#I need to write a fic about them actually

[stillarobyn]

I understand the intention behind this post and I don't disagree with it. I don't.

If you're writing a period piece or something with a certain dark tone, then yes, you absolutely want to keep to that, give your gruff sailor a mumbled line about not being like most other men, or your scattered workaholic scientist can say she never felt like she was missing out on anything by not having a partner while they save the world.

But do not limit the reach of fanfiction by expecting it to be held to the same standards.

Because we need both. Because the target audience for a lot of works that employ this are young, they're disconnected from community, and they're lost. They think they're broken or they don't fit or they are made wrong.

I, a millennial, didn't know about bisexuality until I read about it in fanfic somewhere around 2003 (I was 13). I didn't know any out gay or queer people growing up. It was still scandalous on tv, and my parents didn't have any problem with it, they just didn't talk about it. I can't imagine how isolating it would have felt if my parents prevented me from watching anything with gay characters or spoke negatively about them.

My first discovery of nonbinary identity was in a bandom fic I read in 2010 (I was 20, for those playing the home game). It was maybe two years after that that I began to talk with nonbinary/genderqueer/genderfluid people online. I knew a couple of binary trans people in college, and one in high school, but this was my first time meeting people who weren't a binary gender. In 2012! It took another two years for me, at this point a full-ass adult, to start describing myself that way.

All of this oversharing to say...my understanding of queer identity was not hand-held by anyone in my life, but boy I learned to accept these foreign ideas I saw in myself because I had a safe fictional environment to explore these concepts and terms.

I think it was 2014-2016 when fanfic spaces had a boom of "everyone is trans" AUs and headcanons, and they were often rose-tinted and a bit twee, but that's the point of them. I saw identities I had to look up, and when I asked in follow-up "okay, but what does a person who feels like that look/act like?" it was all crickets, except in fiction, and specifically fanfic.

"But the world is different now, not knowing is no excuse" NOPE. not with anti-lgbtqia legislation passing in the US, or in other hostile countries around the world (I'm from the US, my argument is US-centric based on my experience and knowledge, but by no means exclusionary of people in other countries), or even family situations or rural upbringing or any other circumstance that isolated young queer folk from other queer folk.

A popular live-service video game introduced a nonbinary character and I saw twitch chats full of people who were just confused and uneducated. Ignoring those who were hostile was easy, but the uninformed, especially the non-English-speakers and people who didn't come from Western cultures, were largely open to learning something they never had framework for. Made all the more frustrating in a game environment where the characters didn't make a habit of having these discussions on screen, but that's a different rant.

I don't know if OP intended this in reference to original media, or toward fic, but I saw a lot of established characters in the reblogs so I just want to address that. I'm a characterization first fic reader, so I get it. "Everyone is trans" fics aren't for me, but there's a space needed for them if someone needs to see Captain Kirk and Spock debating the application of terminology of human gender and sexuality in interplanetary cultural settings...now actually I kind of want that fic so I played myself.

Dragon Age Veilguard came under attack for daring to openly and forwardly use the term "nonbinary" in its fantasy world, as though something about the word is inherently incompatible with the fantasy genre? But the game was pretty clear in its goal to create a safe gaming space for marginalized folks when so often their experiences are erased, ignored, tokenized, or stereotyped. The narrative, therefore, had to be hostile to the unaccepting, educational for the ignorant, and validating to the vulnerable. Getting to play in a world where people are referred to as nonbinary (just like me) and where people use they/them pronouns (just like me) and where no one ridicules or attacks them specifically for this? It felt comfortable and safe and the world was ending in the game, but I felt a personal empowerment in my immersion.

More complex and nuanced discussions by characters about their queer identity add to the picture. It shouldn't be in every work because every author has their own angle and their own philosophy about it, but they have just as much a right to a seat at the table. You can have your fics where Tony Stark's sexuality is a smirk and a wink, and you can have your fics where he explains that he used to call himself bisexual but the world is bigger and weirder so he considers himself omnisexual now. And if you don't like that, scroll past it. The author didn't write it for you, but someone else needs to hear that.

Maybe this is just a personal vent that escaped containment, but I feel the need to remind some folks that some people need the LGBT center brochure version because they didn't get one in the mail. It's a tough time for everyone in this community, no need to make it tougher.

he would not fucking say that but it’s he would not fucking talk about his queer identity like he was reading out of a college campus lgbt center brochure

[hannamoon143]

You drew stars around my scars ✮⋆˙

Life is hard. Some people don't know how to cope with that. Some people just try to feel mentally better by causing physical pain instead. How ironical, isn't it? Oh but bless you, that lee felix is in your life. Because this man never misses a thing.⋆｡°✩

Genre:Angst,Hurt/comfort

Warnings:Sh,a bit childhood trauma, Depression, Crying, mentions of food,mentions of bad eating habits

Lee felix x fem.Reader

Words: 3,9k

a/n: hey everyone<33 To write this fic brought me some comfort too, and it's healing me a bit more everytime i can use my own experiences,emotions and thoughts to write something that comforts others too, and relate to y/n a lot. And i know i'm not the only one, so i hope this can bring everyone that reads it a bit comfort. And pls always remember what of a beautiful person you are. Hurting yourself is never ever the only solution. If you need someone to talk, reach out to someone, anyone, also me if you don't have anyone. I'd rather have literally any person cry for hours in my arms, or vent to me in my dm's than have them hurt their own bodies, that always supports them. Everything felix says in that fic is true, and they r my own thoughts about this. I love you all, take care of yourselves.<3

Depression takes a lot from you. It takes your motivation, productivity, the will to socialize, and your happiness. It’s unfair isn’t it? Little, happy children become tired, broken adults.

People always think depression is something where you sit in your bed the whole day and cry. Well that is half true. Yes, there are days like that, but that’s far not everything. The worst are those dull days, when you feel entirely numb, but your life has to go on anyways. No joy in your heart, and no tears in your eyes. Just a big nothing in your mind.

After a while you figure it out though. It’s always those numb episodes, until every emotion you thought didn’t exist the days before, crashes down on you. And it’s overwhelming. Every.single.time.

But what if you’d find something that could ‚help‘ you? Something that brought you pain and relief at the same time? That made you feel alive, in the numb episodes and distracted you from the pain in the days where you broke down? The price was just your beautiful skin, and blood...

A problem was though, once you’d start, it would be very hard to stop again. But why should you anyways? Why should you stop when it was the only thing seemingly bringing you comfort for some short time?

It started off by you, picking at your skin absimendtly whenever you felt anxious, or when you just didn’t pay attention. It felt relieving. It was the burning pain when you scatched on your skin so hard it was slightly bloody, making you feel like your feelings actually mattered. And then that one night. That night everything crashed down on you. Your friends wanted nothing to do with you anymore, the few you had before, cut contact. You couldn’t even be mad at them. Who wouldn’t be annoyed by someone who constantly cancelled plans, and gave off a „depressing, annoying attitude“? Well these were their words. Oh but you saw it coming. All the overthinking in the middle of the night, those worst case scenarios, they had come true.

And your family? You never had a healthy relationship with them. So now, that you were grown up, the contact was almost entirely dead. And yeah, there was your boyfriend felix, but you’d never burden him with your problems. He already had enough on his mind with the world tour and all the new released albums, of the band he was in.

And that was it. No one there that you could reach out to, no one to comfort you, when your heart and mind were breaking into millions of glass splitters. Every person reaches their breaking point someday. And that day was yours. You remembered the night clearly. You were sitting on the bathroom floor, crying out all the emotion you had been holding in for too long. You had no friends anymore. No family. And pretty sure soon no boyfriend too. Nothing to hold onto.

Then you reached out to a drawer. You didn’t really register what you were doing as you took it out. A simple, silver blade. A little cut on your wrist. A line of crimson red blood on your skin.

At first you were terrified. What had you done? Why weren’t you affected by the stinging pain on your wrist, and the blood building in the small cut? Why did it in fact feel good? And then you decided to try it again, just to answer those questions right?

That’s where it started.

You knew you had depression. But going to a therapist? You were scared, probably too lazy, and you could never tell all your problems to a complete stranger. And most of all you didn’t want felix to worry either. He was the only one left, and soon he would surely leave too. He was the sweetest, sunny person on this earth, he deserved someone that matched his energy, and wasn’t so… hard to love.

Every single task felt like a hard, impossible chore. Getting out of your bed felt like doing the unbelievable. Doing the most simple things like showering, or brushing your teeth seemed so far away, that you could only master them on your best days. Some days, you went to work, did everything you had to, with a straight, stoic face. That was until you came home, laid into your bed, and silent tears would build wet spots on your pillow.

But somedays, even crying seemed too overwhelming. All you could do was lay in your dark room, staring at the wall. It was just the darkness and you, and somewhere in your mind, a voice whispering that it would help to cut...

And then there were these rare days, on which you felt almost too overwhelmed. It were those days you came home, and added another scar to the gallery of them on your arms. You questioned your life on these days. Because truly, you didn’t see a reason why you should be here right now. No, you weren’t proud of it. But who was there to stop you? Why should you quit if it was the only thing keeping you sane right now? When it was only the stinging pain who could make you slip out of the monotone haze in your mind, for at least a little bit time.

But it would be stupid to assume felix didn’t notice something was off. Lee felix was a pure person. Someone who could make even the rainiest days shine bright. And he cared about the people he loved more than anything else.

When you started cancelling plans it was already alarming for him. You were someone who never cancelled plans with him. You were usually a happy person, someone who made jokes that were actually funny. Someone who made him laugh with your little quirks, that he noticed over time. Someone who comforted him when he felt bad. And most of all you were the most excited person when you two would meet up. You never missed to tell him how much you loved him, that he was your happy person, and your comfort person.

That was before

Before suddenly everything stopped. He rarely got to see your beautiful face now anymore. You took a long time to respond to his texts, and when you did, they were short, and dry. This didn’t feel like you. Felix knew you. And that wasn’t you. This wasn’t the happy girl he met. And he surely wasn’t planning on letting things go like this forever. Something wasn’t right. And no matter what you said or did, to try and get away from him, and shut everything out, he would stay by your side. He would find out what was wrong and do everything possible in this world to make you feel like yourself again.

It was another day today. Another number on the calendar. You stopped looking at it. It didn’t matter anyways. Those were just numbers on paper, and they would never change anything. So you dragged yourself out of bed, feeling even heavier than usual. Like a zombie you just quickly got dressed, not even registering what you were wearing, and drank a mug of coffee. It would make you feel a bit more awake for at least a few hours. Eating breakfast had become impossible in the last few weeks. You were barely eating anything the whole day, to be honest. Sometimes, you just couldn’t stand up and make yourself something. But most times, you just didn’t feel hungry.

You went your usual way to work. At the bus, you took a short glance at your phone. You used to be on your phone a lot for the silliest things, but now you hated it. You hated the brightness, and that everytime you looked at it you had to interact with others. And the worst was, it remdinded you of what you had lost. The spark you had in your eyes on photos from a long time ago.

Something popped up on the screen

A message from felix. Of course. He messaged you every single day. You couldn’t ignore him, no matter how shitty felt, you couldn’t bring yourself to ignore him. So you opened it.

Hey sunshine<3How are you today? I thought of maybe grabbing some takeout and watching a movie together tonight, since i have off early! I��ll even let you pick one of those cheesy romcoms you love so much. Love u^^

You sighed. He was still so sweet, so caring, when he should be really annoyed, right? His girlfriend was a walking zombie, why didn’t he already break up with you?

Hey lix, sorry no time today.

Then you quickly put your phone away. You couldn’t stand thinking of his lips turning into that sad pout, when he’d read your answer. But you couldn’t meet him. You didn’t care how stubborn that was, but you wouldn’t let him see you like this. He would see right through you, and get you to tell him what was wrong.

You stopped making excuses someday. Who even cared? Sooner or later he’d leave, just like your friends. No lame excuses would matter then. Someone like you was unlovable. And that would never change.

As felix read your response he sighed.

That was enough. He wouldn’t let your relationship carry on like that. He wouldn’t let you carry on like that. Something was clearly wrong and he wouldn’t stand so far away and watch you slowly shut down from the entire world. Not anymore. Tonight he would come to your apartment, if you wanted to or not.

You didn’t remember what you did throughout the day. When you tried to recall it, there were only hazy memories, covered in a grey, thick fog. You didn’t even remember how you came home. Everything just happened. Now, you were walking through your apartment door, kicking off your shoes and coat. With a deep sigh, you dragged yourself to the bathroom. You shut the door, immediately sinking down on the floor. You were exhausted. More than that. The past days, or maybe even weeks you had held everything in more than usual. You felt like passing out right then and there, on the cold bathroom tiles. But there was something else. You knew that feeling. When you would have spent too many days in numbness, then at one point, every emotion, everything you thought wasn’t there before, creeps up in your throat from the depths of your soul. You feel the grieve, the sadness, the anger, the guilt, every single emotion crashing down on you at once. And then you can’t stop it anymore.

Tears started to well up in your eyes, and you pulled your knees up for a bit comfort.

These were the moment you hated the most, besides the numbness. Being numb is uneblievably tiring, but when all the feelings, everything comes up at once, that is even worse. You never knew how to deal with your emotions well. When you were a kid you never got the chance to express emotions. Crying was not allowed. If you did, you’d hear „ Stop it, or i’ll give you a reason to cry.“ If you screamed or hit out of anger you’d get punished in some way. Only a polite smile was, what was allowed to show on the outside, what to show to other people. That was probably part of the reason why you’d grown into a person who had these unhealthy, shitty habits, instead of expressing and coping with their emotions well.

You knew you should just let it pass. Endure these feelings. Maybe text someone to try and distract yourself. But somehow, you always went back to drowning out emotions with physical pain. You took the sharp blade from the bathroom drawer, your hands going unbelievable shaky like they always did when you took it out. You only started to cry more. You hated that you did it. You hated that you were a person that couldn’t handle their own feelings like a responsible adult, and had to shut them out with self harming instead. And still you did it again and again. You hated the way your arm looked when you put your sleeve up now. White lines from old cvts. Slightly reddish ones from some that happened some time ago. And those brightred ones. Reminders of not too long ago. They made you so angry. Reminding you of who you were. Of what you were.

So you decided to look away. You just put the blade to your wrist, looking at the blank bathroom wall. It was already so familiar, you knew where it would hurt the most without even looking.

Felix was searching around his apartment for that gray hoodie you wanted to have everytime you saw him wearing it. Maybe it would cheer you a bit up. As he finally found it, he grabbed the brownies he had made for you earlier, and his keys, heading out his apartment, to head to yours instead.

He started his car. It was a short drive so there was not much time for thinking. But there were some thoughts in the back of his head. Wasn’t he overstepping? You clearly didn’t want to see him, maybe you were also just annoyed?

But felix shook those voices off. He knew you. He had known you for years, and this wasn’t you. He had to do this.

And then he was already at your apartment. Slowly he got out of the car, taking the things, and started to walk up the stairs.

Soon he was in front of your door. Should he knock? He knew where your spare key was but he didn’t want to be respectless. So he softly knocked on the door.

„Y/n? It’s me, felix. I know you didn’t want to meet, but… i was worried. Can we talk please, my love?“

He waited for a minute. But there was no answer. Maybe you really weren’t at home? He decided to just try it. To his surprises the door was unlocked. That meant you were home, but also why would you let your door stay unlocked? He sighed, and locked it from the inside. He quietly took off his shoes, and put them on the side. Yours were scattered messily on the floor, and your coat too. Usually you hated when something in your apartment wasn’t organized. Maybe you were in a hurry before. He went into the kitchen, wich was dark, putting the brownies on the counter. „Y/n?“ he softly called out again. Still no answer.

But there, suddenly he heard something. A quiet, mumbling or...crying? His brows furrowed and he tried to follow the sound. There. In the bathroom. It seemed like you didn’t hear him calling you. At first he considered just going back to your kitchen and waiting there for you to come out, but when he heard another deep sob from you, he knew what to do. Whatever was going on right now, he wanted to be by your side. So he took a deep breath and opened the door.

„Y/N, what is g-“ His eyes widened in shock, and your head perked up immediately at the door clicking open, your gaze changing from surprise, to confusion, to somewhat realization and guilt. The sight in front of him horrified him. His beautiful, lovely girlfriend sat on the bathroom floor, her face red and puffy from crying, and a sharp blade in her hand. And your arm… How couldn’t he notice? He just stood there, in the door, staring at you.

You couldn’t read his face. Was he mad…? Of course he’d be mad. You quickly reacted as you got to your senses again. You jumped up, letting the blade fall, and a drop of blood dropping down on your white bathroom tiles.

„Felix…. I can explain, i h-haven’t, it’s not what it looks like o-okay? I’m okay, p-please i know you’re mad but-“

You got cut off. You couldnt’t even say anything more, because suddenly you were wrapped up tightly in your boyfriend’s comforting, warm embrace. You forgot how good a hug from him felt… And when you got a little glance at his face that was it. No anger, no twisted kind of any emotion against you. There was pure sympathy and love. When you also saw a tear rolling down his face, you couldn’t take it anymore. You buried your face in his neck, and let go. You sobbed uncontrollably, your arms and legs trembling so much, to the point your knees gave in, and felix slowly sank to the ground with you. Why did the cvts on your arms suddenly really hurt for the first time? He had you pulled on his lap, rocking you back and forth, stroking your hair gently. „Shhh, it’ll be alright. I’m here now, you are not alone.“

Good thirty minutes later, your sobbing had stopped, and only warm paths of tears remained on your cheeks. Felix lifted your head from his neck a bit, so he could look into your eyes. Though you had just cried your heart out, it was still the most mesmerizing pair of eyes he had seen in his life. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

„Let me treat those, okay?“ He simply said, glancing at your cuts.

He was gentle. He desinfected every single cut, apologizing every time you hissed at the sharp pain. Then he put some healing ointment on your fresh ones, and some at your older ones too. Then, with gentle, calm hands he bandaged your arms. He ended his treament with featherlight kisses on them. Then he got up, helping you up too. He had his hands on your side, his eyes on your face.

„Love…I won’t ever judge you, or get mad at you for anything, i hope you know that okay? I know that this is probably your way to cope with things, and i know that you know it’s not healthy. But it’s okay. Please just promise me, you will come to me instead of doing that, from now on hm? Everytime you want to do it you call me, text me, whatever. I’d rather have you crying in my arms for hours, venting to me for hours, you screaming at me, or do whatever you need to, than have you hurt and bleeding entirely alone on the floor. I’ll come over, and do whatever i need to, to cheer you up alright? And don’t shut me out from your life. I want to be a part again. I miss the way you’d text me when you see something that makes you smile. Or when you send me pics of the cute cats you saw on the sidewalk. Or when you just simply tell me about your day. And most important of all, i’ll stay by your side okay? No matter what. I will do everything to help you recover, and build up your life in a way that makes you happy okay? Let me help you sunshine. You don’t need to do it all alone.No matter how hard it in the past was, I’m here now, and I don’t plan on leaving soon.“

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time you smiled at him. „Okay lixie. Okay. I’ll try.“

Then he softly smiled at you, and guided you to your livingroom, where he made you sit on the couch. He rushed off to the kitchen, and was soon back again with a plate of brownies and his gray hoodie. „It seems like you didn’t eat much lately, you’ve been getting a bit too skinny, love. But don’t worry, now i’m here to feed you with everything you want to eat. You don’t need to move a single finger.“ He mumbled, as he first handed you the hoodie, wich you put on immediately and snuggled into it. It had always been your comfort hoodie, since it was big, fluffy, and always smelled like him a lot. Then he put down the plate in front of you. Felix’ brownies had always been one of your favorite things. They were delicious like no one else’s.Everytime you asked him what he was throwing in there, he always told you that it was his love and care wich he made them with. You believed him, this man made everything better with his sunny personality.

You simply smiled at him, and took one of the brownies, taking a big bite

„That’s my girl.“ He chuckled, ruffling your hair. As you were munching, and he was watching you with a fond smile, he suddenly asked „Do you have a marker somewhere here?“ You looked up, raising a brow. „Yeah, in the drawer over there i guess, why?“ He just stood up, and opened said drawer, taking the marker. He was back by your side in an instant. „Please give me one arm love“ He said, politely like always. You were still pretty confused but how could you say no to that? So you slowly laid your bandaged arm in his hands. He kissed it once and then softly started to draw on it. „What are you doing?“ you asked, mouth full of brownie.

„Those my love, are battle scars. It isn’t beautiful how you got them, but they are a part of you now, and they make you the person you are. They deserve to be called beautiful now too, like every single body part of yours. I love every part of you. And when they are healed, I’ll kiss each and everyone of them, but for now, they deserve to be treated with care. They will only heal properly, if you let them. If you’d always be angry when you’d look at them, they would never really heal. You would never really heal. You need to forgive yourself, and someday you will be able to move on. They show how far you’ve come, that it was very hard, but you never gave up. Battle scars, my love.“

You looked into his eyes. He said all that so sincere, you believed every word. And then as he was done you saw what he did. A lot of little stars, and a pretty moon in the middle were drawn on the bandages. And next to the moon he wrote a little note

„Because i want you to never forget who you are. You are Y/n L/n, a fighter, and the most beautiful woman i know.“

„How did i deserve you lee felix?“ You murmured in awe.

„You deserve the world, and more my love.“

And that really was a turning point. Thanks to felix, your days weren’t dull anymore. He was always there with you, laughing and talking a lot, but he also respected when you wanted some alone time. And when you came to him somedays, crying and telling him that you wanted to do it again, he took you in his arms, wrapped you both into a blanket and rocked you back and forth, until no tears were left anymore, and the world seemed a bit brighter again. Then he mumbled soothing reassurances into your hair, kissing you on the forehead.

And like this, you were willing to try. You were willing to try and recover, and create a life that you loved living, with him in it.

a/n: now a note to: @athenawindwolf because I didn't have the courage to say it that night ( we ignore that i'm writing this while you are texting me,still in that night), i'll be your chan friend, and in the context of this fanfic your felix friend, whenever you need me. I hope yk, I never judge anyone, and i've been through a lot too so rlly i would never ever judge or tell anyone if you tell me smth. We said we r the big sisters of our friends now, so that means we r sisters right? Come to me whenever you need to talk. Now this was for u, and I also have to say i'm thankful someone is sharing one of my interests now<3 Ily di angelo.@athenawindwolf (and i hope i didn't make you cry with this fic)

[okaysonny]

Hello love the way how you write fics it just scratches my brain so good, can i request jake x reader where reader finds out about all the bad things he did (him joining illegal gambling stuff and Scamming people 💀) ANGST if you could thank you so much

shackles ╏ jake kim

𓇼 summary: jake reminisces his relationship. #sadtimes

𓇼 details: angst, f! reader, a lot of build up.

𓇼 wc: 2k

𓇼 A/N: anon YOUR REQUEST scratched my brain so good...i love dissecting this man!

with you, he didn't feel restricted to just being jake kim, no. 1 or jake kim, son of gapryong kim. he felt like he could just be himself, with no labels. you made him the happiest man on the planet, and for some reason, you were happy with him too.

and the profoundness of it all is that meeting you happened by complete chance.

his card had declined at a vending machine.

jake looked left and right, hoping no one saw, until he heard laughter coming from behind him.

"times are tough, huh? let me get that for you" you said, giving him a small smile.

he blinked in surprise. "oh...thanks, but you don't have to"

"too late!" you beamed, stepping beside him to face the vending machine. "i made up my mind! what did you want?"

jake didn't like you. he just liked the fanta you bought him. that's what he told himself anyway.

but friendly conversation turned into an exchange of numbers, and an exchange of numbers turned into hanging out. hang out's turned into something more romantic, until you suddenly asked: "can i be your girlfriend?"

jake really should've declined. he'd have to come clean and admit he's essentially a gangster. he wouldn't have time to spend time with you.

...and you deserve so much better. he shouldn't let the bleakness, the danger of his role dull your light.

jake had all the time in the world to start a relationship with someone. it's not like it had to be with you.

still, he found himself not wanting to say no. he didn't know how much he wanted to hear those words until you asked. so...jake wasn't really thinking straight when he shakily whispered: "i'd really like that"

jake remembers when he told you what he actually does. he remembers how you laughed in his face, how you stopped when you saw he wasn't laughing with you.

"you're the leader of a gang?" you squeaked after a few minutes of explanations. "oh my god...does that mean you've killed people?"

"what?! no!" he waved his hands frantically. "we're just trying to protect the street from other gangs. big deal is more of like...a crew"

he sighed, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "look, i understand if you want to end things...it's not the most honourable occupation"

you eyed him suspiciously. "so you don't do like...illegal stuff?"

he gulped slightly. "no"

...well not anymore. so it's not a complete lie.

you narrowed your eyes, not looking convinced. "...so big deal is 100% clean?"

...jake really should've just told the truth, but the lie escaped before he had time to think. "yep. i swear"

you looked at him for a few moments before holding out your pinkie finger. "promise?"

jake linked his pinkie with yours, crossing his fingers behind his back. "i promise"

𖠋♡𖠋

jake remembers how you gave him his first kiss. how you smiled against his lips, even as his hands slightly trembled. it felt like fireworks. everything else melted away — his humour, his walls — just the flutter of something new. something he never thought he needed until now.

he still remembers the first time he brought you to the street, how everyone at big deal greeted you with 90 degree bows, how you waved your hands and told them it wasn't necessary.

or jerry's instant barrage of questions and how you sat through every one, how he gave jake his nod of approval afterwards.

or how the girls handed you a bag, giving you winks as jake stared in confusion. he remembers how beautiful you looked in the dress they gifted you, how you left him speechless.

or how he held you a bit longer than usual the night before rescuing sinu.

𖠋♡𖠋

"sinu! you won't believe it! boss jake got himself a girl!"

"what?!" sinu shrieked in excitement. "jake, you little rascal! i'm gone for a few years and you find yourself a lover?" sinu aggressively rubbed elbows with his.

jake smiled sheepishly, his cheeks flushed pink in a rare sight. "you'll really like her"

sinu smiled gently. "i already do. it's hard to find understanding people like that"

jerry doesn’t miss how jake's smile turned plastered as he nodded.

𖠋♡𖠋

"boss?"

"yeah jerry?"

jerry set his spoon down, thinking of the best way to phrase this. "...you know i'll support whatever you choose, but i think she deserves to know everything"

"...i know" he said quietly.

and jake was going to tell you. eventually.

𖠋♡𖠋

it happened a few days after sinu's return. jake remembers how you asked to meet with him, how your gaze was fixed on the sea even as he came to stand beside you.

"hey...are you okay?" he asked, immediately sensing something off.

"did you run an illegal gambling ring?"

and that's when it hit him — like a punch to the gut he wasn’t ready for. jake felt like he couldn't breathe. he stood frozen beside you, heart hammering in his ears.

you weren’t screaming, you weren’t crying, you were just…asking.

"...where did you hear that?" he said, his voice wobbling slightly.

you exhaled shakily. "this short guy with glasses came to visit me yesterday. he said you ran a gambling ring and went to prison for it"

eugene? revenge for breaking the alliance? eugene really went out of his way to do that? but in hindsight, it was the perfect way to crush him before crushing big deal.

jake remembers how dull your eyes were that day. there were no tears, no emotions, no sniffling. until he realised you did all your crying the night before.

you continued, your voice cracking. "and i said...i said he was a liar, that you'd never do that, but then he showed me pictures of you in prison"

"he said that you took advantage of innocent people...the elderly, teenagers, people trying to send their kids to college"

the memories he wanted to block came back to him all at once.

— Give me back my money, you fuckers! That money was for my daughter's university tuition! I swear to god, I'll blow this whole place up. I mean it!

— Go ahead. Do it. You don't even have the balls. So why did you bother bringing that heavy gas tank? Get him out of here.

"...he said that you profited off of prison fights, that people placed bets and you collected the money for yourself"

jake remembers how pathetic he felt just standing there and listening. there was nothing he could say.

"you promised...and we've been together for months" you said, choking on your words. "i don't care that you lied to me, but you swore that big deal was different. why did you do it?"

"...i had no choice" he whispered. "i tried everything. i needed the money to get sinu back...i had no other options"

you turned to look at him. despite the resignation in your voice, your eyes were starting to water. "that's...not the only thing he said. he said that big deal were okay to let innocent people be taken as hostages...that you just stood there and let it happen"

his blood ran cold. the summit meeting.

"at least tell me the hostage thing isn't true" you croaked. "teenage girls, a middle aged woman...even a baby...tell me he's wrong about that"

jake still couldn't bring himself to look at you. "no, it's true...it's all true"

in spite of your resolve, he heard sniffling. "why?"

"i know it's despicable. it's terrible, but...i had to protect my people. i'd...i'd do it to protect you" he mumbled.

"...protect me from what?"

...workers? rival gangs? enemies of his father? but if he hadn't brought you into his life, you'd never have to worry about that.

in that moment, jake realised he only needed to protect you from himself.

the silence lingered as you sniffled some more. jake glanced at you, the tears now streaming down your face. he reached a hand out, but quickly brought it back to his side, knowing better.

realising you weren't getting an answer, you continued. "...whatever. i don't even care anymore" you muttered.

"i understand why you did those things, but...i can't pretend to be okay with it. i would never want you to protect me if this is what it takes"

he nodded slowly, knowing what was going to happen.

"so i think it's best if we end this" you said shakily.

jake finally turned to look at you, flashing that plastered smile he hates having to use. "i understand...i'm sorry for wasting your time"

you looked at jake for a while, probably expecting more of a fight from him. but the truth is, he couldn't say all the things he wanted.

i'm so sorry. i'm so ashamed of everything. i'll be better for you. i'll never do those things again. i need you. please don't leave.

it wouldn't be true. if he had to do those things again, he would. in a weird way, jake is thankful that eugene pulled the trigger, because he's not sure he wanted to escape the lie of being a good person.

finally, you nod. "...i'm sorry i was dumb enough to believe you"

and as you began walking away, jake finally let out the tears he was holding.

just as he got sinu back, he's loosing something else. but this time, he knows you're not returning.

𖠋♡𖠋

jake should've told you from the beginning. but either way, he always knew it would turn out like this. he was being selfish, living in a fantasy where he could have you and big deal. or maybe he believed the sweetness of your relationship could erase his actions somehow, that he was never jake kim, head of the numbers racket.

he still remembers lineman asking where you went, how jake's sad smile told him everything, how he never brought the topic back up again.

jake never stops thinking about you. you're like a thorn on his side he never wants to take out. he wonders if you've ever thought of him since then, he hopes you have at least once.

sometimes he wonders what it would be like to show up at your door with flowers, saying those three words he was thinking about professing. i love you. i would do anything for you. please give me a second chance. you're everything to me.

but he can't. he can't have both.

jake still looks at your pictures together when he's alone. he still reads through your old messages. he can never bring himself to delete the remnants of you.

jake still wonders what it would be like to experience you completely. how every touch, every unveiling would be so new to him. his cheeks would've been dusted pink, clumsy in his attempts to make you feel cherished. he imagines kissing every inch of you, each kiss feeling like the discovery of something precious. he would've wondered how he got so lucky to see you like this — so beautiful, so entirely his.

jake still remembers your laugh, the one that made his chest ache in a good way, how it felt like he was the only person who could make you laugh like that. he still remembers the way your hand would hover over his, waiting for him to hold it first, and how when he did, you’d give him that little smile, like the world was okay just because you two were together.

jake just remembers everything about you.

"uh...jake?"

he snaps back to the present, glancing at daniel who's sitting on a bench near him.

"are you okay?" daniel asks in confusion. "you've been staring at that vending machine for a while...you must be pretty indecisive. in that case, i recommend the diet coke"

...

times are tough, huh? let me get that for you.

he laughs softly, shaking his head. "sorry. i was just lost in my thoughts"

today, jake thinks he misses you a bit more.

divider: @cafekitsune

[neoneun-au]

what the fuck

i was going to read one of the other (more recent) fics youve posted but when i went to your masterlist i remembered that i had never actually read this one. whether timing or whatever, i know i had started it a few times but i was just so distracted that i never got very far, though i knew one day would be the right time to sink into it. guess that was today

literally from the first paragraph i felt so so immersed in it. the setting, the narrative, the tone--everything was painted with such a fine, delicate brush. it just completely enveloped me and i was so so hooked immediately

i already knew youre a good writer. obviously. that was never in question. but there was something so transcendant about this one in particular. the allusions to fruit and food metaphors throughout, never too much but just enough to really pad the writing with such beauty and dynamism. it was just such a treat. such a complete joy to read.

it was so potent too, emotionally. i could feel it in the pit of my stomach the entire time. heart on edge, just waiting for a pin to drop. for the tension to let off. it walked such a fine balance of introspection and external forces and the whole time i just felt like i was on the edge of a cliff, wind whipping past, staring out over the horizon and just waiting for...something. waiting to jump, to fall, to be pushed, to see a ship come over a crest of a wave. it was just so deliciously paced and poignantly felt. im at a loss for words (obviously not literally since i keep typing but you know lol)

i was so immersed i didnt get much of a chance to clip out specific passages but there were a few that really stood out while reading enough to pull me out of my trance

this passage is everything. its the perfect example of how expertly crafted this entire thing was written as well. the choice of words, the sentence structure. it all comes together so well to convey the depth hiding in this humble farmer!au. it made me want to cry. very intensely. because havent we all felt this at some point. this yearning. this deep maw of need. greed for more.

then this line made me want to kill myself ! (in a good metaphorical way lol) these two back to back just. my god.

the readers imposter syndrome and their self sabotaging that always always ripples out to affect the lives of those that simply love them. so felt. so seen. so beautifully portrayed by you, dear writer.

"without your fingerprints all over him"

wow.

your writing is so lush. its so evocative. i have a hard time grasping for words that might convey how i felt about this and i continually come up short but im just in awe of how beautiful this story is. and to think i got to read it for free on tumblr dot com and it was written by such a dear, lovely, otherwise incredibly busy person lol

ill close my thoughts here by saying that ive read a lot of books in the last little while. a few classics. some that really resonated while i was reading them but that sort of drifted off as time went on and i wasnt present in their narratives anymore. i loved them. but i love this more. i can feel this slotting into my brain and lingering there at the edges. it makes me want to write.

TO GROW LOVE (AND EAT IT TO THE CORE)

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 8.1k summary: your whole life, you've only wanted one thing. then you meet mingyu. suddenly you want too much, and you wish the summer never ended. notes: farmer!au, established relationship, angst/hurt/a little comfort

this is a birthday fic for my one and only cat @wuahae ! yes this is about half a year late but what can i say. all good things come with time. thank you for being so kind, funny, and thoughtful (and patient)! not a day goes by where i’m not thankful for our friendship :)

and a million thanks to hana @wqnwoos and jackie @97-liners for helping me with edits. literally you guys are insane writers and i will never stop looking up to you.

i. strawberries (the summer we were young)

When a strawberry is ripe, the seeds push out from the heart of the fruit, as if it's bursting from the inside out.

This is one of the few and only things you've learned by living in Seogwipo, where strawberry season comes like a supernova. The May sun, full and heavy, peels into summer, and the roadside farms open their doors, trying to catch stray vacationers from Jeju City on the other side of the island.

That being said, there are approximately two things to do here. One of them is farm. The other is pretend like you have a life, which is your childhood friend Yizhuo's favorite thing to do when she's back from university on summer break.

Today, this involved convincing her ritzy, too-good Seoul friends that they're missing out on this side of Jeju. (Missing out on what? You're not sure. Perhaps the chipped paint of the mural walls, or the endless flat-topped stretches of seagrass. Yizhuo isn't fooling anyone, but you've always liked stretching your legs out in the bed of her pick-up, even on the long drive to nowhere.)

Unsurprisingly, her friends quickly came to the same conclusion. Just one look at your local strawberry patch, with none of the glamour of the bloated tourist traps in the city, and they decided they'd rather spend the afternoon at the beach.

It was then, between the fragaria blooms, when you met Mingyu. He asked for your name, and the rest was history. Yizhuo and co. scattered like the grasping hands of an overripe dandelion and you learned that he was, one, the newly-graduated son of a pair of local farmers, and two, very, very attractive. Almost too much so, especially for a place like this.

Now he holds up a berry, a bright red murder between his fingers, and tells you to try it.

"You must be delusional if you think i'm taking food from a stranger," you laugh, perched on the fence bordering the field. It sprawls before you, melon stripes on the sunbaked ground.

"No, my name is Mingyu," he replies. "No idea who delusional is." His smile, all bright lip and snaggletooth, tears into the scarlet belly of a newly picked strawberry.

"We all know what happened to Persephone."

"Well, if the underworld was a strawberry patch, I wouldn't mind being stuck there for all of eternity."

"What're you picking all these for, anyway?" you ask, watching Mingyu struggle with his too-big straw hat between the vines. His woven basket bleeds over with little berries.

"Jam. I make it on the very first day of every summer."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who trespassed on my farm. You're cute, but I won't let you off easy."

He laughs at how you balk, clearly red-handed. You're not sure how to tell him you don't think you were supposed to be here either. You don't do things like sit in the back of trucks, trespass, or talk to pretty farmer boys who take a fancy to you, but it's the summer before you graduate and you're not even sure how long you'll have to continue making bad decisions.

"Are you gonna take my first-born now?" you joke instead. The daylight runs down the rim of Mingyu's hat, trickles down his brow, and you wish you could pour the image of him into a jar and keep it forever.

"No, but I will invite you in for some fresh jam on toast. I baked a loaf this morning." and when you say nothing, he continues. "The strawberries are only good once a year. It's the best you'll ever have. Promise."

It's a whine and a half, and somehow you convince yourself this will be the last bad decision you'll make. You've been here long enough to know that good things don't come twice in Seogwipo, and he is unlikely to be an exception.

Yizhuo blows up your phone, you tie the gingham apron around Mingyu's tiny waist, and the basket turns to blood in the saucepan.

Mingyu is right. Love comes to you in that kitchen, high and red like the sun, and the jam never tastes as good as it does that summer.

ii. watermelon (hollowed out, like a magic trick)

"A good watermelon sounds like a heartbeat."

You watch Mingyu heave the fruit, small and striped, out of his grocery bag. It joins the array of egg sandwiches and banana milks you picked up from the store together earlier. (There should have been chocolate Pepero too, but you split the box on the walk).

You're on a picnic, sprawled out on the outcropping overlooking the water. The path up is basically right behind your house, but you had never cared to visit. It had always been the local makeout spot, a schlocky teen crawl for those with nothing better to do, and yet, with Mingyu stretched out beside you, it seems newer. More exciting.

You're still just friends, or at least that's what you told Yizhuo. But ever since you sat on Mingyu's kitchen counter and ate from his jam-covered spatula, you don't think you've gone a week without seeing him. It's been almost two months, which seems so long and yet not long enough—he makes it easy to be greedy.

"See?" He thumps the watermelon with the heel of his palm. "Try it."

You already went through this entire charade at the grocery store, right in front of all the local aunties, but you indulge him. There's little point to triple checking if it's still ripe, but you think he just likes hitting it.

"It sounds good," you say. "But how are we even gonna eat it? We don't have a knife."

"Watch this." Mingyu procures a coin from his pocket. "You didn't learn this in elementary school? I feel like everyone was doing it."

"Here?" you ask, incredulous.

"Yeah, here. I grew up here too, you know."

He holds the edge of the coin to the skin and slams his palm into it once more, so that it lodges itself into the rind, and begins dragging it around the fruit. You start to wonder if he bought the watermelon just to show you a party trick—not that you mind, though. The strain of his biceps peeks through his rolled up white tee, and you remember why he was able to stop you with just one look back when you first met.

"No way." The watermelon is so ripe, it bleeds around the incision. "I feel like I know everyone here. And I definitely would have remembered you."

"I was probably, like, two grades above you," he replies. "And my parents shipped me off to live with my cousins after elementary school. They said I should get out of Seogwipo and experience the real world."

"Good call. There's nothing here." You watch Mingyu spin the melon over to cut through the other side. The coin catches the sunlight, and it looks like gold. "I wish I left for university. The one here is so small."

"Really?" He pauses to show you his handiwork. The two melon halves roll over on their backs, their cut edge cruel and jagged. "Cool, huh?"

"Impressive," you say. "Honestly. I really didn't think that would work."

"I didn't either when I first saw someone do it. But I’ll try anything once," he replies, ripping open the packaging of the plastic spoon from the bag. "I can't believe you don't like it here."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A lot." He shoves the spoon in his mouth, and you watch the watermelon juice pool around his lips. "I missed home. The trees and the tall grass and the ocean. All the fruits. Everything. I learned to ride a bike, right down there by the water."

"Hm." He passes you the spoon. You don't want to hog it, so you carve out a piece bigger than you need. "Are you gonna work at the farm?"

"Maybe. Haven't decided yet," he says. "I think I want to be here, though. Maybe do something with food, but I want to be home."

"That's funny, because I think I’ve always wanted to live a different life. Or at least one somewhere else."

"You want to go to law school, right?"

"Yeah." Mingyu is right. The watermelon is all sugar, and you would almost feel guilty for eating it if it wasn't technically good for you. "I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. It's something about the people watching, I think."

"That’s really cool," Mingyu says, mouth full but no less sincere. It's then that you notice your shoulders are almost touching, and your heart crawls back up to your mouth. "You know what you want. I admire that."

He makes it sound like a compliment, but you're sure it's a curse.

You think of your parents. There's a permanent wrinkle ironed into their foreheads, the paper crease of expectations and high standards. It's not that they didn't care, but their kind of care was a humbled sort, made heavy by a hard life. It didn't help that your big sister Seohyun went straight from Yonsei to work a big tech job in San Francisco and never once looked back.

But you can't blame any of them—wanting has always been a hereditary failing. Sometimes Yizhuo will catch you frowning at nothing, and then you remember that life isn't a performance and every day ends at the same time no matter how hard you work. But you don't know how to tell her that the only thing you can do sometimes is want, because otherwise you wouldn't really have much at all.

It seems like the exact opposite of how Mingyu lives—everything about him seems to pass like the seasons. Maybe that's why you can't seem to get enough of each other.

"Thank you. Really." You dig the spoon into your half of the melon. There isn't much left. "You're way too nice to me."

"It’s not hard to be," he laughs. "Maybe you're just too hard on yourself."

You're losing track of the distance between the two of you. You can almost feel the heat playing off his skin.

"Maybe."

It's then, under the veil of summer, where you meet Mingyu's gaze and, finally, things seem close to simple.

All you know are his eyes, heavy with sun, and then the slow, slow move of his lips against yours. He tastes like August, long and sweet, and for once you know what it's like to not only want, but to have, and to have again.

The ocean sings on the horizon, and the watermelon bellies weep.

iii. adzuki beans (or, the blood of a headless taiyaki)

Mingyu eats taiyaki headfirst because he says it hurts less.

"That makes no sense," you tell him, your pinkies linked. You never really liked holding hands, but yours fits so perfectly in Mingyu's and there's some girlish, childlike shine to it when you watch his finger search for yours after just a moment separated.

"What do you mean."

He breaks your gaze to eye a red bean taiyaki, like an unwilling predator sizing up their prey. It's the lamest, most embarrassing iteration of National Geographic you've ever seen, and yet you cannot find any fiber within yourself not deeply in love with the lion.

Fall is a forgiving place for your relationship to settle. You're now a senior at university and he's started his gap year. Gap implies he's in the middle of something, but in true Mingyu fashion, he leaves it up to fate, or chance, or something not nearly as kind (whim).

"Taiyaki isn't alive. And why would you want to pretend it is? Eating gummy bears would become an extinction event."

"It kind of is." He holds out the tail end of the taiyaki, the pastry almost explicitly flayed open, in front of you to eat. "Why does the Haribo bear have a face? Why do the gummy bears live in a gummy forest?"

"Great, so now I can’t even enjoy gummy bears without feeling like a serial killer?"

You dig your pointer into his shoulders, broad from all the time he spends on the farm. To think that his hands, big and weathered, were made to pick berries (and now wrap around your pinky finger) is bruising, if not ridiculously funny.

"It's a crime of passion. Gummy passion. Prosecute that."

He kisses your cheek and your heart almost squeezes into two.

The terrible thing about being with Mingyu is how seemingly endless his affection is. Now he's feeding you in public and buying the two of you matching socks (cat and dog, to be exact), although you'll admit it's a little charming, even if the neighbors do gossip.

He's sweet, too sweet, and his kisses stick to the back of your throat.

But you can't be fooled. There's an unsaid violence to the way Mingyu loves. (The meticulous spiral of the peel he carves when you ask for him to cut you an apple. The grind, decisive and cruel, of a knife against a cutting board. A pair of canines against your neck, your jaw.)

Even now, he bites the head off another unwitting taiyaki before stuffing it back in the bag.

"We're still splitsing, right?" he says, with perhaps 1% of his mouth available for speaking and the other 99% murder machine.

Splits, he always says before you share food. You never had the heart to tell him that it's in the same family as mines or sharesies or takebacks—silly childhood relics, ones that no one uses anymore because they don't mean anything.

This time, you don't hear him because you're thinking about the law school fair you went to before Mingyu picked you up. The future is so close, it scares you. A year from now, what ground would you be standing on? Would it smell like this—the peat, the thread-spool fields, the balm of the ocean? Would you still have Mingyu's finger wrapped round yours?

"Have you decided if you're staying at the farm?" you ask.

"Not really." He uses the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. "If my sister decides to take over, I’m actually kinda thinking of going to pastry school instead of getting a masters."

Mingyu had been toying with the idea for some time after you had talked about it on the outlook. It started off as a joke (September; a galette), then a what if (October; green tea mochi), and now it sits at a kinda.

"Kinda?"

The word gathers speed in the pachinko machine of your mind. You never liked being a kinda person. For Mingyu, it seems like a luxury of a word, but for you, it's really just another thing to hide behind. Kinda talented, kinda ambitious, kinda just there. You're always one foot in, one foot out of something better.

"Yeah, kinda. Why?"

"I dunno. What if we both end up leaving?"

"Maybe. You still want to, right?"

You would be lying if you said you didn't—it's what you always wanted. Seogwipo has been a sun-rot, too-small crutch for you, but you would also be lying if you said you weren't terrified that you'd eventually come back, limping like some doomed Icarus, unable to truly make it in the real world.

Then you think of the pockmarked farmland beside your home, lacy with the fall harvest. Even now, you can trace the endless blue of the coastline all the way there, cut through all the maybes and just let the sound of the ocean fold you into sleep like you were a child again. You wonder if Seohyun, all the way on the other side of the world, ever misses it.

"I’m not sure," you say, because, as much as you don't like it, it's the only answer you have.

"It's ok. You'll figure it out. You always do." He squeezes your cheeks together between his thumb and index, laughing at how they pillow out underneath his fingers. "Screw pastry school. I could come with you. Who else would keep you fed?"

Mingyu's complete and unfounded belief in you makes you feel something close to betrayal. How could he say any of that? With what proof? Only someone like Mingyu would be able to hold the wrinkled fruit of your unremarkable life between his palms and see something better than that. Maybe it's because he grew up on a farm. Either that, or he already cares for you too much, too painfully.

Secrets are easy to keep when they look like yours. At least here, in the pit of your stomach, you can keep count, take attendance of them, all your tittering, small anxieties. Some days it feels like your ribs are pressing out, but it's better than cutting everything loose to spill out over what little you do have control over.

You can handle a little pressure. You have to.

What concerns you is the hand Mingyu's got across your chest. With one look, he just might gut you. A twist of the heart-knife, and all those carefully wound insides carved out in an instant—maybe he'd pity you, but worse than that, he'd likely be disappointed.

For you, expectation has always stood taller than shame, and the idea that he sees something past you makes you want to run away.

"I could be a house husband," he says as easily as ever. "You'll be off saving the world, arguing with whoever, and I'll be there to run you a bath afterwards."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," you reply, binding up the strange, hollow feeling in your stomach with a laugh.

There's a scared little girl hiding inside you, and whether Mingyu sees her or not hurts the same. A spade is a spade. You can only pretend so long.

You look at the taiyaki floating in their wax paper bag, blinded and wrought open by the same grin that now peels you down, and you're not hungry anymore.

iv. winter pears (rotten, outside your parents' house)

Mingyu's family loves Christmas.

You think it's because of the pear trees they have in the front yard. They stand bravely before the house, all emerald ash and wisdom in the December freeze. Run your palms over the knobs and it's like you can see into a sleepy visage of simpler days past. (Below its heart, carved: 1982, the year the farm was bought. Along the tangle of the roots: gyu waz here, in an unsure, childish scrawl.)  

Winter comes to the countryside crawling on its hands and knees. On days it doesn't snow, there's a mist, boggy and clingy. You've come to realize the cold is more of a threat than a promise, and so the pear trees still bear fruit; the silvery branches hang heavy, faithful.

The first day of December, Mingyu's parents had tasked the two of you with decorating the farmhouse, a duty you took very seriously. You wrapped Mingyu up in string lights and watched him blink in and out like your own personal firefly.

It wasn't until you watched the rafters, the barn doors, the joyous vault of the ceiling all glow, like a spectacular firework, that you finally started to understand why Mingyu was so into the holidays.

It was in the yellow blush of the string lights that you had your first pear from the tree, which Mingyu insisted was a holiday tradition. We make poached pears, he said, mid-bite. You simmer the pear in syrup until it gets so soft, you can cut into it with a fork. Just like butter.

That same night, he kissed you, mouth hot and trembling and tasting of honey, and pressed you against the bark so hard, you could feel the grit of its veins against your skin.

You think December became your favorite month, and pears your favorite fruit.

So much so, that for the entire month, you try to put away your worries about law school applications to celebrate with Mingyu and his family.

You learn his mom makes the best hot chocolate (a cinnamon stick and a dogged devotion to the whisk), and that Mingyu has no clue on God's green earth how to ice skate. (He careens right into your chest the first time. You spend the next hour with him attached to you like a backpack—he manages to find the most impractical ways to do anything, which you somehow admire the most). On Sundays, Yizhuo ditches her Seoul friends and instead accompanies you to the mall two towns over, where she watches you compare different ties and watches and collagen creams as you decide on gifts for his family. (Lilac is so last year, she'd say, stirring the straw of a watered-down milk tea.)

It's not until the weekend before Christmas when you realize just how serious things have gotten. Your feet understand the meander of the dirt path to the farmhouse, your bones the scent of the yellow-skinned apple, the faded wildflowers. Your palms crave the plush of the rug they have in front of the fireplace. Hell, you can't even eat soondubu without thinking of the kind Mingyu's dad makes, with extra anchovies and green onion.

You don't think about what this means. There are ten days left in December and love poured from a full cup never seems to run out.

"Please let me carry some of those," Mingyu wheedles. "Oh my god. I'm like the worst boyfriend in the world."

"No, you are not." you make your way up to his doorstep, taking care to one-two step over the stray roots of one of the pear trees. It's second nature to you by now. "The moment I hand you a box, you are gonna start trying to figure out what it is."

He harumphs and plucks the big one off the top anyway, the one he knows you can't reach. "I didn't even know you were getting us gifts. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do. Who shows up to a holiday dinner emptyhanded?" You stop at the front door. "And stop shaking it," you laugh, using the tip of your boot to nudge his shin.

"Okay. Okay," he says, saccharine, adoring, before grabbing the doorknob. "Ready? Are you nervous? You shouldn't be nervous, right? It's not fancy or anything, if you were worried about that."

And that's the thing that wedges itself between your ribs. Mingyu and his whole family are like this. They love and worry and love again; it presses deep into you, fills you, and overflows.

So here you are, standing in your nicest dress and balancing a stack of gifts you hope will amount to something, never enough but something, to repay the people who you feel have loved you more than you deserve. It's all you really have. You do your best, and yet you know when that door opens, it'll all be washed away in a high-tide flurry of hugs and laughter and the familiar press of Bobpul's wet nose against your leg. They're just those kinds of people—they would be just as happy if you didn't bring anything at all, and somehow that makes you feel even more guilty.

"No, no," you wave him off. "I’m fine. Excited."

When Mingyu opens the door, everything goes just as you expected. His sister takes your coat, your gifts are whisked away to the tree (Aji has already figured out which one is his), and his parents descend upon you in a choking swell of warmth and charity.

We baked some fresh bread for your parents (—Thank you so much, but you really shouldn't have.). You look so beautiful in that color (—No, no, you flatter me too much.). Mingyu better be taking good care of you (—He is. He really, really is.).

The kitchen is gauzy with cinnamon, anise. They must be making their famous poached pears, which Mingyu remarks on, just like clockwork.

Dinner passes the same way. It bubbles over with affection, and you feel swallowed by an impossible yearning. This—a full table and a hand to hold underneath it—did you deserve this? And could you keep it?

For an instant, you picture yourself, years later, at this same seat. Mingyu would be fussing over the rice cakes, his apron still gingham because it reminds him of the day you two met. His parents, grayer but no less happy, bickering over the shade of tinsel on the tree. And the dogs, coiled at your feet like they are now. The vision laps at your bones like you're a raft in a storm.

You're pulled back into the moment when Mingyu squeezes your hand, grounding and insistent. "Mom asked how school was going. I told her I think you're basically the smartest person I know, and I’m pretty sure you're getting into whatever law school you want."

Mingyu's parents laugh, and they cut through their pears.

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Um."

Clink. Knife meets flesh, meets porcelain. Your cheeks are hot. You wanted to talk about anything other than yourself tonight. Clink.

"The top programs are a reach, but it'd be nice." clink. "I just want to get in somewhere."

"They’re all so far away," Mingyu's mom remarks. "So grown up. Any school will be lucky to have you. You'll get into all of them."

Clink.

"Or maybe you can stay here." You watch the prongs of Mingyu's father's fork disappear into the pear. "Keep us old folk company."

"No, no, I think Mingyu should take notes and get off his lazy ass," his sister says, teasing. "Going back to the city will be good for him."

"So you can, what, burn down the kitchen again?" Mingyu grumbles, and the whole table seems to boil over with laughter.

"We’re kidding," his mom tells you. "No matter where you go, I’m sure you'll do great. We can even throw you a party at the end of the year. For graduating."

Clink. Clink.

There's a horrible uneasiness writhing around in your stomach. It's pear and syrup and clove and a blackness, an anxious, selfish one that sucks up all the generosity of the evening and turns it into shame.

Mingyu's mom is talking about throwing you a graduation party, something you didn't even think to do for yourself, and here you are, thinking about the shaking moment you open your rejection letters and the lonely path you'll draw on your way back home.

It's ok. They missed out, Mingyu would say, pouring you a consolation drink, and then it would be over. You'd go home and sit on your bed and the trifold piece of paper would go round and round your head like it was in a washing machine.

Your heart, an inventory of tasks and goals and tally marks. Things you've taken and things you've owed. It's a soft, boneless excuse. Be grateful. Give them that, at least.

Clink.

Dessert ends before you can tell his family not to get their hopes up. Mingyu's mom sends you off with your loaf of bread and a kiss on the cheek, and the moment is gone.

"Gyu," you call out on the steps in front of the house.

There are words at the seam of your lips. You want to tell him you're sorry for worrying so much. For making the whole dinner about you and then very possibly having nothing to show for it when it matters. For the heaviness in your chest. Your cowardice. But none of it comes out.

Instead you watch Mingyu pull at the leaves of a pear tree, watching the frost-filigree they get at the end of the season. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you, as if he's on the hazy cover of a magazine. His eyes bend so wonderfully at the corners when he looks at you, and it breaks your heart.

"You had fun, right?" he asks. "My parents like you a lot, you know. I think they really do."

But that's the problem, you want to say. You all do, and I have no idea why.

Some of the pears are beginning to rot now. You watch one drop off the vine, and it caves to the pavement like it was made of nothing at all.

v. wild barley (grows like weeds)

In March, you play house.

Your parents leave on a two week trip to see relatives, and Mingyu takes it upon himself to make sure you survive.

It's a kind, blinding charade.

(7 am, breakfast. You usually don't even eat breakfast, but you wake up to doenjang and a smile, one that presses itself to yours until you're wearing it on the long walk to school.)

(4 pm, the stretch between lunch and dinner. You're muddling through another useless club meeting when Mingyu sends you a picture of him in your mom's apron, making kimchi. Kiss the chef, he texts you. You promise to, over and over and over.)

It's good until it isn't.

That isn't to say that it's Mingyu's fault. In fact, it's never really Mingyu's fault, and that's the worst thing about your relationship. Sometimes you wish he was worse just so there was someone else to blame.

(1 am, a fridge-cold glass of water and a hand on the column of your spine. Can't sleep? He asks. Just had a weird dream, you say.

It's a lie. You're a liar.

You miss your parents and the first wave of acceptance letters comes out in two days. You're not like him. Sleep has never been a cure for the exhaustion you're feeling, and you have no way of telling him that however warm the bed is won't fix that.)

It's on a Thursday afternoon when you open your mailbox and see the tiny, thin envelope that you've been expecting for the past week. You don't need to open it to know what it says, and yet you do it anyway.

The sun is white, a ghost in the spring sky. The ocean bleeds into the overcast, the curly barley stands tall around your feet, and you let the worst letter you've gotten in your life fall upon your shoulders, word by terrible word.

Then you close it, pinching the seam shut, and draw up your brave face. Nothing left to do but be brave. You're convinced you've used up all the sadness in your relationship—spend in pennies and the well still runs dry. Mingyu will cup your cheek and call you darling, pouring into your emptying basin, holey and broken.

You see him now through the kitchen window, Venus in his clamshell of a kitchen. Galbijjim day, he had said this morning. Now, he waves at you, glittery with recognition.

Your throat feels like crumpled paper.

Mingyu smiles at you, hazy through the glass. Your cheeks hurt and your mouth is paper mache, but you smile back anyway.

///

The letters come one after another.

You know what the envelopes hold and yet you keep opening them. The little folder you keep stashed in your bottom drawer gets fatter every passing day because you can't help but revisit your misery, almost as if you need to remind yourself it exists.

Mingyu is none the wiser. Today he decides he'll put off pastry school for one more year. "It doesn't feel like the right time," he says, rolling a log of burdock kimbap up. "You know what I mean?"

No, you don't. You never really do.

You do know, however, that it would feel really fucking bad that, come the end of the year, to have nothing. All your friends would be going somewhere—even Yizhuo opened her acceptance to an MFA program in Shanghai yesterday—and you would be here, still, feet firmly planted in the muddy Jeju dirt like they always had been.

"Hey, don't look so disappointed." he jokes. "Don't tell me you're already trying to get rid of me."

You're not, you really aren't. But part of you wonders if it's just a race to the bottom. If you got rid of him before he decided he wanted to get rid of you, maybe it would hurt a lot less. One less letter for the folder.

"Never. But imagine if you picked up a French accent at pastry school. Then I’d consider it. Maybe."

You watch his knife rock back and forth on the cutting board as he cuts the kimbap.

"Some for you. And more for me," he says, in what you can only describe as someone attempting to speak French when they've never heard it before. "Unless you want more, mon cherie."

He brings the plates to the table, his grin nothing short of dizzying.

"I’m irresistible, huh? Still wanna leave me now?"

"You're gonna have to try a little harder than that, I think."

The words roll off your tongue, easily, traitorously.

You watch the kimbap disappear off of Mingyu's plate.

Going, going, gone.

///

Seogwipo is always dark at night, only kept alive by the glow of the moonlit sea.

You can't sleep. Again. And so you sit out on the steps in front of your house, letting the twilight wrap around you like a blanket.

You got your last letter back earlier today. You held your breath and tore it open like you would a birthday card with money in it.

Waitlisted.

It was surely better than a rejection, but some naive, child-eyed part of you thought that if you had just closed your eyes and hoped hard enough, things would work out the way you had planned. Tragically, it wasn't enough this time. You wanted and wanted and you thought maybe that would mean you'd come close to deserving it.

Your parents called today. After managing to sideline the issue of basically the rest of your entire life, they had finally cut through your sad little charade. No good news yet, huh?

No, but—

It was always like that with you. No, but it's not as bad as you think. No, but give me a chance. No, but I’m trying. I've been trying.

You wish things didn't come out of you so complicated. That you could be like Seohyun, who could go through school with her eyes closed and still graduate at the top of her class. Instead, you parade around your little failures, trying to convince people it all could mean something only if they squinted. See? It isn't so bad.

You think you're past the point of crying about it. Your stomach hurts, you're cold, and most of all, you just want to go back to bed. Plus, although Mingyu sleeps like a log, you think he's developed a sixth sense for whenever you get up too early.

Time to be brave, you've been telling yourself, although you don't know who you're pretending for anymore.

So you nudge the front door open—it's so old, it wails if you come at it with any more force—and, to your surprise, see the light above the kitchen sink turned on.

It's not very bright, but it's enough to make out Mingyu's broad silhouette, back turned to you as he makes a cup of tea. He's humming one of his made-up songs.

"Mingyu?"

"There you are," he says, turning around. "Just came out to check on you. And make you some tea."

The kettle whizzes. Your gut twists.

You still haven't said anything to Mingyu. To manage your own disappointment was one thing—you don't think you could handle another person's. And yet when he stands there, Pororo mug between his huge hands, you feel as if you are holding a knife, big and guilty and bloody.

"I-I'm fine, Gyu. Honest." you watch his expression flicker, unreadable in the persimmon lamplight. "Sorry you had to come out. It's chilly out here."

"You know, you can tell me what's going on. I won't judge."

No, no, no. This is the last conversation you wanted to have, with the last person you wanted to have it with.

You feel feverish. You think your hands are shaking.

"Mingyu, I swear—"

"Whatever it is, we can fix it. I know we can."

That almost makes you want to laugh if you didn't want to cry so bad. Of fucking course he would say that. Mingyu, who treats life like it's the watermelon trick he showed you on the outlook, wants to put a bandaid on this whole thing, as if that could come close to fixing it.

He'd tell you to curl up on the couch with a bad movie while he orders takeout. Kiss you on the top of the head. It's ok, baby. Just another bad day for the person who has the worst luck in the world. Another lump of problems for him to try and make better. If he isn't sick of you now, he sure would be soon enough.

"It’s okay," you say, steeling your voice. "It really isn't a big deal. Let's just go back to sleep."

You try to walk away, but the hardness in Mingyu's eyes roots you down to the tile.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Pushing me away," he swallows. "Like you always do. I know something's going on."

"I’m not, i just—"

"You just what? You can't help it?"

"No, I—"

"Because you like to know that you can? That you can say whatever and then watch me come back?" A fragmented, heavy silence thrums between you. He's looking at you like he's daring you to say something, anything. His gaze is black. "What am I good for if you can't tell me anything?"

There's that familiar, stinging pressure behind your eyes. You think you're crying, but you're not sure. Maybe you've been crying this whole time.

"Fine," you bite. Your blood feels like hot metal. "You really wanna know? I didn't get into law school. There. Happy now?"

Mingyu looks stung.

"W-why didn't you tell me?"

Because I thought you would stop loving me. I thought you would have finally had enough.

"Because it's not all about you, Mingyu."

The words, selfish and damning, burn your tongue. Mingyu is right. This is what you always do. You fuck up and then make everyone else hurt for it.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says. His voice doesn't sound like his. Instead, the words seem to hang in the air, trembling and holding their breath, waiting for an apology you can't give yet. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's ok." You swallow hard, and it hurts. "Let's just go back to bed."

It's getting colder and colder. You think there's a little hole in your sock, right above the cat's whiskers.

Mingyu doesn't reach for you as he passes to get to the hallway. Maybe he doesn't know how to anymore.

The Pororo cup is left abandoned on the counter. You walk over and read the label on the tea bag—barley, because you have class tomorrow morning.

You pick it up, let the ceramic buzz between your hands with whatever warmth it has left, and hold it to your lips.

It's cold now, but all you can think to do is drink it. Erase all the evidence that tonight ever happened, and maybe it'll be nothing more than a bad dream in the morning.

There's honey at the bottom of the cup. It sears the back of your throat, but you drink until there's nothing left.

vi. the peach blossoms (without fail, bloom every August. I miss you.)

You broke up the next day.

Even now, you remember what happened. You had woken up early that morning to make your own breakfast because you couldn't allow Mingyu to give you any more of himself. Your hands could only hold, shatter, so much.

"Mingyu, I think we should...." You looked at the zigzags of jam on your toast, angry and uneven. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For now," you had added, as if that made anything better at all.

Somehow that seemed more merciful at the time. Really, you think it just showed your cowardice. If you were going to break his heart, you might as well have gone all the way the first time.

Maybe it was a good thing that Mingyu saw right through you. He always did.

"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna give up on us?"

"No, I just...need some time."

"How long?" he asked. "Be honest with me. Because you know I’ll wait."

"I don't know." You couldn't meet his gaze. His eyes reached and reached over that kitchen table and you denied him even that.

"Don't you always know?" he asked, pitifully, desperately. "Don't you want this to work?"

And you did. In fact, you don't think you had ever wanted anything more, and it was that that scared you. You had already lost law school—you couldn't let the only other thing in your life let you go. So you pulled the trigger first.

"We should just end things. I'm sorry. I can't give you what you need."

He packed his bag within the hour, and you think everything, from then on, froze inside you. You didn't move from your seat until your parents came home from the airport later that day and asked why there were two plates of toast still on the table.

You think you knew, someplace, inevitably, this would happen. You, who only knew hunger, had reached deep inside Mingyu and rooted out a love you didn't think you were worthy of having. And yet you still ate from the vine, bite after guilty bite, until you couldn't take any more. The only time he asked you for anything at all, you couldn't give it to him—such was the irony of your relationship.

Maybe you were doomed the moment the first strawberry hit your tongue, just like you had said, all that time ago.

About a month later, you got another letter in the mail. Chungnam National University Law School, it read. This one was fat, in one of those brown envelopes lined with bubble wrap. Somehow, miraculously, that position on the waitlist had turned into an acceptance. You held the package to your chest and cried, loud and with abandon, as if taking a deep breath after almost drowning.

Ironically, the first person you wanted to tell was Mingyu. But the good news you needed to save your relationship came too little, too late. Perhaps that meant it had no legs to stand on in the first place, but that didn't stop you from missing it. Instead, you told Yizhuo, and she drove you to Jeju City and treated you to dinner. "You should just call him," she had said. "Hey, don't look at me like that. He'd probably pick up on the first ring."

The city is swathed in August's crimson summer—peach season. The narrow streets are lined with peach trees, the fruits glowing like fat drops of sunlight. All you do these days is plan for your eventual move to Daejeon and the start of a life that seems newer and shinier than your own. But surrounded by the cicada song, the velvet treeline, the rain-soaked asphalt, somehow you think you're going to miss Seogwipo more than you think.

(Fickle, fickle heart. You always needed things to be taken away to really be able to appreciate them. Somehow, all that wanting had boiled down to something more satisfying, more filling.)

You wonder how Mingyu is. Now that you think about it, he seems just as much a part of Seogwipo as the farm he lives on. It was only last summer when you had first met him in the field, set on fire by the strawberry harvest. You think about him now, peddling around that ridiculous wicker basket to make jam. Maybe talking to another pretty girl, someone as naive, cruel as you had been.

Not long ago, you considered calling him to apologize, but that'd just be another thing to be selfish about. A little time and some warm weather, and I’m calling to finally wash my hands of you. That's what it would sound like, no matter what you said. Still, it didn't stop you from thinking of him, every flower, every season.

"You know, I always wanted to grow peach trees. But I think we've always been a pear kind of family."

Mingyu. If a voice could cut through air, it'd be his.

You whip around, half-believing you're hearing things. Certainly that would be easier, but you're learning that there are some things you can't run from.

And like a picture, Mingyu stands tall, golden, framed by the peach blossoms. Not a thing about him has changed. Not even the way he looks at you.

"Mingyu," you breathe. Unfortunately, none of the times you replayed your last conversation with him help you come up with something to say, because in none of them did you anticipate him coming back. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly."

"No way," you reply, scrambling. "Crazy, because I live here too."

You both laugh nervously, a silly, bubbly thing, but you feel like you're going to throw up. It's only now that you realize you're kind of on the walk to his place. Seogwipo has never had places to hide.

"I...um." You try and disentangle the guilt from the nostalgia from the scent of the peaches and the warmth on his face. They all look the same. You missed him. "I got into law school. In Daejeon."

"I heard," he says. "Not surprised at all. I always knew you would."

"Thank you. I mean it." The cicadas buzz around you, as if they know they have an important silence to fill. "You're staying in town, right?"

"Actually, I decided to apply to culinary school. It finally felt right, you know? I'm leaving at the end of the summer, but it's just in Jeju City. I couldn't leave the island."

"Thank goodness. I don't know if you could tell, but I kind of always hoped you would. I don't think I’ve ever eaten better food." Your voice wobbles, but it gets there. "You'll do amazing."

Then time stretches and forces you to recognize, reckon with, the moment you're in. You wonder if he feels the same way you do—bruised, overripe. If there's still a space in his heart for you.

Deep breath. Life only gives you so many chances.

"Mingyu, I’m sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't make us work. You deserved better." Saying it feels like peeling the skin of your heart back. There's still a palpable distance between the two of you—you think that had always been there—but it feels more comfortable in a way it never did before.

"Don’t apologize," he says, easily, as he always does. Everything seems to flow off him like water, and you think that's the part of him you loved the most because it was the one thing you couldn't touch. "We loved each other. I think that much was true."

A jasmine breeze curls through the trees, sending the blossoms fluttering around you like ink in water. The very first time you met Mingyu, you thought the image of him, haloed with the sunset, was the one you wanted to keep forever. And yet, somehow, you don't think you'll ever forget the way he looks right now.

"Will you ever come back to Seogwipo?" you ask.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing—you were always the one who wanted to get out of here." He grins, ear to ear. "Of course I'm coming back. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Yeah. I think I know what you mean."

The sea, the clay dirt, Mingyu. Even yourself, clumsy and care-worn. You think, somewhere along the line, you forgot how to love. But you're learning—one step at a time.

"Friends," you say. "Let's be friends. If you'll let me."

"Thought you would never ask. Gladly. Always." The space between you seizes, like it's holding in a breath. Maybe one day, you'll think of closing it once more, but you like where you stand now. You can admire him better from a distance, without your fingerprints all over him. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, something he does before he gets ready to leave. But before he does—"I'll see you soon, okay? You better come back. Promise me."

For the first time, you see the honesty in his eyes and you really, truly believe him.

"Promise."

The Seogwipo sun is high and red in the sky when you wave Mingyu goodbye. It feels like you're coming to an end of a long summer, but you're not afraid. You watch the wind dance through the peach blossoms, their branches never searching, never wanting, and you finally feel as if you've arrived home.

[incomplete-leclerc]

　𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗞𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦.　franco colapinto · #43

　　　your boyfriend acts on impulse, leading him to get into fights, and you to worry about his safety.

genres : hurt/comfort ... established relationship ... franco x fem!reader.　 request : anon for franco + stitches on a cheekbone for the 100 event.　word count : 0.6k.　warnings : mild arguing ... mention of injuries (bruises, a cut, stitches) ... mention of franco punching someone ... profanity ... some spanish pentanes (i do not speak spanish but i think they're all translated correctly).　 note : tell me why there were no good pics of franco so i had to find a random gif instead LIKE i swear finding pics takes longer than writing the actual fics sometimes.　　　( masterlist )　( taglist )

“Franco? Where the fuck have you been?” you asked disgruntledly as the figure of your boyfriend stepped through the door. Wide eyes, clearly tired, but they softened at the sound of your voice, no matter how irritated your tone was. He dropped his tattered backpack on the floor and pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up tightly and nuzzling his face into your neck. 

“I’m so sorry, hermosa. I didn’t mean to leave you worried,” he whispered. You breathed, closing your eyes and reciprocating the hug. More than twenty-four hours with no word from him had you thinking of the worst possible scenarios to explain what had happened. Although you were still very much mad at him, you let him have the hug that you both needed in the moment. Breathing in his familiar scent, letting it calm your senses just slightly. He was safe, back in your arms. You could finally let your brain take a break from running in circles.

You felt him press a few kisses to your neck, soft and slow, travelling up to your cheek until you pulled away from the hug. 

“Where were you? Why didn’t you call?” you questioned, withdrawing to look at his face. 

“My phone died. And I got in a little fight— but, I’m really okay, Y/n. It was just a crazy night.”

Your face fell. “You’re so reckless all the time, amor. Don’t you ever stop to use your brain once?” 

You knew the words would do little to change anything. Franco was messy. Nothing could magically make him a clean person. Usually it didn’t bother you. It was something you loved about him. But when it got in the way of his safety, it scared you. Staring at the bruises starting to form on his left cheek, and the cut on his cheekbone closed up with a few stitches, you only wished he would listen to you for once. 

“How’d you start a fight this time?” you asked, leading Franco to sit down on the couch. Now that he was back home, it was time for you to take charge and take care of him. And if you were lucky, knock some sense into his brain. He was silent for a moment, thinking of how to phrase what had happened in the mildest way possible.

“Well… we were all drunk, and some guys said some things about you, so I just punched them in the face so they would shut up,” he said simply, trying to stop himself from grinning. You stared at him in shock. 

“Franco—”

“Y/n, you can’t possibly have expected me to just let them talk shit about you? I don’t think I overreacted,” he defended. In his mind, a few bruises to his face was more than worth it to shut up a few assholes talking about his girlfriend. And seeing them run off with much worse injuries than him was satisfying. 

“You didn’t have to fight them over it. Now you’re hurt, and I was left worrying about you for hours. It was unnecessary and completely avoidable,” you pleaded, hoping that he would understand where you were coming from. A few tears building in your eyes stopped Franco from arguing over it more.

“I’m sorry, hermosa,” he whispered, cupping your face and silencing you of any other critical words. You knew it was time to drop the issue. You didn’t want to press him more after he apologized. “I won’t do it again,” he said, noticing the doubt in your eyes. It eased up, and you relaxed slightly. 

“Promise?” 

“Swear on my life,” he assured, sincerity swimming in his pearly eyes. You knew he meant it this time.

taglist: @caffeinboi

[aventurineswife]

I have a challenge for you :3

Write the most angsty thing possible for your current fav character!

I'm talking about hurt and NO COMFORT AT ALL. Could be unrequited feelings, MCD, whatever makes you cry the most!

Have fun :)

A Lost Bet

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Unrequited Love, Emotional Manipulation, Power Dynamics, Toxic Relationships, Betrayal, Emotional Hurt, Ambiguous Ending, Aventurine-centric.

Warnings: Emotional abuse, Themes of manipulation, Heartbreak, Unreciprocated feelings, Self-worth issues, Subtle references to past trauma, Heavy focus on emotional pain.

A/N: I probably could've come up with something else, but I remembered that I make you guys suffer nonetheless. My first-ever Aventurine fic was already traumatizing enough that someone actually wanted a second part (not angst ver of it ahaha) of it 🧍‍♀️. Welp, enjoy! 🫶💖

The air was thick with tension, the scent of luxury mingling with the bitter taste of regret. The grand hall of the IPC's high-rise echoed with the hushed whispers of the elite, but to you, the room might as well have been empty. The only thing that mattered was the cold weight of your heart, the hollow pit that seemed to grow larger with each passing moment.

Aventurine stood at the center, a commanding figure draped in his trademark elegance, his eyes flicking between his rivals with calculated precision. His smile, that all-too-perfect mask, never wavered. But you saw it—his hand, hidden behind his back, the subtle tremor that betrayed the façade.

"Another gamble," you thought bitterly. The same game, over and over again.

You watched him, and the truth settled in like a stone in your chest. He wasn’t playing with them. He was playing with you.

You had always admired his brilliance, his charm, his strategic genius. At first, it had been exciting—this dazzling, dangerous man who made life feel like a thrilling chessboard, where every move was calculated and every word was laced with meaning. But now... now, you couldn’t ignore the gnawing ache of your own helplessness. The way he looked at you, like you were one of his many pieces on the board—expendable, replaceable.

You thought you were special. You wanted to believe it, with all your heart. But that was before you understood his game, before you saw the way he treated his allies, his enemies, and you.

"Do you want to know how I can predict every move, every outcome, even before it happens?" Aventurine’s voice cut through the haze of your thoughts, and you were momentarily brought back to reality. He had approached you, his smile like a blade, his words deliberate, venomously sweet.

You looked up at him, trying to mask the pain with a smile that never quite reached your eyes. "Tell me," you replied, your voice distant, hollow.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. "It’s simple. I don’t need to predict them. I make them happen. I control the game, every time."

Your breath hitched, and something inside you snapped. He controls everything. The thoughts, the words, the actions—all of it was part of a bigger plan. A plan where you were nothing but a mere spectator. Maybe a pawn, at best.

He stepped back, his gaze scanning the room, as if he had already moved on. "I'll let you in on a little secret," he continued, his voice smooth like silk. "The greatest risk is never losing. It’s letting someone else think they matter."

And then it hit you. That was the cruelest thing about him—he never truly let anyone matter. Not you. Not anyone.

You had never mattered to him, had you? Not in the way you had hoped. Not in the way you had wanted.

"You're not the first to think that," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. It took everything in you not to break. "But I suppose that’s part of your charm, isn't it?"

Aventurine’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. He never let his emotions show for long, but you saw it—something fleeting. Something that looked like... regret? No. It couldn’t be. Not from him. You’d never meant that much.

His hand slid away from his back, and for the briefest moment, you saw the glittering ring on his finger, the one that symbolized his control, his power. That was all he cared about, wasn’t it? Power. The gamble. The game. Not you. Never you.

You clenched your fists, the burning realization cutting deep. You had played his game long enough, believed in a love that was never there. And now? Now the cost was your soul.

Aventurine’s voice snapped you from your thoughts. "It’s a shame," he said, his tone shifting, colder now. "I really did think you might be the one to understand. But it seems you’re just like the rest."

The words stung, but you didn’t let him see it. Instead, you nodded, your heart already breaking into pieces. "Goodbye, Aventurine."

And just like that, the final gambit had been played. The stakes had been too high, and you were the one who had lost. He had already moved on.

As you turned away, you heard him speak one last time, his voice detached, as if addressing a passing thought.

“Don’t gamble with things you can’t afford to lose.”

Your steps echoed through the empty hallway, each one heavier than the last. You had been a fool, thinking he could ever love you. In his world, love was just another risk.

And in the end, you were nothing more than a lost bet.

[floofanflurr]

With you having done a few underfell fics, I was wondering if you had any headcannons for underfell gaster specifically?

Since in your finding home series hes a big softy and I want to know if you see that extending to the fell universe

EHEHEH!!! Thank you for asking!!!! :D I freaking love asks.... So for your question! I tend to change up my headcanons depending on what story I'm writing, so I'll just answer this for How To: Gaster specifically, I suppose?

Underfell Gaster Headcanons:

He's not actually related to Sans or Papyrus at all.

He's a dickwad, and harsh, and spits insults and threats at anything that moves...

He also tosses bread and scraps to the skeleton orphans when he passes them on the streets simply because he doesn't need the trash anymore, okay?!

...He remembers a time when the world wasn't so cruel. When he would have taken in those skeleton children in a soulbeat.

He upends his garbage can over Sans's and Papyrus's head sometimes. (It's nobody's business if that trash can has some gold and a few papers advertising under the table jobs that need someone scrappy to work for them, and very little actual trash.)

(It's also nobody's business if he threatens said places that if a small skeleton shows up, they will hire him.)

As soon as Sans looks old enough to ditch his stripes, Gaster yoinks him off the streets and glares at him as he sets him in the lab. "WELL? GET TO WORK! I DON'T KEEP TRASH EMPLOYED."

(Sans is not, in fact, old enough to remove his stripes, but no one else needs to know that.)(Gaster knows.)(The entire lab knows.)

(None of them say anything.)

Those that work at the labs are off limits to other monsters. Everyone knows Gaster will be pissed if something happens to one of his employees or their families, because he despises inefficiency. And Gaster is not a monster to get on the bad side of.

No one mentions anything about the small area in Gaster's office that's set up with a few desks and education materials that are much too entry level for anyone that should be working at the lab—elementary school level, really.

No one mentions Papyrus showing up when Sans works.

Gaster will spit insults at Sans and Papyrus, but he also makes sure that if Sans is coming in in threadbare clothing, or the boys are looking a bit dim from lack of food, that Sans gets a raise. They live much better than orphans should, really. (It's still not enough. But it's as much as anyone can have in this fucked up reality)

Gaster is harsh to his employees, but he does still praise them in a standoffish way when they preform well. Positive reinforcement is scientifically proven to be important, after all. He's not particularly kind about his praise, and much of it is backhanded, but he still gives it.

He refuses to admit how much he loves that Sans pokes fun at him and teases him. And his heart certainly does not melt when Sans drags Papyrus in on their lunch break if Gaster hasn't stopped to eat yet. He's quite annoyed by how Sans won't leave until Gaster eats too, in fact. (He's not)

When Papyrus is a bit too bright and optimistic, a large part of Gaster wants to scream and clock him on the skull and hide him away because he's going to get himself killed.

He can't. Every time he'll meet Sans's sockets—too young, too tired, too jaded, and yet still not scolding his brother—and clam up. If anyone else in the lab tries to harass Papyrus or Sans, Gaster will simply yell and threaten them about something unrelated until they shut up.

(The lab is a haven of safety. The employees love Gaster for it. They also have a soft spot for the boys. In a way, they're a community, committing the treason of caring for these children instead of killing them.)

(They're harsh and sometimes cruel, but Gaster does not tolerate dust being spilled in his lab for any reason. Arguments must be taken outside. And really... none of them care to take those arguments outside.)

Gaster is thrilled by how intelligent both the boys are, and he can't really hide it. The children are brilliant, and Sans has moved onto graduate level texts while he's still young enough to be in stripes, technically. Papyrus isn't far behind.

Gaster is the only one Sans trusts to babysit Papyrus.

Gaster loves babysitting Papyrus. (even if none of them call it that)

Gaster starts to melt behind closed doors when it's simply him and the boys. His insults falter. His digs lack the barbs they once had. The praise softens and becomes more commonplace.

(Gaster is one of the reasons Papyrus learns kindness.)

Gaster starts to clean out his apartment and reevaluate if he has the space for three. He knows its dangerous—that being claimed by him would put a target on the children's heads... but he can protect them, can't he?

Perhaps. Just maybe. There's a possibility. That Gaster is planning on asking Sans and Papyrus if they want a place to stay—with him.

...But you know how the story goes from here, I imagine. Just when he's trying to gather himself to ask, he falls into the CORE.

And he shatters.

Sorry boys, better luck in another universe.

(...He's still watching over them.)

[nocasdatsgay]

The Worst Book

Pairing: Gen/Implied Nessian | Word Count: 801 | Rating: T i guess

Summary: Emerie gives Nesta a book to read not fully detailing what she would be reading

A/N: For @readychilledwine who jokingly said she would pay good money to see [redacted] used in a fic lol

Read Below or on Read on AO3

Gen Tagging: @hieragalbatorixdottir @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @ninthcircleofprythian @daycourtofficial @ysmtttty @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath If I missed you let me know.

“Then he pulled out his purple-headed yogurt slinger. And gods did I want some of that yogurt slung onto my tongue. I dropped to my knees-”

Nesta threw the book. She had put up with poor writing before but this? She fell back onto the couch. Her mate, who has been reading beside her in his own chair, watched her from over his book. 

“You okay there Nes?” He asked. 

“No,” she replied, not moving. 

“Someone die?”

“Worse!” 

He raised a brow as she sat back up and got the book off the floor. He sat his own open faced down in his lap while she flipped to the pages. 

“There,” she shoved the book and pointed at the words. “Read that.” 

He did and he burst with laughter. “Purple- purple headed, what?” 

“Purple-headed yogurt squirter.” Nesta fake gagged. “I’ll never eat yogurt again.”

“Not even mine?” Cass replied quickly. Nesta hit him with the book and he laughed more. “Where did you even find that?” 

“Emerie. Tomorrow I am going to ask what the hells she was thinking.” 

As promised, the next morning Azriel brought Emerie to training and Nesta was waiting. Arms crossed and book in hand, she glared at her friend as she approached. 

“What did I do?” Emerie asked. Her gaze fell to the book and she grinned. “Oh, so you got to chapter 14.”

“Why in the hells did you recommend this to me?” Nesta grinned. 

“If I had to read it, you had to read it. Did you keep going?” Nesta shook her head and Emerie howled with laughter. “Go to the next chapter! You have to see his POV.”

Hesitantly, Nesta flipped the pages. She skimmed the page, picking up that the main female had just given this main male the best blowjob of his life and he was going to return the favor. She turned the page and a voice pulled her away. 

“What are you both giggling about?” Gwyn had arrived. 

Nesta cut her eyes to Emerie and they both burst with laughter again. 

“You don’t want to know,” Nesta said between laughs. 

“Oh come on, yes I do!” Gwyn grinned. 

“It’s a smut book.” Emerie said plainly. “The author called the man’s cock a purple headed yogurt squirter.” 

“Oh,” Gwyn’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. 

Behind her in the distance, Az’s head whipped up. “They said it was what?” 

Cassian cackled beside him. Both males walked over to join them and Emerie explained she had read the book and it was so horrible she needed Nesta to see it. She then turned to her friend and gestured to the book. 

“She was about to read what the main male calls the females-“ she eyed Gwyn, who still wasn’t used to the crassness of the romance novels she and Nesta read. “Her bits.” 

Nesta opened the book where she had her finger placed. She read aloud. 

“I had to return the favor. She laid out in front of me and her legs parted, revealing the treasure between them. I parted- oh my gods I parted the lips of her meat oyster and my tongue dived in to find its pearl.” Nesta yelled last part. “Where the hells did you find this! This cannot be real.”

The boys doubled over, leaning on each other laughing. Gwyn too, covered her mouth as her body shook with giggles. 

Emerie grinned. “It’s a, what did they call it? A satire romance novel. It’s supposed to be terrible.” 

“I think you’re just saying that because it’s so horrible.” Nesta replied, scrunching her nose at the book. 

“Okay ladies,” Cassian regained his composure. “The others will be here soon. We’re here to train with actual swords. Not. Yogurt squirting ones.” 

Gwyn made a face and everyone chuckled. Nesta went to put the book away and Emerie leaned over to her. 

She whispered. “Before you toss it in the fire, read chapter twenty.” 

Nesta gave her a look but sat it down. Later that night as she winded down for bed, she went to chapter twenty. It was the males POV again. She braced herself as she read. 

“I bent her over the table and threw up her dress. I groaned seeing she had no panties on. I wasted no time shoving down my trousers. My meat injector was hard and locked in-“

Nesta was instantly taken aback. “Meat injector?” She muttered. 

She kept reading. “-and ready to shoot my load and baste the insides of my love’s flesh sleeve.” She gagged, instantly regretting it.

She tossed the book on the table beside her chair and tried to clear her mind. If her mate was going to be handsy in bed- as he usually was, she could not be thinking about that. It would definitely ruin the mood. 

[dinogoofymutated]

Okay, since requests are open, I wanted to ask for something, especially after seeing that you are comfortable with most male characters.

I present:

Scott Summers x fem!reader who's just a little too rebelious and annoying for his taste but he still can't help but love her? Like, enemies to lovers kind of style?

If you want to do a oneshot or headcanons is up to you, I'm just starving for Scott content.

Don't know, if you wanna do is, especially since he's not everyone's cup of tea, but I thought "hey, give it a try, maybe she wants to try someting different" so here I go

Anyway, love your work, you#re amazing <3

Cyclops/GN!Reader I've had this prompt saved in my drafts for SO LONG. Basically since the moment it came in!! I was so happy you sent this in bc i had been thinking about writing for Scott, but then I couldn't think of a good enough way to carry this out so I waited on it for a good bit until I had it down to a science!! Hope you enjoy!! Man, I started writing this and then realised I had to make a banner for him too 😭 I did this to myself tho Most of the characters I write for are written as combinations from different x-men media, but I'm still figuring out how I want to characterise Scott since he's a new character for me. Just wanted to put this out there in case I change how I write for him in future fics. (also, let me know how you feel about him in this one! Tell me if yall think I should tweak his attitude a bit :) ) Edit from the future: I started this draft so long ago and damn did it turn out long. TWs: Idk at the moment, will add if I think of any! Reader has a specific power that is kinda vague at first. I've written them out at the very bottom BUT if u read u will spoil the surprise of the fic so fair warning

Scott does not like you. At least, not anymore.

You've known each other for a long time, both coming to Xavier's school within weeks of each other. You used to be friends- or at least friendly. But as you both grew and learned more about yourselves and your powers, a gap began to form, and then continued to grow once both of you became members of the x-men.

It's not like he didn't notice your tendency for rebellious behavior before, but on the field? the two of you clashed more than ever. He's doing his best out here, and the last thing he needs as a leader is both you and Logan going out of your way to put yourselves in dangerous situations because you think you know better.

And the moment you get back to the mansion? You clash all over again- and over the dumbest things. You practically avoid him all of the time, refuse to spar with him unless you're forced, will scoot away from him if he has to sit next to you on game nights. It's like the very thought of brushing against him is enough to get under your skin.

The moment the blackbird lands, you should have known what to expect. But you're in such a good mood, with the mission having gone well despite all odds. Sure, you didn't exactly follow Cyclops' foolproof plan, but when did you ever?

Scott is standing at the end of the ramp when the doors open, watching with a rather sour look on his face as you laugh with Jubilee, the others trailing shortly behind. He crosses his arms, and you barely stop short of him, acting like you had never seen him in the first place as you sigh, nodding at the others to go ahead before finally turning to him and crossing your own arms.

"Go ahead. Say your piece." You say. It only stokes the irritation in him, and he scowls.

"You can't go one, single mission and actually listen to what I say, can you?" He snaps. You roll your eyes, knowing that if he had it his way, you'd never have gone on the mission at all. Still, you stand defiantly, unwilling to back down.

"Look, you weren't even there, you can't expect me to-"

"It would be different if I was there, but I wasn't." Scott interrupts you, and the aggravation it lights in you is practically all-consuming. You can't hold back your scowl. "You were the only senior member of the team on that plane, do you understand how detrimental it could have been if you had gotten hurt, or worse?!" Oh, what a load of horseshit. It's alway the boy scout schtick with him- I'm the leader, do what I say, If I was there none of this would have happened- what an asshole! Hell, in the second half you might have actually thought he was concerned for you and the team, but you knew better.

"Don't act like you actually give a damn, Summers." You snap. "Everyone is fine, no one got hurt, I don't see your problem." You're done with this. You're tired, sweaty, exhausted, and the last thing you want to be doing right now is talking with him. You knock shoulders with him as you brush past, but he reaches out and grabs you by the arm. You feel a mix of strong emotions- anger, concern, frustration- and thoughts swim in your head, before snatching your arm away from him like you'd been burned. He pauses for a second as you whip around and look at him, a rage in your eyes. He still looks at you with that stupid, stubborn look on his face.

"I get that you think I'm just some stuck-up asshole, but there's a reason I get angry when you do something reckless." His voice has lost the smallest a bit of fire. You scoff at him immediately, before turning away to storm out.

"Eat shit."

So no. things weren't exactly cool between you two.

It's not like you weren't friends at some point though, back when you were kids. You didn't know what happened to cause this rift, but he only really thought of you as some reckless idiot as of late, and you didn't care to learn anything else about what was going on in his brain.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean you could avoid him forever. Not when the both of you are on a team.

You only realise how much pain you're in when the blackbird's autopilot clicks on. Your suit was scuffed and worn in some areas, starting to burn at the edges of your sleeves as the protective coating started to wear away. You noticed it in the midst of battle, trying to focus on manipulating debri to a colder temperature rather than a hot one, but sometimes you can't afford to be picky in fights. Your suit may have been temperature resistant, but you were temperature invulnerable. Besides, heat did the most damage anyway.

You frown a bit at the sight of your burnt sleeves. Normally, you'd be worried that Hank would be mad at having to make a new suit again, but if anything you were sure he'd be grateful for the challenge of improving it. Scott was really the only one who would scold you for it, always coming back to the same arguments of being too reckless, ect, ect... and speaking of Scott, he was being awfully quiet right now.

The cockpit is empty exempt for the two of you, being the only two assigned to the mission. Scott is sat in the pilot's chair, and you can't really see much of him besides the top of his head. He's silent, and it makes you worried.

When you stand and walk. over to him, his face looks pained. You're sure his eyes are closed under his signature visor, his head leaning back limply in the chair, hair tussled. You furrow your eyebrows. You knew he'd be tired, but he's not usually this burned out.

"Scott? You alright?" You ask. he only hums in response. It's then when you realise what's wrong.

"Migraine?" You ask, and he hums in the affirmative. You wince at the thought. You knew he got migraines often, especially when using his mutation more than usual, and having migraines yourself, you knew he was hurting. You take a look at where the emergency aid box usually is, knowing it had painkillers, but the space is empty, and you sigh to yourself when you remember you used it on a local- Scott agreeing with you for once when you wanted to leave it with them for any more emergencies. You look back at Scott, and think for a moment more.

Scott jumps when you place a cold hand on his forehead, having settled your weight on the back of the chair behind him. It sparks a feeling of surprise.

"What are you doing?" Scott asks, and instead of his usual accusatory tone, he just sounds tired.

"Don't be a baby." You respond, chilling both hands and combing through his hair gently. Scott is confused as all hell. Why were you doing this? You go out of your way to avoid him at any cost, and then... this? What even was this?

But... he'd be lying if it didn't feel nice. Scott begins to relax underneath you as you continue to comb through his scalp, pressing gentle touches to his forehead as you do so. It's... it feels good.

"My mom used to do this when I was little." You say softly, after a long moment of silence. "Whenever I had a migraine, she'd run her hands under cold water for a long time, lay my head in her lap, and run her hands through my hair. The cold usually helped." Scott's shoulder's are sagging now, and he sighs every once in a while. Although he doesn't say anything, you don't need to ask. There's a question beginning to brim, but you answer it before he can even speak- saving him the effort of talking in the midst of his pain.

"...And it just felt nice to feel her play with my hair, I guess. 'figured it might help you, too."

You try not to dwell on whatever thoughts begin to swirl after that.

It's hard to tell when things shift after that. Even harder for Scott to understand why.

Eventually you go from avoiding him at any given chance, stiff and petty with your actions, to casual. Not quite friendly, but almost.

"And... Right hand red!" Jubilee calls from the couch, having entirely too much fun for someone who isn't even playing this game. Everyone who's already lost has dispersed, either playing a different game or having good conversation. The game of twister had started with four? Maybe five of you? But at the moment, it was just down to you and Scott. -The two of you being way too competitive to let the other win. At the moment, both of you were in a bit of a strange position, with Scott managing to crawl over you at some point. Aside from that, the game had been going on for uncomfortably long- long enough for the pizza to get here.

The doorbell rings and it's pretty instantaneous when people start to flock to the kitchen for the feast, Jubilee included. There's a flicker of panic in both of you as she quickly leaves.

"Hey!-"

"Jubilee! Wait!"

"You'll be fine, you big babies!" She calls out, giggling in her pursuit of the cheesy goodness. That just leaves you and Scott on the matt, pressed together in some places and a but uncomfortable, but awkwardly? Still competeting.

"God, that pizza smells good." Scott groans from above you, the smell of food becoming more and more tempting. You think about it, for a half a second maybe, but that competitive little devil on your shoulder gets to you before your stomach can.

"You know what? why don't you go ahead and grab a piece!" You say, causing Scott to cock an eyebrow at you.

"What, and let you win? Not a chance." He huffs. You shrug best you can, it was worth a shot! Neither of you were going to budge any time soon, determined not to let the other win. But the longer you stayed pressed together...

It's not like you hadn't noticed how handsome Scott was. Hell, who wouldn't? Even Logan isn't immune to his good looks, but obviously you weren't going to be... wierd, about it. You're just playing a game, right? But the sight of him above you, slightly flushed, shifting every once in a while while keeping his balance? It was... tempting.

It doesn't take long for other thoughts to begin swimming around, worming their way into your mind. The two of you in various states of undress... gasping, gripping onto one another... marks on his neck, your lips swollen and stained by the lipstick your wearing tonight.

Each and every thought leaves you more flustered than before, slipping on the plastic mat and accidentally knocking into one of Scott's weight bearing arms and sending the two of you colliding into the floor. You hear Scott let out a noise of pain and you're not down there for long before you shove him off of you, face burning as you grumble about his win. You stalk off without much fanfare, leaving Scott a bit befuddled.

"What was that all about?"

But regardless of how aggravated you made eachother sometimes, everyone has their breaking point...

You're surprised when Scott kisses you in the hall some weeks later, less than a second after a heated spat started to take a bit of a turn, but to be honest? You were into it.

His lips are soft, if a little chapped, heated kisses full of force and urgency before they soften just a little. You kiss him back in a similar manner his hands falling to your waist as you grab him by the collar and pull him even closer. You're quick to start moving the two of you backwards fumbling for a closet door you could have sworn was right... there.

As soon as the door swings open, you pull him inside, pushing him against the wall once it closes again and cupping the back of his neck as you pull him into another kiss. An unfamiliar feeling of warmth shoots through you as you do, and you almost giggle as his thoughts start to flood with more and more tempting situations for the two of you to be in.

After each and every dirty thought he has, you start to wonder if he even remembered your touch telepathy after having known you for so long- but hell, even if he didn't, you weren't complaining.

If u made it this far, I wanna give u details about the Reader's powers some more!! Specifically, the powers are temperature manipulation/temperature invulnerability/touch telepathy! They get a bit complicated bc reader can't light shit on fire or make ice out of the air, but they can melt shit and freeze existing water though! As long as reader touches it in some way! Due to this they're invulnerable to heat/cold for obvious reasons. Touch telepathy was added bc i love mutations with unnecessary layers (Emma frost) and... u really think I was gonna let scott get away without banging another telepath? wrONG

[theonefairygodmother]

Kinda agree with both, but more often than not, I see people using wrong characters tags and characterizing a character with the actors' personality not because of lack of writing ability but instead to boost the popularity of their own work or just because they dont really want to learn about the character. Tbh I think creating fanfiction comes from two fronts: loving/hating the original work and having fun. If either are poorly balanced that's okay, but we need to keep some organization around here.

If your character doesn't have the same personality as the original guess what: you can use ooc!nameofthecharacter which is basically a tag fans came up with to alert other fans about their decision to not stick to the original character's personality. Same as the fight between x reader and x oc. If your "reader" has a name different than Y/n guess what! That's an OC! Which there's absolute no problem, people can do whatever they want in fanfic just admit you're doing it. It's simple. Don't use tags that don't belong there, don't use the wrong rating just to get more people to read your fic, bla bla bla. In doubt, ask other writers on Twitter, Tumblr, wherever you want.

Talking about getting people to read your fic: I mean, I've seen authors rewriting their own work with different characters. Not once, not twice but three times and by two different authors. I'm not talking about repeating a trope, I'm talking about authors who wrote a very good story for Fandom A that got them many likes and notes to the point that a year later they decided to use the same prompt, the same character dynamics, the same dialogue, the same personality of the main characters but just changed their names for characters from Fandom B. Basically they copied paste to have something to add to this new fandom instead of creating something for the new fandom. Are they allowed to do that? Of course, they can do whatever they want but is really fucked up.

It seems like fanfiction became this thing you should consume and produce, and if you dont have enough notes on it, you're doing it wrong. I've seen people make trailers and dialogue videos to capture the attention of reader on tiktok and tumblr. The worst thing is that they come up with parts just like marketing teams do. Which means that these parts of the fic most often than not are not even in the text of the fic. The authors come up with phrases and dialogues that wont ever feature in their own work. This is very different from actually working on your fic and being excited about something you wrote and wishing to share with other fans, which is the most sensible way. Because why would you use wrong tags, why would make "promotional work", why would face your fanfiction as if you are an influencer???? Fanfiction is not about this. You shouldn't be writing to become the most famous author of AO3. No one who is the most famous author of the Fandom A or B has ever started writing because of this. Nobody fucking cares, this is not a fucking a business.

So, even if it's not a business and maybe we shouldn't be so rigid about what people want to do with characters and how they want to portray them, maybe we should care at least a little bit. Just enough to avoid letting people transform fanfiction into a business. Just enough to avoid letting people use the platforms as they're not intended. Just enough to keep this thing organized and not a mess just because some people want the attention TikTok environment has convinced them they should have.

I think we have been normalizing too much. It's easy to accept anything when you have a small fandom because we're fearful of not having enough content to consume, but I think the problem is that this problem of characterization is happening too often. Out of all Lilia's x reader fanfics maybe 2 or 3 are in character. And if the authors are doing it because they can't write Lilia than that's okay. But we can still be fucking pissed about it, choose not to read it and try to bring awareness to this problem.

Guys, I love you all to bits–and I'm obsessed with Patti just as the rest of you. But, my brothers in christ, I bEG of you to stop mischaracterizing her roles as patti clones. it's frankly a little insulting to patti's insane acting range! I really don't think Patti and Lilia Calderu, per se, act or talk or think alike at all, for example. And while she does bring a very particular, italian, patti-edge to everyone she plays, she still plays them entirely different to each other. Lilia may have Patti mannerisms, a Patti essence of sorts, but she's very different to our girl. Same applies to Joanne, to Avis Amberg, to Nellie Lovett, to Reno Sweeney, to Joan Ramsey, to Evita Perón, (fucking Evita Perón-) to Kitty Duval, to Libby Thatcher, to Fantine, Norma Desmond, Mama Rose, Helena Rubenstein, Maria Callas?? Joan Clayton, Dr Seward?? 😭🙏 Her acting isn't even the same in two performances of the same character, I think it's a little underwhelming to portray all her characters as entirely Patti just because of her icon status and the fact we all want to sleep with heR-

[heyyoungbloods]

Buckle up, babes, because I'm about to talk about Valentino a lot.

I've been thinking about Val a lot since me and @starfallisle started writing "Go to Hell for the Company" and I have Opinions about him, because I actually ended up finding him a lot more interesting and fun to write than I expected.

First I'd like to draw attention to this post that @potionorchard wrote about Val and his emotional intelligence, because I definitely agree with it. To summarize it, Valentino is not exactly a smart guy, but he's very emotionally intelligent and knows how to play people based on their emotions and connections to him, which is likely a big factor in how he became an Overlord in the first place.

Valentino is a mean guy, but he's capable of being nice, being kind. He can give people what they want from him, if he thinks it's worth his time and effort to do so. I think a great example of the two major sides of Valentino are his relationship with Angel versus with Vox.

With Angel Dust: Val knows he doesn't have to try with Angel, because he's got him under contract. He doesn't have to put effort into Angel if he doesn't want to, so he's willing to let himself get fed up with Angel and lash out at him. He'll put on his sweeter side when it suits him, but it's not necessary. The Val that Angel knows is likely the Val most people know in the long term. But I think before he was chained down, Angel knew a whole different Valentino. A kind, sweet, maybe even loving Val.

With Vox: I think Vox is one of the few people Val doesn't see as below him, same with Velvette. They are his business partners after all. More than that, it's clear that Val and Vox have a relationship beyond business, and have had it for a while probably. With Vox, Val has to play the game a little more strategically. @potionorchard pointed this out in her post that when Val doesn't get the results of Vox's attention that he wanted, he immediately turns around and plays Vox, riling him up by mentioning Alastor and then teasing him about it. Val knew what he was doing for that whole exchange. But, outside of these kind of instances, I think it's easy to see that Val has genuine feelings of some kind for Vox. He keeps the photo of them, and the whole dance between him and Vox in the finale speaks for itself I think. Val doesn't have as tight a hold on his temper as he could (or maybe even wishes he did) but he reins it in for Vox when he knows it won't benefit him to use it, or redirects it as needed so Vox isn't the direct subject of it.

I think Valentino uses kindness and affection as a weapon. He knows emotions are powerful motivators and uses them as his primary tools for predation pre: contracts and with those he knows he can't overpower. This is a major factor behind how I choose to write Val in my RPs and fics, why I make him kind when he's trying to achieve long term results, and why he's overall nicer to Vox than anyone else in the day-to-day.

Val is mean, Val is abusive, but he has the capability of being good for the people he has genuine affection for. However, his handle on his temper isn't good enough, and he'll lash out at anyone when he gets worked up enough. I personally think Valentino has some kind of feelings for Angel, but because Angel is under contract and not his perceived equal, he doesn't make the effort to be what Angel would want him to be, the person that Vox gets more often than not. Val is selfish with Angel and puts his own needs and desires above Angel's unless he can figure out how to also benefit from them.

I think Valentino wants to love people, but he struggles with perception (ironic given his eyesight.) I think Val builds his idea of a person in his mind, and when they do something that goes against what he expects of them based on that idea, he reacts poorly. His selfishness battles against this deep down want-- a want that is often overtaken by lust and pride and is therefore easy to miss, even by him.

This post is getting pretty long so I will stop it here. tl;dr: I think Valentino is messy and complicated and I like him for that reason. Am I reading too much into him? Maybe! But he's more interesting this way, don't you think?

[thoughtsaboutshows]

Post Onyx Storm fic Drabble

ONYX STORM ENDING SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

I’ve been trying to cope and process Onyx Storm and sometimes writing helps. I don’t know if this will go anywhere as I haven’t been able to write much at all these last few days but I’m excited to see where I could go with it

DO NOT GO BWLOW THE CUT IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILED FOR ONYX STORM

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

“Imogen, what the fuck happened?” When I look at her the faraway glaze to her eyes slips away as the hardness I usually see returns.

“I can’t tell you.” She snaps, crossing her arms and avoiding my eyes again.

“That’s not an option. Tell me.” I demand and my power crackles. A lightning bolt strikes outside but to her credit, she doesn't falter.

“Don’t ask that of me.” Her eyes narrow. “You have no idea what it’s been like these last few-”

“So fucking tell me. Better yet give me my memories back.”

“Even if I could do that, Sorrengail, I wouldn’t. I can’t.” She remains firm but her face has softened a bit.

“Because of him?” She doesn’t answer me and I scoff, running my hand down my face. When my fucking wedding ring catches on my nose I flinch, suddenly hit with another wave of dread. “Gods for once can your loyalty fall to me? all of you are always doing what he wants, what he says. Why can’t you do something for me?”

“I am doing this for you!” She doesn’t yell, but her rasped and desperate whisper is enough to give me pause. “They will kill you or worse if they think you have information on where they went or what they’re doing. You’re the brilliant one, Sorrengail. Don’t you think that you asked me to take your memories for a reason? Remember that. You asked me to. Riorson was in agreement but it was your idea.”

“Do you know where they are?” I ask both hopeful for answers and terrified of what they might do to her if she does. I glance down at my ring, heart lurching again. “Were you there?” I don’t have to finish for her to know what I’m talking about

“No.” She says, slightly defeated. “If i knew too much I’d have gone with them. But I’m needed here with you, as an ally, one that is loyal to them as you are.”

Right. Because who knows what Brennan or my squad will think now.

“Do you know if he was…” I pause and sniffle back tears. “If he was any bit of him when we did this?” I hold up my hand, the emerald glistening in the magelight.

Xaden had been alluding to marriage for months. I thought he’d been joking most of the time, despite both of us knowing that if we survived all this that’s where we’d end up. I had no idea he’d actually been planning it.

“Do you really think he’d ever let go of his love for you?” Imogen asks me, her voice sweet in a way I’ve never heard. “If there’s any part of him left it’s that. Plus Garrick said.” She pauses and swallows hard, shaking off grief and despair. “Before they left he said that it was as sickeningly sweet as much as it was devastating. I’m sure the two of you spewed the same romantic crap you’ve been saying for over a year.”

[livesworthlivingau]

Memory of Lost Letters

Spoilers for ISAT and Two Hats below! CW: Panic Attacks, Suicidal/Death Ideation, Unhealthy Obsession, Grief/Loss

Yet another memories chapter! Heavily inspired by this fic I read recently and I realized it would be prime angst to make an LWL version of the idea, 30 years of 'lost letters' to Loop.

("… Hello?… Are you there Loop?… Does this still work?")

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("Thank you again, Loop... I don't know if you can hear me, but I think I can still feel you somehow... I can't wait to see you again, whenever you're ready!")

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("Loop... I understand if you need some time, you can take all the time you need, I'll be there for you whenever you want it... but please say something, anything... I just want to know you're okay...")

...

(Sigh)

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("We're gonna be leaving Dormont soon, last chance to come accept everyone's thanks in person, if you want... We're heading to Bambouche so uhh... hopefully we'll see you there if not.")

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("... It still doesn't feel real... leaving Dormont, being out of the loops... I can only imagine how it might feel for you... I miss you Loop...")

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("PLEASE JUST ANSWER ME!! I CAN'T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU!! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!!!")

|"Sif, please hold on a second-!"|

("NO! YOU DON'T GET IT!! NO ONE GETS IT!! ONLY THEY DO!!! WHY WON'T THEY ANSWER ME?!?! I KNOW THEY'RE THERE!! WHY-")

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("I can't do this… I can't do this anymore Loop… I don't deserve them, I don't deserve any of this… You do. You should be here, not me… Please come home. Please take it all back… Please…" Stifled sobbing)

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(Deep breath "... I'm sorry Loop, it's been... a lot to deal with... I think I'm doing a bit better now... We met Nille finally, she's really nice, tough too, I think you'd like her." Chuckles "... If you don't want me to call you anymore, all you gotta do is say so, I'd understand, I promise...")

...

(Sigh "Thanks again for everything...")

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("Happy birthday Loop!... At least I think it's our birthday, can't know for sure, can we?... I hope it's a good one for you!")

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("Everyone helped me find a therapist, a really nice one too... Would you mind if I... told them... about you? 'Us'? They said it's all confidential, they wouldn't tell anyone else if I don't want them too... It would help me explain everything a bit more to them... I promise I won't tell anyone else, not without you...")

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("I TOLD THEM! I TOLD THEM AND I'M SORRY!!")

...

("... Is it bad that I kinda wanted you to scream at me for that?... at least I'd hear your voice again... They actually recommended that I write letters to you, as a little therapy exercise... I told them I was kinda already doing that, heh... They also said I should start being more true to my feelings and tell people what they mean to me so... I love you Loop... I really hope you're okay.")

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("They're throwing some big gala for the saviors back in Dormont soon. It's gonna be really weird going back there, but I think it might be good for us... You're invited too of course, we wouldn't have saved everyone without you after all! So we'll be back in Dormont in... 33 days, if you're still there or wanna meet up... I love you Loop.")

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("... I'm at the favor tree... I told myself no more wishes... I told myself it's a bad idea and would only bring more pain... b-but..." Heavy sobbing "I-I found a leaf... a-and it looks like you Loop... I just want to see you again... please stop me Loop... please... I-I...")

|"Siiiiiiiif? Siiiiiif, where'd you go?"|

("No... Not now... I need you! YOU PROMISED LOOP! YOU SUPER DUPER PROMISED!!! WHERE ARE YOU?!?!")

|"SIFFRIN?!"|

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("... Why didn't you do it Loop?... Why didn't you kill me?... You should have, you know... You deserve it all, not me... I... I love you Loop...")

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("...")

(Soft snoring)

("Mnffff..." Yaaawwwwn-)

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("Sorry... about the other night... I thought I was doing better but... My therapist warned me it's common to have a relapse now and then, especially so close to the source of trauma... I ruined everyone else's night, I'm sorry I had to ruin yours too... Thank you again Loop, I love you...")

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("Heh... I'm so pathetic Loop... I can't even see a shooting star now without crying... Thought you'd get a chuckle out of that at least... I love you Loop.")

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("Happy birthday Loop! Hehe~! Odile-" Hiccup "Odile bought some reaaally nice Ka Buan liquor, and IIIII'm drunk~!" Hiccup "Heh... Remember how you said you didn't know what you looked like? Well just between you and me... You were reaaaal pretty as a star~." Hiccup "Is it weird that I kinda wanted to kiss you~? Hah! I wonder if it'd tingle... Do you even have a mouth? Heh... I loooove you Loooooop~.")

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("... Stars I really hope you can't actually hear these...")

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(Sigh "Still thinking about you... I love you, Loop.")

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("Happy birthday Loop! So much has been changing around here, I don't know if you really wanna hear about it all, but life's been good! Still think about you a lot though... I'm in Jouvente now if you ever wanna stop by! Just look for the 'Savior's Style' shop and you'll find us! I love you, Loop!")

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("LOOP!?... Loop?... I thought I heard you, are you there?... Was it just a dream?...")

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("Happy birthday Loop. Sorry I haven't been calling more, but I'm sure you're sick of hearing from me anyways. Everyone says hi by the way! I haven't told them your secret, don't worry, but they got curious why I kept sneaking off for a little bit every year, so I told the truth, just a little ritual of mine to stay connected with you in some way... I love you, Loop!")

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("Okay, now!")

{|<=-"HEY LOOP!"-=>|}

("Hehe, everyone wanted to say hi themselves this year! Nille too! I love you, Loop! And happy birthday!")

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("Mmmm.. Happy birthday Loop... Long busy day, so had to sneak it in before bed..." Yaaaaawn "Good night, Loop. I love you...")

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("Happy birthday Loop! You know you're still more than welcome to come visit anytime, right? Just wanted to make sure you knew. I love you!")

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("Happy birthday Loop! I love you!")

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("Happy birthday Loop... I miss you... Love you...")

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("I love you Loop, hope you're having a good birthday.")

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("I hope you're not sick of this yet because you bet I'm gonna do it every year, only way to stop me is to come and make me~! So happy birthday Loop! I love you!")

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("I love you, Loop. Happy Birthday.")

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("Happy birthday Loop... I hope you're doing well, really. I love you, so much Loop.")

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("Happy Birthday Loop... I love you...")

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("... I miss you so blinding much Loop..." Shaky breaths "B-But I think I need to let you go... for both our sakes... I really hope you found the peace you were looking for... I love you, Loop... Happy Birthday...")

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...

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[...]

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...

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("Loop... It's Odile... She..." Choking up "She's not doing well... I-I don't think she has long left... I-I just thought you should know... I love you, Loop...")

[lsunstreakerl]

I have the slight impression that if it weren't in a fic, Charles' little ✨️possessive✨️ and ✨️kind of obsessive✨️ thing wouldn't be very healthy.

That said, I'm looking forward to seeing more of this side of Charles, because for Max this is normal (he's an unreliable narrator), and the only times we can see how possessive he is is when we see someone else's POV, like Daniel.

Eu realmente quero ver mais da perspectiva de Charles para que eu possa ver como ele pensa, a maneira como ele é obcecado por Max desde a infância e o fato de que Max provavelmente nem sabe disso, e em Appendicitis temos uma citação de Max na qual ele diz que é leal a Charles há muito tempo, mas que ele acha que Charles é leal a ele há muito mais tempo. Este pode ser o momento exato em que Max percebe isso.

looking forward to seeing their relationship from Charles' perspective

this got kind of long sorry!

thank you for picking up what I've been subtly putting down! yeaaaaah they've both got problems, it's just that charles' tend to manifest in attachment issues- attachment to ferrari, attachment to his ghosts, attachment to max. (yes, max is an unreliable narrator. so is charles.)

if either max or charles were more well-adjusted, it wouldn't be a healthy relationship by any means, but they kind of balance each other out from what would be toxic otherwise. max with the unrelenting need to not be left behind- he almost demands that charles stay with him in search history. charles with the possessiveness that max is only his, no one else can have him.

they fit together- charles provides the obsessive dedication that max needs, and max provides almost complete devotion to charles. (you see it a bit in chapter 18 of SH, where max thinks about how he'll be whatever charles needs, without regard for himself.) (you also see it throughout SH- charles is always there. He's either there, or he's flying out, or he's following after max. if you take a step back, you'll realize sometimes charles is on his way before max even needs him- he was going to show up anyways.)

the only time you see a shift in that dynamic is when daniel is involved. this has to do pretty completely with what daniel has done for max, and the way he was there when charles wasn't. charles isn't a fan of anyone else meaning that much to max by any means- but he can see where daniel has helped support and teach max, and he can see that they have a special relationship.

he does have his own fair share of issues with it (walking in on them at the party) but he grapples with those a bit in 1+1+1, where the three of them actually navigate a dynamic together.

I believe the "Appendicishit" quote you're talking about is this one:

"He's starting to think Charles has been loyal even longer."

max has finally realized in that quote that he and charles have been intertwined in their relationship for longer than he initially assumed- max only starts thinking about charles in an admittedly romantic way when he gets his tonsils taken out in "Dad- I mean, GP-", and even then it's begrudging, not something he's willing to admit. (not sober, anyways.)

sober max vs drunk max!

you'll notice in the charles POV I posted that max kisses charles when they're younger, and that's pretty much the moment charles locks in and decides that yes, it's max, it's always going to be max.

this is obviously a couple years before max figures that out, because max doesn't remember kissing charles, so he's a little bit behind in that sense. charles also struggles while in F1 about not wanting to love max, because bad things happen to people he loves.

max only allows himself to think about charles when he's intoxicated or otherwise under the influence (daniel and carlos have heard a lot about charles).

I may write an outsider POV of someone else where they're a liiiittle bit concerned about just how intertwined max and charles are. debating on who would be best to showcase that at the moment.

[weregonnaneedabiggerboat]

HIII i saw ur post about asking for requests for Ler!Jax and i have an idea!!

how about an extremely irritable and angry GN or F reader who has been silent for the whole day, not even reacting to Jax's pranks and stuff (basically going into full apathetic mode)

Jax is annoyed because the reader doesn't even look at him with rage, and soon realizes that the reason behind reader's behavior is that they are extremely close to abstract

So Jax has to do something to both annoy and save the reader from abstraction

i think we all know what that 'something' is

(feel free to ignore this request BTW💜)

Cheer Up, Doll~

Ler!Jax x Lee!You

CW: Angst, depression, implied suicidal ideation, apathy, implied swearing

Notes: Jax being soft for you, teasing, cheer up tickles, bits of fluff in between Jax acting stupid (affectionate), Reader is gender neutral as always

A/N: AAA ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS SUGGESTION!! I really enjoyed writing this little fic, cheer up tickles are my favorite thing in the world 💜 I made sure to include some fluff in the end between you & Jax because why not? Hope you enjoy!!

∘₊✧─────────✧₊∘

Sometimes it feels like when your feelings swing low, life swings lower.

And that's all that's been happening lately. You've had the rug pulled from under your feet in the past, but never in such devastating ways before. Coping with being stuck here has made you irritable; lashing out, shooting glares that could kill.

But now, you didn't even feel angry anymore. Lashing out has become exhausting. You just felt… Hollow. Not even Jax’s dumb pranks, or Ragatha’s sweet talking, or Pomni's asking if you're okay could even pull your lips from their sagging state.

The others, of course, understood that boundary. You were annoyed, apathetic, bothering you in this state could make you abstract for @#$&’s sake! However, part of you felt like being ignored and avoided by them was almost worse.

….Almost. Because not all of them gave you the space they thought you needed.

“Hey there, pipsqueak~” Jax teased, resting his elbow on your head, while you sat down at the dining table. You've been staring at your food for around 20 minutes now, and by then everyone had finished and left to go hang out on the couches.

“The food isn't going to finish itself, y'know. You have to actually eat it.”

Jax seemed to laugh to himself at his own joke, then noticed that you didn't even flinch. He frowned, staring between you and the plate of cold food.

You just stared at the peas and mashed potatoes, if that was even what they were other than a block of code. What was the point, anyway? Of doing anything? You can't die, you can't rest, every day was the same at this point. All you could feel was pain, and the existential dread weighing over any and all positive feelings you could have.

You didn't say anything in response to Jax, and just blinked slowly, overwhelmed with fatigue and apathy.

However, Jax didn't seem to appreciate being ignored. He frowned, gently tapping your cheek with the back of his hand. “Hey, Pips, over here! It's your best friend Jax!"

Well, that didn't work either.

He frowned, his eyes narrowing with irritation. What the @#$& was up with you? You HATED when he came around to bother you, especially when he used your head as an armrest! Usually you at least smacked his hand away or tried to shove him, or at leastshot him an annoyed glare.

But this time... Nothing.

“Go away, Jax,” you finally murmured, sighing and pulling yourself off the table. You weren't hungry, anyway. Not that it was even possible to be hungry in the circus, so you didn't see a point in indulging in these stupid routines at all. “I'm not in the mood.”

You just made a dejected walk to the hallway of bedrooms, feeling the world begin to warp around you. Your connection to this world felt like a frayed wire, the walls becoming a blur, sight being hard to reach. Where are you going? Were you even walking at all?

Jax stared with tightened pupils as you made your way back to where he assumed was your bedroom. Wow…

Nothing... he thought. Nothing at all. Like he wasn't even there.

“Jax leave them be,” Ragatha’s voice called to him from a few feet away, snapping Jax out of his concerned thoughts.

“What?”

Jax was taken straight out of his trance, and he turned to look at the ragdoll.

Ragatha had a stern look on her face, like she knew he was going to do something stupid and push you over the edge. And that was the last thing she needed right now. “They're going through a rough time and surely don't need you to bother them.”

Jax stared at her for a couple seconds, then he rolled his eyes. His persona immediately flew back up to his face, and he flashed her a grin, squinting his eyes mischievously.

“Nah~ They're fine, Rags, you worry your dolly little head way too much,” he chuckled, putting his hand on his hip and leaning his weight on one leg. He made a casual gesture towards you. “In fact, I've never seen them this…”

Jax's words trailed off when he realized you weren't within his sight range anymore, and his grin faltered. A sickening feeling in his stomach began to twist and turn when he realized he's seen this one too many times before. The apathetic nature of someone who was about to...

Look. There's people he didn't care about. He couldn't save, so they would abstract and leave him. Not that he enjoyed this idea, but it was easy to move on after a while. None of them mattered that much to make him fall into the same patterm.

But… No. Not you. Not you. He didn't want the next one to be you of all people.

Ragatha was about to go up and grab him to drag him away from whatever he was thinking of doing, before she heard her name being called by Pomni, saying it was “urgent” or whatever. She looked behind her, shouting a response that said she was coming, then she looked back at Jax.

“You better leave them alone," she said with a serious tone. "If you make them abstract, Jax, I swear,” she growled. “I will never forgive you.”

Ragatha turned to leave and check on Pomni and the others.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, toots.”

Jax didn't even hear what she said and just waited for her to get off his back already. He rolled his eyes, and walked after you in your direction.

Meanwhile, you were sitting on the floor, back against the bed, with a look so glazed over that it was easier to assume you were blind. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you glanced up at the clock hanging on your wall. It's been 20 minutes, and nobody has even bothered to even show up and check on you.

Tears spilled from your eyes as the realization fell upon you like a weighted blanket. Your bedroom was dark, silent, empty. You felt so… Alone. So—

“Hey there, Pips! What's gotten you all wadded up like that~?”

God @#$&ing dammit. Not him again.

“Leave me alone,” you muttered with a tiny whimper, this time turning your head to the side so you weren't looking at him. And so he wouldn't see the pathetic tears in your eyes.

Jax just grinned and chuckled, leaning his arm on the doorframe and the other hand on his hip. “Awwe don't be like that, Squeakers,” he teased with that annoying tone of his, and used a finger to flick the light switch on. You flinched with the sudden brightness of your bedroom, pressing your eyes closed for a moment and wiping away your tears.

He walked inside and kicked the door shut behind him, then sat his lanky ass right next to yours, stretching out like this was just some casual day at the beach.

You watched as he rested one leg over the other and placed his arms behind his back. This was so… Weird. Why was he being so clingy?

You shifted away a little, now feeling uncomfortable with the distance. You didn't even notice how his odd behaviour managed to snap you out of whatever you were so upset about.

Jax didn't move, his eyes closed as he relaxed with that dumb grin on his face. What was he planning? Did he hide a bug in your room or something and was waiting for you to notice?

“Boy, this isn't very comfy, is it?” he finally asked, turning to look at you with his signature lidded eyes. “You just sit on the cold hard floor like that? Don't worry, I can help you get into the bed if it's too high up for you to reach~”

You just returned his expression with a look of disgust, hugging your knees closer to yourself and almost trying to slowly turn your back to him.

“Yeah, whatever. I didn't feel like getting into my bed,” you retorted with a frown, unappreciative of the implication he was making.

You rolled your eyes when he just chuckled in response. “Hurr hurr so funny, I'm short! Such an original and totally accurate joke!” you mocked his voice, which only made him laugh even more.

Jax leaned back forwards to rest his arms on his leg, still looking at you. “You’re so easy to rile up, doll~”

You decided not to answer this time, and just stared off into distant space. He just wanted attention from you, and you quickly found out your angry retorts and reactions were only fueling him.

“You're just going to sit there and ignore me, grumps?”

You huffed a response with your nose, pouting and refusing to look at him.

That is, until you felt a small tickle at your side, that made you jump and whip to look at him angrily.

Jax had his hands to himself, making a gesture with his gloves that mimed him checking his nails. He raised an eyebrow and looked at you, then shrugged and smirked.

“What?”

“...” You glared at him and shifted even further away, hugging your knees. “Nothing…”

Huffing quietly, you sat again, avoiding eye contact with him and hugging your knees a little tighter. This time, you felt a hand — his hand no doubt— gently pinch your ribs, and you whipped back at him again with wide angry eyes.

“JAX!" you snapped at him, growling irritably. " I KNOW it's you!!”

Of course, his reaction was just to laugh and throw his arms up defensively.

“Whahahat!” he snickered, giving you his best innocent look. “What are you talking about! I've just been sitting here with you!”

You scoffed, letting out an angry hmph! and turning away again. But this time, you kept your eyes staring at your side, waiting to see him try again. And sure enough, he did, and you grabbed his wrist before he could poke you.

“AHA! Gotcha!” you said victoriously, then realized you were grinning. Not wanting to give him any chance to celebrate, you pouted again and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I-It was you! I knew it!!”

Jax laughed at your clearly mixed reaction to his attempts to tickle you, unbothered by your grabbing of his wrist. “Whaat come on, mee~?” he giggled, using his free hand to flutter a finger under your arm. “I would never~”

You squeaked and giggled, writhing away from him. “Jahahax!!” you whined, letting go of his wrist to try and smack both his hands away.

“You keep scolding me when I'm not even doing anything!” Jax chuckled, now using both hands to tickle your ribs playfully. “I'm starting to think you're trying to accuse me of something, Dollface!”

“I AHAHAM YOU @#&$!!” you scolded him, then fell into a sea of giggles again.

“Oooh I see, you're just ticklish~” he laughed at how adorable your giggles were, especially since you were trying so hard to look stern and angry. “Why didn't you just say so? Tickle, tickle, tickle~”

You laughed even louder, now squirming on the floor underneath him and giggling your heart out, kicking your feet at his belly.

That seemed to tickle him a little, given by the soft gasp and chuckle he let out. He then gave you a menacing glare, using his legs to pin yours down and sitting on top of your waist.

“Oh you want it bad, bad, don't you,” Jax chuckled threateningly, cracking his knuckles before digging his fingers into your sides and belly. “Well, let's see how you like this! And this!!”

You shrieked with laughter as his fingers pinched your sides and poked in your belly, your arms not doing anything to defend you from the tickles. “JAHAHAX PLEHEASE NOHOHO!! I'M SORRYHYHY!!” you pleaded, pressing your eyes closed and feeling tears start to prick at them the more he made you laugh.

“You think one little sorry is going to help you escape~?” Jax said with a playfully stern tone, as if he was mad at you, but his soft laughter totally gave away how much he was enjoying this. “Sorry, toots, but I ain't letting you off that easy~! Tickle, tickle~”

“IHIHI DIDN'T EVEN DO ANYTHIHIHING!!” you screamed back at him, trying to sound angry but honestly, through the giggles and the almost affectionate tickling he was giving you, any attempt to look mad was thrown out the window.

“Didn't do anything, huh? Well, let's see,” he chuckled with a malicious grin, digging his fingers into your underarms and making you clamp your arms down on his hands. “You ignored me, didn't laugh at my jokes like you usually do,”

“THAHAHAT’S SOHO STUPIHIHID!!”

“Welp, there's another thing~” Jax teased, attacking your belly viciously in response to your unwise comment. “Calling me stupid? Right after trying to kick me in the stomach? Tch, I can't believe you sometimes~”

You blushed at how nonchalant and smooth the tone of his voice was, with how much he was teasing you you wish you could just explode at this point. Squealing through your giggles, you tried to plead with him.

“Okay OKAHAHAY— I'm sorryhyhy!!” you pleaded, trying your best to curl your body up.

“For what~?”

“FohohoHOHOR— AHAHA!! JAHAHAX YOU DUMB@#$ STOHOHOP!! LET ME SPEHEHEAK!!” you shrieked, unable to form coherent sentences through your uncontrollable laughter.

“Kinda rude, dollface… Now I don't wanna stop~” he teased. “You're just givin me more and more reasons to keep on tickling you~”

You definitely didn't want that, or maybe you did, but either way you still shook your head frantically at what he was saying. “No no nOHOHO!! I'm — EHEHEEEK!!”

His fingers went straight back into your underarms, and he really managed to wriggle his index fingers up there this time. “You trying to say something~? Come on, speak up, we don't have all day~”

Your feet were desperately trying to kick and squirm and get away from the overwhelming feeling at this point. You gasped for air, looking back up at him. “I'm sorryhyhy I'm sorry I swehehear!! Ehehe— I was juhust hahaving a bahahad dahahahay!! Ahahahaha!! I'm sorryhyhy fohor ignorihihing youhuhu!!”

Jax looked down at your genuine expression and, satisfied with the apology, pulled his fingers away from you. He let you catch your breath, snickering at how cute you looked all tired and beat like that.

“Apology accepted,” he simply said, chuckling as you shot him a frustrated glare. Though, deep inside it wasn't about the apology or your rude behaviour or your ignoring him. He didn't want to lose you, you were his best friend, and if not losing you to abstraction meant tickling you until you were begging in tears, then so be it.

“Youhu’re such a jeherk…” you softly giggled out, panting on the floor and zoning out at the wall. You could still feel the tingles from where his fingers were teasing you, and… Honestly? You felt more loved and appreciated now than you ever have by any of the others in the circus.

Who knew that the only one who can bring you some semblance of happiness was this purple idiot?

“You ready to go, Y/N?”

His voice spooked you out of your zoned out state, and your eyes widened in surprise. He had gotten off of you and was now standing, staring down at you with his hands in the pockets of his overalls. Jax almost never calls you by your actual name, so his tone now was… Suspiciously friendly.

“Um…Y-Yeah just…”

You didn't really want to explain that you wanted to spend a little more time with him before leaving your bedroom. But he seemed to catch your drift anyway, offering a hand to help you stand up, then sitting on your bed and getting into a relaxed pose again.

You hesitantly sat down next to him, and smiled softly up at him, which he returned. Your stomach fluttered, and you decided to close your eyes and just soak in the peaceful silence between the two of you.

…Maybe being here wasn't so bad, after all.

[hungermakesmonsters]

Hiii congrats on 500 I love your fics!!! Could you do sth where the reader and Billy actually meet in the marines ? Like the reader is a marine as well and Billy her lieutenant or even the other way around ? Thank youuu❤️ (submitted by @dorita06)

Aaaaaaah okay, so little known fact about me, I kind of love the soldier/medic trope in fiction, so rather than writing reader as a soldier herself, I went with making her a medic (hope that's ok!!) I had a lot of fun with this one, so I hope you like it! 😅

Stolen Moments

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : M 

Warnings : [This is 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour.  

"I take it I don't have to explain how to look after your stitches?" You asked, eyeing the lieutenant as he shrugged his shirt back on and got to his feet.

As he stood, you found yourself tilting your head back to look at him, knowing all too well what came next. (At least, hoping you knew what came next.)

"Dunno, Doc, think I might need you to explain it to me one more time," he said as he reached for you, his fingers softly brushing against your neck.

You leaned into his touch, lifting yourself on your tiptoes as he slowly started to close the distance between you.

"Did you bang your head, Lieutenant Russo? Because this is the fifth time I've given you stitches and had to explain the proper aftercare procedure," you said, your voice getting softer as his lips got closer to yours. "Maybe I should talk to your CO, get you taken off active duty, so I can keep you here and... assess you."

Billy smiled that same smile he had the first time you'd met him, months ago in that very tent. He'd been bleeding then too, but he'd been more concerned with trying to get your name than the fact he'd needed stitches.

Of course, you'd tried to refuse him at first, tried to ignore the way that damned smile sent a bolt of arousal through you, not wanting to do anything to put your career in jeopardy. But the third time your paths had crossed, the first time he'd dared to kiss you, you were a goner.

Now, you'd lost count of how many times he'd ended up in the medical tent, needing to be patched up — sometimes for serious reasons and other times for reasons he claimed were serious just to get your attention — and how many times that had ended with him inside of you, giving you the best damned sex of your life.

Finally, his lips met yours and everything felt right in the world. He stepped forward and you stepped back, a hand behind you, feeling for the solid form of your desk.

He winced as he lifted you onto the desk. A small grunt of pain escaped him but, when you tried to pull back to check if he was alright, his fingers slipped into your hair, holding you in the kiss.

Instinctively, you parted your legs, letting him step between them, pressing his body close to yours. It was a familiar dance and you both knew the steps by heart. Your fingers tugged at his fatigues, while his pulled at yours, neither breaking the kiss or coming up for air for even a second.

You both knew that you were on borrowed time and that, at any moment, someone could rush in needing your assistance or need Billy to return to duty.

It was dangerous and stupid, something that could potentially spell then end of both of your careers, but you couldn't help it. You wanted him, needed him in a way that didn't make sense to you. And, no matter how many times you did this, no matter how many times you patched him up or he slipped into your tent after curfew, you knew that you'd never have enough of him.

And, as your hand slipped into his fatigues tograsp his already hard cock, you knew he felt exactly the same way.

"Lieutenant Russo," you murmured against his lips. "I'm starting to think you're getting injured on purpose just so you can come see me."

Billy grinned against your lips, kissing you again instead of answering your accusation. It was probably better that way — the last thing you wanted was thoughts of him being seriously hurt in your head, especially while you were stroking his cock.

A laugh slipped out as he tugged your pants down your legs and almost managed to pull you off the desk with them. That was your cue to lower his combat pants, pushing them down to his thighs.

He stepped forward, clearing the distance, and you had to bite your lip to hold back a moan when you felt the tip of his cock against you.

"Can't wait 'til we're stateside again," he muttered, reaching between your bodies to tease his cock between your folds. "Be able to take my time with you then."

You felt your lips pull into a ridiculous smile, the same way that they always did whenever he spoke about going home, about still wanting you after all the shit was over an you were both back home.

Still, you couldn't help but tease him.

"Who says I'm gonna waste my time on a jarhead like you when I'm back home?" You asked.

"Allow me to persuade you."

"Go on then, I'm all ears, tell me why I should —"

Before you could finish, Billy pushed forward, notching his cock into you, filling you in one smooth movement. You bit down harder on your lip, your hands grasping his fatigues.

"Fuck," you moaned as a familiar feeling of ecstasy took hold.

"Persuaded yet?"

"Yes — fuck, yes —" you gasped as he started to draw his hips back, setting a steady rhythm.

He kissed you again, swallowing down the moans that tried to escape you while using your lips to muffle his own desperate noises. His hands gripped you, holding you tight, clinging to you like you were the only stable thing in his world, and you loved it. You loved how he made you feel in those moments, kissing you, holding you, fucking you.

But it couldn't last. While you wanted to enjoy it, you both knew that, at any moment, you could be discovered.

He gripped your hip as he upped the tempo, driving you closer and closer to insanity with each rough thrust. You back arched and you writhed on the edge of the desk, completely losing yourself to him and the way he made you feel.

You gasped and panted and whined against his lips, every snap of his hips causing arousal to burn hotter in your belly, every fibre of your being coiling tighter, like a spring desperate to be released.

"Lieutenant — fuck, Billy —" you managed before being pulled back into another kiss.

He grunted against your lips as the last of his self-control seemed to disappear. You loved the moments when he lost control, when he lost his mind over you. His fingers gripped your bare hip tight enough to leave bruises — replacements for the ones that had started to fade since your last tryst.

The desk creaked and the metal legs scraped against the concrete floor, but all you could think was more, more, more. After months of snatched moments like this, you'd found yourself addicted to him, desperate for him in a way you'd never know with any other man.

As he fucked you and stole your breath away, you felt a crescendo building, a wave of pleasure that was going to drowned you.

Your fingers damn near ripped his shirt as you started to come, clinging to him for dear life.

His grip on your hair tightened, keeping his lips sealed over your as you tried to cry out his name. A few more enthusiastic thrusts later and he followed you over the edge and into oblivion, holding you just as tightly as you were holding him.

He pressed his face against your neck, panting for breath, his cock still inside you, still twitching as his orgasm ebbed away.

Moments like this were the ones that made you wonder if he meant it, if he really did want to see you again once you were both back home and the desert was in the rear-view. But you didn't dare ask — you never asked, because you weren't sure how you'd feel if/when it all turned out to be lies.

You weren't naïve enough not to see what this probably was; you were one of the few women on base and it was very clear that Lieutenant Russo had needs. And you? What you needed was something to keep you sane and, somehow, that had become him.

Tenderly you ran your fingers through his hair as you both caught your breath then, reluctantly, he pulled away.