into the heart of their enemies. Fucking biblical." 

The unease inside you deepens. You swallow hard, trying to process what she's saying, trying to fit it into the jigsaw puzzle of your fragmented memories. There's a sharp edge to her tone, one that makes everything feel colder, more distant. 

"Is everyone alright?" A sudden realisation runs through your body. If you've been shot someone else might have been too. You know Namjoon is alright, that much you read between the lines, alongside with Hoseok, and Princess is sitting right here in the flesh. Jungkook's alright too as it seems, but..no. Your dad was not there, and you are more than sure, he is safe. If anything, this family protects its people. So…

"Taeyhung?"

The question slips from your lips before you can stop it, a quiet but urgent need to know the answer. Princess' expression shifts ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing just a fraction, like she's measuring the weight of your words. Why'd you care for a man who dragged you to this life, literally, not metaphorically like Namjoon. Because before all that. He was kind, he was caring, he was.

"Taehyung's always fine, that motherfucker of my cousin is bulletproof" she says, her voice laced with something unreadable, an edge you can't quite place. "For now, anyway." 

"Seokjin?" 

"He is dealing with-, uhm, I don't even know. But he is on lockdown in his lovely mansion."

You nod, trying to make sense of her answer, but something about it feels too rehearsed. 

"Jimin?" 

"In Italy." She half-smiles. "Florence, I think. He's laying low too. We could not all gather in one place; we needed to be spread."

There's a long silence. You don't speak until the fire cracks again.

"Where are we?" 

Princess leans back in her chair, eyes briefly flickering toward the crackling fire as if she's weighing whether or not to tell you. There's something about her that makes it clear she's playing a game, keeping the cards close to her chest. She hesitates for a moment before answering, her voice smooth, almost too calm.

"Somewhere safe," she says, her eyes shifting toward the window, the dim light casting shadows over her features. "An old safe place. Hidden. You won't find it on any map."

The tension in your body makes it hard to think clearly, and the fog of painkillers doesn't help either. You swallow hard, trying to focus.

"If you're not ready to talk to him, go back to sleep, sweetie. I'll tell him I was just reading out loud." Her voice softening, but her eyes never leaving you. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, and your thoughts swirl like a storm inside your head. You could close your eyes, sink back into the numbness, let the painkillers dull everything. But something holds you in place—something you can't shake, something that has been growing within you for far too long. 

Princess watches you, waiting, but you don't look away. This is your moment, even if it's only a sliver, to ask the questions that have been clawing at you. 

"I..I'm not that tired," you murmur, your voice rough. "I don't wanna avoid him." Her expression doesn't change, but you can see the shift in her eyes, a moment of calculation, observation. Her smile, though, is small, a slight curl of amusement at your persistence. She exhales, like she's been holding something back for a long time. 

"Why don't you ask what you really wanna know, my friend?" You nod, your heart hammering in your chest as if you already know what's coming. You hesitate for a moment, your thoughts swirling, but then the words slip out before you can stop them. 

"I never asked for this," you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You're not just talking about love anymore; you're talking about the whole damn mess of this life, the decisions that were made for you, the ones you never had a say in.

"That is not a question, hun." Princess leans forward slightly, her eyes narrowing just enough to make it clear that she's not done with you yet. 

"Yet you did not attempt to escape since, not once." You hadn't tried escape. You hadn't fought to leave. You just wanted a little piece of autonomy and a choice. This all must sound familiar, like an old tale to your lady boss.

"You could've run. You could've fought harder. But you stayed, hmm?"

You stare at her, heart thudding painfully in your chest, your mind running through every moment, every choice that led you here. And in the end, there's only one thing that makes sense. 

"I'm not sure I wanted to, I don't think I'd outrun Taehyung again" you finally admit with a chuckle, your voice barely above a whisper. The truth tastes bitter on your tongue, but it's the only answer that feels real. "I guess I've been holding on... waiting."

Princess doesn't react immediately. She simply watches you, her gaze intense, like she's measuring every word, every shift in your expression. Then, finally, she speaks.

"Let me then tell you something I realised and what made me stay." 

You shift slightly, drawn in by her voice, by the way she's speaking like she's about to reveal a secret. Her eyes stay locked on yours, unwavering, as if she's reading the very core of you.

She leans back in her chair, her hands folding neatly in her lap.

"How long do you think it would take for you to fall out of love with Namjoon?" 

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, everything around you seems to disappear. The fire crackles softly in the background, but it feels distant, like you're caught in a bubble, unable to move or breathe.

Princess's eyes are still locked on you, unblinking, as if she's waiting for a response. Her question was so direct, so piercing, it stabs straight into your chest. You shift uncomfortably, unsure how to respond, because the answer feels like a wound you haven't fully acknowledged.

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are, Peaches." 

Princess's smile is small, almost imperceptible, but there's something understanding in it. "You don't. You can't. Love isn't a switch you turn off. It's not that simple." She leans forward again, her gaze unwavering. "But you can choose whether to let it control you. You can choose how you handle it. That's what I learned." 

You meet her gaze, the weight of her words sinking in. 

"And how exactly did you handle it?" you ask, eyeing down her swollen belly, desperately trying not to sound mocking but you failed in that part too. 

Princess exhales slowly, her expression softening just a touch. "I stayed. But not because I had no choice. I stayed because I understood that love is never black and white. It's messy, it's painful, and sometimes, it's fucking dangerous, yes. But that doesn't mean it's not worth something."

The love you've felt for him, the parts of him that you still want to believe in, even with everything that's happened. 

"You're not trapped, Peach," Princess continues, her voice more gentle now. "You're just afraid of what happens when you stop holding on. But I'll tell you this, you need to let go before you can really know what freedom feels like." 

You think about what it would mean to finally let go, to stop fighting the inevitable pull of whatever this is between you and Namjoon. It's terrifying. But maybe, just maybe, it's time to accept that choice is the only real power you have left. 

"Is that how you and Hoseok—"

"There is no universal path we would not walk together." She interrupts you. Your own thoughts begin to swirl again, tangling up the fear, the doubt, and the small flicker of hope that perhaps you could come to understand love in a way you hadn't before. 

"But I don't know whether—"

"Ah shut the fuck up, you do." She rolls her eyes, and you cannot help but raise your eyebrows at the duality of her persona. 

"Let me tell you a secret, honey." She leans forward to be closer to your bedside.  "It's the women who run this clan, not the other way around." 

You blink, trying to make sense of what she's saying. Her statement seems impossible, a contradiction to everything you've seen, everything you've felt. The men, like Namjoon, hold all the power in their iron grip, controlling everything in their world, and yet here Princess is, telling you the exact opposite.

"I don't follow," you murmur, your confusion making your voice tremble. Princess leans in even closer, her voice dropping low as she speaks with a calm certainty that both unsettles and intrigues you. 

"Power isn't just about who gets to call the shots, darling. It's about who holds the real influence. The men of this clan think they control the game because they're the ones making the big moves, but they're playing by the rules we set." 

"Then why does it feel like I'm always at the mercy of him?" you ask, your voice small.

"Because you get angry and that makes them feel superior" Princess says bluntly. "But trust me, love, they aren’t." 

"You want something? Take it. Demand it. Tell him what happens when you don't get it. Play his game better than him." 

The idea seems so foreign, so radical, yet at this moment, it feels like the only path forward. For so long, you've allowed Namjoon to dictate the terms of your existence. You've swallowed his rules, his desires, his control, believing you had no other choice. But now... now you're starting to see the cracks in that illusion. 

"Take control. You want to work? He has plenty to give you, trust me."

It all sounds so simple, yet it's a concept you've never fully allowed yourself to entertain because you assumed he won't give you the stage.

Princess is offering you a glimpse of something else—something terrifying and intoxicating. Power. The power to dictate the terms, to make your own rules, to shape your own destiny. You wonder if it's even possible, if it's as simple as she makes it sound.

"If you want to work, you take it. You make him want you there. You make him need you." 

"Know your fucking worth. Call his hypocrite bullshit ass-," you're still not sure you can fully trust yourself with this kind of power. The stakes feel too high, the risk too great. 

"Trust me, they seem harsh and firm traditionalist, but they are fucking basking in that ‘if you'll disobey' shit, it makes the pre-marital sex all the better." 

The rawness of her words hits you like a cold wave, shocking and unsettling. Her bluntness slices through the fog in your mind, but the implications leave you dizzy. You've never thought of it this way. You've always believed that your powerlessness was a result of his dominance, that you were stuck, trapped by your own choices—or lack thereof. 

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of what she's suggesting, the sheer audacity of it. 

"And you have the ultimate advantage at your disposal." 

"What is it?" you ask, your voice hesitant, your heart pounding against your ribs. The question comes out soft, but you know the answer will change everything. You can't go back once you know what she's suggesting. 

"He is so far gone for you." 

Your heart races as the thought grows inside you, and the fear, though still present, starts to feel like a fire igniting within. This may be the moment when everything changes

or not.

How long does it take for a person to fall out of love? 

You think about her words, studying the traditional embroideries of the duvet, white dove with black raven flying around a cherry blossom tree.

For Namjoon? Probably never. But what about you? Could you ever fall out of love with Namjoon when you do not even know when have you fallen to begin with. 

Was it when he caressed your hair after a long shift? Or when he bandaged your palm after you cut yourself on the shards from a wine glass. When he made sure Yoongi—Doctor Min Yoongi—was summoned to look over that stupid little cut like it was a matter of state. Like your pain could somehow reroute the empire. 

You remember the blood wasn't even dripping. It had dried already. But Namjoon didn't care. He held your hand steady, thumb brushing the inside of your wrist while Yoongi grumbled and stitched. 

"I don't need stitches," you'd muttered, embarrassed by the attention. The silk of his eyes on you in front of everyone. Like you mattered.

"Nope, hun, you really don’t." Yoongi replied, his voice half amused.

Namjoon didn't reply. He just looked at Yoongi and said, "If she scars, I'll burn your clinic to the ground."

Yoongi laughed. The others had too. And you thought that, of course, he must be joking. 

That night when he killed for you is when you realised he was not. 

The way he brushed your shoulder like he was pressing courage into your bones.

You wish you could say you fell in love on your own terms. That it was naturally calculated. That your heart hadn't been placed gently into his hands like a bomb he never meant to hold.

But the truth is, you didn't just fall. You were led—inch by inch, word by word, into something soft and sickening and irreversible.

And now, you have to deal with it once you've admitted it.

And now, the truth has grown teeth. It bites when you speak it aloud. You loved him. You still  fucking do. And you might always. So what would it take to make you fall out of love with him?

Blow man’s brain out in fron of you? Check.

Threaten your father’s life? Check.

Subliminally force you into engagement? Check.

Confiscate your money and passport? Check.

Make you an absolute fucking lunatic for not trying to leave him? Check. Check. Check.

Yet….you know there must be something wrong with you when….

Even when he stains your world red.

Even when his version of protection looks too much like possession. 

Even when he forces his love on you.

It all makes you think maybe it was always-

"How do you feel?" 

Namjoon's voice is soft. Careful. Like he already knows the answer and just needs to hear it in your voice. He's ever-polished look is gone. He did not shave. Even his clothes—creased, dark, a size too big—hang like he got dressed in the dark and didn't care who saw. He somehow feels different once you are looking at him now. More akin to…to your Namjoon.

Not like the man they fear in five languages and ten syndicates.

No. He looks tired. Human.

He hasn't been sleeping. Not well. Not peacefully. Not since that night. Suddenly, you want to lie to him. You want to say fine or just little bitsy tired or stop fucking looking at me like that. You’re right here alive, are you not?

You want to answer, but there are no words forming on your lips. So you just extend your arms carefully to not pull out the IV Yoongi came to hook in, and gesture for him to join you in the bed. 

He doesn't move at first. Just stands there, watching you with the kind of stillness that makes your skin prickle—like he's memorizing this moment in case it's the last one he's allowed to have.

But then he does. He crosses the room with none of the grace you're used to—no calculated steps, no spine held like a blade. Just quiet surrender. Exhaustion in motion.

He very carefully lets you settle on his warm chest and lets his hand fall into your matted hair, his fingertips tingling your scalp with so much love. 

You shouldn't be in this position, but you are drugged enough. 

And for a long time, neither of you speak. And then, you hear him sob. A stutter in his breath. You don't move.

You don't try to shush him or say it's okay—because it's not. None of this fucking is and you need to face the reality. Not romanticise pain right now. 

So you just stay there.

Chest to chest.

Heartbeat to heartbeat.

Letting him cry for everything he's done, and everything he couldn't stop or bent to his will. Because he too realises, he is not a God. 

You pull back just enough to look at him. Eyes rimmed red. Jaw clenched like he's ashamed of being seen like this. But you don't look away. How could you? When he finally admits his wrongs.

"I could have lost you."

His hand is still in your hair, holding on like it's the only tether he has left.

Like if he lets go, the whole world will collapse under the weight of what he's done.

"And yet you did not. God has a way and will, and we shall obey thy lord, isn't that what you go by?" You know what works for him. 

You know him.

His hand lingers on your face, his thumb brushing over your skin as if the touch could anchor him to something solid—something real—amidst the turmoil. His breath is uneven, each exhale coming with a weight that presses down on both of you.

"I am a man of God," Namjoon says, his voice low, heavy with the weight of his truth. "I've always been. And I've always believed in a purpose—my purpose. I've used my faith, my convictions to guide me, even when I knew what I was doing wasn't right."

"But I never thought..." he continues, his voice faltering slightly, "I never thought it would almost cost me you." 

You swallow, the air in your lungs tight and heavy. The truth settles in, the realisation that he's not hiding behind his faith anymore, but using it as the thing that has broken him. The same thing that keeps him tethered to the chaos he's created. He wants redemption, but not for the sins he's committed—for you. He wants forgiveness, but not from God, from you.

"Maybe it was never about God. Maybe it was only about what you were willing to do... to keep me."

His expression shifts, dark and aching, and for the first time, you see the full depth of the struggle within him. The fight he's been waging between what he believes is righteous and what his heart is telling him.

"I would do anything," he whispers, voice breaking under the weight of it, "anything to make it right."

"I know." 

Is all you say before you close the small distance and lay your lips gently against his, feeling the tremble in his breath. It's not a kiss of passion, not a kiss born from desire. 

Maybe, just maybe, you can start again. Even if you don't know how yet.

"But even God won't give you a third chance if you fuck this up again, Namjoon-oppa."

A fine mist curled low over the garden, wrapping itself around the lavender stalks and the crooked stone path. The circular large window blessed you with such a view, a scene both peaceful and haunting in its stillness. The fog hung heavy, diffusing the early morning light into soft, muted hues—like a watercolor painting too delicate to touch. You watched it from you seat by the window, your fingertips brushing the cool glass, almost feeling the cold mist that lingered just beyond. 

The garden felt like a world of its own, isolated and serene, but also a cage of sorts—an elegant, insidious cage. The soft rustling of the leaves in the trees seemed to whisper secrets, carrying stories of the clan's dark history. 

You leaned back, careful not to strain your still-healing body, and let your thoughts drift while the infusion dripped slowly into her system. The medication dulled the pain, for most of the time. It would be three times worse if the bullet went in, but even a what Yoongi so lovingly called “scratch that just needed to be stitched” hurts nasty. The room was quiet except for the soft hiss of the IV and the rhythmic ticking of the old clock above the hearth, or Namjoon's rustle of newspaper he was reading, the brown sweater hugging his figure.

He looked domestic in the way that unsettled you—like he had always belonged to this house.

Legs crossed, his glasses slipping low on the bridge of his nose, Namjoon turned the page with a soft flick, his gaze flickering toward you occasionally, though he said nothing. He didn't need to. You'd started to learn his silences where he gave you space to zone out and just be. 

"I want to go outside," you murmured, your voice barely louder than the breath of fog on the glass.

Namjoon glanced up fully this time, folding the paper on his knee.

"It's cold today."

"I'm not made of paper."

A smile ghosted across his face while he sat down his glasses. "No, just bone, flesh and fresh stitches."

"They are not so fresh. Yoongi said, they are healing nicely." 

Namjoon stood slowly, his joints cracking in the silence, that faint creak of old wood beneath his steps making the moment feel almost cinematic. He didn't argue further—just set the paper down beside his seat, the pages rustling like brittle leaves, and moved to unhook your IV just as Yoongi taught him. Not rushed. Not patronizing. Gentle. 

"And he also said you're to be still on your medication, and should not strain yourself with walking too much" he reminded you, winding the tubing carefully, stoping only when he sees your big pleading puppy eyes.

"Ten minutes of fresh air, tops."

"And a walk to the orchard." You added.

"Five minutes to the orchard, five minutes back. That's the deal."

He helped you bundle up, wrapping the cardigan around your shoulders and tugging the blanket you liked. You still hadn't asked who the blanket used to belong to, but the stitching looked old, and the pattern—tiny cranes embroidered with red thread—felt like someone's secret, passed down through generations. 

The moment you stepped outside, the mist kissed your cheeks. It was colder than you expected. Wet and raw and alive. 

"Princess, told me Yoongi's grandma planted these." His hand rested on the small of your back, more for warmth than support, though you leaned into it anyway. Your body still felt foreign—mended, and held together with borrowed strength.

"She did, she was actually the third Buin," he said, guiding you gently over the uneven stone where moss grew thick. That will make Princess the fifth one day. 

The fog swirled past your ankles like it had something to say about that.

"Did she die here? You guys never give history classes" you asked.

"Present and future are more important now, my love."

He glanced at you, then back to the orchard ahead. His expression was unreadable—half-etched with memory, half-cautious, like a man walking a tightrope between truth and what the family still called myth. But he never answered your question.

You frowned slightly, the layers of fog around you suddenly feeling thicker, as though they, too, were listening to the stories Namjoon had left unsaid.

"When are we flying back to New York then?"

Namjoon's hand tightened at your back for a brief moment, his gaze flicking to yours. The question hung in the air between you like the fog—dense, unsettling, a little too close. He seemed to hesitate before answering, his lips pressing together briefly as if weighing the right response. 

"I want us to stay until you can walk on your own without pain, my love."

"But," you pressed softly, your voice quieter as the silence between you grew thicker "that could be anytime, can we do that? What about my dad? The distilleries or Anubis?-"

"He is safe. Guarded, I promise. The business is being taken care of, no worries there too. We won’t go poor anytime soon, love. You need to heal, Peaches. That's my objective. Your body's been through more than it should have, and I won't risk pushing you too soon."  He shifted slightly, taking a deep breath, clearly trying to weigh his words carefully.

"I also need you to understand, there's more at stake than just getting you back on your feet. Please trust me with this." 

You could feel the gravity in his words, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on both of you. The tension between the present and the future was palpable, and it felt like a decision was looming just beyond your reach—one that neither of you was quite ready to make.

"Namjoon..." you began, your voice faltering, a mix of frustration and understanding swirling inside you. "I'm not just some fragile thing you can protect in a bubble. I need to live my life-"

"Our life-" He interjected. 

You paused, the weight of his words sinking in, not knowing how to react, he continued.

"-I know, but I can't risk pushing you back into the chaos just yet."

You could feel the sincerity in his voice, the honesty, even though it didn't entirely dissolve the tension in your chest. You wanted to trust him. You wanted to understand the weight of his decisions, but the pressure of waiting for something to shift, for something to change, was starting to wear on you. 

"Trust me-"

"Trust you, Joon?" It was your turn to interrupt him. Namjoon stilled, his hand on your back faltering for just a moment, the faintest hesitation passing through his eyes.

"I've trusted you before, Namjoon. Look where it got me." 

The words cut through the air with a sharpness that felt foreign, even to you. You didn't want to say it, didn't want to feel the sting of it on your tongue.

His hand fell away from your back, the space between you growing colder, though you didn't turn to face him. You couldn't. Not yet.

"I didn't mean it like that." You whisper. 

"I never wanted you to feel like that. But I need you to understand—I was doing what I thought was best, what I thought would protect you. Us. And I still believe that's what I'm doing." You didn't respond immediately, the ache in your chest growing as you fought the urge to lash out, to break free of the words you knew would hurt him. Instead, you swallowed the frustration and spoke, quieter this time. 

"Of course you are. I'm sorry." Where did this come from? The last time you yielded it was under a lot more pressure, so why give up so easily. Just what is going on inside that head of yours with all that painkillers. 

Maybe it was the weight of everything that had built up between the two of you, and the fog of recovery still clouding your mind. You weren't sure what part of you was speaking anymore—the tired, worn version of yourself that just wanted peace, or the version that knew deep down you couldn't just let things slide this easily.

He sighed heavily. 

"You're right," he admitted and you arched your brows, his voice almost a whisper. "I didn't handle things the way I should have. I didn't listen to you or what you wanted. And I'm sorry for that."

You looked at him then, really looked, searching for any trace of doubt in his eyes. But all you saw was the same devotion that had always been there, buried beneath the layers of protection and fear he had wrapped around you.

Is this the first step to a healthy relationship? Better communication?

Maybe.

"So this is a safe house?" 

You asked whilst he was peeling an orange for you. The scent of citrus mingled with the quiet hum of the old but very nicely renovated hanok, only the pictures on the walls illustrated how this place looked before the new generation inherited it. As Princess graciously snitched, because Namjoon have been more reluctant to answer your curiosity.

There are only few things that remained completely untouched by the new blood - the outside gardens, the open room floating above the koi fish pond, and the master study of the man, the late leader of the clan, to whom they refer to as the Kkangpae.

"You could call it that way." He hummed. 

"Princess didn’t tell me where precisely we are, and you’ve never mentioned this place," you continued, watching him carefully segment the orange.

Namjoon paused, a sliver of orange peel curling in his fingers. "This isn't a place one mentions casually, love," he said, his voice low, almost reverent "it's been the heart of our family for centuries." 

He set the peeled orange on a small plate and handed it to you. You could do it yourself, but he, of course, insisted. You took a segment of the orange, the sweet and sour juice bursting on your tongue. 

"Marriages, blood oaths, shared purpose," he explained, his gaze distant, as if seeing the past unfold. You cleaned your hands in the handkerchief, the soft linen feeling strangely out of place in this ancient place.

"You want me to make a blood oath?" You swallowed, the sweet taste of the orange turning bitter in your mouth.

Namjoon leaned back against the hard glass wall, hands tucked in his pockets, eyes following your every move as you chewed. "You don’t have to make a blood oath," he said, smiling faintly, "unless you want full benefits—retirement plan, immunity from betrayal, family barbecue invites."

You scoffed softly, sucking a bit of juice from your thumb. "You say that like it’s Costco membership."

"It’s harder to cancel, I’ll give you that." You gave him a look, but he only smiled wider, the dimple in his cheek barely visible under the soft shadow of stubble.

"So," you said, tilting your head, "is this where the famous Kkangpae Min used to hold his terrifying blood orgies or whatever you lot did back in the war years?"

Namjoon let out a surprised laugh. "Jesus, blood orgies? Who told you that nonsense?" 

You shrugged, feigning innocence as you took another segment of orange. "You know how Princess talks when she’s had some wine. She mentioned something about Min, a warehouse, and a lot of very committed men."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, chuckling. "That wasn’t an orgy and it was not even here. That was a strategy meeting and interogation. Very different levels of nudity involved."

"So you’re confirming there was some nudity."

"I’m confirming nothing except that the former Kkangpae was dramatic as hell," he said, pouring you a glass of water. "He believed appearances mattered. Ceremonies. Pledging loyalty. Symbols and yada yada. But nothing akin to blood orgies, love." 

"Sounds exhausting. Did he ever just… stab people quietly?"

Namjoon smiled, almost fondly. "Only when he liked them."

You took a sip of water, eyeing him over the rim. "And Hoseok’s supposed to follow that legacy? How did it even come to Jung to inherit the throne of terror?" 

"He’s father was next by vote, not lineage–" 

"If we speak lineage, that would make Yoongi’s father the next Kkangpae, wouldn’t it?" Namjoon paused, the silence stretching just long enough to tell you the truth was heavier than the question. The faucet still dripped in the background, slow and metronomic, as if measuring the weight of names.

He finally answered, voice low. "He didn’t want it."

You blinked. 

"Didn’t want it? You’re telling me that man’s son, the son of the same man history books write about as the annihilator of Yakuza, passed on the literal underground empire like it was a scratchy sweater?"

"He just disappeared."

That made you still.

"He was last seen in ‘84," Namjoon said, folding his arms. "Showed up to a vote—one of those rare ones where every surviving elder crawled out of their hole—and then vanished. Some say he was forced out. No one knows. Even Yoongi doesn’t talk about it."

"He abandoned the clan, the family?" Your voice dropped. Namjoon’s gaze flicked to yours, smiling softly. 

"Depends on who you ask."

You set your glass down. 

"So then Hoseok’s dad was just… next in line by vote?" Namjoon nodded.

"What about your dad?" His expression flickered momentarily and you furrowed your brows, trying to remember when was the last time you saw his dad around.

"My dad is my dad. Grandpa was the right hand man of the late kkangpae Min. My dad did not follow the same trajectory, but he rebuilt the distilleries in the States, and that’s what is ours now, love."

You raised your brows. Ours. His, he meant to say, but sure, let’s play into his pro-socialist thinking.  

"So while the other clans who stayed were bleeding on marble floors and swapping secrets in bathhouses, your family was bootlegging whiskey across the pond?"

His smile widened and you could feel the warmth of his laugh. Ironic, judging by the current discourse. He sat down next to you.

"Anubis gives you different impression, right?" Anubis, his perfect shooting aim, and all the jazz Princess spilled over the years over couple of martinis or the Elixir. You knew your fair share, and this suggested you are not getting to know more anytime soon. At least, not until you have a wedding band on your ring finger and his surname behind your first name. 

"My grandpa always said, the empire only survives if one part remembers the books, while the other writes new chapters in blood."

"And your family chose the books?"

"My family chose what they could endure," he said simply, then shrugged. "Turns out a well-aged brandy and a balance sheet will keep you alive longer than a katana and a vendetta."

"But you’re–"

"I know." 

Namjoon cut you off gently, but firmly, like he was used to the question. Like it wasn’t the first time someone had tried to put him into a box his blood built but his bones refused.

"Yoongi was born into the storm. Hoseok was built for it. Me? I’m trying to read the weather before it hits." His hand brushed the edge of the table, fingers near yours.

"I’ve seen what Hoseok inherited," Namjoon continued, voice lower. "And I’ve seen what Yoongi turned away from. I don’t want a crown, Peaches. I want to make sure this doesn’t eat us alive before the next century."

"So you’re playing the middle ground?" you asked.

"Kinda, the one that thinks before," he said simply. 

"Not when it comes to me, you don’t." 

A warm chuckle comes from his lips, his dimples shining bright and for a second, you want to poke your index finger into one of them. To feel that warmth, even if it’d be temporary fix. Because now, he is in your thoughts again.

"You answered my questions." You spoke softly. Namjoon’s eyes softened, the usual sharpness melting into something quieter—almost like relief.

"I did." he retorted, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. You nodded, leaning back against the counter, feeling the weight of unspoken things settle between you. The safe house seemed to hold its breath, as if listening to the truth finally laid bare.

"I guess that means you’re trusting me," you said softly, recalling the words you’ve blurted out without thinking. You should trust him. Something in your mind nudges you to do so.

He glanced at your hand near his on the table, the space between them shrinking.

"With my heart, at least."

The orange peel curled forgotten on the plate as the room settled into a quiet promise — two halves of a legacy, beginning to write their own chapter.

"Namjoon-oppa?"

God knows you should've stayed in bed and waited for morning to chew through your nerves. But when Namjoon did not come to bed even whent he clock has striked midnight, a strange force pulled you out of the warm sheets, the haunting silence of the beautiful hanok in daylight, terrifies you at nightfall. Only when you’re alone. Which is not as often, because so far, Namjoon was very organised in your schedule and its activities, from dusk till dawn. 

So you used the wall as a walking support, just in case you’d get tired. The wounded side of your abdomen still hurts one you actually start using your muscles and it still does tire you, but you are here, walking towards the study. Alone. 

Lounged behind that monolithic walnut desk, one arm draped across the leather chair, the other lifting a glass of something amber and expensive to lips that told you you're safe here. So why are you not sleeping soundly without him? Why’d you suddenly need him with you?

Jung Hoseok was seated near the fireplace in what looked like a very antique arm chair. The fire at his side cast gold across his jawline and flickered behind his unreadable eyes. The painting above the fireplace caught your attention. Oil on canvas. Cracked with age. No plaque. No signature. But the image was impossible to forget. 

His face, marked by the harsh passage of time, is framed by long, dark hair that cascades like a silken curtain, slightly untamed. The hair, sleek and glossy, flows down to his shoulders, giving him an almost ethereal presence. 

But it's the scar that commands the most attention. Running diagonally across his cheek, the scar is jagged, the kind that tells a story of violence, survival, and regret. Unthinking the scar, Yoongi's resemblance to his grandfather is uncanny.

Namjoon's gaze, no longer directed at the painting, now rests on you, heavy with curiosity but edged with something you can't quite place. 

"Peaches, baby?"

The fire crackles, adding warmth to the otherwise tense room, but it does little to ease the unease curling in your chest.

You turn slightly, finding Namjoon's eyes—dark, steady, unreadable—and you realize you've been standing there, lost in thought, for far too long. Your fingers twitch, betraying the uncertainty running through you, but you swallow it down. Hoseok shifts in his chair, and the sound of the leather wakes you up from your thoughts, there are flames dancing in his eyes, but neither of them speaks until you do.

"Please come to bed." 

The words leave your lips before you can stop them, a plea that hangs heavy in the air between you and Namjoon. Namjoon's gaze softens for a moment, but there's something guarded in the way he watches you, like he's sizing you up, measuring something unsaid. His lips, once set in a calm smile, are now pressed into a line, betraying a tension that you hadn't noticed before.

He doesn't immediately respond. Instead, he sets the glass down, the clink of crystal cutting through the silence, and slowly stands from the chair. The firelight flickers against his features.

"I thought you’d be asleep by now," he says, his voice low, almost too calm, like the storm inside him is just beneath the surface. He glances over at his brother, who remains in his chair, silent, the firelight still dancing in his eyes. Hoseok hasn't moved, but his gaze is sharp, watching the exchange with a quiet intensity that feels like it's been a long time in the making. Was there some prior conversation you were not supposed to hear?

"I couldn't," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, I need you."

The words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable, more of a surrender than a request. Your heart races in your chest, thudding in your ears, and you can feel the pull of the past, of everything unsaid, lingering in the room.

Namjoon's eyes search yours, deep, searching, and for a long moment, it feels like time itself has slowed. The fire crackles again, the only sound in the room. Finally, he takes a step toward you, his voice low and steady. 

"Alright, let’s go, baby." 

The bedroom feels impossibly still, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet. The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts long shadows across the room, the warm light making the space feel more intimate, yet heavy with an unspoken tension.

Namjoon moves fluidly, his tall frame casting a shadow against the wall as he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. Each movement is deliberate, methodical, as though he's trying to quiet the storm inside him by focusing on something simple, something mundane. His hands are steady, confident, as he peels the shirt off, revealing the lean, toned muscles of his back, the faint traces of old scars that tell stories of a past he's never fully shared.

You can't help but watch, your gaze following the way his body moves, the fluidity of his movements almost hypnotic. But the silence in the room feels suffocating, and though he doesn't speak, you feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on you.

Your mind is a thousand miles away, though, not focused on the man standing before you but on something—or someone—else entirely.

"Namjoon-oppa…" Your voice breaks the silence, soft at first, hesitant. You try to swallow the tightness in your throat, but it doesn't quite go away. "I've been thinking about what happened at Anubis."

Namjoon freezes for just a moment, his fingers pausing on the waistband of his pants. His eyes meet yours in the dim light.

"I don't know why... I just... I can't stop wondering if I could've done something differently. If things would have turned out differently if I hadn't—" 

"Peaches." Namjoon cuts you off, his voice low, firm. He doesn't raise it, but the weight of the word still lands heavily in the room. He walks closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, but still threaded with that same heaviness.  His eyes flicker down to your lips, and then back up to your eyes, as if weighing the weight of what he wants to say. 

"No, I just wish you did not—"

"But I did, and I did it to protect you-" his voice dropping even lower, the weight of his emotions seeping through every syllable. 

"But he did no harm apart from a bruise and shady words that hurt my—" 

"He wanted to hurt you—to fucking own you. Sell your body, and whore you around. He was looking at you like a fucking prize, planning to drag you into his brothel—"

"I couldn't let that happen. Not while you were—" he stammered, sorting his thoughts. 

"--you are mine, Y/N," he stares at you as if expecting a reaction. He does not use your birth name very often. Nobody does, as if you were always just Peaches, or Namjoon’s Peaches. When you don't speak up, lost in your thoughts, his hand warm against your cheek, forcing you to look him in the eye.

He doesn't give you time to react, doesn't give you the space to let the words settle, but his eyes never leave yours. 

"Aren't you at least a little bit thankful that I protected you, that I would give you everything?" His voice is low, almost too soft, the weight of his question hanging in the air like a challenge. 

You open your mouth to say something, to argue, to question—but the truth, as much as it stings, sits there in your throat like a weight you can't shift. His gaze flickers, waiting. The silence between you is suffocating, but it's more than just quiet now—it's a turning point, a moment where everything changes.

"Not everything." 

Namjoon's expression hardens immediately, his gaze flickering with a mix of frustration and something darker beneath the surface. His hand lingers against your cheek for a moment longer, his thumb brushing across your skin almost absently. It's as though your words cut deeper than he was ready for, the shift in your tone setting off something in him he hadn't expected.

He steps back slightly, his gaze never leaving yours as his fingers curl into a fist at his side. The space between you feels charged now, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid, everything still hanging in the air between you two.

"You still don't get it, do you?" His voice is softer now, but it still carries an undercurrent of tension, of something he's holding back. "I did what I did because I need you. Because I want you. Because I—"

He pauses, a flicker of vulnerability flashing across his features before he quickly shuts it down.

"I don't wanna argue. I just wanted you to know it still bothers me, especially when Princess talks about Anubis."

"Then don’t listen or think about it. Think of me. Think of us, Peaches."

You try to steady your thoughts, but they keep slipping through your fingers, tangled in the complexity of what's been revealed. Namjoon's words—his need, his want, his silent admission of vulnerability—have a strange effect on you. 

"Guess you're right," you say, your voice steadying, "I don't get it. I don't know how you want me to feel, what you want me to say."

Namjoon's brow furrows slightly, but he doesn't interrupt. He listens, his focus unwavering, as if every word you say is a puzzle piece he's waiting to fit into a larger picture he's been trying to understand.

"Thank you for saving me by blasting his brain out so I could see in my mind for weeks to follow?" you continue, your voice softening with a mix of uncertainty and frustration. "It took a fucking bullet to make me stop envision it."

The tension lingers in the space between you, fragile and raw. You want him to keep talking, to fucking apologise, but part of you already knows that the truth isn't something he can so easily give you, at least not in the way you want it.

Namjoon swallows, his jaw tightening. He takes a small step back, but his eyes don't leave yours.

"I didn't want that for you, Peaches," he mutters, almost to himself, but you hear it, sharp and clear. "I just wanted to keep you. Keep you close. With me." His words drop like stones, heavy and final. "That's the truth."

And you wonder if that's enough—for both of you.

"Well I’m here. What now?"

"You're safe. You're recovering. That's the immediate now. What will be is what we decide when you’re better."

You are here. You are with him. And the path forward, whatever it may be, is a terrifying and undeniable fucking blank canvas.

Bread, Butter, and Bullet Wounds is the next day’s notorious topic over the breakfast table you can finally sit at without wincing loudly. You had very lovely past weeks where days were spent recovering in quiet solitude with occasional bickering about you wanting to do more than just breathe.

The smell of buttered toast mingled with the citrusy bite of mandarin peels. Besides that, the sanctuary always smells like something warm. Woodsmoke. Cardamom. Something human and handmade, despite the place's apparent dark history.

Sunlight filtered through the wide kitchen windows, touching the wooden beams like a blessing. Someone had opened the side door to let the cool mountain breeze drift in.

Princess sat cross-legged at the head of the table, holding a tea mug that read World's Okayest Matriarch. You bet that is a sort of inside joke, the mug must have been gifted to her for pure comedic reasons.

She wore one of Hoseok's sweaters—oversized, hiding her swollen belly, sun-faded, and frayed at the cuffs. He was behind her, humming gently while flipping scrambled eggs with a flick of his wrist. His domesticity was something sacred here, like prayer. Even the skillet seemed to obey him without a hiss of protest.

There is no staff, which is opposed to the history of its place. It only became a practice after the Second World War and not a day sooner. At least that is what Namjoon told you when you wouldn’t stop asking about this place.

You sat beside him, who was attempting to spread cream cheese onto a bagel for you, with all the gentleness of a bear dressing a doll. You don't say anything. You just let the clink of ceramic and the scrape of cutlery fill the spaces between your thoughts.

You could feel his nervous energy radiate like static at times. He was trying. Hard. His fingers twitched near your elbow now and then, like he wanted to touch you but kept thinking better of it. Better to give you space for a while was his new strategy. At last, he realised it. 

"I knew you'd be one of us," Princess says, sipping from her mug without looking at you, "or a goddamn witch."

You blink. "Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying," she continues, casually. "You're not crying, screaming, plotting an escape, hating us all for letting that happen to you. That's kind of rare in our family, Peaches."

"Unlike you, right, babe," Hoseok hums from the stove and gives you what looks like thankful glance. He flips scrambled eggs with a practiced flick and slides toast onto a plate like he's feeding a family, not fugitives. But you are a family, are you not, Peaches?

Princess shrugs, as if that was just a minor pubertal phase for her, but you can feel her eyes settle on you like sunlight through stained glass. 

"I mean, Jimin lost it the first time he got shot. Trashed half the Milwaukee safe house. Taehyung wrote poetry on the walls in his own blood."

"It was beet juice, just a prank, love," Hoseok calls out.

"Still fucking dramatic, showass."

Namjoon chuckles, low and nervous about what is your reaction going to be, then glances your way. 

"What she’s trying to say is you're doing better than any of us did."

And you are. Aren't you? Why exactly are you doing better is just another mystery you will have to add to the list. 

"I’d rather feel everything at once than nothing at all," you admit, murmuring merely to yourself. But these walls have ears, and Namjoon, most of all, listens like it's a language he was born fluent in. He stiffens beside you at the softness in your voice.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His fingers pause mid-air above his mug. You stare at the swirls in your tea for a moment too long. There's a scratch in the ceramic, shaped like a crescent moon. You wonder who dropped it and how come it fell from someone’s hands. You wonder how many people have sat at this table, waiting for grief to arrive like bad weather.

"I don't even know what is wrong with me," you whisper. 

Namjoon hums, nodding like he understands. "Sometimes it doesn't come all at once. Sometimes it drips in, like a leaky faucet. Days, weeks later." He needs to stop reading his books so much when you nap in the afternoons, and so do you, when he works.

Princess leans back, crossing her legs under the table. "Or months. Or when someone accidentally plays the wrong song and suddenly you're on the floor."

"Or peeling an orange," Hoseok adds helpfully.

"That was you, baby," Princess reminds him. "You cried over an orange."

"It was a very emotional orange, and I was very young when that happened" he mutters in his defence. 

You smile despite yourself. It catches you off guard. A tiny thing, crooked and dry. But it's real.

Namjoon shifts a little closer, just enough for his shoulder to brush yours. He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't need to.

Because somehow, in this strange, blood-soaked sanctuary, silence means safety. Banter means healing. Breakfast means you lived.

And maybe surviving doesn't always look like sobbing in the dark.

Maybe it looks like still being able to taste your tea.Maybe it looks like letting someone sit beside you long enough to see the cracks.

You sat across from Yoongi, who was carefully examining the remaining of your stitches that were, per his words, healing rather nicely and quickly over the weeks. His eyes were intent, focused on the healing wound as his fingers gently traced the edges of the thin, ready to be a clean scar. 

"How's it feeling?" Yoongi asked, his voice steady, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes.

"That? Surprisingly fine." You reply, your voice soft but tinged with frustration. Yoongi picks up on that and offers a follow up question, searching for what is wrong. 

"So what is not fine?" Yoongi's brows furrowed slightly, his tone calm but knowing, the quiet authority of someone who had seen too much pain to ignore the things that didn't add up. 

The stitches were healing quickly, as Yoongi had mentioned. The wound wasn't infected. In fact, it felt like things were moving toward a more familiar routine, as if you were slipping back into something you could handle. But the discomfort nagged at you—silent but persistent. The dull ache in the corner of your left eye, the strange heaviness that still clung to your body. You could feel something beneath the surface, like a fracture in the carefully constructed narrative that you had been telling yourself.

"My left eye..." You trailed off, unsure how to explain the sensation that was now a constant companion, that dull, nagging ache that seemed to come and go, always lurking at the edges of your vision. It wasn't a sharp pain, more like a distant pressure, but it was enough to unsettle you.

"Has it been bothering you often?" Yoongi's voice was steady, but you could see the sharpness in his eyes as he continued to observe you. He was processing the information quickly, piecing it together with his usual careful precision.

"From now and than. Comes and goes." You answered, though you didn't feel entirely certain about that. The ache had felt faint at first, but now it was more pronounced. Yet, it still seemed trivial, as if it didn't quite matter enough to dwell on.

His eyes flickered to yours, analyzing the faintest trace of concern in your gaze. 

"It could just be from when you fell down," he said thoughtfully. "The healing process can sometimes cause strange sensations—nerve endings reconnecting, blood flow shifting. You might even be a little sensitive. We’ll check it at my clinic if it won’t stop bothering you, once you all come home,"

But the ache in your eye still felt... wrong. You sigh loudly. Yoongi sensing the undertone, continues to the talk. 

"You've been through a lot, Peaches. Healing isn't linear. And sometimes, it's not the body that takes the longest to heal, but the mind. It may just be psychosomatic." 

"But I’m fine in that part." You furrow your brows and concentrate on buttoning up your black sweater again.

You weren't sure if it was the painkillers still lingering in your system or the general exhaustion from everything you'd been through, but something about the way Yoongi said those words gave you an uncomfortable sense of disconnect, as though you weren't truly present in your own body. As if this is not entirely… you.

"You sure? What about recurring nightmares? The one you told me about back in NYC?"

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you couldn't quite process what he was asking. Your eyes flickered toward him, searching his face for any sign of what he was truly getting at, but his expression remained calm—his gaze steady and unyielding.

"That one did not return since we got here and, uhm.., closed the matter," you echoed softly, biting your bottom lip nervously, eyes glancing at Namjoon. The one with Jinyoung. The one where he is gripping your hand until Namjoon makes his brain go silent with one bullet. 

The conversation was stubbornly never revisited, and the silence between you both stretched on for a week—heavy, suffocating, yet somehow familiar. Neither of you dared to break it, until one day, to your complete surprise, he did.

Kim fucking Namjoon, the one who never backed down, the one who never seemed to care about apologies, spoke the words you never thought you'd hear from him. He apologised.

His voice was quieter than usual, laced with something you couldn't quite place, but there was no denying the sincerity that lingered in his words. He admitted what he had done, how it had weighed on you, how it had affected everything between you.

And for a fleeting moment, the world stopped. Kim Namjoon—your Namjoon—had apologised.

"Look at you guys, learning how to finally communicate." Yoongi provokes. More Namjoon than you and he is met with the longest roll of eyes from him.

You thought back to the nights since you woke up, the heavy weight of sleep that had greeted you each time. There was a quiet stillness to those nights. No vivid dreams, no terrifying scenarios playing out in your mind because when they do you talk and you solve what troubles your mind. Yes, you can certainly communicate now. 

"Otherwise, I haven't had any nightmares, actually. Nor dreams to be honest."

Yoongi's expression didn't change, but you could see the subtle flicker of interest in his eyes, a momentary tension pulling at the corner of his mouth. It was as though he was waiting for you to continue, to say something more. He glanced at Namjoon, leaning against the window's parapet with crossed arms, silently observing. 

"No flashes of memory, unsettling thoughts?"

"From that particular day? Not really." You shook your head, the words catching in your throat as you considered what he was asking. Which is obviously strange.

"Is there something wrong with me?" you asked, the words coming out more chaotically than you intended. Your mind was spinning with thoughts, doubts creeping in.

"Of course not, Peach. It's the usual textbook result of trauma, but it does not have to come to it at all. For some people, it takes time before those memories hit them, if something even triggers them.” Yoongi gave you a small, reassuring smile.He paused, the weight of the unspoken meaning heavy between you. 

"I mean, it did not happen long time ago-"

"Or maybe you are a stronger than that, Peaches." He interrupts you. You knew Yoongi's usual demeanour, calm and careful, yet there was a depth to him now that seemed to dig just a little deeper with every exchange.

You chuckled dryly, trying to push away the odd sense of unease settling in your chest. 

"Maybe," you said, your voice lighter than you felt. "Or maybe I'm just too tired for that too."

Namjoon straightened up from the window, his gaze sharp as it flickered between you and Yoongi.

"That's one way to put it," he said, his voice low, though there was a quiet edge of something unspoken in his words. You looked at him for a moment, noting the familiar intensity in his eyes, a look that seemed to say he knew more than he was letting on. But you didn't push it. Not now. Not when there was something else you wanted from him.

"Either way," Yoongi interjected, his tone shifting back to its usual neutral register, "the fact that you haven't had nightmares yet could be a very good sign. It could be a blessing in disguise."

"Well,-" you clasp your hands together "does that plead my case to Mister Kim so he can stop cooping me inside? Maybe even go back home? Dad is already suspicious about our kind of long sudden vacation." Of course he made you lie to him. But this time, you were not sure yourself whether you wanted your father to know what exactly made your voice numb in the phone.

Yoongi's gaze shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of concern and caution. "You're healing," he said carefully, again, "it might feel like you're ready, but your body needs a bit more time to adjust. Away from what a hellhole is New York now."

You let out a soft sigh, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. It wasn't that you didn't understand the need for recovery, but the sense of being confined was starting to eat at you. The walls, the silence, the constant stillness—it was too much. You needed to break free, even if just for a little while.

"I get that," you replied, your voice quieter now, "but it feels like I've been stuck in here forever. Can’t really say I will run a marathon tomorrow but I can walk just fine-" You glanced toward the window, the view outside offering only a glimpse of the world beyond your four walls. 

"I just need a change of pace."

Namjoon shifted, his posture remaining rigid, yet you could see the slight tension in his jaw. "And what exactly do you have in mind?" His tone was even, though there was a hint of skepticism there—an edge of caution that you were beginning to recognize.

Before you can cramble any suggestion that would get you out of this beautiful historical hanok and its garden to different parts of the valley, Yoongi speaks. 

"Maybe you could help the healing with the hot spring that is in the valley." 

"There is a hot spring?" You question. Not so surprised but it seems Namjoon is, mainly because Yoongi even suggested such. 

Yoongi's lips twitched at the edge of a small smile, almost like he knew the reaction it would elicit. "Yes, there's a natural thermal spring not far from here," he said, his tone casual, though there was an undertone of something more—something you couldn't quite place. "My grandmama used to believe in the healing properties of nature. The warm water might soothe your muscles and calm any tension you're feeling. Nature has a way of helping more than just the body." 

You light up at the thought of soaking your limbs in the hot water. But Yoongi here, just gave you an excellent idea that he, as a doctor, would never approve of. 

"Jesus Christ, Yoongi, why-" Namjoon's voice had a quiet edge to it, as if the idea of you stepping outside—of venturing anywhere—was a risk he wasn't ready to entertain. 

"You'll thank me later, brother."

Tall, slender bamboo swayed at the edges, their hollow trunks knocking together gently with each passing breeze. Beyond them, ancient pines and gnarled persimmon trees reached toward the sky, their dark silhouettes cutting into the mist-heavy air. 

The water was crystal-clear, tinted slightly blue-green, fed by a hot stream seeping from the volcanic heart of the mountains beyond. Steam rose steadily, curling through the branches overhead and carrying the crisp, earthy scent of pine needles, wild mugwort, and damp earth. 

"Hyung said, you should not be there for too long though-" Namjoon sat down at the nearby bench that leaned against the oldest hanok in the village. The adidas hoodie that covered the Greek god's body he acquired over the years spent in the gym, looked rather ambivalent within such a historical setting.

"I'm surprised you are not carrying me inside yourself," You walk towards the steaming pond, trying to do it as fast as you can, but who are we to lie to right? The injury slows you down, otherwise, you'd already be inside, warming your limbs. The heat radiating from the pond makes the whole place very warm in colder weather.

"Well don't make me pull you out of there, Peaches." 

You grinned to yourself, stepping closer to the water. Oh, you will want me there Mister Kim. Everything according to the plan.

The heat kissed your toes first, then your calves. Or you are determined to show him just how much he wants to pull you out and do those unholy things he whispered in your ear in the church's restroom.

You breathe out, taking up the courage to do this. This time, its your turn to seduce him. Get him a taste of you before you take it away from him to demand even more. You will be in control of your life, not him. 

You undo your robe that hugged your figure and let it pool on the stones behind you. 

Namjoon shifted on the bench. You heard it — the soft creak of old wood, the rustle of fabric — but you didn't look at him. Not yet. You even swear you heard him gulp down and let out husk breath. You dipped lower, the water claiming your utterly naked body inch by inch. The only thing that adored you was the waterproof square bandage Yoongi gave you before you went here. Just in case.

"Peaches-" he calls in a low voice, like it was costing him to hold back. 

You didn't answer.

Instead, you sank deeper into the spring, the water lapping just at the swell of your chest, steam curling around you like silk. Your hair clung damply to your shoulders, your skin flushed from the heat, from the boldness flooding your veins. 

That is when you slowly turn to face him, your naked breasts splayed out right above the surface for him to salivate over.

The mist blurred everything but you knew — you knew — he was watching the way the droplets slid down your bare skin, the way the water kissed and caressed what he wasn't allowed to touch. Not until you asked him to.

The urge to shiver under that gaze, to call him to you, was almost unbearable.

Almost.

You slowly step deeper to submerge your breasts under water, your eyes never leaving his when he halts your steps.

"Stay right there," Namjoon growled — the edge of command in his voice, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. His hands flexed at his knees, the hoodie now nothing more than a poor excuse for armour he was quickly losing. He wanted to take a mental picture. To keep you in his mind like this.

The heat had your cheeks pink, your eyes bright — or maybe it was the thrill of it, the way your heart hammered against your ribs in defiance.

"You coming?" you whispered, just loud enough for the low breeze to catch it and carry it to him.

Namjoon stood so fast that the bench groaned in protest.

He didn't answer.

He didn't have to. The look in his eyes said it all — you had just started a game you might not win. Or this is precisely the step you need to take to win later.

Then, slowly — so damn slowly — he reached for the zipper of his hoodie.

The metallic slide of it lowering was deafening in the hush of the night.

You tipped your chin up, pretending to look unimpressed, even as your pulse skittered under your skin. Your fingers traced idle patterns across the water's surface, pretending you weren't holding your breath with every inch of skin he revealed.

He peeled the hoodie off and tossed it to the bench behind him. The black t-shirt underneath clung to him like a second skin, muscles shifting under the fabric as he moved — languid, unhurried. His hands slipped down next, teasing the waistband of his sweatpants, just enough to make you ache with anticipation.

But then—

He stopped.

Stood there. Watching you.

Waiting. For you to invite him. 

"Go on." The words left your lips soft, almost careless — but you both knew it cost you. A thread you held between your fingers, tugging just enough to bring him closer without giving away the whole game. 

It would be a fucking sin not to climb this man when you have the chance, to take control of him and your said life together all at once.

Namjoon's mouth twitched at the corner — not a smile, not really. Something sharper.

He liked being told suddenly.

Yet, he loved being dared more.

With a slow roll of his shoulders, he slipped the T´t-shirt over his head, dragging it off in a way that felt obscene in its patience. The mist clung to his bare skin immediately, making him look like something carved out of the mountains themselves

Namjoon stepped forward, toeing off his sweatpants without ceremony, leaving him in the dark stretch of klein boxer briefs that did little — nothing — to hide the fact that you had his full attention. 

"You are still healing." 

The words came from him like a warning, a reminder, but they were layered with something more — something that made your pulse spike. His gaze, dark and heavy, flicked to the bandage still wrapped carefully around your side, then back to your eyes.

It was like he was giving you an out, a way to back down.

Your fingers, damp from the water's surface, traced the edge of your collarbone, then slid deliberately lower, dipping beneath the water just far enough for him to see, but not enough to touch. You let the silence stretch between you, filled only by the distant crackle of leaves and the steam curling up into the air.

"Then you should be extra gentle this time." 

You knew the weight of your words — knew the invitation was laced with something deeper, something that could make him snap. But you didn't care. The way the tension stretched between you, thick like the fog around the spring, was intoxicating.

Namjoon's eyes darkened further, a flicker of something dangerous and hungry flashing across his face, but he didn't move. Not yet. He stood there, the distance between you shrinking with every second, and it was as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you — the water, the mist, the beat of your hearts, all hanging in the balance.

"Gentle?" His voice was a low rasp, like he was holding himself back with everything he had. "Is that what my baby wants?"

You didn't answer immediately. Instead, you let the question hang there, like a challenge. He didn't get to decide yet. You did. Looking at him like this, you wish he could absolutely wreck you.

"Can your ego take me being in control?" you ask, your voice a soft purr. You can see the way your words affect him, the way his body tenses, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. 

You pulled your legs just a little higher in the water, shifting your weight, letting him see the curves of your body more clearly. Your eyes never left his, and the way he watched you — the way his breath hitched in his throat — made the air between you feel like it was on fire.

Then, as though on instinct, Namjoon took a step forward. His hand shot out, almost jerking with urgency, but he stopped just short of touching you. The tension coiled tighter, thick enough to snap. His fingers were tracing the edge of your collarbone.

"I fantasise about it every night."  

Namjoon's voice, rough and low, felt like a confession — a brutal truth wrapped in desire.

A provocation, laid bare between you two in the stillness of the spring. His fingers brushed the edge of your collarbone again, just barely skimming your skin, and you couldn't hold back the shiver that ran through you.

You wanted him — wanted him to take you, to do everything he'd fantasised about. But you cannot. Not like that anyway. Though no one said you won't try. Your palm slipped down under the water to find his manhood when he was being hesitant to show him you want this. You hook your finger to slowly pull down his boxers and take wrap your fingers around the shaft of his thick length as is if you've done this million times before, forgetting this might be your first time together. If you don’t count your little church’s restroom rendezvous. 

You stroke him once, twice, and listen to his fastening heartbeat and ragged breathing. You mouth closes around one of his nipples and with your eyes looking up at his clenched jaw your teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, you bite down a little, pulling your head back.

Namjoon's body tenses, his hands fisting at his sides as if he's holding himself back with everything he has. You can see the struggle within him, the battle between his desire to take control and his need to please you. And you smile, knowing that you've won this round. 

"This is when I should ask you how you want me." You're giving him a choice, a chance to express his desires, to tell you exactly what he wants.

Before you tell him what you want.

Namjoon's eyes darken, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps while you stroke his cock. 

"Tell me," you whisper, your voice a low, seductive invitation. "Tell me what you want, oppa," you play with the word in your mouth. You have him exactly where you want him. Submissive. Fucking obedient.  

He swallows hard, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His eyes search yours, as if looking for an answer, for permission. And when he finally speaks, his voice is a low, hoarse rasp, barely more than a whisper.

"I want you to ride me, love" he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours. "I want to feel you on top of me. I want to watch you take your pleasure from me."

His words send a jolt of desire straight to your core, the image of you straddling him, taking him deep inside you, overwhelming your senses. You can feel the heat between your legs, the wetness that's building with each passing second.

"Hmm," you hum, pushing him to the shallower parts of the pond to lean against the rocks whilst you come to carefully straddle him, your knees on either side of his hips, your body poised above his. Thanking the painkillers and the warm water soothing your moves. You might feel it later, but now, now you don’t care whether it will hurt after. It is worth the pain. 

You can feel the heat of him, the hard length of his cock pressing against your inner thigh. You lean in, your lips brushing against his, a soft, teasing kiss. He groans, his hands coming up to grip your hips, but you pull back, a wicked smile on your lips.

You smile, a slow, seductive curve of your lips. "You think you've been good enough for me to ride you?" Your eyes lock onto his, the challenge clear. You want to hear him beg, to see him struggle with the desire to take control but ultimately submit to your will. 

He groans, his head falling back, his body tense with need. 

You reach down again, your hand wrapping around his cock again, stroking him slowly, deliberately. He groans, his hips jerking upwards, seeking more friction, more pressure. But you deny him, your touch light and teasing, driving him wild with need.

You position yourself above him, your knees on either side of his hips, your body poised to take him. But instead of lowering yourself onto him, you reach down, your fingers finding your own wetness, spreading it over your pussy lips, coating his cock in your desire. You stroke him, your hand moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm, your eyes locked on his, watching his reaction.

You can see the struggle within him, the battle between his desire to take control and his need to let you have your way. You sit down while his length fills the space in between your swollen lips and tease him with grinding yourself on him. He groans, his head falling back and his hands fall to hug your hips and guide your movements to coat his cock with your wetness. You feel his tip trying to slip in, while you hump him. The friction driving you both wild with need. You can feel the heat of him, the hardness of his cock, the wetness of cunt, making the movement smooth and delicious.

"What a pretty sight you are, Mister Kim."

The atmosphere is electric, the tension between you and Namjoon palpable as you tease and provoke him, pushing him to the brink of his control.

You increase the pace of your grinding, your body moving faster, the friction more intense. He lays his big warm hands on your hips to help you move so you won’t strain yourself more than you should. But the both of you know, you will definitely get more than one painkiller this night. The water around you splashes gently, the sounds of your moans and cries mingling with the distant crackle of leaves and the soft lapping of water against the rocks. The pleasure builds, a coil of heat in your belly, threatening to explode, to consume you both in a shower of ecstasy and release.

You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear, your breath hot on his skin. "Do you like this, Mister Kim?" you whisper, your voice a low, seductive invitation.

"Fuck, baby." He moans, and squeezes your hips a bit harder. Not enough to make them bruise. He'll do that once you are completely healed. 

"That's not a proper answer, Mister Kim. Is this how you treat your fiancée?" He groans at your words, his body tensing, his hips jerking upwards, meeting your movements, matching your rhythm, your passion. 

"Sincere apologies Misses Kim" he grits out, his voice hoarse with desire. "God, yes, I fucking love it. Don't stop. Let me in-" 

And you don't. You can't. Even though the pleasure is too intense, the need too great. You continue to grind against him. But you're not ready to give him what he wants just yet. You want to tease him, to push him to the brink of madness before you finally give in and take him. You slow down your movements.

"Future Misses Kim would love to discuss what happens when we return to New York, Mister Kim." His hips jerking upwards in response, seeking more friction, more pressure.

"Fuck, now? You want to have this conversation now, baby?" 

You could see his muscles tense, his body a momentary statue of restraint, as though trying to keep himself in check. But you both knew that this game you were playing was reaching its breaking point.

"If you want me to sink on your thick cock in the next few minutes and ride you, yes, we will have that conversation now." Namjoon raised an eyebrow, but let you still grind against him painfully slow. 

"Is that so?" His voice was low, carrying an edge of both amusement and something darker. "And what is there to discuss, Misses Kim?" 

You tilted your head, the spark of mischief lighting your eyes. "Well, for starters, I'd like to have something to do, like an actual occupation,-"

"Absolutely not." He interjects and you still your movements upon which he hisses, signalling his disapproval. Guess you have to break him more. 

"Oh?" you lift yourself a little, just enough to guide the tip of his cock inside your warm pulsating cunt. He closes his eyes tightly, awaiting the heat of you when you pull him out and let his cock slap his stomach again. 

"Hmm, then I guess, we won't play Mister Kim." You teased, your voice dropping to a more hushed, almost dangerous whisper. He growls. Namjoon's jaw tightens, the muscles flexing beneath his skin.

"Why? You don't need to work-"

"Oh I know I don't-" 

"So?" he said, his voice gravelly with the simmering tension between you two "it's not safe for you now, and definitely not in Anubis, you’re to be my wife not a-" 

His fingers twitched at his sides, clearly battling the urge to touch you, to pull you closer. But he was waiting. Watching. Waiting for you to make the next move, like a predator assessing its prey when you slapped his hands away. 

"Then make sure its safe, Mister Kim, or I will never sink down to my knees and wrap my plump limps around your thick cock again, or guide you to my cunt so you can fill me over and over again until I beg you to fuck me harder" you trace your hand up his muscular body and envelope his throat, pressing with just the right pressure. You feel him gulp down, listening to your words. 

"Nor I will let you coat every one of your favourite spots on my body with your cum," you whisper, your voice a low, sultry promise.

You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear, your breath hot on his skin. "Do you understand, Mister Kim?" you whisper, your voice a low, dangerous purr. "Do you understand what I want? What do I need?"

"Fuck me, baby, please, fuck me." 

"Say yes to working first."

He hesitates for a second, pressing his lips tightly together, thinking fast. But the way you feel just spreading your juices around his manhood, teasing every inch, makes him ache for you. Ache for this to finally happen and finish what you started back in the church’s restroom.

"Fuck, okay, we'll think of something." You can see how his muscles coil and his fists clench at his sides as he fights to hold back, to let you set the pace, to give you the control you crave.

You position yourself above him with a smile, your body poised to take him. And this time, you don't tease. This time, you take what you want, what you need. You lower yourself onto him, your body impaling itself on his cock, taking him deep inside you in one swift, delicious movement.

"Fucking hell-" he moans loudly, throwing his head back, savouring every moment. And you smile and smile and smile and smile. A satisfied, triumphant smile on your face, as you begin to move, your hips rolling, your body taking him deep and hard, riding him with a passion and intensity that leaves you both breathless and desperate for more. 

The pleasure builds, a coil of heat in your belly, threatening to explode, to consume you both in a shower of ecstasy and release. But you're not ready to give in just yet.

"Isn't it nice when we find mutual ground, Mister Kim?" 

You ask, your voice a low, seductive whisper. Your eyes lock onto his, the challenge and invitation clear. You want him to acknowledge the power dynamic between you, to see the mutual desire and need that's consuming you both.

He groans, his body tensing, his hips jerking upwards, meeting your movements, matching your rhythm, your passion. "Yes," he admits, his voice gravelly with desire. "It's fucking incredible."

"What did you say back then?-" You apply a bit more of pressure to his throat, and you're certain he only ever sees you.

"That I'm something you can sin for?" He grunts, hearing those words coming from your lips, and jerks his hips up again and again and again.

You smile, satisfied with his response. You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear, your breath hot on his skin. "See how good we are together when you leave the bible back in the church." 

You lean in, your lips brushing against his, your tongue invading his mouth, your teeth nipping at his lip. He groans, his body tensing, his hips jerking upwards, meeting your thrusts, matching your rhythm, your passion. Still carefully to not be too rough and he makes a quick mental note to check the remaining of your stitches once you two finish.

He groans, his hips jerking upwards to meet your thrusts, his body tense with the effort of holding back.

"You drive me fucking crazy, always have."

You know you have him right where you want him—on the edge of control, desperate for your touch, your approval, your pleasure. You increase the pace of your movements.

The sounds of your moans and cries filling the air, mingling with his grunts and groans.

"Let go for me, love." 

He is snapping his hips in unison with yours to bring you both over the edge of ecstasy. You can feel it, the edge of the precipice, just within reach. 

"Yes, fuck-" he grits out, his voice hoarse with desire.

And then, with a cry that's torn from his very own soul, he comes, your body convulsing, your inner muscles clenching around him, milking him, drawing his release from him. He groans, his body tensing, his hips still jerking upwards, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills his seed, his release triggering your own, sending you spiralling over the edge, into the abyss of pleasure and ecstasy. 

You collapse onto him, your body slick with sweat, your breath coming in ragged gasps. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his heartbeat matching your own, the steady rhythm a soothing lullaby in the aftermath of your passion.

"I love you so fucking much,-" he says while you both pant, you on top of his chest and he under you. 

Namjoon quickly checks the side that has been heeling for a while and when he does not feel any sort of sign that you have reopened the remaining stitches, he places the bandage back.

"-fucking me so good like that." He praises you while he caresses your blonde locks. You smile again. You won this time.If you are to choose him too, you are doing so on your fucking terms.

INTERLOGUE A

"Fucking apologise, you moron." 

Namjoon doesn't flinch when she says it nor his brother, who founds this way too amusing. She's leaning against the doorframe of the study that previously belonged to Yoongi’s grandfather, arms crossed, eyes burning. There's no bite in her voice—just a calm, clinical fury that cuts sharper than any yell could.

Namjoon doesn't look up right away. His hand is curled around a glass of something strong, untouched, yet again. He knows she won't leave until she's finished. That’s the way her mind works. But more important, he knows she's right.

"You didn't protect her, Joon. You possessed her. You made a decision that wasn't yours to make and wrapped it in some savior complex so you could sleep at night, because you are all just bunch of psychos who can’t ask women on normal dates." 

“Auch, love.” Hoseok pretends to clutch his heart. Psychopaths indeed. 

Namjoon stands, finally meeting her gaze. "You weren't there. You didn't see how he looked at her. Like she was already his. Like he was just waiting for the right moment to snatch her into that hellhole of a brothel." 

Princess tilted her head, lips pressed tight with bitter amusement.

"He had no fucking brothel, you ass. It was a bar just like Anubis. He flirted like fucking drunk he was, and yeah, crossed a line, but he wasn't plotting to fucking sell her or her body. You wanted him gone because you wanted his turf, and because he was who he was, Namjoon." 

He stiffens. "That's not true."

Princess doesn't blink. Doesn't move. Her words hang in the air like smoke—thick, toxic, impossible to ignore.

"No?" she says, pushing off the doorframe with the lazy grace of someone who's already won the argument. "Then why was your cleanup crew already circling my bar that night, huh?" 

Namjoon's jaw clenches. The glass in his hand creaks beneath his grip.

"I killed him because he touched what's mine."

"You killed him because it was convenient. Because he gave you the perfect excuse when he touched her. When he disrespected her, sure—but you didn't do it only for her. You did it to send a message."

He doesn't answer. Can't.

"She thinks you lost control—just this once. But it wasn't just rage, Joon. It was strategy, and now both Luen brothers are rotting five feet underground—"

"—while the third one will try to annihilate us–"

Namjoon finally breathes, his voice low, as if tasting the weight of the truth.

"—and we just started another war."

.

.

.

.

.

.

INTERLOGUE B

"Do it, please," Namjoon begs, choking on his own words with red-rimmed teary eyes. 

Yoongi says nothing. But his throat bobs, and his eyes flick towards his OR, where she lays, sedated and stitched up. He stands near a cabinet filled with the patient files of all the family members, her in his hands. The silence between them is not companionable, it is waiting to be broken. 

What is the younger male asking for is reserved for the last resort only. He worked hard to push our Seokjin’s grandad immoral practices out.

"I can dodge any bullet but not the one coming from her."

Namjoon wipes his face, the tears hot against his chilled skin. His shoulders heave, his frame stiff as though the weight of what he is asking him for breaks his bones from the inside out.  

"I swear, Yoongi, please–" the older male jaw tightens. He looks down at the file in his hand again. At her warm eyes, bright smile, and immense beauty. A note scrawled beside her intake form in his own handwriting, ‘ptsd symptoms, monitor for fragmentation.’

"You’ve done it before and it worked out so well–"

Yoongi’s expression doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes does. Maybe, he is not a good man after all. Nor he never was. None of them is.

"You remember what doctor Kim used to say?–"

Yoongi would give anything for this scenario to not end their way this time. Because she is just that loved in this family, cherished and admired. Nobody, however, just how many different sleeping pills Yoongi prescribed to her, and this accident made sure she will never sleep again if he won’t help her. At least, that’s what Namjoon is sure of. The image of her limp after a rage attack when he plunged her with the syringe, listening to her mumbling that she’d never forgive his brother, still plays in his mind.

"Silence is salvation. The mind, once quieted, cannot scream."

𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝

©pennyellee. please do not repost

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Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

[moonstruckme]

Hii Mae, how are you? Could I request a poly!emt marauders (if not, just poly marauders is totally fine as well) x anxious!reader. Lately my anxiety is killing me, I stared feeling very lightheaded due to that pretty often I’m a little scared and also I’ve keep getting tingles in my fingers (like almost non stop, help) and it’s making it 100 times worse. So a fic along those lines would be so comforting. If any of this is triggering/unconfy I’m so sorry, ignore this. Anywayy, Ilysm angel <3

Thank you lovely <3

cw: anxiety, lightheadedness, brief mention of nausea

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Your heart feels like it’s sitting in your throat. You keep feeling like maybe it’s because you’re lying on your side, that it’s lodged there because it can’t go up or down, but you know well enough that sitting up won’t help. It’s not going anywhere. This surety should help, but it doesn’t. It’s still blocking your air. 

This is one on a list of things that won’t let you sleep. 

You want to sleep. Oh god, you want it so badly. You’re so tired. It’s unjustifiable, really, how you can go through a day like any other and yet feel as though you’ve been through the hardest day of your life. Now you finally have the reprieve of a soft bed and your boyfriends’ body heat under the covers and you can’t. You can’t shut down. 

The covers shush quietly past each other as Remus shifts. You move to make room for him, surprised when instead he snakes an arm over you to cup the back of your neck. You draw in a breath. 

He doesn’t even open his eyes as he draws you closer, putting his lips to your forehead and mumbling, “You’re awake.” 

“You’re awake,” you breathe back to him. 

“Yeah,” you can hear a tinge of amusement in his tone now, “because you are.” 

A quiet, selfish part of you is relieved. It’s nice not to be the only one awake, the only one whose mind is still spinning the same spindle of neverending thread. Misery does love company. 

“I’m sorry,” you say anyway. “I can’t sleep.” 

Remus shushes your apology away, kissing your head again. “What’s keeping you?” he asks. 

“I have pins in my hands.” 

It’s the thing worrying you the most. Worse than the migration of your heart or the low, inconsistent nausea, is the steady prickling from your fingers down to the meat of your palms. It’s like they’re coming awake, but they’ve been waking for hours now. 

“Yeah?” You can’t tell if Remus is genuinely concerned or only humoring you, but he reaches beneath the covers for your hands anyway, taking them one at a time into his. His thumb presses into your heart line. “In both?” 

You hum, nervous. Less so with him looking after you. 

“Do you feel it anywhere else?” 

“No?” 

Remus looks at you patiently. “Are you sure?” 

“I…maybe a little in my feet. But not as much.” 

He hums. It’s a funny sound, half curious and half knowing. Very Remus. 

“I’m going to get your pulse,” he murmurs, turning your hand over in his grasp to feel your wrist. 

“Okay,” you whisper. “Sorry.” 

“Shh. Stop that.”

“Just that I woke you up.” 

“You didn’t wake me, love, you—” Remus pauses as a brawny forearm comes around his waist. “Well, I woke James. That’s not your fault, either.” 

“What’s going on?” James slurs, his face appearing over Remus’ shoulder only to slump down onto it in the world’s sleepiest (and most adorable) hug. He’s squinting, his glasses on the nightstand past Sirius, but his eyes land anyway on where Remus is holding your wrist. “Alright?” 

“Everything’s fine,” Remus says placidly. You’ll never not be impressed by how good paramedics are at counting in their heads while multitasking, your boyfriend’s free hand coming up to pet James’ hair. 

James allows himself to be pacified. Quite happily, really, his cheek sinking further down Remus’ bicep. “Why’re we awake?” he asks. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, apology in your tone. Remus gives you a look like he’s barely just letting it slide.

James’ compassion is immediate and palpable. “What’s the matter, lovie?” 

“It’s nothing.” You feel rather ridiculous now, three of you awake at god knows what hour to address the mysterious case of the tingling hands. “My hands are just prickling, it’s distracting me.” 

James makes a soft, concerned sound. He tilts his head up to see Remus. “What are you thinking?” 

“I have an idea,” Remus replies. “Can you sit up for me, sweetheart?” 

You do, your own concern mounting. “What’s wrong?” you ask, pushing up on your elbow. 

“Nothing to worry over.” Remus is sitting up with you, James releasing him so that he can. “I think your extremities may just not be getting enough blood flow.” 

“What does that mean?” You take in a quiet breath as you get all the way upright, splaying a hand on the bed. “Oh.” 

“Fucking hell.” Sirius’ grumbling comes from your other side. “It’s too early to get up.” 

You feel his face bury itself against your hip, but you can’t see him, or much of anything, through the thick spots smudging across your vision. They’re dark, but so is your bedroom, the only thing distinguishing them being odd bits of color. You might think they were pretty if you weren’t so unnerved by them. 

“Oh?” Remus asks, ignoring your grouchy boyfriend for the moment. “What’s oh?” 

“Nothing.” You blink hard, and the spots begin to ebb. “Just had a head rush.” 

Remus does that hum again. “Lightheaded?” 

“A little.” 

Sirius groans into your hip. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Nothing,” you say, at the same time as James says, “She’s having circulation issues.” 

Sirius takes a pause. He turns his head up, seeming more awake. “Is something actually the matter?” 

“No,” you and Remus reassure him. You firmly, Remus calmly. It reassures you, too, that he agrees with you. You weren’t so sure of yourself. 

“Try something for me?” Remus asks you. You nod, of course, because you’ll do anything he wants. “Take a breath, as deep as you can.” 

You inhale through your nose, surprised by how difficult it is. There’s still your heart, obstructing a good portion of your throat, but even when you manage to get air past that it gets all tangled up in your lungs. 

“It hurts,” you say, alarmed. 

“That’s alright,” Remus promises you. 

“What is it?” 

“Sweetheart, shh, hey.” That’s James’ hand on your back. He’s moved up on the bed to reach around Remus, and somewhere along the way he must have figured out whatever Remus has, because he looks less worried now. “Take another breath. You’re fine.” 

“I think it might help to have some tea,” Remus says. And just like that, the decision is made, Remus sliding past James and out of bed. 

“Tea?” you echo after him. You realize it’s not unheard of for some people, but your boyfriends have never really been known to remedy medical afflictions with tea. 

Sirius is sitting up now, too, looking between you and James like he wants to ask a dozen questions but is trying to parse things out on his own first. His brows are woven together over bleary eyes. 

“Rem,” James’ voice harbors a fond smile, “you can’t just leave like that.” He looks at you, sighing. “He’s just sleepy. You know how he forgets to talk.” 

“What’s wrong with me?” you ask him instead. 

James draws his hand back and forth over your back. “Nothing’s wrong with you,” he soothes. “The tea is just to help you relax. I think you’re tingly and lightheaded because you’re not breathing enough, sweetheart.” 

The heat comes to your face so fast, and maybe you’d already guessed, because the first thing to slip from your mouth is a frail, “I’m trying.” 

“Hey.” Sirius may not have a grasp on what’s happening, but he knows enough not to like this newest development. You find your face tucked under his chin within a handful of moments. “Hey, we’re alright, aren’t we? There’s no need for tears.” 

“You said it hurts when you breathe in,” James says gently, “right?” 

You nod, blinking fast. 

“That’s something that can happen when there’s lower levels of carbon dioxide in our blood. The same thing that causes pins and needles, and dizziness.” He takes your hand, lips to your knuckles. “It’s not your fault, angel. We just need to get you breathing a bit better. Having something warm to drink might help you calm down.” 

“Oh,” you murmur. Because yeah, that sounds about right. It’s the dead of night. You should be sluggish, yawning, nodding off, but instead you feel like there’s static buzzing in your veins; if there’s one thing you’re not, it’s calm. 

Sirius makes a low, sorry sound of understanding. “Come here, baby.” He coaxes you up, half stumbling himself as he leads you into the kitchen. 

There, you’re sat down on the couch with a heavy blanket thrown over your lap and James’ hand to hold as you please. Remus kisses your head while pressing a steaming cup into your hands. It smells herbal and nice, and maybe it’s wishful thinking but you really do feel like the first inhalation of that aroma makes progress against the tightness of your chest. You imagine the steam curling inside you, soothing you from the inside out. Sirius falls asleep on James’ lap before you’ve taken two sips. 

It all helps. Maybe it’s just that things feel less miserable when there’s company. 

[mimosasys]

ok illurso freak (affirming) this one's for you.

p.s. check our bio if you wanna see actually who's around here (pronouns link thingy)

fav. colour: magenta? lilac? that sort of variety of colours you know the one

currently reading: nothing :( sorgy. really should keep reading House of Leaves but we need a notebook to make sense of it and that's so much effort

last song: lemme check uh. Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield. it's fire what can we say

last film: I think we watched La Vita è Bella with my family like a week ago but I don't remember it, was good and a tough watch though

Tea or coffee: ok this one depends. most of us drink tea and most of us have it with milk but Lara has it completely black and with no sugar (freak), Cyn has it with milk and sugar but has to always have the same teacup, then Doppio usually makes coffee (milk and sugar) if he's around and feels like it. and then some of us would just rather have water instead. also the drones desperately want to drink hot oil but we can't let them do that (sorry guys I think it'll just kill us immediately). this is just the tip of the iceberg. don't even get me started on DIO

Sweet/salty/savoury: savoury all the way. why doesnt that include salt? I mean not a huge amount but you gotta have salt in things come on that's cooking

Currently working on: well um you see we're probably going to be releasing our debut album in like a month or so and also haven't decided on the name but I guarantee it will happen soon. in true 70s prog style it's got only two tracks, both of which are ~20 minutes long, and is mostly instrumental. will actually post more about it soon I hope

also we're in the process of writing a couple things, one JoJo fic with an original cast and stuff called Sketches of a Mirage that we haven't updated in a bit because we're not sure how to write the next chapter because it's important, and also specifically Rebecca is writing a sort of memoir about the things she gets up to called The Divine Art of Change (On Humans and Otherwise). both are on AO3 if anyone wants to give them a read, no pressure, read the tags etc etc.

DIO is also writing a diary (again) privately at least for now, and the drones + Tessa have a blog of their own @three-drones-and-a-human for whatever they wanna post about. they're also actually writing down their memories and stuff and might post them somewhere eventually? but we'll see I guess

er i don't like tagging people and also don't know enough people to do this with.. I have failed you all.. /j

- Amelia (I think? we just woke up 40 minutes ago and had a migraine yesterday so it's a bit fuzzy rn, apologies)

Nine People I Wish I Knew Better

i've never gotten tagged in these before, it's kinda exciting :D -> and so a very special thanks to: @rose-margaritas n @robyngoesrogue

Favorite Colour: green!!! or grey, or sage

Currently Reading: Like We're Gonna Die Young (Again) by RoseGanymede95 [go read it, it's amazing >:3c]

Last Song: E.T. by Katie Perry

Last Film: i don't really watch movies that often, so i couldn't say ^óWo^ |u u |__

Last Series: last one i watched all the way through was Étoile, and i'm currently debating watching Red, White, and Royal Blue :3

Sweet//Salty//Savory: i prefer more savory things, but my drinks are sweet enough to give ya cavities hehe

Tea or Coffee?: my sociology teacher told me that if i replaced all the coffee i drank with hard drugs i'd have a serious addiction problem

Working On: ooh... so much actually.. so so much. i've got a post-canon Étoile fic i've gotten like- halfway through [featuring jayenne AND gabias] a pokemon Étoile au [bc i love pokemon] a stobotnik fic i'm struggling with, two wbk fics, a link click fic i'm stuck on, QUITE a few polychampions fics, annnd a few more in the beginning stages of fleshing ;3

Tagging [i hope it's not a bother]: @sun-shine-lolli-pops @noteofjoy @technically-human @justcallmeemily @littlepocketuniverse @zephie-zee @candy-coated-eyes @notthemonthbutmarch @starguardianniom

[king-candybug-backup]

Kill Switch: Part Sixteen

She took a deep breath in a poor attempt to steel her nerves, and walked inside the dungeon. Every step was a struggle, a fight to keep herself from trembling, to not show a single shred of weakness in his presence. She moved as quietly as she could, keeping her eyes locked on the motionless Cy-bug lying in the shadows. Whether or not he’d heard her come in, she couldn’t tell. His back had been turned, and she could see his body rise and fall with each breath he took. Perhaps he’d been too focused on recovering from his electrocuting escape attempts to truly notice her. Vanellope took another deep breath. Then spoke in as composed of a voice as she could muster. “So. Back to square one, huh?” It had been a long time since her voice had stirred such a malevolent beast inside of him. The vicious, feral snarl she’d gotten in response was rich with familiar elements of that carnivorous and mechanical discord she knew all too well. She had to fight to hide it, the way that noise brought her back to being helplessly cornered by a swarm of Cy-bugs at Sugar Rush’s exit. The way they shrilled and gnashed their fangs as they approached, bringing the threat of permanent death along with them. The way Sinistar kept forcing her back into that very same traumatizing position over and over again. She had hoped she’d never have to feel like that again. Especially not with Turbo. But, in all honesty, what right did she have to be surprised that he would be the one to rip away that hope? “Glitch.” Turbo spat the word out like a vile curse. The growling creature arose from where he laid, shadows twisting across his form as he paced back and forth alongside the bars of his prison, with glowing yellow eyes locked onto Vanellope all the while. “Come along to gloat now, have you?”

Read the full chapter on AO3!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen

BEEN SO EXCITED TO GET HERE, WHEEEEE (I'll reply to asks later, right now I gotta nap *SOBS* I SEE Y'ALL AND I LOVE YOU THOUGH!!)

Now, fan-art shoutout time!!!!! First, we have @artacetinker who drew this hilarious comic that basically sums up the whole fic, and also this drawing of everybody attempting group therapy! Calhoun is such a mood lol

Then we have these drawings by @mochacabbagefetus of Candybug + Vanellope with their respective supply bags, and Candybug having a not-so-fun time at the Turbotime track ghffdchgvj

And lastly we have these awesome pixel art blinkies by @turbotastlc of Candybug and Sinistar! "I survived part 15 of Kill Switch" MADE ME DIE LAUGHING LMAO, LOVE IT

THANK YOU GUYS, YOU'RE ALL SO AWESOME!!!! <3333

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

June 8th

~*~

1. Hello, I hope you’re having a great day. I need to find this thing that was watching the show type or book or mango or whatever one. A yanil was alive but Wei ying was dead. We find out that Wei ying is looking over lan zhan and his son. So. After they find out, he’s innocent that you find a way to bring him back I think maybe with wen Qing. @chloecov4506

FOUND? Meet you at a different place by tawaen (M, 57k, WQ & WN, WN & MXY & WQ, WQ & WWX & WN, Eventual WangXian, Ghost General WN, Ghost WQ, Canon Divergence, WQ comes back to haunt the cultivation world, Bad idea to kill the one person who didn’t kill anyone, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Wen Remnants Deserve Better, Sīsī Deserves Better, MXY Deserves Better, POV WQ) has some elements of what's described but Jiang Yanli isn't alive in this one. Wen Qing's ghost gathers the parts of Wei Ying's shattered soul, some of which are with Lan Zhan and A-Yuan, and Wei Ying eventually comes back as a god.

~*~

2. Heyyy, I'm trying to find a MDZS fanfic I read a while ago on AO3. It's multi-part, and in the first part, it's been five years (I think) since Wei Wuxian’s death. Jiang Cheng is summoned to Jinlintai by Jin Guangyao, and somehow, during the visit, Wei Wuxian is brought back to life. Jin Guangyao wants to kill him again? Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian then try to escape from Jinlintai together, taking Jin Ling with them. Thank you for your work!! @laura-101s

FOUND?🔒Brotherhood by LtLJ (G, 10k, JC & WWX, Canon Divergence, Yunmeng Brothers Reconciliation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, breaks from canon during the time skip, YLLZ WWX)

~*~

3. The fic was on ao3.

After returning to Lotus pier from cloud recess lectures Wei ying and Lan zhan starts exchanging letters. Wei ying also gives Lan zhan his papermans frequently which Lan zhan keeps safely . Also at the beginning while wei ying is bidding goodbye to everyone in cloud recess lan xichen asks wei ying to write to lan zhan.

Thank you for helping me find this fic.

~*~

4. Hello! Thank you for all the work you do! I’m looking for two fics that I just can’t find for the life of me. Here’s what I remember: A) The first has wangxian walking (on university campus?) in the winter, and they slip and fall, but the way they land lwj breaks his wrist and almost passes out and they go to the university clinic. B) The second is wangxian about to have their (first?) date, but lwj shows up with a broken arm from slipping on ice, so wwx makes him go home because he broke his own arm as a kid and remembers how much it hurt; they go back together and iirc wwx eats out lwj after he promises not to move and hurt himself. Thanks!

Hi! 4a is the correct story, thank you!! 4b is not, since it doesn’t feature lwj breaking his arm lol, but that’s ok because I found it on my own, it’s https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440566. Thanks!

4A)

FOUND! Constant Companion by athena_crikey (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern, College/University, h/c, Recovery, Longing, WWX's canonical inability to put himself first, LWJ's canonical inability to accept that, LXC living his best life, initial hints at LWJ's dom tendencies)

4B)

NOT FOUND! falling (ouch) for you by daltoneering (T, 5k, WangXian, Modern, Fluff, First Date, Kindergarten Teacher WWX, single dad LWJ, Ice Skating, first date shenanigans, Injury, First Kiss, Getting Together, WWX has his usual bisexual disaster energy, it expresses itself on this particular occasion through clumsiness, you can guess the rest)

FOUND! 🔒 like the fullest moon through my heart by Anonymous (E, 6k, WangXian, Cunnilingus, Trans Male Character, trans lwj, First Time, First Dates, Dom/sub Undertones, Under-negotiated Kink, Voyeurism, sort of? but it's just lwj watching wwx, lots of feelings about masculinity and bodily autonomy, Hurt/Comfort, The Porn Is the Plot)

~*~

5. For FicFinder, I can only remember how the chapter summaries went. They would be something like "A brother worries, one is lonely etc. It was always 3 lines and had something to do with either JC, WW, or LWJ. I read it about three years ago now.

~*~

6. Hi hi! I was looking for a fanfic that is canon divergent, the only scene I remember is wwx giving lwj a hairpin because he likes him and lwj accidentally breaks it and wwx thinks it’s because he hates him and sulks about it and later on lwj fixes the hairpin but I can’t remember the rest. Thank you in advance ❤️ @amaraxoxo98

FOUND? For you by 10thNoNamePerson (T, 17k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Canon Divergence, No War AU, Teen Wangxian, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Jealous WWX, Soft WangXian, No Sunshot Campaign)

~*~

7. i’m trying to find a fic — modern au, wwx was lsz’s parent before he was adopted by lwj and wwx met him again by chance year later. there was a scene of wwx telling either a-yuan or lwj about why he had to give lsz up. i think wwx wasn’t the bio parent but maybe wq was? and she had very heavy ppd, and didn’t wanna be pregnant or have a child so after the birth wwx got lsz but he was very poor and i think had to take up multiple jobs to pay for everything and maybe some debts and one day he just collapsed from sickness or exhaustion and realized he couldnt do this to lsz and decided to give him up. he mightve put lsz in one of those baby drop off boxes and he still fit in it bc he was small for his age. hope this rings a bell with someone, thank you!

FOUND? I’ll Take Such Great Care of You by CheekyBrunette (G, 50k, WangXian, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, 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)

~*~

8. hiii i’m looking for a fic where a random (not Lan) sect disciple berates wwx and wwx tells another disciple to go get lwj and tell him a code word (possibly butterfly) and when wwx hears him coming he starts to cry and the gusu disciples follow his lie so lwj kicks he random disciple out of lectures/cloud recesses

~*~

9. Hi. Can you help me find mxtx crossover fic. Where the kids go on a night hunt. Xie lian meets lan jingyi jinlin. Hua cheng met lan sizhui. And Wei wuxian and lanzhan met fengxin and mu xing. Thank you so much in advance.

~*~

10. Hi! I've been looking for the fic where WWX/LWJ (either modern day or younger I can't remember) travel/portal to meet married wangxian who help them realize their feelings for each other. The fic then ends with some papapa between all 4 of them. Thanks!

FOUND? 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)

~*~

11. Hi, thank you for your hard work! 🙏 For fic finder, I'm hoping you can help me with a fic where Jiang Yanli was the main. I think it was a time travel fic, and she knew JGS, JGY and Jin Zixun were at fault for what happened and she used Yu daggers with poison, a different one for each of them. Pretty sure she only left JGY alive, though only temporarily, with a slow acting poison. Thank you again! @boxedbutterfly

~*~

12. Once again, thank you for the work you do! Off on another request. I remember a fic where Lan Zhan snaps at Wei Ying to leave him alone and Wei Ying does. He distances himself and doesn't talk to Lan Zhan unless he has to. I believe it happens during the Cloud Recess Study Arc.

Actually any fics where Wei Ying stops trying to get Lan Zhan's attention due to misunderstandings would be great too! @marietsy40-blog

FOUND? might be this threadfic by Cosmicmilktea (unrolled version)

FOUND?🔒 Of Bunnies and Sleeves and All Happy Things by moonwaif (G, 3k, WangXian, two dorks, failed attempts at flirting, Lan Zhan is jealous, but he doesn’t know it, unresolved romantic and sexual tension, Mutual Pining)

~*~

13. lost a a fic on ao3. It was of LWJ time traveling to his younger self but it is another dimension where his uncle and mother are dead but father is alive and he is abusive. There is a Yiling Wei Sect which is led by Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren.They have WWX and his younger twin siblings. WWX, JC and the Wen siblings are great friends. This sect cultivates with both resentful and spiritual energy, and LWJ's father hates that sect. He is friends with Wen Ruohan and wants LWJ to marry Wen Chao. LWJ managed to get permission to convince WWX to marry him. QHJ takes him there, and WWX was not happy. He took him from the most ragged paths causing his clothes to get dirty but then finally met up with JC. They went into a cave to look at fireflies. LWJ lifts up his robes to step into the water when JC and WWX said he didn't know how to have fun but they saw bruises on his legs, LWJ said he got hurt when he fell down. Then LWJ plays his guqin and makes the fireflies dance around JC and WWX, who are mesmerised and then accept LWJ as a friend. They play all afternoon and when they return, upon seeing LWJ's dirty clothes, QHJ immediately scolded LWJ and WWX defends him, when it seemed like QHJ will hit LWJ, saying it was his fault he took him on the rough path. QHJ is pleased to see WWX defending LWJ and so lets LWJ go. Years later, at the guest lectures in Yiling Wei Sect, LWJ arrives alone, without even a servant to accompany him. WWX , JC and NH (Nie Huaisang) are watching the guests arrive from the roof of a building. After watching LWJ, WWX loses interest and goes back. During the lectures, LWJ discovers that he actually loves spicy food and that his spice tolerance rivals WWX's spice tolerance. WWX, while going to have lunch with his parents, sees LWJ washing his clothes in the lake. He then asks his parents to assign a servant to LWJ to do his simple chores and they agreed. He also discovers bunnies and plays with them. One day while playing with the bunnies he senses two children and plays with them along with the bunnies. They turn out to be WWX'S younger siblings. The whole sect is searching for them because they did not tell anyone where they were. When WWX discovers them he immediately starts yelling at LWJ and tells him to get lost. LWJ is deeply hurt and walks back to his quarters, also dismissing the servant assigned to him and tells him not to come anymore. While WWX looks at his siblings in concern, his sister kicks him and says that he has scared the bunnies away and hurt LWJ so he has to apologise. Apologizing proves to be difficult because LWJ avoids him at all costs but then one day he lures LWJ out to the field using his siblings and apologises.

I do remember that WWX parents died In an attack and he becomes sect leader. There is an indoctrination and WWX is forced to go. That's all I can remember...

Sorry for it being too long, I have been desperately searching using everything I have but still haven't found it... @idontknowwhatsnottaken

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

~*~

14. Hi! I'm looking for a fic that I initially skipped over but really want to try. Basically it's a fic about wwx and jc going to family therapy with lwj as their counselor. The summary goes along the lines of "lwj is not in love with his emotionally unavailable patient; he is not." And is defo has a tag like "counselor lwj" in there. That's all I can say. @foyoum

FOUND? Deep Dive by MimiSpearmint (E, 24k, WangXian, Modern AU, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, Are Bad at Communicating, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Therapy, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Career Ending Injuries, counsellor!lwj, give lwj friends agenda, background NieLan, Melbourne, Eventual Smut, Crack, Baby JL, domestic abuse is discussed but does not happen, Baby LSZ, Baby LJY, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Good Sex Practices, Implied Slight D/s, WangXian Have a Breeding Kink, Cameos by various minor characters)

~*~

15. Hey, I know the fic is really popular but I simply can't find the story. It has dragon!lan zhan, fox!wei ying and they met as children. Years later there is a war between the Lans (+plus other sects) against the Wens and Jins. Lan Zhan is a war lord and captures Wei Ying, who tried to rescure WN. He wants him as his empress, I think? The end had lots of smut. Thanks for your help!

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

~*~

16. Hi, thanks for the stellar work you do. I'm looking for a fic where, at the Baifeng Mountain Crowd Hunt Jin Zixun throws something at WWX and LWJ jumps in front to protect him. He is sent to Avengers world while WWx tried to figure out what has happened. I don't know if it was ever finished as I lost track of it, but would like to read it again. Again, thanks. @remma3760

FOUND! Hanguang-Jun's Unexpected Interdimensional Vacation by StarClearWaters (Readoutloud) (G, 16k, WangXian, LWJ & Jarvis, JGY & NHS, JGY & LXC & NMJ, LWJ & Avengers, Pre-Relationship, pre-wangxian, Phoenix Mountain Night Hunt Competition, creative use of inquiry, Dimension Travel, LWJ was raised to be a polite and understanding guest, OOC, LWJ and communicating, Aftermath, Dialogue-Only, LWJ Loves Rabbits)

~*~

17. Hi um, I'm looking for a fanfiction where wei wuxian has back pain and has to sleep outside cloud recess, Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng are really protective of him and care for him a lot, I'm pretty sure it's set during the cloud recess arc. The back pain may or may not be chronic but also because of Madam Yu. I just don't know where it is in my history and don't know the names or tags. Please help, thank you @laelisgay

~*~

18. I just remembered this one I was readying. Should still be in progess but I can't remember it. Anyway! It was one where Wen Zhulio catches everyone else who escapes the Xuanwu cave and crushes their core. LWJ and WWX escape later but they have the sword still and duel cultivate with the sword until it changes into Chenqing? It was soooo good and I wanna reread what is there.

FOUND? Crooked by naqaashi (M, 76k, WangXian, XuSu, SangLi, WIP, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Cultivation Sect Politics, Hurt/Comfort, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Xuanwu of Slaughter Cave, Consequences, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Sunshot Campaign, Genius WWX, Genius LWJ, Canon-Typical Violence, WWX Leaves the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, Qishan Wen Indoctrination, Dual Cultivation, YZY Bashing, JFM Bashing, No Golden Core Transfer, BAMF JYL, Soft WangXian, Fix-It, Mainly for WWX & LWJ, Not Everyone Dies, BAMF NHS, Murder Husbands, JC Has No Golden Core, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Revenge, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, WangXIan in Love, LQR Metaphorically Qi-Deviates, Fluff, WWX Deserves Better, WWX is Loved)

~*~

19. Hey! I've been trying to find a fic where Lan Wangji secretly jerks off around Wei Ying? I think it was written like one of the five times fics in what I want to think was a college au setting? I want to say he did it once in a cafe, once behind Wei Ying on the bleachers at a basketball game and another time at a kareoke bar? And help would be greatly appreciated thank you !!

FOUND? I Won’t Tell If You Won’t by anxiousTypist (E, 11k, WangXian, Modern AU, Masturbation, Public Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, but not really, no one sees, Coming In Pants, Wet & Messyish, Mildly Dubious Consent, lwj involves wwx in his masturbation without his consent and also enjoys secretly getting cum on him, PWP)

~*~

20. Hi, I am looking for a wangxian fic where wei ying do empathy in Lan zhan ... I don't remember the name and much of it's content... @dim2512

FOUND? 蓝色生死恋; a blue love (to live and to die for) by yiqie (M, 24k, WangXian, Post-Canon, wedding fic, Psychological Trauma, Empathy)

FOUND? Whatever it takes by Moonlit_dewdrops (T, 115k, JC & WWX, WangXian, JC & JYL & WWX, JC/WQ, JYL & WQ, WQ & WWX, WWX & JGY, WWX & JZX, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies, yunmeng prides, POV JC, POV WWX, WQ & WN live, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, WWX and JC actually communicate, Yunmeng Siblings fluff, But Also Some Angst, Lots of WangXian moments, Protective JC, Protective LWJ, JGS & JZn will die for sure, NMJ Lives, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, Slow burn but not for Wangxian, Brotherhood, justice for the wen remnants, JYL & JZX Live, Wen Remnants Live, Cinnamon Roll WN, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, reference to wwx's suicide, Established Relationship, Torture)

~*~

[writing-girlie]

Smoke & Sweat

Pairing: Early 20s Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Blurb: You came around just for a cigarette and his quiet company but heat builds, touches linger, and teasing turns into something more.

WC: 3.1k

Warnings: SMUT, drugs

Notes: This is my first TWD fic, hopefully will get more out soon

You pull up to the trailer park just as the sun starts to fall behind the trees. It casts an orange tint on everything, almost making it look pretty. You park next to Daryl and kill the engine on your bike, swinging your leg over to get off. Gravel crunches under your boots as you make your way to his.

The busted screen door is banging against the frame just like it always does every time the wind picks up. You shed your leather jacket, slinging it over your arm. It was a relief; the heat was horrible, and you could feel the sweat dripping along your back. 

You don't knock; just walk in. The inside of the trailer smells like weed and petrol mixed with some cheap deodorant. It’s just as hot inside. He has a small fan, on its highest setting, rattling on the counter, but all it's doing is pushing the hot air around. 

Daryl is sitting on the couch, deep cracks rooted in the leather. His arm is thrown along the top, and his legs are spread wide in a lazy way. He's wearing one of his sleeveless button-ups, three buttons undone, his skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. 

You kick off your boots, throw your jacket over them, and drop down beside him. Some old movie is playing on the TV; the picture is grainy and the audio sounds fuzzy. 

A cigarette sits between his lips as he finally looks over at you; he nods before handing it to you. You take it, slowly inhaling. He fishes a lighter out of his pocket; it has flames painted on it, done with nail polish from when you were bored. He picks up another cigarette, lighting it for himself. 

You eventually finish yours, stubbing it out on the ashtray on the coffee table. The second it's out, you reach over, plucking it out of his mouth. 

“Hey!” He mutters, but he doesn't do anything about it. He just watches, and his mouth twitches into a faint smile.

“You gave me your used one when I came in. It's only fair.” You shrug, giving him a smile, the smoke softly curling out of your mouth. He shakes his head and leans back. After a minute you squish it into the tray until it dies. 

You sit back, the TV is softly playing, the fan clanks with every spin, and a car backfires loudly, making you jump. Daryl laughs at your reaction, and you flip him off. Then you look over at him with your chin tilted slightly and a smile he hasn't quite figured out to ignore. 

“Have anything else? Just to give us a little buzz?” You ask, voice low and soft. Your eyes stay on him, just waiting. He raises an eyebrow.

“This ain't enough for you?” He says it just to tease, knowing it's not. He nods towards the ashtray, and a small pout forms on your lips. 

“Please” You barely finish asking, and he's already leaning forward, grabbing the tin box that sits in a nook under the table. He drops it into your lap, telling you to take what you want. 

“You roll. You've got smaller hands; roll them quicker.” You grin, opening the box, sifting through the product. 

“Just admit you like watching me do it.” He leans back again, tossing his arm behind you. His eyes stay on your hands as you work, rolling it between your fingers. You lick and seal it, holding it up, showing him. He plucks it from you, licking his lower lip before putting it between his teeth. 

“Perfect” he hums before bringing the lighter up. He takes a long drag before exhaling, slowly, right in your face with a chuckle. 

“Asshole” you playfully push his face to the side. “Made that for myself.” You take it from him, taking a few hits. “You’re lucky I’m high enough to forgive you.”

“You’re not high yet.” Daryl grins, lazy and lopsided.

“Give it a minute.” You lean back into the couch, bringing the joint to your lips. “Had some before I came, also, used your good stuff; shouldn't take too long.” He steals it off you again.

“That's why I deserve it. Using my stash. My expensive product. Hey?” You narrow your eyes at him, though it has no bite. You watch him, mainly his mouth, the way the smoke twirls around. A giggle slips out, and you roll your head back, it rests against his arm but neither of you makes an effort to move. He places the rolled paper between your lips, his fingers resting on them as he lets you have another puff. Then it's gone again. You both sit quietly, watching the TV, while he finishes. The plot is too far along to understand what's happening, but it keeps you busy. 

It doesn't take forever till your eyelids feel a little heavy and you're mumbling to yourself, having a whole conversation, back and forth. Daryl looks over with an amused look. 

“Already seem high as hell, Fuckin’ lightweight” he mutters, but he says it like it’s funny. Entertained that your eyes are a little glassy and your mouth hangs open just a little.

“I’m not a lightweight,” you defend, voice thick but soft. 

“You’re mumblin’ to the damn TV.”

“I was making a point.” you argue. 

“Sure you were.” You mumble back before sliding down into his side and resting your head on his chest. He doesn't stop you; he just moves slightly so you fit better. His arm drops down, resting on your waist. 

“Comfy?” He mumbles, looking down at you.

“Yeah.” You let out a sigh, melting further into his side. He keeps his hand still for a moment, but when you don't pull away, his fingers brush up and down. They slip under your shirt and follow the curve of your side. The rough calluses against your skin makes you suck in a breath, and a shiver runs up your spine. 

Then his hand settles, cupped around your breast. He doesn't move, not sure if he should. 

“You ain’t gonna tell me to knock it off?” he mutters. You tip your head up just enough to look at him, cheek still pressed to his chest. 

“You want me to?”

“No.” His voice is slightly gruff. 

“Then don't” I shrug, lowering my head. He exhales deeply, like he's been holding it since first touching your skin. His thumb brushes over your nipple, the touch so soft, like he's waiting for you to change your mind, but you stay, so he does it again. 

He settles a bit more, fingers switching between both, lightly pinching and pulling at them. He watches your reactions, testing how far he can go. You notice his cock hardening in his jeans.

“Didn’t think you’d be that easy, Dixon.” You softly tease. 

“Ain’t easy. Just… been thinkin’ about this for a while.” He admits, roughness in his voice. You hum at his confession, letting it sit for a moment. 

“How long is a while?” Your hand rests on his stomach, fiddling with the buttons.

“Couple months”

“And you didn't tell me?” You whisper.

“Not too good at that part.” He laughs, and you look up at him again. 

“Guess I should be flattered you groped me then” He grins.

“Just testin’ the waters” You sit up fully, but your eyes don't leave him. A smirk tugs at your lips as an idea comes to mind. You straddle him, pushing your knee between his hip and the couch arm; he moves to make room. 

“Just testin' the waters” you mimic him. He leans back. His hands start to wander, up along your thighs, your hips, then grabbing your shirt, up over your head, and tossing it behind you. His hands glide back down and rest on your waist. 

“You sure about this?” he questions, but there's no hesitation in the way he holds you. You nod. 

“You’ve been thinking about this for months.” you murmur. “Don't back out now, Dixon.” Your hands brace against his chest. His hands come around to your bare back, pulling you closer. You lean in the last few inches and kiss him. 

His lips are warm and a little chapped, but the way they move with yours is divine. There's tension and hesitation, but neither of you pull away. Your fingers curl into his shirt, deepening the kiss. His hand slips into your hair, holding you in place. You press your body closer, and his other hand grips your waist tighter. 

When you finally break the kiss, it’s only because you need air. Your foreheads rest against each other briefly before he pulls back a little, asking if you're okay. You nod.

“Are you?” You ask, your breath is a little shaky.

“Feelin’ like I might combust.” He says with a scoff. Your hands graze over his chest and onto his shoulders. 

“So dramatic.” You smile, slow and teasing.

“I'm not. You sittin’ on me like that, kissin’ me like that…” He shakes his head like he's trying to collect his thoughts. “Gonna drive me insane.” You toy with the collar of his shirt. 

“Yeah?” You gently roll your hips, slowly, pressing against his erection through his jeans. 

“I'm not gonna be a gentleman for much longer if you keep that up.” He mutters, his jaw tense. 

“You? A gentleman?” You smirk at his claim, and he huffs a soft laugh. 

“I’ve been tryin’ to keep my shit in check. Keep it respectful.” His gaze drops to where you're pressed against him, then drags them slowly back up. “But you? You're not exactly makin’ it easy.”

“I never asked you to be good, Daryl.” Your fingers tease along his collar again. His eyes stay locked on yours, and his hand trails up your spine –deliberate and slow– like he’s memorising you. 

“If I start, might not wanna stop.”

“Good” Your fingers slide up the nape of his neck, nails grazing lightly through his hair. “You don’t have to.”

He exhales sharply, then his lips crash onto yours again; there's no hesitation this time, just need. You respond, moaning into the kiss, tugging at his shirt. Your fingers find the buttons, fumbling with them, undoing them until you grow too annoyed, ripping the rest of them. It hangs open, one of your hands explores his skin, while the other finds his hair again. Your lips then press against his cheek, then his jaw.

“You sure about this?” he rasps. You nod without hesitation. 

“Don’t make me beg, Dixon.” You whisper by his ear.

“You say that like I wouldn’t enjoy it.” He turns his head to find your lips again, softer this time. Your noses bump into each other, and your hands wander. The kiss deepens with slow certainty, his lips parting just enough to pull another soft sound from you. He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he mutters, breath hot against your cheek.

“Good. I don’t want anyone else.” Your hands slide over his chest, down his stomach, until you’re working at the button of his jeans. He tenses when your fingers brush against the skin just above his waistband. You pop the button open and ease the zipper down. That’s enough for him. He grabs the backs of your thighs and lifts you with him as he stands, carrying you the few steps to the bedroom. His mouth is never far from your skin, kissing your shoulder and jaw.

The mattress shifts as he lays you down, his arms caging you in. His head dips, kissing your neck and then collarbones, working his way down, over the curve of your boobs. He slowly drags his tongue over your nipple before closing his mouth around it, sucking and gently biting before pulling back with a pop and repeating it on the other. Your back arches slightly, and you focus on keeping your breath steady. His mouth continues down your stomach, all over –left to right– making you giggle softly. He stops when he reaches the top of your jeans, standing up slowly.

“Look at you.” His eyes roam over every part of your skin, the sheen of sweat, places where he kissed a little too long leaving soft pink marks, up to your neck with the slow-forming hickey and your flushed face. He tugs at the waistband roughly, peeling them off and letting them fall wherever they land. 

His hands trail back up, over your knees, your thighs, until his fingers dip just under the thin band of your panties. You lift your hips for him, and he slides them down, his knuckles brushing your skin. The thin fabric slips past your ankles and he lets it drop without care. 

Then he grabs you by the hips and pulls, dragging you closer to the edge of the bed until your legs are off the bed, feet on the floor, and thighs spread around his frame. He shoves his jeans down his hips along with his underwear in one motion, kicking them aside. 

His hands wrap around the backs of your thighs, lifting your legs and pushing them apart. It leaves you feeling vulnerable; you're completely bare and open, but his gaze provides a weird sense of comfort.

“Just like that,” he mutters, “Keep ’em open for me.” He grabs his cock, guiding it to rest heavy on your centre before dragging it along the slick seam. 

With his free hand he spreads your lips apart, exposing your wetness fully to his hungry eyes. Then, he presses the swollen head of his cock against your clit, moving it side to side, making your mouth open with a soft moan. He moves his hips slowly towards yours, sliding the underside of his cock up through the slick. When he drags it back down, his head lines up with your entrance.

“You ready?” His eyes are focused on your pussy, too preoccupied to look at your face, but you eagerly nod. 

“Please” You nibble on your bottom lip. He slips the head in, stretching you just enough to make your eyes flutter shut. But before you can really even process it, he pulls back out. Your hips jolt on instinct, chasing him. “Daryl, don't…Please” You whine softly, not sure if you can take any teasing. You just want to feel him. He grins down at you, spitting on your pussy and slapping his cock down on it a few times.

“Please, what?” Your breath hitches. 

“I need you.” He chuckles at your soft tone. 

“Yeah? That right?” Another slow glide of his length over your clit and down again, nudging your entrance but not giving in. “You sure you can take it?” You nod again, a soft plea on your lips. One of his large hands slides up and grips your thigh. He pushes in, slow and steady, stealing the breath from your lungs inch by inch.

“We're getting there. Just keep your pretty eyes on me.” he mutters, his jaw clenched tight with restraint. His other hand now rests on the other thigh, keeping them open as he continues to slowly push. The final push makes you gasp, fingers fisting the sheets beneath you. When he doesn't start moving, you roll your hips. His hands quickly move from your thighs to your hips, holding you still. 

“Easy,” his voice is low, and he laughs. “Be patient, darlin’. You’re squeezin’ me so damn tight.” His thumb strokes gently over your hipbone, a contrast to the firm grip. “There ya go.” Your breath hitches as you try to adjust to the fullness. When your eyes meet each other, you nod, wanting him to move. He starts moving, each slow, deep thrust measured as if he's savouring the moment. 

“You feel that?” he murmurs. “How tight you are for me? Like you were made to take it.”

“Yeah” Pleasure pools low in your belly with every deep stroke. One of his hands slides up your side, fingers splayed against your ribcage before cupping your boob. You arch into his touch. He leans in, tongue flicking over the other nipple before sucking it into his mouth. Your fingers tangle into his hair, massaging against his scalp. 

You pull at his hair, bringing him level with you. You kiss him with deep need, moaning as he grinds into you. 

“Daryl,” you whimper, hips rocking up to meet his. “Please don’t stop.” He growls against your skin.

“I’m just gettin’ started.” His mouth is on your throat, marking you up so there's no forgetting what happened. His teeth graze your pulse point while mumbling about how good it feels. You like that he knows he has all of you. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. His pupils are blown, and his lips are semi-swollen. 

“You’re takin’ it so damn good, baby. So good for me.” He stands back up, both hands coming back to your hips as he thrusts a little rougher, a little deeper. Your hands scramble for something to hold onto; one grabs his wrist, the other finds the sheets. Your mouth drops open on a moan.

“Daryl! Oh my god-” 

“I know!” He uses the leverage to pull you towards him. Your head pushes back into the blanket. “Uh-uh.” He grabs your hair, forcing your head up to look down at where you're connected. “Eyes down, baby. Look at how good you’re takin’ me.” The sight is overwhelming –his cock disappearing into you over and over. “Keep watching” He moves his hand away and down to your clit, thumb rubbing tight, firm circles. “C’mon, I want to feel you.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm rushes through you. He doesn't let up even when you're whimpering and squirming. His pace stutters, hips jerking erratically before he groans your name and drives deep one last time, spilling inside you with a groan.

He pulls out and flops onto the bed beside you, folding his arms behind his head. You both take a minute to catch your breath; you can feel him spilling out of you and onto the sheets. He sits up and rummages through the bedside drawer. He finds a single cigarette and lights it. He leans back, resting on his forearm, facing you. After the first inhale, he grabs your jaw, making you look at him. He gets closer, blowing the smoke into your mouth, causing a soft laugh from both of you. 

“You are perfect.” His lips press against yours a final time. 

[ofeliaxoxo]

what gets me is that Carlos Sr didn't have any obligation to do that. His son is not on that team anymore, they were quite apart on the grid positions also. Yet, yet, he was there clasping hands with him. now, why would he go out of his way to do that, if charles was never lando in the sense of being so close to the point of being known to be in their family events. he never did this with any other carlos teammate but lando. this is why i'm putting my tinfoil hat on and larrifying them, they leave me no other choice

Re this

When it comes to the actual implications of this hug I was rotating it in my mind so much like Waow. Because it’s not even a brief handshake it’s like Hello You.

This one killed me as well especially because the Sainz family aspect is something that interests me so much in charlos. Both men have a huge personal mythos built up around Family, but with Carlos it’s more…structural? Historical? These are not the right words but what I mean is like.

Charles and The Family is largely an extremely personal human story (which I won’t go into, people may have noticed I do not acknowledge certain things about Charles’s life and backstory and this is simply because I think it’s too genuinely serious, his life is perfect and easy but he’s still a human being and the loss of a parent goes beyond what I feel is appropriate for me to talk about a stranger especially as I do rpf.) Charles and his family is a very heightened story of personal and universal human emotion.

Whereas Carlos and his family is not. All f1 drivers and their families occupy a very specific niche, and there is not a single one that I ever manage to forget who and what they are. I love to have fun being a fan but my beliefs on this matter are too strong for me not to remember the money and the politics at all times. However with Carlos it is literally written across his face in red marker. You cannot forget. And it’s not just money it’s almost overtly political. With someone like Lando, who comes from obscene wealth which is in and of itself inevitably and inarguably political, the Norris family are still able to present this veneer of ohh hee hee look how lovely and sweet I am I’m in a cardigan I’m a lovely woman I’m just Lando’s mum ohhh I’m just Adam there’s nothing to see here:)

The Sainzes cannot and furthermore will not be doing that. Carlos comes from something highly specific.

Which I am not going to discuss in real world terms here but what does fascinate me in the rpf way is how this would inevitably massively impact any relationship Charles would have with them. And I feel that in a getting together meet the family situation, whatever about the Leclercs’ personal feelings on Carlos the guy, as a family they clearly revolve around Charles and also there are no structural reasons that they would have a massive issue with the relationship. So it’s like you have Charles as main Leclerc, and any personal dislike of Carlos or level of homophobia is kind of not…a hard enough barrier? Whereas with the Sainzes they do not revolve around Carlos in my view, despite his relative fame and time/money spent on him from childhood to now. I think that the difference between them is that it’s Charles AND His Family whereas it’s Carlos IN His Family. On one side the main entity is Charles and on the other side the main entity is The Sainzes and particularly Sr. So when Carlos is being introduced to the Leclerc family as boyfriend I think Charles would be feeling a lot and there would be a lot of stake for him emotionally, but it would ultimately go relatively smoothly. Whereas for Carlos the stakes would be higher. That’s why in my fics I always emphasise homophobia much more so on Carlos’s end than Charles.

I always envision Carlos being introduced as a partner to Charles’s family much sooner than vice versa. And when the reverse does happen it takes much longer for things to thaw.

So that ENTIRE rant to say, in my own charlos universe, this hug happening is MAJOR. Like a genuine milestone of acceptance for Charles and the strained relationship with his boyfriend’s family.

[charlestrask]

Do you have any oasis fic recs? I really want to read the bean bag one if you have it

ive been asked for fic recs before and never done it because it seemed like too much work so im finally doing it and there will be a lot.

ive read pretty much every fic in the oasis tag and i have 302 of them bookmarked because im crazy. so this isnt everything ive enjoyed in the oasis fic world but it is a good selection of my favorites. and im sure theres plenty i love but ive forgotten to include. it can also be taken as a general truth that any of the authors listed in here i probably enjoy and would recommend all of their works

so first of all we have the all time Must Reads:

World That's Been and Gone series by Storyshark2005. this is the definitive oasis fic. if you only ever read 1 thing make it this series.

Untitled by DeathandCannibalism (our beloved rye). essential noel fic. beautiful and heartbreaking. mind content warnings because it is very heavy but im assuming if you're in this fandom you probably know how to navigate yourself.

non-au fics (in no particular order):

D'YA WANT SOME? series by matewan

Make a Killing by Savageandwise

Burning Matches by Savageandwise (unfortunately unfinished)

my soul slides away by lustmord

Fishhook by TeaandLiquor (porn for the liam whump enjoyer)

To See It by DeathandCannibalism (liams shining 🥰)

Ride in the Whirlwind by matewan (bhn recording sessions. unfinished)

Double Fantasy by OrADayOfFame

outta sight and outta mind by lustmord

you never notice you are blind by mansgotalimit

A Cause Without A Name by OrADayOfFame

(And) All That I Want From You aka the desert bus fic by Fishfucker

Rejection Theory by DeathandCannibalism

What's My Prize? by joelisms (porn)

Maybe/Definitely by dornfelder

Closer than Far Out by OrADayOfFame

The Radio Star by hapaxlegomena (the beanbag fic)

All My Dreams Are You by dornfelder

At the Magic Moment by MyNameIsDanae (noel bday fic)

Estrangement by Fishfucker

A summer's tale by butchdean

Thoughts of Going Under by OrADayOfFame

low place like home by lustmord

listen, do you want to know a secret? by MyNameIsDanae

Now You're Outside Me by RedheadAmongWolves

Things We Never See by Jeevey

Exhale by cancellable

If Ever You Find Me by OrADayOfFame

My Sister Lover by DeathandCannibalism

We'll Find a Way to Do What We've Done by Jeevey and Savageandwise

Fault by cancellable (porn)

Flying High by DeathandCannibalism (porn)

Gaining Traction by AliceSweetAlice

Helter Skelter by OrADayOfFame

moult by mainpopgirl

All of the Stars by OrADayOfFame

To These Ends Of Separation by DeathandCannibalism

Contradictions by dornfelder

A Quiet, Melancholy Sort of Sunny Afternoon by Lizz_88

Come On Baby Blue (Shake Up Your Tired Eyes) by DeathandCannibalism

everything in faith in you is gonna set me free by MyNameIsDanae

you and me see how we are by mansgotalimit

aus i love:

myself, but from the outside by joelisms (soulmate au)

Here's Looking At You, Kid by RedheadAmongWolves (liam works as a bartender, noel brings dates to his bar)

Ground by cancellable (dreamsharing au)

Forthright by cancellable (noel travels back in time. unfortunately unfinished)

better get on your knees and pray by mansgotalimit (priest noel au)

Me But All You by RedheadAmongWolves (pacific rim au)

little by little by trill_gutterbug (noel gets shrunk. mostly porn)

Kenet by matewan (dragon!liam au)

an altar of sorts by mainpopgirl (boxing au)

Married With Children by OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed (bachelor au, silly, unfinished)

time's slipping away (and what will it hold for me?) by mansgotalimit (liam travels forward in time, unfinished)

im not usually inclined towards omegaverse or mpreg fics but these ones i like:

hold me down all the world's asleep by trill_gutterbug

let me fly you to the moon by trill_gutterbug

The Swing of the Planets in Orbit by Snickfic

bun in the oven ♨️ maybe by joelisms

im also gonna single out genderswaps because we dont have nearly enough.

the Star-shaped series by Savageandwise (girl!liam)

Romantic, not disgusting yet by calzinospaiato (both girls) (the watersports one)

The Things That Sleep Inside by grilledcheesefaction (girl!liam, ongoing series)

Bleed, Trip, Gloss, and Red by cancellable (both girls)

Trickle by cancellable (girl!liam)

She's standing outside and she's my next of kin by butchdean (both girls)

Deviant Peace by DeathandCannibalism (both girls)

[liliquixxx]

‘Dressed In Red’

The reason

A forsaken AU, where y/n is a wolf, but disguised as little red hiding hood. (Age is somewhere around 14-15)

Anyone is free to make fics or hcs of my AU!! (Feel free to ping me!)

Content warnings: Second pov, blood

Continuation from: Prolouge

Authors note: lowkey this reminds of me a movie called wolf walkers

It all happened to so fast. The loud noise of a angry mob, carrying pitchforks, swords, and torches. The crunching noises of leaves and snow also fills the air. Snow falling on your hooded cape and basket. Why were they all angry? Its because of you, they found out your secret, they found out you were a wolf, and you were a danger to them.

You were cornered against a stone wall, scared and stressed. You had to try to reason with the mob, but would it work?

"Please! I don't want to hurt you all, go away!" Yet your pleas were ignored, drowned out from the yelling. You were gonna get killed no matter what. You had no other choice but to defend yourself.

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Curled up against the stone wall, your fallen [color] fur on the ground, blood from the mob pools around you, the smell was overwhelming, yet you didnt care. Most of the angry mob has ran away, leaving you and a few corpses alone. Your quiet sobs filled the quiet atmosphere, covering your face. You have gained some scratches, small to large, it stung, but you couldn't do anything about it. The townsfolk has lost trust in you, and theres no way in getting it back.

It has been a almost an hour after the ordeal, you were back to your human self, yet the scars, both physical and mentally remained. Yes you have killed before, but it was only animals and livestock. You roamed through the forest, holding your basket. You wanted to go home, you had to. No one was there to care for you, your parents died from [cause of death]. Surely there must be more people like you, you cant be the only one left of your kind...

You find a spot to rest, hopefully no one will find you. You lay down and rest, closing your eyes. You needed a well deserved break. Yet fate had different plans for you.

You slowly wake up in a random forest, the snow was gone, the loud chirps of cardinals and sparrows disappeared. What happened, where am i? That was all you thought when you awaken. You look at your arms, and make a small gasp. Your wounds have disappeared, who could've done this? You thought it was random person, a savior. You hum quietly and happily, walking away from the spot you awoke, forgetting the fact you ended up in a new and foreign forest.

'Oh little wolf, how can you be so naive?'

Gonna work on a banhammer x reader post tomorrow 🥳

[immarble]

Headcanon ramble pt 1: https://www.tumblr.com/immarble/785411792159539200?source=share

If the 141 aren’t in the military, shooting people to death for the greater good, what would their other jobs be?

Hi again! Back at it again at Krispy Kreme with me rambling about more head canons! This time it’s what their other jobs may be if the 141 aren’t shooting people and y’know, all that military jazz. Not gonna lie, this may be somewhat important for my fic that I’m creating, so I thought why not kill two birds with one stone? Not only for me to give these characters an actual life along with their personalities (especially Soap and Gaz, as they’re the main characters of my WIP which I won’t disclose, it’s a spoiler lol), but also for you to enjoy and maybe, just maybe might be similar with my own interpretation (however if you have any different kinds of head canons of the characters mentioned then by all means, please comment on what their jobs would be! It’ll be interesting to know everyone’s ideas, and I love to hear from you gremlins!)

Anyways, let’s get started! Once again, from my previous head canon ramble I’ll be using the five (Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap and Roach), but like my previous post you can ask me on different characters that I can do and I'd be happy to yap, (same goes with the previous post!)

Price: Captain… Of the football team!

(Fooled ya.)

So when I was making this I was like, “Y'know, I could make Peepaw Price become a captain again," So why not make him a star football player? I saw a fanart of Price competing in football (I wish I tell y'all who the artist was so I can praise their work and give ‘em all the kudos LMAO), but I thought it was fitting for him y'know? Like just imagine him grabbing wins and trophies because his team (can be any, whether it'd be the 141 or different characters) are the best of the best.

Ghost: Detective..?

Honestly? He gives either L.A. Noire or Sherlock Holmes vibes, take your pick. Anyways, I think Simon would be a pretty well known detective, who leaves no stone unturned and his methods are… Mysterious, to say the least. Rumors say that he may be a serial killer, like the infamous Dexter, but nobody could know if he's part of it or not. (And besides, you shouldn't question The Ghost… Lest you don't want to be the headline of a news article.)

Gaz: Model

Gucci, Prada, YSL, Abercrombie and Fitch. Whatever the brand is, if there's a new clothing article coming out then Kyle's your model. He makes rather mundane pieces and jewelry work like a charm, as people flock to the socials for that new accessory or shirt (hell, even a fucking DRESS), as YouTube videos and Tiktoks always chant his name like he's Jesus Christ of the modelling industry. He knows it, and he fucking loves it. Ooh and don't remind me about the red carpets and the award shows, if you see him then you just know he's rocking out in brands that could pay off your mortgage, in beautiful dresses or crisp suits. Hell, you may even spot him mingling with the stars, (have you seen him chatting it up with Price during the Oscars? Vogue did a news article just last week.)

Soap: Bartender

Now before you ask, I don't think he'd work in some dive pub in some bumfuck, no where. No, I'd think he would work in a pretty well-known spot in England (forgot to mention, but all of them work in the UK), whether it'd be Piccadilly Circus or Manchester, he's there workin’ his charm and giving great service. Now he probably wouldn't in a busy nightclub, just somewhere nice enough where there's enough customers to keep it buzzing as his Scottish brogue works on the regulars and the newcomers who's here for good times and great drinks. (And hell, maybe one day he can make it big, either in comedy or an actor… But for now, there's patrons to serve and tips to be earned.)

(artist by the amazing arizona.mint.tea, SEND THEM LOVE RAHHH!!!) ((sorry if y'all are expecting a roach gif, with the rainbows and shit. i couldn't stand it 💀))

Roach: Sign Language Interpreter

Hah, you'd think Gary, someone who cannot speak, would NOT work in BSL? Think again. A simple job really, all he has to do is sign either a news segment, a show or heck, if he's lucky, at the Superbowl. And besides, if he's lucky he could be the next Justina Miles. (If you don't know her, she was the sign language interpreter from the Rihanna Superbowl concert.) Oh, and if he's really lucky, he's been looking for dance groups and he may or may not have a spot for a pretty well-known play happening next month...

And that's pretty much it! It's a bit quicker than my previous post, but honestly I think I want something short and sweet, so I hope you like it in this way. Once again I hope you enjoy my interpretations, and please comment on whatever you like or if you have any headcanons of these boys and I'll catch y'all later! (Gonna go rot in my bedroom rn, squealing at new edits, fanart and fanfiction…)

[kyothena]

If any of you have some nevermore short (like 1-2 chapters) fics to recommend, please do (ideally willtresor or lennabel but other ships are fine too) . I have exams in a week and it's stressing me out really badly so i like having something i can read on my revision breaks that doesn't take too long but distracts me a bit. Obviously I'm gonna search for some myself but i was just thinking, if you (as in you the person reading this) or any of your friends have written a fic that you'd like me to read don't hesitate to recommend it. Or if you just found a fic you really enjoy.

btw here are a few nevermore fics I've read recently and really enjoyed in case anyone is looking for some :

Even the wind stopped to listen. (1719 words) by Blacck (Lennabel fantasy AU fic, i highly recommend it it's beautiful) a mercy kill is what I seek (2765 words) by sir_carebearalot (Willtresor fic. Absolutely brilliant writing 100% recommend it) do you see me when we pass? : august 1984 (2951 words) by ItzKawaiiDuh (a fic exploring Annabel and Will's character dynamic, really perfect)

Tempest (2087 words) by soupRatsofmorgoth (Willtresor fic. Can i even recommend it enough ? I drew a four page comic based on it lol, i think that says it all about how much i love it)

Orange Peel Theory (896 words) by Fabuladora (Willtresor fic. Portrays their dynamic wonderfully well)

i've also written a lennabel fic incase you wanna check it out although it's nowhere as good as the fics i just listed, also it's my first nevermore fic so yk, still getting used to writing about these characters 🧍‍♀️ All madwomen die twice (Nevermore siren AU) (1595 words) by theverygreen

[chevelleneech]

Speaking of bisexual!Stack, as I always am, here’s a potential idea for when I am able to sit down and write fic again:

Smoke attempts to make a deal with a Chicago gangster that he didn’t know was queer, but whom he walks in on with his lover. Said Chicago gangster of course gets twitchy because he thinks Smoke is gonna blackmail him or try to have him killed, so he makes it part of their deal that he wants a photograph of them kissing to use as reassurance, even though Smoke is like, “I don’t give a fuck, let’s talk money.” Except, the Gangster refuses because he needs that security to keep his own empire, so Smoke is all, “It’s not my taste, but I got somebody who will kiss you, no problem.” But the guy is like, “No, it has to be you. That’s the only way I know you won’t flip on me.” But Smoke promises a better deal.

What type you may ask? His identical twin brother who actually enjoys kissing men. How is it a better deal? Because now the Gangster technically has two people he himself could blackmail with one photo, but he also still sort of gets to kiss the grouchy yet incredibly hot Mississippi gangster who walked in on him and his boy toy.

Stack is more than happy to indulge, because hot people are hot people and he likes making out. Even more so, he loves the rare moments during their travels when he is the one who gets to “save the day” from Smoke mis-stepping.