#this is supposed to be Part of a chapter and it's already 2k words

[azzinator3000]

Locked Doors 

Word count (so far): 2K 

Content: Friends-to-lovers, secret relationship, intense sexual tension, UConn season 2023/2024

Warnings: Mature Content (Minors DNI)

CHAPTER 1 - SOFT SPOT

Paige wasn’t sure what scared her more — that Azzi stayed the night, or that Paige kind of wanted her to. No, actually — not kind of. She wanted it. She definitely wanted it. 

Which was… a problem.

Because this wasn’t supposed to be like this. They had their thing, you know? Their rhythm. Their rules. Well, not rules exactly, because neither of them ever really said anything out loud. 

But there were rules.

Azzi was right there, asleep in her bed. Paige could hear her breathing, could see the soft light hitting her brown skin, the little rise and fall of her shoulders under Paige’s old t-shirt. God, she hoped she was wearing underwear. Paige was honestly too scared to check. 

A part of her felt dirty for even thinking it, for looking at Azzi like this, for wanting something so uncomplicated to suddenly become so messy and demanding. But the dirtiness was mixed with a thrill, a possessive burn in her gut. Azzi, here, in her bed, wearing her shirt. It felt… right. Too right.

And it’s not like this was the first time. This was college. They did this. That’s just what it was. 

Paige didn’t even know if Azzi liked girls, she never asked. She never asked because — well, she didn’t want to hear an answer that would ruin this thing they did. 

Maybe Azzi just liked her, and that was easier to sit with. The idea that Azzi was only drawn to her, Paige Bueckers, not the concept of girls in general, was a selfish thought. But it was a comforting one, a private vanity she clung to.

Paige knew she liked girls, of course she did. She always knew. She’d been messing around with girls long before Azzi ever showed up on campus. 

But that wasn’t something she could say, not out loud. Not as Paige Bueckers. 

Paige Bueckers? She’s a shooter. She’s clutch. She’s marketable. She’s not gay. 

Well, she is, but not in a way that fits the story people already wrote for her, the one with the clean, straight lines and the wholesome, All-American appeal. It was an unspoken contract, signed in endorsements and public appearances, that her private life would remain just that: private, and preferably, utterly conventional.

It was weird, right? That she was bothered people just assumed she was straight, but she also never really corrected them. She accepted that this was how it had to be. 

Except… then there was Azzi. Azzi, with her soft voice, her big heart, her perfect family, her laugh. Azzi, who Paige would do literally anything for. Everyone knew that. It wasn’t even a secret. It was just Paige and Azzi. That’s how they worked.

 Paige would tape over the windows to block the sun, but after Azzi started, well, showing up more often, she stopped doing that. She let the light in, even though she hated it in the morning, because Azzi was scared of the dark. Paige could never let her be scared. 

And now here they were. Morning. Quiet. Paige sitting there, hugging her knees to her chest, trying not to lose her mind, realizing Azzi slept over. Azzi stayed. That wasn’t their thing. Their thing was the stolen moments, the frantic rush, the quick, desperate relief, and then the return to their separate lives. Azzi rarely spent the night. 

And the girls? The girls definitely saw them. Paige vaguely remembered the door creaking open last night, the shuffle of shoes, someone whispering, and Paige trying to laugh it off, like it was nothing, like, haha, we just fell asleep. But no one really said anything. 

A soft rustle from the bed. Azzi stirred, a soft groan escaping her lips as she burrowed deeper into the pillow, her dark curls splayed against the white cotton. Paige’s breath hitched. God, she was beautiful, even rumpled and half-asleep. 

The morning light, which Paige usually abhorred, seemed to halo Azzi, highlighting the caramel tones of her skin, the gentle curve of her neck. Paige felt a familiar possessiveness clench in her chest, a primal urge to keep this sight, this moment, all to herself. She wanted to lean down, press a kiss to Azzi’s forehead, feel that soft skin against her lips. But she didn’t. Not yet. The rules, unspoken as they were, still held a subtle power.

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open, blinking slowly against the sunlight. For a moment, she looked disoriented, then her gaze landed on Paige, sitting on the floor by the bed, and a slow, sleepy smile bloomed on her face, dimple flashing. That smile. That fucking smile unraveled Paige every single time.

“Morning,” Azzi mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, a little hoarse. She stretched, arching her back, and the t-shirt rode up, just enough to reveal a sliver of toned midriff. 

“Morning, Princess,” Paige responded, her voice coming out a little rougher than she intended. 

But then Azzi’s face changed. Like, she remembered. Like her whole body tensed up all at once. 

“Wait—” she sat up, eyes wide now. “Oh my God. I stayed over.” Paige’s stomach dropped. This was it. The moment the fragile bubble burst. “Azzi, it’s fine.” Paige tried to keep her voice even.

But Azzi was already spiraling, grabbing her phone like that was gonna solve something. “No, no, no, this is bad. They’re gonna think—like, if the girls saw me leave this morning, they’re gonna think there’s, like, something going on.” Her voice was a frantic whisper, her eyes wide with genuine alarm. 

She glanced at the door, then back at Paige, her caramel skin looking paler in the bright morning light.

And Paige just blinked at her, sitting there like—what? You think they don’t already know? You think they didn’t know when we disappeared last night, mid-Jena’s dance moves? You think they haven’t known for years, since we were barely teenagers and I couldn’t keep my eyes off you at USA camp? Since your first UConn party?

Paige’s throat went a little dry. She didn’t know why. Maybe because she’d just realized Azzi was scared. Like, really scared. Like, this wasn’t just pretending-it’s-nothing scared. This was don’t-even-let-them-think-it’s-something scared. 

or Azzi, this was still just a casual hookup, a fun, illicit thrill with a friend. Paige felt a hot surge of annoyance, mixed with a deeper, more painful sense of embarrassment. 

“It’s fine,” Paige said quickly, forcing the words out, because Azzi was pulling on her shoes like she was about to sprint out the door, her movements jerky with anxiety. “I told them you were drunk. That’s why you stayed.” Lie. A complete, unadulterated lie. She hadn't said a word to anyone. 

The girls had let them be, as they always did. But Azzi’s shoulders relaxed, just a little. The tension drained out of her, replaced by a visible wave of relief. And Paige wanted her to feel better. Even if it meant lying. 

Azzi gave her this soft little smile, still half-flustered, but grateful. “Okay. Okay, yeah. Thanks, P.” She zipped up her jacket, grabbed her small bag, and gave Paige one last, quick, almost apologetic glance before hurrying out the door.

Paige just nodded, watching her go. The door clicked shut, leaving a silence that felt heavier, colder, than before. Paige wanted to scream, to break something. She wanted to grab Azzi and shake her.

Paige sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, the spot where Azzi had been still warm, a ghost of her presence. She pulled herself up, her movements stiff, and headed out to the kitchen, a restless energy buzzing under her skin.

KK was there, leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone, eating dry cereal out of the box because, you know, of course she was. Aubrey was perched on a stool nearby, humming along to something in her headphones, probably already awake for hours, having finished her morning lifts. Ice was nowhere in sight, likely still passed out.

“Well, well, well,” KK grinned without looking up, a spoon clattering against the cardboard box. “Look who finally came out of her love nest.” Ice took off one headphone, a knowing smirk on her face. “Took you long enough, P. We were starting to think Azzi had you chained to the bed.”

“Don’t start,” Paige muttered, pulling open the fridge aggressively, the harsh fluorescent light doing nothing to improve her mood. She wasn’t even hungry. She just needed to do something, anything, to dissipate this frustrated energy. 

The thought of Azzi’s panic, the casualness of her exit, grated on her nerves.

“Okay, but like—” KK’s grin only widened, “—are you gonna tell us when the wedding is or should I just pencil in spring? We need a head count for the national championship party, might as well combine.” “Shut up.” Paige’s voice was sharper than she meant, laced with a bitterness she usually reserved for bad calls on the court.

She slammed the fridge shut, rattling the bottles inside.

KK raised an eyebrow, finally looking at her, her expression losing some of its playful edge. “Whoa. Okay. Relax. We’re just messing around.”

“Yeah, well, maybe don’t.” Paige’s voice was, icy. “You guys don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“We literally do,” Aubrey interjected, leaning forward on the stool. “We heard you two stumble in last night. And we saw Azzi leave just now, looking like she’d run a marathon”

 “You don’t.” Paige’s jaw was tight. She knew they knew. She’d always known they knew. But Azzi didn't. And that was the problem. 

That was Azzi's problem, and now it was Paige's.

KK tilted her head, studying her, a rare seriousness in her eyes. “Okay. You’re mad. Like, actually mad.” She held up her hands, like, I’m out of this. 

“Whatever’s going on, it’s between you and Azzi. But don’t get all cold with us when we didn’t do anything. We’re literally just trying to support  whatever the hell that is.” 

Paige clenched her jaw. She knew that. She knew KK wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Paige wanted something that wasn’t hers to want.

This was supposed to be her senior year, her championship run, and instead, her heart was getting twisted into knots over a girl who saw them as nothing but a 'night rush.' It was messy. It was a distraction she couldn't afford.

Just then, the door to the room opened again, and Azzi came out, wearing her jacket, still looking a little shaken but smiling now, all soft and sweet again, like the panic from earlier never happened.

 She’d clearly just come back from her own room probably to grab something or just to make a point of leaving Paige's room properly.

“Hey, guys,” she said to KK and Ice, her voice light, innocent. Then her eyes found Paige’s. She brushed past Paige, lightly bumping her shoulder, a casual, friendly gesture that felt like a slap in the face. 

“You okay, P? You look… intense”

Paige looked at her, and yeah, her heart softened immediately, which was annoying. 

Like, seriously? Seriously? You’re just gonna melt like that? All that anger, all that frustration, it just… evaporated the moment Azzi’s eyes met hers. 

Paige Bueckers you’re pathetic

“Yeah,” Paige muttered, forcing the word past her tight throat. “I’m fine.” The lie tasted bitter. 

Azzi smiled at her, real and bright, and Paige hated that it made her feel better.

KK watched the whole thing, chewing slowly on her cereal, her gaze shifting between Paige’s softened expression and Azzi’s guileless smile. Aubrey, too, had put her headphone back on, but she was definitely watching, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“Huh,” KK said finally, once Azzi had turned to chat with Ice about their morning practice schedule. 

“So, you’re all sharp with us, but with her, you’re soft. Interesting.” 

Paige shot her a look, a venomous glare that usually made KK back off. “KK.” 

“Just saying.” KK shrugged, unbothered, her eyes twinkling. “Guess we know what your weakness is, Bueckers.”

But Paige couldn’t even stay mad because it was true. She was soft with Azzi. That’s how it worked. 

Paige could act all tough with the rest of the world, she could be the fierce competitor, the unyielding superstar. Azzi? Azzi was the soft spot. Always was.

[rookamell]

Here have a snippet of Rook and Viago being insufferable to each other and Lucanis being kind of into it and also my start to an alternative Crow plotline and also something that might never make it into the fic

The next morning found Rook and Lucanis back in Treviso.

A message had been waiting for them an the Lighthouse the night before, telling them to come to the Waterfront in the morning.

“I don’t like this,” Lucanis muttered as he led the way through the crowds around the Diamond to one of the larger main canals.

Teia’s message had said the Antaam were more vigilant than ever, that they would do better to come disguised.

Which meant Rook had chosen their clothes for today, after a heated argument about which one of them was best suited to do so.

Exactly what part of the phrase ‘the Crows send their regards’ would you define as subtle, Dellamorte?

He hadn’t exactly had a rebuttal, so he had begrudgingly allowed her to pick out his clothes. A plain shirt, light purple and devoid of the little embellishments that would mark him as a Crow to most Antivans, plain trousers and boots.

Despite the knives tucked into his pants and boots, Lucanis felt almost naked as they made their way through the crowds.

Rook looked around furtively at the Antaam standing on street corners, in front of doors, everywhere. There seemed to be twice as many of them as the last time they’d visited Treviso.

All watching for Crows.

“It’ll be fine,” she said, adjusting her shirt. “Just stop looking like you want to kill someone.”

It was a light green shirt, the laces of which were only half heartedly done up, exposing the beginnings of her collarbones.

Not that he had noticed.

Black trousers, which were no different from what she would usually wear around the Lighthouse, but seeing the tight leather hug her waist and hips in the full light of day, the looseness of the shirt where it was tucked only drawing more attention…

Why does Lucanis care. About trousers.

He frowned, trying to ignore Spite as he flitted around Rook.

Looks the same. Spite scowled at him. Looks like Rook.

“Mierda, Spite,” Lucanis muttered. So far, he hadn’t found a way to tell the demon to stop speaking without saying it out loud. It was humiliating.

Rook lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Spite,” he said, by way of explanation. Rook nodded in sympathetic understanding before returning to her previous vigilance. He found his mouth tugging up in a smile.

“We could try and talk to him,” Rook said as they walked. “Emmrich could help.”

“Spite is my problem,” Lucanis said, too quickly. “And even if that was not the case, I don’t trust the necromancer.”

“Well,” she shrugged. “Can’t exactly blame you.”

“You’d trust an abomination, but not a Necromancer?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. The crowds around them were starting to get thicker as they made their way towards the canal walk, where cafe’s and restaurants were abundant. He had to elbow his way through the press slightly, Rook following behind.

“It’s a long story,” she said, then cast him a quick sideways glance, her dimples giving away the smile she was trying to hide.

“Shut up.”

“I did not say a word,” he replied, not bothering to hide his own grin.

‘You didn’t have to.”

Ahead of them, Teia’s favourite restaurant was packed. Crow-owned, of course, and always busy, so clients setting up meetings would not be overheard so easily.

Lucanis saw Viago as they walked up, waiting at a table, his cane resting against his leg as he sat. Even the Fifth Talon had foregone his armour for a delicately embroidered doublet, his gloves reaching up nearly to his elbows.

Smells like… Spite sniffed deeply at the air, then scrunched his face into an expression of disgust. Rotten flowers and leather. Scaly. Blergh.

“You’re late,” Viago said as he and Rook sat down in the vacant seats at the table.

“Where is Teia?” Rook asked, frowning.

“We… “ Viago scowled. “Had a disagreement. I am certain she will be here shortly.”

Lucanis barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

He lies. Smells of regret and longing. Stale bread and melons.

Well, even he hadn’t exactly needed the demon to tell him that.

“Teia said you wanted to talk,” Rook said, leaning back in her chair. “So let’s talk.”

A waiter arrived at the table with a tray of coffee mugs and a pot. Viago thanked him with a nod as he set the tray down and left.

“We have… certain suspicions,” Viago said. “Suspicions we must take into consideration going forward, if we are to fight the Antaam.”

Rook reached for the pot and two cups, filling both and handing one to Lucanis.

It was a good blend, strong and aromatic.

Only after both of them had sipped, did Viago lean forward and take his own cup. Lucanis saw him wince, just slightly. He wondered if he had gotten any rest since the dragon attack.

“You said it had something to do with- “

Lucanis cut off when Rook placed a hand on his wrist, firmly. A quick glance to the side told him an Antaam soldier was strolling by the restaurant, gaatlok cannon resting on his shoulder.

Neither of them had worn gloves, and the skin of her fingers was warm against his own until she let go.

“I… inferred,” Viago said, with a small nod. “We have no proof as of yet, but we would be fools to have no suspicions.”

Rook was frowning across the table at him, considering. She took a sip of her coffee.

“You think Ivenci sold you out.”

He just barely controlled his startled glance at her. Ivenci? The governor?

But a quick glance at Viago showed no surprise, only perhaps a grudging respect.

“You suspected?”

“How many other options were there?” She replied.

“Rook,” Lucanis said, quietly, “This makes no sense. Why would the governor sell out their own city? It’s like stabbing yourself in the foot.”

Rook frowned again, this time at him.

“Exactly,” she said. “So what prize would make the loss of a foot seem worthwhile?”

“The Crows, perhaps,” Viago said. “Ivenci despises us, and he is not the only governor that does. Or money. Many people would sacrifice much for the right price.”

Lucanis shook his head.

“The Crows are the backbone of Antiva,” he said. “Without us, there are no defenses. No protection, no- “

Viago and Rook were both looking at him.

“Ah.”

Mierda. Knives were so much easier than politics.

“Regardless of their motivations,” Rook continued. “You can’t openly attack them, correct?”

“Not without bringing the might of the Antaam down on Treviso,” Viago said. He took another sip of his coffee. “And even then, there would be others to take their place.”

Rook, to Lucanis’s surprise, was wearing a small smile.

"Ah,” she said. “Then it’s war.”

“A war in which no one can strike a definitive blow,” Viago said. “Not even from the shadows.”

“Perhaps not, but you can still strike. Right now, you have the city,” Rook’s eyes sparkled as she sipped her coffee. “Despite appearances. All you have to do is keep it.”

"And how, exactly, do we do that?" Viago asked, his blue eyes piercing as he looked between Lucanis and Rook.

"You have to win over the people,” she said. “The merchants, the artisans, the fishermen and beggars. Those are the people Ivenci wants to convince the Crows are unnecessary. Those are the people living under Antaam rule. Those are the people they want to win over. Those are also the people responsible for city supplies and rebuilding.”

She was… different, somehow, talking like this. Sitting up straight, her eyes glinting. A hawk, honing in on the kill. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

He wasn’t sure he didn’t like it.

“The Crows are heroes to Antivans,” she continued. “And you only added to the legend by chasing off the dragon,” she gave Viago a little grin. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Viago inclined his chin in response. Barely.

“But they're going to start chafing, and soon,” Rook said. “Especially with Ivenci and some of the others speaking out against you, which I have no doubt they’ll do. You have to beat them to the punch."

She sat back in her chair, and Lucanis quite enjoyed watching Viago be faced with two options. On one hand, he could nod, end the conversation, and deal with Teia’s anger when he did not know what Rook’s plan was. On the other hand, he could ask Rook for help.

Spite, coming to the same realization, snickered gleefully, and Lucanis had to suppress a grin of his own as the demon’s emotions influenced his own.

Lucanis watched as the Fifth Talon’s fingers tightened on the head of his cane, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He’d never seen him quite so out of sorts as he was this morning.

"How?" he finally asked, just barely managing not to snap the word at Rook. Lucanis could see the faint outline of a dimple in her left cheek.

"Get the Chantry on your side,” she said. And left it at that.

Viago stared at her for a moment, the muscle in his jaw ticking more quickly now.

"How?"

"What is the one thing the Chantry loves more than the Maker?" Rook asked.

"The Maker's coin,” Viago answered, without hesitation. Lucanis, thinking of the amount of money Caterina spent on the Chantry during her life, almost chuckled.

"Smart man,” Rook said, and Lucanis saw Viago bristle at her tone. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying this immensely. Spite was watching as though this was an opera. He wondered vaguely if the demon would enjoy such a thing, then crushed that line of thought.

“Then, when the Chantry are handing out medicine and food, which I am sure are sorely needed after a dragon attack,” Rook continued, “You discreetly remind the public exactly where that money came from during an Antaam occupation."

She put her cup back on the table with a clink of porcelain.

Viago stared at her for a long moment, expressionless. Lucanis had known him for long enough now to realise he was torn between being impressed and being annoyed.

"I see you have spent some time in Orlais,” he finally said.

"It's been a while since I've had to play the Game,” Rook smiled pleasantly at Viago.

“But I find it's a bit like riding a horse."

"Uncomfortable, inefficient and prone to biting?" Viago asked, his frown not budging.

Rook chuckled, and inclined her head toward Viago.

“Vi,” Teia’s voice would have startled Lucanis if he hadn’t heard her footsteps coming from behind them, “Horses only bite if you handle them incorrectly.”

Teia bent down to greet Lucanis and Rook with kisses on both cheeks, and he took the opportunity to look her over. No serious injuries, scratches that were already starting to heal… dark circles beneath her warm eyes that told him she hadn’t slept any more than Viago since he had last seen them. She carried a wrapped package.

“Nice of you to join us,” Viago said, and Lucanis did not miss the fact that Teia did not greet him, or look at him as she sat down.

He shared a quick glance with Rook, and had to suppress a grin.

“I was overseeing the last of the preparations,” Teia said.

“Preparations?” Rook frowned.

“We were told Minrathous needs aid,” Viago said, his arms crossed over his chest and his voice just short of petulant.

“So we are sending aid.”

Rook’s eyes widened, jarring after how in-control she had been of her expressions up until then.

Teia nodded to Lucanis with a small grin, and Rook looked over at him.

He shrugged. All he had done was tell Teia.

But Rook’s soft smile, just a second before she turned back to Teia, was worth the argument with Viago.

“Thank you,” she told Teia, quietly.

“Of course.”

“The Crows know what is owed, Rook,” Viago said, gruffly but not unkindly. Which was different from how he had spoken to Lucanis about the same thing, Spite reminded him.

“If we have nothing else to discuss?” Rook asked, after clearing her throat slightly.

“Just this,” Teia said, sliding the package over to Rook. “Another sign of thanks. One of the walls in the library collapsed when the dragon flew into it, and it opened a chamber we had not known about. I thought you might appreciate this.”

She nodded at Lucanis.

“He can translate for you.”

“Thanks, Teia,” Rook said. Lucanis was sure the quick way she stood up, package grasped tightly, was so she wouldn’t sound too emotional.

“Of course, Rook,” Teia said, her eyes glinting. “Good hunting.”

It was nice, after the last couple of days, Lucanis thought, as they made their way back to the Diamond through the crowds of people, to see Rook feel as though she could do something right again.

[idkyetxoxo]

Shadow and Flame | Azriel | Series Masterlist

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Summary - The daughter of Autumn, born of fire and fury but made to be quiet, compliant, perfect. Her choices were never hers. Until him.

Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. Dangerous. Distant. Off-limits. 

For years, they were nothing more than heat in the dark, a quiet ache neither dared name. Until one night changed everything.

When secrets bloom into something irreversible, she must decide what she's willing to risk to protect a life that was never supposed to exist.

A story of a girl born to burn, and a boy made of shadows.

He was her shadow. She was his fire. Together, they burned.

Tags - forbidden romance, accidental pregnancy, hidden pregnancy, secret relationship, found family, star-crossed lovers.

Contents -

☾ One | Scorched Ruin | 2.8k words

☾ Two | The Unravelling | 4.6k words

☾ Three | Faultlines | 3.1k words

☾ Four | Silky Lies | 2.5k words

☾ Five | Burning Cold | 2k words

☾ Six | Forbidden Flames | 2.5k words

☾ Seven

☾ Eight

☾ Nine

☾ Ten

☾ Eleven

☾ Twelve

Bonus : for a little giggle :)

ACOTAR Masterlist

A/n - As always content warnings will be at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing. 

Before I even finished my first Azriel series I was already writing this, im aware people don't always like the accidental pregnancy trope but imo when done correctly it's acc fun!! Obviously when you factor in forbidden romance and a secret relationship it just gets even better :)

I will start posting this as soon as the last part of Little Star is posted!

Please don't hesitate to vote or comment along the way, it truly means the world to me. <3

[ssweeterthanfiction]

off the record!

summary: a sweet journalist is picked to trail billionaire bachelor Harry Castillo for an article that could change her career…and life.

harry castillo x fem journalist!reader

content warnings for the whole story: age gap (harry is in mid fourties, reader is in her late twenties), some angst in later chapters (other than that this is going to be for my fluff girlies)

word count: 2k

mood board

masterlist | next part

Chapter One

You were running late.

Not disastrously late—but late enough that the latte you’d bought ten minutes ago had gone lukewarm, and your tote bag kept slipping off your shoulder, and you’d already gotten your scarf caught in the revolving door of the subway station. Twice.

This was not the morning of someone assigned to trail Harry Castillo. No, this was the morning of someone who was supposed to be tucked into a cubicle, fact-checking book blurbs and editing press releases, not writing a feature piece on a man who could buy the building you lived in and turn it into a wine cellar.

You checked your phone again: Meeting with Mr. Castillo’s team– 9:00 AM.

It was 8:56. You were a block away.

“Okay,” you mumbled to yourself, clutching your coffee in one hand and your notepad in the other. “Don’t trip. Don’t stutter. Don’t call him sir. Don’t-”

And that’s when it happened.

You collided with someone—full-body, mid-stride—and your paper cup launched from your hand like it had been shot from a cannon. It hit him squarely in the chest and spilled everywhere: across the lapel of his navy overcoat, down the front of a crisp white dress shirt, and onto a pair of what were definitely very expensive shoes.

“Oh my God-” you gasped, already pulling tissues from your bag, “I am so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I-”

The man didn’t yell. He didn’t even flinch.

He just stared at you, deadpan.

And very, very familiar.

You froze.

Sharp cheekbones. Dark eyes. Subtle but well-earned frown lines. He looked like he’d been carved from money. Which… he basically had.

“Oh my God,” you whispered again. “You’re-”

“Harry Castillo,” he said flatly, flicking a glance down at his coat. “And you’re the reason I now smell like oat milk and espresso”

You wanted to sink into the pavement.

“I’m so sorry,” you said again, frantically blotting at his jacket with the sleeve of your cardigan before realizing that was worse. “I was just- I didn’t see- this isn’t usually how I introduce myself, I swear.”

He studied you. Carefully.

You could feel your blush rising in real time.

“I’ll buy you another one,” you said suddenly. “Coffee. Not the coat. I definitely can’t afford the coat.”

Something twitched at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But not not a smile.

“It’s fine,” he said, brushing a few droplets from his sleeve. “I own dry cleaners.”

You blinked. “Of course you do.”

He moved to step around you, but paused. “You’re not press, are you?”

You shook your head. “No- I mean, yes, technically, but not- I'm not paparazzi or anything, I swear. I'm a writer. With Kindling. Just… small features. This week. One week. Just shadowing.”

“Ah,” he said. “So you’re the one they sent to humanize me.”

“I guess so.”

“You’re off to a great start.”

Your jaw dropped. But when you looked up at him, he was smiling now, just a little.

Then he adjusted his cufflink, nodded once, and disappeared into the glass-and-marble lobby behind him, leaving you on the sidewalk clutching a crumpled napkin and your ruined dignity.

You exhaled a laugh, half in awe, half in horror.

Day one. You hadn’t even made it through the door.

You stared at the spot where he’d disappeared, still holding your half-empty coffee cup like a peace offering. Or a crime scene artifact.

Harry Castillo.

Of course that’s how the week would start. Not with a confident handshake or a witty opener, but with an oat milk assault on a billionaire’s overcoat. You considered just turning around and going home, resigning by email, maybe switching careers entirely. Dog walking? Librarian? Something with less risk of public humiliation.

But instead, you smoothed your sweater, tugged your tote higher onto your shoulder, and walked through the same glass doors he had just vanished behind.

The lobby of Castillo Capital was like walking into a luxury watch ad: sleek, intimidating, all cool marble and warm lighting. A receptionist glanced up as you approached, her eyes flicking over your cardigan, your scuffed boots, and your slightly coffee-stained notebook like a barcode scanner.

“I’m here for the media profile?” you said, voice pitching upward like a question. “Um, with Mr. Castillo’s team.”

She didn’t blink. “Name?”

You gave it.

A beat. Then she nodded, tapped something into her computer, and gestured toward the gold-trimmed elevators. “Thirty-eighth floor. They’re expecting you.”

You swallowed, muttered a thank-you, and stepped into the elevator. It smelled like leather and ambition. The kind of place where you definitely weren’t supposed to press all the buttons at once just to see what happens.

The doors opened with a soft chime.

The thirty-eighth floor was…quieter than you expected. Sleek and minimal, sure, but not cold. There was art on the walls. Someone was playing faint jazz from a speaker. The waiting area had soft chairs and bottled water that probably cost more than your rent.

You perched on the edge of a leather armchair, rereading your notes for the hundredth time.

This wasn’t just your first real assignment, it was your chance. You were supposed to be a fly on the wall, following him for a week, writing something “approachable but aspirational,” in your editor’s words. “Make him seem human, but not boring. Thoughtful, but still powerful. Like if Gatsby had a climate initiative.”

Right.

You were just rereading your pitch line when a sleek glass door swung open and...

It was him.

Again.

Harry Castillo stood there, somehow looking cleaner than he had ten minutes ago, like the coffee had been a hallucination. He’d changed jackets, this one was charcoal, even sharper than the last, and his hair was still perfectly in place. His eyes landed on you immediately.

You jumped to your feet.

“Hi. Again,” you said, heart climbing into your throat.

He looked at you for a long moment, then unexpectedly, he tilted his head.

“You know,” he said, voice calm as ever, “most people wait until the second meeting to spill something on me.”

You made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “It’s part of my process. Very avant-garde.”

He cracked the smallest smile.

“This way,” he said, holding the door open.

You followed him into a conference room that looked like it had never seen a crumb of food in its life. A long, dark table. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a skyline view. A few folders neatly stacked at one end.

“Do you normally start your mornings by colliding with strangers?” he asked, without turning around.

“No,” you said. “Usually I limit it to embarrassing myself in emails. This was just bonus content.”

He actually laughed at that—quiet, low, but real.

That surprised you more than anything else.

He gestured to a chair. “You can sit.”

You did. Immediately. Like your knees were tired from pretending you had dignity.

He sat across from you, folding his hands. “So. You’re going to be following me around all week.”

You nodded. “That’s the idea.”

“You’ll ask questions.”

“Hopefully the right ones.”

“You’ll write about me.”

“Technically, yes.”

He leaned back slightly, assessing you. “That doesn’t bother you?”

You blinked. “Should it?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he turned his gaze toward the window. The silence stretched.

You took a breath and said, “I’ll be honest. I don’t know what I’m doing yet. Not entirely. But I do know I want to get this right.”

That seemed to catch him off guard. He turned back to you, eyes narrowing just a little.

You met his gaze, even if it made your palms sweat.

Something about the moment felt suspended, like a decision was being made. Or maybe a bet.

Finally, Harry Castillo said, “Then let’s see if you can keep up.”

He didn’t offer to shake your hand. He didn’t offer you coffee. He didn’t even sit across from you in the little lounge space like a normal human being would. No, he just turned on his heel and began to walk.

“You can walk with me.”

You scrambled to gather your things.

He moved fast.

The hallway you followed him down was quiet and sleek. He didn’t explain where you were going, didn’t look back to see if you were keeping up. You were basically jogging to stay beside him.

“So,” you tried, breathlessly, “what’s the schedule for today?”

“Meetings. A working lunch. A site visit. You’ll keep up.”

It wasn’t a question. More like a quiet challenge.

You scribbled it all down in your notebook anyway, adding a small try not to fall down the stairs next to it for good measure.

The first meeting was a round-table conference with four other men in suits, none of whom so much as glanced your way except to arch a curious brow. Harry introduced you once and then didn't mention you again.

You sat quietly at the edge of the sleek table, sipping still water from a crystal glass and trying not to look impressed every time someone used a word you didn’t recognize.

Harry, meanwhile, was silent for most of the meeting, until one of the older men made a joke about “bleeding hearts and idealists.”

Harry leaned back, eyes cool.

“Idealists are useful. They haven’t given up yet.”

You weren’t sure if it was a dig or…not. But you scribbled it down anyway.

The working lunch was held in a private dining room. Three staff members. Zero menu. You had never felt less equipped for a salad in your life.

Harry noticed you trying to subtly Google one of the courses under the table.

“It’s fennel,” he said without looking up from his phone. “...Right. I was going to say that.”

He smirked. Just a little.

You poked at the dish and leaned toward him. “Be honest. Do rich people actually like this stuff, or is it just a performance?”

He glanced at you, eyes shining in a way that felt dangerously close to amused, then he quickly looked away.

The first site visit was a high-rise renovation project he was personally investing in. You rode in the back of a black town car together, him with one AirPod in, you trying not to spill crumbs from the granola bar you'd secretly unwrapped.

When the driver opened the door for you at the site, you climbed out awkwardly—then turned to see Harry had already been standing on the sidewalk, waiting.

“You're not very good at being trailed,” you said lightly. “You’re not very good at tailing.”

You grinned. “Is that a rich person riddle?”

The rooftop was huge, still raw—steel beams and open air. You took a photo for your notes, wind tugging at your cardigan. Harry walked ahead, his coat billowing behind him like he’d stepped off a magazine cover.

At one point, he turned and caught you staring.

You blurted: “You look like a villain in a Bond movie up here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that your professional opinion?”

You tucked your notebook under your arm, cheeks warm. “Just saying. Very dramatic cape energy.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond.

Then, a deadpan, “I’ve always preferred brooding antihero.”

And then he looked away, but not before you saw it. That tiny smile again.

By the time you both got back to the office, it was nearing eight. Your feet ached, your head buzzed with facts, and your notebook was nearly full.

Harry paused in front of his office door. “You kept up.”

You smiled, biting back a yawn. “I’m tenacious.”

He tilted his head. “Or stubborn.”

“Semantics,” you said brightly. “Same result.”

He opened the door but didn’t step through. “Tomorrow’s early. We leave at eight.”

“I’ll be ready,” you said, trying not to sound like you’d immediately pass out on your couch the second you got home.

He hesitated, then...

“Don’t bring coffee.”

You blinked then smiled and nodded. “Noted.”

And for the second time that day, he smiled as he shut the door.

You left the building with sore feet, a stupid grin, and the very real realization that you might be in way over your head.

Not because of the money. Not because of the pressure.

Because Harry Castillo was not what you expected.

And that might’ve been the most dangerous part of all.

A/N: ahh i hope u all enjoyed <33 i love pedro pascal and im so happy that i finally decided to start writing for his characters!! i think im gonna start a tag list for this fic so lmk if you’d like to be added in the comments <3

[theminecraftbee]

so i've been seeing this occasionally in the tags lately and i thought i'd bring up:

if you want someone to click or reblog your fic link you cannot simply post a link to the fic with either no description or a single sentence of description. if you do not put something beyond a link and a sentence, no one is going to click it.

part of this is basic internet safety (don't click links if you don't know where they're supposed to go), but a large part of this is that you have to catch someone's attention to make them click and leave the page they're on! people, in general, aren't going to click a link that doesn't interest them. you should interest them! so, how do you do that?

put some kind of image above your link in your post. this is BY FAR the most certain way to get reblogs and catch people's eye, but it's also the most time-consuming if you aren't already good at edits or art yourself. moodboards, little edited headers, or gifs can help you here (depending on fandom). art you've made yourself or have permission to use is absolutely the best option here, but it's by far the most time-intensive and difficult. full disclosure: i don't do this! that's because i am absolutely pants as a visual artist, even in the realm of editing or selecting gifsets. but if you have this skill and are sad your fics aren't getting attention on tumblr, this could be a potential answer!

write a summary and some kind of note with the link. there's a slightly cluttered cheat way to do this later in the list, but personally i find that formatting your fic post yourself is the best way to make these posts look good. i normally go fic link (making sure the link embed has the title) - summary of fic beneath that in a blockquote - an author's note about what to expect beneath that summary. however, everyone has different standards for how to do this! some people i know like to make sure tags and rating are present; some do not. some put some of this information beneath a cut; some do not. the main key here is to make sure there's just enough information above the cut in the main post that if i, a stranger, am browsing the tag and find your fic, i have enough information to know if it's something i might be interested in! i can always click to see the ao3 tags if i am intrigued, so it doesn't need to be all the information. just enough to catch my eye!

just post the whole fic to tumblr, including a link at the top or bottom. this is the most efficient non-art way to get notes on a fic you post, since, unlike a link with a description, a tumblr user doesn't have to leave the website to read and decide if they're interested or like it enough to reblog. however, there are two downsides. the first is that the fic almost always has to be short (~2k words if you use a cut, less if you don't), since most tumblr users aren't using the website expecting to read a bunch. the second is that doing this will mean most of your fic's readers likely will read it from tumblr, rather than following the fic to ao3. which, you may not care! i certainly don't when it comes to the ficlets i write directly to tumblr. however, it means i really don't recommend doing this with a multichapter fic.

use ao3's share button to automatically make a tumblr post. fics on ao3 have a "share" button, located above the tags and summary. this has a tumblr option, which you can then use to automatically post the fic link to tumblr. this is a bit cluttered since it includes all of the tags from the fic, alongside the full summary, rating, wordcount, etc. personally, i would then edit a little to remove some of that information so that it's more eyecatching and less overwhelming, but if you don't want to, that's also fine! that is still almost always going to be better than posting the link by itself with a single sentence to describe it, and isn't half-bad formatting-wise.

finally, you'll note my posts for ongoing chapters aren't normally given this treatment or fandom tags (although i almost always include a summary of some kind on them). this is because i generally don't want people finding my fic for the first time from a random chapter in the middle. i don't mind if they do, but i'm not going to spam the tag and i'm not going to make THAT much of an effort to make the post appealing. new chapters are things that might tell one of my followers that there's an ongoing fic they should look out for, and tell my current readers and followers that there's, well, a new chapter, but generally they aren't going to hook people. however, if you post chapters a lot more infrequently than i do, or if you simply have the energy to, there's nothing stopping you from applying these to chapter posts as well!

the thing is: look, at the end of the day, i agree with people who say you should write for yourself. how many notes you get isn't a big deal, i promise; the most important feeling is, ultimately, the feeling you get when you finish something and know you made it with your own hands. some of my favorite writing achievements are NOT my most popular, but are my favorites for reasons entirely unrelated to popularity. however, i see a lot of writers bemoaning how badly their fic posts do, when their fic posts are the ao3 embed and a single sentence that reads "this is my new fic enjoy"; the thing is, there are things you can do to make that link into something that someone is more likely to read and/or reblog! (i know i personally don't like reblogging links if i don't know their contents for the aforementioned internet safety reasons.)

just because you write for yourself doesn't mean that you can't give yourself a little leg up in finding your audience. it's worth it both for yourself and your readers, i promise.

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (1/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 2k pairing: leo & oc i've had this idea rattling around since the rise farewell comic earlier this year made it canon that the turtles had another brother and a sister floating around somewhere. we know who their sister is, so this is my take on that 5th brother. i hope you enjoy meeting him <3 big thank you to @soldrawss and @mykimouser for enabling my insane behavior (and thank you again to sol for drawing the art i included in this chapter!!!) title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

2020

Leo regretted his last words as soon as they left his mouth.

“Hero moves are totally your style”? As if Raph doesn’t have enough issues already.

But what he meant—what he would have tried to explain if there was time—was that Raph is his hero. He’s always been Leo’s hero. And if Leo could be anything like him, even for a second, even if it was the last thing he ever did, then he could be satisfied with that. 

It’s a silly thing to be stuck thinking about, laying on a torn up chunk of earth with a monster ominously lumbering somewhere below, looking for where it threw its toy. Laying there, feeling every bruise and broken bone, and hoping that he didn’t hurt his big brother’s feelings.

They’ll be okay, Leo thinks, trying to make it be the thing that gives him courage instead of just more homesickness. They’ll miss me, maybe for a long time, but they’ll be okay.

Leo’s supposed to be fighting for his life, but it’s all he can do to keep a grip on the photo in his hand, the only thing in this entire dimension worth holding onto. It’s all he can do to keep his eyes open when every blink is longer than the last. 

It feels like enough of a rebellion. The Krang looked annoyed that he was still breathing the last time it batted him through the void like a fly, which gives Leo the idea that he should probably be dead by now. He feels a detached sort of pride at how grown-up he’s being about all this. Better late than never

Leo waits for the Krang to come for him, dripping his blood and sneering his daddy’s nickname for him hatefully as it does, and hopes he made his family proud. 

Leo hopes he’ll go wherever Gram-gram is. It would be nice to know someone when he gets there. 

Movement in his periphery snags Leo’s attention. His brain starts throwing up warning flags, signaling danger—anything moving around in here is another parasite, or a Krang hound, nothing he’ll want to be sprawled out on a silver platter for—but he can’t summon any urgency. 

He turns his head and finds himself looking up at another turtle. 

It’s the very last thing he expected to see. They both just stare at each other for a moment. 

The newcomer appears to be a few years older than Leo, based on the broadness of their shoulders, and half a head taller. Their skin is more gray than green and their plastron is so pale it’s closer to white than yellow. Their carapace, what Leo can see of it, is a deep blue-black and they’re covered, skin and shell both, in white spots. Two of the spots on their face give the impression of eyebrows lowered in a glare, but they don’t seem angry at him.

The turtle is completely unfamiliar to Leo, which is saying something. He thought he and his family had the monopoly on… this whole situation. 

Disquieted, Leo remembers that he’s supposed to be the only turtle here. That was a very significant part of the decision he’d made. 

It must be a hallucination, he decides, instantly comforted by his own reasoning. That makes sense. He just wished that if his mind was going to conjure him some dying company it could at least be someone he knows. An imaginary Mikey or Donnie or Raphie for one last hug. One last affectionate forehead bonk. An “I still love you,” if that wasn’t asking too much. 

Don’t you cry now, he scolds himself sternly when his eyes start to blur and burn. It’s not about you. 

With a resounding crash of metal against stone, the Krang finds them at last. He’s snarling something that Leo is too slow to piece together before he cuts himself off—surprising the hell out of Leonardo by acknowledging the hallucination. That’s not how that works. 

“Another pest ,” the Krang hisses. His serrated teeth glint when he draws his gummy lips back in an ugly smile. His tone is oily and unpleasant when he adds, “You’re less colorful than those other ones. I would have remembered seeing you. Where were you when your accomplices were fumbling about in my Technodrome like the stupid creatures they are?”

“We won,” Leo reminds the alien, even though it makes him cough. His lips are warm and wet now but he won’t think about why. “Blew up your ugly ship. Who looks stupid now?” 

“Shut your mouth!” the Krang roars, going from slimy to homicidal in about three seconds. Leo cringes, every ounce of animal instinct in his body urging him to hide in his shell and ride the rest of this nightmare out. 

The spotted turtle snaps, “Don’t talk to him.” 

It would have made sense if he was looking at Leo when he said it. Don’t engage, don’t bait the big monster that could kill you with as much effort as it takes you to blink, et cetera ad nauseum. If only he’d had a nickel for every time he heard that. 

But instead the turtle is looking at the Krang, and he’s radiating the kind of cold-blooded murder that you mostly only see in movies. He has one arm flung out in front of Leo like he actually means to use it to stop the Krang from getting any closer. 

“Don’t even look at him,” he goes on, sounding seconds away from baring his teeth. 

This guy is significantly unaware of the danger he’s facing, and Leo ought to warn him about what enormous clusterfuck he’d just wandered into. Leo ought to say he appreciates the reptile solidarity, but you should definitely run, new guy. 

But this probably isn’t actually happening outside of his own head. And besides, Leo has to focus really hard on his numb fingers so he doesn’t drop his photo. 

“I’ll look where I please,” the Krang says, as unbothered by the hallucination as he was by Leo’s entire family. “Starting with that fool head of yours. I’m interested in whatever backdoor led you here. If it’s my way out, well —”

Adrenaline surges through Leo, and he’s hardly aware of moving before he’s lurching up and shouting out, “No!” 

He can’t get out, he can’t. Leonardo won’t be able to trick him again. He won’t be there to help this time. 

“I do have one thing for you,” the spotted turtle interrupts to say, reaching over his shoulder for what turns out to be a compound crossbow strapped to his back. 

Leo doesn’t know a lot about archery so it’s weird his fictional turtle does, crank-cocking the weapon like it’s an extension of his arm. He watches cluelessly as the turtle slides something very purple out of his jacket pocket and notches it into the groove where the bolts are supposed to go. It’s definitely not a bolt, but it’s a piercing-type projectile of some kind, and it fits in the crossbow like it was designed with crossbows in mind. 

The turtle aims the bow at the Krang, who clicks the claws of his metal suit on the ground the way Splinter would drum his fingers on the kitchen counter when he was waiting on the microwave. The Krang looks condescending and mildly curious, like he’s watching dumb little animals do something they’re not trained to do. 

“He told me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t be here to see this part,” the spotted turtle says, and then shoots without a second of hesitation or unnecessary dramatics. 

The Krang bats the projectile away, or tries to, but it explodes on contact with his armor, and suddenly all Leo can smell is burning metal. Then burning meat. 

The Krang begins to scream, clawing at something defiantly purple with a mind of its own that eats straight through him the effortless, immediate way corrosive acid chews through soft tissue. It moves like nanotech, covering as much of the Krang as possible in a manner of seconds and clearly designed to consume whatever it touches like a school of cartoon piranhas. 

Donnie would love it, color scheme and all. 

The Krang stumbles drunkenly, howling like a creature possessed, and Leo and his turtle companion both watch silently until he tips over the edge of the hunk of torn earth they’re on. Gravity is nonexistent in this dimension, so he doesn’t so much fall as sort of drift in another direction while he’s distracted with the purple stuff that’s doing its best to eat him alive. 

The last handful of minutes have been so bizarre that it’s actually going pretty far in convincing Leo that none of it happened for real. The Krang hasn’t actually found him yet. This is clearly a dream. Or a pre-death electrical storm as the neurons in his brain fire up to fizzle out.  

He tips his head to the side again to stare up at the archer, who is putting his bow away with perfect confidence that whatever that purple thing was, it will do the job. 

“Who are you?” Leo asks stupidly. 

“Gio,” the probably imaginary turtle replies.

Leo’s mouth runs off before he can stop it. “Just Gio? Like Cher?”

God, he thinks. That was stupid, Leo. Not the time or place, Leo. You’re in the prison dimension. You’re dying here and you can’t even cut the jokes now? Raph was so right about you.

But the imaginary turtle surprises him by smiling slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling just barely upwards in a way that somehow completely transforms him. Not the time or place for jokes or smiling at them but here they are. Like company.

“Giorgio Hamato,” ‘Gio’ says. That lands in Leo’s ears as something remarkably worth making a lot of noise over, but he can’t begin to unpack it. And after a second, he forgets what the remarkable part was. His mind is a deck of cards that got shuffled too enthusiastically and ended up scattered all over the floor. Gio doesn’t seem to mind when Leo just blinks at him, adding, “I’m here to take you home.”  

“Pretty sure Uber doesn’t come out this far,” Leo mumbles, the words a paint smear, all thick and wet and muddy. One of his teeth feels broken and it’s keeping him awake, a blistering ache that cracks through the back of his mouth like lightning. “And I’ve got, like, zero bars.”

This is how I cope, he thinks, watching the bigger turtle absorb the second bad joke in as many minutes. Leo’s blinking fast so he doesn’t cry. He’s trying to focus on anything but the pain radiating through his whole body, and the swallowing darkness all around him, and the ruins of ancient metal ships looming where they float unrestricted by gravity, and the ballistic howls of a pissed-off pink alien still dealing with whatever the heck this Gio guy did to him.

He can’t focus on any of that because all of that is scary and he’s already terrified. He needs to not be terrified because he doesn’t want to be that kind of ghost when he haunts his family. He wants to be the friendly, funny kind, the kind that gets to stay at the end of the movie, the kind that will make silly faces at Mikey so he doesn’t get scared, and leave sticky notes for Donnie to remember to charge his phone and drink enough water, and cover Raphie with an extra blanket while he’s asleep because it gets cold at night but he always leaves his bedroom door open for them.

If Leo’s friendly and funny, if he helps, he’ll get to stay. He didn’t get to stay the first time, so this time he has to make it stick.

Larger hands wrap around his. It doesn’t register for a second, and then it does in a big way.

Leo jerks his head up. Moving just that much hurts like his ribs are broken all the way down and the bones in his leg have all melted into liquid agony, but it clears some of the fog away.

Someone is holding his hands in the prison dimension.

An alien like the Krang wouldn’t know the first thing about the human gesture, the togetherness of it, so it’s not some mean trick that’s being played. And it can’t be an imaginary turtle that Leo dreamed up, after all, because kindness would be the last thing he’d give himself.

Possibly very real Gio says, “Fuck Uber. Whatever that is. And don’t repeat that word.”

The punchy breath Leo chokes in is going to punch out again as a laugh or a sob. Leo squeezes the bigger turtle’s hands, photo crinkling between them, suddenly tethered to something in this void and hysterically certain that he’ll die for real if Gio lets go.

“I’m sixteen.” Leo’s voice wobbles. He doesn’t know what to react to first. He doesn’t understand how this is happening. He holds on. “I can say the fuck word if I want to, I’m practically an adult.”

Gio’s face does something it hurts to look at. His eyes are dark and sincere, the shape of them entirely familiar. There’s a warmth inside him that permeates the gloom. A star belonging to a much larger galaxy, but more significantly, belonging to the same crooked constellation Leo belongs to.

I know you, he thinks, surprised by the truth of it. I do. Where have you been?

“We’re going home,” Gio says, the certainty in his voice like one of those huge stones a river parts around, unmoved by the currents and crashing water. “I know the way out. Don’t worry about it. Close your eyes.”   

The worst thing that could happen has already happened, Leo thinks. There’s no reason not to trust him. There’s nothing left to lose. He closes his eyes.

He feels himself drawn in, tucked against the built-in armor of a turtle chest, head resting on a broad shoulder. He’s been carried like this a million times before. He didn’t think it would happen again. Somewhere along the line, he’d been picked up for the last time and put down for the last time, and now he’s here, where no one who loves him can reach him, to scoop him up when he falls asleep on the sofa and take him to bed.

But Gio lifts him up like he’s still a kid. The Krang is bellowing hateful promises in between the grating shrieks of pain, promises of what he’ll do when he gets his hands on Leo, but all of that is far away. 

Leo isn’t afraid anymore. He isn’t going to be a ghost.

He’s pretty sure he’s going home.   

[fatherwound]

𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 - 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏: first love/late spring

masterpost • ao3

summary — running from something you can’t name, you return home for the first time in years. everything is the same. everyone too. except you. that is until the familiar face of joel miller, your dad’s best friend, comes back into your life. you thought you’d left your foolish childhood crush on him in the past thought it long buried. but your life has never been that easy. coming home was supposed to help you figure things out. not make them more complicated.

word count: 2k

psa — this is not your usual dbf!joel fic. i got tired of seeing the same thing over and over with joel as a lowkey predator, so when i say this is slow burn i mean it. but i promise it will be worth it. x

content warnings — age gap relationship (reader is late 20s/joel early 50s), father issues / eventual cws: mention of domestic violence (past), alcoholism (past).

author's note — for tumblr I am breaking up the first chapter into two parts, because it's 5k otherwise. the first chapter consists of 3 memories after this beginning, so it feels most natural to split it this way. please enjoy and like if you read! this is my first ever fanfic so any support is appreciated. x

You never thought you’d find yourself back here. When you left for Boston, almost ten years ago now, you never expected to come back. Not that you don’t love your home, it’ll always hold a special place in your heart.

But Boston was supposed to be your escape, the beginning of your new life. You had always told yourself you weren’t going to be one of those sad people who spent their whole lives in the same spot that they were born. You always wanted more than that.

And yet, here you stand, surrounded by the all too familiar sights and smells of home. The warm sun shining down on you. The sweet smell of honeysuckle on the wind. The dust already caked to your shoes from the driveway.

Spring in Texas was always your favorite, the hydrangeas your mother planted all those years ago, in full bloom by the front porch. They’ve always given you a tight squeeze on your heart, you’re glad your father has taken such good care of them while you’ve been gone. He never had a green thumb, so you honestly expected them to die without your loving hand.

You should go inside, you know you’ve been standing here just long enough to start to be strange, like you’re avoiding something. You know your dad probably hasn’t noticed you yet, so you reckon you have a few more moments of peace.

You tug the strap of your duffle back onto your shoulder where it’s starting to slip off, your skin already beginning to sweat. Too many years in that New England chill.

You really should go inside, you know your dad will have ice cold sweet tea in the fridge, and it’s been so long since you’ve enjoyed a glass. But that damn truck has you stuck in your tracks. You noticed it as soon as you broke past the tree line of your father’s long driveway.

You don’t know why it’s got you so rattled. It’s not like you didn’t think you’d see Joel. It was inevitable. You just thought you would have at least a little bit of say of when and where.

You had already spent the last two hours of your trip mentally preparing to see your dad again, which was a tiresome enough endeavor. You hadn’t expected to have to tackle them both in one go.

You can feel the all too familiar twist of anxiety in your gut, you ball your fist up, trying to hide the slight tremor there. You close your eyes, and try to picture how things will go down, like you always do.

You’ll walk inside, have the awkward hug with your dad, he’ll ask how you are, and you’ll give the same unspecific answer as always. It won’t really matter because he can talk enough for the both of you. Then Joel will probably walk out after him, and that’s where you mind goes blank.

God, you really thought you’d have more time to prepare to see him again. “Fuck” you swear under your breath, “Let’s just do this”.

You shake your head, grip your duffle bag probably a little too tight, and walk up the rest of the drive. When your feet hit the wood of the steps, you let out a short breath before putting your hand on the screen door and opening it up.

As expected, almost immediately your dad pops his head out of the den,

“There you are!” He walks up to you and there is the slightest pause before he puts an arm around you to pull you in for a hug. It’s clearly a little uncomfortable for both of you, but your dad has never been one for hugs. Always treating you more like a son than a daughter.

With a slight pat on the back, he pulls away, “So, how was the trip? Long drive huh? Hope you didn’t do it all in one go. Did you get your car looked at ‘fore coming all this way? Here, I’ll take a look at it in a minute, see if you need a top up on anything. I’ll check out the battery too, just make sure it’s all good to go.”

You nod, smiling, inserting the occasional noncommittal hum.

Eventually, your dad takes long enough of a break for you to get a word in, “Hey do you mind if I go set my stuff down? I was really hoping to get a shower…”

“Yeah, yeah sure thing, but first come say hi to Joel, he’s just out back, he was helping me set up this new grill I got. I’ve been wanting one for years, but I never could justify spendin’ that kinda money on something like that, but hell he finally convinced me, and-“

You have to interrupt his train of thought, as usual, “Yeah, sure thing Dad.” You drop your duffle on the ground beside the door, and watch as your dad walks towards the kitchen, “Here, I’ll pour you a glass a’ tea, and I’ll meet y’all out back” he yells over his shoulder.

You mumble a response, not really listening. You slowly walk towards the back door, opening it with a slight tremble to your hand.

God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Joel. Your Dad’s best friend.

You’ve known him forever; you grew up with Sarah always following close on your heel. You’ve seen him a few times on the rare Christmas you would come back home.

It’s just Joel. Typical, grumpy, quiet, nonchalant, handsome in his own rough way, Joel.

That’s what you keep telling yourself as you walk down the back steps, and you’re almost able to convince yourself until you see him.

Those broad shoulders, his muscled back visible through the dark navy shirt he’s wearing as he kneels next to the grill your dad was going on about.

He hears you walk up and brushes his hands off on his worn denim jeans before turning to face you, and god it’s like someone just punched you in the stomach with as much force as humanly possible. You’re honestly amazed that you don’t double over.

“Hey kiddo” he drawls in that rough Texas accent you swear sounds better on him than anyone you know.

You don’t know how, but he looks so different and yet the exact same. His hair is a bit longer than it was the last time you saw him. Curling a bit behind his ears. There’s a lot more grey in his patchy beard and streaks of it in his hair now. His face looks a bit more weathered than you remember, but it looks good on him.

His eyes though, are the same as always, brown and endless, and that’s when you realize you’ve been quiet for probably a moment too long.

“Hey Joel, long time no see” you smile, stepping closer.

“Yeah, well seems you’ve been too busy for me and your ol’ man, Miss Big City” he chuckles.

You laugh awkwardly, “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that”, you say as you nervously rub your neck.

You both stand there a moment longer before he closes the gap, wrapping his big arms around you. You melt into his embrace immediately, reciprocating in a way you didn’t with your dad.

He says softly into the top of your head, “It’s good to have you back, kiddo. With you and Sarah both gone it’s been too quiet ‘round here, even for my likin’” he chuckles.

Letting you go, he musses your hair a bit, which you both love and kind of hate. You're 27 and he’s acting like you’re still the kid he’s known all these years.

You suppose to him, you are.

“How is Sarah? She’s at A&M, yeah? I see her post a lot on Instagram, but it’s been a minute since we’ve talked.”

“Yep, just finished up her junior year. I asked if she was gonna come by this summer, especially with you back in town. But she’s got this good internship she’s working this summer, so I don’t know if she’ll have the time but, she said she’s gonna try.”

You nod along, but before you have a chance to say anything else, your dad pops up beside you two, handing you both a cold glass of tea.

“I see you too already did your reunitin’, hasn’t she grown up? I swear you’re taller than the last time we saw ya” your dad shakes his head and looks to Joel.

“Yeah, I guess she has, what are you now anyway? Probably pushing 30? Hell, what’s that make us?” He chuckles looking at your dad.

“I’m 27, thanks. Still got a few years ‘fore I’m old. Can’t say the same for you two. Bunch of senior citizens about to be walking around here. Gonna be retirin’ soon, yeah?” You joke, already falling back into old routine.

“Ha ha, very funny” your dad says, and puts a hand on both you and Joel’s back. “Well, hun why don’t you get ready, and we can all go grab some dinner, how’s that sound?”

You break eye contact with Joel, and nod to your dad, “Yeah sure, that sounds good.”

You turn to walk back inside, but you can’t resist turning around to steal one more glance at Joel.

What you aren’t expecting is to meet his gaze, and you immediately look back ahead, a flutter spurring in your gut.

You grab your duffle from its place in the hallway and walk up the stairs to your old room.

Everything is how you left it.

Band posters on the walls, string lights hung up, your old worn-out flannel comforter still probably needing to be thrown out. Pictures of people you haven’t spoken to in years lining your mirror. Even your old journal is still resting in it’s spot on your nightstand.

It all a bit surreal. You’re such a different person now, and yet everything else is still the same. It’s odd how life works like that.

You drop your duffle on your desk chair, and flop down on the bed.

It’s so strange being back here, in this room. Once again thinking about Joel, and how completely normal you feel about him.

You push into your eyes with your palms. God, maybe you really haven’t changed that much at all. Still pathetic.

You groan, and roll onto your side, staring out your bedroom window.

The trees outside rustle in the wind, and it’s almost enough to calm you for a second.

But your mind never is one to give you a break.

The familiar drawl of Joel and your dad float up through the window, and your drawn right back down into your spiral.

You can’t do this again.

You remember a time when he was just Joel, but it hasn’t been like that in a long, long time. And you hate it.

Maybe coming home wasn’t such a good idea.

Coming back was supposed to help, supposed to clear your head from the hell that’s become your life in Boston. The last thing you need is more complications.

You’ve had enough of complicated.

Leaving your apartment in the middle of the night, Andrew working late again; you can only imagine the shit storm that will be waiting for you when you go back.

If you ever do.

But you know you will, you’ve never been able to run away from anything.

This is just a hiatus. A break to gather your thoughts and try to figure out your next move.

And if you happen to spend time with Joel, would that really be so bad?

So you had a crush on him as a kid? You were a child, with childish whims, and childish feelings. And you’re not anymore, so it’s done.

Dead and buried.

And yet… there is the slightest bit of relief. An almost imperceptible shift in the unbearable weight that has taken root behind your ribcage. You might not even have noticed if you weren’t so used to the dull ache it leaves.

It’s just a coincidence surely, nothing to note. That you only noticed that slight relief, when you were looking into those deep brown eyes.

You roll over onto your stomach, letting out a frustrated sigh into your comforter.

Nothing has ever been that easy for you.

[loversatthegreatdivide]

Heavy Lies the Heart - Chapter 1

Masterlist // Continue Reading

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 2k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: death Summary: When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: This starts at the beginning of season 3, but some timeline things are a bit different here than in the series. Also I'm changing history--it's fine, it's basically in an alternate universe anyway.

A new season had begun, and it was with an all too familiar sense of annoyance that Benedict Bridgerton found himself arriving once again at the Danbury ball. If not for his mother's insistence and his desire to support Francesca in her first season out, he may not have come at all.

Benedict certainly had no desire to join the mart, and he found society and it's rules disingenuous at best, insufferable at worst. It was another season. Another ball. Another night of counting down the minutes while avoiding the attentions of the more emboldened debutantes and their scheming mamas.

Then again, what else had he to do? With his exit from the academy and Anthony's return, he felt rather unmoored. Adrift with no real purpose or goal. A second son with no role to fill or any steadfast ambitions. Even his younger brother Colin seemed to have truly found himself in his time abroad.

What would it take for Benedict to feel so secure?

The ball had barely begun, yet already Benedict found himself hounded by the attentions of the young ladies of the marriage mart. He suspected this was due, in no small part, to the transformation of his younger brother. Colin seemed to rather enjoy the attention, but Benedict found he did not feel the same. At the first opportunity, he made a quick exit, escaping to the safety of the garden. He stood alone, close enough to hear the music inside but far enough to feel the weight of expectation lift. He took in a deep breath of the crisp night air, and sighed in relief.

As he enjoyed his moment of peace, he heard a commotion from inside. Given the excitement, he could only imagine that the queen was finally in attendance. Always the most anticipated guest, yet always the last to arrive. He thought to avoid the fanfare, sipping the lemonade in his hand as he enjoyed the night's sky.

Benedict spend some time just appreciating the silence, but knew he would have to return soon. With things inside having quieted somewhat, he supposed it was as good of a time as any. He was also aware that certain members of his family would likely be cross with him if he disappeared for too long. He sighed, downing the last of his drink before turning to enter the fray once more.

He set his empty glass on a nearby table as he ventured through the crowd. He looked across the room, making eye contact with both Anthony and his mother. At the very least they would know he hadn't fled the grounds altogether.

He scanned the crowd, thinking he ought to at least check in on his three remaining siblings. Instead, his eyes landed on a young woman.

She was lovely.

Her golden hair was tied up simply, with a few stray curls falling to frame a heart shaped face. Brown eyes sat below worried, upturned brows as her full, rosy lips held a nervous smile.

She stood in a crowd of young men, the lot gathering around her like circling wolves as they vied for the attentions of their pray. The young woman looked anxious as she attempted to hold fast to decorum, her smile wavered but never completely disappeared. Benedict thought perhaps he should rescue the poor girl, but as more stragglers joined the crowd, he wondered if he even could.

Before making up his mind, he saw her address the crowd with a quick word, before turning and, as swiftly as was proper, escaping into a group of debutantes. The men seem to argue with each other as they each tried to follow. But by the time they turned to do so, they had already lost sight of her.

But Benedict hadn't, his gaze following her as she weaved her way through the crowds.

She smoothly slipped between different clusters of people, clearly trying to avoid anyone's notice. Many did catch sight of her, but she quickly moved on before they could entrap her in a conversation. Soon she made it to the wall, which she followed until she had disappeared into the same door Benedict had only just entered from. It seemed he wasn't the only one who desired the calm of the garden.

He debated for a moment if he should follow. She was clearly overwhelmed, and likely didn't want another man pestering her--not to mention unchaperoned. He came up with a few shaky reasons that were in favor of it, but he knew they weren't honest ones. In truth, it was simply that his curiosity had been peaked, and he was attempting to rationalize why it was that he should follow.

Curiosity won out in the end, and Benedict once again made his way back out into the night.

He saw her sitting on a stone bench near the door, her lilac dress flowing out around her. It wasn't one that ladies would consider currently in fashion; having an hourglass shape and a full skirt rather than the more simple, straight shape of the dresses most of the ladies inside were wearing. Still, he thought it quite suited her.

She looked as if she had lept from the frame of a painting. Her face draped in moonlight as she stared up at the sky. A tear slid down her cheek, sparkling in the pale light, and Benedict suddenly felt quite ashamed of himself. He realized he had been selfish, planning to disturb the time she clearly needed to herself. He turned, intent to leave her to her thoughts. However, the scuff of his shoes was enough to get her attention and she turned suddenly. Her eyes caught his, and for a moment he stood frozen in her gaze.

Finally, he came to his senses and addressed her, his tone apologetic.

"Forgive me, miss. I did not mean to disturb you," he said quickly. She looked confused, but soon composed herself as she turned to wipe the tears from her face.

"No need to apologize sir," she began, turning to face him with a small, reassuring smile, "I was just getting some air."

Benedict took a few, small steps forward. He waited for her to object, but when she said nothing he took a few steps more. They were shoulder to shoulder, though he left a healthy amount of space between them.

"It's all rather stifling, isn't it?" he asked. He returned her smile, and she quickly turned her gaze down, running a gloved finger over the embroidered vines that decorated the bottom of her dress.

"Certainly more so than I had expected."

"Am I correct in thinking this is your first year? I don’t recall seeing you at one of these," he gestured vaguely at the manor, "before."

She looked back up at him, searching his face for a moment. Whatever she was looking for, she apparently found it. She smiled with a degree more enthusiasm.

"That's quite a skill, recalling the face of every young lady to grace such a grand event," she joked.

"I could say it was well practiced, but the truth is I would simply be unable to forget a face as lovely as yours," he replied. He could see her cheeks flush through the cool moonlight illuminating her face.

"You give compliments with such ease. Is that skill also well practiced?" she asked as she began to regain her composure.

"I may be prone to the occasional bit of flattery, but in this case I am quite sincere." She looked away in clear embarrassment, and Benedict had to look down briefly to hide the grin forming on his face. "But I have made you uncomfortable, forgive me; I shall say no more about it." Her eyes moved back to him, "I certainly wouldn't blame you for being apprehensive under such circumstances--given what I saw in the ballroom, I imagine you've had quite enough of men and their compliments."

She looked back up at him, "You mean those gentlemen who were speaking to me earlier?"

"The same. They all seemed rather...frenzied to gain your favor."

"Yes, I suppose," she agreed, looking forlorn, "though I believe their intentions were quite different than yours."

Benedict raised an eyebrow, "Oh?" He thought a moment, "If it was not your looks that drew them, was it perhaps the allure of a large dowry? Or possibly some grand title to be inherited?" She actually laughed at that, albeit more to herself than as a sign of amusement.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," she agreed, "though they may be disappointed; they would certainly be settling for second best. It is my elder sister's family who will inevitably inherit my father's title, and sadly for those gentlemen she has already married."

Benedict was quiet for a moment, looking over her self-effacing expression with understanding and, in spite of himself, a measured degree of affection.

He smirked, "I thought there must be some reason we get on so well; I myself happen to be a second son. Maddening, isn't it? Always feeling like the spare?"

She looked at him in surprise, before relaxing into a grateful smile.

"It certainly can be," she agreed. She hesitated a moment, before deciding to continue, "I often feel as if I don't know what to do with myself. I have always existed to be my sister's replacement, should the worst happen. Now that she is married and with child, a replacement is no longer needed. So what am I, now that I'm no longer what I was born to be?"

Benedict had to think on that for a moment. He was hardly one to advise someone in the exact predicament he found himself in. Still, he hoped he could give her some degree of comfort.

"You're free," he finally answered. She looked up at him, her eyes locking with his. They stared at each other for a long, quiet moment until at last she looked away.

"If only that were true," she said softly to herself.

At that moment, the sounds from inside grew louder. The young woman looked back into the light of the ballroom. She sighed, then looked at him with a soft smile.

"I suppose I should return; I'm sure at this point I'm quite missed," she stood, smoothing out the silken fabric of her dress. "It was a pleasure to meet you, mister…?"

"Benedict. Benedict Bridgerton," he said, bowing gracefully.

"Mister Bridgerton," she repeated, "Well Mister Bridgerton, I do look forward to speaking with you again sometime."

With that she made her way towards the door. Just as she reached the threshold, she stopped. She quickly turned back to him, "Oh, and perhaps you should wait before returning indoors--it would be unfortunate if anyone came to the wrong conclusion."

She was certainly right about that. As she turned back, a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Wait a moment--" Benedict called out suddenly, his hand raised to stop her. But it was too late, she had already disappeared into the warm light of the ballroom. "--what's your name?" He asked to no one, sighing as he turned.

He wandered over and sat on the bench she had been on only moments before. Resting his palms on the cool stone and leaning back on his arms, he couldn't help but grin. He turned his face up to the moon, hoping to meet the curious young woman again soon.

---

Benedict eventually made his way inside, thinking more than enough time had past. As he walk through the ballroom, he searched the crowd. With her nowhere in sight, he accepted that she had already gone. With nothing else to keep his interest, he eventually wandered over to where his mother, Anthony, and Kate stood.

"And just where were you?" Violet asked, annoyance clear in her voice.

"We were quite sure you had run off," Anthony added, smirking. Benedict smiled, turning his face out to the dance floor.

"Not at all brother--I was simply enjoying the ball," he replied. Anthony and his mother shared a perplexed look, but Benedict didn't notice. His thoughts were otherwise occupied.

---

The young woman took the gloved hand that was offered as she carefully stepped into the opulent, golden carriage. She delicately adjusted her skirts as the queen looked her over.

"So Beatrice, tell me--did you enjoy the ball? Was it everything you had imagined?" The queen asked, amused.

"It was certainly different than what I had expected--but I did enjoy it very much," the young woman smiled, looking back at the queen, "Thank you for agreeing to bring me along, grandmama."

[ladylokilaufeyson5]

Where The Shadows Dance (iv)

Bodyguard!Azriel x AutumnDaughter!Reader

CHAPTER IV: The Tavern

SUMMARY: Taking care of the Princess of the Autumn Court is more challenging than Azriel anticipated

WARNINGS: more misogyny! (would it really be the autumn court without it), mentions of murder ig, alcohol and vomiting, swearing

NOTE: once more thank you to my moots @icey--stars and @fieldofdaisiies for reading over my work <33 (check out their stuff rn istg)

WORDS: 2K

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

That was the only word that was flying around Azriel’s head as he knocked on the princess’s bathroom door and received no response. She had been in there for an hour now, doing Cauldron knew what, but her silence made Azriel uneasy.

Shit. He was in such deep shit.

And not just because Y/n may have drowned in her bathtub — or worse, been assassinated — but because of the way he felt about her.

Azriel was no stranger to attraction, and he knew he was attracted to the Daughter of the Autumn Court. It wasn’t just her undeniable beauty that drew him in — it was the way she held herself, the way she was so unafraid to provoke him, the fiery determination in her soul.

But he couldn’t feel that for her. Y/n was the only daughter of the Autumn Court, and if Beron discovered the feelings Azriel harboured for her… well Beron would probably send all four of his legitimate sons after him.

So he had distanced himself after the inner circle had left. He could tell it had hurt and surprised her, and of course he felt horrible, but it was the only thing he could do. The longer he spent with the Autumn Daughter, the more the attraction grew, so he decided that if he did not speak or engage with her, then maybe that would halt the growth.

But sometimes, he couldn’t help but ask her questions, to answer hers, or to just talk to her. It must have been confusing for Y/n, with how much Azriel seemed to switch between being interested, and then ‘broody’, as she tended to put it.

“Lady Vanserra?” Azriel called, knocking on the wooden door. “Are you alright?”

He thought of how he had followed the princess into the bathroom earlier, and physically cringed. By the Cauldron, that had been embarrassing. He hadn’t even been thinking — he was too occupied with what she had said earlier, the way she had looked at him as she tried to seduce him. It probably would have worked if Azriel didn’t have centuries of training.

There was no answer, and Azriel’ worry grew. What if she had been assassinated? His shadows roamed the room beyond and… nothing.

Azriel opened the door, and what he saw made his blood boil. A pair of scissors lay on the ground beside what he assumed was parts of the princess’s gown, which had been transformed into a makeshift rope. It hung out of the window, and upon further inspection, she was not waiting at the bottom. Worst of all, though, was the guards stationed beneath her window were nowhere to be seen.

Where had they gone? Had they pursued the princess, or had she dealt with them otherwise? Azriel was beginning to see why the Daughter of the Autumn Court was constantly described as difficult.

Azriel took a deep breath. He needed to find her, and quickly. If Beron or anyone else discovered that she was missing…

The walls, his shadows whispered. She climbed over the castle walls.

Well, fuck. Azriel rushed to the window, intending on jumping out of it and dragging her back home, kicking and screaming, when a sly voice said, “Lost her already?”

Azriel whirled and found Eris leaning against the doorway of the bathroom, arms crossed and a small smirk on his face. Fuck fuck fuck. What was he supposed to say? Oh yeah, I lost your sister and she’s climbed over the castle gates, my bad I’ll just go grab her.

Eris chuckled and shook his head, a single strand of his hair swinging in front of his face. “You need not to worry, shadowsinger. My sister is perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”

“I’m here to protect her,” Azriel ground out, although he was surprised at how calm Eris was.

Eris raised an eyebrow, the gesture mirroring the way his sister did it. “Are you sure about that?”

Azriel paused and glared at the heir. That was what he was here for, wasn’t it? To be the Autumn Daughter’s bodyguard, to protect her from harm. That was why he was here, in this damned court, rather than at home.

“What are you talking about?” Azriel demanded.

Eris sighed and walked over to the other side of Y/n’s bathroom. He felt around for a moment, and Azriel wondered if the heir had lost his mind before part of the wallpaper popped out, as if there had been a secret door. Azriel’s shadows fluttered towards it, and inside, squirrelled away, were…

“Tunics and pants?” Azriel stated, unimpressed.

Eris rolled his eyes and waved his hand, causing the glamour to disappear. There were still a few pairs of folded pants and tunics, but they were accompanied with jewelled daggers and small bags of gold.

Why would Y/n need to hide bags of gold? Her father was a High Lord, and she appeared to have every material thing her heart desired.

“Why are you showing me this?” Azriel questioned.

“When my sister musters up the courage to finally leave this place, I want you to protect her,” Eris stated plainly, folding his hands behind his back. Before Azriel could even speak, the heir continued, “But I also want you to know that it will not be an arduous task. I have been quietly training her in defensive combat for decades… but still, she is young, and untried. She will need someone to protect her from my father’s wrath, to give him pause if he considers going after her.”

Azriel watched the heir carefully. His shadows detected no lies, but… why? Did Eris truly care this much for his sister? Azriel had to admit, Y/n seemed to be able to worm her way into anyone’s heart, but…

“Why me?” Azriel inquired. “Why not yourself?”

“Trust me, shadowsinger, should my father show any inkling of wanting my sister dead, I will kill him myself,” Eris said sharply, his eyes flashing. “She just needs to be safe during that time.”

Azriel found himself considering it. He could take Y/n to the Night Court, he could show her Velaris, he could—

“Wait. When we uphold our part of the bargain… you want us to watch over your sister as well?” Azriel asked.

A nod was all he got in response. Azriel opened his mouth, ready to say something, anything, when Eris commented, “You should probably go find my sister now. The Cauldron knows where she’s ended up.”

And, fuck, Azriel should be searching for her right now, but he was still dissecting what the fuck was going on here. What Eris was asking of him, and the Night Court. It would be considered an act of war if they harboured her — at least until Eris killed his father.

Azriel gave Eris one final glare before shadow-winnowing to the castle walls. From there, he followed Y/n’s scent, his shadows tracking her when her glamour was too strong for his immortal senses. Darkness had fallen by the time he had reached the main street, and his shadows led him to a tavern. It appeared to be similar to Velaris’s Pleasure Hall, and Azriel steeled himself as he entered.

Loud music assaulted his ears, the floor thrumming with the intensity of it. People danced everywhere, their bodies a large, twining mass. Azriel searched for the Autumn Princess, and his shadows found her before he did. She was in the middle of the dance floor, and had he not been so pissed at her in that moment, he may have stopped to marvel at her beauty. Her hair was loose, the top of her tunic unbuttoned, and she looked so free.

Did the people around her know that they danced and drank with their princess? As Azriel looked closer, he realised that her face looked slightly different — her eyes were larger, and her lips were lower. In fact, her skin was a few shades darker, and her hair was even a different tone. She had glamoured herself, even though no one knew what she really looked like.

Before he knew what he was doing, Azriel stalked through the sea of bodies, all the way to the princess. Her eyes lit up when she noticed him, a massive smile covering her face.

“Azriel!” she beamed, her voice slightly slurred. “You made it!”

Azriel narrowed his eyes at the princess. “What are you doing here?”

The princess snorted and downed the rest of her drink before he could stop her. “What does it look like, silly? I’m dancing!”

She threw her hands above her head, hips swaying to the beat of the music. People danced around her, as drunk as she was, almost as if they were some sort of hive-mind, and their only thought was to let loose.

“We’re going home,” Azriel ordered.

That seemed to sober the princess up slightly, causing her to frown and shake her head. “No. I don’t want to. I’m having fun.”

“Lady Va— Y/n, we need to leave,” Azriel urged.

Because, in this crowded tavern, anyone could be an enemy. Indeed, Azriel had already spotted several males eyeing her, although in their defence, there did not seem to be anything in their gazes beyond lust. Still, it infuriated the shadowsinger.

“Azriel,” Y/n groaned, as if he was being unreasonable.

“Please,” Azriel tried. “I’ll get into so much trouble if your father finds that we’re missing.”

It was the correct tactic, guilt tripping her, because it worked. She sighed deeply and hung her head, defeated. He felt slightly bad, but if Beron did discover that they were currently breaking at least seven of his rules… well, Azriel didn’t want to find out how he’d respond to that.

Y/n walked out with him, albeit a little drunkenly, stumbling and waving goodbye to people. When they started on the road to the castle, Azriel asked, “How often do you do this?”

Y/n shrugged and kicked a rock. “Every few weeks?”

“Every few weeks?” Azriel repeated, eyebrows raised. “How do you not get caught?”

“It’s easier when I don’t have a broody shadowsinger following me into my bathroom,” Y/n snickered.

Azriel frowned and refused to let his face flush. He looked around at the road, and he realised just how far they were from the castle. In his frantic search for Y/n, he hadn’t even noticed it was a relatively lengthy journey…

Y/n suddenly halted, hand clamped over her mouth, before she turned to the side of the road and emptied her guts into a bush. Azriel acted on instinct, gently grabbing her hair in one hand, and rubbing the other in soothing circles on her back. He remembered when he was her age, when he used to binge drink with Rhys and Cass… none of them would have even made it out of the tavern without puking, so she was doing better than all of them combined.

“I hope that wasn’t from the thought of me following you to your bathroom,” Azriel said, trying to lighten the mood.

Y/n laughed, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “No. Just at the thought of going back to the castle.”

She must have still been drunk to admit that so easily. Of course, she wasn’t entirely secretive about her distaste of her home, but still.

“You think you’re okay to walk?” Azriel asked.

The princess nodded, and Azriel thanked the Mother, because he really didn’t want her to throw up on him if he had to carry her. Azriel took his glove off and pressed the back of his hand to the princess’s forehead. She was warm, but not too warm, so she’d probably purged the sickness from her by now. Indeed, after doing that, Rhys, Cass, and Az would continue drinking, but that was not the case in this scenario.

As he pulled his hand back, she grabbed onto it suddenly. He was so shocked that he didn’t move when she pulled his hand closer and inspected it. Her fingertips were soft as they ran over the burn scars, and Azriel wished he’d never taken his glove off.

“Pretty,” she murmured. “Like art.” Azriel tried to pull his hand away, but Y/n held firm. “Really. There is a story behind every piece of art. And this art looks painful, but it’s beautiful.”

“Spoken like a true drunk,” Azriel muttered, finally yanking his hand away.

Y/n smiled sadly, and they walked back to the castle in silence.

TAGLIST: @honeybee54321 @marigold-morelli @lucky7rosie @itsswritten @paankhaleyaar @bubybubsters @5onedirection5 @lilah-asteria @sheblogs @thelov3lybookworm @blushingfawnsposts @thisiskaylin @morganisheree @sleepylunarwolf @bakananya @bookishbroadwaybish @namelesssaviour @glitterypirateduck @sfhsgrad-blog @ash-mc @feyres-fireheart @ib525 @azrielswhore @copenhagenspirit @eternallyelvish @teenagellamaangel @thisiskaylin @littleladdty @dnfhascorruptedme @taylorgriffin @fightmedraco

[ninazadzia]

Title: 🩸 If You Hold Me Without Hurting Me Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Yelena Belova Also Featuring: Robert Reynolds | The Sentry Rating: E (18+) Spoilers:Thunderbolts (2025) Word Count (Ch. 1): ~2k AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65393155/chapters/168280408

Summary:

Yelena is supposed to keep Bob stable. Bucky is supposed to keep his distance. Neither of them are doing a very good job.

rampant thunderbolts* spoilers. Inspired by Lana Del Rey’s Cinnamon Girl, which I listened to on a loop while writing this. 10/10 recommend hitting play while reading. ✨💔

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part i: bob

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there's things I wanna say to you, but I'll just let you live

—Lana Del Rey, *Cinnamon Girl*

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We can’t.

I had the words loaded and chambered. Practiced, even.

Bob gave me that look again—the one he’s been giving me more and more lately. The look that says maybe this time, even if it never is.

Usually, I shut it down before we get here. But tonight… I don’t know.

This was the last stop on our New Avengers press tour—a PR-fueled damage control campaign, cooked up by Valentina herself. And for the grand finale, she wanted optics. Flashbulbs. Champagne. A full-on gala, hosted at Avengers Tower.

“It helps us fight the Bargain Bin narrative,” she’d said.

Bargain Bin Avengers. B-Vengers. The press hadn’t exactly been kind—not since Sam filed that lawsuit.

And because perception was everything, Val hadn’t needed to say it out loud. I was to stay close to Bob. Keep him grounded. Presentable. On message.

They didn’t use the word babysit. But that’s what it was.

I was the one he trusted most. The only one he really listened to.

Natasha was to Bruce what I was to Bob. Emotional anchor. Ground wire. Whatever metaphor made it sound less grim.

And most of the time, I was good at it.

But tonight, he looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the floor.

And he looked good.

He’d shaved. Put on a real suit. Even combed his hair. I don’t know if it was cologne or just clean skin, but something about him smelled different—sharp, warm, intentional.

And maybe I’d had one too many glasses of bubbly. Maybe I’d gotten a little too used to the way his eyes lingered on me.

Maybe—for once—I didn’t want to carry all the weight alone.

We were the last ones up. Ava had bailed first. Walker wasn’t far behind. Alexei fell asleep mid-rant, slumped sideways on the couch. Bucky made some dry crack about the Soviet serum losing its punch, then hauled him off like it was a chore he didn’t mind doing.

Which left me and Bob. Alone.

And close.

He reached for the champagne.

“Ahh,” I said, lifting a hand.

“What?”

“I’m cut off. Already past my limit.”

Bob hesitated. Then tipped the bottle—not to himself, but toward me.

I shook my head. “Nice try.”

His smile faltered. “Right. Sorry.”

He poured himself a glass anyway. His hands shook slightly—barely enough to notice if you didn’t know him.

I knew him.

“You sure that’s smart?” I asked.

“It’s not meth.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” he said again. “Just… I wanted something to take the edge off.”

I didn’t answer. Just watched him drink.

It wasn’t the first time I’d felt the pull between us, but it was the first time I let myself acknowledge it. The way he looked at me like I mattered. The way his knee brushed mine and didn’t move.

I didn’t want Bob. Not really. Not in the way he wanted me.

But I did want to be wanted. And he did that—wanted me—without apology. Without hesitation.

It made something ache inside me.

His eyes flicked to my lips. My breath caught.

The silence that followed was thick. Not uncomfortable, exactly—just heavy with the weight of whatever we weren’t saying.

Bob glanced at me again, slower this time. Like he was working up to something. Like he was asking a question with his eyes.

I didn’t look away.

And for one reckless second, I thought—what if I just kissed him? Just leaned in and let it happen. Let myself feel wanted. Let him think it meant more than it did.

He looked so soft, tonight. Not just cleaned up—but vulnerable. Hopeful.

But I couldn’t.

Not with everything I knew. Not when I was the thing standing between him and the Void.

He leaned a little closer, and for half a second, I didn’t pull away.

And then—

Footsteps.

Too steady. Too timed.

“Shit, sorry—didn’t realize you were still up.”

Bucky’s voice cut through the moment like a blade. He crossed into the kitchen without looking at us, poured a glass of water, and took his time drinking it.

Casual. Measured. Deliberate.

I’d pulled this move before. Walk in late, look unbothered, kill the mood.

Maybe he was just returning the favor.

He was already halfway across the room, headed to the kitchen like it was a casual water run.

Bob practically teleported to the far end of the couch.

I could still feel his breath on my skin.

Bucky filled a glass, took a sip, and only glanced at us on the way back.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he added dryly.

It was too smooth. Too perfectly timed.

I knew that move. I’d used it myself.

You sly bastard.

Bob was muttering something under his breath, looking at the floor.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to mine—checking. Not asking. Just seeing.

I stood up fast. “I’m heading to bed.”

And just like that, the spell broke.

I didn’t look back. But I knew exactly who was watching me leave.

What the fuck, Yelena.

I’d almost kissed Bob. Bob. Robert Reynolds—the Sentry, the Void. The most powerful human, being, or God recorded in human history. The one person on the team I’d been not-so-explicitly tasked to protect at all costs—and to help avoid emotional distress.

I tried my best not to run down the hall to my room. My hands shook as I ripped my dress off.

“Get a fucking grip, Yelena,” I muttered, like a mantra. How could I be so fucking stupid?

Bob and I had always been close—closer than the other Thunderbolts. I had a soft spot for him. And I knew he knew that. But the more I thought about it—the way he looked at me, the way he always looked at me—I knew he’d felt it too.

That pull, that longing, between us—it was real. But was it mine? Or was I just mirroring it back at him? Letting myself feel wanted, instead of… whatever the hell I actually was.

I threw on the nearest sweatshirt and pants I could find. Shut off the lights. Crawled into bed.

If I could just pretend to sleep, maybe I could pretend I hadn’t almost made the worst mistake of my life.

“We can’t,” I whispered to myself.

Even though the thought alone made me wet. Even though I could still feel his breath against my lips, his suit against my skin.

But I didn’t want Bob. Not in the way I wanted to be wanted. Not in the way I…

God. Why was Bucky always the one who showed up at the exact wrong moment?

Or maybe—the exact right one.

I slipped my fingers between my thighs. The pressure hit fast—hot, desperate. “We can’t,” I whispered again, as I teased the edge of my clit.

I’d fleetingly had this fantasy before—but it wasn’t like I’d ever acted on it. Not really. Not until now.

I imagined his head between my legs. His mouth. His hands. The weight of his body, holding me in place.

My thighs trembled. Breath caught. I was so close—

—and then the door creaked open.

I didn’t even have time to yank the blanket up.

“Shit—”

He turned fast—too fast. Hand up over his eyes like it could erase what he’d just seen.

“I—I knocked,” Bucky stammered, mortified. “I should’ve knocked louder. I didn’t think—fuck, I’m sorry.”

His voice cracked with it—panic, embarrassment, regret.

“You always check on people like this?” I managed, breathless, yanking the blanket up over my hips.

“You said you were going to bed. I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Clearly.”

He froze in the doorway, still turned away. His hand stayed over his face like I might combust on contact.

“Bucky.”

My voice came out quieter than I meant.

He turned, cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if it was a trap.

“For what it’s worth,” I said, voice low but steady, “this wasn’t… a regular thing.”

His mouth twitched. He didn’t quite meet my eyes.

“I wasn’t planning on it. You just… caught me on a weird night.” I shrugged, folding my arms. “Can’t blame a girl for having urges.”

That got a reaction—barely. The ghost of a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Especially when we’re all playing pretend half the time,” I added. “Like we’re not human.”

He was quiet for a beat. And then—

“You’re not the only one with urges.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. His posture went rigid the second they landed.

“What?” I said, blinking.

“And you’re not the only person on this team who wants someone they can’t have,” he added, softer, almost like it hurt.

Silence.

His eyes widened just slightly, like he’d only just realized he’d said it out loud.

“Shit,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“That sounded… personal,” I said, cautious now.

“I should go,” he said quickly, already turning.

“Bucky—”

“Forget I said anything.”

“That’s gonna be hard.”

His hand gripped the doorknob like it was an anchor.

“Sleep well,” he said.

And then he was gone.

[evolnoomym]

1. This is me trying

Sugar-Daddy!Joel Miller x f!OC

General Masterlist | „Runaway Butterfly 🦋“ Masterlist

Summary: You may have gotten out, but the damage is done. As you look back on the past you take a step forward in the present.

Rating: 18+ explicit content mdni!!!!

Word count: 2k

Warnings: no y/n, f!reader, this is how my first OC Moon got born, childhood abuse, self hatred, alludes to sa & suicide attempt(s), 2 separate instances of underage OC getting taken advantage of, nothing to graphic, Weed consumption, panic attack, OC sexualizes herself, she has tits and ass

If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Authors note: This is the first chapter of my my first Series, it’s been sitting in my notes basically for about 3 months. (Can we believe I’ve been here for 3 months already 😅) I know it’s rather short but the following chapters will be a lot longer. No Joel except in photos, also the Hawaiian Flannel he wears in one of those is the same as @strang3lov3 owns, hers is inspired by Jim Hopper. Bug was also the one that told me to write, so it’s all thanks to her 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Shoutout to @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune for the dividers 🫶🏻

Big thank you to for beta reading @fhatbhabiee & @jennaispunk 🦋🦋🦋

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 👌🏻

Technically you are missing, you didn’t tell them where you’d go, they didn’t even knew you’d go at all. Though, you are sure that they are happy to be ridden of the problem, connecting all of them.

They took your pride, confidence, dignity and hope. They clipped your wings early on so you’d never get away, no chance at getting out of this nightmare. Always destined to be the black sheep, the picture-perfect scapegoat for all of them, and whenever something went wrong you got blamed.

No wonder you started to hate yourself, believing their cruel words. You were never good enough and they made you think it would be better if you would just be gone.

They tore you apart, made you hate the girl in the mirror till you just wanted to give up, they put all the blame on you, they used you as a little girl sized punching bag, they made you believe that everybody grows up that way.

Since both of your parents were equally unstable people, it forced you to grow up quickly, so you could take care of them. Never would you know who that real version of yourself could’ve been, without all the trauma, a loss to carry forever.

How should you have known that what happened was wrong, if you never knew anything else. You thought the violence and the loneliness was part of being a little girl.

With time you became something akin to a shapeshifter, trying to be whatever it took to fulfill their desires, if it meant to be loved. Even just the tiniest amount of recognition, was worth giving yourself up.

But those closest betrayed you. Turns out it was all for nothing at all. All the sacrifices you made were so entirely useless, breaking yourself down to become the version they might’ve liked best, trying fit the shape of their choice and satisfy their deranged ego’s.

You scraped together any amount of savings you still had and sold everything you owned that was worth anything. Your Dad and Grandma gave you some money and that was it.

They had pushed you so far, you felt the need to flee to an entirely different continent, almost a 15 hour fly and 525 miles away from what was supposed to be home, that’s what it took to get some semblance of freedom and peace. Austin became your home, it was a fresh start and that’s exactly what was needed.

To much happened, to many unforgivable occurrences. You couldn’t ever heal in the place they broke you in, surrounded by abusers. They might have forgotten, painted an entirely new picture of the truth for themselves, but you’ll always remember what really went down.

You could still vividly remember your brother’s frantic calls once he realized you were gone. He couldn’t believe you’d really go through on that childish silly dream, he always laughed at you for saying, you’d just pack up one day and leave everything behind.

Guess he’s not laughing anymore.

After countless attempts you finally gave in and picked up, only to met by loud thundering voices yelling at you. It was all about how insane you must be, so incredibly selfish, overly dramatic, over-emotional and weak for simply running away.

A coward.

As always it’s just about them, their feelings and what would be best for them. No care for what you’d want and what the best for you could be.

You tolerated more than anyone else would’ve, before ending the call. It was just an accumulation of empty threats, supposed to put you back in line, but it did the opposite. That phone call was the last time you’d speak to them.

8 months have passed since leaving, its now May and here you sit lounging in the living room of your tiny two-room flat. The soft, grey, cloud-like couch was one of your best investments, making it your second favorite place besides your bed.

Its Friday. The clock shows that it’s close to 6 pm, the early-evening breeze flows in through the open balcony and alongside the bustling noises of the streets outside. Cars honking, tires screeching, kids yelling, people laughing and birds chirping, all of it reminds of the overwhelming world waiting outside of your safe bubble.

You just pulled out your rolling tray, trying to quiet your mind, you’ve barely finished licking the paper. When your phone suddenly goes *ping* *ping*, a sound you haven’t heard before.

Normally that might make you anxious but today you are just annoyed by any sort of interruption to your routine.

„Ughhh.”

You begrudgingly get up to retrieve your phone from the kitchen counter. When you reach it and take a look at the screen you immediately understand what caused the strange sound.

A notification for the Sugar-Daddy website you had started using earlier this week. You have tried those odd websites before, at 16 thinking it would be a good idea. Back then you were already after the attention of a mature, wealthy and significantly older Men.

Looking back you always had a weird infatuation with men outside your age range.

Your first kiss happened, when you were 13 and still played with dolls. He was 21 and had just gotten his drivers license, already moved out and had a job. He took you on a walk, then sat down on an old park bench and just kissed you which felt like heaven,at the time. He was your Bestfriend’s older brother who knew exactly how madly in love you were with him.

Two years later, at 15, you thought that 25 year old police apprentice was seriously interested in you, convinced he’d make you his. But, no, he wanted to fuck a minor, he was after the thrill of something tight and young, to be the first to break you in and then throw you away once you served your purpose.

Even though you were foolish and naive, the perfect opportunity for him to use, it seemed your desperate want for genuine love chased him away before he could go in for the kill.

In those instances you were lucky that nothin worse happened, but at 17 the luck had run out or maybe what happened is what you get for making the mistake of trusting.

It was the friendly guy in your semester group, the one who was troubled himself but made you feel like it’s okay, he seemed to understand you. He became a good friend, he made you feel less alone and in the end he became the biggest nightmare.

Your trust was already broken and played with many times before him, but what he did was one too much. He changed the way you viewed the world, the way you lived.

You were deeply afraid of ever running in to him again, and when it happened you could practically feel the world stop spinning.

It was just a worst case scenario that never came true until it did. You remember that day like it was yesterday, it was supposed to be a quiet run to the grocery store, shopping with a friend. Standing in the bread aisle, you were waiting beside the cart for your friend to make her decision. You just stared down at the ground for a split second before looking back up and there he was. Staring at you with this awful smile of his. Ringing in your ears, shivers running down your spine and shaking hands were all you needed to know that getting out of there was more than necessary.

As you stood at the cash register the thought that it might not have been him weaseled itself into your head. The hope that it might’ve been just some mix-up got crushed when a voice behind you spoke up. That voice, the way he talks, you would recognize it anywhere. He was right there, the monster who looked so nice in the beginning was just a couple inches away. You could practically feel him breathe down your neck, just like he did that night. Keeping your composure was the biggest challenge.

Afterwards on the way home, in your friends car you broke down, never ever would you want him that close again. He contributed to you wanting to get away.

Now at 21, even after everything that happened, you thought about giving the Sugar-Daddy thing one last chance. The money would be nice, of course it would, living free without having to worry, having someone who takes care of you and you get to just enjoy living, is the dream.

You wanted to experience that, so the Profil was created, a few pictures were added showing your face, one displayed a peak of cleavage and another with focus on your backside, wearing tight pants that accentuate your plush ass all while you are just sweetly gazing over your shoulder.

Those photos were choosen with good reasoning, you believed that showing skin would attract more attention from the Sugar-Daddy’s.

A classmate once told you „You know...the only fuckable thing about you is that set of tits and that ass. Nothin else, well except maybe ur mouth,“ all while smugly laughing.

And he wasn’t the only one who said shit like that, so you believed it, showin off the assets it was and it worked but none of these man were really what you were looking for.

After 2 days of being flooded with messages, little to nothing came through anymore which you were a bit happy about, since the overwhelming attention was too much too quickly.

You are a recluse, three friends that’s all you got, two of them not even living in Austin. A lot of times you just want to be alone with yourself. Branching out like 6 years ago is not your style anymore and you started to regret putting yourself out there like this. You would’ve probably deleted the profile if it wasn’t for the awfully handsome Man who apparently took a look at your profile which caused the whole strange notification-sound.

You could only see his name “Joel Miller” but that was enough to peak your interest.

You take your phone, walk back to the couch and sit down. You scutch backwards till you can feel the pillow at your back to lean against. You open his profile and your mouth goes dry instantly. He looks to be about 40 ish, his brown-grey streaked locks are neatly styled, a well groomed beard adorned his face and those grey patches certainly made you squirm in place.

They showed his age and that is what turned you on. His amber brown orbs were quickly pulling you in. In some of his photos he wore expensive lookin suits, all highly professional. In others he looked more casual, wearing flannels and even a cute hawaiian shirt in a picture that must’ve been taken on a beach.

He looked big, 6ft3 tall, tan skin, with broad shoulders, biceps that could crush you and his hands, oh they are a sight to behold, you thought of what he could possibly to with them. How would they feel on your body, holding your hand, caressing your face, stroking your head or squeezing your waist.

You feel your cheeks get warm, heart rate picking up and there is a tremble in your breathing, all because of him.

You can already imagine how much power he would have over you with his entire body, you want that.

With all the gawking and fanning you lost track of the time, 45 minutes where spend looking at him, that realization made you feel a bit embarrassed but it turned into shock when the *Ping* *Ping* sound of again, this time with a notification that read ”Congratulations, The verified Sugar-Daddy has sent you a message don’t let him wait to long, swipe here to answer,“ and then his name ”...Joel Miller“.

Maybe he would be different to those before him, maybe you got your luck back and so you decided swipe.

Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI, thank you 🙏🏻

People I think might be interested: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelmillerisapunk @joelslegalwhre @punkshort @burntheedges @almostfoxglove @taeslarityy @joelsdagger @littlemisspascal

Taglist 🦋: @joelalorian @msjarvis @stevie75 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @beefrobeefcal @baronessvonglitter @sherala007 @moonlitbirdie @thundermartini @sjc7542

Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist or taken off 🫶🏻

[romana-after-dark]

Our Gentle Sins: 18 Part 1 (Before)

Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

Spotify Playlist

Follow @romana-updates and click follow, join my tumblr community or ask to join the tag list to keep up!

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi

Chapter summary: Past. You want to be clean of Logan

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religious trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

EXTRA WARNING: Self harm via burning shower, graphically trying to get clean from Logan (putting things inside you that shouldn't be to the point of extreme pain for the sake of clensing)

2k words

AN: Gang I just decided to put the BEFORE out, then that way the AFTER i can focus on telling a full story. It's gonna be longer and since this is already 2k, which is about how long a normal chapter is for me, i decided just to split it. After this, we have AFTER, then one more chapter thats more of an epiloge.

Before

How are you supposed to behave around someone who just raped you? Someone who, an hour ago was inside you as you dissociated staring at the ceiling? Someone who now lies half naked in your bed, dick still sticky against your thighs.

You just wanted him gone, wanted him away from you but his arm locked tightly around your middle as he snored behind you. What a luxury it is to be able to sleep right now. Logan had apologized profusely during and after, but how bad could he truly feel if he fell asleep while you continued to cry in his arms? The axe forgets, but the tree remembers.

You needed to get away. “Logan.” You shake his thigh and he jolts awake beside you; for a moment you fear his claws might come out, but they don’t.

Logan nuzzles his face against you, a tenderness you tried to detach from the man who’d betrayed you. “Hm?”

“It’s um… it’s almost dinner. We were going to eat with Remy, remember?”

“Oh…” Logan sits up, brown hair sticking up widely every which way and there’s a domesticity to him. You bet he feels like he is waking up next to his girl after a nice afternoon fuck and nap; you feel like you’re going to throw up. “Can’t you tell me another time?” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

You should be afraid of him. You should be meek and shy and complacent, but this was not your first rodeo. Incredulous, you turn to him and scoff as you stand, your dress fluttering down around your calves. “Oh, I’m sorry, does sexual abuse really take it out of you?”

Logan’s face fall at that, looking akin to a kicked puppy. “That’s not- I’m sorry! I love you, dolly, you know I love y-”

“I hate you!” You grab a pillow, slamming it on his face. You’d have slapped him, but you’ve had enough of the touch of his skin to last a lifetime. “I hate you for doing this to me!”

“I love you! All I wanted was you!” Still on the bed, Logan sits up on his knees. “I’m giving you what you wanted, baby doll, I’m giving you a family.”

You freeze, eyes going wide as you become acutely aware of the wetness between your thighs, his spend dripping down.

“I HATE YOU!” You shout at him, pointing to his stupid baffled face. “When I get out, you had better be gone or I will start screaming for Remy.” You slammed the door to the bathroom in his face. 

In the shower, you can hear him gathering his things, the jingle of his belt pulled over his hips and you gag at the memory of his dick inside you. Still, a more pressing issue took your attention and forced you into a panic. Logically, you knew soap wasn’t supposed to go in your vagina, but that was merely a distant thought as you wet a puffy round loofah and lather it up with soap. Sticking it inside you wasn’t difficult, but greatly uncomfortable with how sore you were. Scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing inside you, you want every trace of him gone, you want his seed out of you, you cannot have this baby! You can’t leave a single particle inside you to infect you the way Mark had. You wouldn’t be that person again, you wouldn’t make the mansion subject to the horrors that lived inside you the way you had the others.

You had to become pure.

The water burned, but you deserved you. You turned it hotter until it was near scalding. Purify, purity, purify. Kill the evil on the outside and the inside in the burning water. Don’t cry. You don’t deserve to cry, this is not the time for tears. You don’t deserve to feel sad. This was your punishment for what you did to everyone in that house, wasn’t it? You didn’t deserve the good you thought you had with Logan, you didn’t deserve love. You deserved the fire rippling down your skin and the burning inside your cunt until you caught sight of blood.

It was too hot, your body beginning to over heat but you didn’t feel clean. You felt dirty beyond belief, like you’d never feel clean again. Naked, you stumble out of the still-running shower and riffle through your medicine cabinet until you find what you're looking for. The hand sanitizer squeezes easily onto your fingers, and the last thing you remember before blacking out was screaming in pain.

*

You never thought you’d be someone who’d die in an alley.

You were respectable. Your family was middle class, you were told to look down on the homeless. Lazy. Entitled. Addicts. You never realized how easy it was too fall.

Your money had taken you as far as you could get north, but you didn’t ration for food. Or water. 

“Save me” You cry out in your mind, and maybe a little from your mouth. “God help me. Deliver me from nowhere. Deliver me from this. I’m not ready to die. I don’t want to die a sinner. Give me a chance, God, please, I’ll do whatever you want… just don’t send me to hell… I’m so afraid.” These words, in some fashion or another, repeated for 2 days. For the most part, all you did was lay in the dirt and piss of the concrete. The days were sweltering but at least that made the night bearable. Not like you could sleep anyway, you just laid there and prayed behind the dumpster for God to save you.

*

“Gambit, I need you, it’s urgent.”

When Remy arrived in Charles’s office, he looked in pain, sitting at his desk and holding his head. “What’s hap’n’n?” Charles often got vision that crippled him, but he wasn’t sure what he was needed for.

“There’s a- girl, she needs us.”

“A mutant?”

“No.”

Now this was odd. Remy didn’t have any issue with humans, generally. He didn’t hold the same suspicions as Scott, even if he wasn’t as forgiving as Kurt was. 

“Since when do de X-men handle non-mutant tings?”

Charles just shakes his head. “She’s in terrible pain, Gambit. Terrible. Crying out for help so loud I can’t hardly hear anything else. Please, I need you to bring her here, see what we can do.” he handed remy the address, saying he’d help guide him to you once he arrived. “Bring food and water…” Charles mumbles into his hands. “I fear she’s dying.”

*

You thought he was the devil at first, his eyes black and red, so you begin to scream. 

However, as soon as he started talking, you felt… at peace.

“Easy there, little pistache.” he says, kneeling beside you and holding out water. “I am not here to hurt you. My name is Remy Lebeau, I’m here to help you, if you’ll let me.”

He was so careful around you, giving you the food and water you devoured so quickly and not saying a word. He didn’t speak until you had finished.

“What do you want?” You ask, still side-eyeing him. “I’m not- I’m not a hooker.”

Remy looks so confused at that. “Does everyone who treats you kindly want that from you, Cheri?”

“They want something.”

“Not me, I promise.” He holds out a hand. “Just let me help you.”

You couldn’t walk, exhaustion tearing at your bones. What surprised you was when he asked to carry you. Asking was unheard of. It wasn’t sex, so why did it matter? He asked you. He waited until you said yes. He asked to touch you… His car was parked on the street, and before you knew it you were driving through the gates of the X mansion, starting a new life.

*

You wake in Remy’s arms. You knew it’s him by the same, the little-bit-too-strong cologne you’d come to love.

“Remy?”

The speed running slowed, Remy looking down at you with wide eyes and relief. His brown hair, oddly out of a ponytail, fell around you. “Pistache! Thank God, what de ‘ell ‘appened?”

You wondered if you should just… tell him. It’s Remy, after all… but before you can think, he opens the door to a bright while room Hank dropping down from somewhere unseen.

You try to explain you’re fine, that you just fell in the shower, but Hank insists on a full body scan.

“It seems you overheated, my dear.”

You take the out. It was probably true, anyway. “Oh, yeah, the shower was really hot, I guess. Can I-” When you move to sit up, Hank’s hand holds you down by your shoulder. It takes everything in you not to begin panicking.

“Just a minute, it seems you-”

Remy pipes up. “Hank, take your hand off da girl.” His voice is soft. Hank would never hurt anyone, a gentle giant, but he could get preoccupied with his work.

“Oh!” He looks embarrassed. “Apologies, you know how I get so caught up- well, never mind. It seems pain sensors are going off in your pubic area. Are you experiences vaginal-”

“HANK!” Remy is more assertive this time.

Hank sets down his pad, hands on his hips. “Remy, I'm afraid I can hardly be at fault for being technical here. She’s having pain, I’m her doctor.”

A silent exchange was held between the two men. You stare at the ceiling, because this happens enough you don’t need to see it to know what’s happening. Remy is protective over your dignity, but you’ve seen Emma, Logan and Jean give similar looks to people. Hank did your medical exam when you first came. You hated doctors, but at that point Remy had to carry you from the car to the medbay, and you were to catatonic to resist. 

You remember hearing Hank say something about your stress levels being off the charts. You supposed your body held onto the fear even if your mind was numb.

Remy, Charles, and Hank all knew what happened to you. Charles had met you in the med bay not long after arrival, though you could hardly look at him. You’d refused to let Remy leave, so he got to hear about the evidence of repeated breaking in your arms and the bruising on your ribs from the last time Mark kicked you bloody. He got to hear of the all the permanent damage to your body.

Maybe that’s why you always were so open with Remy? There was nothing to hide, really… Until now.

“I have a UTI” You mumble, embarrassed. You loved Hank, he was sweet, but he’s not who you wanted to see right now. You didn’t want to see anyone.

Hank insisted on putting you on a short IV drip while you rested, just so you weren’t further at risk with dehydration and heat exhaustion. He set you up in the med bed, and left you be.

“Want me to stay, pistache?” He knew how doctors offices made me feel. He knew why. Remy new everything until now.

You shake your head. “Nuh-uh… just wanna rest…” 

He looks at you in a funny sort of way. “You alright? You seem… off today. I’m not sure you want t’be alone right now.”

Your anger flared up again. “I’m not going to FUCKING kill mself Remy!”

This startled him. You never yelled at Remy, you never even snapped at him, but he took it instride, pulling up a chair. “I don’t care what you do, if you need to cry or scream or what. I’ll turn da chair around if you want me too, won’t talk. But I ain’t leaving you alone right now. Ain’t never gonna leave you alone, pistache.”

In his arms, you finally cry.

I went way harder than I meant to with the shower scene im sorry ;-;

TW THE AFTER OF MY RAPE idk if this is tmi but idk if ive ever talked about this part.

When I was raped i just remember graphically wanting his off of and out of me. He also fell asleep in my dorm bed and I was so in shock i was like?? what do? With no where to go. I went to the living area and slept in and out of sleep for a few hours until it was time to go to my 8 am class.

For some reason after everything that happened to me i just remember the fucking humiliation having to wake my rapist up in MY BED as he's naked still and sweaty and i shake his shoulders and tell him he's gotta get up because i need to go to class. Why does that stick with me so badly?

Then i got to work with him for a month before i dropped out of college.

Something triggered me yesterday so i guess it came out in my writing.

ANYWAY

enough trauma dumping to yall.

LOGAN WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOUUUUU

Be sure to follow @cosmic-kid-in-motion ill start transfering my works over there soon

I dont have a poll idea today sooooo

guesses how we end???

@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia a @new-genesis100 @teaganthemorningstar @oldloganslittleslut @zaggprincess2 @bugsinmyeyez @groundclueless @cosmolight @nonamevenus

[anacdoce]

I Wish

Chapter 1 - Under the moonlight

Pairing: Astarion x you (f!reader, implied sorcerer)

Rating: T

Word count: 2k

Warnings: some angst; hurt; after the events of the game

Summary: Astarion fills his heart with guilt, thinking he is unworthy of your love and is trying to push you away from him.

a/n: This is my first fanfic writing and I'm a bit nervous about it. So please let me hear your thoughts about it.

This chapter functions like a prologue for the rest of the story, because initially it was supposed to be a one shot thing. But then my brain couldn't stop there and I have already some more material written after this.

At last let me make some mentions here: first of all let me thank to @bloodlessdarling who kindly let me use her beautiful photo of Astarion, which inspired me to write all of this chapter. Second, I want to thank to @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate for her kind words, encouraging me to share my writing. And to finish let me thank my husband, who patiently has been dealing with my Astarion obsession for the past few months and for his reading and helping with this fic (english is not my native language and I was never confortable on writing in it).

Read on ao3

Next chapter

Astarion sat by the fire, reading, a routine he had maintained for the last few months of your life together. But something is off. You can tell.

For a few days he has been avoiding you. He doesn't seem interested in talking or sharing moments of intimacy with you. Sometimes you catch him glaring at you, but as soon as you exchange eyes with him he just pretends that he is doing something very important that has nothing to do with you. And you started to get worried.

This isn't the first time, though. 

Since you have dealt with the absolute and got free from the tadpoles, you have been on a hunt for a cure for him, to make him able to walk in the sun again.

Gale is helping, researching every tome that he can put his hands on, and you have followed every lead, no matter how small it was. You know that you would do anything for that man. But until now you haven't discovered nothing, and sometimes Astarion gave in to the frustration. And you understood that. You understood when he was not in the mood for joking or talking. You understood when he looked at you with sad eyes and a fragile smile, saying "Don't worry Sweetheart, I will be alright. This will pass..." But in the middle of everything, you were, always, his safe place. Astarion always looked for your lap to recover and regain strength to restart. Never before did he avoid you. So, you are worried.

As you wander through your thoughts you catch him staring at you, with a sad guilty face, and just like the last few times you caught him doing that he just looks away from you.

Enough. 

You want to know what is happening, what is he thinking, why is he acting like this. You can't stand feeling apart from him any longer. Unless... unless that is his wish, to be parted from you.

"Astarion?"

"Yes?" he responded, not lifting his eyes from the book.

"What's wrong, Love?"

He shifts in his chair, uncomfortable. You can feel his tension across the room. His breathing is heavy. "Wrong? Why would you say that?" His voice is low, cold, controlled. 

"Are you avoiding me? You don't talk to me, don't look at me. You haven't touched me for days by now." You tremble. Your heart paces. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

He closes his book. You see him shutting his eyes, his hand gripping his book tightly. His stern face, half illuminated by the fire, and you feel, in that moment, he is preparing to shatter your heart in a million pieces. "Yes. There is something, I should have told you sooner. I think..." A pause. He finally looks at you. His ruby eyes piercing yours strongly. "I think this is not working."

Silence.

You feel numb.

All of your world is collapsing. Your head is spinning. If you were not sitting down you would have fallen. "Why are you saying that? I don't understand." You manage to say.

"You will thank me in the future."

Furious, you lift from the chair "Thank you? Why are you doing this to me? Why are you hurting me like this? I love you so much..."  And I thought you loved me too. 

He lifts his head meeting your broken gaze. “I… Just… Don’t argue, please.” You sense a little tremor in his voice. He clears his throat and continues his sentence. “Accept my decision and that there is nothing you can do about it. You don’t believe in it now, but you will be grateful for this.”

As you hear this words dragging from his mouth, you feel your legs starting to betray you. You lose your strength and fall on your knees, already sobbing. In that moment Astarion, instinctively, gets up from the chair and stretches out his arms, as if to catch you while you fall. But he stops himself half way, leading his hands to the head, grabbing his hair instead, seemingly desperate to maintain control. You can feel him struggling with himself. What is he struggling with? What is he doing? 

That’s when you see, just briefly, the pain in his eyes, that pain you are so familiar with.

"Astarion, do you love me?" Your lips trembling.

"That doesn't matter." He replies, breaking eyes with you, staring at the floor.

"Astarion, look at me." He takes a moment, like he is gaining courage to do it, and when he finally meets your gaze again you can see how destroyed he is. "Do you love me?"

"I…”

“Please, don’t lie to me.”

“I do, deeply... more than anything." He finally answers.

You feel your heart racing, pain in your chest. All you want to do is to embrace him. Feel him in your arms. He loves you still. That's all you need to know. "Why are you pushing me away?"

"You deserve someone better. Someone that can give you a real life." 

"Please don't say that. You are everything to me, I would do anything for you!"

"I know! That is the reason! That is the problem!” He shouts in anguish. “That is why I'm doing this. I don't want you to pass the rest of your life pursuing something that doesn’t exist! Carrying a burden that is not yours to bear!”

“What are you talking about? What burden? I’m so happy with you, our life together is perfect! I couldn’t ask for more.”

“Is it? Perfect? How can you say that? I am a bloody vampire and we live in the darkness, hoping that one day I may find my cure! I lost count of the trips we took to look for some vague clues, founded in ancient tomes or whispered by dubious people, just to find nothing!”

“Yet.” You interrupt.

“Yes. Yet! But I fear that day may never come… and I can’t stand to look at your disappointed face every time we reach another dead end. It breaks my heart… it’s unbearable.” He sighs deeply. “I see the hope fading in your eyes every time, the hope of living in the light again, seeing the sun! All because of me. ” 

“Oh my sweetheart, is that really what you think?” His suffering was real. Here he is, again, thinking of him undeserving of your love, of your caring. If only you could give him your heart for him to guard it, for him to understand that none of that matters.

“I don’t think, I know. Who would want to live in the darkness forever? I wouldn’t! But I have to. You don’t. This is my burden! I don’t have an option. But you have. I can’t drag you to this life any longer. You deserve better.” 

He was an empty soul after this. This must have been consuming him for days, keeping his mind full of doubts, making him feel selfish and unfair. 

But he couldn’t be more wrong…

You get up from the ground and walk to him, resting your hand on his face, making him close his eyes at your touch. Your warm hand, in his cold skin.

You wait until he is ready to look at you again. You give him a soft smile, full of tenderness and understanding.

“I’m so sorry, my love, if I made you feel that way, but I think you misunderstood my feelings deeply. I know that you are a master of perception, but I think you failed that check, though. Miserably.” you giggled.

“Oh stop it… I’m serious.” Astarion said, rolling his eyes. 

“I know, I’m sorry. Now, seriously, If I ever seemed disappointed it was not for me. It was for you, because I know how deeply you want to see the sun again, to live in the daylight! I just want you to be happy! Fulfilled! And if I am the one who can help you achieve that, I will gladly do anything, for the rest of my life, to give you that gift… as long as you want to pursue this, I want it too.” You pause. Looking for his hands, you hold them, caressing them softly with your fingers, feeling his hands holding yours firmly. “And I don’t want better. I don’t need better. There is no better! I want you! I want you, Astarion.” You kiss his hands, gently, taking your time. “As for the rest… I don’t care if we live our lives in the darkness of the night. I like it that way to be honest. As long as I can be by your side it doesn’t matter, really.”

“You are too kind my dear…” 

“It’s not kindness, it’s the truth. Let me show you something. Come!” Still holding one of his hands you lead him outside, to the open field in front of your cottage, illuminated by the full moon light. As you reach outside you present him the sky, lifting your arms to it.

Astarion frowned his eyebrows looking at you suspiciously. “So, you wanted to show me the moon, my darling?”

“Yes. The stars, and the moon, yes.” 

“Just perfect, Love… thematic, if nothing else.” He grumps in a bad mood. You want to laugh, but you control yourself. He looks so adorable when he gets mad at you.

“I’m going to tell you something that I never told you before. Do you know that I love how your hair glows with the moonlight?” As you say this you intertwine your fingers in his soft hair, brushing his silver curls. “And your skin? You don’t seem to realize how beautiful you are under the night lights, you are like a star yourself.” You gently stroke his long, pointy ear with your fingers, admiring him in all his fragility and beauty. “So please don’t tell me this is a burden. I choose you. And if not seeing the sun again is the price to be paid, be it. I will live with you in the dark of the night, forever, because I don’t need any other light than yours… you are my light, Astarion.”

His forehead meets yours, and his eyes are wet with small tears. His hands on your small back, closing your body to his. You feel him breathing deeply, absorbing you. There is no safer place than in his arms. You have everything you need, right there. “You silly girl. Why didn’t you say none of that before?”

“Oh… I don’t know, I never thought you would like to hear it, really, knowing that you want to see the sun so badly again. I only wish you could see yourself like I see you, how perfect you are with your imperfections.”

“But you see, I’m starting to get there. To know myself through your eyes. Some days are harder than others, with all of the memories of my past pursuing me… Sometimes it is difficult for me to leave all of my bitterness and resentment behind. But some days, some days I know I am much more than that. And you helped me achieve that. I am forever grateful to you. For everything that you have given me, and still do.” He lifts your chin to reach your lips with his, giving you a softness and tender kiss. “I am sorry… forgive me.” He whispered, still touching your lips.

You cup his face with your hands, feeling nothing more than love for this man. You never loved anyone like you love him. And you never will.

“There is nothing to forgive. Just promise me that you will talk to me if you are ever haunted by those kinds of thoughts again.”

“I will do my best, my dear.” He embraces you again placing his face in the crook of your neck, as you rest yours in his chest. “I never wanted to lose you, you know? Just the thought of it makes me sick… Thank you for always being by my side. I love you so much!”

“And I love you too, more than anything!” You feel his embrace tightens around you.

“Will you stay with me? Will you be mine even if that means never seeing the sun again?”

“I will. And I am yours until the day that my heart stops beating.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 [Part 1]

How come someone like him seems to be the only one who care about someone like you, when you both couldn't be anymore different?

Tags/Warnings: Non-Idol Jungkook, Dog Hybrid!Reader, former criminal!Jungkook, mentions of past neglect/abuse, reader has some pretty bad psychological problems (OCD, Anxiety, Selective mutism, hints at an eating disorder), hypersomnia, old to recovery, hurt and lots of comfort, angst, Jungkook has some problems with aggression and swears a lot, more TBA in future chapters

Length: ~2k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: You can have early access to this and other selected fics on my Patreon!

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Jungkook has always been a bit of a troublemaker.

The world isn't too kind to soft hearts, and growing up, he quickly got a taste of what reality is like past his, back then, rosy tinted glasses. Having to grow up fast, no one cares much if you're exhausted by the speed of time at any point. You're supposed to earn good money, work well and a lot, be something at a young age other than a simple kid. There's no time for childhood nowadays, and he hates it, feels as if it's all a sick joke.

Kids want to be grown up's, while he as an adult just wants to be a kid again.

But even so, he also knows that the way of making room for his aggression by being violent, vandalizing and committing other petty crimes isn't right either. He's not stupid- he's just at a breaking point. Nothing makes him happy anymore, and it's tiring. Other people are happy, so why can't he be?

The social work at the hybrid care center had been a last resort from the court to get him to change- and he knows that he really got away with a slap on the wrist for the very last time- considering the fact that he broke someone's bones in an act of personal revenge, he's aware that someone else might've not gotten such a gentle verdict.

He's glad, no question- but now he's just more lost than ever.

Does he even want to be a part of a society that's clearly fucked up? After all, just one look at you reminds him why he's even gotten so angry in the first place. You're a part of a new sub-species of humans, something you couldn't control and neither ever asked for. It's a fact that you can't change and yet everyone treats you and other hybrids like lesser beings. People advocate online for hybrids rights just to then indulge in shopping sprees, buying clothes and makeup cheaply produced by or tested on exactly those hybrids they're saying they want to save. Humanity already had problems seeing members of their own species as humans. It's hilarious to him that they created such a thing such as hybrids thinking it could go well.

But humans have always been like this.

"You've got a stalker." Hana, the social worker snickers a little, making Jungkook sigh in annoyance. Not at you, but at her- however, she's not wrong.

He is being stalked.

And while anybody else would be freaking out about it, he's not- he's more or less just confused, because all the workers seem to be just as caught off guard as he himself is. Didn't they say you've been here for four years already? Surely he's not the only one who'd tried to befriend you, right?

Apparently he is, because your behavior seems to be new to everyone, even experienced staff and other permanent hybrids in the facility raising their eyebrows at your actions.

Now, you're not stalking him in a creepy way, let's get that put aside here first and foremost. You never get close to him at all actually. But you seem to expect him to eat his lunch with you at this point, and you're always somewhere in the background wherever he works. It's like long-distance-clinginess in a way, as weird as it sounds. Following his every move, while trying to stay undetected.

It made him dig up a bit more about you.

He kind of wishes he didn't.

Because the images he'd seen made him genuinely nauseous, ruining his appetite for the rest of the day, the sight of your 'cage' in your old home and your physical condition when you were found enough to stay in the back of his head for days. And it makes your tiny little efforts to cling onto him even more heartbreaking, in a way, because he isn't even particularly kind or anything. He's just acting normal.

And maybe that's what you need.

"Hey." he kicks your socked foot with his boot, not looking at you directly because he knows that makes you nervous. Eye contact seems to scare the living shit out of you, and he can't help but feel like he doesn't even want to know why exactly that is. "You've been rotting inside the entire week." he says, and you shrug. He's noticed that too. While you don't talk, it's not like you don't communicate like he's been told. In fact, you're quite the chatterbox if any of the workers would make any effort to interpret even just the basics of body language, but he just assumes they're all too busy with the other hybrids.

He can't even be mad at them. The care center is horribly understaffed.

"No, none of that." he makes a disagreeing sound in his throat. "Go get your shoes or something. You can stalk me outside, get some fucking sunlight and fresh air." he mumbles, and thoroughly expects you to just stay seated with no reaction. But you slowly get up and dig out your shoes from a very corner. They're dusty, he notices. How long has it been since someone took you outside?

Fuck, he can feel himself getting angry again.

It's unfair how you're just left to rot away in this place, even if it's better than living homeless on the streets as a stray. It's not life you're living here. You're just existing, waiting for the end to come. He makes a mental note to maybe buy you new shoes. Cheap ones, so you don't feel bad. But these gray and torn sneakers won't do.

Outside, he helps staff with heavy lifting and other work that requires muscle- something he enjoys. Taking off his sweater due to the heat, he's quick to notice you in the shade of the trees, sitting on a stone away from the other hybrids. "It's been a long time since she's been outside on her own accord." hana says in an almost melancholic way. "I wish we had more time for her. But there's always gonna be the one's that get left behind."

Jungkook doesnt answer. All he wants to do is swear anyways.

Out of the corner of his eyes he can see how you're slowly taking interest in the things around you; cars driving past the yard gates, people walking, bustling city just a few meters away from you. Your ears twist and turn to catch all the sounds, but you don't seem anxious. He wonders what you're thinking. "I'll get your food, don't worry. You can take a break outside with her, it's a somewhat special occasion after all." Hana smiles, before walking inside with the other hybrids, leaving Jungkook and you almost alone apart from some staff who continue to clean the yard through their breaks.

"You like car rides?" Jungkook wonders, sitting down on the blanket someone had laid out for you a little earlier. He wipes his slightly dirty hands on his pants without much care, before looking around. "I fall asleep if I'm not the one driving." he shrugs, earning a poke from you finger to gain his attention. You motion to him, then to a car. He chuckles a little. "Yeah I've got a car. And a license too, don't worry. I do follow the law sometimes." He jokes, and while there's no obvious reaction, he does spot the corners of your lips twitch.

It's a start.

You still only eat your bland hybrid pellets, not having swayed from that at all, though he did notice how you seem interested in certain snacks he brings for himself sometimes. "Hm?" he holds a small piece of cheese towards you, and for the first time, you seem to think about it.

Will he be mad if you eat it? Will staff be mad if they realize you've taken it? What if other hybrids notice?

Jungkook clicks his tongue, putting the little piece he'd broken off on top of your bowl of dry pellets, before continuing to eat himself, giving you some room to breathe by not focusing touch on what you might do.

And suddenly, the next moment his eyes find your bowl, the piece of cheese is gone. But what he also notices is your shoulders shaking a little.

"Fuck, are you crying?" he panics a little, and yes, there's small tears running down your cheeks. He takes the fabric of his own shirt he's wearing to clumsily wipe them off, earning a sound he realizes is a giggle of all things out of you. "Oh fuck you, I thought I did something wrong!" he laughs a bit relieved now, watching the way your lips curl into a smile.

You don't look at him, and that's fine- he's glad he's already made such huge progress with you.

"Come on now, ditch that shit and have some of mine today. Except if you're gonna have a mental breakdown over it or something, they're gonna behead me if they notice you're crying 'cause of me and I really need this job." he jokes, making you shake your head. You don't eat immediately, but rather take what he offers- the situation ending in Jungkook basically feeding you scraps of his lunch. Not too much at once as to not upset your stomach or anything- but it's a start.

It makes him think.

He can't adopt you since he's got a criminal record, so that's off the table. He can't even foster you because he doesn't have any training in hybrid care. But maybe, just maybe, he's got a little big trick up his sleeve- a favor from a friend that owes him big time. He knows it's yet again not quite legal what he's thinking of, but there's many people who own hybrids 'around the corner'- someone else written on paper than who there actually living with. It's not illegal- but also not quite the way it was intended.

However, all he knows is that he needs to get you out of here. So when he goes back home that day, he cleans out his apartment in a way he's not done in years. He needs to change himself to maybe have a chance in court. Prove that he's changed. Prove that with you at his side, he won't ever step out of legal boundaries again.

And suddenly, while he's busy boiling a kettle of water, an idea sparks in his head.

Yes, he thinks to himself. That might just work.

But just as he turns off the stove and grabs his keys for his car to drive over to his friend's apartment to talk to him about his plans, he realizes he's missing something.

Where's his sweater?

[rosanna-writer]

time won't fly (it's like i'm paralyzed by it) (2/?)

Summary: Every day, Rhysand wakes up next to Amarantha in her bed Under the Mountain. A prisoner, a weapon, a High Lord on a leash. He's been down there so long, it's starting to feel like time doesn't matter. Until one day, it doesn't. Feyre's death sends Rhysand back in time, waking up on the same day - over and over. Now, Rhysand must discover how to break the time loop, save his mate, and keep his sanity intact. A "round robin" style fanfiction with different authors. This work is meant to be read from beginning to end, but each chapter is written by a different author with their own spin on the time loop prompt. Warnings: canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence, temporary character death Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~2k

To absolutely no one's surprise, I'm part of @feysand-hivemind! I am so lucky to be able to create something alongside the sweetest, most talented group of people with the biggest, wettest, wrinkliest brains (and the biggest wingspans to match). I love you guys so much!

Moodboard by @octobers-veryown

Chapter 1: now we're at the starting line (i did my time) - Loop 0-2 | Chapter 2: Loops 5-11

You can read it Here on AO3 or under the cut!

It had started with a deer and a wolf and a forest. Rhys supposed it could end there, too. There had to be a reason that he found himself back at this moment in particular, over and over.

Something momentous, something world-changing happened every time Feyre loosed that arrow. He knew that down to the marrow of his bones.

Perhaps, then, he’d been tasked with stopping it.

The biting cold and the gnawing hunger were there again, and along with her scent and the sight of her alive, it was nearly enough to distract him.

But her eyes landed on the deer. And then the wolf.

“Feyre!” Rhys called her name, the first time he’d ever dared to voice it aloud.

She turned, and the look she leveled at him was pure hate. A human with ice in her heart, indeed.

Faerie. Rhys heard her thoughts, and she’d spat the word, all venom in her mind.

He hardly noticed. His Feyre moved like an expert, drawing the bow and aiming before she’d even finished turning, loosing the arrow on instinct. It hit its mark, and Rhys couldn’t help but marvel—it had taken him years of training in Illyria to be able to hit a target while doing anything but standing perfectly still.

His painter was a predator, too. He wasn’t even upset she’d shot him.

Rhys’s hand drifted to the wound in his chest as he watched her. Feyre hadn’t wasted time watching to ensure her arrow had found its mark—no, she’d reloaded, and Tamlin’s sentry was already dying, too.

Blood was soaking through his tunic, and Feyre had reloaded again, clearly intent on shooting him a second time to finish the job. Relentless. She had exactly the sort of tenacity Cassian had always said was a hallmark of his most promising recruits.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Rhys said, putting his hands up.

Feyre nocked the arrow but didn’t draw it. “Your kind isn’t supposed to be on this side of the Wall.”

His head was swimming, and for the life of him, Rhys couldn’t tell if it was the blood loss or those blue-grey eyes that were making him dizzy. A giddy, delirious, decidedly un-High-Lord-like laugh bubbled out of him.

“And I would have done something about that if you hadn’t shot me,” he said.

“What the hell are you talking about?” She reached back for another arrow but didn’t close her fingers around it.

Darkness was already eating at the corners of Rhys’s vision; there wasn’t much time left. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Feyre said something else, but Rhys didn’t hear it over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. He swayed on his feet, stumbling backward until he hit a tree.

Something that might have been regret flickered in Feyre’s eyes.

The stain on his chest was growing, the fuzzy darkness overtaking more and more of his vision. Staying on his feet was too much, and Rhys tumbled to the ground. There wasn’t much time left.

Feyre didn’t kneel at his side or take his hand. He was dimly aware of her standing above him, watching silently as the last of his life drained out of him, probably just making sure he stayed thoroughly dead.

Good. She was being careful. Rhys had seen more than a few warriors die because they got cocky in the brief period between landing a killing blow and their opponent's final breath. Feyre was too smart to let someone she killed go down swinging and fell her too, and for some reason, knowing she could handle herself brought him an immense sense of relief.

Rhys faded out of consciousness, and with Feyre watching over him, it was almost…peaceful.

All too soon, he found himself right back where he started. A deer and a wolf and a forest. Cold and hunger.

Perhaps he’d frightened Feyre by calling her name so abruptly last time. He must have made her panic, so of course she’d reacted on instinct and let her arrow fly.

Rhys wasn’t stupid enough to make the same mistake twice. This time, he gentled his voice as he called her name.

And again, Feyre turned. And again, she shot him without hesitation.

But as he brought his hand to his chest again, Rhys noticed her cheeks had gone pink, most likely from the cold. Perhaps though…perhaps he’d overdone it and purred her name a bit too much like a lover.

He caught the tail end of her thought about him being the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, and even as blood oozed from the wound next to his heart, Rhys wanted to preen.

He was running on borrowed time before he bled out and time reset. None of this mattered at all, so he said, “For what it’s worth, you’re the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, too.”

Just for that, she put another arrow in his throat. The world faded into too-familiar nothingness.

Deer. Wolf. Forest. Cold. Hunger.

Rhys had called her name, and that had been a mistake—as far as Feyre was concerned, he had no reason to know it. Though it seemed patently ridiculous, he didn’t want to frighten her into shooting him again, so he said, “Pardon?”

Feyre whirled around, blinking in surprise, and drew the bow. “What do you want, faerie?”

“You need to run. Do not return to this part of the forest. Please. It isn’t safe.”

Her thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion, churning so quickly that Rhys could hardly keep up with all her questions or even begin to answer them. Somewhere in the middle of it, the deer bounded off into the trees.

Feyre swore. As far as she was concerned, Rhys was the reason her only chance at eating that day had just slipped away. She muttered something about faerie bullshit and shot him in retaliation.

As life drained out of Rhys again, he couldn’t help but wonder why he’d expected this to turn out any differently.

And yet, he tried again. Each time, Feyre either perceived him as a threat and shot him immediately, or enough time passed that the deer got away, and then she shot him in retaliation anyway.

Rhys had known his painter held hate in her heart for the fae, but he hadn’t anticipated just how deep it ran. In the few seconds he had before she let her arrow fly, it was impossible to get Feyre to trust him.

He lost count how many times she let him bleed out in the snow before he accepted that he needed to play the long game. That was fine—Rhys was an extraordinarily patient male.

He’d known that Feyre changed the world when she sank her arrow into the wolf’s eye. Perhaps trying to stop it was wrongheaded of him; it seemed as good a guess as any that these repeated deaths were a message.

Feyre needed to kill that sentry. Rhys needed to let her.

A deer and a wolf and a forest. Cold. Hunger. And a shadow, watching over all of it.

Resigned to do things differently, Rhys woke again Under the Mountain. He stared up at the ceiling as Feyre’s scent faded from his nostrils, and for a moment, he just savored the short-lived peace. It wouldn’t be long until Amarantha was awake, too.

Somewhere across the Wall, the Cursebreaker was slinging a carcass over her shoulders and trudging home.

And maybe one day, she’d bring Rhys and the rest of Prythian home, too.

[kanene-yaaay]

The Collection (Second Chapter)

2. Hunger

Kanene's Notes: This was supposed to be posted MUCH earlier but guess who decided to add more 2k of words? :DDD Someone save from myself please uhygfdefghjk anyways it's growing increasedly harder to find pictures for the chapter so wish me luck tomorrow because I am FUC-

I offer this little humble meal for @squeaky-n-blushy, who was an amazing support for me during the entire fic but the main reason why I am crazy for those characters specifically. Hope you get crazy about them as well <3

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, nothing explicit but they are a bit deranged in some parts jhgfdfgh, Mouth Tickles, Rough and Light Tickles. None of them are the smallest bit normal about each other. Ler!Lan Xichen + Ticklish!Mingjue + Ticklish!JIn Guangyao/Meng Yao. Around 8.000 words.

[~*~]

It wasn’t only about the smiles and rarity of reactions Xichen got that fulfilled his demeanor. Sometimes, Xichen was thrilled by the adrenaline of discovery, the selfishness of holding a new kind of knowledge that would be forever his and only his, kind of necessity of seeing someone vulnerable under his care, it all mixed with his already known fondness and playfulness and created something he felt addicted to. It was followed by a different kind of hunger that filled his senses and took over his thoughts, creating strong and rare bolts of smugness and fire that graced his usual smiling face every single time he discovered another spot, another technique that would, unannounced, pry a new brand of laughter from his “victim”, something that would make them look at him with wide, half afraid, half expectant eyes.

And all Xichen could was to drink those reactions.

(...)

The blade came so close it cut a couple of strands off his hair before Lan Xichen could dodge from it, which was a completely unsatisfactory reflex and a shame to shufu’s teaching. Xichen at this point would be soon old enough to lead a night hunt of his own and he should at least be able to prevent an attack before it was close enough to deadly harm him, his distraction and confidence in being one of the very few cultivators awake in that moment was what blinded him from accurately interpreting the distinct sounds of leaves moving differently that morning since the he passed nearby the guest quarters as he followed the path to the younger juniors’ classroom with his brother.

Lan Xichen, however, couldn’t hoard all the reasons of the success of that sneaking attack, not even having time to dwell on it, quick to dodge another swipe, now aiming for his legs, before changing course to his torso, passing too close to his ribs and forcing him to jump away. The attack also gave him the perfect view of those grey, determined and excited eyes.

Nie Mingjue was really a wonderful opponent.

“Excuse me, Wangji!” Lan Xichen couldn’t even hide the smile on his lips from his voice, even though a part of him was sad for losing half of an incense's stick of quietness that always took the mountains in the early morning, sometimes he more than loved to share with his little brother before class. “For a distraction has crossed my path and is too insistent to let me get away from it.”

Quietness has been a rare thing since the arrival of the guest cultivators from all the others Four Great Sects, although, even with all the strictness and reinforced rules of the Cloud Recesses.

He heard his brother coming before he saw him, too overwhelmed by the sheer brute force (and much more agility that one would expect from his particular…muscular form) of Mingjue’s attack to stop him. The movement obligated him to stop dodging and pull out his scabbard (but not his sword, of course), meeting the next powerful strike head on, using his taller height (his growing spur appeared just last spring for his absolute delight and Lan Zhan’s contrite despair) and pull it higher and higher. Just in time, Wangji positioned himself defensively right in front of him, hand on Bichen and posture straight and coldly threatening, much to Mingjue’s confusion for the way the other blinked at the younger one and his attack faltered (but never relented).

“Lower your sword. Fighting is prohibited in Cloud Recesses.”

“I apologize, Second Young Master Lan,” Mingjue grunted, trying to make Lan Xichen stumble with a sudden change of his footwork, the Lan was quick to stabilize himself, but the movement made the younger one look even more distasteful at him. The boy was really protective. “Still, I am sure an exception can be applied when a promise has been made and not fulfilled, or at least I hope. I’ve heard only good things about Lan’s cultivators and their honor, afterall.”

Being overzealous of your own character and abilities was below a Lan (also prohibited by their rules), yet Xichen couldn’t help the spark of pride exploding on his chest for both how much adamant the Nie has been in getting them to spar together and the current tightness showing on Mingjue’s voice, his muscles straining where he continued pressing forward. It was very helpful that the older Nie master allowed his arm to be twisted into an uncomfortable position to keep the blow out of Wangji’s range. If Wangji realized that, it only served to make him even more displeased, setting himself even straighter, face unmoving.

“Xiongzhang owes Sect Heir Nie nothing.”

Mingjue quirked his eyebrow in what could be only a mix of amusement and bewilderment. Xichen felt a light heat on his ears and quickly jumped into the conversation before it could escalate even more.

(It felt good to feel pursued, however it came with the effect of Xichen finding himself wanting to impress the other more and more, lately.)

“It’s fine, Wangji.” Perhaps, when Lan Zhan got into the age of guest students, he would learn to let go a little more of their thousands of rules, it would do him good to relax a bit and have more friends. “I have truly promised Mingjue-xiong a friendly spar and unfairly postponed it several times. He is being fair in trusting my word.”

Actually, he had more or less froze when Mingjue came striding purposefully in his direction after Elder Zhang used him for a demonstration of the Gusu Lan forms with a simple sparring match, his hand locking on his shoulder with a strong grip and a wide (beautiful) smile that made him lose himself into warm for long kes until he came back to his own traitorous mouth agreeing with a smile to everything the other said.

“A spar must only be held under the supervision of a senior.”

“A spar with swords.” he countered, quickly setting his eyes on those grey ones. “And Mingjue-shixiong will be very kind to sheathe his saber again, won’t he?”

Mingjue narrowed his eyes and weakened his blow just enough to see if Xichen would keep pressing on, which he didn’t, both ending the attack until Baxia was resting on its usual place on Mingjue’s back. His voice came out gruffy, the now free hand creeping to scratch at his neck, as if he was embarrassed. It was a funny thought, to imagine someone so outspoken and sure of himself get flustered by his younger brother. “Of course, I apologize for interrupting your walk. I only now realized how rude my actions has come off to be. They do not represent the education and precepts of the Nie Sect.”

Before Xichen could smile and assure his apology was unnecessary, Wangji quickly answered for him, voice still serious and completely unmerciful at his words. “Shufu will be informed and your punishment delivered after your classes.” He bowed the exact necessary high, perfectly polite, and it took every single willpower of the older one to not snicker or, even worse, laugh out loud at the expression on Mingjue’s face.

Lan Zhan turned and stared at him with the corner of his eyes expectantly. Lan Xichen huffed and stepped to his side combing a strand of hair back to its place, much to the younger’s mortification, for the way he frowned at him and started walking away with slight pink ears.

Lan Xichen smiled and smiled, turning back to Mingjue, who crossed his arms and kept looking at him with that funny combination of terribly annoyed and astonishedly amused, the corner of his eyes crinkling his eyes as he saw, once more, the Sect Heir Lan escaping from his clutches once again. 

“Hope we manage to spar soon, Jue-shixiong.” He then turned away, a levity appearing on his step at knowing that he would keep running and dodging his next attempts for as long as Nie Mingjue kept being so kind as to chase him.

…

A hand grabbed his arm and pushed. A trill of adrenaline caught up in his throat as he twirled, using the overflowing robes and long sleeves to confuse his opponent and give him enough space to plant his feet on the other’s chest and kick with enough force to make Mingjue stagger. It didn’t make him buckle, though, and his grip only locked on his arm even tighter, refusing to let go of his advantage. At this point, both heirs were gasping breathless from the long chase that led them to this isolated camp and the following even longer spar. There were spots of dirt and blades of grass all over Mingjue’s face and robes, which kept making Xichen’s fingers twitch closer to pat them clean. Not even the heat of the battle kept the Lan from noticing how the other’s eyes kept jumping across his own askew robes and crooked forehead ribbon. Each blow, each grip, kick and touch left a bruning kind of feeling behind, pulsing from each point of contact.

When two more of his strongest blows didn’t succeed to let Mingjue go (it was no wonder that the Nie heir would be so skilled at close-range combat, his general strength was definitely not overestimated on the few humors Xichen had caught up on), Lan Xichen threw himself on the ground, using the momentum to drag the other with him, kicking both of his legs on his stomach to lift him momentarily in the air and then throw him away. 

Just as he jumped back to a standing position and fell on the other’s legs, ready to pin the Nie to the ground, Mingjue quickly began lifting his torso in an attempts to unbalance him, ready to throw him away and turn their luck in the first opportunity. In a momentarily act of effort, Lan Xichen’s hands shoot behind him, gripping the muscle to hold him down and-

And Mingjue, larger and stronger than anyone from his generation, known for his sheer force, for his direct words and unmovable opinions, he… squeaked.

Both of them froze and Lan Xichen felt his eyes fixate on the light path of color appearing on the other’s cheeks like a hawk. Something clicked right in his mind, and he turned the slight bit around to see how his hands were digging on Mingjue’s thighs, almost close to his knee, he looked forward again and took notice of the hint of a startled smile on his face.

His gruffy (embarrassed) voice cut the silence. “You just tickled me, no need to stop the sparring when I was so close to win.” The teasy remark was accompanied by another attempt of getting up again, only to fall right back to the ground when Xichen massaged circles on the ticklish spot, squeezing his thighs more purposefully and watching the uncontrollable, loud snickers that began flowing at that, following the pace of his tickles, growing louder and louder when he moved upwards to drum on the corner of his inner thighs and then growing higher and quicker as he stretched a little and spidered tickled all over it. “Xi-i-CHEN!”

Lan Xichen didn’t reply, he looked with fascination at the beginning of giant smile adorning his face, so different from his previously challenging ones calling him for combat or his smug grins after meeting one more of his blows with his own. Xicjen followed dazedly as that path of color began to grow stronger and his laughter to flow more easily, body squirming under his ministrations, trying to lift his legs and only making him dig harder on the ticklish spot or quick fruitlessly as the playful touched followed him no matter what he did, each breathtaking reaction loud and lovely as if unsashament of gathering all the attention that it deserved.

Two hands flew to hold his shoulders and Xichen moved quicker than he ever did before. In less than a ke he gathered both wrists on one hand and pulled them back to his chest with a low, growling warning of “Don’t you dare.”

He blinked and faltered, astonished with his own reaction a moment, worriedly looking into Mingjue’s expression, who simply looked back at him just as before, smile growing and the surprise on his eyes starting to be taken over by challenge. Then, his fingers brushed across a particularly bad spot when he wormed his other hand under his thigh, making Mingjue suddenly buckle and squawk, which, of course, only made him latch on it with even more scribbling and scratching.

“Tickling-” He squealed and pulled his hands, a funny kind of scoff leaving his mouth as Xichen’s grip kept unrelenting, his strength vanishing at the tickling (how much time has it been since someone dared to be this playful with him?). “-is not fair!”

“I apologize, but I don’t remember this as one of the rules we set for this sparring match, unfortunately.” The challenging tune now laid on Xichen’s voice, his playful attack not relenting for a single moment,  Mingjue only seemed to snicker and laugh even more at that, staring at his expression with nothing more than a fire spreading in his eyes, stronger as ever even as his face got more and more colored by the kes. Xichen poked a little bit of fun. “Perhaps Sect Heir Nie can add his new rule as soon as this match ends and you admit my victory?”

“In your dreams!” 

Before Xichen could reply, two knees hit his back and almost made him fall completely on Mingjue’s chest, throwing him out of balance and forcefully ceasing his tickles. For a maddening moment, Lan Xichen saw himself burying his face on his neck to listen more closely to all the remaining laughter that painted his smug, amused voice. 

However, he couldn’t unfortunately let such an attack pass.

Letting go of his wrists, Lan Xichen was quick to turn around, taking advantage of how close his knees were to latch on the spot right above them, first spidering and scratching lightly the place until high giggles were floating on the air, before unleashing a full squeezing attack on them, digging and clawing at the ticklish skin. An unusual, playful smirk opened on his face when that made the other shriek and kick his legs away, unfortunately too much late as the Lan simply used the move to pull himself straight again, following his movement with ease. It didn’t take long before Mingjue was aching his back, shrieking and throwing his head back with belly laughter

“Once more, I offer my deepest apologies, such a delightful spot should never be neglected. It’s good that it, quite literally, jumped to my attention as quick as they, allowing me to right my wrongs.” When one leg tried to pull up again, Xichen simply tormented the soft underside with prodding and scratches, which made it slam right back at the ground and let him focus again in squeezing the kneecap, which made him lift his leg again and restart the cycle again and again. “Thank you for showing me the best place to take you apart and tickle you just where you wanted, your kindness and support will not be forgotten and be rewarded with your well deserved prize.”

Mingjue was too busy losing his mind to answer, squirming and kicking every time Xichen jumped from one leg to another watching with an amused kind of fascination as his laughter went higher then lower as he switched from his upper leg to his calves, kneading on the muscle and receiving a shrieking crackle in answer. He almost threw him off a few times with his trashing, gasps, yelps and squeals kept following his tickles every time he found a new extra ticklish spot, circling it teasingly before scratching and making him descend into more laughter. Lan Xichen was more than happy to keep exploring, if only to keep listening to those sounds.

Testingly, Lan Xichen locked his legs even stronger, tipping forward boldly to spider and trace the tip of his fingers across the entirety of his calf, listening how quicker and uncontrollable his snickers changed to crackles only to go back to uncontrollable titters the closer he slipped to his ankle, drawing teasing circles around the bone only to hear those tittering giggles growing slower momentarily only to jump in a squeak when he experimentally gave a poke to the sole of his feet. 

“Is Jue-xiong already convinced of my victory?” 

“You are cheating!” It was more than endearing to hear how those words were overcome by even more snickers.

“Then I believe a little more convincing might be in order.”

Xichen sneakily taking off one of his boots to tickle the spot lightly, receiving more wheezy guffaws at this. A clear, even if laughing, voice stopped him right as he was to attack

“If you put any of your offending fingers on my feet I will no longer hold back.” Mingjue warned. Lan Xichen blinked two big and innocent eyes at him, a single finger escaping to wiggle on his sole draw a quick tickle at the place. Mingjue clamped his mouth shut in what seemed like a snort. 

“Did I just find your most ticklish spot, Jue-ge?”

The red spread quickly from his cheeks to the entire face at that and Xichen congratulated himself and kept the new acquired information in a special place in his mind, sure to use more of it in the future. 

“You did.” At the gruffy (flushed) admission, Xichen felt fireworks dancing on his soul, more than delighted to know just what kind of reactions he would pry from such a special spot. “If you attack me there, Xichen, mark my words:” 

(Xichen, Xichen, Xichen)

“Next time I will be the one to not stop until I find your most ticklish spot, and then I won’t give you any time to chat and offer mercy when I finally get to it.”

Xichen wondered if those shining eyes could see how much he was floating, how the adrenaline at the promise set every single one of his nerves on fire, how it brought a different kind of smirk into his face, how it alight a new sensation of challenge and playfulness guarded on his soul.

“This lowly one thanks his senior for such a precious warning.” His eyes crinkled and Mingjue’s furrowed in a protest that he was that old, but the Lan gave him no time to reply. “I shall not show Jue-ge any mercy, then.”

Just as the words finally setted, he attacked.

(...)

It was dangerous to be with Lan Xichen, for all the good and the bad reasons. He was wanted by the Wen Sect, a sect heir on the run and his simple existence put all the little things he worked so hard to have, his life in danger, but those were things that Meng Yao had already reached peace with himself about. However, he was also sweet, trusting, lovely in a way he thought only fictional characters of a foolish book could be, the only one besides his mother who tried to know him. 

At first, all of this had helped to keep his guards up on the first days, but as the time passed, it made Meng Yao too comfortable, too at ease and no matter how much he analyzed his smiles, his attentive gaze that made him want talk until his heart was pried wide open, he couldn’t find any hint of deceit. The more he looked, the more he investigated, the more he pried, the more he was drawn close, as if Lan Xichen was a bright candle in the middle of the night and Meng Yao was nothing more than a dark month hopelessly attracted to the flame, to the brightness, the warmth, the care, the affection. 

Lan Xichen gave it all too easily, much before he could even do anything to earn it. It made Meng Yao want to do embarrassing things, like buy poetry books so he could listen to Xichen read them out loud (even knowing he was already way too tight on budget as he could), to comb his lustrous hair and decorate with the most beautiful hairpins (what an embarrassing thought to have), to cradle him close, to always have him in his field vision and follow him like a puppy who wishes for nothing more than to lay down, bask on the attention and show the soft of his belly.

Although he had not expected to be that literally.

“A-Yao,” there were two pecks softly, so carefully, laid on his eyelids that they had Meng Yao floating. He drifted and soared high in the sky as his mind kept repeating that soft tune as if he could get drunk on it. A spark of warmth blossomed from where he touched and spread across his face, the feeling of those soft lips lingering. 

A-Yao, A-Yao, A-Yao.

“Will you look at me?”

He was hopeless to such a tiny request from someone who could ask, could demand much more from this lowly one. Meng Yao opened his eyes and watched those golden hues above him, mouth almost betraying its master and answering without his command, saying that yes, he would, he would do anything for him, he would kill and slay and spend the rest of his life prying open, cutting out and hiding his rotten parts from him if that meant never losing Lan Xichen. He would keep on hating the world, collecting every pebble of love and trust he was able to create and hoard them all into those caring, trusting hands of the Lan, giving it all to him and only him over and over again.

“Are you still comfortable?” He was floating and Xichen was worried. It was clear for the way his eyes dropped and averted away for a moment, how they travelled across his body looking for hints of discomfort, hand twitching away from him, shoulders were layered tight with tension. There was this kind of frown he did when he was preoccupied, when his eyebrows would go the slight bit downwards while his jaw set a tad straighter in doubt. 

So lost in his thoughts Meng Yao was that he didn’t even notice it before, an unforgiven mistake on his part, but he would berate himself for his negligence later. Instead, Meng Yao immediately set himself on the work to cut any doubt or fear that began assaulting Xichen’s still healing confidence. 

Meng Yao lift his arms and held Xichen’s hands on a light, soothing grip as he brought them to his own face, resting them on his bare forehead and not quite kissing those skilled, long and graceful fingers, so above from him in every sense and form (but not for long, not for long) but, since he was still a weak man, letting his lips graze them reverently. They stayed a moment like this, before Meng Yao directed them to lay on his stomach, an amused grin blossoming on his face at how such a simple action made color explode across the other’s cheekbones.

“Tickle me, please, Xichen-gege.” He said, proud how his words only made the blushing worse. 

He very pointedly refused to complete the sentence with the thoughts that haunted his mind every day and night since the moment he realized the nature of his not so pure nor controlled feelings about Lan Xichen. Ever since then, all the words about his true desire and wishes have been hanging on the tip of his tongue as he swallowed them over and over again. 

Meng Yao did not say “If you don’t make me lose myself in laughter right now, I will completely lose my mind.”

He did not point out how he wanted to “slam you on the ground and find each one of your reactions, to explore and analyze every weak part of yours until I have all of them safe and sound in my hands, until I can cradle them as close as I can.” 

He didn’t even consider expressing how he dreamed in “taking your face in my hands and swallowing your sound every sound, memorizing your every expression until I can burn in my mind all your favorite spots and favorite words.”

He did not say how if he could, he would “spend the rest of my life taking care of them, of you. I will discover your every want, your every small or big desire and take pride in giving you them again and again. Until there’s nothing I could do to make you happier.”

“So, please, pry that control away from me before I discover the best way to take away yours.” 

(The worst thing is that Lan Xichen would let him, he would let him-) 

Instead, he let each one of those words die in his lips and then, with his most calm, serene smile, he stared Lan Xichen back.

Those fingers began scribbling over his stomach, quickly chasing all of those thoughts until they were out of his grasp and far away from his mind, a gasp being fished from his mouth as he forced his eyes to stay open as per the others request, keeping them open and trusting when Xichen was fast to look over and search for any hint of discomfort, not bothering to hide or control the wobbly line of his smile.

As Lan Xichen relaxed with what he saw, he began exploring a little more, dancing fingers spidering softly up and down his belly as if he was personally tormenting each one of his nerves with tickles, circling his blunt nails around his belly button and chuckling lowly when that made him huff and his grin grow wider. Those skilled and careful hands continued to draw various and uncessant lines and forms on his stomach, prying airy, quiet sounds for the next kes they continued like this. Lan Xichen didn’t stop looking at him adorably the entire time and Meng Yao tried to not melt too much so soon, titters coming faster and faster out of his mouth, especially as Xichen began poking and prodding the sensitive spot of lower belly, scratching and digging at his hips, clawing at the bones and attacking his waist with no mercy.

“Is my A-Yao very ticklish here?”

His giggles grew stronger and flooded the entire space, shoulders trembling, chest bouncing and nerves alight with the electricity that each touch brought, Meng Yao almost jolted in surprise at the sudden mischievous tune of the other’s voice and his change of spot, only noticing then that his eyes had automatically closed again at it.

“N-not the most ticklish, I am afraid.” He snorted and held his robes in a tight grip to not cover his face away, only allowing himself to later kneel at the urge after Xichen got more absorbed in turning him into a laughing mess and stopped worrying and trying to gauge his level of comfort. “Hohohope Xichen-ge doehehesn’t mind reheceiving a few giggles fohor his efforts?”

“Any reaction, if it comes from you, then I will always cherish it, for as long as you’re willing to give me each one of them.” Meng Yao’s neck prickled with heat and words scrambled across his mind when Xichen began scrapping and running his wiggly fingers widly around his sides, sending tingles and shivers across his entire torso, pulling a quiet gasp and more strident snickers. 

He was a smooth and soft type of a tormentor, then. His soft teases and playful voice were very effective in making him feel even more ticklish than any other time before, tiny squirms coming from one side to another even as Meng Yao tried to make his own body lay as still as possible for Lan Xichen to not understand his wiggling around as something that was not.

“A-Yao, still thinking so much?” His hands were pried from where they were clued on his robes and pulled upwards until they were interlocking behind the Lan’s neck, getting too so, so close to the ends of his forehead ribbon that Meng Yao could almost feel it burning next to his skin. The very sensation of Xichen’s hands now crawling and spidering up his defenseless torso quickly vanished with that distraction. “Let me take care of this, let your brilliant mind rest for a moment in my care.”

“This lowly one-” He squeaky loudly when Lan Xichen refuted his choice of words with a poke on his belly button, wiggling and scratching the ticklish skins of its walls over and over again until more squeaks were falling from his lips and Meng Yao remembered how Xichen asked him to say referring himself as such after what he did. ���I was only-” He jolted and buckled when those hands went to his ribs, touch forgiving and yet equally maddening. Xichen began scribbling and lightly clawing the bones, giving an especial attention even to the space in between each one. Tittering melting with puffs of laughter from his lips. “Only wondering if thihis talking is frohohom experiehence. Is still Xic-xichehen-ge ihihis too tickilihihish?”

Lan Xichen hummed non actually answering (which was already an answer on itself) and continued changing from each ticklish spots on his torso already explored before he could grow used to the sensation, taking his sweet time to tease each one, pressing and vibrating on them until there was much more squeaks and guffaws mixing with his giggles and his mind loosened its grasp of thoughts, leaving him relaxed enough to almost not process Xidhen’s next words.

“Maybe A-Yao will have the opportunity to find out later?” 

Out of his control, flashes of memories passed on his mind, Lan Xichen laughing with a sleeve covering his smile when Meng Yao showed him that absurd and slanderous book that promised to teach you how to grow a golden core without any cultivation, Lan Xichen stuttering and blushing when he realized only after winning their light discussion that his point meant that both of them would have to share his tiny, thin bed for no one sleep on the ground, Lan Xichen fiercely staring back, a challenging fire in his eyes, one moment before Meng Yao was flipped and lost their sparring match, Lan Xichen laughing out loud the first time since he decided to trust him enough and hide in his house. 

(Lan Xichen under him, writhing, gasping and pilant-)

“Xichehen-ge is such a teahahase.” He whined, watching as something flashed across Lan Xichen’s eyes for a moment before disappearing. 

(He would investigate that interesting detail later.)

“My life was the one who asked for it.” Before Meng Yao even had the time to properly process the words (his what-), Lan Xichen quickly lowered his head and began peppering his neck and that awfully, newly discovered (and the one that started this whole thing) weak spot behind his ears with small raspberries and tickly kisses, making silly noises and joyful humming every time a garbled sound or a bubbly protest escaped Meng Yao’s mouth, his entire body now shaking with the squeal of surprise at the sudden action elected, before his laughter was taken over by the absolute onslaught of crackling snickers and high pitched titters that jumped across the air uncontrollably and unashamed.

It only grew quicker and louder as those creeping hands got close to his armpits, drumming each finger on the hollows and making his giggles disappear with a snort. Rare jolts of tiny squeaks and airy yelps made their own appearance at every particularly mean nibble or evil tickle that assaulted his poor sensitive spots, face smushed on his own shoulder in an attempt to both bare part of his neck to the other and to hide at least a bit of his flustered state. 

As the time passed and the tickling continued, his nerves were set more and more alight with every buzzing sensation and his mind only became a puddle of mirth and joy, too busy laughing and being happy to even bother with any thoughts or problems. Meng Yao gave nothing but his pure and honest reactions, his every protest, every smile, every snickered ‘Xichen-ge’ and every squirm saying the same one thing, over and over again, eternally on repeat

I trust you, I trust you, I love you.

(...)

It had taken the two of them. 

Both Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen sandwiched A-Yao in between them during their cuddling time, each moment filled with soft cares, quiet words and light bickering that had made each second of Lan Xichen speeding through his work until he was free to enjoy his leisure time with both of them. It took a little more coaching and attention until A-Yao was finally melting in their embrace, staring at Nie Mingjue with half lidded eyes and a relaxed hum as the other pulled him closer to his chest, which resulted in him receiving a pout and an unforgiving pinch on his thigh by Xichen, who scooted closer as well. 

Only a few moments after that, as Lan Xichen was caressing Jin Guangyao’s arm with a light traces and rubs, he heard a small giggle and saw the arm twitch in a reaction that he could recognize and paint with blindfolded eyes. It didn’t took more than half a ke for the Lan start to add a couple of purposeful and playful touches, “accidentally” brushing the tip of his fingers over and over again his wrist and palm (which so far brought the best reactions) as tittering snickers started to escape from his smiling lips. 

As the tickles began exploring his already very known ticklish spots, Mingjue, with a barely-there scuffle, set Guangyao’s back against the mattress, both taking over the opportunity to hold his arms above his head in a simple illusion of restrain, since that only made Guangyao become ven more boneless at their administrations, each giggle, each titter and huff being pried from his lips resulted in him melting more and more against them, more than comfortable to indulge both in the trap that had been so careful calculated.

Nie Mingjue complained gruffly about how he couldn’t find any spot that would truly make A-Yao go mad with laughter and finally get his revenge for how much the Jin had done that exact thing with them (always full of mischievous taunts and teases about it, as well) time and time again in the past and would very much likely to continue to do so in the future. 

“Perhaps da-ge should simply try harder, then.” Jin Guangyao’s melodious and teasingly condescending tune cut his complaint, giggles filling the room even stronger than before as Mingjue stopped his tickle attack to stare at him astonished at the audacity. Xichen was more than happy to let them bicker and distract themselves and he kept exploring with light scribbles his new information. That was when the fatidic moment happened.

One of Lan Xichen’s fingers danced quickly and distractedly at the inner part of his elbow, which, for the loud squeal that immediately followed the light, curious caress of the tip of his fingers, was incredibly sensitive, and promptly made all of them freeze stunned at that reaction.

Lan Xichen pushed himself up the bedding until he moved from the cozy, comfortable place on A-Yao’s side (perfect to pepper his neck and ears with tiny, fluttering kisses that would make both spots quickly be painted in a lovely shade of red when he whispered teases upon teases on them) to look at the other, who was staring with wide eyes right back at him, face still carrying the hint of his lovely smile, now locked in place with his surprise.

Oh.

What a delightful day.

The more Xichen looked, the more A-Yao kept himself still, as if moving a single muscle would remind both of them what they had been previously doing, as if the knowledge would simply escape from his mind and the lovely discovery was never made.

The more Lan Xichen stared, the more he felt his smirk grow and grow.

It was Nie Mingjue who broke them out of it.

“Do that again.” And, between Mingjue’s dangerous light in his eyes and Xichen absolutely glee clear on his face, both painted in the same shade of hunger, Jin Guangyao seemed to be left without words. He shivered when Xichen’s warm touch found his elbow again, fingertips only resting there. The Lan watched with fascination as goosebumps sprouted freely across his arms at his action. A-Yao’s lips twitched in a wonderful, excited way and his dimples became more pronounced.

His tickles then escalated slowly, peppering the ticklish skin with the tiniest, barely there scratches that pulled another high, poorly concealed screech from his mouth before it was firmly clamped shut as the Jin tried to pry his wrists out of their hold fervently, eyes wide in a mix of adrenaline and alarm.

“Is that your death spot, A-Yao? How could you not share them with us until today?” Xichen let his face fall in the same way he did when one of the sect leaders in conferences tried to demand absurd deals or let out insulting commentaries, a sad kind of disapproval that would leave them scrambling to correct themselves and explain how they never meant any offense. Jin Guangyao, however, continued to look at him with no honey words or distracting teases falling freely from his lips and Xichen was helpless at the way his heart melted as he saw the corner of Guangyao’s warm eyes crinkle and gaze hold a playful glint, not being fooled one bit by Xichen’s theatrics and insteading pulling one of his own. Gulping down his persistent titters, he shook his head.

“Er-ge knows I am not-” His voice wavered and he narrowed his eyes at Xichen in a light annoyment as he digged just the slight bit on the spot, his scratches picking up a fastest pace for a blink and obliging him to press his lips together and squirm for maddening moments before Guangyao managed to take a hold of himself again. He coughed, a disguise for another wheezing giggle. “Excuse me. As I was saying before the unfortunate interruption: I am not that ticklish.” He tilted his head, a light hint of what could be called a pitiful pout in his face and Xichen instinctively mirrored him.

“I understand it might be…” His voice started to falter the more Xichen continued to tease and tickle that spot. “C-complicated for er-ge to understand, with how sensitive your body is, but I-HIHIHI!”

As it seems Nie Mingjue jumped to save the Lan from his provocation, like the heroic cultivator he was known and acted as. Or maybe he got tired of their playing around, not being one as fond of the entertainment of teasing competitions or tiny pokes of fun made specifically to increase one’s anticipation as both Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen were. Besides, he was internally familiar with how long they could take in their game, being or the victim or the observer of those occasions. 

Therefore, it was no surprise when he decided enough was enough and put his hands to a good use. Or mouth, since his most effective way to distract them was to start carefully nibbling the new discovered ticklish spot, resting nips here and there on the trapped arm in his reach. 

“Da-ge!” There was a hysterical tune in his words and there was a shakiness in his arms. Lan Xichen could empathize, Mingjue’s beard was something to be truly feared during his tickle attacks. Still, they weren’t hearing any laughter in the air, which, in Lan Xichen’s humble opinion, was an insulting oversight of their part that should be corrected immediately.

Lan Xichen smiled, sighing happily and lowering his head until he could nuzzle freely on hi inner elbow, intertwining his care with soft kisses, humming (of course with his lips resting on the skin so his A-yao could feel perfectly each vibration) and trailing the trembling skin with one or two small raspberries that would leave the other jolting on the same place, each touch and tickle making it increasingly difficult to keep his crackles concealed.

“Er-ge-eeh!” A snort escaped, quickly followed by an squeak and Lan Xichen nodded in lieu of an answer, huffing softly in amusement. His now free fingers crawled up, one step at a time and stopped right under his wrist. He moved his hand that had been clutching Guangyao’s one in a restringing hold until they were intertwining their fingers instead, leaving the soft, slightly sensitive skin of his wrist free for him to attack with the lightest, softest scribbling tickles.

There was a barely aborted snortle and then guffaws were chasing each other freely in the air, louder than his usual snickers and much quicker than his giggles and a little less composed. 

“There we go.” Lan Xichen exhaled in relief, leaving a peck on his hand and closing his eyes in satisfaction, bathing in the melodious tune of the Jin’s laughter. “Feels so much better to let go, don’t you think, A-Yao?”

“Your wrists too?” Nie Mingjue may sound irritated to anyone else, but only a bit more attention to the gleam in his eyes and the teasing curve of his grin and then it would be clear just how much fun he was having with this. He and A-yao, especially, had a strong delight in breaking each other into pieces and taking their time to push each other closer and closer to their breaking point. Even if it was not really his type to engage in this kind of affection as well, it was good that they held a special thing in between themselves and Lan Xichen was happy to see each other being so carefree. As if to consolidate his thought, a bark of bright crackle escaped Jin Guangyao and left him lost in even more uncontrollable reactions. “You don’t do more than simply smile when we tickle your sides or armpits only for the reason of your fall to be your wrists and elbows?!” 

A-Yao snorted before falling back into crackles, if it was a result of Mingjue’s tease or the fact that there was a booming laughter now hiding his, it really didn’t matter when Lan Xichen ended being blessed by both of them either way. Nie Mingjue didn’t take long before following the exact contrary of his example, his touches becoming energetic and full of prodding and spidering to torment both spots, the sheer contrast of sensations pulling snorts and more hysterical laughter from him.

Lan Xichen tried to burn in his mind the cadence of his reactions, the fluctuations of his chuckles that followed delightfully the pace of each stroke of his fingers, the tittering tune it got with his playful, adoring teases and how free and quicker it sounder with each of his nibbles. When the Lan opened his eyes, he watched how Jin Guangyao’s eyes closed tightly, how big it was his smile and how his arms rested still on their grip, hand tightly gripping theirs. There was now a red hue painting his face and clear joy in each one of his  reactions were, how tight he was holding his hands. Mingjue almost wasn’t able to torment him with taunts and teases with the volume of his chortles, instead deciding to go back to lay tickly kisses and nibbles on every ticklish spot he could find. Two different kind of laughter filled the space and Lan Xichen couldn’t help but follow with his own snickers, creating the truly most melodious song.

Every and any details were collected and placed carefully in his mind so Xichen could rewatch the moment over and over again,  later, when they were back to lead their own sects and Gusu Lan nights got too quiet and his thoughts too loud to endure.

Before the melancholy could take a hold over his mind, however, Xichen decided to bask in the sunlight of both of the most trusted people.

“I want to paint this.” A-Yao’s eyes turned to him, shining in a rare mix of shyness and excitement. “You think you could continue smiling like this for me, A-Yao?”

“We could keep him like this for a few hours alright.” Nie Mingjue chuckled darkly, suddenly changing to dig and drum his tickling fingers on his armpits until a squeal escaped Guangyao’s lips. Slower snickers and giggles took over the uncontrollable laughter from before, allowing him into a giggly kind of break. “Keeping him laughing, squirming and squealing just like he is so eager to do with us. I say, one painting won’t be enough. I personally will want to commission one for my own chambers and I bet Gusu Lan would appreciate such a fine scene as well.”

Jin Guangyao wasn't even trying to fight anymore, becoming a tittering puddle in his bed, rich brown eyes watching them fondly, sharp and attentive, and yet so trusting. There was no point in trying to conceal his reactions any further, letting himself instead let go of his control in a way that only the two of them would be witness to. The strong color on his face began to spread to his ears and neck and Lan Xichen was helpless for the way that it made him want to follow its trail with tiny, teasing raspberries and fluttering kisses. So he did.

“Beautiful. So beautiful, my A-Yao.”

Said one took a deep breath and pressed in between his titters and chuckles. “Not as beautiful as my er-ge and da-ge, when they get in my position.”

His tune made it sound like a simple observation, but they were no fool. Jin Guangyao’s revenge would be ruthless and inevitable. Still, Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen were not afraid, instead doubling their efforts until the warmth and the tickling sensation were the only things A-Yao could focus on.

[~*~]

EXTRAS:

The universe put me in this world to write Xichen and Guangyao being the most deranged about each other actually. Pls image that Lan Xichen was also having the craziest thoughts while reducing Jin Guangyao to a giggle puddle <3

If you ever wonder about the relationship of Xichen with idk anyone from 2º and 3º chapter (besides the special guest appearance that will appear <3) only remember that I have no idea what is actually happening in this fic at all and those words are not bound to real life and flesh limitations

Lan Xichen tickling A-Yao for the first time: <3 <3 <3 silly time!!! so happy that Meng Yao let me do that! I Am Completely Normal About This Outcome And Am Not Having Lots of (Rule Breaking) Thoughts About All Of This :) 

Me about Meng Yao: This one can fit so much gays awakenings moments right now you have no idea

Me writing Mingjue and Xichen’s moment: and then Mingjue attacks him from behind-

Lan Zhan: And I am there

Me: What. No you’re not

Lan Zhan: *sits in the middle of the scenario and refuses to move*

Me: Please I would’ve to rewrite like 10 whole paragraphs PLEASE move. You had like half of the first chapter to enjoy with your bro, go AWAY

Lan Zhan: Hm (no)

Mingjue by mistake, while Lan Xichen is tickling him: Fuck, Xichen!Xichen, starting to undo his outer robes: Well, since you asked…