#is he serious and quiet and introspective

[ivystoryweaver]

This is BRILLIANT

He was everything you didn’t want—serious, deeply introspective, and, worst of all, way too good-looking for someone who teaches Nietzsche for fun. But somehow, here you were, sitting across from him at a quiet café, trying not to laugh at how everything about him screamed “complicated.”

Best description of Jonathan EEVERERRR

Like so many red flags but I would dive in head first like so fast.

Philosophy in bed :

Jonathan levy x reader

You never expected to see Jonathan Levy again after that awkward evening at a faculty event. The brilliant philosophy professor had managed to simultaneously confuse and captivate you with his rambling analysis of Kierkegaard over a glass of wine. He was everything you didn’t want—serious, deeply introspective, and, worst of all, way too good-looking for someone who teaches Nietzsche for fun. But somehow, here you were, sitting across from him at a quiet café, trying not to laugh at how everything about him screamed “complicated.”

The conversation started harmlessly enough—discussing mutual friends, classes, that one time you accidentally called him “Jon” and he looked at you like you’d just insulted all of Plato. But as the day went on, the discussions shifted, becoming deeper. What started as playful banter about your terrible habit of making the wrong choices somehow transformed into an uncomfortably insightful conversation about self-sabotage and why you insist on dating men like him.

“It’s not like I do it on purpose,” you said with a smirk, sipping your coffee.

“I never said you did,” Jonathan replied, his gaze flickering with amusement. “But you have to admit, you do have a pattern.”

You rolled your eyes, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of being right. “Says the man who’s been married, what, twice now?”

He leaned back in his chair, the weight of your words settling between you. There was a pause, and you regretted it instantly. “Touché,” he said quietly, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The air shifted between you after that, tension building in subtle ways as you navigated through layers of vulnerability and flirtation. You both danced around the obvious—Jonathan was no stranger to emotional complexity, but you were too stubborn to admit that this particular professor had gotten under your skin in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

Later that evening, after more coffee than was advisable, you found yourselves back at his place. It started with a debate on free will and human error—a topic that felt far too close to home. One minute you were arguing, and the next, his lips were on yours, and you forgot entirely about the philosophical paradox you were trying to resolve.

"Does it hurt?" Jonathan's voice was soft, almost tender, as he traced a gentle finger along the side of your arm.

"I'll survive," you quipped, rolling your eyes dramatically.

"Not what I asked."

His tone was enough to make you pause, meeting his gaze. There was something in the way he looked at you that unnerved you—in a good way. You’d been with plenty of guys who didn’t ask, didn’t notice. Jonathan, in his overthinking, neurotic way, saw everything.

And that unnerved you more than it should.

“You’re overanalyzing again, aren’t you?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood as you shifted to sit up, adjusting the blanket that had tangled around your legs.

Jonathan just gave you that look. The one that told you he had already dissected everything you’d said, the one that made you realize this man didn’t just want you physically—he wanted to know you, in every possible way. And you weren’t sure you were ready for that.

“Maybe,” he admitted, his lips curving into a smile that was far too self-aware. “But can you blame me?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yes. Yes, I can.”

The hours passed like that—moments of intimacy punctuated by the sharp wit and the occasional snarky remark. You weren’t sure what this was. If it was a mistake, you’d figure it out later. For now, you were too caught up in the warmth of his body, the way his hands moved against your skin with more care than you were used to.

But leave it to Jonathan to interrupt your post-coital bliss with a philosophical musing.

“You ever think about how we justify our worst choices?”

You groaned, burying your face into his chest. “Jonathan, I swear, if you start quoting Sartre right now, I will leave.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around you. “Fine. No philosophy. But answer the question.”

“I don’t know,” you said after a moment, considering the question more than you probably should. “I guess... we justify them because we want to believe there’s a reason for the mess. That we weren’t just... messing up for no reason.”

Jonathan hummed in thought, and you could tell he was dissecting your words, turning them over in his mind like he always did. But instead of another deep dive into the human psyche, he surprised you.

“You’re not a mess.”

You snorted. “Says the man who has witnessed at least three of my major life meltdowns in the last year.”

“Okay, you’re a bit of a mess,” he admitted, laughing softly. “But not the kind you think.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what kind of mess am I, Professor Levy?”

He leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your lips. “The kind I want to figure out.”

By the time the sun started creeping through the window, you knew you were in deeper than you’d ever planned. You lay there, tangled up in sheets and philosophical dilemmas, wondering how the hell you ended up in this situation.

But when Jonathan kissed your temple and whispered something entirely too sweet into your ear, you decided maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the worst mistake you’d ever made.

Still, as you both lay there in the fading darkness, you couldn’t resist one last jab.

“Does this mean I passed the philosophy exam?” you asked, your tone mock-serious.

Jonathan laughed, pulling you closer. “Depends. Can you define existentialism?”

You groaned, nudging him playfully. “No. But I can define ‘annoying professor.’”

“I’ll give you a passing grade, then,” he said with a grin, pulling you in for one last kiss before the day could pull you back into reality.

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Four

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You navigate the aftermath of your confrontation. Azriel takes his first steps toward making things right.

Warnings: brief mentions of injury, bruises, and physical fighting. nyx being a cute baby. some fun introspection. reader is tired and overwhelmed. az is honest and open (hallelujah)

Word Count: 7k+

Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Rhys was trying to be serious. 

He truly, truly was. 

From behind his polished desk, he looked every inch the High Lord—back straight, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the wood. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, as though he couldn’t decide where to start.

You shifted in your seat, your body aching in strange places from the fight. The cut on your cheek throbbed and the bruising across your knuckles made every twitch of your fingers tender. But none of it compared to the strain in your cheeks—from holding back a laugh.

Feyre was perched on the arm of a chair beside you, Nyx cradled in her arms, his tiny fingers gripping the fabric of her flowy blouse. She wasn’t looking at you—refusing to, actually. Her gaze was locked firmly on her son, her lips pressed together in a trembling line, but you could see the corners twitching with suppressed amusement. You kept your gaze on her, waiting until the burn of your stare would render too hot for her to ignore. 

It didn’t take long.

Feyre’s resolve crumbled as soon as her eyes met yours. She let out a laugh—sharp and bright and loud in the too-quiet room.

Rhys’s head snapped up. “Feyre, please. Not you too.”

Not you too. Morrigan had found the situation just as amusing. 

Her laughter only grew, and Nyx joined in, making incomprehensible happy gurgles in response to his mother’s amusement. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she didn’t sound sorry at all. 

She passed Nyx to your open, offering arms, and crossed the room, wrapping her arms around Rhys’s neck. Her cheek brushed against his as she murmured—loud enough for you to hear, “You have to admit it’s funny.”

Rhys groaned, glancing at you. He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but you cut in, your voice laced with mock sternness as you bit back a smile. “Yeah, Rhys. You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he replied, fixing you with a look. “It is not funny.”

You gasped dramatically, adjusting Nyx in your lap and covering his tiny,pointed ears. “Don’t teach your son it’s okay to lie.”

Another groan. A hand dragged down his face, but his lips twitched as though fighting a losing battle. Finally, with a resigned shake of his head, he muttered, “Alright. Fine. It’s funny. But—

His words faltered. 

“I am sorry,” you offered, filling the silence. You raised your free hand solemnly. “I lost my cool. That’s my bad. But in my defense, she really had it coming.”

Rhys casted a look at Feyre, who was leaning against the desk now, a smile still tugging at her lips. He shook his head again, sighing. “Maybe so,” he conceded, “But I can’t have our court’s emissary beating one of our citizens in broad daylight. It’s not a great look.”

“It wasn’t broad daylight,” you corrected, your attention shifting to Nyx as you untangled your hair from his iron grip, grimacing as the motion pulled at your scalp. “The sun was setting by the time we were done.”

Feyre let out another laugh, the sound powerful enough to pull a snort from her. 

“And,” you added, “It was, at most, semi-private.”

“Unbelievable,” Rhys muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

Nyx babbled again, his chubby hand reaching for your hair once more. 

“Okay, alright,” you said, straightening in your chair. The ache in your body flared as you moved, but you ignored it, your focus on Rhys. “You’re right, Rhys. I have a title and an image to uphold. I should’ve acted better. Tell me how to fix it, and I will.”

Rhys’s gaze lingered on you, as if the longer he stared at you, the easier words would come. Then he leaned back in his chair, his attention flicking to Feyre. They were in each other’s minds, you realized, talking in that way only they could. You could pick up the signs now, even subtle—a faint twitch of her lips, the softening in his gaze, even the rhythm of their blinks syncing up. 

Finally, Rhys looked back at you, then down at Nyx, who was still babbling in your lap. When his gaze returned to yours, there was a thread of warmth beneath his voice. “You’re the most, objectively, rational of us all. If you say there was reasoning, then I believe you.”

You gave him a grateful smile.

“We just have to prepare for some damage control,” Feyre said. “It’s not exactly comforting for our citizens to see three of their highest-ranking officials fighting in the streets.”

“Three?” You frowned. “What—”

You were cut off as the door creaked open. All three of you turned as Mor stepped in, a large grin on her red painted lips. She was holding something small in her hand, and when she held it up, the light caught on the all-too-familiar jewelry.

“Don’t forget. She also found these,” Mor sang as she entered fully. She tossed two bracelets into the air, catching both effortlessly before holding them up again for emphasis. “So, I think that’s enough for a pardon.”

Rhys stood, crossing the room in a few long strides as Feyre followed. He took one of the bracelets from Mor, inspecting it carefully.

“What did you find?”

“What Y/n heard was right,” Mor said, rolling the other bracelet between her fingers. “It’s a simple listening charm. Very basic.”

Rhysand hummed. “And how does it work exactly?”

“It’s an anchored spell.”

“What does that mean?” Feyre asked, frowning. “An anchor?” 

“It means the spell needs an anchor to function—a tether to keep it active and contained. Like a balloon tied to a string.” Rhys explained, his tone turning clinical. “It’s simple magic. The charm was designed to spy on whoever it was bound to.”

“And it was bound to who? Az?”

”Actually,” Mor said. She nodded towards you. “It was bound to Y/n.”

You weren’t paying full attention, not as you played a game of tug-of-war with Nyx and a strand of your hair. When the words finally hit you, you blinked, glancing between Mor and the bracelet in her hand. “What? On me?”

Mor nodded once more as Rhysand said, “Interesting.” 

”And this was in Azriels room?” Feyre asked, looking over at you. 

“One of them,” you confirmed. “The other Selene was wearing.”

Feyre’s gaze flicked to the cut across your cheek. “So she put it in Azriel’s room, but bound it to you?”

“No one tends to go into Az’s room.” Rhys frowned. “So she was only interested in conversations you were a part of.”

Of course. A bitter laugh bubbled up, but you clenched your jaw, forcing it down. You reminded yourself of what you’d seen earlier— the insecurity, rather than the malice you’d anticipated. Still, a certain annoyance lingered. Was her relationship with Azriel so fragile that she couldn’t talk to him? Were you so unapproachable that she couldn’t come to you? Instead, she planted a charm. To spy. 

”Can I see it?” You asked. 

Mor stepped forward, holding it out, and Nyx reached for it first, his tiny fingers desperately grasping at the shiny surface.

“This isn’t for you, buddy,” Mor cooed, crouching slightly. “This is Aunt Y/n’s special bracelet from her secret admirer.”

You shot her a flat look. “Secret admirer, my ass.”

Mor grinned, but her gaze flicked over you briefly, her teasing dimmed by something else—concern, maybe. Feyre stepped forward, lifting Nyx from your lap as you examined the bracelet.

“So what do we do with it now?” You glanced up at Mor.

“I can pay Helion a visit. Break the charm.” 

“Alright,” Rhys said, the word accompanied by a considering hum. “But first, let me talk to Selene and Runa—Runa was the other one, right?”

Hearing her name sent a wave of irritation coursing through you. Your grip on the bracelet tightened instinctively as you nodded, the cool metal digging into your palm. You held it out for Mor to take, watching as she then took the second one back from Rhys. He studied you for a moment, his gaze drifting to your clenched fists.

“You’re just too great,” He said with a small grin. It was very father-like in its presentation, like he was trying to cheer up a sad child. “It’s intimidating.”

You rolled your eyes, but his attempt worked— the easy cadence chipping away at the tension in your shoulders, managing to coax a reluctant smile to your lips. “So I’ve been told.”

Your attention shifted to Feyre as she rocked Nyx gently in her arms. His soft breaths had already settled into the rhythm of sleep, and something in you softened at the sight. Your smile deepened, this time warmer, more genuine. Feyre caught your gaze, then glanced at her mate.

“It’s his bedtime,” she murmured, her attention returning to you. “And maybe you could use some rest too.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Mor cut you off, her hand already brushing against your arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said softly, though there was no room for argument in her tone.

“I’m fine,” you tried to insist, but she gave you a look, leading you out of Rhysand’s office. You gave both him and Feyre a quick goodbye. 

“Walk or winnow?” Mor asked once you were in the hall, tilting her head.

You thought it over for a brief moment. “Winnow,” you replied.

She nodded in agreement, the corners of her lips curving upwards. “Probably for the best,” she said, “Wouldn’t want you to find another citizen to fight on the way home.”

You moved to swat at her arm in mock indignation, but she was already gone, her laughter echoing faintly as she winnowed away. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Mor was humming a small tune as she led you to your bedroom. She had a few more items in her hand since the last time you saw her, only a few moments prior.

“Sit,” she instructed, nodding towards your bed. Without waiting for a response, she pulled your chair from the small desk, its legs scraping sharply against the floor. Usually, you might've winced at the sound, but tonight it barely registered. You were too tired, too lost in your own thoughts to be fully aware of your surroundings. 

You lowered yourself onto the edge of your bed, hands folded in your lap, watching as Mor set her haul on your bedside table: a first-aid healers kit and a small jar with a golden lid, the faint scent of herbs already wafting from it.

“Whats that?” you asked, motioning towards it as Mor sat down.

“I stopped by Majda’s earlier,” Mor replied, grabbing the jar and offering it to you. 

You gingerly took it, running your fingers along the small glass. A healing balm, you gathered from the label, crafted and spelled to sooth the tenderness of injuries.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” she replied, fixing you with a look. She held her hand out in a silent request, and you granted it, placing the jar back in her soft palm.  “I ran into Adrin while I was there, too.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I think he has a crush.” 

Your brows furrowed. “On you?”

“No,” Mor laughed. “On you.” She twisted the lid off, the scent growing stronger, fresher. “This was practically free when I mentioned your name. He says hello, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes at the tone of her voice, at the small quirk in her lip.  “How generous of him.”

Adrin was one of Madja’s recent apprentices, a male from the Dawn Court. Over the past year, you’d developed a sort of friendship with him—inevitable, given how often you stopped by Madja’s for elixirs, balms, or to request healing for one of your family members. Adrin was sweet in a way that stood out, especially for someone of his stature and wealth. Humble, easy to talk to. You’d always enjoyed your small conversations with him, none of which had ever felt particularly flirtatious. 

But Mor liked to do this—tease you about romantic prospects where there were none.

“He seemed very sad to hear you were hurt,” she teased, dipping her fingers into the balm. “Here. Give me your hands.”

Reluctantly, you stretched out your hands, knuckles bruised and raw. She took them, her touch gentle as she worked the balm into your skin. It stung at first, then cooled, easing the ache. 

“He’s cute,” Mor said lightly, noting your silence.  “You should consider it.”

“Mhm,” you replied, not really listening. “Maybe.”

Mor glanced up at you, her hands pausing briefly before she resumed. “What are you thinking about?”

You shrugged and stared down at your hands, tracing the patterns of Mor’s thumbs as she smoothed over the worst of the bruising. “I don’t know. The whole thing, I guess.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t just beat them both.”

A small laugh slipped from you, unexpected. You were quite proud of how diplomatic you’d managed to be given the circumstances— though, you were sure diplomatic wasn’t the word Runa would use.

“I think,” you began, “I just figured it wasn’t worth it. At least with Selene, it wasn’t personal. There’s nothing I could’ve said to her that’d be worse than what I imagine she already tells herself. Runa just… said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

Mor nodded with an amused smile, tilting your chin up with a finger so she could dab the balm along your jaw. On a hit you hadn’t even noticed until it started throbbing an hour later.

“Still. A listening charm is kind of insane,” she said. Her tone was measured, but you caught the edge of anger beneath it. “Can you imagine what else she could’ve heard?”

Your chest tightened. You nodded. Although not to the extent you might usually have, you had thought about it—the implications of the bracelet, the act Selene had committed, the idea Runa had planted. It was almost laughable. Your court was condemned for its supposed cruelty, led by a High Lord as infamous as Rhysand, yet citizens still felt emboldened enough to pull stunts like this. In any other court, Selene and Runa would’ve faced very different—more permanent—consequences.

“I don’t want to think about it too much,” you replied after a moment. “I’ll just get angry, and I’m kind of over that. It’s exhausting.”

“You’re better than me,” Mor muttered.

“Not really. I’m just tired.” You said simply. “Selene did a bad thing. She’s lucky it didn’t cause a serious disaster. I don’t feel the need to play the Mother’s role. Rhys will deal with her.”

Mor sat back, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “And in the meantime, I get pretty jewelry.”

You raised a brow. 

“What?” Her grin widened. “Like we told Rhys, it’s only a basic listening spell. If I’m in possession of both charms, and I’m not talking to you, then no one’s hearing anything.”

“And if you lose one?”

She raised an eyebrow, slowly twisting the cap back onto the jar. “I won’t,” she replied simply. And you knew that was the end of the conversation. Mor guided your head to the side, leaning in to inspect the cut across your cheek.

“That bitch got you good, though,” Mor muttered. She touched it gently, and you grimaced. “All this from that bracelet?”

“It was chunky,” you replied dryly. “And I think Runa split it open much further.”

Mor scowled. “If I see her, she's as good as d—”

“Mor.”

She sighed dramatically. “At least tell me you got her good.”

You gave her a look and her grin widened. “Gods, I love you,” she said, shaking her head. “You might be the most terrifying one of us all when you’re angry.”

A smile tugged at your lips, the faint pull of it brushing against the ache in your cheek. The sound of a laugh started to rise in your chest when a low voice cut through the moment.

“I would agree.”

You jumped, and your head snapped toward the doorway— where Azriel now stood. 

Your chest tightened at the sight of him, the moment’s levity collapsing under his presence. Instinctively, your eyes ran over him, taking in every detail. He looked tense, wings drawn in tight to his back, his posture stiff. Shadows hung close to him, unnervingly still. Disheveled, too—his hair was a mess and faint bruises bloomed along his face. His hands were hidden by his shadows, but you’d bet they bore the same marks as yours. Three officials, Feyre had said. You now knew the second. 

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Mor snickered beside you, drawing your attention just as her brows lifted in amusement. She turned away from him and faced you instead. “You hear that, Y/n? He’s sorry.”

You raised your own brows, gaze flicking back to him. “So those words do exist in your vocabulary.”

The bite didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have. It felt hollow, old. Azriel’s jaw tightened, his chest rising as he drew in a measured breath. After a moment, he stepped forward. His gaze lingered on you for another moment before he turned to Mor.

“May we have a moment alone?”

Mor’s eyes narrowed, the sharpness in her gaze dragging over him like a knife. She didn’t answer right away, looking back to you instead, searching your face for permission. Despite yourself, you gave her a small nod.

Her displeasure showed in the faint widening of her eyes, but she stood anyway, brushing her hand against yours in passing. Her touch was soft, careful not to press too hard against the bruises. “Love you,” she murmured. “Let me know if you need anything else tonight.”

You gave her a small smile, nodding again as she walked past Azriel. His shadows recoiled from her, drawing a dark outline along his arm. She casted one last glare over her shoulder.

“Idiot,” she muttered, loud enough for both of you to hear. Then she was gone.

The silence she left behind felt suffocating, a heavy thing that settled over the room. You avoided Azriel’s gaze, focusing instead on the healer’s kit sitting on the bedside table. You reached for it, but Azriel held up a hand to stop you.

“I can do it myself,” you said. 

“I know,” Az replied softly. “But let me. Please.”

You hesitated. He looked troubled, guilt heavy in his expression, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The conversation had been inevitable, long overdue. Might as well get it over with while he tended to the cut on your cheek.

Besides, you were too exhausted to care. 

“Fine.”

Azriel gave you a small, unsure smile—grateful, almost. He disappeared to the bathroom, and when he returned, he sat with a wet rag in hand.

You tried to hold on to your anger, to avoid his eyes, but your resolve began to falter the moment his shadows began to twist around your arms. They moved languidly, curling up your wrists and brushing your fingers as you played with your hands in your lap. You focused on them instead of him— on their quiet presence, the personality in them that so few ever noticed. You’d missed the way they felt like him.

Azriel began unpacking the kit—clean cloths, antiseptic. The smell made your nose scrunch. You took in the bruising on his face—on his cheek, a split near his eyebrow, even on his lip. Strange, strategically unplaced.

“What happened to you?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“Cassian happened.”

And there it was— the third official. You wanted to probe for more details, were even tempted to make a joke out of his current appearance, but your irritation held you back. You stayed silent as he cleaned the wound, as he dried it. When he soaked another cloth with antiseptic, he looked at you.

“I owe you a big, proper apology.” 

You didn’t look at him, even as his words pulled at you. “Yeah.”

He paused— like he was thinking, like he was ashamed— and took a deep breath before he said, “Many, actually.”

You didn’t respond. You just nodded, watching him from the corner of your eye. When the cloth touched your cheek, you winced. He grimaced, eyebrows furrowing in apology.

“Sorry,” he murmured. 

Another pause. 

“You were right,” he said, his focus staying on your cheek. “And I should have listened to you.”

This time, the pull of his voice was strong enough to draw your attention. As he leaned closer to begin cleaning the cut, you studied his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the crease in his brow as he worked with precision. 

“I’m always right,” you muttered, and the words had more mirth than you’d expected. You supposed that was natural with Azriel, an instinct of sorts. Even when you were unhappy with him. “You’re going to have to be specific.”

Something softened in his expression—just for a second. But you saw it. You could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips, heard a soft breath of amusement. His molten eyes met yours briefly.

“You were right about Selene.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know why, but his gaze burned. You couldn’t hold it for long and looked back down at your hands, letting the shadows weave between your fingers. You wondered what information Az knew— wondered who told him. If it was Mor who had talked to Cassian, if it was Cassian who then, in turn, had given Azriel the whole story. Had they fought beforehand? What for?

“I broke up with her,” Azriel added. “When I heard about what happened.”

You looked up, but Az’s gaze was no longer on you. “You did?”

He nodded. You tracked the bob in his throat as he swallowed. 

“There’s no coming back from what she did.”

Azriel set the cloth aside, carefully wiping away the excess antiseptic. He seemed unnervingly calm for the situation—for the invasion of privacy from someone he’d been intimate with. You’d expected something more. Anger like you’d seen with Eris, confrontation like he’d shown Lucien. But, instead, he was gentle. Maybe it should’ve bothered you, that he seemed so unphased at your current state. It didn’t. If anything, you were grateful. You would’ve been too tired to deal with anything else. 

You studied him closely. This side of him—tender, unguarded—wasn’t a side he let many see.

Your thoughts wandered back to Selene. It made sense, in a pathetic, strange way, why she might have done what she did. If she’d seen this side of him, this kindness, this care... how could she not have wanted to protect it? How could she not have gone to extremes to keep it?

You thought about it for a moment. Came to the realization that the love Azriel offered was probably worthy of madness.

“Because she spied on you?” 

It was a stupid question. But the urge to ask had persisted, so you voiced it anyway. Azriel stilled, his hand pausing mid-motion. Slowly, he turned to look at you.

“No,” he said, his voice softer. “Because she hurt you.”

His words landed with a force that sent your thoughts spiraling.

“Although,” Azriel added quickly, “The spying was definitely a dealbreaker.”

He was making a joke, you realized. Or a small attempt at one. And somehow, it settled something restless in your chest.

“She didn’t mean to,” you heard yourself say before you could stop it. 

The moment the words left your mouth, you cursed yourself. What the hell were you doing? You had no obligation. No reason. It was counterproductive, if anything. Rhys was bringing her in. You had every right to trash her, right here, to Azriel himself. To tell him over and over that you told him so.

But you didn’t. Maybe it was because she’d mattered to him—enough for him to trust her despite the flaws that had undone her. Even if that truth made your chest ache, you wanted him to make his decision with all the facts.

Your care for Azriel wasn’t something led by your pride.

“Selene didn’t mean to hurt me,” you said again, more certain this time. “It was an accident.”

His eyes softened as he observed you. You swallowed and shrugged. “Runa was the one who actually did.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azriel said. “You were in that situation because of Selene.”

A beat.

“Because of me.”

The air between you thickened. You tried to focus on anything else, anything but the way your chest tightened, the way your heart thudded faster than it should. But you couldn’t. Your eyes stayed locked with his.

You thought about the past week, how something had shifted between you. The distance that had grown, how long it had taken him to reach out.  Azriel was someone who didn’t apologize easily. You knew that. But it hurt in ways you didn’t expect because you’d always thought you were different. That your friendship, your bond, was worth the discomfort. 

You thought he’d make it right. That he wouldn't have let it fester for as long as he did, wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving you simmering in your hurt. 

“Az?”

The name escaped your lips unguarded, and his face softened at the sound of it. His wings shifted too, just slightly, like tension bleeding out. You hadn’t said his name like that—without anger, without bitterness—for days.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you actually apologize earlier?”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked down, as if the answer was there, somewhere in the floor. “I—I didn’t know how.”

You let out a breath—annoyance, defeat, something too messy to untangle. “It’s actually really easy,” you muttered. “You just open your mouth and say the words ‘I’m sorry for being a dick.’”

There was a soft shuffle as Azriel leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He tilted his head, trying to meet your averted gaze.

“Y/n,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for being a dick.”

You let the words settle for a moment before sitting up straighter. Met his eyes once more. You raised a brow, unimpressed. “A bit late, don’t you think?”

Azriel didn’t move, his eyes meeting yours steadily. He was closer now—close enough that you could almost feel his presence like a tangible, heavy thing. His shadows stirred, curling around your fingers, then shifting toward his hand. They tangled between you both, like they were tying you together, threading through the space that separated you.

“It is,” Azriel said. He looked down the second his words hit the open air. It reminded you of repentance, like a sinner confessing to a priestess. His hands rubbed together before he clasped them into a fist, looking up again.

Even then, his thumbs kept moving, brushing over each other in a way that gave him away. He was nervous.

“I messed up,” he said. “I knew I did the minute I repeated what Selene told me. But I’d messed up so badly that I felt like an apology needed to be big enough to make up for it. I couldn’t think of anything.” He took a shallow breath. “I—I was embarrassed.”

You frowned.  For Azriel, who stood in front of you, unwavering in the face of so many enemies, embarrassment seemed almost foreign.

“Embarrassed?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet as he admitted it.

“What could you possibly have to be embarrassed about?”

Azriel’s face shifted, his eyes looking almost vulnerable, wide open, like you could see everything. Even his shadows slowed to a faint crawl. They seemed to be waiting for something. You weren’t sure what.

“That you were right. I was changing. For her. And I did it on my own.”

“What?” You barely breathed out, confused. “Why?”

“I just…” He hesitated, his eyes lowering. “I thought it might be for the better. That maybe this relationship, maybe Selene, could mold me into something else, something more…” He trailed off.

“More what?”

“Something—someone, more easy to love.”

Your breath faltered, and for a second, everything froze— like the sheer sadness in his voice was enough to freeze time. And then you were flooded with emotions, each different from the one that came before. Confusion. Anger. Pity. Heartbreak. You felt a deep, hollow ache at the idea that he truly believed he needed to change to be loved. 

For the first time, you weren’t sure what the right thing to say was. If there was one at all. All you could do, in the most genuine tone you could muster, was say, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s gaze faltered, his expression shifting as though he wasn’t quite sure how to process your reaction. You glanced at his hands, pushing the rush of emotions back, then met his eyes again.

“You should never feel like you need to change. Not like that.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but his eyes softened, and you found yourself focusing on the crease between his brows. It made him look so tender. So young.

Finally, he spoke again. “I was having a bad day that night you came to talk to me. I didn’t realize how I’d hurt you. I thought I just pissed you off, that you were angry.”

“Well, you did piss me off,” you said, your anger bubbling up once more. His expression faltered slightly at that, but you continued, “I’m still angry. You were dismissive. You made me feel selfish, like I didn’t have the right to care about you.”

The words caught in your throat, threatening to stick, but you pushed them out. You’d spent centuries enduring criticism from males in Prythian politics—males who dismissed your input no matter how educated or experienced you were. You knew how to let their opinions roll off your back, not to let them settle. But you never thought Azriel would be the one to hurt you. Make you feel silly. Stupid. Small.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darted away as if he was trying to find the right words. “It was all so stupid. I can’t believe I entertained her ideas—that I let my desire to be needed make me accuse you of having ulterior motives when you were just being a good friend.”

A good friend.

That was exactly what you were trying to be—and yet, the word hurt you. It made you want to wince like you had when Azriel pressed that rag to your cut. You thought back, unwanted, to Selene’s words, and your chest tightened even more. 

Was it possible for the room to be losing air? Maybe that would explain the stupid decisions you’d been making. The thoughts you could feel in the back of your mind. A lack of oxygen to your brain.

“So why did you believe her?” you asked quietly. Your voice sounded more tired now. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause. “It doesn’t change what I did. It was cruel. It belittled you. And I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, at the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth. He was sincere—you could feel it in every word, in the way his eyes stayed fixed on you, like nothing else existed in the room. You didn’t think you’d ever had someone apologize like this before, so open and raw.

And yet, something inside you still simmered. The anger hadn’t disappeared. Not yet.

“Thank you,” you murmured, “For apologizing.”

Azriel didn’t move. He kept looking at you, really looking at you, and you felt pinned beneath the weight of his gaze. His eyes had more green than Cassian’s. It wasn’t something you usually noticed—how the colors shifted in the light, how clear and startling they seemed up close. Now, though, you couldn’t seem to stop noticing, like every detail of him was suddenly magnified.

You wanted to stay angry. You deserved to. He’d hurt you, and that kind of hurt didn’t just disappear because he finally decided to show up and say the right things. But then his gaze held yours a little too long, his voice a little too raw, and that tightrope you’d built for yourself began to fray.  A sharp sting of guilt came, and you couldn’t shake it—couldn’t shake the growing realization that maybe you didn’t want to be angry at him. Maybe it wasn’t even anger anymore.

You cleared your throat as Azriel shifted his attention back to the kit, his shadows curling and shifting behind him. He grabbed a few butterfly bandages, his voice quiet when he spoke.

“You’re better to me than I deserve,” he said, almost to himself. “I think I convinced myself that it was a matter of time until the ball dropped—until you realized I wasn’t worth this friendship. I thought I’d finally reached that point. I almost just laid down and accepted it.”

You frowned at his words. 

Azriel always carried that shadow of self-loathing like a second skin, like he couldn’t believe anyone could see him as more than his darkest thoughts. As much as you wanted to heal him, to assure him that none of it was true, you knew better. It hurt to know that, after everything, he still didn’t believe it. Because, the truth was, Azriel wasn’t hard to love. It wasn’t hard to support him, to be his friend. He had his moments, as anyone did, but he was always there. Which, you supposed, is why the way he treated you hurt in such a deep, unique way.

The thought that he’d believed, deep down, that your friendship—your loyalty—could be so easily withdrawn, made something inside you ache. Made you sad. Angry. 

“I take back what I said earlier,” you murmured. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s lips twitched as he searched your face for any hint of a joke. His shadows perched on the apex of his wings, watching you both. Then, when his lips curled, just slightly, they began to move once more. 

“I have my moments,” Azriel said, a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips. He glanced at you, checking if it landed.  “Maybe one too many head injuries is getting to me.”

“Maybe,” you said, the hint of a smile brushing your lips. “In that case, we should keep an eye on Cassian.”

Azriel’s breath escaped in a quiet, almost relieved laugh.  He carefully removed the butterfly bandages from their small packs, the silence settling around you once more. But the air felt heavy, like there was something unspoken hanging between you. Like you needed to say something to rid yourself of the pressure in your chest. 

“You can’t just lay down and accept it, Az,” you said, your voice firm. His eyes snapped to yours. “That’s not what friendship is. Not ours.”

Azriel nodded, his expression softening. “I know. I’ll do better.” 

You smiled faintly, nodding back. Watching as he turned his attention back to the bandages on your cheek, you took a slow breath. His scent washed over you as he leaned in, familiar and warm. For a moment, you almost let yourself close your eyes, just to breathe him in further, to let his scent linger. Had it always been like this? Or had Selene’s words made you overanalyze everything?

“I was shocked when Cassian told me what happened. I can’t believe that while I was busy kicking myself for not doing anything, you were trying to talk to Selene. Trying to be kind. Do you realize how crazy that is?”

His words weren’t disbelief—they were awe. As if he couldn’t comprehend why you’d chosen the harder path, the path of peace. You could barely believe it yourself, sitting with a scratched-up face and a mind full of unwanted revelations. But in the end, it had been simple. 

You’d done it for Azriel. 

You’d found sympathy for her because of Azriel. You’d set aside your anger, your pettiness, because you valued your relationship with Azriel more. Even after everything, after the way he’d treated you, you still believed in him. Believed in his ability to know what he wanted.

“Your happiness was worth it,” you said finally. “I didn’t want to be the one to stand in the way of it. To make things hard.”

Azriel stopped at that, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel exposed in a way you’d never felt before with him. You shrugged it off, trying to play it cool, and added with a dry chuckle, “Also, I figured if I did the noble thing, I’d get to hold it over you for a few centuries.”

Azriel laughed—a genuine, rumbling sound. His shadows fluttered around him. “Yeah, well, you can. More than a few centuries, actually, because you came out with some battle scars.”

You almost spoke again, but the breath left your lungs as you felt his fingers gently press the butterfly bandages to your skin. It was almost funny to think about how angry you’d been—rightfully so. But now, with the feel of his hands on you, it all began to ease. A specific sense of healing, like the betrayal you’d felt—at least in part—was being mended. That Azriel tending to you now, with the soft touch he so rarely granted, proved that he didn’t mean to hurt you. That he did care. And maybe you could give him a little grace for being a flawed male.

When Azriel turned back to the kit, you touched your cheek, feeling the cut deeper than you expected. You hadn’t realized how long it was. Mor’s earlier reaction made more sense now.

Azriel glanced at the wound, then back at you, brow furrowing. “Is it okay?”

You nodded slowly, a soft breath escaping as you winced slightly. “Yeah, just tender. Thank you.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and moved to place the last bandage. And then, almost too quietly, he murmured, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I really am.”

“I know.” You hesitated before adding, “But you’re going to have to make it up to me. You know that, right? This wasn’t enough.”

Azriel steadied his gaze on you, leaning back to face you fully. Suddenly, you weren’t sure if anyone had ever looked at you properly. Not like this. Not as he said, “I will. I promise. In ways that are better than some baked goods.”

“Well… I wouldn’t mind some croissants. They looked good.”

Azriel chuckled. “Oh really?”

Soft tendrils of his shadows weaved around you as you nodded, biting back a smile at the tone of his voice. Something so lively. So Azriel. Although you were used to them, you resisted the urge to shiver as his shadows threaded through the ends of your hair. 

“That’s odd,” he said. “I seem to recall them looking untouched. Some even squished.”

The memory of how you’d grabbed the pastry in frustration, squeezing it in your hand, brought a small smirk to your face. You shrugged a little. “I was pissed. I couldn’t give in.”

“In that case, I’ll buy out the whole bakery.”

You rolled your eyes, but the hint of a smile was still there. It was probably obvious to Azriel.  “The Spymaster supporting local businesses by single-handedly buying out a local bakery. How noble.”

He smiled at that, his expression lighter now—boyish, amused. But his words were sincere. “Whatever you need me to do. I’ll do it.”

“And if I told you to swim naked in the Sidra at night, when it’s cold and snowy?”

“I’d ask Rhysand to make an order for all the children to stay inside.”

You laughed at the thought, and the atmosphere shifted. For the first time in a while, it felt like the world had stopped turning its back on you. The anger, the grudge you’d been cradling like a newborn babe, didn’t feel so heavy now. 

Azriel stood, folding the bandages and packing away the medical supplies, and you found yourself watching him without meaning to once more. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly… beautiful he was. There was something in the angle of his jaw, the way the light caught his features that made your breath suddenly catch. He was always handsome, of course, but this was different. 

A sudden wave of curiosity bubbled up inside you. Before you could second-guess yourself, you spoke.  You’d never noticed the sharpness of his eyes, the intensity in them, the way his wings twitched when his shadows curled against them.

“Can I ask you something?” 

He paused, looking down at you with that soft gaze. “Always.”

“Why did you want to change into someone more loveable? Why stay with Selene?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I… I think I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

Azriel nodded. Something sad washed through him, made him blink, made his wings fall an inch closer to the ground. “Everyone around us is finding love. They’re starting new lives.”

Something sharp jabbed at you, a bitter feeling you didn’t quite understand. Was there something wrong with you for not feeling the same need to fall in love?

“I’m not,” you said. 

The expression that took over Azriel’s face was one you couldn’t describe, but there was a new kind of weariness in it. His lips parted as though to say something else, but instead, he simply shook his head with a small, wistful smile. “It’s only a matter of time, Y/n.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re you. You’re amazing. It’s only a matter of time until you fall for one of your many suitors.”

You furrowed your brow, a bitter taste now settling on your tongue. You didn’t respond— didn’t know how to.

Azriel’s eyes darkened for a brief moment, his jaw tightening, but then his face softened. He exhaled slowly. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “I didn’t think I could handle being alone when you moved on, too.”

The way he said it, the weight of it, made something ache inside you, like a deep hollow was opening up in your chest. You swallowed hard, wishing for something—anything—to ease the growing pressure behind your ribcage.

You wanted him to tell you more, to say something that would make sense of all this. But you didn’t know how to ask for that, didn’t even know what you wanted him to say. 

“Because you don’t want to be the last one standing?”

The silence that followed was almost suffocating. Azriel’s shadows seemed to quiet around you both.

Then, he gave you a half-smile—sad, lopsided, but somehow more real than anything he’d shown you in a long time. Not for months. Not since he began dating Selene. 

“Something like that.”

Before you could dwell on his words, on why they made you feel sad, disappointed even, Azriel finished packing up the kit and turned toward you.

“All done,” he said.

You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts, and nodded. “Oh. Cool. Thank you.”

You looked down at your hands, your fingers brushing over the growing bruises on your knuckles. Your hair fell forward, partially hiding your face, and before you could move it out of the way, one of Azriel’s shadows darted forward, tugging at the strand. You glanced up as he gently called the shadow back with a subtle motion. 

“So... how do I look?” 

Azriel's eyes flicked over you, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he reached forward, his hand brushing that same strand of hair from your face.

“Tough,” he said, slowly moving the strand back. “I think the bandages really bring out your eyes.”

And even though he’d done it a million times before, as Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear, something inside you cracked right open.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Part Five

authors note:

tending to wounds scene!!! tending to wounds scene!! mor has both bracelets??!? az and selene are done?!?! he's being weirdly calm abt the whole thing?!?! reader is THINKINNN...

now begins the fun time of reader wanting to let az grovel (bc he has entered his groveling era) but also overthinking everything and wanting him to just....go away. also fun time of reader having to prove to everyone that despite things she may...or may not... feel, her intentions with Az were neverr driven jealousy hehe

so fun!!! i have some fun ideas guys. thank yall for reading <3 i wonder if you can guess what might happen.... there are a few hints

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@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered 

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[marstons-angel]

i thought of you so often.

arthur morgan x reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.

✧ wc : 2.4k (???)

✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.

✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.

He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.

You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.

On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.

You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.

It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.

It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.

Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.

Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.

Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.

Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.

You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.

(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.

"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)

But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.

You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.

You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.

And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.

A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.

The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.

So you're thinking on it.

The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.

Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.

You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.

"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.

Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.

The first few pages are nothing special.

A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.

You really love this man helplessly.

You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.

It feels like ages ago now.

You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.

There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.

It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.

Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.

You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.

She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.

Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.

You can't tear your eyes away.

Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.

Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.

Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.

You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.

I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.

She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.

One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.

After Arthur had been kidnapped.

I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.

Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.

A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.

The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.

Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.

You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.

You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.

Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.

Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.

My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.

Damn that man.

When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.

Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.

In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.

"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"

You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.

Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.

"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"

You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.

"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"

His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.

"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."

You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.

"Found your journal. The one about me,"

He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.

"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"

You shake your head.

"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"

He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."

You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.

"I love you, Arthur."

"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"

"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"

"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."

"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"

Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[alchemistc]

eta: based on my spiral in the tags of this post

Tommy's quiet as Buck nuzzles his nose into his neck, fingers stretched wide against Buck's back, rubbing absentmindedly.

Buck tilts his gaze up. He's staring at the ceiling.

There's nothing wrong with a little ceiling staring. Buck is actually a really big fan of ceiling staring, when needed, but Tommy's been so good at being a sounding board when Buck needs it, way better than the silently judgey rafters, and Buck wants to return the favor.

"What're you thinking about?"

Tommy hums, lifting his head just a bit, the skin under his chin wrinkling like a shar-pei.

His hand slides up, down, palm lifting so he can swirl his fingers a bit.

Buck's always been a big fan of cuddling, but there's something extra sweet about Tommy's version of it - skin to skin, even if it's just rucking up Buck's shirt so he can get a hand in there, arms and legs all tangled up in each other, his hand always drawing aimless patterns. Buck's getting too used to it - had caught himself pouting, a little, the last time Tommy hugged him in a rush out the door and didn't do the little circular motion against the small of Buck's back that usually indicated when a hug was over. He's a little worried someone else is gonna hug him and he's gonna melt into it, tuck his face into someone inappropriate's neck.

"Eddie asked me something earlier, and I didn't have a clue how to answer it."

Buck tips his chin against Tommy's chest, a little eager at the idea of providing answers. Tommy knows how much he likes that.

"What about?"

"About you." He pinches at Buck's side. "Us, technically."

Oh. Well. Buck doesn't have facts and figures and statistics about that. Yet.

He hums.

"He wanted to know why I don't call you Buck."

"Do you two talk about me enough for him to notice that?" He's pretending not to be pleased about that. He's doing a shitty job, but still.

Tommy blows out a breath, hands drifting down, over the hem of Buck's briefs to squeeze. "You are one of the things we have in common. It's not all shirtless men beating the crap out of each other and trauma bonding over enemy gunfire," he says, wry, fingers sliding over Buck's ass and around to his hip, no real intention in the motion, just touching to touch.

And that's - oh that's kinda nice. The idea of that, just being a shared interest between them.

"I didn't know what to say," he continues, like he can't see Buck really fucking enjoying the idea of being a topic of conversation between his boyfriend and his best friend. "You introduced yourself as Evan. You've never corrected me, so - I didn't see a reason to change it up."

Buck grins, a little bashful. "Yeah. It took me a while to figure out why I did that."

Tommy raises a brow, hands still wandering as he waits for Buck to expand on that.

"Buck was a work thing, to start," he tells him, still working his way through it, because he's only recently considered exactly why he'd never told Tommy to call him Buck. "And then the 118 kind of became my family, and Buck - it just felt like Buck was who I was. The person I wanted to be. Evan was just - the guy I was before I found my people." Tommy's hand sweeps over his back. "And, like - I never hated that guy. Evan. He was just - he was just there, in the background. People only used it when they had something serious to say." Except his parents, but that - that's not the point he's trying to make, anyway.

"Good serious or bad serious?"

"Just - important. Something - something that needed both of those parts of me to be present in the moment."

Tommy hums. "So when we met, and you introduced yourself..."

"I think I was just trying to manufacture some intimacy." Buck admits, like he hadn't spent a ceiling-staring evening of his own figuring out this exact thing. "Get you to call me sweetheart right out the gate."

Tommy's eyes go soft and sweet. Buck never means to do this, give Tommy all these chick flick moments of introspection, but when they stumble into his lap he can't deny the little thrill that races up his spine at the sight of Tommy tucking them away. Tommy's hand settles between his shoulder blades, fingers spanning wide. "I'm not telling Eddie that," he teases, and Buck nips at his arm in retaliation.

[its-avalon-08]

📣 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕖 📣

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10

🏁 pairing : Lando Norris x Piastri!Sister!Reader

🏎️ summary: she’s oscar piastri’s little sister — sarcastic, sharp, and completely uninterested in drivers. he’s lando norris — charming, persistent, and suddenly very interested in her. she came for oscar. she didn’t plan on falling for the one person she should’ve stayed away from.

themes : fluff, flirting, over protective brother, anxiety

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

chapter 3 : getting closer

Y/N sat cross-legged on the hospitality couch, laptop finally safe and secured in her tote. Lando plopped down a few feet away, spinning a cold water bottle between his hands, glancing over at her every so often.

“So,” he said, eyes flicking up, “medical research, huh?”

She smiled, head tilting. “Don’t say it like that. You make it sound like I’m building Frankenstein in a lab.”

“Are you?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, leaning back into the couch. “But mine would be prettier. And less... stabby.”

Lando laughed. “Noted. If you start working on a charming British prototype, I volunteer.”

“Oh no, he’d be smart and emotionally available. So definitely not you.”

He feigned offense, dramatically clutching his chest. “Ouch. You wound me mini Piastri.”

“Good you deserve it Norris,” she said sweetly, sipping from her water.

There was a brief pause as he smiled down at his hands.

“You always like this?” he asked.

She blinked. “Define ‘like this.’”

“Just—sharp. Funny. A little terrifying.”

She grinned. “I prefer the term intellectually intimidating with a touch of grace.”

He snorted. “So terrifying.”

She let out a breathy laugh and looked at him properly then, taking in the messy curls still damp from his helmet, the playful glint in his eye that softened every time he looked at her. “I don’t usually let people see me panic,” she said quietly.

“I don’t think less of you,” he said without hesitation. “Actually... kind of the opposite.”

She raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Because I lost an entire laptop?”

“No. Because you cared enough to freak out,” he said, voice lighter than usual but still sincere. “Shows it matters. I respect that. It's impressive to know you cared about your research and I don't know, it just makes you seem human.”

There was a beat.

Y/N looked down, twisting the edge of her laptop sleeve. “You’re different in person.”

“Yeah?” he asked, nudging her sneaker with his.

She nodded. “Less Instagram, more human.”

He laughed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

“Glad I could keep you humble.”

They shared a smile, something lingering in the air between them now—barely there, but it buzzed under her skin.

Lando leaned back on his elbows, looking out toward the terrace. “You know... you're a good balance for him.”

She blinked. “Who?”

“Oscar. You ground him. In a funny way. Like... you don’t let him get away with being too serious.”

She chuckled. “He’s been that way since birth. I came out cracking jokes. Balance, I guess.”

He glanced at her. “So what grounds you?”

She paused, caught off guard by the question.

“…Honestly? Quiet. Soft things. Long showers. Instrumentals. My work. Stuff that’s mine and no one else’s.”

He nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

She looked at him sideways. “You’re surprisingly introspective for someone who literally says hee hee in interviews.”

He burst into laughter. “Okay, rude, but fair.”

She zipped up her tote and stood up, slinging it over her shoulder. “Alright, Mr. Not-Charming. I have data sets to cry over and a brother to yell at.”

Lando stood too, brushing invisible lint off his suit pants. “Sure you don’t wanna stick around and psychoanalyze me some more?”

She smirked, adjusting her sunglasses. “You couldn’t handle it.”

He watched her for a second, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “You’re probably right.”

She gave him a small, sincere smile. “Thanks again. Really.”

“Anytime, Y/N,” he said, his voice soft.

She turned, walking off down the paddock, hair swaying, laptop safe and her heart maybe just a little unsteady—though she'd never admit that part.

Lando stood there a beat longer, hands in his pockets, watching the spot where she'd just been.

And for the first time that weekend, he wasn’t thinking about the race.

-

A few weeks have passed.

-

The soft hum of a late-night show played quietly in the background, casting flickering shadows across Oscar’s apartment. The warm, dim light from the lamp next to the couch bathed the living room in a comforting glow. Lily tucked herself into his side, blanket pulled up to her chin, legs tangled with his under the throw.

Oscar absentmindedly played with a strand of her hair, but his jaw was tight—there was a tension in his eyes that hadn’t faded since dinner.

Lily noticed, of course she did.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours baby?” she asked softly, tilting her head to look up at him.

Oscar let out a short breath through his nose. “It’s nothing my love.” He kissed her forehead.

Lily just raised an eyebrow. No words. Just that. The eyebrow. The one that made Oscar cave every single time. Her eyes looked right into his soul.

“Okay,” he said finally. “It’s Lando.”

“…Lando?” she blinked. “What did he do now? Use your shampoo again?”

Oscar scowled. “No. Worse. He’s… hovering around Y/N.”

Lily held back a smile. “Hovering?”

“You know what I mean.”

—

[cut to: Y/N’s apartment – late night]

Her laptop was open in front of her, half-finished notes blinking on a Word doc, but her phone lit up with another text.

Lando [11:48 PM]: you know if you were here i’d be making you toast rn. like the fancy kind. with cinnamon and stuff.

Y/N [11:49 PM]: you say that like i don’t have a toaster also cinnamon toast is so 2006

Lando [11:49 PM]: excuse you it’s timeless

Y/N [11:50 PM]: you’re lucky you’re kind of funny Norris

—

Back in the apartment, Lily sat up a little.

“Oscar… Y/N’s not a kid. You don’t have to monitor everyone who breathes near her. I mean you can't. She's her own person Osc.”

Oscar’s expression turned steely. “I know she’s not a kid. But that doesn’t mean I trust everyone who suddenly wants to be close to her.”

“She and Lando haven’t even—”

“She better not,” he snapped. “Not with him.”

Lily blinked at the sharpness in his tone.

Oscar scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “My love I'm sorry. Didn't mean that. It's just that Lando’s my teammate. My friend. But he’s… Lando.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means he flirts with literally everyone, doesn’t think before he speaks, and has the emotional depth of a teaspoon most days.”

“Harsh.”

Oscar’s voice dropped. “She’s been through enough, Lily. After that idiot ex—after the way he messed with her head, made her feel small and stupid—she deserves peace. Not… not another guy who’s gonna say all the right things and leave.”

—

[cut to: paddock – a week earlier]

Y/N stood next to Lando near the McLaren garage, both of them eating frozen grapes from a little cup one of the staff handed them.

“Okay,” he said, mouth full. “Top five medical facts that would terrify the average human.”

She smirked. “Number one, the human stomach has more neurons than a cat’s brain.”

He paused. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“…Does that mean my stomach’s smarter than me?”

She popped a grape into her mouth. “Statistically? Possibly.”

He burst out laughing.

—

Back in the apartment, Lily squeezed his arm gently. “But Y/N… she’s happy lately.”

“She’s always happy around people. Doesn’t mean she’s not hiding it.” Oscar’s jaw clenched. “I know her. I know when she’s guarding herself.”

Lily looked at him carefully. “Are you sure this is about her? Or are you scared because you can’t control this?”

Oscar flinched, eyes dark. “I don’t care if I sound controlling. I don’t. She’s my sister. And no one—not even Lando—is getting near her if I don’t think they’re good enough.”

—

[cut to: Y/N’s hotel room – midnight FaceTime]

Her phone buzzed and she propped it up with her water bottle, revealing a very cozy, hoodie-clad Lando, sprawled across a hotel bed.

“Why are you still awake?” she asked, hiding a smile.

He grinned. “Couldn’t sleep. Missed your voice.”

“You heard my voice this afternoon.”

“Yeah, well. Withdrawal.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

She didn’t answer that. Just looked at him through the screen for a moment.

He went quiet too. Then, gently— “You ever gonna tell your brother we talk?”

Her smile faded a bit, something thoughtful passing through her expression.

“Eventually,” she said quietly. “When I know what this is.”

Lando didn’t press. He just nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “No pressure.”

But his smile told her he already knew what this was.

And maybe, deep down, so did she.

taglist: @landofotographyy @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @rd14 @stylesmoonlight12 @azuramicah @il0vereadingstuff @star73807-blog @sltwins @dustie-faerie @stylesmoonlight12 @lauralarsen @ayatotiddies @carey86 @hescrush @xnatqq @downsideup1989 @lilorose25 @henna006

[magic-shop-stories]

how would bts react to their kids being disrespectful towards their wife?

💌 Reply:

Ahh, I hope this is what you wanted... I took me way too long, but I got so many ideas while writing this.

This blog is honestly turning into BTS Parent AU (crying in orphan) - I started with a J-Hope Dad fic and end up writing Dad Headcanons for whole Bangtan - well, it kinda heals my childhood lol...

Thanks for the Request and feel free to reach out 💜 and HAVE FUN reading ✨️✨️

“Respect isn’t a rule, it’s the soil we grow in. If you poison it, nothing blooms.”

NAMJOON

Philosopher-leader

introspective

values growth through empathy & dialogue

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

when he hears the disrespect, his grip tightens on whatever he’s holding, knuckles whitening

closes his eyes for a beat, exhaling through his nose

you know how his jaw clenches? THAT!!!

his voice is low but steady, deliberate calm masking his hurt

“That language isn’t acceptable. Let’s take a walk.”

Internal Feelings: 

disappointment curdles in his chest

mentally files it away to process later

blames himself first before focusing on guiding his child

Teaching Moment

Nature Walk

takes his child to a quiet park or riverbank

points to tangled tree roots: 

“See how they hold each other up? Families are like that. When you hurt Mom, you shake our roots.” 

asks them to find a smooth stone and toss it into water

“Words are like ripples, once they’re out, you can’t take them back.”

Punishment

1) Apology Letter & Reflection Essay

his child writes two things

heartfelt apology to their mom, including specific examples of her sacrifices

A 1-page reflection on “How My Words Impact Others,” using a metaphor; e.g., “Anger is fire,it burns the person holding it too”

2) Community Service

would volunteer with his child at a local community garden for a weekend

“You’ll water plants and see how care grows something beautiful. Like Mom does for us.”

3) Lost Privileges

no screen time (tablet, TV) until both letters are completed to his standards

Internal Conflict

Self-Doubt:

later, he vents in his journal

 “Did I overreact? Am I too abstract for them to understand?” 

worries his calmness comes off as indifference

Frustration & Compassion

part of him wants to yell "How dare they hurt her?" but he swallows it, knowing anger won’t teach

instead, texts his wife: 

“I’m sorry you had to hear that. We’ll fix this together.”

Guilt

buys her favorite latte and leaves it on her desk with a sticky note

“You’re our bedrock. Thank you for enduring my learning curves too.”

Follow-Up

Family Meeting

gathers everyone to discuss “healthy communication.”

uses a whiteboard to map emotions

e.g., “When you’re angry, here’s how we express it without explosions”

lets his child lead part of the discussion

Ritual

starts a weekly “Gratitude Stone” tradition

each family member drops a painted stone into a bowl while sharing something they appreciate about the others

the bowl stays on the dining table as a visual reminder

_________________________________________

“Respect your mom, or I’ll revoke your WiFi and your right to laugh at my jokes. And trust me, you need both to survive.”

JIN

playful disciplinarian

fiercely protective

humor as a bridge to vulnerability

nurturing with a side of theatrics

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

Dramatic Flair

whirls around, clutching his chest like a K-drama lead

“Yah! Did I just hear disrespect in this household? To the woman who gave you life? Are you a villain in a weekend drama now?” 

his voice drops, dead serious

“Apologize. Properly. Now.”

Body Language

looms over his child (playfully intimidating), arms crossed

winks at his wife to reassure her he’s handling it

Internal Feelings

hot flash of anger - How dare they hurt her?

masks it with humor to avoid scaring his kid

secretly wonders - Did I joke too much about respect? Is this my fault?

Teaching Moment

Cooking Lesson Consequences

drags his kid to the kitchen

“You think parenting is easy? Let’s see you handle dinner.” 

carefully forces them to peel garlic, chop onions, and stir a bubbling pot while he “supervises” from a stool

Metaphor Time

 “Mom’s like this stew, holds everything together. You insult her, the whole family falls apart. You wanna taste chaos? Here...” 

lets them sip over-salted broth

“See? Without her balance, life’s spicy in the worst way.”

Punishment:

Apology Performance

he'd make them sing an apology parody of Super Tuna (Jin writes lyrics if they're younger/need help) (too personal opinion)

“I’m sorry, Mom, I was a fool / I broke the golden respect rule!”

complete with fish-themed choreography

Mom’s Personal Assistant

for a week, his kid acts as Mom’s “manager”

bringing her coffee, massaging her shoulders, and taking notes on her daily tasks

“You’ll learn how hard she works and say ‘Yes, Queen’ with a smile.”

No Joke Privilege

bans his child from his dad-joke sessions (their favorite bonding time) until they earn back trust

“Comedy’s a privilege for people who respect their co-stars.”

Internal Conflict

Guilt & Second-Guessing

after bedtime, he stress-eats kimchi pancakes in the kitchen

mutters to his wife: 

“Was I too harsh? Should I have hugged them first?” 

(if she reassures him, he still texts his mom at 2 a.m.)

“How did you not disown me when I was 13 and edgy?”

Protective Fury

secretly grinds his teeth remembering the disrespect

Humor as Armor

buys his wife expensive skincare “just because”

glares at hiskid’s homework like it personally offended her

cracks a joke during the apology song

“Your high note needs work, but the remorse is chef’s kiss”

makes sure his child knows he’s dead serious underneath

Follow-Up

Family Dinner Theater

institutes a weekly “Appreciation Roast” where everyone playfully roasts each other, but he'd end up praising his child and wife

“Your mom’s so amazing, she makes the sun jealous. Fight me.”

Secret Spy Mission

assigns his kid to stealthily document Mom’s daily acts of kindness (e.g., packing lunches, fixing Wi-Fi)

“Mom Appreciation PowerPoint.” = Jin adds meme slides for flair

_________________________________________

“Your anger’s a tool. Use it to fix what you broke, not break what she fixed.”

SUGA

stoic realist

quietly protective

values actions over empty words

emotionally reserved

deeply introspective

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

Cold Silence

freezes mid-task (producing beats, fixing a coffee)

eyes narrowing to slits

voice drops to a low, icy register

“Repeat that. Slowly.” 

room chills, even the air feels heavier

Body Language

leans back in his chair, fingers steepled, jaw clenched

a vein pulses at his temple, the only tell of his simmering rage

Internal Feelings

visceral flashback to his teenage self snapping at his parents

guilt claws at him

“Am I failing like I thought he did?” 

referencing his own father’s emotional distance

Teaching Moment

Studio Session

drags his kid to his home studio at midnight

slams headphones onto them

“You’re angry? Scream. Spit it into the mic. Let’s hear exactly what’s rotting in your head.” 

records their raw, unfiltered outburst

plays it back, deadpan

“This what you want your legacy to be? Noise?”

Lyric Exercise

forces them to transform the rant into structured rap verses 

“Anger’s useless if it doesn’t build something. Mom’s your hook, write a chorus thanking her.”

Punishment

Gratitude Ledger

his child must document every thing Mom does for them for a week, down to folded socks

present it as a spreadsheet

 “Numbers don’t lie. Now apologize in data.”

Manual Labor

assigns them to clean the studio top-to-bottom

“You wanna disrespect the woman who cleans your messes? Learn the weight of it.”

Tech Ban

confiscates their phone/laptop until the rap is perfected

“You’ll communicate face-to-face like we did in the trenches.”

Internal Conflict

Fatherhood Ghosts

stares at old family photos late at night

his father’s stern face haunts him

“Will my kid remember me as a wall or a weapon?” 

texts his mom

“Did I ever make you feel small?” 

she replies with a heart emoji, he saves it but doesn’t sleep

Emotional Paradox 

wants to hug his child but fears coddling

leaves a new pair of sneakers (their size) outside their door -no note

Protective Rage

slips cash into his wife’s purse with a scribbled 

“Buy silence. Spa. Dinner. Whatever. I’ll handle the chaos.”

Follow-Up

Family Cypher

hosts a living room rap battle

he goes hardest on himself

“I’m a flawed king, but Mom’s the throne. Diss her again, and you’ll rap alone.” 

his kid’s verse earns a nod

“Better. Still trash flow, though.”

Silent Ritual

every Sunday, he and his child cook his mom’s kimchi jjigae recipe

no talking, just chopping, stirring, and passing ingredients

“Respect’s in the labor,” he mutters once, and his kid finally gets it

_________________________________________

”You can’t fake respect like a bad dance cover. Nail the basics, or you’re benched from my WiFi."

J-HOPE

radiant disciplinarian

structured yet warm

balances positivity with unwavering principles

thrives on growth through accountability

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

The Judge Face Activated

the moment he hears the disrespect, his signature smile evaporates

eyes narrow into a laser-focused stare

brows furrowing into "courtroom glare."

stands tall, arms crossed, fingertips tapping his biceps

silent countdown to explosion

Voice

sharp and clipped, volume rising just enough to sting

“Hold. Up. Did you just speak to your mother like that? Do you need a mirror to see how ugly that sounded?”

Body Language

steps between his child and his wife, a protective shield

his usually animated hands now rigid at his sides, fists briefly clenching

Teaching Moment

Choreography of Consequences

”Respect Rehearsal”

forces his child to practice bowing and polite phrases

”Yes, Mom,” “Thank you, Mom” 50 times in front of a mirror “You wanna act up? Perfect your performance as a decent human first.”

Gratitude Graffiti

hands them poster boards and markers

“You have one hour to turn this disrespect into art. Every color is a reason Mom deserves better.” 

stands arms crossed, critiquing laziness

“That’s yellow effort. I’ve seen your TikToks, do rainbow.”

Hope’s Homework

assigns a essay titled ”How My Words Dance on Others’ Hearts”

must include a choreography metaphor

“If you can’t write it, we’ll literalize it. Ten pirouettes per paragraph.”

Internal Conflict

Post-Punishment Panic

“Was I too much? Did I break their spirit? What if they hate me now?” 

after sending his kid to their room, he paces the kitchen

stress-eating gummy bears

texts Jimin: 

”Hyung messed up. I went full dance captain on them 😭”

Guilty Glimpses

peeks into his child’s room later, heart aching if they’re crying

leaves a bowl of their favorite fruit with a note

”Anger fades. Love doesn’t. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

Wife Reassurance

kneads his wife’s shoulders that night, voice small

“Did I… overstep? I just... I couldn’t let them think it’s okay to dim your light.” he exhales shakily

Follow-Up

Apology Showcase

makes his child present their poster and essay at a “family meeting.”

he claps loudest, eyes misty

”This… this is hope, right? Growth!”

Kindness Choreo

creates a ”Respect Routine”

his child must perform one act of service for Mom daily (e.g., making her coffee, tidying her shoes)

Dance Floor Therapy

blasts upbeat music, pulling his kid into a silly dance-off. 

”Life’s a stage, yeah? But Mom’s the main audience. Never forget.”

_________________________________________

“You’re my blood. But if you cut her, I’ll bleed harder. Fix this.”

JIMIN

affectionate empath

fiercely loyal

balances warmth with unexpected intensity

prioritizes emotional harmony

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

Surprising Fury

his doe eyes harden into a steel-gray glare

voice dropping to a razor-sharp whisper

“What did you just say to her?” 

steps closer, posture taut as a bowstring

“You don’t ever speak to Mom like that. Apologize. Now.”

Body Language

hands tremble slightly, not from fear, but suppressed rage

he grips his child’s shoulder, not roughly, but firm enough to ground them

“Look at her. Look at how you made her feel.”

Internal Feelings

flash of his own childhood guilt surfaces

that time he snapped at his mother during trainee stress

his anger is laced with panic: 

“Am I repeating cycles I swore to break?”

Teaching Moment

Emotional Bootcamp

Apology Art

forces his child to create a “Heart Map” collage

photos of Mom’s sacrifices, surrounded by handwritten apologies in every color

“If you can’t say it, show it.”

sits silently beside them, tears brimming as he points to a photo of Mom staying up late with homework

Role Reversal

makes them act out a skit where they’re the parent

Jimin plays them, mimicking their harsh tone

feigns sobbing into a pillow

“Feel good? Proud? This is what you did.”

Service Sentence

his child must take over Mom’s chores for a week, packing lunches, folding laundry

he supervises, arms crossed 

“You think her love is free? It’s labor. Respect it.”

Internal Conflict

Guilt Spiral

after confrontation, he locks himself in the bathroom, splashing water on his face

“Did I scare them? What if they think I’m a monster?” 

texts Jungkook: 

”Messed up. I sounded like a monster”

Midnight Check-In

creeps into his child’s room at 2 a.m., tucking them in

whispers

“I’m sorry I yelled. But Mom… she’s my soul. You can’t break her.” 

leaves a handwritten note: 

“Anger is love that’s bleeding. Let’s heal together.”

Wife’s Reassurance

clings to her that night, forehead pressed to her shoulder

“Tell me I’m not failing. Tell me they’ll still love me.”

Soft Family Resolution

Pillow Fort Summit:

builds a blanket fort in the living room

stuffed with snacks and fairy lights

initiates a feelings circle

“I’m sorry I yelled. I felt scared; scared we’d lose us.” 

“Love is sticky, yeah? Messy. But sweet when you knead it right.” 

encourages his child to share

pulls them into a cuddle pile

Baking Therapy

bakes cookies together, Jimin guiding their hands

feeds Mom the first bite, eyes soft

Dance of Apology

plays a slow song, swaying with his child

“This is how we say sorry without words.” 

by the end, they’re both laughing through tears

_________________________________________

“Disrespect your mom, and you erase the art of our family. I’ll burn the palette until you paint her properly.”

TAEHYUNG (V)

artistic empath

whimsical yet profound

values emotional depth and creativity

fiercely protective with a tender heart

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

Quiet Intensity

his playful demeanor evaporates

tilts his head, eyes narrowing into a piercing gaze

voice low and steady

“Did I just hear you disrespect the universe that holds our family together?”

his tone is velvet wrapped in steel

Body Language

steps closer, crouching to his child’s level

hands clasped tightly behind his back to avoid trembling

“You think words are just air? They’re echoes. Let’s make sure yours don’t haunt us.”

Teaching Moment

Metaphor-Driven Lesson:

”Broken Vase” Analogy

brings out a delicate ceramic vase

smashes it deliberately

“This was us. Now fix it.” 

hands them glue, forcing them to piece it back

“Apologies are glue, but cracks remain. Choose your words wisely.”

Songwriting Therapy

drags his child to the piano

“Turn your anger into music. Write a chorus for Mom, every line a reason she’s our melody.” 

plays minor chords until his child’s lyrics shift from defiance to remorse

Silent Gallery

curates a “Mom Exhibit” in the living room

photos, her favorite scarf, a recipe card

forces his child to stand there for an hour

“Breathe in her soul. Then tell me she deserves disrespect.”

Consequence

1) Art Ban

revokes access to paints, instruments, or cameras until the vase is repaired and the song is performed for Mom

“Creativity is a privilege. Use it to heal, not harm.”

2) Memory Journal: 

assigns a diary to log daily acts of kindness from Mom 

“Fill 10 pages. Then burn one and see how it feels to erase her love.”

3) Shadow Day: 

his child must follow Mom for 24 hours, documenting her tasks in a sketchbook

“You’ll learn her language of love—it’s spelled S-A-C-R-I-F-I-C-E.”

Internal Conflict

Doubt in Darkness

late at night, he stares at the fractured vase on his shelf

texts Jin: 

“Hyung, what if I’m too abstract? What if they don’t see?” 

vowing, “I’ll be the parent who stays in the frame.”

Guilt in Gestures

secretly films Mom’s daily routine, editing it into a montage set to his child’s song

leaves it on their laptop with a note: 

“Her love is your legacy. Don’t let it be a silent film.”

Protective Poetry

writes a letter he never sends: 

“I’d raze galaxies to keep you safe. Both of you.”

Resolution

Family Portrait Session

dresses everyone in coordinating hues

directing a photoshoot where Mom is the focal point

whispered to his child: 

“See how she outshines us all? That’s why we orbit her.”

Midnight Storytime

gathers them under fairy lights

recounting a fable about a boy who lost his voice after hurting his mother

ends with, “Love is the only language worth speaking.”

Collaborative Art

paints a mural together titled “Home.”

guides his child’s hand to outline Mom’s figure

“Without her, this canvas is empty. Now fill it with light.”

_________________________________________

“Disrespect Mom, and you’ll spar with me until your heart matches your mouth, strong enough to lift her, not tear her down.”

JUNGKOOK

gentle protector

resilient softie

leads by example

values hard work and emotional honesty

channels intensity into growth

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

Silent Fury

freezes mid-rep at the gym, dumbbell hovering

his muscles tense like coiled springs

jaw clenched so tight his cheekbones sharpen

sets the weight down with deliberate calm, turns slowly, and locks eyes with his child

“You think you’re tough enough to disrespect your mom? Let’s test that.”

Body Language

cracks his knuckles, rolling his shoulders back

his gaze is volcanic

his voice stays eerily quiet

“Gym. Now. You wanna act hard? Be hard.”

Teaching Moment

Boxing Bootcamp

drags his kid to his home gym

forces them into gloves, pads him up, and drills combos

“Hit the pad. Harder. Harder. That’s your anger? Mom’s felt worse from your words.” 

makes them sprint between rounds

“Respect isn’t a game, it’s a discipline.”

Breakdown: mid-session, he stops, chest heaving

“You think I’m mad? I’m terrified. Because if you break her heart, I don’t know if I can fix it.”

Punishment

Labor of Love: 

assigns 100 burpees (he does them too)

“Every rep is a ‘thank you’ for Mom’s sleepless nights.”

Gratitude Gauntlet

forces his kid to handwrite 50 reasons Mom “outworks them daily.”

critiques each one

“’She drives me to school’? Weak. Dig deeper. Sacrifice.”

Tech Timeout

confiscates gaming gear until they’ve detailed Mom’s daily schedule in a spreadsheet

“You’ll see her 18-hour shift. Then we’ll talk ‘fair.’”

Internal Conflict

Regret & Vulnerability

after the workout, he sits alone in the gym, head in hands

texts Yoongi:

”Hyung, did I go full drill sergeant? What if they hate me?” 

stares at a family photo on his phone, zooming in on his wife’s smile

Guilt Gifts

sneaks into his kid’s room at dawn, leaves protein pancakes and a new hoodie (their favorite anime print)

scrawls on a napkin

”Anger fades. My love for you doesn’t. But never hurt her again.”

Protective Paradox

books his wife a solo vacation, "growling" at his kid

 “You’re stuck with me. We’re rebuilding what you cracked.”

Soft Resolution

Sparring Therapy

returns to the gym days later, gloves on

this time, he lets his child hit his pads while venting

“I get it, anger’s easy. Loving’s harder. But Mom? She’s worth the reps.” 

ends with a fist bump

Tattoo Talk

shows them his “ARMY” tattoo

“This means I fight for what I love. You’ll earn yours when you learn to fight for her, not against.”

Family Night

teaches self-defense moves

positioning Mom as the “VIP to protect.”

his kid must shield her from his playful attacks

“Guard her like she’s your last round.”

_________________________________________

[mostlymarvelgirl]

A Winchester Kind Of Love

Pairing: Sam Winchester X AU!Reader

Summary: You never expected to wake up in the Supernatural universe. But after inexplicably appearing in the bunker, surrounded by the very people you once watched on screen, you have no choice but to adapt. While searching for a way back home, you form unexpected bonds—especially with Sam. But when emotions start to blur and reality becomes harder to face, you begin to wonder… do you truly belong here? And what happens when the lines between fiction and reality are no longer so clear?

Words: 3000 words smth (sorry)

Reader's Personality: The reader's personality is deeply introspective, independent, and emotionally guarded.

Warnings: Angst, emotional conflict, Themes of identity and belonging, Mild language, Slow-burn romance with mutual pining, Heartbreak but with maybe a hopeful ending.

The first time you saw Sam Winchester in real life, you thought you were hallucinating.

Or maybe, you were dead.

Because there was no way in hell you were standing inside the Men of Letters bunker, wearing the same clothes you went to bed in, while Sam Winchester—fictional, TV character Sam Winchester—stared at you like you were the world’s weirdest case.

The reactions were immediate.

Dean had burst into the room, gun drawn, shouting, “Who the hell are you, and how the hell did you get in here?”

You had barely been able to stammer out a response before Castiel appeared, blue eyes narrowing as he scanned you with his grace. “She is… human,” he said slowly. “But… she does not belong to this world.”

Dean had scoffed. “Yeah? No kidding. You don’t just *pop* into a locked-down bunker unless you’re packing some serious mojo.”

Sam had been quieter, more calculating. “Who are you?”

It took hours, a mild panic attack, and a lot of rapid questioning from both sides before you finally admitted the truth:

Back home, the Supernatural universe was nothing more than a TV show.

A stupid, heartbreaking, addictive TV show that you knew inside and out.

And now? Now, you were here. In it.

Dean had been the first to react. “Oh, great. Another alternate universe. Because that never goes wrong.”

Cas had tilted his head. “This is… highly unusual.”

And Sam? Sam had just stared at you, trying to figure out if you were real—or if the universe had just played its cruelest trick yet.

.

.

.

Months Later…

You were still here.

You helped with hunts (you were shocked that you even could). You researched cases with Sam, argued with Dean, even got on Castiel’s good side.

And yet… you still felt like an outsider.

You weren’t real here.

And Sam—God, Sam—was getting too close.

It started small. The way his eyes lingered a little longer when you laughed. How he always seemed to check in on you first after a hunt. The late-night talks over books and whiskey, where he’d tell you things he never told anyone else.

At first, it was fine because there was still a plan. Sam had been researching, looking for a way to send you back. He had promised, back in the beginning, that they’d find a way. You had clung to that—because it was easier than considering the alternative.

But then, the updates stopped coming. Every time you asked, Sam’s face would tighten, and he’d mumble something about dead ends and cosmic deadlocks.

And so, you stopped asking.

But the feeling in your gut told you the truth: Sam wasn’t looking anymore.

Not really.

.

.

.

It wasn’t supposed to come out. Not like this.

The motel room was quiet except for the scratching of Sam’s pen against his journal and the occasional rustling of paper. You sat on the bed, knees pulled up, carefully rubbing moisturizer into your skin. A small, mundane moment after a long day of chasing down leads.

Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “This case is a mess.”

You hummed in agreement, your attention half on your reflection in the motel mirror. “When is it not?”

He huffed a soft laugh, but when you glanced at him, he was already watching you again. That look. The one that made your stomach twist. You knew very well what that look meant.

And before you could stop yourself, before you could shove the words back where they belonged, you blurted it out.

“You don’t actually love me, you know.”

Silence.

Sam’s head tilted slightly, brow furrowing. “What?”

You swallowed hard, suddenly wishing you could take it back. But the words were already hanging in the air, so you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “You think you’re falling for me, but you’re not.” Your voice was softer now, but the weight of the words was just as heavy. “You just feel… safe with me. Because I know everything about you. And that’s not real.”

His face twisted, hurt flashing across it like a wound you’d just opened. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.” You turned back to the mirror, fiddling with the lotion bottle, unable to face him. “I don’t belong here. And you deserve better than someone who—who doesn’t even belong in your world.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. “Why do you keep saying that?”

You exhaled sharply. “Because it’s true! Because—” You hesitated, throat tightening. “Because you stopped looking, Sam.”

The room went dead silent.

You saw it in his face, the way his expression faltered for just a second. And that was all you needed.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “You stopped looking.”

Sam looked away, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t—” He sighed, voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t find anything.”

“That’s a lie.” Your voice cracked. “You just… didn’t want to find anything.”

His silence was all the answer you needed.

.

.

.

Dean found out about Sam stopping his search before he found you outside the bunker.

And he was furious.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Sam?” Dean had shouted, pacing the library while Sam sat, head in his hands. “You kept her trapped here? Lied to her? Jesus, man, she’s been alone this whole time—thinking she had no way home.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “The spell. The one Cas found. What happened to it?”

Sam let out a slow breath, not meeting his brother’s eyes. “I—burned it.”

The air in the room shifted.

Dean lunged, shoving Sam back. “You son of a—”

Before things could go further, Castiel stepped between them, voice calm but firm. “That’s enough.”

.

.

.

The hunt had been brutal.

You and Sam barely spoke as you drove back to the motel, exhaustion hanging in the air like a storm cloud. The weight of everything—of hunts, of lies, of feelings neither of you had the courage to name—pressed down between you both.

The motel room was small, the kind of run-down place you were used to by now. Sam immediately sat at the desk, flipping open his laptop, while you silently grabbed your toiletries and disappeared into the bathroom.

When you stepped out, wrapped in a robe, you caught Sam staring.

Not just looking—staring—like you were something fragile, something slipping through his fingers.

.

.

.

A week later, you finally sat across from Sam, the weight of everything between you impossible to ignore. You exhaled shakily before finally voicing what had been gnawing at you for months. “You know… I do love you, Sam.”

His eyes widened slightly, but you weren’t done. “I just… I’m not sure I’m good enough for you.” Your voice wavered as you admitted, “I’m not built for relationships. I forget little things, I zone out, I’m moody. I’d probably mess this up somehow, and you—” You swallowed. “You’re perfect.”

Sam watched you, his expression soft but serious. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he reached out, cradling your face in his large hands. His thumbs brushed gently over your cheekbones, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You’re not perfect,” he said, voice low. “And neither am I.” He hesitated before adding, “But I see you. Every part of you. And I still want this.”

Your eyes burned, the weight of his words settling deep into your chest.

And when he kissed you—slow, tender, filled with everything neither of you had been able to say—you realized, for the first time, that maybe… just maybe… you belonged here after all.

.

.

.

THE END.

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A/N: I don't really write. I just wrote this because idk I just got motivated for a really realistic version of me entering spn universe and how it would go. Closest possible thing. Feel free to give criticism cause I honestly don't really like this and I want to improve a lot. Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

EXTRA: ;)

Sam Winchester was the perfect boyfriend. And it was almost annoying.

He brought you (your favorite drink) just the way you liked it. He noticed your favorite songs and hummed them under his breath. He rubbed circles into your back when you were exhausted, memorized your quirks, and never once made you feel like you didn’t belong.

One night, as you lay curled up against his chest, you grinned and murmured, “You know, I was actually more of a Dean girl.”

Sam’s whole body tensed. “Excuse me?”

You giggled. “I used to write fanfics and everything.”

He groaned. “Oh, you are never living this down.”

You just laughed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. Because for once, you were exactly where you belonged.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[scoupsakakitty]

Why do you Love | idol!Hongjoong x reader | fluff

Inspired by Hongjoong’s Song

The studio was quiet. Hongjoong sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, his fingers resting on the edge of a notebook filled with scrawled lyrics and crossed-out ideas. The room smelled like coffee and faint traces of his cologne, the scent you’d come to associate with late nights spent here, wrapped in his world of music and endless creativity.

You were sitting on the worn couch behind him, knees pulled to your chest, your book abandoned beside you. Your eyes were fixed on him, his concentrated expression, the furrow of his brows as he silently mouthed words to himself. He didn’t notice your gaze—not yet.

Hongjoong had been like this all week: distant, introspective, buried deep in something he hadn’t fully shared with you. You understood; it was part of loving him, part of knowing him. Still, tonight something felt… different.

“Y/N,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet. He turned in his chair to face you, his pen spinning absently between his fingers.

“Yeah?” you replied softly, setting your feet on the ground.

He hesitated, searching for the words. “Why do you love me?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. You blinked, caught off guard, but the look in his eyes was sincere. Vulnerable.

“Where is this coming from?” you asked, tilting your head.

Hongjoong gave a small, half-hearted shrug. “I’ve been thinking about it. Writing about it. I just… I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve it.”

You stared at him, the weight of his confession settling over you. “Joong…”

He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he looked away. “I’m serious. I’m not the easiest person to be with, you know that. I spend more time here than with you. I get so lost in my head that I forget… everything else. And yet, you’re still here.”

You stood and crossed the room, kneeling in front of him so that you were at eye level. “I’m still here because I want to be,” you said firmly.

His eyes softened, but the doubt lingered there, flickering like a shadow.

“You’re hard on yourself, Hongjoong. But you don’t see what I see,” you continued. “I see someone who pours his entire soul into everything he does. Someone who cares so much it hurts. You’ve got this fire in you, Joong, and it’s impossible not to love you for it.”

He watched you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“And yeah, you get lost in your head,” you added with a small laugh. “But I don’t mind. I like being the one who brings you back.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The song playing in the background shifted, soft piano chords filling the space.

Hongjoong reached out, his fingers brushing against yours before holding your hand in his. “You make it sound so easy,” he murmured.

“Because it is,” you said simply.

His lips quirked into a small, genuine smile—the kind that reached his eyes and made your chest ache. “You’re one of a kind, Y/N.”

You grinned, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. “Takes one to know one.”

He laughed softly, his breath warm against your skin. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For loving me,” he said. “Even when I don’t understand why.”

You tilted your head, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “I’ll remind you as many times as you need.”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, letting the moment settle between you. And for the first time in days, he felt lighter, the weight of his doubts lifting with every word you’d spoken.

In his mind, a new lyric began to form, soft and bittersweet, but for now, he let it rest. Tonight, the music could wait.

————————————————————————————

[aventurineswife]

OH sure!! If you'd like <3 but no pressure ! 💕 I just think the chat you made was very adorable but also funny KWDHJSJW ❤️ but if you write it, then make sure to tag me 👁️💕

Lean Down, Lift Up

Summary: In the quiet observation car of the Astral Express, you share an intimate moment with Sunday, encouraging him to set aside his reflective worries. As his ethereal presence softens in your touch, a simple kiss bridges the gap between his celestial grace and his humanity, reminding him of the solace found in love.

Tags: @vivisboutique, @iruiji, @timascorner, @flavishly, Sunday x Reader, Established Relationship, Fluff, Tender Moments, Height Difference, Soft Sunday, Vulnerability, Introspection.

A/N: help why did Fallen Angel by Chris Grey started playing...🧍‍♀️ (Lmao listening to fantastic and got reminded of that one CaitVi(from Arcane) scene ahem... 🫣) enjoy btw! This man needs to get out of my head, he's living rent free here... 🤺

The Astral Express hummed gently beneath your feet, its steady rhythm lulling the silence between you and Sunday. The observation car was empty at this hour, the vast expanse of stars beyond the glass stretching into infinity. You glanced up at him, his ethereal presence lit by the soft glow of the cosmos. His halo shimmered faintly, golden light catching in his hair as he gazed at the stars, lost in thought.

Sunday’s tall frame cast a serene shadow, his wings folded neatly behind him. You smiled softly, appreciating the way his composed demeanor betrayed his subtle vulnerability. His eyes, so often reflective and distant, turned to meet yours. The navy pupils seemed to flicker like a calm sea under starlight.

“Is something on your mind?” he asked, his voice gentle, airy, and tinged with genuine curiosity.

You shook your head, stepping closer to him. “Not exactly. I just… thought you looked too serious.”

Sunday’s lips curved into a faint smile, though there was a hint of weariness in his expression. “It’s hard not to be, with so much to think about.”

“Well,” you said, tugging lightly on his gloved hand, “maybe you need a break from all that thinking.”

He arched an elegant brow but allowed you to pull him down slightly toward your level. “A break, you say? And how do you propose I take one?”

“Like this,” you whispered, leaning up on your toes. You placed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips, the faint scent of sandalwood and starlight enveloping you as his wings twitched slightly in surprise. His halo flickered, golden light brightening briefly before stabilizing.

For a moment, Sunday froze, as if caught off guard. Then his hand rested gently on the back of your head, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. When you pulled away, his eyes softened, and a flush of warmth crept across his usually composed face.

“You could’ve just asked,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual, tinged with a rare, boyish shyness.

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” you teased, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Besides, you’re so tall, I had to make you lean down first.”

Sunday chuckled—a low, melodic sound that you rarely heard. “You always manage to surprise me,” he admitted, his hand lingering on yours as he spoke. “Even after all this time.”

You felt your heart swell at the rare vulnerability he allowed himself to show. Sunday often seemed untouchable, an ethereal being burdened by the weight of his ideals. But in these quiet moments, he was just a man—one who loved and was loved in return.

“I’ll keep surprising you then,” you said softly, pressing your forehead to his. “As long as you promise to take more breaks like this.”

His wings fluttered faintly, a telltale sign of his amusement and affection. “I suppose I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Nope,” you replied, grinning up at him. “Not when you’re stuck with me.”

Sunday’s smile widened slightly, a flicker of peace crossing his features. “Then I’ll consider myself lucky,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet reverence that made your chest tighten.

The stars continued to stretch endlessly before you, but in that moment, the universe felt small—a little brighter, a little warmer, with Sunday by your side.

[eeriepromis]

Caleb Drama & Hypocrisy

[I originally posted this on the official subreddit but I'm not sure if it will get approved by the mods there. The servers are currently down too. - UPDATE: It did not. Flagged as hostile and uncivil instead which it is NOT.]

I want to have a civil, constructive conversation about something that’s been bothering me and many others in the community: There’s been a lot of hate directed at Caleb & Caleb girlies (even before his official release) and it’s only getting worse now that his limited Myth is coming out. This isn’t about “not liking a character.” Everyone is entitled to that. This is about the ongoing hostility, mod bias (not reddit, if you know you know), and the double standards we’re seeing everywhere.

People are saying Caleb “stole” Sylus' wings theme or question why he already has a kiss in his myth. That’s … not how any of this works. The writers and artists literally work on all the characters. There is no such thing as one character “stealing” a theme from another. That’s like arguing over who’s allowed to wear capes in a fantasy setting.

Saying his myth kiss happened “so early” compared to the other LI's ignores the fact that Caleb and MC have a long-established relationship, unlike others who were strangers. (except Zayne who also had a kiss) Of course their development may look different. I'm not even able to enjoy that kiss since it's full of pain and despair - right before both of them literally seem to explode.

Caleb fans had to wait over a year, watching everyone else get content, CGs, story chapters, and celebrations - and yet we’re the ones being called entitled?

The hypocrisy is wild. People say “you have to watch Sylus’ Myth to understand him” (his actions) - And I agree! Sylus has a complex story. He made MC shoot him in the chest, brought her to an EVER scientist because he couldn’t resonate with her, wanted him to experiment on her which could have mutilated her Evol, and still - we are told to give him grace because his Myth explains it. And it does! He’s layered and ultimately loves MC deeply.

But you know what?

So is Caleb.

Caleb isn’t some manipulative monster. [here and here's why] He’s a character who went through trauma, experimentation, isolation, (in his CURRENT life) and still chose to sacrifice himself to survive and protect MC [db4sylus explained it here] - and even fights against a command to kill MC in the new Myth. His Myth and main story arcs are full of nuance - but most people stopped watching at his Main Story and judge him from there. How is that fair? (remember that without context it would be so easy to accuse Rafayel as a seriel k*iller, Xavier as a cheater, Zayne as rude and Sylus as a cruel kidnapper)

The same thing happens with Xavier, who gets called “boring” or “plain” - when in reality, he's anything but boring or plain - and ready to make morally gray decisions and be ruthless. [Has the Light Vanished?] (also let's not forget his *intense* freakiness. It's always the quiet ones guys)

Or Zayne, who’s called robotic, vanilla and cold, even though his Myth is (also) one of the most heartbreaking love stories in the game and used to be happy and warm - but something broke and cursed him. [Snowfall Embrace] - [Fractal Library Analysis] (whispers brat tamer)

Or Rafayel, constantly reduced to “bratty” or “dramatic,” when outside of MC he’s deeply guarded, serious, and vengeful. He’s only vulnerable with her. [Rafayel suffered a lot.] (so poetic, so incredibly deep, thoughtful and introspective.)

Sylus also is misinterpreted all the time even by his own fans as some ultra toxic red flag (I've seen some disturbing fanfics) Because there are those people who actually are into psychos and that kinda fantasies. [kiti_kiwi explained him beautifully] He is actually such a hopeless romantic and softie for MC - so very open for all her whims. (cough brat enabler cough)

Having those fantasies is alright, don't want to shame you (I don't really care tbh) - but some truly think those are canon to the characters; and that's where the issues lie.

If you’re going to hold one LI to a standard of deeper context, that should apply to all of them.

Every single love interest in this game has a duality. That’s literally the point.

They are written to be flawed, complicated, and deeply in love with MC. They would never truly harm her. Everything they do - no matter how misguided (and there are truly worse fictional characters in other media) - is to protect her. That’s what they live for. (true giga simps my babies are *nods*)

So why is this fandom so divided and hostile all the time?

I love all the LIs. I started playing this game for the lore and story, not the romance. (it is my first otome and I am demi so there's that) But what I’m seeing right now (people refusing to engage with canon content, inventing toxic headcanons, and spreading hate from surface-level takes) isn’t criticism. It’s misinformation and targeted bullying that are also misleading new players.

You don’t have to like Caleb. You don’t have to main him. But please stop punishing the people who do. We waited over a year for him. And we deserve to enjoy him in peace. If you don't like others spreading misconceptions about your LI - then don't do it yourself to other LI's.

I also think some people in this fandom seriously underestimate how much Caleb girlies are actually going through - and how much hate, judgment, and bias we face daily across multiple platforms. Not just mild disagreements - I'm talking about accusations that are deeply personal and honestly crossing the line.

We’ve been called in*est apologists.

We’ve been told we love “red flags” and psychos (it's okay if you DO, but not if you are accused of it because of misconceptions)

and there must be something seriously wrong with us.

We’ve been mocked, ridiculed, tone-policed, and banned in places where every other LI Main has been allowed to thrive. It’s not just tiring - it’s isolating. (To be clear: I'm not talking about this subreddit!)

And yet - despite all of that? The Caleb channel in the Discord became a safe haven. More like a lads-general that accepts and understands Caleb but is also so very open to gush over every LI with open arms and every girlie. I’ve met Caleb fans (even Mains of other LI) who love him for wildly different reasons. Some are drawn to his protectiveness. A lot of us are the eldest daughters, so they like to be the ones to be cared for for once (to be free of all the responsibilities and expectations of others) and Caleb is so very good at caring. Some adore his teasing and flirty softness. (his VA makes it all sound SO authentic!) Some love his character design and uniform. Some see themselves. (the Millennial vibe, the responsibility, the yearning for freedom) And his cooking is always yearned for!

I'm also one of those who were worried about his portrayal in the new Main Story Arc at his release. That part was suffocating. It was hard to watch and play through. I'm not into yanderes or psychos at all. I didn’t enjoy it. It wasn’t what I wanted for him at all. (I'm also not into his Colonel uniform, sorry my fellow pipsqueaks xD but I know he hates it too.) At least Sylus had the twins as comedic relief *cries internally*

And guess what? That’s okay.

What mattered was that I kept reading. I followed his entire arc - his Myth, his Anecdotes, his Bond Story, his Moments. And what I found was a character who made sense. (just like all the others) Who was still trying, still loving, still fighting against the worst parts of his world and himself - for her.

But that part? The part where we explain why we do see the nuance? The part where we talk about how we don’t excuse the red flags, but understand where they come from?

It gets ignored. Every time.

This isn’t about defending toxic characters. It’s about wanting the same space to enjoy complexity as every other LI community has already been granted. And being tired of having to justify our existence in a fandom that’s supposed to be about love, choice, and story.

So before you assume Caleb fans are “into red flags,” (not denying there are a few, just like some Sylus girlies too tbh) maybe talk to a few of us if you don't understand. Ask why we like him. Listen when tell our reasonings instead of just dismissing them because they don't fit your context-lacking headcanon narrative. Respect that his arc, like every other LI’s, is layered, painful, and intentional.

We aren’t asking to be everyone’s favorite. We’re asking to exist without being attacked for it.

Please, let’s stop the "he-said-she-said" hate cycle. Let people enjoy what they love. That’s what fandom is supposed to be. Love, create and evolve together. (and angst together. totally angst together.)

I don’t care if you don’t like Caleb. That’s valid. Not every LI is for everyone. But the constant policing, mockery, and moral grandstanding aimed at fans who do like him is just exhausting. It’s okay to enjoy a character with flaws. It’s okay to enjoy different kinds of romance stories. That’s literally the point of this genre.

This is a game. A beautiful, story-rich, emotional game. Let people enjoy it. Let us enjoy our LI. And please stop treating us like we’re the enemy for doing so.

Like- I'm genuily confused??? I was there during the US5 & Tokio Hotel beefs, I was there during the Team Edward and Team Jacob wars and also during the Big Time Rush and One Direction phase. None of those fandoms seemed as divided and infighting like this one. Where are these people taking all the energy to hate and the jealousy from and why are they attacking fictional pixels and fans who can't change anything about their issues instead of working together instead?

Sincerely,

A tired but still standing Caleb girly (and lore nerd)

(thanks for reading through my TED talk if you've made it this far)

P.S.: A random thought that I've had while writing - I'm expecting all counterpart LI to have a darker lore and more "obvious" red flags than the OG3. Maybe the 6th will even be a Phoenix. Wings could be a counterpart thing. If you've haven't noticed yet - the overview in the Café where you select your LI: The OG3 are in white clothing, while their counterparts are wearing black so far.)

Lots of love to my fellow pipsqueaks.

This post can now also be found on the Unofficial Subreddit as a slightly shorter version. The admins helped me edit it so it wouldn't spark any controversial discussions or trigger people. I'm really thankful for their help and the time they invested to help me and make sure nasty comments were deleted.

[jd-loves-fiction]

Did I say 2 reqs, I meant 3. This is gonna be a more specific one

You already know. Boothill, Gallagher, Blade, Aventurine and Ratio meeting reader of another universe and this reader almost the complete opposite of the one from their world with a different story and different circumstances.

(For more context HSR universe reader is more child-like, reckless, clearly teen aged, seeking parental validation a lot, Impulsive and just over all immature as expected from a kid.

Meanwhile this other universe reader is the same age but they are a lot more responsible, mature, basically parents the people around them, grumpy but caring (basically if you mixed Blade and Ratio personality-wise))

🌑it never eeeenndsss!! 😭(havin the time of my life) ALSO CAN YOU TELL I HAVE FAVORITES :D (maybe i should write a character study thing with Ratio too.... i like him a lot more than i realized)

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

Eerie as hell, very freaked out

Like, who is this child and why do they look like you??

Obviously likes your normal self better, OBVIOUSLY

This is just weird :( you should be acting like a kid, because that's what you are, not... whatever this is

Unsettled through every enteraction with this other version of yourself, always a little distant - just can't get used to the change

Once its all over, he let's you get away with a lot more than usual (which was already a lot) and scolds you a lot less

✦ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 ✦

Feels a strange sort of longing - this is what you could've been like

He sees it as the version of you, you should've turned into if you'd have a relatively pain-free life

If makes him ache in a way he hasn't been able to process yet

Lingers a lot on the possibilities - would you have never met him like this? Would that have been better for you?

Slips into self-deprication alarmingly quickly

Once it's over, he turns very introspective for a few days after

Before returning to his quiet, grumpy self, only change being he tries to make your life a little easier in all the subtle ways he can

✦ 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 ✦

Definitely see the Dr. Ratio things and it freaks him out a little

He has to deal with one doctor, and now there's two?? (affectionate)

Isn't entirely pleased with the change - you're a lot less like him this was and he doesn't like it

Aven likes being able to relate to you and connect to you though your similarities (even if most of the things you have in common are undoubtedly negative)

Your similarities also help him lead you away from the worst stuff he's experienced walking the same path as you - like this though? He can't lead you, he doesn't know how and therefore feels as if he can't protect you

Spoils you like hell once the situation is solved, buying you anything you want and encouraging your childishness and recklessness - definitely not healthy, but he likes you better when you're similar

Totally has nothing to do with him seeing his younger self in you and wanting to vicariously heal himself through healing you oh my god this man needs so much therapy

✦ 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✦

Appreciates the help? but is conflicted about the whole thing

Sure, you're being a lot more helpful than usual (or this version of you is, rather) and more well behaved on top of that, and he appreciates that BUT it's weird

It's just weird - you're a kid. You're supposed to act like him, you don't need to be good and helpful for him to enjoy having you around

Subtly urges this other version of yourself to relax a little and let loose, more so just to see if they would - they don't. He's quite surprised by it

He though they would when given the chance, that this serious version of yourself was just acting this way becasue they had to and would revert to your normal way of acting when given the chance

The thought that the you he knows isn't necessarily the you, you were meant to be is troubling

The following days, he has a troubled look in his eye but brushes you off when you try to pry

✦ 𝐃𝐫. 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 ✦

It's like looking into a mirror...... he's not a fan

Not in a self-centered 'I'm the only one who can act like that' kind of way, more so in 'why the hell is a kid acting like this' kind of way

Despite what some people would have you believe, Dr. Ratio is actually incrediby caring - he's just on the spectrum (that part is headcanon but tale as old as time)

His life's mission is to spread his knowledge to everyone isntead of monopolising it like the Genius Society is doing

So in a way, it's good to see you follow some of his lessons and act like he sometimes suggests you do

But it feels so damn wrong it just doesn't sit right with him

He wants you to grow to appreciate his lessons when the time is right and you're grown enough to understand them yourself

This just feels like you skipped that teenage rebellion stage that he feels is important to go through

Plus, the slight chip on his shoulder he still carries from being rejected by the Genius Society tells him, the world doesn't need more Ratio's (🥺)

Strangely encourages your misbehavior in the days to come, turns a blind eye to your troublemaking and lightens up on the lessons

The whole ordeal has him appreciating the teenage part of development more than before

AHEM - Valentine event here ;)

[vampireimiko]

hot chocolate - mini fic

note, couldn't rlly think of who i wanted this to be about so i came up with multiple people, can also be applied to whoever you think of if they fit the shoe ^_^

Finally, it was your favorite time of the year, Christmas. While the weather and temperature may not be ideal, it was nothing that snuggling with hot chocolate by the fire couldn't fix. Not to mention you also had your boyfriend with you.

It was the first Christmas you two spent together in a while due to his missions. You loved how the festive season seemed to bring out a softer side of him. Normally so focused and serious, he was finally able to relax, his sharp edges mellowing into something warmer. Watching him fumble with the lights earlier in the day—grumbling under his breath about how they were always tangled no matter how carefully they were stored—had been a highlight of your holiday so far.

As the two of you sat on the couch, with the fire crackling softly, you two felt relaxed. He was stretched out beside you, an arm lazily draped over your shoulders as the glow of the Christmas tree illuminated the room in soft, colorful light.

“You really went all out with the decorations this year,” he murmured, his voice low and tinged with admiration.

You grinned, turning to face him. "It just felt right, especially with you being here finally. The Christmas spirit always feels better with someone else doesn't it?"

He chuckled, the sound deep and comforting, and tightened his arm around you. “I think you’ve outdone yourself. This feels... perfect.”

He cherished moments like this with you. Being able to hold you in his arms gave him a comfort like no other. His job was grueling, missions so dangerous there were times he thought he'd never see you again. But he prevailed through each mission just for you. You were enough to keep him grounded and not be as careless and impulsive.

You looked up at him, noticing the faraway look in his eyes. It was a rare sight to see him so introspective, and you couldn't help but wonder what was on his mind. Gently, you reached up and caressed his cheek, pulling him back into the present.

"Hey," You said softly. "What's on your mind babe?"

He leaned into your touch, his expression softening as his gaze met yours. “Nothing bad,” he assured you, his voice a quiet rumble. “Just... thinking about how lucky I am to be here with you. I’ve missed this more than I can put into words.”

“You’re here now,” you whispered, brushing your thumb against his cheek and going in for a kiss. “And that’s all that matters.”

After that the moment was quiet, save for the crackling fire and the faint hum of a Christmas tune playing on the radio.

Breaking the silence, you smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, I think I’m the lucky one. Watching you wrestle with those Christmas lights was the best entertainment I’ve had all year.”

He groaned, his head falling back against the couch dramatically. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” you teased, poking his side playfully.

He chuckled, catching your hand in his before pulling it to his lips. The playful moment gave way to something more tender as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll take the teasing, as long as it means I get to be here with you.”

"God your so cheesy." You giggled jokingly, trying to hide the fact that he was making you flustered.

"Oh please you love it." He said playfully shooing you away.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against him with a soft laugh. “Maybe I do. But don’t let it go to your head, Mr. Mission Impossible.”

He laughed at the nickname, his chest rumbling against your back as he tightened his arm around you. “Too late. You’ve already inflated my ego.”

You shook your head, smiling to yourself as the fire crackled softly in the background.

"By the way, are you gonna finish your hot chocolate?" He interrupted.

rick grimes (? in a modern world maybe), dick grayson, jason todd, leon kennedy, chris redfield, carlos oliveira, childe, miguel o'hara, sasuke + whoever else fits this

additional note ! i've been feeling absolutely terrible this holiday season but i felt enough joy to write this 🕵🏾‍♀️ so merry christmas!

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

[nina-ya]

NINAAAAAAAA!!! MAY I REQUEST: " i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile" FROM THIS PROMPT LIST PLS WITH LAW OR POST TIMESKIP ZORO (istg he stopped smiling as widely as he did b4)

A/N: HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS TO YOU MY LOVE I do hope it's a great one I love you dearly!! Pairing: Law x Reader CW: None, fluff WC: ~800

It was during these quiet moments that you often found yourself drawn to Law. You found yourself leaning against the railing, your eyes following the sun’s descent as it slowly gets swallowed by the ocean while painting the sky in hues of fiery oranges and yellows. Law stood beside you, leaning against the railings of the Polar Tang, the breeze subtly ruffling the tufts of raven hair that poked out from beneath his spotted hat.

Law wasn’t always so serious. A playful glint in his eyes often revealed itself when he was being particularly mischievous. He wore that smirk more often than not, his humor sharp and always ready with a quick and witty counter during moments of chaos- whether that be in battle or in more lively moments on the submarine. But a soft, genuine smile, the kind born from hours of shared laughter or the quiet contentment of being in the presence of someone that you love, those were the smiles that you rarely saw. The ones that you wish to see more of and the ones you were determined to pull out of him.

You turned to him, drawn to the way his amber eyes fixed on the horizon. His lips flushed and slightly chapped from the sea breeze, were set in a contemplative thin line, hinting at the thoughts that ran through that mind of his.

“A penny for your thoughts?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence, your voice carrying a subtle playfulness as you turned your body towards him.

Law glanced at you, that usual smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he replied in a teasing tone, “That’s all they’re worth?” 

You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge underlying your features. You brushed off his last comment and jumped right to the point. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile. Like really smile. Not just those little smirks you give when you’re being cheeky.”

His gaze shifted, easing into something more introspective. It was almost as if he was carefully considering your words. The longer he stood there in thought, the more his facade cracked, and you could see something beneath all of that outer shell.

“Maybe I just need the right motivation,” he murmured, amusement laced in his tone as he shifted, turning to face you more fully.

You decided to take matters into your own hands and you reached out and gently poked the side of his torso, testing the waters. At first, his brows furrowed in confusion as he merely shot you a skeptical look, but as your fingers continued and danced along his torso, his lips twitched, and he let out a few huffs of laughter despite himself. 

“Stop that,” Law protested, taking a step backward to escape your assault, yet you stepped right forward and continued, each poke sending ripples of laughter through him until he finally broke, the sound of his snickering filling the air.

You grinned in triumph, your laughter filling the air alongside his. It wasn’t long before Law had to physically restrain you, capturing your wrists in his larger, inked hands to halt your tickling. As you looked up at him, it occurred to you how unusual it was that he had resorted to physically holding you back rather than using his devil fruit abilities. Law had the power to simply teleport either of you away from the other, to escape the situation with the twist of his fingers and the incantation of the word “shambles”. Yet, here he was, gripping your wrists and laughing, his touch unexpectedly tender. It was an odd choice that hinted at something more than what’s on the surface—perhaps a desire to remain connected to you, to experience this moment fully with you rather than having it slip away. The two of you paused, breathless and heaving, the proximity leaving you two staring into each other’s eyes, smiles born from laughter lingering on your faces. 

“There it is,” you said softly, breaking the silence. The satisfaction of seeing him smile with such a rare and genuine expression was something unlike any other and you attempted to commit the sight to memory, afraid that it would be lost just as soon as it appeared.

Law’s grip on your wrists relaxed, and he chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “You something else,” he said, the tone of voice and his words making it seem like the words were more of an admittance of something he had felt for a while but couldn’t quite articulate properly. 

Whatever it was, whatever unspoken words remained, it created layers upon layers of complexity that you wish to peel one by one as the days passed. For now, the tension was masked by the warmth of your smiles, and the silence filled with an intimacy that spoke louder than words could ever convey.

[xuexing-lumi]

“Soft Boy Mode: Jungkook When His Girl’s Down Bad (Sick Edition)” + Tarot reading

✦ by Lumi, your fave tarot it-girl 💅✨

✦ TAROT SPREAD

The Devil: This shows his intense attachment and obsessive protectiveness. When she’s sick, he becomes possessive and controlling in a way that’s born from fear, fearing for her health. He may go a little overboard: hovering over her, not letting anyone else take care of her, and insisting she follows his methods of healing even if it’s unconventional. He needs her to recover fast.

Temperance (x2): The double appearance is powerful. It means despite his extreme inner anxiety, he will center himself and try to remain calm and healing for her sake. He’ll strive to balance medicine and emotion, giving her warm teas, essential oils, cozy lighting and whatever soothes her soul. He becomes her personal nurse.

The Wheel of Fortune: He understands illness is cyclical it comes and goes. So rather than panicking permanently, he puts faith in divine timing. He’ll likely pray for her, talk to the universe, manifest her recovery. He may feel emotionally shaken at first, but his resilience kicks in. He believes “this too shall pass.”

The Hanged Man: This is where Jungkook surrenders his usual roles. He pauses everything else in his life like schedules, performances, gym sessions. His world slows down. He re-prioritizes and puts her first. He'll stay up late watching over her, put a damp cloth on her head, bring her soup even when she says she’s not hungry. It’s a sacrifice of time, ego, and energy.

The Hermit: When she’s sick, he withdraws with her. He won’t want to go out or be with others, his world becomes just the two of them. He’ll be deeply introspective, listening to her breathing as if it's the only sound that matters. He might not post anything, go live, or speak to many people. He becomes quiet, focused, emotionally internalized.

Scenario: "When She's Sick"

She’s curled up in bed, skin a little pale, eyes dull with fatigue. Jungkook doesn’t panic out loud.He’s spiraling. He keeps googling symptoms and remedies even though the doctor said it’s nothing serious. “Just rest,” they told her. But rest doesn’t feel like enough to him.

He makes her ginger honey tea with lemon, he Googled the recipe three times. He touches her forehead gently, eyes scanning her like she might disappear. “Are you warm enough? Wait—lemme get the other blanket.” He brings three.

She tells him, “I’m okay.” He replies softly, “You don’t have to be.” And then? He sits at her bedside and watches anime with her, even the cringe ones because she loves them,while silently massaging her hand under the covers.

He doesn’t post on Instagram. Doesn’t train. He just stays by her side.

At one point, he leaves the room for ten minutes, and when he comes back, she’s asleep. He just watches her for a second. Breathes out. And whispers, “You’re my whole world, you know that?”

(I THINK I SHOULD START WRITING FANFICS T_T)

✦ do you want a personal reading like this?

🌸 I offer:

Celebrity Tarot Reads (K-Pop, BTS, Actors) SP Manifestation Guidance Future Love + Shadow Work Spreads Moon-Coded Letter from Your Twin Flame Channeled Audio Readings + PDF Summaries ✧ First reading? Ask for a free pull!

—

📩 DMs Open: @xuexing-lumi Tumblr inbox

🖤 closing words from Lumi:

We ride or die, even through the mess. 💅 — Lumi, the Moon’s Bride 🌕💋

—

(ignore):

[l4ndonorizz]

white mustang / max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x reader

song: lana del rey - white mustang

summary: as the sun sets on a quiet beach, you and max confront the unspoken tension between you. What starts as a fleeting connection grows into something deeper as max opens up, revealing his desire to slow down and stay with you—no longer the untamable force you once believed him to be

wc: 1.8k

The sound of the ocean echoed softly in the distance as you stood barefoot on the warm sand, the horizon stretching out endlessly before you. The salty breeze tangled your hair as you stared out at the waves, lost in thought. The sun was beginning to dip low, casting a golden hue across the water, and everything about this moment felt surreal.

You had known this wouldn’t last. You had known from the start that whatever was happening between you and Max was temporary—a fleeting moment of intensity that could burn out just as quickly as it had ignited. But still, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.

From behind, you felt Max’s presence before you heard him. He didn’t make a sound, but there was always something electric in the air whenever he was near—a subtle tension, a pull that you could never quite escape. Like the wild ocean in front of you, he was untamable, unpredictable—a force of nature you couldn’t resist.

“You’re always here first,” he said softly, his voice almost lost in the sound of the waves.

You shrugged, turning back toward the ocean. “Maybe I like the quiet.”

Max stood beside you, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He had that same restless energy, like the waves crashing against the shore—beautiful, but dangerous if you got too close. It was what had drawn you to him in the first place. The thrill of being near someone who was all speed and instinct, never looking back.

“You’re like a white mustang,” you said suddenly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Max glanced at you, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

You smiled softly, your eyes meeting his. “It means you don’t stick around. Always moving, never staying in one place for too long.”

His smirk faded, and for a moment, he seemed to consider your words more deeply than you’d expected. The way he looked out at the horizon, with the sun casting golden light on his face, made him look softer, more introspective. The usual confidence that radiated from him was still there, but tonight, it was quieter.

“Maybe that’s who I was,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But maybe… maybe I’m trying to be something else.”

It caught you off guard, this hint of vulnerability. Max Verstappen, the man who thrived on speed and the thrill of the unknown, wasn’t supposed to have these quiet moments of doubt, but here he was. For the first time, he wasn’t looking ahead at the next challenge or race; he was just here, with you.

You weren’t sure how to respond, so you didn’t say anything. The soft sounds of the ocean filled the silence between you, and for a while, that was enough.

The sun continued its descent, casting a warm glow over both of you. Everything felt softer, like the rest of the world had melted away, leaving just you and Max standing on this deserted beach. He stepped closer, so close that the warmth of his body radiated into yours. It was a familiar feeling, being close to him, but tonight it felt different—charged with something deeper, something unsaid.

"Let's go somewhere," Max suddenly said, his voice breaking the quiet between you. There was excitement there, but it was quieter than usual, like he wasn’t asking for a thrill but rather for something real.

You turned to face him, your heart skipping a beat at the suggestion. "Go where?"

"Anywhere," he replied, his eyes locking with yours. "I don't care. As long as you're with me."

His gaze was steady, more serious than you were used to. Max had always been the type to chase after what he wanted without hesitation, but this felt different. There was something deeper behind his words, something more vulnerable than you'd ever seen from him.

"Max..." you began, unsure of what to say, but he took your hand gently in his, his thumb brushing over your skin in soft, calming strokes.

"I mean it," he said softly, stepping closer so that there was barely any space between you. "I don't want this to just be a moment. I don't want you to think I'm just going to run off like I always do."

His words hit you like a wave, unexpected and intense. You had always told yourself that whatever was happening between you and Max was temporary—just a beautiful, fleeting moment that would eventually fade like a dream. But here he was, asking for something more, something that went beyond the rush and adrenaline.

"But that's who you are," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. "You're always moving. You're... wild, free. And I don't know if I can keep up."

Max’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "You don't have to keep up," he murmured, his voice full of warmth. "You just have to stay."

Your heart raced at his words, your mind spinning. Could someone like Max really stay? Could he really slow down? You had always been afraid of the day when he would leave, when the pull of the next race, the next thrill, would be too much for him to resist. But tonight, standing here with him, it felt like maybe things could be different.

“I’m scared,” you admitted softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “What if I’m the one who can’t stay?”

Max frowned, his eyes searching yours. “What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “I’m not built for the kind of life you live, Max. I can’t keep up with your pace, with the way you’re always on the move. And I don’t want to be the reason you slow down.”

Max’s hand gently cupped your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re not holding me back,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “If anything, you’re the only thing that makes me want to stop running.”

His words sent a jolt of warmth through you, but you couldn’t shake the doubt that lingered in the back of your mind. Max was everything you had ever wanted—wild, passionate, free—but he was also unpredictable, untamable. And you weren’t sure if you could handle being the one to ask him to slow down.

“What if you get bored?” you asked, your voice trembling. “What if one day you wake up and realize this isn’t enough for you?”

Max shook his head, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. “I could never get bored of you,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the weight of his words making it hard to breathe. You had spent so long convincing yourself that this was temporary, that Max would eventually move on, but now, standing here in the soft glow of the setting sun, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—this time could be different.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Max continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you to know that I’m serious. I want to be with you. For real.”

Your heart raced at his confession, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the doubts you had been holding onto for so long. You looked up at him, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitation, any hint that this was just another fleeting moment for him. But all you saw was honesty—raw, unfiltered honesty that made you feel more vulnerable than you ever had before.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted softly, your voice breaking.

Max’s smile was soft, understanding. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll be here. We’ll figure it out.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe this wasn’t just a moment—that maybe, just maybe, Max was serious about staying.

The evening drifted on as the two of you sat together, watching the sun finally disappear below the horizon. The sky turned a deep shade of purple, stars beginning to peek through the darkness. Max’s hand remained in yours, a silent promise that neither of you was ready to break.

“You know,” Max said after a while, his voice quiet, “I’ve never felt like this before.”

You turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his words. Max wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, and yet, here he was, opening up in a way you had never expected.

“What do you mean?” you asked softly.

Max hesitated, his eyes focused on the ocean in front of you. “I’ve always been chasing something—something I could never quite catch. I thought it was about racing, about winning. But now… I think it’s you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, the weight of his confession hanging in the air between you. Max’s usual confidence was gone, replaced by something softer, something more real. And it terrified you.

“You’re the reason I want to slow down,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the only person who makes me feel like I don’t have to keep running.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, the sincerity in his words cutting through every fear you had ever had about being with him. You had spent so long convincing yourself that this would never work, that Max was too wild, too free for someone like you. But now, sitting here with him, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you had been wrong.

“I’m scared too,” you admitted softly, your voice shaking. “But I want this, Max. I want you.”

Max’s smile was soft, his eyes filled with relief as he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. The warmth of his lips against yours sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that this was real—that maybe, just maybe, Max wasn’t going to run this time.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet determination. “Not this time.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love and relief as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled the air, but for once, it wasn’t the wildness of the ocean that held your attention—it was the calm that came with being in Max’s arms.

For the first time, the white mustang had found a place to rest.

[boofeine]

taroteen saturday

# 5 seventeen members future spouse

WARNINGS: tarot is not one fixed truth, this reading stands for the current time being.

this reading was made with the major arcanes.

tags: @huen1ngk4i @aaniag @svteensworld @kooqitas @unlikelysublimekryptonite @bewoyewo @namasaya

seungcheol's spouse is someone from korea, and it will be a very intuitive meet as if it was meant to be. it's a very free and easy love, and he feels like he can just be him with this someone. it's definitely a love different from his before, that's how he's sure they're the one. physical appearance: feminine, short hair, skin on the darker side, baggy clothes, tall, slim face.

jeonghan's is someone he might already know, someone confident, successful, and serious/methodic. i don't think there's anything romantic yet, but he already knows what he wants, maybe bc this person is more closed up, he's unsure how to approach. it won't definitely be an easy path to their love, but it will be worthy nonetheless. physical appearance: feminine, noticeable/dyed hair, tall, round face, small eyes

joshua will be in a really good state of mind when he gets together with this someone, he will be more confident and therefore the relationship will be more healthy. they will be a very mature, calm, and introspective couple. physical appearance: older, feminine, small eyes, chubby cheeks, long hair, and A LOT of it.

junhui will be so so so in love, like in a way he has never been before. he will get brighter and softer because of this someone, they will be a couple who plans achievements together and are always moving in life. physical appearance: quiet, short blonde hair, medium size, feminine.

soonyoung will find someone just as energetic as him, even tho it will not be always seen, it's more like them being more like it only with him. it will have a lot of jealousy and fights but it's part of their dinamic, they like it thrilling. physical appearance: masculine, medium hair, i could say flows around feminine and masculine energy.

wonwoo's spouse is very female fatale, very intelligent but soft, a leader and a great one. they seem exactly the more feminine version of wonwoo. he will admire this person a lot and be a little softer to them as well. physical appearance: messy, black fancy clothes, jewelry, black hair, bitch resting face, small lips.

jihoon will have someone very sweet, almost submissive, they have an innocent aura. their relationship will be very healthy and easy going, they know and respect each other well, they are deserving of each other. physical appearance: small, minimalist clothing in bright colors, great smile, short hair, baby face.

seokmin will be seeing love differently when they meet, probably giving up on it but they will show him a mature love, he will be more protective with himself therefor giving more boundaries and that's why it will work, bc love comes from respect as well, they will accept him for who he is. physical appearance: not calm at all, medium height, heels, long hair, very straightforward, sharp features, dark eyes.

mingyu will learn to hear more with this someone, he will take his dominance aside a little with them and he will be calmer and more of a homebody than he usually is. physical appearance: older, dominant, tight clothes, soft features, noticeable nose and small lips.

minghao spouse is korean, they have strong personality and opinions, minghao will feel like learning with them a lot of times. this person will have a big dominance on their relationship and minghao will be like an obedient puppy. physical appearance: looks rich, golden jewelry, pale skin, slim face, big lips, long dyed hair.

seungkwan will be very mesmerized by this someone, it's giving second chance romance... it will be too much at first, dependable, so they will have to work it out; learn their way separately to leave together, it will be a key for him, he will understand that love is not giving you to someone but sharing. physical appearance: bright, very noticeable (heads turning when they walk in, really vibrating and eye catching), short and permed hair, small lips, baby face.

vernon's spouse is very sweet and truly someone with so many good intentions, they're pure hearted and like helping others. their love is very mature and nurturing. physical appearance: long blonde hair, spiritually envolving, short, has a great body, big thighs and boobs, great legs, round face.

chan's spouse is very feminine and family oriented, has great communication skills and it's good at leading. their relationship will truly envolves on building a family, big christmas and birthdays at their house, they also seem to like cooking together and staying at home. physical appearance: sharp features, straightforward, small, live life to the foolest, slim face.