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violentdelightsandviolentends · 6 months

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I Know Places.

Synopsis - Jake always joked that he'd kill for you. One fateful day, he does just that.

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Female Reader (Callsign - Ivy) - Bonnie&Clyde inspired au

Warnings - cursing. very near SA. mentions of abuse/assault. mentions of blood, gunshots and violence. mentions of suicide. please, do not read if any of these warnings will affect you.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 3.1k

Author's Note - i'm not sure what happened, because this was really fluffy in my head. it ended up kind of dark, but i'm rolling with it. i like writing a different side of jake. just in time for halloween too. this was written for @laracrofted 1989TGM celebration!! <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You stand with your hand on my waistline

It's a scene, and we're out here in plain sight

I can hear them whisper as we pass by

It's a bad sign, bad sign

Jake's always had impeccable timing.

He'd tell you, later, that he sensed it. Just knew. Felt it in his gut, some sort of warning from the universe. He had to get to you.

The Admiral has you half bent over the desk in his office, fingers twisted into your underwear. He's trying to pull them down your legs when the door swings open.

You're paralysed, frozen with fear. The look on your face must tell Jake enough. He gets the message, understands your silent communication.

The Admiral stops. Backs away. As if putting distance between you will erase what he's been caught doing. Trying to do.

You expect Jake to yell, fight, throw The Admiral across the room by his collar. You expect blood, bruises, broken skin and bared teeth.

All you're met with is silence.

Jake strides across the room towards you. Fixes your clothes, smooths down your hair. Wipes the tears from your cheeks. He snakes a hand around your waist and guides you out of the door. Not a word said.

Something happens when everybody finds out

See the vultures circling, dark clouds

Love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out

It could burn out

"He'll ruin my career."

You're tucked into Jake's lap, legs slung over his hips as he holds you close. His rough fingertips run themselves up and down your spine, comforting and gentle. You inhale his musk, letting the familiarity fill your lungs.

"You didn't do anything wrong, baby."

"That won't matter."

The two of you are whispering, hushed voices bouncing off the furniture. You're alone together in Jake's living room. There's no one else around. You think he's scared he'll spook you. You're right.

"I worked so hard for this, Jake. I sacrificed everything to get into Top Gun."

"I know, baby."

"I can't lose it all."

He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back from your eyes.

"What do you want to do? Report him?"

"Jake, you're not listening to me. He'll ruin my career."

"But he's the guilty one. Not you."

"Yeah, well. This is the way it works. Men can assault you and still play the victim."

You're frustrated, now. There's something bubbling, running through your veins. You can't put your finger on it. It feels like more than rage. Whatever it is, it's lethal.

You climb off Jake's lap and stand, pacing across the carpet.

"What am I supposed to do?" you murmur, tears threatening to spill.

Jake can't stand the wobble in your voice. It tightens something in his chest, pulls at his heartstrings. He was furious, before. He's just sad now.

"I'll do anything you ask," he tells you, standing up to cradle your face in his hands. "Anything in the world."

"I know."

And you do. That's what it's like, being with Jake. He loves so entirely, with his whole being. Every fibre of his heart belongs to you. It beats to the rhythm of your name.

"Just tell me what you wanna do, baby. I'm on your side. No matter what."

You lean up to kiss him, his lips soft and careful against yours.

"I'm not sure, yet. When I know, you'll know."

Jake sits back down on the couch, pulling you with him. You tuck yourself into his side, fitting there perfectly. He slings an arm around your waist and keeps you close, holding you a little tighter than usual.

Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes

And guns

They are the hunters, we are the foxes

And we run

"We should kill him."

You're strewn across Jake's chest, tangled in the sheets. Your limbs and hearts are intertwined, bodies drenched in sweat and lungs heaving.

"What?"

You sit up, pulling the comforter up and over your body slightly to combat the chill of the ocean breeze that's filtering through the open window.

"Let's kill him."

You look over to your boyfriend, waiting for the punchline. It never comes.

"Jake."

He turns to you, the most serious you've ever seen him. There's a look in his eye you've never seen before. It's dark. You're vaguely aware you should probably feel fear - but all you feel is anticipation.

"How many girls do you think he's done this to before you? How many will come after?"

You swallow, biting at your lips.

"He needs to be stopped, baby. You and I both know they won't fire him. He needs to be taken out of the equation altogether."

You realise, suddenly, that the thing you're worried about isn't the morality of the situation. It's the logistics. You don't want to get caught.

"Do you think we're smart enough to get away with murder?"

"Baby," he drawls, brushing his knuckles over your cheekbone. "We're a hell of a lot smarter than people give us credit for."

You know he's right. People underestimate both you and Jake. Everyone assumes he's nothing but a pretty face and toned muscles. That you're just his pilot girlfriend, seduced by his Southern charm and the fact that he's good in bed.

It seems like a challenge, now. You want to do this. You want to see if you can get away with it. You're already on the precipice of losing everything - why not go out with a bang?

"How would we do it?" you ask, leaning in closer to the blonde man next to you.

He thinks for a moment, running his fingers up and down your bare thighs.

"I say we make it look like a suicide. Shoot him in the head and frame it so it looks self inflicted."

You nod, processing.

"I think we should hold him at gunpoint first. Get him to write a confession, some sort of letter. That way, there's no confusion as to what happened."

"You're a genius," Jake grins, dipping down to kiss you.

He slips his tongue into your mouth effortlessly, sighing when he tastes himself from earlier. You straddle his waist and tangle your fingers into his hair, desperate to be close to him.

Both of you are high on adrenaline, buzzed on the anticipation of what's to come.

Baby, I know places we won't be found and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

'Cause I, I know places we can hide

I know places

Murder isn't as hard as you thought it'd be.

Careful planning. Airtight alibis. Reassurance and recon.

You and Jake have created the perfect crime.

The two of you show up to The Admiral's office on an evening you know he'll be working late. He's doing paperwork when you arrive.

You walk in first. Jake follows, and locks the door behind him.

The Admiral goes to speak, but you silence him with a handgun pointed at his chest.

"Speak, and you die."

He doesn't say another word.

Jake takes the gun from your hand and walks around the desk, pressing it into his superiors temple.

"We need a couple of things from you," he begins. "Just a favour or two."

The Admiral is sweating, pale and rigid. He looks scared. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you. You're enjoying this. Jake is too, judging by the beaming grin on his face.

"Grab a pen, and some paper. We're about to do some creative writing."

Jake orchestrates the letter. Gets him to write exactly what you need. Notes down the brutality, the arrogance, the abuse of power. He makes him recount every incident, not just yours. You're there for what feels like hours, as his shaky hands move the pen across the paper.

Finally, he finishes. Dots the I's and crosses the T's. Jake chuckles.

"Wonderful. And for the last part of this joyous evening were having together, my girlfriend is gonna shoot you."

The Admiral chokes on his breath. Looks to you with fear in his eyes. Finally, you think. He understands how it felt.

He goes to open his mouth, but you stop him.

"Don't beg. Don't plead. It's pathetic."

"We made up our mind weeks ago," Jake adds. "You're not going to deter us now."

You smile at your boyfriend, giddy over the way he's protecting you, saving you, loving you.

"I'm going to enjoy this," you whisper.

You take the gun from Jake and press it to The Admiral's temple. You know the silencer will muffle the noise - you really have thought of everything.

You click off the safety, and lean down so your mouth is next to his ear.

"This is for all of the women you hurt."

You pull the trigger.

He dies instantly.

Lights flash and we'll run for the fences

Let them say what they want, we won't hear it

Loose lips sink ships all the damn time

Not this time

In another life, you and Jake could have been actors.

You're all called into the briefing room the next day, gathered together in confusion.

Admiral Simpson stands in front of your class - pale as a sheet, dark circles bruised under his eyes.

"There's been a situation, and we want you to hear it from us," he begins. "I ask that you all keep this to yourselves, where possible. Don't talk to any media, don't gossip, don't spread rumours. Understood?"

When you all nod, he continues.

"The Admiral is dead."

The room goes silent. Jake's hand finds yours under the table. To anyone on the outside, it looks like a boyfriend supporting his girlfriend. To you, it's something different.

It feels like time stands still. The world stops turning, suspending you in the present moment. Eventually, Rooster speaks.

"What happened?"

Beau clears his throat, swiping his hand over his face.

"He took his own life."

There are whispers now, hushed and clipped. Everyone is in a state of shock and confusion. Everyone, except for you and the blonde man next to you. He squeezes your hand tightly, refusing to let go.

"Of course, there will be an investigation. But, it seems pretty obvious to us what happened. If anyone in this room has been effected by the actions of The Admiral that have come to light... please, speak to me, or any other of your superiors. Thank you. "

He exits the room, leaving all of you in palpable silence.

"What the fuck?" Payback mutters. "What did he mean, 'actions that have come to light?'"

"There's rumours," Phoenix begins. "He had a... soft spot, for young female pilots. People have been whispering about it for months."

Suddenly, all eyes are on you. You're the only other woman in the room besides Natasha, and she clearly wasn't involved.

"Did he ever... try anything with you, Ivy?"

"No," you're quick to answer. "No. Thank God."

The room breathes a collective sigh of relief.

If only they knew.

they take their shots, but we're bulletproof I know places

and you know for me, it's always you I know places

in the dead of night, your eyes so green I know places

and I know for you, it's always me I know places

A month later, you snap.

Jake comes home to find you frantically shoving clothes into a duffel bag, sweat dripping down your back.

"Baby," he tries, cautious, like he's approaching a spooked animal. "Baby."

You turn to face him with wild eyes, fear radiating off you.

"What's wrong, angel?"

You look at him incredulously.

"What's wrong? What's fucking wrong? We killed someone, Jake! That's what's wrong!"

"He wasn't a good guy."

"That doesn't matter. That doesn't make it right."

He cradles your face in his hands, eyes never leaving yours.

"Talk to me. What's going on? You've been okay. We've been okay. I thought we were processing, moving forward."

"I was. And then today, I just... can't. It was murder, Jake. Premeditated murder."

"Listen to me," he demands, tilting your chin up so your eyes are level. "He was an awful, awful man. The world is a better place without him. We saved so many women from a horrible fate, baby. We did a good thing."

You inhale carefully, and exhale a shaky breath, leaning up to press a kiss to his bitten lips.

"Yeah?" you ask, unsure. "We did save people, didn't we?"

"We wouldn't have done it without just reason, baby. We're good people, you and I. We both know we are."

You nod, looking for any signs of insecurity in his eyes. You don't find a single speck.

"You're right. Fuck, you're right. Sorry if I scared you, Jake."

"You scared me because I thought you were leaving me," he chuckles. "Wondered what I did wrong."

"Nothing," you're quick to reassure, tangling tracing your fingertips over the features of his face in a featherlight touch. "My God, Jake. I've never loved anyone as much as I love you. You're it for me. You're my forever."

Jake leans down, pressing his lips to yours firmly and surely. It's as if he's telling you everything he feels without using any words. He pulls you into him, winding his arms around your back and tugging you closer.

"I've got you, baby. No matter what happens. It's me and you, always. I love you."

"I love you too, Seresin. Always."

They are the hunters, we are the foxes

And we run

Just grab my hand and don't ever drop it

My love

"Let's run away."

You're taking off your shoes by the door when Jake comes bounding down the stairs, buzzing with energy.

"Hmm?"

"Let's run away, baby. You and me. The open road. We can go anywhere we want."

"Jake," you laugh. "Are you drunk? What's happening?"

"Not drunk. My head's clearer than it has ever been. I've been thinking, while you were gone."

"Thinking about...?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning up to kiss his rosy lips.

"Getting out of here. This place is full of bad memories and old ghosts. We can start afresh somewhere new."

"Like where?"

"Anywhere. Literally anywhere. We don't even have to stay in America. We could go to Europe, Australia, Canada? The possibilities are actually endless."

"What's triggered this?" you murmur. "You okay?"

"I'm always okay when I'm with you," he smiles. "But.... I can just feel it, you know? I can feel everything piling up. There's a weight on my shoulders, and on yours too. We can let that go. I know we can."

"You're right, about the weight. I haven't relaxed in months."

Jake slides his hands under your shirt, tracing his fingers up and down the bare skin of your back.

"I know," he murmurs against your lips. "I think there's something better out there for us."

"Where would we go? Like, serious talk, what are our options?"

"I know places," he winks.

"What places, Jake?" you try to chide, but you're smiling.

"We can go to my mom's, first, in Texas. Just to touch base. From there, I mean it when I say literally anywhere, baby. Wherever you wanna go, we can go. You've always wanted to go to Italy, right? We could go there. Or I have a high school friend in Perth - we could go there."

"I wanna go somewhere with good food. Kind people. Beautiful views. A little sunshine wouldn't hurt either."

He's grinning at you, white and blinding. His excitement is contagious, settling into your bones.

"Imagine it, baby. Me and you, on the beach all day. We could surf, swim, go grab some lunch, then surf and swim some more. Go home, make dinner, sit out in the yard and listen to the ocean waves. Do it all again the next day."

You can't wipe the smile off your face, practically bouncing on the soles of your feet.

"Okay."

Jake stops in his tracks, still and rigid.

"Really?"

"Really. We can go right now, Jake. I don't wanna be here any longer."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Fuck, I love you. Let's pack our shit and go, baby."

Jake kisses you with fervour, dipping you backwards like you're in a movie. You squeal, gripping the nape of his neck for balance. He picks you up and spins you around, twirling you like a fairytale.

"What about everyone here?" you ask, forehead pressed to Jake's.

"We'll miss them, and they'll miss us, but we'll all be okay."

He's right. These people are your family, but they'll understand. You have to do what's best for you.

"Do you really wanna go as soon as we can?"

"Yeah, Jake. I meant it. We can start packing right now."

He wraps his arms around your middle and carries you upstairs, throwing the closet doors open while you grab your suitcase.

Baby, I know places we won't be found and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

'Cause I, I know places we can hide

I know places

The sun beats down on your skin, warming you up from the outside in. There's a breeze whipping through your hair, carrying salt from the ocean into the car. The sunroof is down, allowing you to breathe in the fresh air.

Jake's hand slides across the centre console and onto your thigh, thumb rubbing circles into your bare skin.

"You okay?"

He's looking over at you, taking his eyes off the road for a split second.

"I'm good, baby."

He smiles, the grin reaching every feature of his face, lighting him up.

You've been on the road for months, stopping and starting however and whenever you please. A motel here, a beach apartment there. You've lost count of how many states you've travelled through, collecting postcards in each one.

You'll settle down, eventually. You've been making a list of your favourite places you've visited, ranking them as you go. You'll most likely buy a place in your top choice. But not yet.

For now, you're content with the open road. The convertible car, all your belongings in a suitcase in the trunk, roof down at every opportunity. You like not staying in one place for too long. It weirdly suits you.

Jake's never looked happier. He glows, smile lines creasing the corner of his eyes. He laughs so often, and you never get tired of the sound.

You glance down to the golden band on your left hand, smiling softly.

"What are you thinking about?" your husband asks, squeezing your thigh.

"Vegas," you beam. "Never did I think I'd be married by an Elvis impersonator in a bright blue chapel."

"I'm the epitome of class, baby. You know this."

Both of you are grinning, chuckling gently.

"We did the right thing. Leaving."

"Yeah, we did. I'm glad I believed what you said."

"What did I say?"

"That you knew places."

He traces a love heart on your skin with his thumb, over and over again.

"Told you, baby. I know places."

516 notes · View notes

seireiteihellbutterfly · 2 months

Text

Second Chance Sorcerer

Chapter 1

Summary: After surviving Mahito's Idle Transfiguration in the Shibuya Incident, Nanami finds himself in an unknown realm between life and death. Will he escape?

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Fem! reader

A/N: I can't believe I actually got around to writing this! *sobs*. I hope everyone does take the time to read it, and enjoys what I've created here. This will be a multi-chapter fic, quite different from the one-shots I've posted before. It was originally made with an OC, which can be read on my AO3 account, but all changes have been made to y/n here.

Thank you @actuallysaiyan for making the lovely title banner and for listening to me rant and giving me all the encouragement to finish this chapter. Everyone needs a cheerleader like you. 💜

Nanami masterlist | Chapter 2

“You’ve got it from here…Itadori kun.”

Those were the last words Nanami remembers saying before Mahito’s Idle Transfiguration fragmented his soul into smithereens. All he felt was pain, gut-wrenching pain as his soul collapsed and rearranged itself, piece after piece trying various combinations of alignment, trying to come back into some semblance of a whole, like chromosomes after being hit with a lethal dose of radiation.

His eyes squeeze shut, senses overloading as he prepares to meet whatever awaits him on the other side. Would it be a lovely afterlife like he’d hoped? Filled with long days on the beach, reading the backlog of books he’d been holding off on? Laying in the sun, no work, no obligations, just doing whatever he wanted to his heart’s content? He felt warmth against his chest, a bright light emanating from it, and for a split second, it felt like someone was calling out to him, a very familiar voice…

And all of a sudden it stops. With a thump, he crumples on something solid, his side colliding with the surface. Was this it? Was he in the afterlife? Nanami hesitantly opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings.

At first, it appears like he’s landed on a sidewalk that wound deeply into a very gloomy and derelict-looking city. He could make out buildings, traffic lights, and little shops tucked away in between these larger structures, all of them looking abandoned or in various states of disuse. Not exactly what he’d hoped for. Was this actually the Great Beyond?

Nanami pushes himself to his feet, relieved when he realizes he’s not in pain anymore. Had Mahito sent him to a separate contained domain? He squints, trying to find his bearings. There was no sunlight wherever he was, but the street lamps were lit along the length of the sidewalk, casting shadows along the way. He cautiously looks around. The place looks strangely familiar…

He grasps his weapon, the blade having still been in his hand when Mahito touched him, and advances down the road. As he walks, he realizes with a jolt that wherever he is appears to be a phantom of his neighborhood. He recognized this road now, as he had frequented it so often. Up ahead was the grocery store he would go to every Saturday. And right opposite it, a little cafe he would sometimes wander into for their lovely croissants and artisan coffee. The more he walked, the more he started piecing together a map of this area, astonished at what he was seeing. This certainly couldn’t be a domain expansion. There was far too much detail resembling the real world and, although the place gave a foreboding aura, seemed to be unoccupied except for himself.

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, lowers his weapon, and tries to think. Logic was telling him Mahito had sent him somewhere, perhaps a sealed space, rather than kill him outright. But if that was the case, why was he healed? His entire left side which had been covered with fatal burns was gone, the skin healed over like new, his eye regenerated, hair grown back. His clothes and shoes had somehow been restored to their original condition, his glasses back to their position on his face.

Things weren’t adding up. He continued to walk, then came upon a library he remembered passing by in the real world but had never really paid attention to before. Deciding this was as good a spot as any to glean information about his whereabouts, he enters, squinting through the darkness. Lines and lines of shelves stood neatly arranged in the building. Nanami walks between the rows, pausing in between sections for a brief moment before continuing his perusing.

He rounds the corner, then quickly presses his back against a bookshelf as he senses an unusual energy signature fading away from him. So he wasn’t alone, and the thought wasn’t comforting. The energy didn’t match a human or a sorcerer, so he had to assume it was a special-grade curse. After his interactions with Jogo and Mahito, he didn’t know what to expect in terms of its abilities. He was tempted to escape but knew he had nowhere to go. If he was trapped in this domain what hope was there to escape this odd being he was sensing?

Raising the clothed blade with its polka dot pattern, he follows the energy steadily, not daring to breathe too loudly as he advances. It moves stealthily and silently, as though trying to elude him. This makes him immediately wary, sensing he could be getting lured into a trap. He follows at a distance, then stops as he comes to a reading section, the area cleared out and decorated with little chairs, poufs, and tables. Struggling to see in the dim light, he moves into the open, instincts screaming that he’s making a mistake. He pauses, trying to sense the energy again.

“It’s rude to chase one with a weapon you know.” A voice says from directly behind him. Nanami startles and spins around to face his pursuant, arms immediately coming before him to block an impending attack. Upon seeing the sight before him, his gaze fills with both fear and wonder, the being in front of him a vision of amazement.

All he sees at first are a pair of piercing silver eyes that seem to probe the very depths of his soul. There’s a quiet insightfulness to them like he was looking into the eyes of an old friend, yet an unsettling intensity that made him feel apprehensive. The being appeared to lack a shape, but as Nanami took another step back, the light from the street lamps showed it to be made of wisps of black shadowy mist, neither fluid nor gas, swirling endlessly around it.

Something within him tells him he shouldn’t fear this creature, yet all instincts were telling him to charge the attack before it got to him first. They stood, staring at each other through the dimness, before Nanami gathered his courage and asked, “What are you? A curse?”

The being huffs, as if it was an impertinent question. “What am I…Who am I…The question has been asked for centuries. Yet, even I do not have an appropriate answer…But I am most definitely not a curse.”

It glides silently over the floor, and Nanami instinctively raises his weapon. The being appears to look amused, based on the way those intense silver eyes glowed. “Put away your blade, Nanami Kento. The things I could have done to you once you entered my realm can’t be defended against by you, or even a special-grade sorcerer for that matter. I doubt even Ryomen Sukuna would stand a chance against me.” The smoky form billows, ebbing and flowing as it circles him.

Not entirely reassured, Nanami puts his weapon back in the holder of his suspenders. There’s an odd feeling of reverence despite the eerie nature of the being.

“I am what they call The Mediator, The One Before Death, or The Spectator.” It answers his question.

“And where am I?” Nanami asks the shadow.

“You are in between worlds, Nanami Kento.”

“In between worlds?” The blonde man repeated skeptically. Did such a thing exist? He had never given death much thought (beyond the dying part), and always assumed it was like being asleep one moment and waking up in paradise the next. To be in between worlds…had Mahito somehow just locked him away in another dimension that was a bleak version of his neighborhood?

“So…am I…alive? But in another dimension?”

The Mediator looked at him thoughtfully, as though wondering how best to explain to him. “You are alive for now. But you definitely died, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up here in my realm.”

“I died, and came back to life?” The sorcerer frowned at the obscureness with which this said. “That makes no sense. People don’t just arbitrarily resurrect from the dead. I was severely weakened. My soul was unprotected. Mahito’s attack should have killed me.”

“It did. However, something at that moment reversed the attack and restored the various fragments your soul had shattered into.”

Disbelievingly, Nanami started running his hands over his torso as though trying to find evidence that he had died. It was just…fantastical…impossible…He had survived Mahito’s attack? What divine intervention could have possibly saved him from something so deadly? As his fingers near his wrist, they brush over a small chain, hidden under the cuff of his shirt. He quickly undoes the button and looks incredulously at the small charm, an Aum symbol, dangling from the chain.

“Y/n…” he murmurs her name softly. His apprentice. He now remembers her fastening one of these to not just him but to Ino and Itadori as well before they were deployed to Shibuya.

“That’s probably what saved you,” the being said evidently, interrupting Nanami’s thoughts. “Whatever that is, it was imbued with a heavy concentration of neutralized curse energy. So when you died from the attack, that charm activated and repaired your soul.”

Nanami absently fingered the charm, trying to think. Y/n’s ability to neutralize cursed energy had improved immensely under his tutelage, he knew that, but he hadn’t imagined it to this extent. Her other ability included being able to manipulate any cursed energy she neutralized into forms of heat, summoning flames on her palms that towered at least 20 feet tall. How she had imbued the energy into the charm was anyone’s guess.

“And I’m in between worlds.” He repeats again, trying to make sure he’s not misunderstanding the conversation.

“Indeed. Think of this as your own personal purgatory.” Those silver eyes bore into him like moons against a black sky, waiting to see his reaction.

Purgatory. Nanami pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, unable to fathom how insane this sounded. “I thought purgatory was for people who needed to be redeemed.”

“It is usually. But in your case, it looks like the veil partitioning the worlds got confused, seeing as how you left one dead, and then suddenly became alive in another. Death probably couldn’t figure out what to do with you so it sent you here instead.”

“So I’m stuck here?”

Despite the miraculousness of it all, Nanami couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation. He had been prepared for death for several years now. So much to the point that he had a will drafted, signed, and sealed, declaring all his possessions to be donated to charity since he had no other family or next of kin. A copy of the keys to his house had been entrusted to the lawyer who had helped draft the will. He had all his affairs set in order with the expectation that his death would be sudden and he was unwilling to burden anyone to deal with the repercussions.

He had known he would die in the line of duty. He had accepted his fate the moment Mahito had laid a hand on him in the underground, welcoming death as a tranquil friend. His whole life had been struggle after struggle, a gamble, clawing his way to stay alive. All he could say was that he had been lucky so far. There had to be a moment when that luck ran out. He had been dreaming of knowing peace and death seemed to be the only option for that.

“Does it bother you, that you are alive?” The purgatory being asks him curiously, noting his less-than-happy expression. “Most would rejoice at this second chance for life.”

The question hits Nanami with a gravity he hadn’t been expecting. “Most people haven’t lived my life. I’ve done enough. I’m tired. I’ve earned the right to a peaceful death.”

“And yet, it looks like someone desperately wanted you to live.” Those hypnotic eyes wander over to the charm dangling on his wrist. “Is that not reason enough? To not want to die?”

Disturbed by the notion, Nanami grips the charm. Y/n’s energy had kept him alive, unwittingly preventing him from moving on into the afterlife. Whether that had been her intent was debatable. Her desperately wanting him to live? It just didn’t seem likely to him. Sure, perhaps she didn’t want him to die in the way that people didn’t want others to die in general. But beyond that? He couldn’t fathom her being so consumed by the thought of his death that she would create a charm that essentially kept him alive after having his soul damaged to what should have been a point beyond repair.

Y/n had a late start in her career as a sorceress, and certain concepts about it seemed to stymie her, more typically seen in a younger student than someone her age. He had repeatedly told her to not worry about him when he took her on missions, to value her life more than his. He drilled it into her head when he taught her self-defense, that if there was an opportunity to escape she should take it, the hand-to-hand combat sometimes leaving bruises on her skin because she’d been unwilling to take a shot at him. It always pained him when that happened, marking her, leaving those unsavory blemishes on her but how else was she going to learn that fairness wasn’t something that existed in Jujutsu? Her willingness to get a little scuffed up if it meant protecting him from a curse irked him. She was rather like a kitten unwilling to be shooed away from a reluctant petter. His lips curled wryly as he imagined her expression if she ever heard that comparison out loud.

‘Don’t be so cruel Nanami san!’ She’d probably say, those large (color) eyes looking at him reproachfully. And for a moment, his mind’s eye couldn’t picture anything else except that; those large (color) eyes, and the shock in them when he told her that he didn’t think he’d live very long. She hadn’t said anything to convince him his mindset was wrong, but she did look like he had betrayed her by expressing his very honest and logical opinion. As though he had broken an oath to her by not saying he wanted to live long and prosper.

Nanami gives himself a mental shake. This wasn't the time to be thinking about Y/ni's opinion on his death. The bigger task at hand now was figuring out what to do about his imprisonment in purgatory.

All the while, the shadow hadn’t wavered and had merely continued to look at him work through his inner monologue. Realizing that Nanami had reached a limit, it said, “No, you are not stuck here. At least, not for very long.”

The sorcerer’s head snaps up at those words, eyes narrowing behind the green glass of his frames. “What do you mean, not very long?”

“Well, the neutralized energy imbued into that charm? It’s not infinitely going to remain contained in that. The seal broke when it saved your life, and it’s essentially trickling out little particles of it. It will run out at some point, although it’s difficult to say when that is.”

“And when it does run out?”

“You’ll die.” The being says simply. “And move on into the next realm. That’s the way purgatory is supposed to work. Cleanse you to be fit to live in the realm of death.”

“And it’s unknown when that will happen?”

The shadow appears to ponder his question before offering a hesitant guess. “A few days, maybe 4 or 5 at maximum, based on the energy intensity that it's currently emitting.”

“And what am I to do for 4 to 5 days here?” Nanami gestures around the gloomy library, obviously not impressed with this arrangement. These extra days before his impending death somehow made a vein pop in his forehead. It was like a pre-death before the actual one.

“Well, you must have noticed by now that this is the neighborhood you used to live in. You are free to wander around here and experience your old life one last time. You can visit your apartment, take the subway and wander around the Jujutsu High campus, or watch a movie in the theater.” The shadow suggested, sounding like a pleasant tour guide for the afterlife. “Think of it as a vacation before your death.”

It struck Nanami as a little absurd but he strokes his chin, considering. “And that’s my only option? To experience my old life before dying?”

“It’s not the only option. You could go back and live.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air at those words. Nanami’s eyes widen at the thought. He could go back to the land of the living? He hadn’t even considered that as an option. He only had death on his mind. Thoughts of living on a beach, days filled with no responsibility still flickered through his mind but at the same time…

“What is it about life that makes you so hesitant?” The purgatory being asks him inquisitively.

Nanami opens his mouth but no words come out. Had he been thinking about how to escape his situation that all he had ever thought about was dying? It wasn’t unexpected of him. He had learned so long ago that life was mostly shit, with a few moments of relief folded in. At least it was for curse users. He remembers seeing all the people he knew die, how he had tried to escape from Jujutsu, only to be sucked back in because he knew he didn’t fit in anywhere else. When faced with the choice of remaining in a job of corporate greed, or one that endangered his life but was somewhat altruistic, the choice became apparent. He had returned to Jujutsu. Not entirely selflessly, but with the idea that it was the quicker way out of his misery.

“Is there nothing you would like to return to?” The shadow presses. “Remember that you are a very rare case. Hardly anyone ends up in purgatory under your circumstances. I would hate to see a life go to waste because you don’t know what to do with it.”

A sudden memory comes into Nanami’s mind. A day of unexpected frivolity, when Y/n, Yuji, and Ino had convinced him to come along to an amusement park. It was an odd day but to his surprise, he hadn't hated it. Y/n had mostly stayed away from the roller-coasters, leaving it to Yuji and Ino, wandering with Nanami to the food stalls, closer in age to him than she was to the boys. It was a strange feeling of domesticity he had never experienced before, almost like they were a hodgepodge family of misfits. It was the closest thing he had experienced to a normal day in a long time.

But days like that were rare. They were like sprinkles on top of ice cream. People could never have more sprinkles than ice cream. Life just didn't work that way. However, Nanami found himself contemplating his choices. Perhaps he had been so jaded that he thought life was wading through ice cream instead of appreciating the sprinkles? And here he was dreaming about sprinkles when he was stuck in purgatory.

He sighs and shakes his head. “If I did go back, would it make a difference?” He asks doubtfully.

The being’s eyes crinkle warmly, almost like it's smiling. “To one person, yes. And isn't that more than enough?”

The charm swings from his wrist like a pendulum. He considers the shadow’s words and feels his heart clench uncomfortably. The stakes almost felt too high, wagering his return to life on the chance that it would make a difference to Y/n. Well, maybe not just her. He frowns as he feels the energy in the trinket resonate for a brief moment when he thinks of her, as though it was trying to convince him to make the gamble. He had never quite paid attention to her energy signature before now, so concentrated within the tiny object; it felt like a warm cup of coffee on a lazy Saturday morning. He feels disconcerted that he could sense this now and it was making him want to change his mind about dying. He sighed deeply, feeling his resolve begin to solidify, even though it felt like he was making the wrong choice.

“How do I get out of here?”

The shadow has no features except its eyes, but if Nanami could assign it an expression, it would have to be triumph.

“I’m so glad you asked.” It appraisingly looks at him, before continuing. “Perhaps you might want to let the lady know you’re alive.”

“Must I?” Nanami asks with a hint of exasperation.

The shadow looks amused but continues in an even tone. “I’m afraid I must insist. It's better to give people a warning when you’re coming back from the dead. Prepares them for the prospect of seeing you again. Trust me, it’s better that way.”

“And how do I do that?”

It merely continues to look at him with that amused expression and Nanami almost lets out a growl of frustration. “Listen. I died. Then I was told I wasn’t dead, but I’ll die soon. Then I changed my mind and decided I wanted to live. The least you can do is tell me how to get a message out of here.”

The purgatory being laughs; it’s an eerie noise, yet had all the comfort of a long-lost friend. “Very well 7:3 Sorcerer. It’s simple really. To send a message out of here, all you need to do is blend your cursed energy with the cursed energy of the person you’re thinking about going back to life for. Imbue this energy into a small object which will then find a way to its recipient.”

The elementary way this was said nearly cracks his temper. “Is that all?” He asks, unable to keep the bite of sarcasm out of his voice.

The shadow chuckles at this, adding to his ire. “It really is. Just try focusing on something other than your disappointment of not dying today.”

Nanami takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose trying to keep his composure. “A small object…” His hand grips the handle of his blade and pulls it out, eyeing it carefully. The whole blade wouldn’t make it. He just automatically knew it. But he wanted to make sure Y/n would recognize the message was from him. He fidgets with the blade, thinking, and then by accident, the edge of it comes in contact with the Aum charm.

The blend of energy that shoots through him was a shock; a mix of the warm coffee on Saturday mornings, coupled with the calculated preciseness of a seasoned Q-grader who assessed those coffee beans. The polka dots spattered all over the cloth wrapping the weapon glowed at the edges for a brief second before the blade lost contact with the charm.

Nanami observed the whole process with fascination. Dormant instinct took over him, and he moved his hand so that the charm now swung over the blade. Focusing on that combined energy signature, he purposefully touches the charm to the blade. Y/n’s neutralized curse energy flows into the blade, and he feels his own beginning to fuse with it. He concentrates on his ratio technique, and with a flash, all the polka dots lift off the blade, glowing with a pale sea foam green aura.

“Find her,” he whispers to the dots, and in a hazy glow, they vanish.

Nanami watches, as though in a daze, unable to believe what had just happened. He turns to look at the purgatory being.

“Message sent. Now, how do I get out of here?”

The shadow being had been looking at the spot where the polka dots had vanished. It swirls around and looks at him in the eyes.

“By facing your deepest regrets.”

Animated lines and support banner by @cafekitsune

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dudeitiskarev · 8 months

Text

Accidentally In Love | Part One

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x florist female reader

Summary: Penelope has a plan: throw an arrow full of love dust and make you and Hotch fall in love with each other. A series of small…inconveniences keep happening whenever you two end up in the same room, so it takes her more than one try to work her magic on you. Each incident serves its purpose, though, meaning Garcia’s work is only the last push you two need to get a happily ever after—a Penelope centered fun ride with lots of fluff and all the cheesy stuff.

Word count: 2.6k

Content/warnings: nothing really. Just fluff.

Long author’s note: I can’t remember where this idea came from but oh boy, I love it so much. This little story might be my last Hotch x reader piece ever and it feels like an appropriate story to wrap up the end of an era for me. I will always love Aaron Hotchner and I’m so grateful to have found this fandom. It’s not a long fic but I’ll still split it into a few parts because I think it reads best.

To my very loyal readers, I see you always and I love you forever and thank you for everything. I hope everyone who reads it love this story as much as I do and as always, I’d love to know what you think. Enjoy! Mwaaaah <33

Penelope was born with a gift. She could see people’s hearts—like actually; bright red beating flesh inside people’s chest cavities.

Most had a glow of their own that came with a special colored aura. She often felt them as her own, too, and though that might just be the deep empathy her dad also had, she embraced others’ heartbreaks like a treasure from day one.

Her gift came with what could be considered a lethal weapon: an arc and endless arrows. It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous since she was the only one who could manipulate it and see it overall—and because the arrows were made out of clouds—but she’d never been very skilled at using it, so accidental love matches happened often. Most happened when she was a kid—when she’d just discovered her gift and would use it at the supermarket or the movie rental with two random people. It was like introducing a Ken doll to a Barbie for the first time ever so it really was just a game.

It became serious business when one of her closest friends in high school got her heart broken by some guy named Trent. It physically hurt Penelope to see her friend’s heart break and do nothing about it, so she went out of her way to find a guy with a pure heart for her dearest friend; they’ve been together ever since.

That love match was the one that made her polish her gift. She’d keep a love-matches tracker journal where she’d write down everything—from potential couples to different scenarios where she could make the magic happen. Her aim was the one thing she hadn’t been able to refine that much just yet. It has improved, but accidental matches kept happening, just not as often. Which was part of the fun, anyway.

The fun turned into dust the moment she got the call about her parents getting in a car accident. Her gift froze along with her heart that night. It took her a while to let it warm up again, even when it was all she wanted; the only thing that’d truly make her feel something other than grief.

It was hard, though. She’d witnessed love slipping away from people every day and every time she knew she could’ve done something about it. She didn’t want to push herself that much—it drained her, so she started again slow, remotely, with online love matches since she spent most of her time behind a screen and under a fake name. That worked, surprisingly— Bitter_Fruit_Punch and Dark.Knight announced their relationship through the chat 3 months after Penelope worked her magic on them.

Matchmaking has been part of her daily life ever since. It brightened up her own heart to see others fall in love so why not make it a full-time job? She was getting paid with smiles and love all around which was a much better reward than money but she couldn’t actually live out of it.

Her actual job wasn’t so bad—being recruited to work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit was one of the best things that have happened to her—it paid her rent, and she could afford colorful outfits and even more colorful glasses that matched every single piece of clothing she owned.

At the beginning of her career, she was hesitant to use her gift on the people she worked with. It was a serious and professional environment, but being surrounded by blood, murders and real-life monsters pushed her to subtly pull some strings the more she got to know her team.

She wanted each one of them to have a significant other, but not everyone’s hearts were easy to work with. Some hearts were too fragile or too stone cold. Some of them loved too much and others simply didn’t know how to show love, even when they experienced it immensely.

Emily had one of those hearts that unexpectedly loved too much once and simply would not let anyone in anymore because the one time she did, she had to die to keep herself safe.

Spencer’s heart was… something else. Which made it hard to find him the one since not many understood how it worked. He had it once, and it slipped away right in front of him.

JJ’s heart was as stunning as her eyes. Friendly despite having some scars from her past—as most hearts did. Her heart craved love and to be held tenderly, so as soon as Penelope felt how JJ’s heart would glow around a cute guy with a Louisiana accent, she threw an arrow at them.

Then there was her boss’ heart. One of the hardest hearts she’s ever come across. One of the biggest ones, too. Aaron Hotchner had a good heart, and when his ex-wife passed away, his heart only had room for his son.

Hotch was one of those cases that needed its own section in Penelope’s journal. She often thought, what if Haley was his one true love? Did it mean he couldn’t have another one? She wanted her boss to be happy, so she gave his heart all the time it needed to heal.

The right time came but she needed to test the waters first, so she put a pretty woman in Hotch’s life. Her name was Beth, but she wasn’t the one—García knew it from the beginning since their hearts weren’t on the same page. It was a good exercise that showed her that Aaron was ready to love again, though.

That’s when the real challenge began.

There was only one person perfect for Aaron Hotchner: you.

Penelope met you thanks to one of her many hobbies—theater. She needed a bunch of floral arrangements for her upcoming play, and your flower shop was a very well-known shop in the city. She walked through the door and the floral scent bathed her along with your welcoming heart.

It was like finding gold. One of the prettiest hearts she had ever seen. Glowy and generous like your smile, and so warm a ray of morning sunshine couldn’t compare. It resembled a mosaic and all she could think about while you showed her around all kinds of flowers was Hotch and how those broken pieces perfectly fitted together.

What Penelope didn’t know at that moment was that you two had met each other before. Or rather, shared a single glance.

You had the same favorite coffee shop—the one close to your flower shop that also happened to be on the way to the BAU. He’d thought you were beautiful; you’d felt the same. But that’s about it. Neither of you dared to make the first move if possible.

Until it had to happen again.

“Thanks.” You smiled at the barista while receiving your latte and turned around, bumping into a broad and very good-smelling silhouette.

You didn’t get the chance to give him a smile since your coffee spilled all over your hand.

It burnt like hell, but you didn’t even make a sound.

“Are you alright?” he was quick to assist you, taking your almost empty cup from your hand at the same time a bunch of hands around you offered you napkins.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You looked up and finally smiled at him. That wasn’t a common face so you remembered him perfectly—made your heart thunder senseless like the very first time you laid eyes on him. “You have no idea how often this happens to me,” You tried to play it cool.

Your cheeks started to grow hot from the inside out. Painfully slow. It completely erased the burning sensation on your hand. You looked down to dry the sleeve of your blouse hoping the heat of your face would disappear.

It didn’t.

“Let me buy you another one.” He moved you out of the way by your arm and guided you to an empty corner. His touch was as gentle as a petal.

“Oh, there’s no need, I promise. I’m okay. There’s still some left.” You peeked at the cup he was still holding. There was barely a sip. “I— I should go.”

“Please, I insist.”

The look of concern made him even more attractive. You couldn’t reject him with words so you simply gave him one last look and walked away in a hurry, leaving Aaron with his mouth half open before he could insist even more.

The barista called his name right after and the guilt while he received his perfect order wouldn’t let him enjoy it. He walked to his car with his coffee in one hand and your empty cup in the other. The least he could do was get you another latte, somehow. Thankfully your name and order were on the cup, and there was only one person who could make that happen with that little information.

“I need your help and I need you not to ask any questions.” He stormed into Garcia’s office and stood next to her, dramatically placing your empty cup on her desk.

She jumped at his sudden presence. “Y-yes sir. What can I do?”

Hotch gave her some more details he picked up from you from the brief interaction that could be useful. The more she typed each one on her computer, the more information about you showed up on the screen. Her naive self thought it all was just a coincidence, but then a news page popped on the screen from a couple of years ago. There was a tiny picture of your pretty face in the bottom right corner that announced the opening of your shop.

“That’s her,” Hotch confirmed.

Penelope looked up at him and caught the glimpse of a smile taking over his lips and a tiny spark inside his chest. She held the urge to squeal right then and there.

Hotch didn’t tell her much detail about how he ended up having your cup, but his heart already lit up at the thought of you. Meaning, it shouldn’t be so hard to make you two fall in love, right?

All she had to do was make something like that happen again and be there to throw that arrow.

The coffee stain on your sleeve looked like a jasmine blossom—if you really stared at it.

There was no point in washing it off since the coffee was almost dry. Plus, wet sleeves around your wrists would only worsen your day. You should’ve known it was going to be like this from the moment the hot water ran out while in the middle of your shower this morning.

But you were at your shop now. Your happy place. A dream come true. Nothing could bother you as long as you were there, so you decided to leave the embarrassed thoughts behind and went to check on the flowers and plants you had outside on display, making sure they were healthy and ready to be chosen.

They’d been sorted by size since the very first day. Tallest at the very back and smallest in front, that way none would be unnoticed.

The voice of a stranger calling your name made you turn away from the ficus trees. You didn’t know the kid or why he was handing you a cup of coffee that had your name written on it.

“I think you got the wrong person.” You hesitated whether to receive it or not. “I didn’t order anything.”

“Well, someone did. This is Silver Spring 2089, right?” He looked at the numeration behind you.

“Yeah?” You took the cup just so you wouldn’t leave him hanging.

“Then it’s for you.” He nodded with an annoyed customer-service smile. “Have a great day!” He hopped back on his bike and added, “I think there’s a note for you,” gesturing at the cup with his brows.

“Oh, okay? Thanks”

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes, pedaling away.

You stood there for a moment, frozen by confusion. You had no idea what that was about but it was better figuring it out inside rather than out in the sun. You made your way back inside your store and once you were behind the counter, you examined the cup, twirling it in 360 degrees. It only had your name on the outside.

“Hmm.” You bit your lip.

Maybe the note was on the inside? You slid down the cup holder, revealing a note written in all caps across the cup.

HOPE YOU CAN STILL ENJOY A LATTE AT NOON.

Your lips twitched into a smile and the good kind of butterflies spiraled in your stomach.

The kind that you haven’t felt in so long.

García knew her boss too well. He may have sent you the coffee but he was going to need a little push to get him to do more than that.

“So?” García walked into Hotch’s office. “How did it go?”

He lifted his eyes from the paper. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“Flower girl?” She continued. “Her coffee?”

His eyes rushed back to the document. “She received it, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” She took a few steps closer, the click-clack of her heels loud under her. “She didn’t text you a thank you, you’re so incredibly nice?”

It was very unlike you if you didn’t.

“She doesn’t have my number.” He looked at Garcia again. “So I don’t see why she would.”

“You didn’t write it somewhere in her order?”

“No?” He frowned softly, waiting to be reprimanded.

“Sir,” she huffed out a breath, sitting across from him and placing her thick sparkly journal over her lap. “That was your chance.”

“Of what?”

“Of… love.”

He paused for a moment and sighed, raising his brows while saying, “There’s no time.” As if he was trying to convince himself.

“There’s always time for love,” she quickly added.

The truth was that he didn’t want to let someone in yet after Beth. It had already been scary back then to let Beth in after Haley. There was a big difference, though. He let Beth go by choice—which was the right thing to do—and Haley was ripped away from him.

Both things have hurt his son, meaning it wasn’t just his heart that could get exposed to love or abandonment by letting someone new in.

Jack’s heart lived right behind Aaron’s, so he had to be careful.

“Is there anything else you need?” He changed the subject.

Penelope’s face dropped in defeat as she said a quiet no, though it slowly turned into a smile as she added, “I mean yes. Yes, actually, I’m here also to give you—” she riffled through her documents and took out a flyer, handing it to him “—this.”

The flyer promoted her new play, and as always, had her face on it.

“This Friday?” He took a closer look at it.

“Everyone’s invited, per usual,” she said proudly.

Whenever he got the official invitation, he looked forward to it. It reminded him of his high school years and often made him want to give it a try again now that he was older to do something out of the ordinary. But in this case, there really was no time.

“I’ll be there.” He smiled at her. “Thanks.”

“You are very welcome.” She stood up and walked to the door.

“Hey, Garcia?” Hotch got her attention, making her turn around. He remembered when she was embarrassed about the team finding out, and now they were a permanent crowd in each of her plays. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, sir.” She smiled big big. “Goodbye, sir.”

She left his office with a bright grin and an even brighter plan.

If he didn’t dare to give you his number or any other hint about his persona, she was going to make sure he did.

That very same day she sent you an invitation to her play.

Her plan? Forced proximity.

Classic me, I’m not sure when I’ll post next part but I hope you enjoyed this ♥️

PART TWO

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fluff

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mixelation · 17 days

Note

thoughts on itadei, itakisa, and itasaku? and i guess any other popular itachi ships that are not currently coming to mind for me lol

ItaDei

Love it. Have written tens of thousands of words about it. It's sort of a frustrating ship to write because they're both assholes about their own feelings (and I don't think Itachi in canon... has a lot of thoughts on Deidara), but Deidara has an extremely canonical gay melt down over Itachi, so I feel like there's a lot of ridiculousness to explore. The fact that they're both criminal villain ninja means there's a lot of room for understanding that other ships might not have. Yes, Deidara blows buildings up with people inside, what of it? He's not like "ooh aah you monster!!" over the Uchiha Massacre. And I like that they both have wildly different, but demonstrably lethal/successful, attitudes towards problem solving. Like I think they cover a lot of each other's flaws while also making each other worse, you know?

Since it's "brutally honest" opinion time, I will add a complaint I haven't made in a while. I hate the way a good chunk of fandom writes Deidara in mlm ships. For some reason, people like to make him a naive uwu bean to play the "feminine" role. Stop that, it's boring and OOC.

ItaKisa

This is a ship I don't really mind but also don't find super compelling. I'm not a big Kisame fan-- like he's fine, I like writing and reading about him fine-- but he's not one of my favorite Akatsuki members. I don't filter on ItaKisa but the tag won't make me NOT click a fic. I could be compelled to write it if I had an idea for it. I do prefer exploring their relationship from a more platonic angle. Kisame is most interesting to me when he's the guy dealing with Itachi's bullshit 24/7 and somehow still thriving.

ItaSaku

My original OTP!!!!!! Okay so I think they're super compatible and HERE'S WHY--

Basically I think Itachi is someone who has idealized romance in a way where he has an extensive very bland fantasy about nice Konoha girls who let him have the most bland vanilla hetersosexual marriage of all time. He wants the culturally appropriate equivalent of a white picket fence. Would he actually be happy with this? No, obviously not, but Itachi also thinks he's a pacifist.

Meanwhile Sakura is a violent maniac who is trying her hardest to BE that nice Konoha girl. They indulge each other's insane fantasies about it. Itachi looks at Sakura and is like: "oh yes, the perfect Konoha kunoichi, the student of the Hokage and Hatake Kakashi, a healer with the face of an angel--" But if his ability for self-analysis were 2% better he would realize his favorite Sakura moments are all like "ripped a man in half" and "brought that same man back from the brink of death to interrogate him." He is ready to lay back and let Sakura live out her own fantasy of Fixing the tragic S-ranked missing-nin WITH HER LOVE because that is also what Itachi wants. Ignore that the village is on fire, please

Other Itachi Ships

Let's see.... every once in a while I get intrigued by the idea of Kakashi/Itachi, but I have never hit on anything there that I really like. I'm fine with Shisui/Itachi, but I don't think Shisui has enough of a canon presence for me to go really feral over it like I would ItaSaku or ItaDei. I'm intrigued by some other Itachi/Akatsuki ships although I don't think any of them are popular. For example, I think Itachi and Sasori would clash horribly in that they're both assholes in similar directions, and this would make SasoItaDei a beautiful trashfire for Deidara specifically.

I've written some Itachi-Karin interactions that I thought were fun so I think ItaKarin could be interesting. Ummm..... OH! I regularly forget Izumi even exists. Sorry, Izumi.

#ask meme answer

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bluehwale · 1 year

Note

okay so idk if you’re taking requests or not, BUT BUT BUT could u please write ateez as chb demigods (kind of like the jongho one), the scream i let out when i read demigod on the post was a bit embarrassing tbh

also hi new follower 👋 gonna go stalk ur masterlist/s don’t mind me :))

the rainbow thief | demigods! poly ateez au

02 / ‘the rainbow thief’ masterpost / prev / next

summary. eight demigods find themselves ecstatic over finally mustering up enough courage to let you know about their unbridled feelings for you, only to find a threat looming upon them; a rainbow thief that's set out to steal you.

or alternatively,

your best friends are oblivious to your reciprocating feelings.

pairing(s). ot8 demigods! ateez x daughter of iris! reader (son of hades! hongjoong, son of athena! hwa, son of apollo! yunho, son of poseidon! yeosang, son of zeus! san, son of aphrodite! mingi, son of dionysus! wooyoung & son of ares! jongho)

word count. 3.1k

genre. pure crack, angst if you squint real hard until ur eyes close, tons of fluff, literally the dumbest thing i've written help, basically idiots2lovers, ateez are chronic simps to the point where it's hard to watch, borderline unhinged behavior, they are also himbos!

warnings. alcohol intake (wooyoung and his wine), cursing, not proofread sorry </3

note. hi! this has been sitting in my drafts for a long while and i'm so sorry it took so long to be posted (almost d worded bc of my assignments) anyways, i kinda added a spin on this req by making it a poly fic, i hope you don't mind! thankyou so so much for being my first ever request<3 hv a great day!! ily ^3^ ++ feedback would be greatly appreciated pls i need to improve my writing

masterlist

San thinks this is definitely a level nine code red.

To give you an understanding of San’s Catastrophe Indicator, here’s some scale to context; a level eight would be Wooyoung somehow finding out his deepest darkest secret— that he still sleeps with his plushies every night; and a level ten would be getting zapped on the ass by his dad’s lightning bolt (and potentially having to stay in the infirmary for a week). So yes, a level nine is alarming, if not, exceptionally lethal.

It’s been exactly 53 minutes and 46 seconds since San has been watching you enthusiastically converse with an unfamiliar boy who’s sitting a little too close to you for his liking. His heart aches at the way you throw your head back as you let out your endearing giggles and how you teasingly shove his arm while the boy looks over to you with a grin, probably proud of a joke he told that made you laugh.

(It has also been 53 minutes and 46 seconds since the pink haired boy remains frozen behind a tree— the perfect hiding spot, he mused— all the while trembling like a leaf as he struggles to resist the temptation of flying in your direction curled up as a ball to hopefully cannonball the boy off the bench beside you.)

San huffs, he won’t let this be! It’s supposed to be the special day where he and the boys finally let you know about their feelings, and he would rather backflip off a cliff than let this undeniably handsome, seemingly perfect, flawlessly flirty guy who looks like he jumped out of a popular romance anime seduce you!

He falters, however, when he sees you stand up and grasp the boy’s hand to rise along with you.

The poor boy’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he sees you inch closer to the blue haired boy, a pretty smile evident on your face as he then wraps an arm around you, pulling you close while whispering something into your ear that makes you blush.

This can’t be happening!

San’s hands turn jittery as he unconsciously moves away from his hiding spot, needing to get closer to you, his best friend that he’s been hopelessly in love with for years, but he can feel his heart finally breaking when you excitedly pull the boy into a warm embrace.

Snap!

Your head looks up to see San pausing his steps after accidentally stepping on a tree branch with eyes as wide as a deer caught in headlights. You innocently wave at him and San prays that the ground would swallow him whole.

He feels his hands grow clammy as he ungracefully dives behind a trash can to (unsuccessfully) hide himself from you and the unfamiliar boy walking together towards his direction. But of course, with the unmistaken pop of his pink hair, it’s hard not to notice him— especially for you.

“San!”

The demigod curses under his breath when he sees you in front of him and sheepishly stands up to meet your amused eyes. The blue-haired boy beside you stifles a laugh with an unconvincing cough and San thinks he hears the male mumble, “Oh, is this one of them—” before you elbow him on the stomach, cutting him off as he groans.

You pay no attention to the boy beside you as he doubles over in pain to clutch his gut, you turn to brightly grin at your best friend instead. “Meet Yeonjun! He just got here yesterday and, oh, he’s an Aphrodite kid! I think you both would get along pretty well.”

San feels his eye twitch. He tunes out your voice that rings throughout the air as you introduce him to your new friend.

A son of Aphrodite. Your new friend.

Aphrodite. The goddess of beauty and love.

His heart sinks into his stomach.

This might be even worse than a code red level nine.

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“There better be a good reason for San to drag me here in the middle of drafting up my Capture the Flag strategy plans.” Seonghwa, the brain and only hope of the group, crosses his arms and tsks.

The state of an emergency calls San and Mingi (an Aphrodite kid and the first San ran to for consultation) to round up everyone in the infirmary, an unfitting spot to hold their “emergency meeting” but the two boys couldn’t wait for Yunho’s healer shift to end. Mingi taps his feet anxiously when it looks like San’s unwillingness to speak due to his sullen mood means that he will have to be the one to break the news.

Ever the poster child of rationality, he slowly starts, “We think… _____ might be interested in someone.”

“You mean some people,” Wooyoung cackles, sipping his wine from an ‘I LOVE DIONYSUS’ mug as he gestures to his best friends sitting around in a circle. “There’s nothing to worry about, everyone in camp told me she’s 100% gonna accept our confession. They even think we’re all already dating.” The boy proudly smiles, taking another sip of his wine as his stomach flutters at the thought of you.

“She’s in love with an Aphrodite kid,” San blurts out.

Splatters of red wine burst out of Wooyoung’s mouth when San’s words finally registers in his mind, leaving him to stammer and gape wordlessly as chaos ensues with the rest of the boys.

“What are you talking about?!” gasped Seonghwa, any previous thought of his strategy plans immediately forgotten.

“But— but we were supposed to tell her today!” Yunho, ever in tune with his emotions, wails while his hands slap his face to cover his already leaking eyes. “What are we gonna do with the humongous bouquet I requested the Demeter kids to make last night?!” He reaches out a shaky finger to point at the flower bouquet and an equally large teddy bear taking up a whole corner of the infirmary.

Amidst the commotion, Mingi locks his arms around Yeosang who seems to have resigned from his body completely and looks like he’d willingly give himself up as lunch for any nearby sea monster. “Guys, calm down, maybe this is all just a misunderstanding—”

“An Aphrodite kid, you say?” interrupted Jongho, already rolling up his sleeves to relieve his bulging biceps from ripping his shirt apart. “What’s this guy’s name and what does he look like?”

“Jongho, you’re not killing anyone—”

“Mingi’s right,” Hongjoong sighs, eerily calm besides the smoke fuming from his nostrils and his eyes that glint devilishly. “Instead of killing him, making him suffer throughout his afterlife sounds much better, I’ll make sure my dad takes note of him.”

“That’s not what I meant!” interjects Mingi who, still grasping a Yeosang who’s ready to jump up and dash off into the ocean, shoots a desperate look begging for help to the eldest.

“Maybe he’s trying to seduce her into a pyramid scheme?” Seonghwa supplies weakly, brain racking to find any other reason to support the idea that maybe you’re merely close with this person as friends and not because you’re in love with him.

“And why the fuck would he do that?”

“We demigods aren’t immune to capitalism.”

“It’s hopeless,” counters San, shutting everyone else up. They look over to him with furrowed brows and trembling lips, one that matches his own. “You weren’t there– you didn’t see what I saw. She looked so happy.”

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The eight sulky boys toddle around mopily as they pick apart the romance-themed decorations littered around the hidden area you all claimed as your group’s private hangout place. They can’t help but feel dejected over the fact that you— their best friend who they’ve been in love with for years, like someone else.

“Thought I’d find you guys here.”

Speak of the devil.

Their heads snap to find you walking on the path of rose petals they prepared earlier today, dressed in a baby blue mini dress you reserve only for special occasions instead of your usual get up of the orange Camp Half-Blood shirt and jeans. An easy smile rests on your face as you greet your best friends and they can’t help but feel their hearts grow heavier at the sight (except for Yeosang who is too busy panicking over you possibly noticing the ‘We Love You _____!’ banner that is still on display).

“______, what are you doing here?” The glint in your eyes visibly falters at Seonghwa’s question, your excitement twisting into unbridled nerves that settles uncomfortably in your gut when you notice everyone staring at you as if you shouldn’t be here.

Word spreads crazy fast in camp and it didn’t take long for you to overhear about the surprise the boys had planned for you. Although it unsettles you that the boys might be upset at their spoiled attempt of surprising you, you can’t help but feel giddy at the thought of them liking you back after all these years of you believing that your feelings went unreciprocated.

So imagine your confusion when none of your best friends showed up to lead you to your surprise and that, after happily skipping all the way here, you find them hostile in your presence.

“Uh,” you trail off, nervously picking at the skin around your fingernails as you try to gauge their reactions. “It’s just… I didn’t see any of you today except for San. I missed you guys.”

It seems like that was the wrong thing to say as the boys, to your confusion, suddenly broke in tears.

“You can’t say things like that!” Yeosang hiccups, bringing a hand to his face to wipe the steady stream of tears falling from his eyes and earning broken mutters of agreement from the other boys.

"Wha—What?" you stammer, surprised at their reactions. What’s going on?

“You shouldn’t say things like that when you know we can’t have you.”

“What do you mean? Why can’t you?”

“Because you’re in love with someone else!”

You pause. “Huh?” Any trace of your previous nervousness vanished, instead replaced with rejoicement at the thought of them being jealous over you with someone else. You restrain the urge to giggle.

“It’s okay, ____. We understand,” sniffles Seonghwa, clamping his hand over Wooyoung’s mouth who was clinging onto his arm while yelling: ‘NO, WE DO NOT UNDERSTAND!’ It took awhile for the eldest to eventually tackle the younger to the ground, suppressing him by placing his weight over him while Wooyoung continues to let out muffled yelps as he struggles. Seonghwa turns to you and offers a weak smile, the usual shine in his eyes nowhere to be seen. “We’re happy for you.”

You try to contain your amusement. “You are?”

“We are,” Yunho nods, hastily wiping away his own tears to hold both of your hands in his (you can distinctly hear Wooyoung’s muffled scream of ‘WE’RE NOT!’ in the background). “We’ll always be here for you. We’ll always be your best friends.”

“That’s gonna be a problem, though,” you chide lightly, feeling the smile you’ve been trying to mask creep up to your face. “I want you to be more than just best friends.”

It took a couple seconds for the sulky boys to register what you said and when they did, you’d think they’d won the lottery or something (you’re pretty sure Jongho leaped three feet up in the air).

“But what about that Aphrodite kid?”

You turn to Hongjoong in confusion. “What Aphrodite kid?”

Everyone turns to accusingly look at a certain pink haired boy.

San gulps. “Yeonjun,” he mutters. It comes out sounding more like a question than a statement.

“...Yeonjun?” you burst into laughter, uncontrollable giggles escaping you from how ridiculous this is. “We’re just friends and he has a boyfriend. I was even talking about you guys all day to him!”

“Y—you were?” San stutters, already feeling the pointed glares burning on his back. “I—I thought you liked him…”

“I don’t,” you reassure them with a smile. “How could I when I’m in love with you guys?”

Mingi lets out a relieved scream, enveloping you in a tight hug to bury his face in your hair and inhale his favorite scent— the sweet smell of coconuts; you. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that. We’ve been in love with you too.”

You take a peek from Mingi’s embrace to see the other boys celebrating; Wooyoung’s already chugging down a freshly opened bottle of wine while the rest of the boys are simultaneously doing tiny hops in a group hug and letting out excited yelps. Your cheeks ache from grinning too hard at how cute your boys are.

“_____! We need to go to the infirmary, we prepared something for you!” Yunho excitedly pulls at your arm, just remembering the bouquet and teddy bear for you, separating you from the blonde giant who’s now sporting a pout at you leaving him.

You and Yunho both merrily skip your way to the infirmary with your hands intertwined and pink dusting your cheeks, unknowingly leaving a pink haired boy to meet his doom.

“Aha, who would’ve thought that she’s not actually in love with another guy?” San forced out a nervous chuckle, slowly backing up from his best friends and wishing he could disappear just about right now. “No hard feelings right? Everyone makes mistakes—”

“Shut up. Come here.”

Not too long after, a loud scream rings throughout the camp.

(“That sounds so much like San, don’t you think?” you worriedly ask the boy beside you who’s dwarfed behind the huge teddy bear he’s helping you carry to the Iris Cabin.

“Nah, that’s not San.” Yunho calmly shrugs, his smirk hidden behind the gigantic bear plushie as he thinks of his own revenge against the culprit for his whirlwind of emotions he went through earlier today.)

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INTERLOGUE

BEFORE THE EMERGENCY MEET UP IN THE INFIRMARY…

“Mingi.”

“Huh?” The blonde boy in question looks up to see San barging into his room, looking as if he ran a marathon to Aphrodite’s cabin (which is exactly what he did). “How did you even get inside?”

San ignores his question. “You have a new brother?”

“Oh, Yeonjun?” Mingi nonchalantly asks, missing the way San’s figure goes rigid at his name as he returns to applying black polish on his nails. “Yeah, he just got here yesterday. Cool guy. What’s up?”

“I think _____’s in love with him.”

“What?!”

744 notes · View notes

pullhisteeth · 8 months

Note

Hi! I saw your "Wise Words" fic and got so excited because it was inspired by one of my favorite songs by miss blondie herself 🤣 And I loved your writing so much I thought I could request for a fic if that's okay 🥹

So the "Vigilante Shit" performance in the Eras Tour has been stuck on my mind for AGES (and for good reason) and I was thinking...what if reader is a dancer and is besties with Eddie, and he sees her perform like THAT for the first time...I wonder how he would react and keep his shit together lmaooo

Can't wait to read whatever masterpiece you come up with! Ahhh thank you and ilysm ❤️

oh this one was lethal. checked my notifs at like 10pm and bam! I was off!!! and now it’s like 2am lol. I loved writing this - I took some creative liberties because I do not know a damn thing about dance but I hope it’s okay! thank you for the request (and your lovely kind words) ♡

contains fem!reader, dancer!reader, best friend!Eddie, best friends to lovers, bad knowledge of dance (it shows), fluff. 3k-ish

The heat beneath your cheeks can’t be kept at bay. You’re all flushed, palms clammy the way they used to get before recitals.

It has been years since stage fright could even try to get the better of you. Too many hours spent in front of crowds - whether they be three people small, parents and siblings crammed into your living room, or hundreds big, it doesn't matter to you anymore. You know this is all there is for you, moving across a stage like you own it.

Today is an exception. You’re standing - hiding - behind the curtain, nose inches from the deep blue velvet, right on cue but without your guts or your confidence. There’s a gaping hollowness there instead. You’re nervous.

It’s not like nerves have completely escaped you before now. On stage you’re stoic, but in life you’re… Less than self-assured. Especially when it comes to boys, or rather one boy in particular.

“Hey,” someone whispers to your left, “you’re up in five.”

Seconds. She means five seconds. Soon, the curtain will lift, and you’ll be released into the open arms of cheering onlookers, and you’ll have to try your hardest not to look for him among them.

You hear the familiar rattle of the rope mechanism somewhere distant, the lowering sandbag and the gear up high, and then the light descends at your feet. The fluorescence is blinding as the curtain lifts above your face, but this is easy. Comparatively, holding yourself together here, on this stage, is child’s play. Holding yourself together in front of him? Not so much.

“I thought you’d be happy!”

Eddie stands at the foot of your bed with his hands on his hips. You’re recoiling, knees up at your chin, at the headboard, whinging something cruel about this surprise he’s been keeping from you.

“I am, it’s just-”

“What are you hiding from me?” he asks, smiling, coy like he knows already.

He doesn’t. If it goes your way, he never will.

“Nothing!” you exclaim, too enthusiastically. “Nothing, I just…”

“Just what?” He’s getting impatient; he’s started pacing again.

“It’s nothing, Eds. I am happy. I promise.”

“Good,” he says, grinning. It’s a smile you love dearly, and if this is something that encourages it, so be it. “Nance is coming, too. We got four tickets, so Rob and Steve are gonna try and get the night off.”

Before you can protest he’s throwing himself onto your bed, chest-first, his arms winding around your calves and squeezing a shriek out of you.

“I’m so excited,” he tells you, muffled, face stuffed into the comforter by your feet. “How’ve we been friends all this time’n I’ve never seen you dance?”

“You have,” you respond, absentmindedly threading your fingers through his hair, nails gentle on his scalp. You feel him relax into your mattress and you smile.

“The club doesn’t count,” he says, turning onto his cheek to look up at you. “I don’t even know what kinda dancing it is.”

“You bought a ticket,” you giggle, “surely you saw the name?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little confused, “but what the fuck is chair dancing?”

Before Eddie even makes it inside the club, he knows he’s sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Nance,” he whispers, bending ever so slightly so he’s closer to her ear, “where the fuck are we?”

“Shut up,” she says, laughing her breezy laugh and lifting her shoulder to brush him off playfully.

He’s out of his depth, surrounded by a strange concoction of people - plenty of gaggles of young women, sashes reading bride to be or birthday girl, as well as innocuous older men, distinguished in their suits and pressed shirts, speaking to each other in hushed tones.

Where the fuck is he?

The line gets shorter, and inside the door, once they’re past the lacklustre bouncers, Nancy hands their tickets over and Robin takes her by the arm, giggling with her as they descend the stairs.

Eddie eyes the posters along the walls - comedy shows, open mics, oddly themed club nights - but doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

The four of them emerge into a dimly lit room, where small tables hold even smaller lamps and are surrounded by leather chairs. He feels a firm hand on his shoulder and turns to see Steve looking at Nancy and Robin.

“Okay, girls, find us a seat, me’n Eddie’ll get us drinks.”

Eddie follows him wordlessly through to the bar, where a cheerful - and very pretty - woman takes their order from Steve, who turns to him as she wanders off.

“Hey,” he murmurs, dipping closer, “what’s up with you?”

Eddie groans and holds his head in both hands, elbows on the bar. “I don’t know,” he says into his palms.

Steve’s hand is back on his shoulder, firm again, grounding. “She’s great, you know.”

Eddie twists to peek at him. “You’ve seen her before?”

“Only practising. I was over at their apartment and she was in the living room.”

Eddie groans again, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I feel… Nervous, for some reason.”

Beside him, Steve laughs, boisterous and accompanied by a squeeze at his shoulder.

“You should be,” he tells him, “she’s hot shit, Munson. Better be careful, or she’ll be gone before you can catch her.”

The music is your favourite part of dancing.

The dancing itself is fun, of course, but it’s nothing without the bass beneath your feet, the smooth curves of sound that seem to run straight through you like a livewire. You like all of it: jazz, rock, country, even metal, when Eddie’s playing it. But there’s something about that sultry kind of pop, the darkness and the sharpness, that turns you into some type of marionette, moving almost without thinking to the sound of gutsy women.

That’s doing yourself a disservice, of course; you’re a good dancer. You’re an excellent dancer. Eddie’s just never seen it before, and suddenly you’re quite sure you’re about to trip over your own feet.

The thrumming bassline distracts you for a flash, and you look over at the other dancers. You move seamlessly between one another, bare legs weaving and feet precise. Your hands lift in the air and run down your body, feeling the intricate beading of the handmade bodice gifted to you by the director. Every nerve is on fire, hyper-responsive and humming with energy. You flip your hair, bend at the hips, move your mouth in time with the lyrics.

Your hand curls around the cold metal of the chair at the front of the stage, and as you lift your leg, planting a heel firmly on the seat, you forget there’s anyone watching, let alone him.

Eddie’s knee stopped bouncing the moment that the curtain shifted.

He loves music, but while you’ve made him listen to his fair share of pop, he’s never heard anything like this. It’s darker than the other stuff. Sexier, even.

His mind empties as the bass kicks in and the curtain hits its peak. There’s a line of dancers, each one beautiful and sparkling under the spotlights, but once his eyes find you there may as well be no one else in the room.

He knows what it’s like to be on a stage - the lights are too bright, the act of performing too consuming; trying to spot someone in a crowd is almost futile. And yet, for the first time in his life, he feels that insatiable urge to be noticed. For you to look over, meet his eye, and shoot him a wink or smile at him the way you do when he picks you up from work.

The way you move up there is unlike anything he has ever seen before. He knows you’ve been dancing your whole life, and when you’re out with friends you still move effortlessly, often emboldened by liquid courage and a good song, but even his wildest dreams - of which there have been many - could not have prepared him for this.

Your body moves with its curves, swaying and bending in a way that seems so natural on you. There’s a confidence he’s rarely seen before, and it’s electrifying, lighting him up from the inside.

“Isn’t she amazing?!” Nancy whispers beside him.

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyes tied to you. Every move you make is slow, methodical, intentional. You lift your legs, tilt your hips, curl your arm upwards like you’re made of water, and Eddie is thirsty.

He feels the warmth of Steve’s chest pressing into his shoulder. “Dude,” he whispers in Eddie’s ear, “shut your mouth. Gonna catch flies or something.”

Three songs isn’t many, but holding your own body weight the way you have to takes its toll, and the oppressive warmth of the dressing rooms only make you sweatier. So you race through your post-show routine, saying quick goodbyes to your friends and hanging the bodice carefully on the hanger with your nametag. On quick but tired feet you race through the dimly lit corridors, thankful for the simplicity of your sneakers, in search of the fire escape and some fresh air.

You know he’ll be out here. Part of you longs to linger inside, wait it out until you think he might have left with the rest of them, but you know it’s no use. He’d wait for you all night if you made him, and you’re not in the business of making Eddie Munson wait.

With your bag slung over one shoulder, you push firmly on the bar across the fire door and emerge into the dark alley, the air crisp - just the way you like it. The smell of pot and cigarette smoke drifts and you hear the familiar hum of late-night conversation from around the corner, so you close the door softly and follow it.

As you round the front of the small building, you’re met by thick, strong arms around your middle, lifting you into the air with a force you couldn’t fight even before a full dance routine. You squeal, your feet kicking up behind you, finding the shoulders of your friendly attacker.

“Here she is!” Steve booms, his voice a little muffled by your stomach.

“Steve,” you pant, grinning too wide to make the v sound properly, “let me down.”

He gives you one last squeeze and relents, lowering you slowly until your feet hit solid ground. You’re still grinning and he is, too, beaming at you so wide you can hardly bear it.

“You did good, kid,” he tells you, foregoing his boisterous grip around your waist for a gentle squeeze to your bicep.

“Thanks,” you breathe, eyes drifting as Robin and Nancy weave between the two of you and descend, fawning over you, giggling like children.

“You were so good!”

“Why’d you never tell us you could do that?”

“And that suit, oh my god-”

“Y’know the redhead? Do you think you could maybe-”

“Robin, stop it-”

“What?! She was hot! I'm only asking.”

“Hey,” Nance suddenly hisses, smiling something cruel and cunning, “someone else wants to congratulate you.”

She looks quickly over her left shoulder and you follow her eye line, finding Eddie standing a few feet away with his back to the wall and a cigarette at his mouth.

“We’re gonna head over there,” she tells you, nodding at a bar across the street. “Come find us, yeah?”

They saunter away, looking smug as ever, arms looped as they cross the street. You watch them go until you feel the phantom of someone behind you. It comes with the distinct scent of smoke, and underneath it you catch the bright, fresh smell of his washing powder.

“Hi,” you whisper as you turn to him. He looms over you a little, his head blocking the streetlamp so he looks like a haloed angel.

“Hey,” he says and you’re taken aback, because there’s a waver there. Something like nerves, except this is Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t get nervous. You do enough of that for the both of you. “You, uh… You were really good.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling.

“I mean it,” he says, the words coming out all together like he might have stopped himself if he’d taken too long. “So good. I had no idea you… I didn’t know you could dance like that.”

“It makes me a bit nervous, I guess.”

“It shouldn’t,” he says without a beat. “You looked amazing.”

You smile at him, a little lost in this sea of nice words. Standing on the sidewalk outside a dingy dance club, under the gaze of your lovely best friend, what are you supposed to say?

“I saw you,” you tell him, voice quiet.

“Huh?”

“I was obviously concentrating, it was just a second, but you looked… Entertained.”

He looks down at his shoes, at where the toes of his boots meet your sneakers, and scratches the back of his neck. You dip your head down slightly to catch him forcing down a smile.

“It’s okay,” you laugh, “it’s kinda the point.”

“I know,” he says, laughing too, though it’s a nervous, unsure sound. “I know, I just…”

He can’t meet your eye. It’s worrying you, pulling your gut apart to make space for that black hole of panic. You stand back up straight and pull your bag up further onto your shoulder.

“I, uh, they went over there,” you tell him coldly. He looks up at you, still stooped a little like he’s being told off. “I’m gonna go meet them, um… You coming?”

You’re backing away on uncertain feet, suddenly acutely aware of the aches buried deep within your muscles and the burn of the soles of your feet.

“Wait,” he says, reaching out to wrap his fingers around your arms. You stop moving but look away, too filled with those wretched nerves to face him.

“Wait a second, I just…” He’s panting, stumbling, and you have no idea why. “I can’t… Fuck, sweets, I need to-”

“Eddie,” you snap, patience wearing thin.

He looks at you again, and you see it: the wavering of nerves in his eyes, though they’re hiding from you in the dark, dissipates into something deeper. Some miniscule movement of muscle in his face tells you everything, and yet you hang onto every word regardless.

“I lost my shit when you came out from behind that curtain,” he begins, a hand on each of your bent arms now, shifting lower to cradle your elbows. “I couldn’t… It was like my head went empty, except all that was bouncing around in there was this, like… Bouncy ball of regret.”

You can’t help but giggle. This fucking boy.

“I know, I know,” he says, smiling again, slowly stitching the rip in your anxious gut back together, “but it’s true, I can’t… I can’t believe I left it this long, and I can’t fucking believe it took me seeing you like that to get it together, I… I feel like a fucking teenager. But I just… I need you to know you looked so fucking hot up there.”

He’s as close as he can be without crashing into you. His hands are drifting and returning, like he’s restraining himself, but he has managed to walk you backwards so you’re sandwiched between his body and the wall.

“I-” you begin, though you’re the one with the empty head now and you have no intention of finishing your sentence.

“You can head over there,” he says, tilting his head just so towards the bar, “no questions asked. And I’ll go home and leave you alone for a while, if that’s what you want. I just…” He lets his left hand leave your arm finally, and you let out a weak breath. He hovers over your hip, not touching but definitely there.

You hear him, but you don’t move, aside from letting your arm straighten so your bag can drop to the floor. There are people hovering around, loitering after the show, but you couldn’t care less, because Eddie’s knee is knocking yours and his hand has finally landed on your hip and his mouth is so close to your ear you could die.

“Eddie,” you breathe.

“Yeah, sweets?”

Looking down at you like this, Eddie doesn’t know how he’s kept his composure all these years. He really did feel quite stupid for being moved to act by seeing you on stage like that, but now that he’s this close, so close he could kiss you, he’s not feeling too bothered anymore. You’re looking back at him with wide eyes and your mouth’s in a slight pout and, god, maybe he could kiss you after all.

You crane your neck and lift up on tiptoes until your nose bumps his. You feel him smile and you smile back, until his lips brush yours and you’re knocked silly.

This feels a lot like dancing. Less like the dancing you do now; more like the dancing you did when you were younger, the more traditional kind shared between two people. A duet of movement that, once perfected, feels completely natural.

You’re no traditionalist, but you’re happy to let Eddie lead this one.

When he finally gives in and bridges the gap you whimper, because his knee is settled between both of yours and his hands are spread wide across either side of your hips, and you feel just as warm as you had running through the corridors. There’s the same sense of relief, though, that you’d felt opening that door.

He doesn’t linger, pulling back after only a few seconds.

“Thanks,” you say. He laughs.

“What, for that?”

“No,” you respond, smiling again. It won’t go away; maybe you’re stuck with it. You think about your grandfather and how he told you that if the wind changed, you’d be stuck making that face forever. “For coming to see me.”

He leans back in and kisses you again, more playful this time, firm at first and then dotting them like bursting stars around your mouth.

“You’re amazing,” he says. “So amazing.”

“So you’ll come see me again?”

“Every night, if you’ll have me.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson requests #eddie munson request #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie fanfic #eddie imagine #eddie fic

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almostgenerallyalways · 1 year

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tgm fic recs

@stcverogers tagged one of my fics in a rec list yesterday and i thought it was such a good idea, i wanted to share some of my own favs

in no particular order:

* * *

hangman

one time thing // kiss the sun (fight the fire) // love that’s a real long shot He nods again like that’s exactly what he expected you to say. “I think you’re wrong. Doesn’t matter now though, does it?” i would rec anything by @callsignvalley but this is probably the series that got me most. i also love tailspin and its rooster follow up steady

california coast in your green eyes // i’ll carry my bags just until i can hold you again (2 different series) Bob’s older sister gets the news that his plane went down during a training drill, and shows up at the hospital at the same time as an arrogant pilot. // Six months after they break up, Jake shows up at Julie’s Family thanksgiving. A second chance holiday romance with fake dating, family drama, and fall festivities. @theharddeck these fics, esp carry my bags, feel so so real and human to me, i love julie and the characterisation of jake feels so on point i also love her series out of the clear, blue sky as well as kinda might, sorta like, love you a little bit + its follow ups

i’ve been holdin’ out so long (4 part series) You can’t stand Hangman, but your dreams lately say otherwise. He notices. @steadfastconviction i adore Bluegrass and her sass

do not engage (series) You hate Hangman. Really, you do... Or so you like to think, until it begins to seem like that distaste might not be as strong as you’d prefer to believe. @clints-lucky-arrow the entire f&f universe is great but Duchess especially is a badass

afterburn (series) It had been clear from the moment you got inside a cockpit that you were going to be something special. You certainly weren’t the youngest Naval Aviator to be invited to TOPGUN, but you had been the youngest to graduate at number one in more than thirty years. Which is all the more reason why it was so tragic that you would never, ever, be able to fly again. @top-hhun is a master of setting a scene

the off-season (series) It was supposed to just be one summer. But somehow you found yourself living in your grandparent’s Maine vacation house indefinitely. It was quiet when the summer tourists left, but tolerable. That was, until your brother’s friend from college needed a place to crash and he somehow wound up staying in your guest bedroom. Also indefinitely. @ereardon just started this series but i’m so into this world (au) already

fuck (the universe) (series) You’re a Kazansky–Tom “Iceman” Kazinsky’s youngest daughter–and you’ve taken after your father and become a Naval aviator. You finished at the top of your class at Top Gun and have worked diligently and fruitlessly to get to where you are now: North Island. You don the call-sign Wisteria not only because the beauty of the flower but because of its lethal qualities. i mention @roosterbruiser below bc i read landslide first but holy fuck indeed

* * *

rooster

landslide (series) It’s been almost three years since the accident that took half of her, and Faye “Clover” Ledger seems fine, really. She loves her old house, she has a perpetually expanding vinyl collection, she’s got a job she likes on base, and she is only a short drive from the beach. She’s grounded--literally. @roosterbruiser landslide is one of those fics i have to read in little bits because it’s just too good. beautiful writing that just transports me (and i love faye, she may be the most developed fanfic oc i’ve ever read - and I love her taste in music)

baby let’s play house // pt 2 you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas. @seasonsbloom i just really love this fic, it shows all the quietest best parts of bradley

first impressions at the induction day for the newest recruits of the Golden Warriors of VFA 87, rooster assumes you’re a civilian, instead of, you know, a member of his team? you see how far you can push it before he figures it out. @ohcaptains‘s pilot in this fic is the badass bitch i wish i could be. as well as fucking funny.

like i can (series) After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay. @sometimesanalice perfect blend of cute, funny and heartmelting

* * *

bob

he’s so pretty (when he goes down on me) // pt 2 things between you and Bob are strictly business: he’s your backseater, and that’s all there is. @seasonsbloom‘s writing is so good it made me want to try writing fic myself

* * *

hangman x rooster

we’re fools to make war In a Walmart at three am, between beef jerky and tortilla chips, with the lights flickering above them like it’s the fucking twilight zone, Bradley wants him more than he’s ever wanted anyone. or: it's a hundred degrees in texas. i can’t find a tumblr link for this but the writer is @baroness-elsa. this is 66k words and i read it in two days which probably says enough. holy shit.

* * *

there are many many more (this fandom is FULL of talented writers, damn) but this already took me an hour so that’ll be part 2 haha

#tgm fic recs #rooster x reader #hangman x reader #bob floyd x reader #hangman x rooster #favs

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aerequets · 2 years

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the perfect family

a/n: another one sitting, 1 AM fic! (its actually 1:30 right now but.)

again, no rereading, no beta, bla bla............ yall know the drill. enjoy!

WAIT WAIT first i want to say THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the love, its actually insane. i havent been able to reply to all your reviews but just know i reread them ALL multiple times and giggle and save them to look at later. i love all your reviews so much yall have no idea. im glad people enjoy my writing!!

okay now enjoy haha

Rating: T

read on ao3

Summary: Twilight had never been this tired in his whole life. He’s used to grueling missions. He’s used to getting a meager few hours of sleep per night. He’s used to being in a perpetual state of anxiety and stomach-achiness. But being Loid Forger is something else entirely. Being a family man, a parent, is no joke.

Or: Twilight has a dream about the "perfect" family.

Twilight had never been this tired in his whole life.

He’s used to grueling missions. He’s used to getting a meager few hours of sleep per night. He’s used to being in a perpetual state of anxiety and stomach-achiness.

But being Loid Forger is something else entirely. Being a family man, a parent, is no joke.

First off, Anya almost got another Tonitrus at school earlier that day. Fiona had relayed to him via his earpiece that Yor had left a message on his office phone that Henderson had called her about Anya using some colorful language. The teacher was willing to discuss before taking further action since Anya claimed he’d misheard. Yor was apologetic and said her break was over and she was needed at work, so would he please go see Anya if he had the time (Fiona didn’t relay it in as kind terms, but Loid could imagine). Loid, who was in the middle of a warehouse stakeout, had to shimmy out of the vents in his best approximation of a hurried worm while trying not to have a conniption above his targets’ heads.

When he finally got to the school, changed into ordinary work clothes and hyperventilation in check, he had to meet a sheepish Anya, who was busy trying to convince Henderson that she’d called Damian “sofa king stupid, like the evil villain Sofa King from Bondman (nonexistent), who is stupid”. She’d crafted a whole backstory for the villain and his love for all manners of seating furniture, which was what eventually sent him to his doom as he watched his favorite armchair get run over by a car. Somehow.

In other circumstances, Loid would be impressed at the intricate lie—and equally concerned that she was able to think of it—but at that moment he was busy trying not to shit his pants from the way his heart dropped into his ass. Where had she learned that language?! It was a huge concern that he couldn’t even address because he had to back her play and convince Henderson that, yes, Anya didn’t cuss, heavens no, where would she possibly have learned that? How inelegant!

Anya got off with a warning from the teacher to not call others stupid. Loid considered reprimanding her once they left the office, but thought it best to wait until she finished the school day and returned home to tell her she was grounded.

Anya inexplicably threw a tantrum right then. “I didn’t get a bolt,” she wailed. “Why should I be punished?!” He was torn between trying to explain that he hadn’t even punished her—yet—and that calling others ‘sofa king stupid’ was not acceptable in any capacity. In the end, Anya yelled that she hated him and ran off to join Becky, who had been watching from afar with a strangely large smile on her face.

So that went swimmingly.

He went back to resume his stakeout, but by that time everyone had left the warehouse and he had no new information to show for it. He ended up going home early, stomach aching this time in anticipation of Handler’s lethal disapproval. When Anya arrived home from school, all she did was send him a nasty glare (and stick her tongue out at him when she thought he wasn’t looking) before slamming the door to her room. To make matters worse, Yor had told him that morning that she’d be home late. It was embarrassing to admit, but he had no idea how to navigate Anya’s tantrums without her around. Usually he and Yor made a team wherein she calmed down and soothed Anya while he explained their perspective. He had a feeling that if he tried to soothe Anya she would call him a big liar. And maybe some other choice words, which he still didn’t know how she learned, if she was feeling extra mad.

When Yor returned, he was just about finished cooking supper. He was still at the stove when he heard the door open, so he called out a hello from the kitchen. When he didn’t hear a response, he turned off the heat and stepped out to see Yor, standing petrified by the door. There was a spider in the entryway.

“Oh,” he said. Yor could paralyze a cow, but she couldn’t stand bugs. “Hold on, I’ll get a glass—” But at that moment, the spider scuttled a little to the right, eliciting a shriek from Yor. Before Loid could even blink, her shoe was slamming down onto the bug.

And through the floorboards.

She stood with her foot through the floor for a few seconds, him watching with a slack jaw, before she gingerly lifted it out of the hole. The sheer force had caused cracks to spread out all the way to where he was standing.

“I—I—” Her mouth was opening and closing, hands fluttering helplessly. She looked mortified. “I’m so…sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, hardly hearing the words coming out of his own mouth. His eyes stayed fixated on the saucer-sized hole in the ground. A mallet would probably have done less damage. “Those floorboards needed replacing anyway.”

Maybe it was something in his voice, but Yor didn’t insist like she usually would. Instead, she quietly asked, “Where’s Anya?”

He sighed that time, knowing he failed to keep the tiredness out of it. “Her room. She’s angry with me.”

Yor dipped her head. She could probably approximate what had happened since Henderson had explained the situation to her first, which Loid was glad about because he didn’t feel like rehashing every disastrous detail from that meeting. “I’ll go talk to her.”

He should have been more relieved, but instead he felt like all the energy was sucked out of him once she left. He cast one last glance at the hole in the floor before heading to the living room to slump down on the couch.

Every normal family had bad days, he knew. But he couldn’t fool himself into thinking any of this was normal. His daughter had mysteriously obtained a foul mouth and repeatedly came close to demerits. Her teacher probably thought their whole family was one giant red flag. His wife could crush wood beneath her foot like dry leaves. Rarely did he ever think this operation was hopeless, but right now it was like a suffocating reminder weighing down on his shoulders. Everything was wrong.

Nothing about this mission was going how he thought it would. His family was nothing like the people that the Forgers were required to be on paper. He’d been unwillingly flying by the seat of his pants until now. It was exhausting. His luck had to run out sooner or later, and he’d gotten used to relying on it.

These were the last things Loid thought as he nodded off.

…

“Papa? Papa, wake up!” Small hands gently patted his cheek. He furrowed his brows before slowly opening his eyes with a low groan. He was met with the sight of large green eyes close to his face.

“Anya?” Had he fallen asleep? Concerning, but no matter—it looked like Yor had talked to Anya and managed to calm her down. He sat up and rubbed at his face before realizing three things.

One, he was not on the sofa. He was on a bed. What time was it? They hadn’t eaten supper yet—had Yor decided to just carry him into his room? An embarrassing thought, especially since that meant he’d somehow stayed asleep through the whole thing. How was he this lax when the day had been so disastrous?

Second, a quick examination of the room revealed that it wasn’t his room at all. It was Yor’s. Maybe she thought it would be inappropriate to enter his room without permission and had taken him to her own room instead. It was a reasonable explanation that he was ready to accept before he noticed his clothes strewn about a chair in the corner. On the nightstand next to her bed were his glasses and his meds.

…Why were his things in her room?

Before he could even start getting into that, though, there was the third thing, odd enough to put pause on the room dilemma for the moment.

Anya’s head was devoid of her usual hair ornaments, the same ones she never took off or let anyone—including him and Yor—touch. Her head looked strangely empty without them. He must have looked baffled, because Anya tilted her (smooth, cone-free) head.

“What’s wrong, Papa?”

“Um…” He blinked a couple times as if that would put the cones back on her head and the room to rights. It didn’t. “My room? Your hair…?”

Anya squinted, clearly confused. At that moment, the door creaked open and Yor stepped in, causing him to jump a little. She was wearing an apron and brandishing a spatula. “Anya? Is Papa not waking up?”

“His eyes opened, but I think he’s still sleeping,” she stated. Yor laughed.

“Alright, you go and start eating breakfast. I made omelette.” Loid’s eyes widened—Yor had made breakfast?!—but, to his neverending surprise, Anya excitedly whooped before running out of the room.

What on earth was going on?

“You must have had a busy day yesterday,” Yor said as she approached him. He subconsciously tensed as he watched her approach, heartbeat quickening. She was looking at him…differently. “You’re usually up before me.”

“Ah…I guess,” he said vaguely. He had to figure out what exactly was going on. “How does Anya feel about yesterday?”

“Yesterday?” Yor frowned. “What happened yesterday?”

“You don’t remember? The… the call?”

She placed a hand on his forehead. He froze—she never initiated contact first. Never so casually. She retracted her hand with a thoughtful hum. “No fever. I guess Anya was right, you really are still half asleep.”

His brain couldn’t make sense of what was happening. He was a man who operated on logic and reason, and nothing about the current situation made any sense. So, naturally, all that left his mouth was an unintelligent “Wuh?”

She giggled. “Oh, you’re so cute in the morning.”

What?

She leaned down and pecked him on the lips. “Come and eat before it gets cold.”

What?

Mercifully, she left at that moment, so she didn’t see him short-circuiting. Okay, calm down, he commanded himself through his racing heart and sweating hands. It was ridiculous, he never had such extreme physical reactions, but to be fair. What just happened?!

Calm down, he thought again, and this time his heartbeat eased slightly. He would do what always helped him calm down: go over the details and focus on what he knew. So here were the things he knew: it looked like he was in Yor’s room, which they may be sharing. Somehow, the events of the previous day hadn’t passed, as Anya wasn’t angry and Yor didn’t remember. Anya didn’t have those cones on her head. Yor could cook. Yor could kiss.

Was he in a coma?

No, that was ridiculous… but so was everything else. Nothing made sense. He mulled over it in bed before suddenly remembering—his mission log! He wrote everything that happened in that secret log. If, by chance, he had somehow been drugged and knocked out by an enemy organization and was currently experiencing hallucinations in a torture facility, his mission log might indicate some plans to go to said enemy organization and he would finally have an explanation.

He got out of bed and opened the closet. He was sharing it with Yor, half of her clothes hanging on one side and his on the other. Ignoring the way that unsettled him, he knelt down and rooted around in his sock drawer. He pulled out an argyle sock with a loose thread and reached inside, praying. His prayers were answered when his fingers met cool metal. The key was there. He got up and reached inside the closet for his briefcase next. After unlocking it with the key and entering the 26-digit code, he clicked the case open and sifted through various forms of ammunition and explosives before pulling out the log, located at the very bottom. Of course, the whole thing was written in 3 layers of code, but there was no such thing as being too careful.

He flipped to the previous day’s log, expecting to see the same writing he’d put down in the morning and maybe an extra paragraph if he was lucky, but he paused.

It was all different.

‘Today went well, like usual. Anya did well at school. Closeness with Damian questionable, but successfully transferred gift. Yor had work function. Attended and put up successful front of upper class couple. Five stellas left. Estimated time of Strix completion roughly three months from now.’

There were too many things in that short statement for him to consider. ‘Today went well like usual’? Since when was that usual?

And five Stellas left? That meant Anya had already obtained three Stella stars! It should have made him overjoyed, but he was just baffled. Had WISE finally snapped and pulled every string in the last night? He couldn’t see any other way for Anya to have somehow gotten two more stars than she’d had yesterday.

And the last thing—Strix to be completed three months from now? Last month, Handler had told him that they were hoping to complete the operation within four months. He’d been so bad at lying that he could achieve that timeframe that Handler had snapped at him. But here, his log indicated that he was on track with WISE’s expectations. That everything was going according to plan.

He sat on the floor and started from the beginning of the log. He was a fast reader and had photographic memory, but even he had to reread some parts several times in disbelief.

Anya was adopted from the same orphanage, but none of her eccentricities were listed down. In fact, all he’d written was that she was well-behaved and performed well in school. What about her speech? What about her eclectic facial expressions? What about her love for peanuts, or her hate for carrots, or her uncanny ability to recognize his thoughts, or how she drove him mad, or how she made him proud?

As for Yor, he’d met her at that same party, but had correctly introduced himself as her boyfriend. Afterwards, they had actually started dating, and Loid waited a period of three months (short, but surely more appropriate than three hours) before proposing to Yor at a fancy restaurant. Romantic enough, the log read, to fool both passerby and Yor.

That was why they shared a room, and why she’d kissed him. Here, wherever he was, he was not in a mutually beneficial arrangement with Yor. She thought they were actually married, possibly even loved him—which was what he had originally planned for when first trying to find a wife.

The bitter taste in his mouth at that realization was not lost on him.

Was it possible he was dreaming? He pinched his arm. If this was a dream, it wasn’t one he could force himself out of. At least for now, he had to deal with the unfamiliar family outside his door. It seemed, at least, that he was still a spy and that Strix was still going on, so perhaps he could go to Handler and try to get some facts straight. Dream or not, he was not about to stumble around not knowing what was going on around him.

He heard Yor’s footsteps outside the door. Another thing for him to note down in his mind: she didn’t have the unparalleled ability to catch him by surprise here. He quickly closed the briefcase and shoved it back in the closet as Yor poked her head in the room.

“Loid? Are you going to eat?”

“Sorry, I just knocked some shirts off their hangers and was putting them back up,” he said smoothly. He got up and brushed himself off. “I’m coming.”

She sent him another smile before leaving again. He swallowed. Did they usually kiss? She seemed to do it with ease. He suddenly froze and looked back at the bed.

Did they…?

But the Twilight in the log wasn’t him. That Twilight had fooled Yor. That Twilight was a better spy than him. That Twilight made him angry. If he took advantage of Yor…

But what was he thinking? It was what he’d done many times before. Why was it different now?

He was giving himself a headache with all the difficult questions, so he put them aside for the moment and went outside to eat. The omelette was perfect. Anya had impeccable table manners. Bond, he noticed, sat attentively at the door like a guard-dog instead of begging for scraps at the table like he usually did.

It was the perfect family for the mission. So why did he feel so unnerved?

“Ugh.” At Yor’s grunt, he turned to see her hand clenched over a jar of jelly. She was twisting with all her might, but the lid wouldn’t come loose. After a few seconds she gave up and sent him a sheepish smile. “Could you get this for me?”

“Oh… sure.” He twisted the jar open with ease. Yor could pulverize a jar like this between her pointer finger and thumb. This Yor gratefully took the opened jar from him with soft thanks.

Breakfast passed peacefully. Anya hadn’t overslept, so she had time to neatly finish her food and gather her things for school. He and Yor got ready for work in the same room. He stared at his feet the whole time. They walked Anya to the bus, where she cheerfully bid them goodbye.

“I’ll see you later at home then,” Yor said, turning to him once Anya’s bus had vanished into the distance. He could tell what was coming this time and prepared himself for her kiss. This one was longer, long enough for him to close his eyes and shudder when she pulled away.

She placed a hand on his cheek, a divot between her brows. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

He swallowed, mouth dry. Everything was perfect. His daughter was a pleasant, well-mannered child who performed in school. His wife kissed him good morning and goodbye. He was a spy executing his mission without a hitch.

Everything was wrong.

But the one thing that was the same was that he was a liar, so he leaned his face into her palm and placed his hand over hers. It was fascinating to see, the things he could do here that he’d only had fleeting thoughts of before. Her face flushed, but no more than a wife’s face would flush at an ordinary act of affection from her husband. “Yes,” he lied. “I would.”

…

Unfortunately, no details were revealed by WISE like he’d hoped. Instead, he was greeted with a pleased Handler when he entered her office. He thought she might be putting up an act to scare him later until she spoke.

“Good job with the third star,” she told him. “Let’s try getting her fourth one in the arts. It’s good to be well rounded.”

“The arts,” he repeated. He remembered her horrid cow drawing. Handler pulled out a folder from her desk.

“Yes. There’s an art contest coming up soon, isn’t there? She can enter any of these pieces for the first-to-third grade group. They’re quite good.”

He opened the folder and looked at the pictures of the artworks inside. Accurate, if not slightly lopsided, depictions of prominent figures. Landscape watercolors with good usage of color and perspective. A few sloppy but intelligently framed still-lifes of fruit.

He thought he preferred the horrid cow. All he said out loud, though, was “Understood.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

Usually his debriefings with Handler lasted much longer, because they had so many things to go over and attempt to fix or counteract. This was an ideal situation, one in which she was pleased and the meeting went smoothly.

It did nothing to ease the sense of crookedness that had pervaded him all day.

When he got home, Yor was already there. This Yor, it seemed like, didn’t have to work late shifts. She was humming in the kitchen as she prepared dinner. It smelled delicious, but he wasn’t sure if his stomach grumbled or churned.

“Oh! Welcome back.” When she kissed him this time, he was able to keep himself together enough to reciprocate the appropriate amount and smile at her when she pulled back. “I’m making potato soup.”

“Smells good,” he said. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Help?” She cocked her head. “Don’t worry about that, you just got back from work! You should relax. Anya will be back soon.”

He didn’t want to sit alone with his thoughts, not to mention that he was used to cooking supper and had actually come to enjoy it. But Yor might think something was off if he pushed. She might put her hand on his face again, look at him with that divot between her eyebrows. He probably wouldn’t be able to take that. So he picked his poison and sat in the living room where Bond was resting. Usually the hound liked to rest by Loid’s feet when he returned from work, but this Bond remained in the corner. It was a small detail, but one he noticed nonetheless.

About twenty minutes later, Anya entered the apartment. “I’m home!”

“Welcome home!” Yor came out of the kitchen to hug Anya. “How was school?”

“Good! I got an A on the science test!”

“Wow!”

“There’s also an art contest,” she added. “I want to enter!”

“Go for it, your artwork is amazing!”

Over dinner, which tasted as good as it smelled, everyone shared their days. Anya’s school tales were nothing out of the usual for a normal child. Yor’s work stories were perfectly normal for a civil worker. Loid shared select details from his own mundane psychiatry. Dinner was civil, and normal. It was all normal.

After dinner, Anya studied mathematics. This Anya didn’t beg to watch Spy Wars—he wasn’t sure if she watched at all. This Anya didn’t struggle with fractions. This Anya didn’t beg to stay up past her bedtime and ran to the bathroom when Yor told her it was time to wash up. When he tucked this Anya in and asked if she wanted her chimera plushie, she sent him an incredulous look.

“I don’t sleep with that anymore, Papa,” she said. A little belatedly, he realized that the penguin plushie he won for her was missing from her room, too.

Maybe the other Twilight never got that plushie for her at all. That thought made him feel as hollow as the circle of Anya’s arms.

He bid her goodnight and washed up for bed himself. When he returned to his room, he froze.

Yor was on their bed, reading a book. She was wearing a nightgown. It wasn’t particularly revealing or racy, but it was nothing a woman would wear in front of someone she wasn’t married to. At least, not in the real sense. She glanced up at him and shut the book. “Loid? What’s the matter?”

“I…” His mouth was parched as his fears from that morning came barrelling back into his head. What did the other Twilight do with this Yor? How? How did he lay with her at night without feeling like he was going to throw up at the very thought?

He could imagine an answer now, though. It was because that Twilight was the ideal spy, with the ideal family, completing his mission in the most ideal way possible. That Twilight never made any mistakes; that Twilight adopted the perfect child to complete Strix, properly romanced a woman, and treated her like his wife. In every sense. And because that Twilight was the perfect spy, he would lay with Yor, kiss her, and would definitely be able to toss her aside in three months.

“You’ve been off all day,” Yor said as she approached him. He froze, eyes locked on the wall. Her hands came on the side of his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “Really, Loid, what is it? You know you can tell me anything.”

I haven’t told you anything, he wanted to shout. I’ve been lying. He lied. I did.

At his silence, she leaned up and kissed him. The first three kisses from that day were short, if not sweet. This one was long. Languid. It was impossibly warm and felt impossibly good as she raked her fingers through his scalp. It pulled his heart to his throat when she pulled away just a breath, eyes lidded. “You’re stressed. Come to bed.”

It was when she leaned up again that he’d had enough. Gently, but firmly, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back, trying not to break under the hurt look she was giving him. Desire and disgust roiled through him in waves.

He could not. He would not. It didn’t matter what the other Twilight had done, or if this was a dream or hallucination. He wouldn’t do this with Yor, not when she didn’t know anything. Maybe it was just him losing his touch, or maybe he had a soft spot for Yor that he was still refusing to acknowledge, but she deserved better than a liar. Even if that might be to the detriment of the mission.

“I remembered I have some things to finish up for work,” he said. “Don’t worry about me and go to sleep. I’ll join you soon.” He quickly collected his things and left the room so he wouldn’t be able to see her expression. Outside, he spread his things out on the coffee table before lying down on the sofa.

Please be a dream. Please be a dream. He shifted and closed his eyes. He didn’t think he would doze off, but he must have been more tired than he thought, because soon everything went silent.

…

“Papa? Papa, wake up!” Small hands poked his stomach before a bigger weight landed on him. He let out an ‘oof’.

“Anya, don’t jump on him!”

Before his eyes were even fully open, the details of what had just transpired flashed through his mind. His heart skipped a beat as he blinked and looked to the side.

Large green eyes. And those black horns. Her horns!

Anya furrowed her brows and raised a hand to those hair ornaments as if she’d heard his thoughts. He could almost laugh. There was that uncanny reaction to his thoughts.

“Loid? Are you okay?” He looked up and had to remember to breathe. Yor was smiling at him, kind and gentle as ever. She also stood a pace away, making sure not to lean over him. It made for a strange mix of yearning and relief in his chest, but it was leagues better than her believing in a lie about their marriage.

He looked around. He was on the sofa in his day clothes. The scent of the supper he’d prepared hung in the air. In the entryway, a rug conspicuously covered the place where the hole would be. And Anya looked guilty.

“I’m fine,” he replied. He was even too relieved to do his usual mental spiel of how spies would never doze off in front of others. “I was just tired and fell asleep for a bit. Did you two talk?”

Yor sent Anya a meaningful look. She shuffled and pulled at the hem of her dress. “‘m sorry, Papa. I’m sorry I was so bad to Damian, and I lied, and I almost got a bolt, and I was mean to you…” She looked up and her eyes were already welling up, snot dripping from her nose. “I’m sorry I was so bad today!”

She rushed into his chest, bawling and getting snot all over his vest. He didn’t care. He smoothed a hand over her back and let himself smile. She was loud, messy, and erratic.

This was his daughter. Anya was perfect this way.

“As long as you understand why what you did wasn’t good,” he said to her. “I forgive you, Anya.”

After she calmed down a bit, he looked up at Yor. “Should we have supper?”

“Ah, yes.” As they got up, Anya holding onto Loid’s leg, Yor gestured to the rug by the entryway. An embarrassed flush was aglow on her face. “Um… also… do you remember that old toaster you were going to toss out?”

“The toaster?” Loid blinked. “Yes, why?”

“Well…since you were going to throw it away anyways, I thought…” She trailed off and decided to go over to the rug instead. She peeled it back to reveal a hunk of metal squished and flattened into the hole. “S-so it’s not a danger anymore. I swear I’ll fix it for real, but just for now—I hope you don’t mind, I—”

A laugh bursted out of Loid before he could stop it. Anya and Yor both looked up at him with the same curious expression that only seemed to swell his heart even more.

“It’s perfect, Yor.”

And it was. It was unconventional, jarring, and definitely strange, but it was stronger for it. And he rather liked the way it looked.

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bluestar22x · 2 months

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The Future

The Outcast - Epilogue: The Future

Summary: Just like winter, the end is just the beginning

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2,700 (ish)

Warnings: Mention of a baby goat (kid) having died, angst, pregnancy plot, non-graphic labor and birth, fluff, pov changes, quintessential happy ending

Author’s Note: This is a very self indulgent bonus part - you can read the first four parts and have a satisfying ending if this kind of ending isn't your thing. For those who do like this kind of ending guess what my favorite line(s) to write was.

Also, any names I used in this fic were themed and/or meaningful. And if one of my running themes of relating winter with life instead of death wasn't apparent, it should be now.

xxx

Death is far from a stranger on a functioning farm. Even though you usually sold your old, infertile goats to the nearest village's butcher instead of culling them yourself, that still left a whole slew of other ways for you to witness it. Illness, lethal injuries, stillbirths, and difficult deliveries that ended badly for the doe or her offspring or both had all occurred on your farm more than once.

You'd accepted it, and your need to hunt, a long time ago, because you loved the simplicity of this kind of life. You loved being mostly self reliant, knowing you could be fully self reliant if need be, and you loved the companionship of the animals you were dependent on.

Sometimes though, the deaths still hurt. Like when River, your first horse and Meadow's mother had died a few years after you'd moved onto the mountain, due to colic. She'd been in so much pain for so long you'd been forced to end her misery with a knife. The senseless guilt you'd felt after had lasted for weeks.

That was the most you'd ever cried over losing an animal, until one spring morning a year after Pero had decided to stay.

You tried to hide how upset you were by the latest death on the farm when you returned to the cottage to cook a morning meal for you both, but as soon as he followed you inside after an hour of chomping wood, you uncharacteristically started sobbing on sight of him.

Eyes filled with concern, your husband silently approached and gathered you up in his arms, kissing your temple as he did so. You took a deep breath and focused on his soothing warm, his reassuring broad hands that slid up and down your spine, trying to put yourself back together.

"What has you so upset, mi esposa?" he eventually asked, nuzzling the side of your face, his short beard scraping against it lightly.

You stepped away from him, leaned against the kitchen counter top on one hand, and looked back to him. "It's one of Sweets' kids, the one who was sick, I found her dead this morning."

"I'm sorry cariño," he said quietly, dark eyes serious. "I know how hard you tried to save her."

You shook your head and separated yourself from him to look at his face. "It's not that, I could handle that, it has happened several times before, but it's the way Sweets reacted when I removed the body from the paddock. She started beating and desperately searching for her, even though she had her other new kid alongside her, even though the body had been cold when I discovered it. Hearing those sounds from her broke my heart."

"It doesn't help I kept thinking -," you paused, eyes widening as you realized what you'd been about to say.

Pero frowned at the way you'd cut yourself off. "It doesn't help what?" he prompted gently.

You sucked in a deep, shaky breath. You figured you might as well not hide it from him. "It doesn't help I kept imagining what she was feeling. Putting myself in her place. I don't think I could handle it if I lost the baby that way."

"The baby," Pero repeated, lips parting in surprise. He reached out to you and tugged you back to him, his arm looped around your waist. "Mi amor, are you saying what I think you are?"

You nodded, fresh tears flooding your eyes, joy overcoming your trepidation. "I am. It's still early, I'm probably only two months or so along, but I'm certain."

You hadn't bled in that time, and had felt nauseous many times over the previous month, neither of which was normal for you. Your emotions had been all over the place lately too. You'd never been a super stoic character, but you were usually far from the emotional wreck you felt like that morning.

Pero beamed at you and the shock of it left you breathless. It was a rare sight, his smile, let alone one that obvious. He leaned forward and kissed your cheek softly, lovingly, showing more affection than you'd once thought him capable of. "Everything will be alright, cariño," he reassured you.

It was not something he could actually promise, no man could act as a god, but his words comforted you anyway.

"I'll need to find a midwife who would be willing to stay the winter with us," you told him nervously. "If I'm correct, the baby will be born in the final days of the year or the early ones of the next. The passage will be closed off by then. When my sister visits I'll ask her to help me search for one."

Pero caressed your cheek with a thumb. "I'm sure an older one without family to care for would agree to stay with us in exchange for coin and free room and board. If not, I will convince them."

You arched your eyebrows, understanding what he meant. "I appreciate the offer, but please don't threaten any of the village midwives, especially the elderly."

"I cannot make any promises, mi amor."

Winter had never come faster. Not because it actually arrived sooner, but because there was so much to do before then. In the late spring you and Pero planted your garden and a part of the field with enough crops to keep all the animals and yourselves through the winter.

In the early summer your sister and her husband visited with their four children, two girls and two boys, and for a week the tiny cottage was chaotic. The children were always running off doing something adventurous while your sister helped you milk the goats and Pero and your brother in law worked together to build an additional room to the cottage.

As summer neared its end and your belly rounded, you began to focus on smaller tasks. You still cooked and cleaned, you still took care of the horses and goats, and some of the weeding in the small garden behind the cottage, but Pero assisted you and he took on the tasks that were more dangerous by himself, like hunting. He did the extra work gladly, wanting to do everything he could for you, never feeling like he could do enough.

Harvest came around and your brother in law returned to help with the crops, the midwife your sister had found for you in tow. Her name was Franny, and she was strict about what you could and could not do, having you rest most of the day when she wasn't helping you knit baby clothes, but she was kind, reminding Pero of the one grandmother he knew for only a decade before she passed. It took him time to get used to another adult being in the cottage for so long, but he figured a newborn would be an even bigger adjustment, so he adjusted.

The first snowfall was almost a shock, the months having flown by in a blur, and Pero began to feel anxious. Even with Franny in the spare room, what would later become the baby's room, being closed off from the village for a whole season with you in your condition and eventually a newborn worried him. So many things could go wrong, you of all people knew that, but you would have never agreed to leave the farm. As far as you were concerned if Franny couldn't help you, nobody could, and he supposed you were probably right.

Your prediction about your due date turned out to be precise, your first pangs of labor beginning during an early afternoon at the start of the new year.

He'd found you in the barn, sitting on a square bale of hay with an arm curled around the huge swell at your abdomen, grimacing as you endured the first painful wave.

And then everything moved far too slow. He helped you into the cottage and watched as Franny got to work, prepping for the delivery, clueless about what he could do. Franny was no help there. Traditional as could be, she would've shooed him out of the cottage for the day, no matter the cold, if you hadn't insisted he stay.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to stay, as useless as he felt, as fearful as he felt, but he did it for you. He scraped his mind for ways to help all the while, assisting a dubious Franny in setting up the bed for you, gathering enough firewood to keep your home warm for a couple days, and caring for all the animals on his own as quickly as he could before returning to your side to let you squeeze his hand as your contractions continued to strengthen at an agonizingly slow pace.

It wasn't until morning the next day that Franny declared it was time for you to push. She had you sit up in bed and undress halfway with Pero's help before she prompted you to spread your legs and bend your knees. You pressed your back to Pero's chest after, using his body to support your own.

Through gritted teeth you bore down with several contractions, panting and breaking out in a sweat from your efforts. Pero kept his face close to yours, murmuring encouragement into your ear as you struggled. And when you reached back and grasped one of his a thighs tightly in an attempt to distract yourself, he let you, not caring whether or not it bruised under your fingertips if it helped you cope.

As the minutes passed, as you tired, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your legs trembling, he became concerned something might be wrong, but Franny remained calm, continuously urging you to keep going.

"A couple more," she promised you. "A couple more good solid pushes and it'll be over, sweetie. Don't give up now."

Pero saw it in your eyes, the moment you mentally and physically dug your heels in and began pushing with renewed determination, and he was awed, not sure how you'd come by the reserve.

Finally your laboring paid off and you slumped backwards into his arms, relief washing over your face as a sharp wail pierced the air.

He glanced from you to the small, wet infant flailing in Franny's arms, and his world shifted.

Outside, snow began to fall.

Ten years later...

"Why do I have to go?" the seven year old girl before you bemoaned. "Why can't I stay here?"

"You're not old enough to stay here by yourself, Stela," you explained. "Your brother wouldn't even be allowed to stay by himself and he's three years older than you."

"He's old," she stated and you couldn't help but chuckle.

"Maybe, but still not old enough."

Stela pouted at you then continued to put on her winter coat and boots, a long dramatic sigh slipping from her as she stood up from the kitchen chair she'd been sitting in. You thought she was far too young to be turning into a moody teenager, but guessed it was the part she'd inherited from her father breaking through.

You finished assisting her five year old sister, Lene, with her coat before leading them both outside into the frigid night. Lene immediately dove head first into the fresh snow layered on the ground gleefully, while her older sister folded her arms and stomped her way over to the front of the barn where Pero and her brother William were waiting for them.

Out of all of your children, William looked most like his father, his eye shape, chin, and nose all miniature copycats of Pero's. Stela had his eyes, but was more like you, physically, and Lene reminded you of your sister. However, they all shared Pero's dark hair and eyes.

"Ready to ride?" Pero quizzed Stela as she trudged right past him. He frowned when she showed no sign of hearing him and met your eyes. "What is she upset about this time?"

"She's angry about being outvoted," you replied. "Said she didn't want to see the stupid lights again and wanted to stay home. She's definitely your daughter."

Pero chuckled and pulled you against him at the hip with one hand as you both trailed your children into the barn to saddle up the horses.

Lene assisted her father with Orion, a four year old colt who was the youngest offspring of the since retired Clover and Thor, grandson to the deceased Meadow, and Pero's new mount. Like his sire, Orion was jet black in color, except for the small crystal shaped star marking that was usually hidden under his forelock. His surprisingly calm disposition was more like Clover though.

Your latest mount, a five year old solid bay mare named Aspen who was Orion's full sibling, was equally as quiet once she'd settled into adulthood, and you had her tacked in no time as Stela watched, still moping.

Last was Thunder, an eight year old bay gelding with a stripe shaped like a lightning bolt running down his face. The most well behaved and eldest offspring of Clover and Thor, Thunder had been assigned to William when he got old enough to start riding on his own.

He was still too tall for William to saddle him, so Pero flung it over the horse's back for him, but the young boy took care of the rest, a true horseman despite his youth.

Once you, Pero, and William led your horses outside the girls approached, Stela hesitantly letting Pero boost her up onto Orion, and Lene begging you to set her in Aspen's saddle. You and Pero climbed on your horses so you were behind them while William found a stump to help propel himself onto Thunder's back.

Someday the children would learn how to ride bareback, but it would not be that night, so you lived with it, though the wind was making you shiver and yearn for the shared body heat.

You led the way up the mountain as was tradition, your family making the trip at least once a winter, more if the children wanted to ride out that far in the dark.

Lene loved it. Loved everything, really. The girl had more positivity and enthusiasm than you and Pero could've ever had combined.

William enjoyed it as well, already into nature as much as you were, and just as quiet about it.

And Stela, well, she often spent most of the ride brooding and complaining about the cold. That night was no different.

Once you reached your destination, you, Pero, and William slowed your horses to a stop a few yards from the edge with your horses shoulder to shoulder so everyone had a great view of the lights.

While the children had grown older (far too quickly), and you and Pero had long since started to grey, the lights had remained the same, seemingly everlasting, tying the years of memories you'd shared together as they shimmered in the sky.

You looked to each of your children in turn and smiled at the delight on their faces, even Stela's, before you glanced to Pero, who was studying your face. You hoped he would never tire of it, cause you certainly wouldn't tire of looking at him, especially when he was holding your middle child by the hip to steady her, to make sure she wouldn't fall off Orion. He was always watching out for his children like that and whenever you witnessed it first hand your heart always threatened to combust.

Fate was not something you'd believed in when you were young, but the older you got, the more you weren't so convinced there wasn't something bigger out there at least nudging you towards the future you were supposed to live out. How else could you have been so lucky to find Pero in time? How else could he have been so lucky to have been chased up your mountain instead of any of the others in the chain that were uninhabited?

One change in events and you'd have never met, or he'd have never turned back come spring. And then you would've never married, and your children would've never been born. You would have spent the rest of your life in tranquility, happy, sure, but never quite fulfilled.

Whether or not fate was real, you were grateful.

You stretched your hand out towards Pero's and he automatically intertwined his fingers with yours, having long lost a hesitancy he'd had towards sharing that kind of intimacy with you.

"Let's head back home," you said simply, and he nodded, turning Orion away from you, for once choosing to take lead.

Guiding you into your future, like you had guided him home.

xxx

Tagged: @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

#Pero Tovar #The Great Wall #Pero Fanfic (Mine)#The Great Wall Fanfic #X Reader #The Outcast Series

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theminecraftbee · 9 months

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Hbhpplblblpb SPEAKING OF when three fought martyn!!! This is less a question and more a gush of praise but!!! Chapter 13!!!! The way we could follow what was happening when three only saw enemies was!!! So good!!! Pearl always the one with the bow and three counting her as incapacitated and so good enough but all the watchers needed full killing asap and three taking Martyn down NON LETHALLY in the way Martyn SAID IT WOULD NEED TO and it being the SAME EXACT MOVE because three counting it as knowledge it would need for future missions actually WORKED and ahhhhhhhh as a lover of winter soldier fics chapter 13 has a special place in my heart and you wrote it SO COOL AND SO WELL and if you have anything you'd like to share about it and its creation id love to hear it but mostly I am just a kid at storytime who always asks if we can read chapter 13 again today because I just LOVE IT

i mean my main thoughts on how i did chapter 13 are like. okay plot-wise i knew what i wanted to have happen there - three faces the watchers, the watchers re-activate three as a weapon, due to circumstances three manages to fight back enough that it informs martyn and jimmy they need to take off its mask, the mask is removed, three is revealed to have once been grian, three shuts down.

however, WRITING-wise, that chapter was just... hard?

it was difficult to make the action easy to follow in the section where three is in weapon mode because three couldn't use any names, which makes it harder to make clear what's happening. additionally, three is like, canonically a weapon of mass destruction, so the stakes could never in any way be "three is at threat of being defeated in the fight", i needed to make clear the stakes were "three loses itself or doesn't get stopped before killing someone". and this was while balancing that i wanted this to be in contrast to even when three was first woken up by martyn - when that happened, note that three ALREADY had a distinct personality! three left to its own devices, even at the start of the story, isn't the nameless "the weapon", it's its own person with its own realized inner world, for all it doesn't know how to express that! but in this specific moment, all of that was overridden, and i needed the prose to express that crystal clearly.

so basically. uh. what happened is i re-wrote things a lot. and counted up how many people three had fought like four times. and ESPECIALLY the first few paragraphs of the fight sections i had to try more than once to get into a tone i wanted. and i think it turned out the way i wanted it to! i'm glad it did! but oh boy that one wasn't that easy to write,

#answered #solving counting sheep talk #solving counting sheep spoilers

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swordsmans · 2 months

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Writing Patterns Tag Game

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there’s a pattern!

Tagged by: @acewithapaintbrush and @lesbiansanemi !!! thanks guys!! :D <3

1. poly philtatos (the most loved by far): Zoro's been on the island for three days when he finally feels their approach tickling against his senses.

2. ocean theology: uhhhhhh uhhhh i won't post this one because the opening sentence is three paragraphs long. intentionally. but admittedly that also says a lot about me and it still technically follows my rule!!!!!

3. feed your plants a little sunlight: Two hours in the afternoon sun, cool ocean spray at his back—dozing to Sunny’s rhythm.

4. alleluia: In the wake of it all, of Wano, they watch—and they wait.

5. bury your albatross in a shallow grave: He’s halfway through swinging himself on deck when he hears Nami wail, “Luffy—Luffy, you need to—Luffy, get back here—Zoro—Zoro, stop—grab him! What are you—Zoro!” just as Luffy zips past him, splattering mud and blood and who-know-what-else across Sunny’s grass.

6. how to talk without speaking: It only takes a day or two for Zoro to notice—which he’s almost proud of, really, given his own observational track record.

7. the sea makes bones of bodies: “ACE!” he screams, raw and bloody and broken—drawn out in a cry that reaches across the roiling waves like claws.

8. bone-breaker ospreys mate for life: It starts when Luffy swings his arm, winding back slow in a way he rarely does, feeling out the motion of a new punch (or the same punch practiced a thousand times to lethal perfection) right in the middle of Sunny’s deck.

9. wood is a living creature: They keep her—history’s forgotten hero, the first great ship of the second Pirate King.

10. step 1: die: He knows, logically, that the journal makes some kind of sound when it hits the galley wall.

Conclusion: my openers always include the story's setting + movement... or at least something that orients the reader with mention of either time or place and an action. imo the best way to grab a reader's attention is to give them a mental picture as soon as possible. even if there are other details to figure out, theyve at least got a partial visual or something to latch onto by the end of the first sentence, even if its just a single word. shrug. i just usually like to put place before character in my intro sections. #6 is an exception because it's technically the not the opener, it's meant to be read after the fic summary (so the "true" opener is In the beginning, Luffy does not know how to read. which functions as the setting hook, smth you could literally only do on ao3), and #9 is particularly fun because the character and the setting are the same thing. do i think about the technical aspects of my fanfic too much? probably.

Tagging: @thychesters, @starshipcaptainjojo, @majormiles, @ghostlandtoo, and @sciencemyfiction >;3c

#answers #gyro.txt

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braxiatel · 1 year

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Tagging on AO3 - A how-to guide for new writers with a MCYT spin!

Intro

Recently, I have seen a lot of improperly tagged fics on AO3. I think it is a shame to see people posting their first fics putting so much good effort into tagging them while not knowing how to make the most of their tags. Thus I decided to write a how-to guide focusing on each of the fields on the ‘Post Work’ page on AO3, detailing what you might want to include in each of them and how certain things will likely be interpreted by your potential readers.

Disclaimer: all fandoms have slightly different tagging conventions. That means everyone, based on their own history of fandoms, will have slightly different ideas of what “proper” tagging is. I do not pretend to be an unbiased source of information, however, I have been reading and publishing fic on AO3 for the past decade, and I think I have a pretty firm grasp of tagging at this point, at least enough to help people who have no idea how to approach it get started.

Rating

[ID: A scroll down menu titled ‘ratings’ with the options ‘not rated’, ‘general audiences’, ‘teen and up audiences’, ‘mature’, and ‘explicit’. The title is marked with an asterisk to indicate this is a mandatory field.]

Rating tells readers what age groups you, the writer, consider your work to be appropriate for. It leans on cinema conventions (US American ones, specifically).

Culturally what is and is not considered appropriate for certain age groups can differ, which makes rating difficult. My best advice is to do your best and be kind when informing others you believe they’ve missed the mark. By using AO3 we are all agreeing to the risk that an author did not have the skills or the perspective to tag appropriately; Tags don’t get vetted by a panel, so risking inaccurately or inaddequately tagged fic is part of the deal. That said, here are my thoughts on how best to approach rating your fic:

I wish I could give you clear-cut lines on rating, but the truth of the matter is there are overlaps and grey areas between each category. Use your best judgement, and remember that if in doubt about rating always go for the higher of the two or the Not Rated category. Historically rating has been heavily based around depictions of sexuality and violence, so those are what I will mainly be discussing in these descriptions of the different ratings.

General audiences means everyone, children and adults alike. In general, think of what level of violence and romance you expect to see in cartoons – fics rated General Audiences can contain subtle romance, non-lethal violence, and injuries discussed but not depicted. If you think your fic might be rated for general audiences I recommend asking yourself ‘would I read this story to a 7-year-old?’ If you can think of something that may not be appropriate for that 7-year-old to read, bump up the rating.

Teen and up means 13+. As with above, imagine giving the fic to a 13-year-old. Would it be appropriate for them, or does it depict things they may not be old enough to understand yet? Works rated Teen and up can contain depictions of dating, romance, kissing, and hints towards sexual activity (think of your typical ‘they retired to the bedroom followed by a fade to black’ scene). In terms of violence things rated teen can contain fight scenes and injuries depicted with some detail (think blood stained clothes or mentions of broken limbs, but no gore or detailed descriptions). You may also expect to see consumption of alcohol (but not alcoholism or drug use) or fics focusing on ‘darker’ themes such as character death or major illness.

Mature means 18+, however I think it is worth mentioning as over the years I have seen people saying they are understanding Mature to mean anything as young as 16+. Officially AO3 lists Mature as adults only, but be aware that you will likely have people in their late teens beleiving they are part of your target audience as well. I think we all know kids can and will lie about their ages and that it is impossible to avoid them reading material not meant for them entirely, but given how typical this misconception seems to be I recommend caution with this one rating in particular. Typically you will find non-explicit sex scenes, non-graphic violence, and in general themes that require a certain level of critical thinking and mental robustness to parse in fics rated Mature. For a sex scene this may mean describing what sexual acts are being performed in what positions, without getting into details about the appearence of genitals or how specifically the acts are being performed. For violence this can mean talking about specifics of a fight and what injuries a character has sustained, talks of blood, shallow burns, loss of limbs, or how your characters plan to stich up their injuries in the field, but not detailed descriptions of injuries. You may see depictions of ‘dark’ themes such as addiction, terrorism, abuse, etc.

Explicit is also 18+. Here you will find graphic sex scenes and gore, and ‘dark’ themes pervading the work in such a way that it cannot easily be skipped. I think intent matters a great deal in determining the difference between Mature and Explicit. If you want to shock your readers with the gory kill your serial killer character just committed, if your sex scene is intended as pornographic and/or is highly descriptive, or your character is going through excruciating mental torture, that would be Explicit. The more detail you add, the closer you get to an Explicit rating. If in doubt ask a friend or beta reader, ideally one with more experience rating fics than you.

Not rated is the default rating and could mean anything between the other four ratings. There are a number of reasons you as an author might want to use this – perhaps you are uncertain how to rate your fic, or perhaps you do not want to spoil the content at all. The important thing to note is that when it comes to filtering by rating all fics in the Not Rated tag will get filtered alongside fics rated Explicit. That does not mean that the fic is necessarily Explicit, just that it could be and you must assume only readers who are old enough to read something that could potentially be Explicit will access it.

Archive warnings

[ID: A list of potential archive warnings. The warnings are ‘choose not to use archive warnings’, ‘graphic depictions of violence’, ‘major character death’, ‘no archive warnings apply’, ‘rape/non-con’, and ‘underage’. The title ‘archive warnings’ is marked with an asterisk to indicate this is a mandatory field.]

I think some of these are self-explanatory - graphic depictions of violence and major character death - whereas others do require a little more explaning.

Rape/non-con. I am singling this one out simply to explain what non-con actually means. It is an older fandom term and is short for non-consensual, i.e. an explicit lack of consent. It is simply an older fandom-specific term that is synonymouswtih rape.

Underage. Underage refers to fic in which one or more characters who have not yet turned 18 are described as having been in or depicted in sexual situations. Please note that it does not exclusively refer to fic in which one character is a minor and one is an adult – a fic depicting two characters who are both minors in a sexual situation should also be tagged as underage. According to AO3 guidelines fics that vaguely imply sexual acts involving one or more underage characters do not need to be tagged in the Underage category.

No major archive warnings apply. None of the listed warnings are true for this work.

Choose not to use archive warnings. One or more of the warnings could be true for the work, but the author is activelly choosing not to tag it. You may want to choose this one if you are unsure if a situation counts as graphic violence, if the character being killed off is a major character, if the character is actually underage, or if it is indeed non-con. It can also be used when you do not want to spoil the content of your fic for your readers.

Fandom

[ID: free text input bar titled ‘fandoms’. Underneath it says ‘if this is the first work for a fandom it may not show up in the fandoms page for a day or two’. The title is marked with an asterisk to indicate this is a mandatory field.]

This is where you tell your readers what fandom or fandoms your fanfiction is based on. You can enter multiple fandoms if your work is a crossover.

All free-form tags, including fandom tags, can be written in non-Latin characters. However, the fandom will be archived according to a Romanised transliteration.

If you are looking to tag a fandom that is not already on the archive simply type its full name into the fandom field, making sure you have spelled it correctly, and it will be added to the archive by a volunteer as soon as possible.

A note on MCYT fic specifically: given the nature of the medium it can be hard to determine where to draw the lines between which SMPs your work does and does not belong to. However, tagging every SMP a character will likely be seen as spam.

Ask yourself what canon or canons the work is leaning into. Does your Hermitcraft fic feature DSMP lore crucial to understanding the world-building or appearances by DSMP characters, or is there just a couple of throwaway lines that are only there as fun references for people who are also DSMP fans? Does a character in your Empires fic reference events from the Life series as part of a character’s backstory, or is it about one of the Empires characters ending up stuck in one of the Life games?

It is about scale and amount, and tagging every SMP a character has been in has the chance to disappoint readers looking for depictions of a character as shown in a particular SMP and will make them less likely to read your work in the future.

Categories

Categories refers exclusively to what types of relationships are depicted in your work.

If one relationship is the main focus of the fic this is the one you should tag for in the categories section. If multiple relationships share focus you should tag all of them.

The archive offers the following options for tagging categories:

[ID: A list of potential categories. They are ‘F/F’, ‘F/M’, Gen, ‘M/M’, ‘Multi’, and ‘Other’.]

F/F, F/M, and M/M. F is short for female, M is short for male. Thus, F/F is a relationship between women, F/M is a relationship between men and women, and M/M is a relationship between men. These tags include binary trans people or non-binary trans people who are depicted as aligned with one of the binary genders. Anyone who has told you that you have to misgender trans characters was either misinformed or lying.

Multi. Multi can refer to either multiple romantic/sexual pairings being the focus of the stories OR romantic/sexual relationships between 3+ characters. Both are valid interpretations of this tag, as it has different historical use in different fandoms.

Other. Other refers to a number of things including: romantic/sexual relationships where one or more characters are not male or female or aligned with either of these, relationships that do not fit into the traditional romantic/sexual - platonic binary, relationships involving 3+ characters, romantic/sexual relationships where one or more parties involved are too far removed from human standards of gender to be categorised this way, or anything else you do not believe fits in any of the other categories.

Gen. Gen is short for ‘general’ and refers exclusively to fanfictions that do not focus on romantic/sexual relationships, regardless of rating. A fic rated for general audiences that focuses on romance should not be tagged as Gen.

A fic can fit into several categories (e.g. a fic focusing on two romantic relationships, one between a man and a woman and one between two men, should be tagged as F/M, M/M, and multi).

Different fandoms have different standards for polyships - some prefer to tag ‘multi’, some ‘other’, some ‘multi’ and ‘other, and others ‘multi’ and/or ‘other’ and whatever F/F - F/M - M/M tag comes closest. It is up to the individual author to decide what is most appropriate for that particular ship/more common in their fandom. Personally, I would tag my M/M/M polyship as M/M, Multi, and Other.

Relationships

[ID: free text input bar titled ‘relationships’.]

Relationships in this instance refers to all kinds of relationships, not just romantic/sexual ones.

Romantic and sexual relationships should be tagged with a / between names, e.g. ‘[person A]/[person B]’, and platonic (familial, collegial, friendship, etc.) relationships should be tagged with a ‘&’ between names, e.g. ‘[Person A]&[Person B]’. This is an important distinction as AO3 separates the two into two different tags. You should tag what is the end goal for your fic - thus a friends to lovers fic should only be tagged with the ‘/’ version of a tag and not the ‘&’ version.

For relationships that do not fit into a neat romantic/sexual or platonic binary conventions differ from fandom to fandom. Personally, I prefer to tag both and specify in the ‘additional tags’ field that the relationship is ambiguous, queerplatonic, etc. Relationships that are written as either platonic or romantic but could theoretically be read as romantic/platonic as they do not outright state that the characters

aren’t/are

in a realtionship should only be tagged as either ‘/’ or ‘&’, whichever is appropriate.

All free-form tags, including relationship tags, can be written in non-Latin characters. However, the fandom will be archived according to a Romanised transliteration.

A note on the order of character names in relationship tags on fic containing sex scenes: historically certain fandoms have taken the order of the 2+ names of a ship to denote which character would top and which would bottom in sex scenes, with the top being written first and the bottom second. This is not widely used anymore, but be aware that some readers may interpret your tag this way.

For the most part the only tags you should be writing in this field are the relationships depicted in the fic, but there are a few common exceptions I have seen in multiple fandoms

‘No romantic relationship(s)’. No romantic relationships are depicted in this fic. It is theoritically made redundant by the existence of the Gen category, but to be honest I think enough people mistag non-Gen fic as Gen that this tag can potentially still be useful for readers trying to find fics that do not depict romance.

‘Minor or background relationship(s)’. This tag can be used to separate the tag(s) of the relationship(s) that are the focus of the fic and those that are not. e.g. ‘[Person A/Person B/Person C/Person D], Minor or background relationship(s), [Person B/Person E], [Person F & Person G].’

You may also see people list relationships as ‘background [person A]/[person B]’ or ‘[person A]/[person B]/[person C] (minor)’ or similar to denote the same. Personally, I prefer not to use this method as it can potentially create additional work for AO3’s volunteers.

A note on tagging background relationships and background characters: Some writers prefer not to tag them to avoid cluttering tags of characters or relationships that only make minor appearences. Personally, I strongly believe that relationship tags and character tags are content warnings of equal importance to anything you might find in the ‘additional tags’ section, and if a character or relationship has any bearing on the story whatsoever they should be tagged.

A note on MCYT fic specifically: Please see note in the ‘Characters’ section explaining synonymous tags to learn why you do not need to use the content creator’s names in order for your fic to show up in searches.

Characters

[ID: free text input bar titled ‘characters’.]

This is where you list the characters depicted in your story.

For the most part, the only tags you should be writing in this field are the characters in the fic, but there are a few common exceptions I have seen in multiple fandoms

‘No characters’. Used when no characters are depicted in the fic.

‘Minor character(s)’. This tag can be added between the tags for the main character(s) of the fic and any other characters depicted.

Some people may also write this is ‘background [person A]’ or ‘[person A] (minor)’ or similar. Personally, I prefer not to use this method as it can potentially create additional work for AO3’s volunteers.

All free-form tags, including character tags, can be written in non-Latin characters. However, the fandom will be archived according to a Romanised transliteration.

A note on MCYT fic specifically:

A common complaint I see is “I wish AO3 didn’t make us use the content creators’ names when talking about the characters”. I feel you, I don’t like to mention them either, but I have good news: you don’t have to!

AO3 is coded in such a way that one tag can have multiple names, and while we can’t avoid the ‘official’ name of the tag showing up in searches, you can use one of its alternate names on your own fic.

I will walk you through how to do this in such a way that your fic will still show up in the relationship and/or character tag when people search for it. I have picked an example tag to show this.

First, you want to find the tag you are planning on using and click on it.

[ID: A list of AO3 tags. A cursor is hovering over the tag ‘Oliver Brotherhood/Charles | Grian/Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar’].

It will take you to a page that looks like this.

[ID: The AO3 page for the tag ‘Oliver Brotherhood/Charles | Grian/Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar’].

At this point you want to find where it says ‘[# of works] Works in [Tag you want to use]’ at the top of the page and click on that.

[ID: The AO3 page for the tag ‘Oliver Brotherhood/Charles | Grian/Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar’. A cursor is hovering over the large font size name of the ship at the very top of the page.]

Which will take you to a page that lists all of the details about that ship, including what type of tag it is, what tags it is linked to in other tag categories, and lastly what other tags are registered as having the same meaning as this tag. It looks like this:

[ID: The details page for the tag ‘Oliver Brotherhood/Charles | Grian/Ryan | GoodTimesWithScar’. It lists its parent tags as the character and fandom tags it belongs to, as well as all of the possible synonyms for that relationship. Some examples include ‘MumboJumbo/Grian/GoodTimesWithScar’, ‘mumbo/scar/grian’, and ‘pre-Mumscarian’.]

If you manually input any of the tags listed in the ‘tags with the same meaning’ section your fic will automatically show up in searches for that ship.

Alternatively, you can manually input a tag that is not listed. This tag will not show up in searches until a volunteer has had the time to categorise your inputted tag as synonymous with the tag containing the name(s) of the content creator(s). If you do this for a relationship, try to avoid portmanteau ship names, duo names, and other ship nicknames, as the person categorising tags might not have the same familiarity with the source material or the culture of the fandom as you do. Instead write it following the ‘[person A]/[person B]’ format.

Additional Tags

[ID: free text input bar titled ‘Additional Tags’.]

Finally we have additional tags.

This is a catch-all category for any tags that do not fit into any of the other categories. The tags you find here will usually fit into one or more of the following categories:

Genre. Some examples include conventional genres such as romance, fantasy, and meta critique, but also fanfiction specific genres such as fix-it, fluff, and angst.

Tropes/Themes. Some examples include lovers-to-enemies, alternate universes, alpha/beta/omega, polyamory, canon-divergence, and found family.

Format. Some examples include ficlet, multi-chapter, drabble, POV second person, and unreliable narrator.

Common triggers. If there is anything in your fic you want to warn your readers about that is not included in the archive warnings, this is where you do it. Some examples include dub-con (dubious consent), loss of limbs, eating disorders, alcoholism, and references to past abuse.

Bear in mind that anything can be a trigger, even everyday situations or things typically commonly associated with positive emotions. It is impossible to tag every trigger, however, we can try our best to tag common ones.

Comments or additions to tags from other categories. Some examples include mentioning that a ship is written as queerplatonic, that a character is depicted as having ADHD, and that a particular character is bottoming in your sex scene(s).

This is not a comprehensive list, but should encompass most of the tags you would be looking to use in the Additional Tags category.

Try to keep your trigger warnings together as much as possible, as readers might otherwise miss tags listed separate from the rest of the triggers. If you are unsure how to do this for multi-chapter fic, consider adding the ‘tags may change’ or the ‘other additional tags to be added’ tags to your fic, and then continue to add tags as you publish new chapters. This will tell your readers to re-familiarise themselves with the tags on your fic with each new update.

One tag you may see used often is ‘dead dove - do not eat’. This tag does not necessarily imply dark themes, it is simply a convenient shorthand for ‘I have told you what to expect from this fanfiction. If you choose to read it and dislike what you find you cannot claim that you were not warned’.

A very common mistake I see is people using AO3 tags like they are tumblr tags. It isn’t bad per se, but it does make filtering harder. Volunteers called tag wranglers routinely go through uncategorised freeform fandom, character, relationship, and additional tags to sort them into the proper categories. While I cannot tell you what to do, I would urge you to bear in mind that AO3 is an organisation run entirely on voluntary work, and it is very easy for you to make their lives easier. Some examples of how to do this include using the ‘ambigious relationship’ tag instead of some variation of ‘could be read ad /p or /r’, trying to avoid typos in your tags, or keeping your notes on why you wrote this particular fic in the author’s notes.

The one exception to this, as far as I have seen, is to add additional information to the tags you include. An example would be using the established tag for a potential trigger and then adding how it appears in another tag. This way people looking to filter that trigger can still filter it, and people who are hesitant about it can read what you have to say about it. I have included a few examples of this from real life fics I found browsing AO3 just now.

[ID: The Watchers - Freeform, they’re not like the Watchers from Evo though]

Establishes that a particular faction of characters are depicted, but divorced from the original source material.

[ID: Audio series 04: Gallifrey o4 (Gallifrey), set between reborn and disassembled]

Establishes that the fic takes place during the fourth season of the source material, then specifies exactly which episodes it is set between.

[ID: Genocide, and general wartime atrocities]

Establishes a common trigger is present, and that you can also expect depictions of similar themes that might not be as easy to define.

[ID: no major character death, but death all the same]

Establishes that while the archive warning for major character death has not been used, death is still depicted in this fic.

[ID: POV first person, might switch it up though]

Establishes what type of narrator to expect, as well as the fact that this may change over the course of the multi-chapter fic.

One final note

My #1 advice for anyone, regardless of what category they may be tagging in, is this: Always bear in mind that you are tagging both for the people looking for a fanfiction like yours and for the people looking to avoid a fanfiction like yours. It is a description to attract readers only as much as it is a warning for readers looking to avoid certain tropes/themes/characters/etc.

I hope this helped. Happy writing! <3

#mcyt #fanfiction #writing #writeblr #AO3 #archive of my own #I've done my best here. If you think I missed something important or disagree with something I would be happy to discuss it #but please remember I'm just one person who is not infalliable #just trying my best to help people #I do not want to spread misinformation and have fact-checked what I could #but when it comes to social rules like these there's only so much fact checking you can do #also a big thanks to all of my friends who read through this to look for inaccuracies #love you guys <3 #have also tried very hard not to let my own opinions seep through #cause trust me there are common tags that make my blood boil #well... one in particular #but that wouldn't teach anyone anything useful #other than how to annoy me I guess akdjhaksj

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anniebibananie · 2 years

Note

I am absolutely racoon feral for the way you write Steve and Eddie, (and the kids) in your story's.

Do you have any fun head cannons or thought in general about them? You portray their voices so well!!!! And the way you can write from either of their pov!!!! ❤️❤️❤️ thank you so much for sharing your work with us, I love it so much! I hope you have a wonderful day!

ok this is SO FUCKING NICE!! thank you so much <3

most of what i feel i know about them kinda comes up organically in my fics dependent on the au/setting, but here are a few things that come to mind:

i just love thinking steve has a special and unique relationship with all the kids. like helps lucas practice for the basketball season, shit talks with Max over milkshakes, goes to the comic shop with will. he can adapt to what the kids are comfortable with but is still totally genuine with all of them—he finds doing those things fun and gets to chat with them and whatnot

eddie really likes to distract steve when he's cooking/cleaning in the kitchen—hugging him from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder, grasping his hips; while steve likes to distract eddie while he's planning campaigns—laying out in front of him, crop tops, twirling his hair.

i think an eddie & nancy friendship would be super interesting, and i actually really want to write it more in a fic maybe. cause they seem so different on the surface, but i genuinely could see them somehow just ending up like ride or dies for each other. they have this weird friendship that no one else understands, but they're like both really passionate, a little jokey but no beating around the bush, care for the kids and so they're Tight.

side note of that one: charades with robin and steve being a team and nancy & eddie being a team is Lethal. add in argyle and jonathan as a team cause i said so, and someone Will almost be murdered.

i'm really into the idea of like coach or guidance counselor steve, who can help support kids and make them know they're worthwhile and can do whatever they want with their lives (like imagine future au and steve is a guidance counselor and his rockstar boyfriend just rolls up and everyone is like ... that guy??? is dating mr. harrington?? how did harrington land him??)

eddie's rings and bracelets are actually steve's personal fidget toys. when he's antsy and they're somewhere, steve grabs eddie's hand and twists his rings or twirls the bracelets, it settles him

dustin has such a permanent hold on steve's passenger seat, that if eddie is in the car he is required to sit in the back

that's what i got rn, but feel free to shoot another request through for au's, specific thoughts, etc. etc.

thanks again for reading my stuff :)

#steddie headcanon #steveddie headcanon #steddie #annie answers

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seospicybin · 2 years

Text

FIC RECS.

Thank you to the sexc Ren @cb97percent for tagging me!

recommend 5 or more of your own works that you would rec to someone asking what they should read first & explain a little bit about the work. these can be the most popular, the ones you think are underrated, or your own favorites! then tag five other writers!

Twin Flame. (s,f,a) Back home for a summer holiday, you meet the new next-door boy, Felix, who will turn your summer into a burning bright one.

The firstborn of all of my angst works. Unapologetic, fucking emo, leather and roses, fast car and flames, in other words, it's sad and lethal. I always know I'm a deeply sad person, but this unlocked the raging angst in me.

Three of A Kind. (s) Late night drinking and a card game, plus two pretty boys? what’s the worst that could happen?

This was such a bitch to write. I spent months trying to perfect it and got so frustrated that I neglected it completely. Still I didn't give up and wrote a dozen versions of it until I found the one that is close to what I had envisioned in my head. The unused versions were sitting in my drafts and I'll probably never let them out, just cause.

Venus. (s,a) When Hyunjin first sets his eyes on you, he knew that you would make a perfect muse for his paintings, but as time goes, you begin to question whether it’s love or a short-lived infatuation that he has for you?

We all know that Hyunjin is so fucking pretty and if I ever get asked a person I would like to compare his beauty with, I wouldn't stutter to say Adonis. He's so beautiful it hurts, it's almost mythical. So I drew the inspiration from the star-crossed lovers of Adonis and Aphrodite, put all of his Pisces traits in it, his love for art, spicy angst on top and finished it off with a glass of ambrosia then voila!

Innings. (s,f) 🔥 You knew Seungmin as the baseball star slash campus heartrob and now, your partner on a project. But was there a hidden intention on why he wanted to work together with you?

Ngl. I fell in love with this couple that I created. I love how their relationship grew as I wrote them. Just fluffy and feel-good, something that everyone can easily relate to. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm emotionally attached to them. Ah, to think that I'll post the last chapter soon makes me sad. I'll forever cherish both this fic and this Innings couple. (But mostly I don't want to let go of hot baseball player Seungmin)

Glass. (s) Han is a photographer who just moved into a new apartment and he couldn’t tell if it was accidental or fate that he saw you through the window of your apartment. And the next thing he knows, he spends most of his days watching you through his camera lens

My new favorite child. The first time I worked a fic from the ending first and worked out the rest after. I'm very aware that the ending is so BONKERS. I love seeing all of you losing your shit reading it and I'm here like "you didn't see that coming yeah?" OH THE FEELING!

Dark Red series. (s, horror, thriller)

Here's the thing, I love Halloween so. And here's the another thing, I love horror movies. I combined my two favorites into this and yes, I selfishly wrote this for myself. If you're familiar with Anne Rice books or watched Interview with the Vampire, you would know that I based vampire Hyunjin on Lestat and vampire Chan on Louis. I put little homages to my favorite horror movies in these fics as well. Fyi, Halloween is only two months away, you can't stop me from writing another chapter of this series. (Oh, my personal favorite is Chapter 2!)

Milk. (s,f) Jeongin didn’t expect to reunite with you during his vacation, the one that he remembers as his childhood sweetheart.

Very underrated, I would say. I loved writing it, I love the theme, I love how the story drowned you in their innocence and make you forget that you were reading a smut. It's pure and sweet and easy, pretty much like the title itself.

Double Take. (s) You reunited with Jeongin after being away from each other for months when all of sudden Bangchan caught you both during a steamy session.

My most favorite from my earlier, premature works. Look, I'm a perfectionist but I love this mess I made. I didn't even think if it's pleasing enough to read, I just went with it and I think that's the magic of it. Anyway, Jeongchan FTW!!!

Tagging: @youn9racha @tangylemonade @seo--changbin @seungmoomin @petrichor-han (sorry if you're already tagged and pls don't feel pressured to do it!)

#tagging game #stray kids smut #skz smut #fic recs #seospicy smut

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hkplushier · 10 months

Text

1: misunderstanding

beomkai short one-shot | fluff | 3.4k words

Summary: Beomgyu is so fucking mad at Huening Kai. Huening Kai is also mad at Beomgyu. Both had a fight and had been ignoring one another for some time, but despite anything else they still care for each other, and they somehow make up.

Warning! so much fluffiness, a tiktok video made me write this, both students in college, huening kai being an architect student coz why not?, established relationship, beomgyu is a fool, beomjun are besties, mentioned of taebin

Author's Note: i think this will be my 1st tym posting my beomjunkai oneshots here. beomjunkai oneshots will be sort of compilation. this is actually posted on ao3 but ao3 is down at the moment so i hope everything's go back to normal ㅠㅠ

here it goes enjoy if ever there will be someone reading this even tho i know this app is mostly for y/n fics hehehe...

♡♡♡♡♡

Yeonjun struggled to focus on slurping his rabokki when Beomgyu's furrowed brows and frowning face distracted him so much. Another sigh and that's it. He had enough of his friend's whining and complaining in front of him, which had been going on for a few days. Yeonjun had no idea what was causing Beomgyu to be so distressed these days, and even if he knew, he didn't want to force him to talk about it. However, it irked him that the typically boisterous Beomgyu hadn't been himself lately.

"Geez. What's wrong? Did you fall out of the bed again while sleeping?" Yeonjun tried to joke, diverting his attention away from his lunch, expecting Beomgyu to answer, but he simply hummed while messing with his food.

"Choi Beomgyu, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, but stop playing with the food. You know I don't like it."

"I don't have anything to say, hyung. I'm completely fine," the older crossed his arms instead, studying him with narrowed eyes as if to tell him he won't fall on his words, and the younger only pouted his lips before avoiding his gaze.

"Completely fine? Cut the nonsense. Even my boyfriend's hedgehog can tell that you're not okay."

The solemn look Yeonjun gave Beomgyu was enough for him to acknowledge his defeat and let out a long-held breath. Beomgyu didn't know how he was going to tell his hyung about how this whole thing began, and he even thought for a moment that he had succeeded in masking his inner chaos, but Yeonjun could read him like a book. His hyung recognizes him even though he doesn't say anything. After all, he couldn't hide anything from Yeonjun since he's so expressive, and even if he got skilled at pretending everything was fine, his hyung would definitely find out anyhow.

"Just spill it out. What's going on?"

Beomgyu chewed his lower lip anxiously, taking several deep breaths as his mouth opened, but he was unable to produce any logical sentences.

His tears welled up from the corners of his eyes, and Yeonjun began to panic. He stood up and moved closer to the younger in order to console him as best he could. Thinking about that day shattered Beomgyu's heart into smithereens. He was so upset about it that it was interfering with his regular routines. In fact, this is the first time it has occurred. He couldn't get the thought out of his head, even though he tried to ignore it and concentrate on his classes instead. His boyfriend, who is a ray of sunshine and a very lovely guy who would never dare to raise his voice, especially in front of him. His boyfriend, who's extremely soft and clingy and thoughtful. However, it left his body frozen momentarily and became speechless when his adorable boyfriend snapped and scolded him.

Call him emotional or dramatic as fuck but he wasn't used to his boyfriend's loud voice.

That wasn't his fault! Or perhaps it was... but it wasn't enough for his boyfriend to yell at him. It was his mistake, not Beomgyu's. He refused to apologize over his lethal and sexy body. His pride wouldn't let him.

But Choi Beomgyu missed him badly. He was desperate for kisses. He yearned for his cuddles every night. He misses Kai's sweet giggles and the affectionate glance he used to give him. He misses him so much it hurts.

"Well, at least enlighten me for a bit. You have a friend here who's been worried about you," his hyung said, taking a sip of his Iced Americano and setting it down on the table when the silence swallowed them up. "I don't mind if you don't want to share it. I'm not forcing you, and you know how much I despise it. But I think that as your friend, I have the right to know what's causing you so much trouble. I'll always be here for you if you need someone to talk to about it, no matter how small or large it is."

Beomgyu's shoulders loosened as Yeonjun tried to convince and reassure him. He was grateful to have such a kind friend as his hyung. They'd known each other for a long time, and his hyung is the type of person who would always be there for him, taking care of him even on his worst days. He wasn't pushy. Whether his troubles became a distraction and harmed their relationship, Yeonjun would ask if Beomgyu needed a shoulder to rely on, or if Beomgyu would like to share his problems with him in order to reduce his stress.

He had always been reliant on his hyung and Yeonjun as well. Of course, because they're friends. They always stick together regardless of the cost.

Beomgyu looked around, unable to stop himself from biting his lower lip for a brief moment to avoid his hyung's deadly stare. Yeonjun cocked an eyebrow at him, but his mind was trapped in a loop of a thousand thoughts, largely swamped with Kai, but eventually let out a sigh of defeat.

"Fine, it's just Kai. He's been ignoring me these days."

"Do you want me to confront him? I'll tell him to stop being an asshole to you." His hyung was ready to rise up, which caused Beomgyu to widen his eyes and grip Yeonjun's wrist to stop him.

"Hyung, listen to me first!" he exclaimed, a little alarmed by Yeonjun's gravity in his words.

Yeonjun was simply protective of him and wouldn't back down from confronting someone who was causing him so much pain. He knew so much about it that the younger was hesitant to inform him about his struggles. Yeonjun would literally punch Kai for ignoring him, and all his hyung needed was an affirmation from him to do so.

Choi Yeonjun has always been like that.

"I'm not sure. Maybe it's my fault? I think he's still mad at me. I've never seen him get so furious, hyung." Beomgyu replied, except couldn't help but defend himself of what happened between them. "You know my boyfriend's major is architecture, right? He spends most of his days in front of his drafting table and computer, and I can't blame him for being so busy and not having enough time for me, so it sort of irritates me that he forgot our anniversary."

"Hyung, I tried to understand him, but he should at least spare me a few minutes of his time," he said obstinately, pursing his lips and crossing his arms above his chest.

"But... I saw him on another day laughing with Taehyun, one of his classmates from his major. You know that they're used to being lovers before. I trust Kai. I know he won't do anything to jeopardize our relationship, but it makes me feel uneasy," he added, trying to be reasonable and explain his side.

"I don't know why your stupid boyfriend is still friends with his ex, but I don't want to interfere with your relationship with him because I don't know his side, so why don't you try to talk to him first?" Yeonjun explained, which made him shut his mouth and even if he wanted to retort, he knew deep inside that his hyung was entirely right. "Be honest with him and express your feelings. If he truly cares about you, Kai will fix your relationship and devote some of his time to you."

Bomgyu became frustrated by Kai's closeness with his ex, Taehyun. It gave him an unsettling feeling and several ideas that he didn't want to come to a conclusion on. He had so much faith in his boyfriend that he was terrified to approach him about it. He also knew Taehyun was a kind person, which was why he couldn't stop comparing himself to him every day. They were completely different in every aspect. Taehyun was more understanding than he was. Beomgyu, on the other hand, made assumptions and became agitated about little matters. Taehyun is a more mature person than him, whilst Beomgyu is a pampered brat.

Beomgyu had previously met Taehyun through Kai, but he had no idea they were ex-boyfriends at first. He only found out about their past relationship after hearing about it from one of his classmates, and that's when he began comparing himself to that man.

"Hyung, the thing is, since he forgot our anniversary and spent it with Taehyun, I got frustrated and threw all of his drawing materials on the floor, which resulted in accidentally spilling some ink on his drawing plates, and that's why we're ignoring each other."

"Hmm... you know what Beoms, since Kai and I are almost in the same field, I'll get mad at you too. But of course, I'm not saying that not giving you enough time is okay too." Yeonjun stated, bringing his lips tightly together when he spotted how the other narrowed his eyes at him, as if giving him a questioning kind of look like, 'Am I really your friend?'. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm not sure whether I should pity him or not. It's just that if you accidentally spilled ink on his drawing plates... it won't be easy to repair all of them. In fact, he'll have to start from scratch!"

Beomgyu spent the entire day mulling over Yeonjun's words to him, not noticing the afternoon class had ended until the school bell rang and his seatmate nudged him. He arched an eyebrow in question, with a hint of frustration on his face, and his head almost snapped from turning towards his classmate, but it quickly dissipated when he pointed outside their classroom. Kai, his boyfriend, was standing outside his classroom, clutching the long strap of his T-square case, which he slung over his shoulder with another bag in his other hand.

He couldn't stop himself from checking him out because how could he not when his fucking boyfriend looked so hot and breathtaking in that dark hoodie that really emphasized his muscles. Not being able to keep his gaze away from the way his black leather pants clung to his long, strong thighs. If he wasn't still upset with him, Beomgyu would have grabbed the back of his boyfriend's head and smashed those fucking kissable lips with his own.

Beomgyu didn't know if Kai was doing it on purpose of being so fucking hot when his boyfriend knew they were still avoiding each other. Could his boyfriend please stop making him out of breath? It's just so aggravating since Beomgyu may have forgotten about his commitment to ignore him for several days.

He's a weak person. He could easily be tempted to forgive Kai.

He didn't even pause to greet him, who seemed to be waiting for him once he exited the classroom after gathering his belongings and stuffing them all into his backpack. Given the way his boyfriend's face distorted with a frown and mouth agape, Kai didn't anticipate when Beomgyu raised a brow and rolled his eyes at him then stride down their school's long hallway. Kai let out a sigh, panting a little as he tried to catch up with the raven-haired male. Even after the numerous loud calls of his name, Beomgyu pretended to be deaf and continued to be stubborn as hell. He took lengthy strides so that his boyfriend wouldn't be able to follow him but unfortunately, Kai was still able to catch up with him.

Beomgyu had no idea, and he didn't care, how Kai was able to place his other bag on his right shoulder, where he had also placed the strap of his T-square case. He kept walking, disregarding Kai's sweet appeals of calling his name. The older tsked when Kai sought to grab his hand, but he swiftly turned him down by avoiding his grip. His boyfriend would always hold his hand, swinging their hands back and forth like a child and putting their held hands inside his boyfriend's hoodie pocket.

Rejecting any attempts of affection to teach his boyfriend a lesson for missing their anniversary and still being close to his ex-boyfriend since he was still displeased about everything between them.

"Beomgyu hyung..." his boyfriend whimpered as he tried to grab his hand, holding it firmly when Kai finally grasped Beomgyu's wrist and didn't let go.

"Don't touch me." Beomgyu growled, seeking to free his hand from Kai's firm grip but failed when his boyfriend drew him closer to his chest.

Beomgyu was breathing heavily as his boyfriend buried his head on his shoulder, letting out an exhaled gasp when Kai began planting delicate pecks on his skin while whispering apologies for ignoring him and shouting at him.

"You... you think I'll forgive you after you shouted at me and forgot our anniversary?" he shrieked, almost cursing himself for stuttering in front of his boyfriend and wanting to pull all of his strands out of frustration from being such a mess and blushing so hard.

Why is he so fucking weak in this kind of scene? With just one apology from Kai, Beomgyu was effortlessly swept down on his knees, forgiving him. He's so screwed up, and it's all Kai's fault!

Kai raised his head from Beomgyu's shoulder and when the other noticed his reddened eyes and stuffy nose, his heart quickly pinched when he saw how his boyfriend sniffled. He had these eye bags under his eyes as if Kai didn't sleep for a few days. Beomgyu had almost forgotten why they were ignoring each other and was about to apologize for being so obstinate when he remembered all the bad things his boyfriend had done. He diverted his gaze from Kai's. He was attempting to be strong and frigid by crossing his arms above his chest.

"I won't be easily persuaded if you think your apology is enough for me to forgive you. I'm still mad at you for yelling at me and forgetting our anniversary, and you seemed so close with your ex-boyfriend."

"Ex-boyfriend?" Beomgyu rolled his eyes and stomped his feet in front of his boyfriend, his hands on each side of his waist. His head was filled with thoughts of Taehyun and Kai, how they came back together and how they were cheating on him behind his back.

"Stop trying to fool me! I already know that Taehyun is your ex-boyfriend! You think I wouldn't find out?! If you're cheating behind my back then stop chasing me this already so I won't be hoping for more in our relationship! I'll try to move on too! You think I won't be able to forget you? Just watch! You can have fun with Taehyun while I try to find a better man who won't forget our anniversary and won't shout at me and will treat me better than you could ever do!"

Beomgyu didn't notice the tears welling up in his eyes as he stomped his feet and pointed his finger at Kai. He kept sniffling as he wailed so loudly and roughly pulled Kai away from him, scowling at him with angry tears.

"I hate you so much! I don't want to be your boyfriend anymore!"

Beomgyu turned around and made an attempt to leave him, but he secretly peered behind him to see whether Kai was following him. When he saw the younger one was only staring at him blankly, his lips unexpectedly pouted. Although the older one tried to read his face, he still couldn't. He scoffed and stormed away, his lips protruding into a smile when he heard the shuffling behind him, but Beomgyu suppressed his grin. Not wanting the younger to see it and have a reason to tease him about it.

"I'm so sorry, hyung. I know what I did was wrong, and there are no sweet words that can take away all the pain and disappointment you felt when I completely forgot our anniversary." Kai went on to explain while chasing Beomgyu. The older felt his boyfriend's fingers wrap around his wrist, leading him to stop walking and turn to face him, and his brow knitted when Kai lifted his hand to kiss the palm of his hand. Once the younger's soft lips brushed the back of his palm, the older gasped, his heart thumping hard against his chest and butterflies swarming his tummy as the younger securely gripped his hand while looking at him with fondness, love, and sincerity.

"I'm sorry for making you so upset, but it's not an excuse for me to forgot this important day. I'm deeply sorry, and I will do my best to be the best boyfriend you could ever have by making up with you. I'll do everything I can to make good memories with you."

"How? You've got Taehyun..." he muttered, causing the younger one to grumble in annoyance.

"Please hear me out first. There's nothing going on with me and Taehyun. I don't know where you heard it, but you're completely mistaken." As Beomgyu gazed into the younger's eyes, he saw dread and nervousness, as if the latter was frightened of making him so mad and disappointed again. "Me and Taehyun are just friends. I don't know where you get that wrong gossip and those assumptions, but boyfriend of mine listened to me. We just pretended to be couples because of a fucking dare. If he ever makes me become his boyfriend, Taehyun's old friends will give him money, and he told me about this because he felt so guilty, and since I badly needed money at the time, I agreed with our setup."

"Huh, how do I know you're telling me the truth? I've read a lot of books where character A and character B pretended to be in a relationship but fell in love with each other. How are you so sure that you didn't fall in love with him?"

"Hyung~" Kai groaned, his hands nearly wanting to clutch his hair but instead he glanced at him with seriousness, his other hand rising to grasp his cheek.

"Of course I'm not in love with him! It's always been fucking you goddamn it, hyung!" His curse caused Beomgyu to grimace at him, causing Kai to flinch in fear.

"Are you shouting at me?"

"No, hyung. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to explain myself. But please stop assuming that I don't love you. It hurts me when you think that after everything I did to get your attention and make you say yes, you will think that I don't have any feelings for you and it hurts me to recognize that you don't trust me enough." Kai explained, his tear-stained face was puffy and swollen with despair, leaving Beomgyu feeling terrible for doubting his boyfriend's love for him. "I can't forget the first time I saw you. I tried to gain your attention and courted you because I like you a lot and I tried to make a better version of myself to be capable of your love. You're the one and only for me, hyung. I don't think I'll ever be capable of loving someone else other than you, so please hyung, don't ever doubt my feelings for you again."

Beomgyu could feel a lump in his throat as he put his hands around his boyfriend's waist, burying his face against Kai's broad chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Kai. I feel like I've been a bad boyfriend to you. I'm sorry for throwing your drawing materials on your drawing plates. I should be an understanding boyfriend since you've been so busy with your major, yet you still try to find so much time to make up with me, apologize, and fix us. I'm so sorry baby."

"I'm sorry, hyung, and please don't ever say you're a bad boyfriend. We can't help it if this happens, but I'll do my best to find time with you and not forget our important day again. It's my fault for causing you so much pain."

The older male sniffed, his tears stopping as he raised his head to look at Kai, who had a grin on his face. It turned his cheeks crimson, burned his face, and crept to his neck. "Boyfriends again?" His lips twisted into a pout, causing Kai to chuckle softly, and his boyfriend's head bent so he could be on his level and pressed his lips on his for a second before fleeing, causing Beomgyu to whine.

"Boyfriends again. I love you, hyung," Kai whispered gently, staring down at him warmly.

"I love you too, baby."

#beomkai #txt fluff #hueningkai x beomgyu #hkplushier #tomorrow x together #hkplushier's masterlist #huening kai #choi beomgyu #choi yeonjun #kang taehyun #choi soobin

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