#thank you so so sooo much for the kind words anon i mean it

[prettyboykatsuki]

jaw on the floor anon here again: truthfully i kept stopping to like. scroll back up and reread certain parts bc it's all cascading balls to the wall insanity. especially the biblical allusions like "on the 7th day gojo wants to take part in the act of creation," or smth like that.

and then the idea of a curse manifesting off the reader's sheer terror in the situation. the dog motifs. the way he phrases it like yh this is how i NEED my debt repaid. the mind games of it all like giving some semblance of agency but before that when he turned his infinity on and visited the room at night to see the clothes himself?? mr gojo..sir, um ur TWISTED.

the boiling frog analogy yeah there's so many little nuggets of foreshadowing that made me fully stop in my tracks at the "don't hate me too much, kay" line. "he supposes he's made you in his image" i feel like rolling around in the biblical intertextuality i love that so much. and the changing seasons!!!!

i like that even though it was dc the pacing allowed for the expected dread to set in & it wasnt just jarring for the sake of shock value or whatever which is often what happens when ppl do yan. this felt like a character study gone wrong but like in the best of ways

THE HIGHEST PRAISE. HELLO!!! MY BELOVED!!!! im so glad my biblical allusions were charming and fun sdkjfjsdk i truly think all the religious imagery was one of the most fun elements for me to explore EVER. like it was quite cathartic for me to examine gojos character in that way bc he does often get the god comparison but he's not quite!! longing is human but apathy is so godlike!!! ill eat him alive.

the curse manifesting on readers terror was one of my favorite parts to write!! i remember coming up with the idea while i was cooking and stopping everything bc i really think it had exactly the right details of illness in it. and im glad all the foreshadowing came through AAAH!!!! the different aspects of repitition like seasons, time, and biblical references were also very funny to write so the fact u enjoyed them makes me happy esp bc it was quite hard to execute for it being my first time having done it

COMPLIMENTS ON PACING MEAN THE WORLD. it was the thing i was Most Nervous about the entire time. i think yan really really requires people to suspend disbelief a little bit but i wanted it to feel like. less for shock value and more that there is just something So Wrong about his love map. a character study gone wrong was the exact vibe i was wanting so im !!!!!!

[rosicheeks]

happy birthday! if i was slightly less broke i’d actually get you something lol so instead my gift is this: you should take care of yourself today 💖 get a little treat if you can, spend some time lying down resting, play a game or do something fun, just try to make the day a little more fun, if that’s at all possible? and if it’s not, then just read this and know that there’s a dorky trans girl a few hundred miles or so away who’s really rooting for you, and who’s hoping to brighten your day a little with this ask 😘🥰🥰🥰 take care rosie! happy birthday, and happy pride month!!! 😘💖💖💖���🥰🥰💗💗💗💖💖💖🥰🥰🥰😘😘😘🥰🥰🥰🥰

-🌸

[withleeknow]

i think you'll do well with requests bc they seem to be popular in the fanfic side of tumblr! but even if it doesn't take off that quick, at least that'll be less overwhelming bc some ppl can be so demanding....anyways, i hope the best for you in this new journey haha 💝

me personally, i'm not very creative so i'll leave the details to the professionals (aka you) but i'd like to req something from minho's pov. i think those type of stories are SEVERELY lacking in the lee know fics department lol 🥲 it could be a childhood friends to lovers where he is pining for oc but he has a lot of self esteem issues and thinks she's not interested in him. also a big softie and just all around head over heels for her. you can add your magic! (if this is even remotely interesting enough to write lol i just want a minho pov tbh shsjjfjdjdj 😭)

light years.

summary: three times minho bites his tongue, and one time you don't let him.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, angst; kissing, cursing, so much pining i could hurl. could this have been more edited? oh absolutely lmao but i actually don't hate it sooo this is what we're going with :p word count: 4.2k note: to the first anon, thank you so much for your kind words! :') and i'm sorry that this took me longer than expected. i was trying to figure out what i wanted to write for your prompt but then i got the second request with the song and i thought they would go nicely together hehehehe i hope the both of you enjoy thissss

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / request masterlist / ko-fi

I'm not sure what it means to love But I blink kind of slow around you I'm not sure what it means to love But I'll grow wherever you do What that means, I don't have a clue

I'm Not Sure - Margeaux Beylier

One.

Minho is 18 years old, and he doesn't know what love is, doesn't really care for it at all.

While his friends are out there wrapped in the clutches of young love - the kind that blooms with stolen glances in classrooms and sticky notes passed in secrecy, Minho finds it simply unnecessary. He doesn't understand it whenever Hyunjin whines about not having a girlfriend because they're still young, they've got all the time in the world for romance later down the line. It's not the end of the world like Hyunjin laments it is.

Minho has his own life to prioritize. College is starting after the summer and he still needs to figure out how he's going to cope with the absence of his cats once he moves away. He's got dancing and he's got his other hobbies to keep him fulfilled and occupied.

And above all, he's got you.

You're getting ready for your sister's wedding when it happens for the first time. Or rather, when it doesn't happen.

You step back into the room where Minho is waiting for you on the sofa, his gaze resting idly on the screen of his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through his friends' group chat even though he has no interest in whatever they're talking about. You cough lightly to indicate your return after disappearing into the bathroom minutes prior to change into your dress. He looks up upon your soft announcement, and when his eyes settle on you, he swears it feels like an invisible force has collided with his chest and knocked all of the air from his lungs.

Throughout all his years of knowing you, inseparable from childhood until now, Minho has never seen you like this - all dolled up with your hair falling over your collarbones, cascading over your shoulders in soft waves that beckons him to run his fingers through. The light blue dress hugs you beautifully, the silky material catching the light from outside the window every time you shift on your feet under his steady gaze.

"So...?" you ask, moving your arms awkwardly behind your back like you're not sure what to do with them. "What do you think?"

What does he think?

Minho thinks you might just be the prettiest girl in the world. He thinks he must have been an idiot his whole life, to have spent most of his waking hours beside you and not once has he noticed how truly breathtaking you are. He thinks about the feeling that spreads in the pit of his stomach, sends warmth throughout his body and makes his heartbeat race a million miles an hours.

Your best friend blinks slowly as he savors the warmth that he's never experienced before. It's similar to the feeling you get when you're sitting under the shade of a big tree on a summer's day. It's comparable to the satisfied tranquility you get after you've just finished a hearty meal. A little hazy in your contentment.

It's not until you probe with a pointed Well? that Minho realizes he's been staring at you in silence for a few minutes now. He swallows thickly, willing away the words that he wants to say but they get lodged in his throat. He reckons it's weird to verbalize them, because it's not how the two of you function. You don't often utter that kind of sentiment out loud and he doesn't either. Never have and likely never will.

In the end, he bites his tongue. "You look presentable," is what he settles on.

You roll your eyes, then reward him with a laugh.

Minho doesn't care about love. He only cares about you.

Two.

Minho is 21 years old, and he's gotten used to his heart beating erratically whenever he's in your presence.

Three years flew by in the blink of an eye, and graduation is just around the corner. You've always done well in school, straight A student with a track record that most could only dream to have. You put in the hours, you do the work. You deserve everything that you've achieved.

But it's been a challenging few months for you both, being seniors and all. He's had to watch you struggle to stay on top of your classes while also having to slave over a thesis 24/7 until you were sure it was perfect. It reduced you to tears a few times, and Minho was there to hold your hand through it all.

He held you in his comforting embrace when you wanted to give up. He made you dinner when you were too immersed in your schoolwork to notice that you'd forgotten to eat. He was your biggest support system; if it weren't for him, you don't know if you would've made it through.

It's hot outside today, a little unbearable but not uncharacteristic for June. Minho waits in a familiar hallway, the same hall that he's walked past for hundreds of times over the past few years, the same hall that he won't see again once he holds a degree in his hands in only a few weeks' time.

As he sits on an old wooden bench, he bounces his leg as if he's one of the people in the classrooms that line the hall. He doesn't have to be on campus today, but here he is regardless because you're scheduled for your thesis defense this morning. You're in one of those rooms, probably also bouncing your leg from the overwhelming nerves. Minutes feel like hours; you went in there a while ago after he had sent you off with a pat on the head and an encouraging Godspeed.

He's nervous for you, but he's sure that you'll do great. Years of hard work accumulating in what must be the most important moment of your academic journey. You even stayed up all night last night, refusing to sleep a wink just to revise your arguments and talking points.

Minho's head snaps up instantly as he hears a door creak open, the sound of it reverberating throughout the empty hallway like a gong announcing your return from battle. It takes you a few seconds to step out of the room and into his line of sight. He can't see you very well with all this distance between you, but he can still make out the way your frame is visibly shaking with every step you take. He rises to his feet, and you break into a sprint.

He opens his arms wide - a hug of consolation or congratulations, he doesn't know yet - but he still can't seem to brace himself for the collision. You run straight into his embrace, your warms wounding around his middle tightly. Minho feels your tremors, hears your sniffles from where you're pressing your cheek against his shoulder.

"How did it go?" he asks gently.

You start crying then, and he doesn't know if the tears that his shirt is soaking up are those of joy or of grief, but he holds you through it anyway. He swears he can feel every single beat of your heart, hammering so wildly as you're pressed against him like you could sink into him if only you'd push just a little bit more.

"I passed," you say in between sobs. "I got an A."

Minho heaves out the breath that he's been holding ever since you entered that classroom, but it's not like he had any doubt about it to begin with. He hugs you tighter than he's ever had before, and he loves you just the same.

You two must look so dramatic, all wrapped up together in your own little bubble, but who the fuck cares? Although, when another student passes by and coughs, you do break away from him, a little embarrassed for a second.

Even with your hair all mussed up and your flushed cheeks stained with tears, he still thinks you look the same as you did when you were 18 at your sister's wedding. The prettiest girl in the world.

Minho wipes away the wetness on your face with his sleeves, then swipes with gentle thumbs at the moisture that's gathered along your lash lines.

"Holy fucking shit," you breathe out, your shoulders sagging with evident relief, so much more relaxed now that you've done it. "I can't believe it's finally over."

Your best friend can't entirely agree, because he's always believed in you. He's had faith in you since the beginning, since you were mere children laughing and crying together on the playground. You were meant to do great things, this was always crystal clear to Minho.

I love you, he thinks as he smooths a hand over your hair, his chest swelling with nothing but pride and fondness for you. You did so well.

But it's not what he ends up telling you. He swallows it down, washes it away with a dose of regret and longing. He's still not the type to express sappy sentiments, and he's grown accustomed to adoring you only in secret.

"Let's go," he says softly. "I'll buy you dinner."

Minho is still young, he's still got his whole life ahead of him, but he knows what love is now. He knows that it's you.

Three.

Minho is 24 years old, and he finds it hard to make peace with the fact that you're starting to get out there, that you're finally going on dates now that academics aren't taking up most of your time anymore.

To be fair, none of the guys you've seen have been graced with a second date, and Minho thanks his lucky stars whenever you return from a night out and text him a simple Not it. He knows that it wasn't your decision in the first place, that your mom and your sister have been setting you up on blind dates because they want to see you bring a boyfriend home.

You complain about it all the time, whining about how you're not interested but your family is adamant on it. Minho is well aware, and yet, there's a part of him that's a little shaken, because what if? What if the universe miscalculates and the stars misalign just enough in his misfortune for you to cross paths with someone who's absolutely perfect for you? Someone who's a good man that can give you what you've always deserved to have.

He really doesn't know what he would do if that happens. When it happens?

He doesn't know why you're here tonight either, sitting on a chair on the other side of his kitchen island in a pretty dress when you're supposed to be going on a date in half an hour. The guy apparently works for a big record label, some producer that your sister knows through a friend of a friend.

You look indifferent, kind of bored, as you watch Minho makes dinner for himself. "You seem miserable," he comments, taking a quick break from chopping vegetables to glance up at you. You do look a bit miserable, but you're still the most beautiful in his eyes.

You throw your head back and groan loudly, "Because I am. God, I don't know why they keep making me do this. These guys always give nothing."

"Please elaborate."

"They're all boring suits with tedious routines." you say, and as absentminded as your tone is, it sounds a little pointed to Minho's ears. "They don't make me laugh."

Do they not make you laugh, or do they not make you laugh more than I can?

"Then don't go," he snickers, though there's no humor in his voice at all. "These guys sound like duds. Just tell your sister to fuck off."

"Do you mean that? Do you really think I shouldn't go?"

And there's something in your gaze, something so suddenly expectant in the way you're looking at him that makes Minho wonder. If he says yes, would you listen? Would you stay here with him? Would you stay here for him?

I'm serious. Don't go. You can have this and I'll make myself ramyeon. Just be here with me.

You both stare at each other on either side of his kitchen island for an infinite stretch of time. He feels like your eyes are trying to tell him something that he can't decipher, as if they're sending him signals in a language that he never learned how to read.

For a second there, he indulges himself. He pretends that you're only asking because you want to hear him say it. That you want him to put up a fight and not let you go.

But he bites his tongue because it's become a bad habit. A habit that he can't shake because he simply doesn't have the courage to do so. Because if you stay here tonight, looking like that under the cozy lighting of his living room, he might just spill his secrets and he wouldn't be able to take it when reality comes crashing down and you end up telling him that you've never felt the same way.

"I'm kidding," he musters up the words, and tries to plaster on a smile for your sake, even though he's not sure if you really believe it. "You're dressed up anyway. Go and get a free fancy dinner, if anything."

Minho knows what love is, but his love has always lived in the shadows, his longing has only existed in the dark that it terrifies him just thinking about it meeting the light.

Four.

Minho is 26 years old, and he's been a coward for the better part of a decade.

Maybe he's loved you for even longer, but he has spent the past eight years head over heels in love with you, and not once has he done anything about it. Never been able to gather enough courage to ask you out, never even hinted at his feelings for you. He loves you from his place by your side and yet, you've never known.

He loves you the most, but he loves you in the worst way that a person can love another - he loves you in silence.

You're the prettiest girl in the world, and Lee Minho is a pathetic coward.

All these years, he's kept quiet and for what? There's always a spot reserved for him right next to you and yet, it feels like he can only watch you from the sidelines, far away from where it really matters, because he doesn't think he can fit into your life the way he truly wants. You taught him what love was, and love, to Minho, is unattainable. Something he can spend the rest of his life yearning for but won't ever have.

Love hurts. Sometimes, all love does is hurt.

"I would've taken you to a nice restaurant if you asked, you know," he says, putting a chocolate cupcake on the coffee table in front of you before he sits down next to you on the fluffy carpet of your living room. He pulls out a candle next, placing it right in the center of the sweet treat.

Your gaze follows his hand has he lights the candle, your eyes glinting with excitement as though you're a child again and your favorite day of the year is still your birthday. The tiny flame curves and bends, dancing to a rhythm that looks like only you can hear. You watch the candle like it's magic, while Minho just watches you, thinking the same thing.

He watches as you close your eyes and clasp your hands together for the theatrics, then you blow out the flame seconds later with a swift breath.

You turn to him with a smile, "I don't need a nice restaurant. This is perfect."

He blinks, and there's that warmth simmering in his belly again. He first felt it when he was 18, and he feels it now. He feels it almost every moment that he spends with you, and he reckons it's only reasonable, because you're his home personified and love can still be beautiful even when it hurts. There's his heart racing again, but that's nothing new to Minho.

He muses over your words. Perfect. Just one simple word is enough to get his hopes up in a way that it really shouldn't.

Your definition of a birthday well spent is in your cozy apartment, eating takeout pizza with your best friend. Perfect, to you, is him baking you a singular chocolate cupcake upon your request and being with him within these four walls, where his fingers occasionally brush yours when you sit next to each other.

Oh, Minho would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked him to.

He clears his throat lightly, breaking away from your gaze that's full of gratitude and childlike wonder. "What did you wish for?"

"I'm not gonna tell you. It won't come true then."

Wishes don't come true anyway, he thinks, but obviously he won't say it out loud to you, and on your birthday no less. Instead, he diverts his attention to the cupcake, subconsciously tonguing his cheek as he takes a small chunk of the sweet and offers it to you.

You let him feed you even though your eyes are narrowed. "What was that look?" you ask.

"What look?"

"You had a look."

"No, I didn't," Minho insists.

"Yes, you did. You wanted to say something, didn't you?"

He shrugs, popping a piece of cupcake into his own mouth. The answer is yes, he did want to say something, but if you want to get technical about it, then he's wanted to say something for years now. He asks you the same thing every birthday, What did you wish for?, and you would refuse to tell him every time.

"Wishes don't come true," he verbalizes it this time, with a voice that's lighthearted on purpose despite knowing that you wouldn't take it that seriously either way.

You roll your eyes. "Now you're just being pessimistic."

"What? I'm speaking from experience."

"You've never had a birthday wish come true?"

"My birthday wishes haven't come true since I was 18."

Minho feels your eyes on the side of his face, and when you remain quiet for a beat too long, he turns his attention back to you. "What?"

"How do you know they didn't come true?"

"Because..."

Because you've been my wish for almost a decade now. I didn't use to believe in wishes but I always believed in you. Every year, I wish for you to look at me the way I look at you, but it never comes true. Every year, I wish that you would love me back, not just as a friend, but you never do. You are my wish, but you're also the very reason why I know wishes don't come true.

Then he's laughing, but nothing is remotely funny about this. It's your birthday and suddenly all he can think about is how much it stings to be reminded that you're the only thing he'll ever wish for, and still, maybe this simple wish is absurd enough that the universe will never grant him what he truly wants.

"Never mind," he says. "This whole thing is silly."

There he goes, biting his tongue again. Coward.

"No, what were you going to say?"

"You're so bossy today," Minho pretends to complain.

"It's my birthday. Tell me," you press on, and suddenly he can't find any appreciation for your stubbornness that he's adored all his life. You keep your eyes fixed on him when all he wants to do is hide from you.

What is he supposed to say to you? What can he even say? That he's spent more than a third of his life hopelessly enamored with you? That the second he utters any of this out loud, he knows it will be the end of your friendship?

And Minho can't afford to lose you. Even if it hurts, he would rather let love hurt than live in the absence of you.

"Eat your cupcake," he says instead. "I'll get some ice cream."

He makes a move to get up, and the bad habit further cements its place in his subconscious. He's always running away from you when you're supposed to be the person he can be the most open with. This is how he knows he doesn't deserve you.

But you reach for his wrist and it makes him still, the feeling of your hand sliding downward to hold onto his fingers. He's used to the feeling of your smaller hand in his, used to how he can hear his heartbeat in his ears whenever you lace your fingers together.

What he isn't accustomed to, is the look on your face this very second, akin to the one you wore two years ago as you sat on the other side of his kitchen island, asking him if you should go.

Expectant and hopeful; you're holding something back too.

The words that slip from your lips are ones that he never imagined you would say to him.

"I've waited for you long enough."

His poor excuse of retrieving ice cream is all but forgotten as he stares at you, doe-eyed and despairingly confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

You take a breath, and Minho wonders if this is how he looked every time he wanted to say something only to back down in the end.

Then it all comes rushing out.

"For a while, I thought there might've been something between us, something more than just friendship. I don't know why I thought that, I just had a feeling. On the day of our graduation, I thought you would finally kiss me or at least say something, but you didn't. Whenever I went on dates, I wanted you to tell me not to go, that I was wasting my time with those guys that couldn't make me laugh because they weren't you. You never said anything, you never did anything. I waited every birthday just like I waited tonight. You're still holding it over me and I'm starting to wonder if you really love me too or if I imagined everything this whole time."

Your voice gets smaller toward the end, almost as if the uncertainty takes over you the longer he remains silent. He doesn't have the words for it, doesn't really have the mental capacity to process all of what you just professed. Years and years of longing, of hoping that you would come running into his arms the same way you did on the morning of your thesis defense, and it turns out that you were always the one waiting for him to reach you.

If you really love me too.

Your fingers start to loosen around his but Minho doesn't let you get away, not now and not ever again. Not when he finally knows that he's burnt up enough of your time just because he was too stuck in his head to see that you were holding a hand out for him all along.

He pulls you into his orbit and he likes to imagine that somewhere out there in the infinite universe, two stars collide when he kisses you for the first time, long overdue but still heavenly nonetheless.

He's crying but you don't seem to mind the tears. You're kissing him back and it's really all that matters. He can't think straight but he adores you to the point that his lungs ache.

"I love you," he mumbles against your lips. The sentiment comes out clumsy, half coherent but wholeheartedly sincere. "I'm sorry. I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you."

You're the one who breaks the kiss first, with your hand on his chest gently pushing him away. Panic instantly shoots through him like a lightning strike. These are the words he's been holding back for years, did he not even say them right? Did he fuck things up yet again?

You brush the tears from his cheeks, your voice so impossibly soft when you ask, "Do you mean it?"

Minho splinters into a million pieces, of course he does.

Your name falls from his lips, sounding like a prayer, like the most tender plea that's ever been uttered, "I love you the most. I'm so in love with you that it hurts. I've been yours for so long and I never said anything. Fuck, I-I'm sorry. I love you so much. I'm sorry. I-"

You bring his face to yours once more, shushing him with a kiss that makes him putty in your hands. You tell him that it's okay, and you kiss him like you forgive him. The world could be ending right now, and he doesn't think that either of you would even care very much.

Because you're the only wish of his life, and you kiss him as though you want to make up for the lost years. Because Minho feels like he's 18 again and you're the most beautiful girl in the world, wearing a smile that leaves him breathless in the most wonderful way possible.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 06.05.2024]

[writeandsurvive]

Hi. I’ve been reading your work and it’s been sooo funny. It’s my first time asking for fic. Could you write a fic where Gibbs and reader is in the secret relationship in the bullpen. And one day they’re having breakfast or lunch or anything and they’re cute, sweet, and so in love each other and then being caught on the scene by someone in the bullpen.

Thank you so much for good works!

Hello anon, thank you for the request and your kind words, it means so much to me ❤️ I hope this is what you were looking for!

Busted ~ Jethro Gibbs

It's not easy to give a relationship secret, but it's even worse when it happens in the workplace, and the people you're the closest with are all trained investigators. However, you and Gibbs have been doing a great job at hiding it. It's a lot thanks to him, to be honest; the man has one hell of a self control and when he puts his mind into something, he never fails.

Most of the times you were almost caught was because you couldn't keep your hands off of the man you love. A stolen kiss here, a lingering hand there. The closest to being busted happened when a lawyer was clearly hitting on Gibbs, and your jealousy went over the roof. You trust Gibbs more than anyone, you know he'd never do something like that, but seeing this woman being too comfortable with your man, touching his arm, and giving him flirty looks, that was hard to handle.

However, it led to the first time Gibbs allowed himself to let go in the office. Noticing how jealous you were getting, he got you to follow him to autopsy, taking the elevator and shutting it down. He immediately grabbed you and kissed you intensely. Then he looked deep into your eyes, silently asking if you got the message. You smiled and nodded. Gibbs was a man of a few words after all.

Weekends off were a very rare thing for the team, so when the boss said 'see you on Monday' by Friday night, it was a race to the parking lot. Obviously, a few minutes after you got home, Gibbs let himself in and you immediately jumped into his arms. "An entire weekend, just you and me?"

"Why else would I let everyone go this early?" He kissed you.

After spending the Friday night at your place, ordering takeouts and simply relaxing together, you went to his place on Saturday. Gibbs feels more comfortable there, and he likes to work on his boat while you're reading a book in the armchair he specifically brought into the basement for you.

But Gibbs wanted to spoil you. He knows he's not the most outgoing and adventurous man, and there's this tiny voice in his mind that keeps telling him you're gonna get bored of him and the relationship. So, he used all of his computer skills to search for the best and fanciest restaurants in Washington. He wished he could've asked McGee for this, but how would he explain it? 'I want to take my girlfriend on a fancy date, and spoil her the way she deserves, cause I'm afraid she'll get bored and leave me. Also, my girlfriend is someone you love like your own sister.'

It was a nightmare to do this research, but Gibbs was satisfied with himself when he found the perfect place to take you.

"Your burgundy dress is still here, right?" He asked, joining you after he took a random shower.

"I think so, why?"

He kissed your forehead. "Go get ready, we're going out."

"You're kidding? Where are we going?"

"Surprise."

You excitedly got up from the couch. "Okay, but I need to take a shower too!"

He looked at his watch. "You got an hour, good enough?"

"Yes sir!" You quickly pecked his lips and rushed upstairs.

You don't remember the last time you got into a fancy restaurant like this, you kinda felt out of place. But it was amazing to see Gibbs being this romantic with you, holding doors, pulling out the chair, he even ordered your first alcohol drink, for the both of you instead of going with a beer or bourbon. "You're spoiling me," you shyly smiled. "And you look extra handsome tonight. I still love the polo shirts and hoodies though."

"You deserve to be spoiled." He grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips. "Had to clean up nice so people don't wonder why the hell you're doing with me, more than they already do, at least."

It was amazing. The food was exquisite, the conversation flew smoothly between you, and Gibbs kept complimenting you, and not just physically. He hinted several times how lucky he felt that you were with him, loving him and standing by his side no matter what. "Jethro," you looked at your joint hands on the table before getting lost in his wonderful blue eyes. "You don't have to do this to make me happy. I'm happy as long as I'm with you."

He stayed silent for a moment, processing what you were saying and looking for the right answer. When he opened his mouth to answer, a voice came out from behind you. "Boss! Wow, fancy seeing you here!" Tony DiNozzo. Great. You couldn't get out of this, could you? "Who's your da--" he reached the table, and finally laid eyes on you.

"Hi Anthony," you teased. "Didn't recognize me from behind? That's offensive from you."

Tony kept looking between you and Gibbs, mouth open. "I think he's having a stroke." You joked to Gibbs, who softly chuckled. He had accepted that the cat was out of the bag.

"DiNozzo, you gonna keep standing here or let us go back to our date?" Gibbs asked.

"I, um, wow. I got some many questions." Gibbs gave him his famous, which got Tony to solely look at you. "I got many questions." He said, lower.

"I can still hear you, DiNozzo, and most importantly, I can still see you."

You nodded to Tony with a smile, silently telling that you'll indulge his curiosity.

"Well," you laughed after Tony was finally gone. "I guess we're no longer in a secret relationship."

[letsmyy]

i have a request!!! you should write a daughter of apollo x leo valdez fic but based on espresso by sabrina carpenter (idk i feel like that song gives children of apollo vibes!) it'd be leo obsessed with the apollo girl (like him being absolutely obsessed with her, having the biggest crush on her possible, he constantly thinks about her, him being an absolute loser bf) and finally getting the courage to ask her out on a date or something like that.

“she’s like a shot of espresso…”

leo valdez x duaghter of apollo!reader

warnings: use of yn! english isn’t my first language so it might be some errors!!

thank you so much for your request, it made me so happy!! idk if what i wrote it’s exactly what you want but i hope you like it 🤕 this is my first timing writing a real fic and I think it really shows lol, but i promise I’ll try to improve in the next one, I’m so sorry if it’s that bad, and this is really short too? omg im really bad at this lol, but anyways, ly anon tell me your opinions (honestly) abt this later, kisses to uuu!! 🫶💗 (btw anon, please request other things I feel like I didn’t did you justice with this one)

words: 850

“is it that sweet? I guess so…..”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ - ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Leo was sure he was going crazy.

He always had a pretty big amount of silly crushes on girls, but with you? It was getting way too serious. Of course, you're beautiful, incredibly kind, and too generous for your own good, and you treated him well, but that isn't enough reason to make him lose sleep; at least that's what he thought.

And he was extremely wrong. Being in your presence was the equivalent of being bathed in the sunlight, and gods, he felt like a prisoner who hadn't seen the sun in years.

He's completely obsessed with you; he just needs the courage to verbalize that, but being honest, Leo felt like a coward at the moment.

While being lost in his thoughts (the thoughts being the pretty daughter of Apollo that never leaves his mind), the boy finally falls asleep.

Leo doesn't mind waking up if that means spending the day with the people he loves, so after getting ready for the day, he searches for you.

And he found you, talking with a much younger camper, helping him. You're smiling like it's the best day of your life, and Leo could swear that you're almost glowing.

The boy makes its way to you the same moment you finish talking to the kid, now having your full attention on Hephaestus' son.

"Leo! Good morning!" Your voice to him had the same effect as listening to his favorite music, it made him happy in ways he couldn't explain, even if his life depended on it. 

"Yn! Good morning!" He mimics you, not in a bad way, just a teasing one. You roll your eyes in fake annoyance.

"Sooo, did you sleep well, Valdez?" You ask, seeming really interested in the answer, but he knows that you're like that for everything, being extremely kind.

"Not really, would be better if I dreamed about you," you laugh amusingly.

"You say that every day, y'know?"

"I know, I say because it's true. " You can't help but blush a little. You're used to Leo flirting with you, but it never gets past that, so you just learned to joke back.

"Hilarious, Valdez... fortunately, I slept very well today, and I'm more excited than normal! I think it's because it's so sunny today, that's awesome, was thinking about going to the lake later. I can't waste such a pretty day like this one painting inside my cabin..."

"Unfortunately, I'll be in the bunker today, I have lots of things to do."

"What? No! You're coming with me, you can't waste this wonderful day either!" You grab his hands, walking toward the lake.

Leo could swear he would pass out at that moment. He couldn't even think about denying your offer, he would prefer dying to doing that.

After a few seconds, you guys get to the lake.

"Look how pretty it is! You have to go swimming with me, it’s a need.”

"Look, sunshine, water and fire don't get along so well, so I might skip that one" he says, apologetic. You frown, thinking.

"We don't need to go swimming, we can just talk, i really don't care." You smile lovingly at him.

"I don't want to ruin your day! There are many people that can go with you, you'll find someone better to do that." He's so oblivious that it's getting concerning.

"I want to spend time with you, Valdez. I don't mind if it's swimming or just talking, I want to, you know..be with you."

"Oh." He's acting like a loser, he can't think straight anymore and is blushing like crazy, but who cares?

"Oh?" You tease him, smiling.

"Yeah, we can. Just talk, I'm happy with that. " His smile was so genuine that made your heart melt.

That's when you realize you're still holding his hand, and you don't want to change that. You can feel he notices too.

Something just snapped in his head, now it’s the time, now or never, right?

"Yn? Can I tell you something?" He says it in a quiet tone, and you just nod.

"When I'm around you, it's like constantly drinking a shot of espresso, it's like being bathed in sunlight, you're incredibly energetic and enthusiastic, and i just can't get enough of you, you're my sunrise and daylight....all I'm saying is, gods, I very much love you more than just friends" You're surprised, really surprised, so surprised that you can't even speak for a moment, which just makes Leo even more nervous.

"Please say something...like, anything, a no it's better than silence because it’s less-“ Before he yaps again, you interrupt him:

"I like you too." The boy almost squeals of pure excitement.

"Seriously? Oh gods, oh gods. What?" He's so happy, it's so sincere, so soft, it's amazing, you can feel your heart beating so fast, and you don't even care; seeing him like this because of you is the best feeling you ever felt.

Then you see that one look, meant just for you, it's like time has frozen, and you're both thinking the same thing. Then, like all the stars aligned, you kissed him

[darkdemeter]

Hey hey, could i please have a request?

So imagine that the reader is traveling with death to restore the humanity and they get along so well and are kind of flirty and the reader is falling for him. One day they meet Vulgrim and she out of curiosity falls into his serpent hole and is transported to the past to meet the young and unruly death, who we know was a menace when younger. And then they have their interactions the reader goes back to the current version of death. How do you think that would go?

Have a lovely day and thank you for your work!

EVEN DEATH WAS ONCE YOUNG

◤✘DARKSIDERS COLUMN | Death x Female Reader

NOTES: ↳ OH. MY. GOSH. ANON! Writing this was the bomb!! Interesting concept, a wonderful opportunity to explore pre-horseman "younger" Death. I tried to keep a balance between his more mature personality while also having some fun with giving him a bit of spunk -- I couldn't stop giggling! WARNINGS! ↳ Just death being a bit of a young menace, but he kinda cute doing it sooo.... but like there's also fluff/hurt stuff?

✎5.4k ────────────────

When people used to say: “I wish I could meet the younger version of you.” They don’t actually know what they’re asking for. Because who in their right mind would want to meet Death in the prime of his bloodlust? 

The thought struck a fancy with you after your encounter with the demoness, Lilith. Her presence exotic and threatening without explicitly doing anything remotely violent. It was the sensual octave that carried her words like a lullaby you had found forbidding to hear, yet you fall prey to the temptation to hear just one more word.

That didn’t stop you from hiding behind Death, his back rigid to the point the knocks of his spine straightened slightly when her hand lingered a little too close to brush a stray framing of hair out from your face. 

But it was what she recounted that piqued your curiosity. Her children. Enriching lore of a species most loathed from long ago, a bloody crusade where they met their end by Death’s hands. From her retelling and the mystical pulse of life that beats in the embedded shards in his chest, even speaking of them appeared to pain him both physically and mentally. A burden you could never carry for him nor tell him to abandon. 

For a human, whose patience often wanes at the smallest of inconvenience, you show a lot of compassion and understanding for the weight on his shoulders. And never would you know exactly how thankful Death has become for your company. At times almost yearning for it whenever you are but a few feet away, or the thought crosses his mind to take you back to the Tri-Forge and leave you in the Maker’s care. Your fragility means more to him now than it has before, sometimes just looking at you eases just a fraction of that guilt he pushes deeper down. 

You’d both formed far too much of a bond so unnatural to the opinion of others, yet it fell into some assortment of right for you. 

You can’t possibly imagine being left behind, not now. Not after how far you have come all this way together. 

But yes, that saying. Did people ever realise what it was they were saying? 

“Meeting the mother-in-law already, baby albums and all.” Your voice crackles on the hot, muggy wind that travels through this slice of inferno, sky a spiral of darkness and hellfire smog. “Dare I say it, I wish I could meet the younger—”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” he warns with a low and thorough rasp that rattled in his chest. 

You cannot help but spare him a teasing wrinkle of your nose and puckering your tongue out between your teeth, body twisting from side to side innocently.

You can’t help but chuckle with a slight bounce in your step. “Sounds like you were quite the bad boy.”

You merely roll your eyes as he gruffly replies with a huff, “Your perception cannot possibly begin to fathom the prime of my youth… or handle it.”

Despite his attempt of coming off cool and collected, you could hear the bitter coil of something else underline his words. 

Oh, how mystical and dark and brooding he always was and portrayed himself to be. You’re sure that there is something a little less grim beneath that rough exterior. Hell — and that saying excludes your current locale — you have witnessed it before in the engagements of fun conversation that go back and forth to the point that a victor who gets the last say is indeterminable sometimes. So he’s not completely a lost cause of being impenetrable, he’s entertained you before with quite a few situations that you classified as flirting. Who knew that Death himself could make you blush bright and red?

He was close to claiming that title of victory this time, until you pad along to stop right in the middle of his tracks, his chest barely able to stop from bumping into you and causing your balance off kilter for a moment. 

“Come on, Death, at this point of travelling together, I can handle anything.”

He looks past your nonchalant grin and over your shoulder, seeming to cock a brow beneath the greying bone of his mask.

“Really now?” he hums, “Duck.”

“Wh—” you dare not finish to question him as you immediately take to assuming position, ducking low to the ground in preparation of an oncoming ambush unseen by you.

But it never comes. You hear a gravelly rumble of a chuckle emit from the reaper before you, his shoulders jostling a little with the motion. Your lips purse together and you scowl at him with everything you can muster to no avail of affecting him.

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny,” you snark back, walking alongside him as he continues to set your traversing pace. 

Noticing that he was heading back the way you came, you jutt a thumb to point behind you “Aren’t we meant to be going that way?” 

“Your sense of direction has improved astonishingly, girl,” Death snickers dryly, the slur of flirty endearment almost lost in his words. He continues, “We’re paying a visit to Vulgrim.” 

Ugh, even saying that name brings a ghoulish, slimy chill to climb your spine uncomfortably. 

“Horseman,” The greenish bulbs of his eyes shrink behind a wrinkling brow of pale, craggily skin. Then his eyes see you and the form in which they almost bulge from their sockets sickens you. “And your little human companion! Your scent is just as… lovely as ever, my dear.” 

The gaping maw of his lipless mouth twists into a creeping grin so unnerving it causes knots of fear to tie in your gut. 

“Uh, no,” you say with an adamant shake of your head. No way in this life or the next would you trade your soul to Vulgrim of all fiends. Death had warned you to just keep your soul to yourself in general if offered to sell it for a little something in return. 

“Your dealings are with me, Vulgrim.” Death is clear and quick to establish your presence before the serpent hole. The demon trader, sighing grimly with a black, slimy tongue ringing over his cracked and deformed fangs, addresses Death. 

“Very well. Let us see what I have to offer… and what you can afford.”

Vulgrim usually dances about his serpent hole but never ventured too far if he can help it, usually to usher you away from it with a warning, “If you know what is best for your longevity, stay away from there.” 

And most of the time, Death kept a watchful eye on you to keep you from falling face first into the next trap of trouble. However, this time around, the pool of green mist is left surprisingly unguarded. With a curious tilt of your head and scrunch of your nose, your boots pad on over as you walk towards it. 

You can’t make out a bottom through the wafting cloud of mist that rises from the hole. Still you arch your body to peer over the edge and down into it as though you’d find something soon enough if you just inch that little bit—

“Human!” Death bellows as he rushes to you, only just seeing your form stumble and fall forward. A yelp of surprise turns into a blood-curdling scream as you sink into the smoggy abyss. The green haze around you fades into a darker shade until all around you is black nothingness. Your voice throws over into a thousand echoes that follow you. You’re still falling. At least it feels that way and for a moment you think you’ve closed your eyes; it’s hard to tell with the inky black around you.

A bright tone paints onto the surface of your closed eyes and you fall onto ground, dusty and hard, small rocks jab and scrape as you land. The brunt of the fall knocks the wind from you and you take a moment to recover your bearings, soon to rise to your feet and brush off the smears of dirt on your clothes.

“Okay. Duly noted: do not go anywhere near serpent holes,” you affirm strongly with newfound belief, only to be met by silence.

No scolding words that apprehend your actions. Not the familiar grasp of a cold, large hand that strangely warms you and causes your heart rate to pick up a little faster. No, you turn and shift on your heel to scan all directions about you. 

“Uhm… Death? Vulgrim?” You’ve spun yourself into a circle a million times over by now. “Anyone? Hello?”

For certain this is not the same slice of hell you had accompanied Death to and no serpent hole was in sight. Instead, you're in some cavernous valley of dust land and patches of grass and foliage, in the distance stands the mounds of high reaching cliff sides. 

Where exactly are you? 

As a human evidently from earth, you had never once had the ability to traverse any realm unfamiliar. In fact, you never knew of the possible existence of them. And after meeting Death, you were strictly told to stay close. Realms harboured dangers of their own, a breed of some civilisation that undoubtedly hurt you if you ran off by yourself. 

And now you’re beginning to feel that seeping dread of despair dawn within you. That sulking hopelessness that you have cast yourself to some unknown corner of the cosmos, and Death has no idea where you dropped off to. 

“Death?” You ask aloud again. Were you lost forever? 

You begin to head off in a direction, putting the sun to your left as you look around for ideally any serpent holes that can hopefully drop you back where you belong. With Death. Without him here, you feel like a newborn fawn stumbling on its legs. He always made you feel safe, always ensured he was between you and whatever threat that tried to get you, even if he got hurt because of it. 

You continue to call out to the wind that sweeps over you, the sun beating down hard. You brush aside a flurry of hair from your face, your pace slowing exponentially as you practically stumble through this unknown territory.

That’s when that sixth sense kicks in. You’re not sure if you had been ignoring the signs before or if the feeling just came, but all the same you feel that you’re being watched.

You’ve barely dived out of the way before something large crashes behind you, the scraping of claws digging into the crusty soil and the shifting balance of weight kicks up a cloud of dust behind the force of the leaping attack. Turning to face whatever it was, you grimace at the sight of a mangy looking hound that dwarfs you. Its skin is a burnt hue of reddish pink like it suffered constant exposure to the sun, what matted fur that lined its spine and cuffed around its ribs was a dark, sandy brown with dark, faded stripes. Its ears twitch as a high pitched wheeze passes through its open jaw that pries open like a snake. Rows of black teeth are coated in an oily surface of dripping saliva. 

You see another grapple down the cliff face to join the first, this one notably smaller, but not by much. Then another of the same size joins the second, each one stalking closer to corner you in. 

A piercing sharpness fills your chest and your hand grasps at the handle of your dagger. A simple form of defence, highly unlikely to fend off the predators easily, but better than nothing. 

Right about now, that favourable reaper of yours would be excellent company. There were so many things you wished you had said, times you procrastinated moving that bit closer to his side by the evening campfire meant for your safety and sanity. You fear that this is your end. For your quest in restoring humanity, one more human will be lost today, and Death will have to bear that burden. It saddens you in a way. That the guilt would eat away at him. 

One of the smaller hounds takes no more than a few steps forward, just about ready to pounce at you before a humming force sings through the air and with a meaty crunch of bone and mushed brain, an all familiar scythe fatally sheathed in its skull. 

You fall back on your arse, a relieved grin digs deep into your cheeks as you think Death has somehow found you. 

You look around, eager to see him, barely catching something fast cut through the corner of your vision. The next thing you know, the head of the second smaller hound rolls over, its tongue hanging loosely between its jaws, the decapitated appendage just resting at the heel of your boots. The sight makes you grumble in dull disgust.

However, you are brought into the shadow of the larger creature that now towers above you, caught with a gulp in your throat. By your lucky stars, its attention diverts from you and to your rescuer and dives forward. 

You only just turn your head when a pained shriek howls through the air and a severed limb flies some distance away. Followed by another and then a third limb, leaving the defeated creature to begin crawling away with a distorted whine. 

His silhouette bathed in the scorching sun is a sight of relief, though his attire had changed. Not the draping tabard of violet tied about his waist or the deep purple scarf hung over his shoulders. Mostly an assortment of bandages wrapped and woven around his arms, clad in iron fittings. He steps after the beast, following along the weeping trail of blood smeared into the dirt, scythes coming together as the long staff of Harvester and placed to his back. 

Your face contorts in response to the sheer brutality before you, visage twitching in your frazzled comprehension. Yes, Death had a very violent tendency to be dangerously savage, but he was well versed in being precise, but never at this level. Seeing him utilise naught but his inhuman strength at his disposal and his hands, he rips the hound’s upper jaw clean off until sheets of sinew and muscle were reduced to hair-thin threads. 

He drops the unhinged part to his feet with a wet, clumpy thump. Even you have to internally argue that Death may have lost himself a little there. When his head turns over his shoulder, the flicker of an amber glow catching you in his sights, you cannot help the reaction to freeze as you roll onto your belly. 

Something unfamiliar resides in his gaze like he’s seeing you for the first time. But rather than the confusion of an older entity seeing one of the many souls still alive, there is a frenzy of anger – adrenaline running a high river through him, driving him bloodmad. 

His upper body then begins to turn only to halt when you utter his name, form rigid in his study of you. Again, you try, “Death? Hey, it’s me.”

Immediately you’re met by the unsheathed blade of Harvester aimed against you and you skitter back with a hiss as the massive blade knicks your cheek. 

“Hey! Careful with that— what’s gotten into you?”

“Who are you?” 

Your face scrunches, a morphed complaint of your confusion. He only attempts to raise his scythe to your neck with a threat to render you headless at his whim. 

“I-it’s me, hello!” you laugh with bitter nervousness, “you know me. Y/N, the human you’ve been travelling with.”

He gives no form of recollection. Not that he’s easy to read with that mask of his, hiding all but the expression in his eyes. Or the way he narrows them upon hearing one word: Human. Call it intuition, a gut feeling, a divine touch; you feel that that word held some powerful trigger to the Horseman before you. And none that you had seen in him before. Almost a zeal of intense excitement flourishes in the furnace heart of his eyes. 

“A human?” Harvester balances in his grasp to lean against his shoulder, a curious tilt of his head somehow influences you to mimic the action with an affirmative hum.

“Uh-huh. We were on our way to restore humanity. We went extinct, remember?” 

“Really now?” 

When he begins to stalk closer and inching the gap between you shorter, you find yourself taking a few steps back. Something was… off. Death isn’t like his usual self. The concept of humans didn’t really phase him in such a way before. He just thought of humanity and their restoration as a mere key to gaining his brother’s freedom. Somehow integral to the balance but never once serving importance to him. But now, before your very eyes, he appears with a dark excitement as he looks you over. Like your very existence piques him. 

Was he flirting with his leash ten yards behind him? 

Now that’s very unlike your old reaper—

There’s a thought: he is not… that old. Sure, old by some standard in the scheme of time, but compared to when you were travelling together, you come to realise how noticeably younger he is. And still, he advances towards you until his shadow overthrows you, drowning you in it. 

Even if you wanted to chalk up your thoughts to some conspiracy, you also notice that there is a sore lack of soul-cursed shards embedded into the taut muscle of his chest. 

Alright. Now you’re beginning to put the pieces of this puzzle together. You have somehow landed in the great, great past.

It’s like your wish became a manifested reality. 

Bathed in the sunless dark of his shadow, your feet intend to shuffle back, only for his arm that handles his massive scythe extends forth, the pole of it acting as some guard that keeps you from moving any further away. 

You mumble to yourself then, resigning in your compliance to remain where you stand. He may not be trying to directly hurt you now, but if given the motivation, you could yet stand corrected. 

He continues to stare at you, long and hard pressing, you feel like an ant under the heated blink of a glass scope that is threatened to burn. A matter of curiosity is all you can surmise it to the way his neck extends forward, bending down until the bone form of his masked nose hovers over you, near deathly silent but still largely inhaling your scent.

The act is enough for that heated flush to deep into your skin. 

“Hey—hey, easy there, big guy,” you warn, voice wavering from the way he merely tilts his head before leaning in again. “No, I said n-no! Stop that—no, that tickles!” 

Upon you practically beating him away with the ferocity of your mitten gloves, he then circles you like a predatory beast. 

“How is this possible? Humanity’s creation has not yet come,” he inquisitively says. 

You give a shrug, choosing to be a little more careful of your words. Would anything you do or say alter time itself and affect your supposed present? 

Just with you being here would be enough to do just that if Death’s claim that humans weren’t born yet is true. 

“Uh, well… it’s not so simple to explain. You see, I er—”

Shit this was getting more and more difficult to explain with the growing anxiety dangerously lurking over you like a foreboding cloud. 

“I’m not from here.”

You can almost see his brow curve upward under the mask. “Evidently,” he drawls deeply in response. 

With a roll of your eyes you try again. 

“All I know is that I somehow fell through some serpent hole and got transported back in time. Now, I gotta find a way back.” 

“You mean to leave?” 

Already turning your back on him – unaware of such a grave mistake – you only nod in response, your eyes last to leave him. Who knows how much longer you will have to endure here before Death finds and rescues you from his younger self. 

But that just isn’t in your stack of cards. Again you’re almost blown to the four winds and land on the cushion of your arse, grumbling in pain as you stare up at him, standing right in the way of your path.

Your lips purse tightly together, you hiss, “Death!” 

He crouches in front of you, ignoring the way you attempt to pry him and push him away as he moves a hand forward. He holds your wrist at bay before you can land a firm push to his mask to shove him away, his amber eyes dance with a certain level of intrigue and his head tilting to the side leaves his raven hair to saddle alongside the motion. 

He peels the grubby article off your hand to reveal the bareness of your skin and you find yourself holding your own breath. 

His own hand measures yours, palm to palm and you feel the roughened contour of his skin. His body radiates with an off-centred heat, not entirely cold as he is in the present with you but the morph of warmth isn’t so smothering unlike some infernal realm you know. You almost see the softness that crosses his features beneath the boney helm of his mask, like the cracks of emotion are being revealed without your exact know-how. 

But you’ve known Death for some time now. You’ve been in his company. If this is some revelation of a breakthrough, then you see it before your very eyes. 

Each finger lines to one another. A curtain of silence falls over the both of you until your eyes meet. A smile creeps over your lips then. 

“Must you truly go?” he’s sudden to ask beneath the gravel baritone of his chords. With a sigh, you only nod your head. 

His eyes harden at this, something distraught lines his concealed face only to be betrayed by the levelled glow of his eyes, but nevertheless he stands, no longer keeping you from running off. As you make your way to stand on your own two feet, brushing off the particles of dirt off your clothes, you notice Death’s prolonged stare. 

“What is it?” 

He only shakes his head, a gruff response of, “Nothing.” 

Though his reply is suspiciously vague, you both venture off into the great unknown, however much you believe that Death is more accustomed to the land than you. 

Hours pass as the sun begins to ride your backs and no sight of any serpent holes, leaving you with a feeling of exhausted anguish. As the night creeps in as a shadowy blanket over the sky and turns the humid air colder, you pull your shawl over your body as a chill licks your spine. 

Death — no not your Death, the younger one — takes notice, eying you from the side of his vision. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You jerk your head in his direction with eyes wide in your perked alertness. “Hm? Oh, I’m just cold is all. Usually I’d have a fire set up by now to rest…”

Would it be wise to add that it was him — older him — beside you and ensuring you settle into your makeshift camp? Unsure, you keep that to yourself. 

When he places an overly large hand to your shoulder, you stumble on your heel and pause, watching Death’s head scan the horizon and the upper cliff faces until he stops. You turn your head and notice just in the crevice of shadow and fading sunlight the blackened mouth of a cave. 

Your eyes light up at the thought of rest despite your circumstances and you already begin your trek towards the rocky climb, though you now see the rather steep slope it resides to reach the haven. With a grumble, your determination steers you to climb anyways, your feet stumbling and causing small pebbles to scatter down the face. 

Hands then grab hold of you and before you’re able to fight or protest, Death scuttles up in a matter of seconds with you hanging on for dear life. After he sets you down, you huff out, “Thanks.” 

He gives a gruff sound in response with a curt nod, then turns to scour the new site of camp. It wasn’t so much as a cave as you thought, moreso of a sheltered crop in the rocks, providing enough area to protect you from the elements but also invites the cool winds to breeze on past. 

Making a fire was a challenge than it usually was, making due with what you had on hand, and Death sets Harvester to his side, leaning it against the wall. He doesn’t think you pose that much of a threat to warrant its persistent sheath. 

He however finds some interest in how you kindle the birth of flames, crafting it from almost nothing. 

Looking up at him from your position, you laugh softly to yourself. “Yeah, I know. Humans are so weak and strange. But it’s what we do. How we were made, I guess.”

“I didn’t say anything like that,” Death says with a clearly risen brow. His answer does bring you surprise. After all, Death had many times sighed and chuffed about how humans did the most silly of things – things that were key to your survival, keeping that in mind. 

“Well… you will. Someday.”

“How is it that you know me?” he asks, crouching on the fire’s opposite side, facing you. As much as you think it unwise to share anymore knowledge, you cannot deny that you feel almost safe around him, no matter the fact that he’s younger. In the prime of his bloodlust. 

But he hasn’t killed me yet. Tried to, but hasn’t. 

“It’s going to sound strange but… I’m from the future. And in that future, we are travelling together.”

“Because you said something of Humanity’s demise.” 

He’s Death alright. A keen observant to detail. You nod in reply before continuing, “and as I said, I fell through some sort of timeline and landed here in the past. The way, way past. So far that humans aren’t even created yet, as you’ve said.”

To this, he nods in turn and it brings you to smile. You feel as though he silently applauds your own recollection for detail. 

“Death, how old are you?” 

Yes, it is indeed perhaps a very stupid decision to ask his age, but the nature of curiosity humans are notoriously known for gets the better of you. His eyes flicker with momentary stutter, taken aback by such a question, but one he doesn’t ultimately deny in answering. 

“Today is my day of creation… I’m a thousand-and-one—”

Your eyes go wide and you shoot up to your feet with a cheer. “What? Happy Birthday!” 

Your voice is a loud noise to the shell of his hearing and it spurns him to the defence, beckoning Harvester to fly to his hand within an instant. You’re quickly covering your mouth, uttering your apologies at spooking him. 

Settling back down, this time to his side, you flash him a shy, toothy grin. “But that’s exciting!”

“What is a ‘birthday’?”

You gasp at the shocking revelation. “It’s a celebration. When humans are born on a certain day, it’s a tradition to celebrate it every year.”

Then it pops into your mind, again sending the nephilim beside you to flinch at your motion, you stir up a fuss of plucking a twig from the flames before it’s entirely devoured. Holding it, single flame slow to eat away the kindle, you beam as you stare at Death with large, doe-like eyes. 

“Make a wish!”

“A what?” He scoffs, only to see you dramatically roll your eyes until they’re nearly rolling out of their sockets. “A wish. You make a wish, something you really want, and then blow out the flame. Another tradition on your birthday.”

His eyes narrow to thin points, sceptical that perhaps you were using something to your advantage. When he sees that you don’t have any ill intent to deceive him, he shuffles in his spot slightly to face you, body arching ever so over yours; his height even at this level towers over you. 

You whisper softly, “Like this.” 

Making the motion of blowing out the makeshift candle with your mouth, the campfire casting an orange hue to your skin paints you in a fine detail that the nephilim cannot help but study closely until a there’s a skip in his chest.

His hand raises to his mask but stops and you see the hesitance to continue any further. Understanding that it very well could be because of your presence, you tilt your chin down and squeeze your eyes shut. 

A gust beats across your face, skirting the wisps of hair away and then just as promptly as he’d lifted his mask, he’d lowered it just in time for you to peel your eyes open. Again, you smile. 

He’s the first to crack through the veil of tension between you both, standing on his feet. 

“Get some rest, girl.”

The next day, you finally see in the distance the familiar halo of green and sick looking mists, but it is your ticket home nonetheless. You skip ahead and towards it, laughing at the thought of reuniting with Death and telling him of your adventure.

But then you stop. Not another skip in your step. You turn around to see Death, body rigid but his chin is aimed down and his eyes don’t exactly meet yours. Approaching him cautiously, you halt a few feet before him, hands pinned behind you. 

“I guess this is goodbye…”

You don’t very much like the eternal sound to your farewell. Like you’re losing him forever. 

He drawls out, low and lessened of any sort of emotion, but you swear you note a hint of sadness in his tone. “My wish didn’t come true.”

“What was your wish?”

His eyes rise to meet yours and you feel your heart splinter. Why did it feel so wrong to want to go back to Death in the future? Why did everything that wasn’t with him feel so, so wrong?

“I wish that you would stay here.”

“I can’t stay. I’m not from this time.” Your words do little to ease that which internally troubles him. Your hands coax his jaw to lift upwards until he stands, prouder and much taller over you that you have to balance on the toes of your feet. Then, you sweep your arms around him. His body is stiff to meet your hug but you care little in that regard. He’s always been one less evident of his affections, a tendency you’re completely fine with. 

“But I promise that we will meet again in the future. After all, that’s who I’m going back to through the serpent hole. To you.”

There it is, that flicker in his eyes that reveals in them a shiny glow of fire that you feel warms your heart in many ways. Pressing a chaste kiss to the toughened chin of his mask, you offer one last smile and bid your farewells with a wave, promising that you will see each other again before you jump into the serpent hole, disappearing into the green mists. 

You yelp as the void sends you crashing yet again and you fear that you have stumbled into yet another realm in another time. But for the first time, you find yourself relieved to hear Vulgrim’s slimy voice announce your arrival. 

“Ah! And there she is, the curious little mouse who doesn’t keep away from serpent holes,” he snides with a raspy coil like a snake getting ready to strike. 

“Vulgrim,” you poke your tongue out, brushing your hair from your face and you look to see Death charging his way to you. 

“There you are,” he says almost wistfully, hands pressed to your shoulders. A tender action even with the glare clear in his gaze. “What were you thinking? What happened to you?”

You know that beneath the roughness of his callous tone, he means well. He was worried and the look upon his younger self’s face as you left, you find yourself pulling yourself into him and embracing him. 

“I promised you that we’d meet again.”

His arms weave themselves around your waist, holding you to bear you closer in his embrace. “Yes, you did.”

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/763697061137940480/

Well, forgive me for not feeling too bad about making one stupid shipping joke in the cafeteria and causing offense to someone who overheard my conversation with a friend. And you know what? I had to politely explain to her that it was a joke and that I didn't mean anything by it as she tried to equate whateverthefuck I was saying to systemic violence, using the language that describes my experience as a disabled afab queer Asian against me. I had to just patiently take it, lest it cause even more offense.

Meanwhile I had to stare down a room full of socilogy students and defend the existence of nonbinary people, knowing full well that most of them approved of the people who went around the social science building to write "there are only two genders" on every board they could. Knowing full well that students refused to use our nonbinary professor's preferred pronouns. Knowing full well that our queer association's president almost got violently assaulted for being pansexual. Knowing full well that our school makes a show of being progressive but that they actually couldn't give two shits about queer students.

Cry me a fucking river

--

Hi, heterophobia anon here. (OTNF, would it be possible to stitch this to the earlier ask? Thanks either way) I kind of wanted to apologize for my over emotional follow up to the other anon. I took that ask very personally, and felt it was both a condemnation of my character and an endorsement of the person who confronted me, which was one single event in an incredibly traumatic long chain of queerphobia I experience at my school. And honestly, even if it was a condemnation of me and an endorsement of her, I don't think I should have reacted like that. Anon had no context of who I am and who she was, they just knew that I made a joke that reminded them of self-righteous online haters who think that hating majority demographics is activism. That's not who I am. I shouldn't have felt attacked. The genesis of the "queerphobia" joke is actually a play on the idea of shipping as activism. "If you don't ship these racial minorities, you're racist", "if you don't ship this same sex couple, you're homophobic", etc. Therefore, if I don't ship MF, then I must be heterophobic. The joke in this situation was that I didn't ship this incredibly popular ship in our fandom, and it's because I'm just sooo heterophobic. It's an inside joke for a reason, so I don't fault anon for thinking that they would avoid me irl if they heard me. I don't think anon expected the person who confronted me to be a queerphobic racist who absolutely traumatized me (which I didn't even realize at the time.) It's only after sending that first ask that I understood why the interaction stuck so hard to my mind. I was trying to make light of my fears by sending a "dunk" ask about how stupid that person was. So when people pushed back, I overreacted, despite the fact that nobody could have known the context. Sorry for the word vomit, but I don't really have anywhere else to dump all this. My friend is much more "out" than I am, so they're probably more stressed than me. I didn't want to add more on top

[stormblessed95]

https://www.tumblr.com/stormblessed95/759977420741902336/jikookers-say-that-they-wish-that-jikook-would

So like a lot of your content, this ask left your space and was posted on Twitter (I’m mad that the feed refreshed before I decided to save the link😭). The thing I found interesting though is how people in this space view Jikook versus how people outside of this space do. I got what anon meant by them staying in the glass closet and keeping as far away from the media as possible but sooo many people in that tweets comments seemed pissed about it. The majority of the comments were saying how we can’t expect them to live in the closet forever, don’t you know how much better they would feel if they could just be free and open, the media would just make a big deal out of the situation for a couple of weeks and then move on, they would get some hate but jikookers would make sure they knew they were loved and supported, if they really loved each other they would come out and be proud, etc. etc.

Idk I’m just like wow you really did curate a lgbtq+ friendly space on your blog here. Because half the stuff people were saying wasn’t exactly malicious but it did seem to just be outside of reality. Because the thing is, I think the guys are out. To their friends, their family and the people that they love and trust. Maybe not from the start and maybe not even for as long as they’ve been together but I genuinely cant see two people who are so genuine, honest and confident being 100% in the closet. I feel like if these people on twitter could put themselves in the guys shoes instead of just thinking about it from a fans perspective then they would realize that. Because glass closet doesn’t mean stay in the closet but more like just never confirm anything so even if they get side eyes from people, nobody actually has any solid proof against them.

Idk but anyways thanks for existing Storm. I avoid Jikook spaces besides the few I trust on Tumblr at this point so thanks for making me feel so comfy here.

I always feel weird whenever I'm reminded I don't actually exist in a Tumblr bubble and I'm NOT actually speaking into the void here like I expected when I started this blog. I also didn't realize that *many* of my posts ended up on Twitter. That's a strange feeling too. I know one did and I claimed it, gained like 200+ followers, panicked and went private 😂😂 and then mostly kept that account separate from this one. I did share my Tumblr handle on there last year as well once too. So I guess there have been a limited few chances to discover my twitter handle if you are looking 😂

And thank you for the kind words. I really do try to make this a safe space. That's all I really want it to be . Thank you for existing too anon 💜💜💜💜

[kiryoutann]

so far the mc has been pretty shitty to imo- stalking, attempted baby trapping (yes I know she has trauma but that doesn't excuse the behaviour). I am wondering how are you gonna make her grow from that. I do think this behaviour needs to be addressed, if the mc is going to end up with Simon, is it gonna be one of those cases where they are both bad people and deserve each other (I know they aren't purposely bad but actions speak louder than words) or are they both going to make each other a better person? I was just wondering that idk why lolz

"she has trauma but that doesn't excuse the behavior" is SOOO TRUE. thank u for saying this.

i understand and aware that mental illness affects someone's personality and behavior, but it doesn't give you a free pass to be an asshole/exempt you from accountability. you did smth and you apologize and explain everything, but also don't expect the other person to UNDERSTAND/accept your apology. while it's important for everyone to be compassionate towards people dealing with mental health challenges, doesn't mean they're obligated to forgive and forget your hurtful behavior.

now, to the question...

THE PRESSURE IS REAL. i honestly still have no idea how her character growth is going to be- and NOW that you've said this, i'm not even sure if my original plan for her was GROWTH or just a result of this series.

because to be realistic, if i were her (whom by the way, we acknowledged she's just as bad or worse i dunno) and i got to reunite 2-3 years later (did I mention when they're going to meet before this ask?? I FORGOT. THIS is how unformed the sequel is guys) with the person who broke my heart (regardless of why and the circumstances, they still broke it right), i'd still have this bitterness in me that makes me this shitty person roaming the earth (omg is she gonna be her mother..)

or maybe you're right. maybe it's going to be one of those cases where they are both horrible people and they're MEANT to be (or maybe that's why they're meant to be). or maybe it's going to be a story where well,, it's not really considered character growth for both simon and her, but it's a process of them accepting what kind of person they are (since i feel like this current series is mostly about simon trying to avoid the person he is - always painting himself in the bad light, as someone who isn't worthy of love and the softer side of life, while the reader is trying soo hard to prove that she isn't like her mother, that she's lovable to the point where she FORCES EVERYTHING to go her way) and to know each other better without "veil"/hiding anymore. then, they can move forward.

cause i think for someone to grow, you gotta acknowledge the person you are in the present, then from there you can try and be a better person. i hope this makes any sense lmao cause i'm just typing everything in my mind.

if someone has their thoughts/suggestions for the sequel, i'd be happy to hear them. just submit it to my inbox ^^!! know that some may not be implemented in the sequel, but all is equally appreciated!

also thanks so much for the ask anon!!! this was a good question<33 have a great day!

[gyll-yee-haw]

Hiii! Can you please write something for Louis Bloom? He’s sooo bad but he is just so hot I have a hard time hating him 😭 Merry Christmas!

Hiii! Merry Christmas for you too, anon, thank you for this wonderful gift, my first request since I came back <3

Hm yeah, if people don't want us to fall in love with psychos, they need to stop hiring Jake Gyllenhaal to play then yk...

Warnings: oral (male recieving), balls worship, manipulation (from both sides, but heavier on his), description of violence, blood, accidents and other typical Lou Bloom activities (he doesn't hurt reader).

Like 1.7k words

You were new in town. You didn't know about Louis's reputation. The two of you had just started going out and you didn't know much about his job... all you knew was the gleam in his eyes whenever he talked about it, always mentioning he was very successful. You also knew that he worked VERY hard, cause more than once you've seen him spend the entire evening out, or simply drop everything he's doing when he hears about something that could make it to the news. And you would watch his material on TV smiling proudly at his hard work.

You couldn't imagine how hard it must be for him to witness such horrible, tragic events and document everything... again... you didn't know him very well yet.

Time passed and the two of you only grew closer. Louis was fascinated by your innocence... about how you would always receive him with open arms and whispers of "my poor Lou" after a particular long night, or how you'd be horrified after seeing his images on TV, saying things like "oh baby, you must be a hero, how can you endure this kind of thing?".

It just drove him crazy. He was living a double life... he would be the most absolute cruel and unhinged man on the dark streets of LA, and come back to you as a man of many sacrifices. Just when he thought it couldn't be more perfect, he has this idea: the worse his job looked to you, the more you would admire him.

The next night was the first night he came home covered in blood. You almost had a heart attack.

"Lou!" You ran towards him. "What happened to you? Are you hurt?"

"No, it's okay, baby, I'm okay..." He put on his saddest face. "I just... I was out there doing my job, you know... but I... Oh, my love, I did something terrible..."

"What do you mean, Lou? What happened?" You asked nervously.

"You know I'm not supposed to interfere on the scene, but... I couldn't help it... there was this child... he was very hurt on the accident, I just had to help him!"

You hugged him and cried proudly, trying to calm him down, telling him it was okay... oh, little did you know he was calmer than ever as he lied and manipulated you, smirking into the hug as he watched you fall into his trap.

But his need for your attention and affection grew completely out of his control. His storied became more and more absurd and he started to... cause some... situations on purpose, just so he would have new stories to tell you about how brave he was.

Louis was always the type to be behind the cameras, but more than once he filmed himself dragging a victim of a car accident or carrying an unconscious person around, heavily editing it afterwards, to make it look like he was saving them... and he didn't even sell those images, they were only for you to see, with the excuse that he was so humble and didn't want the fame, he just wanted to help.

But he just couldn't fool you forever, no matter how hard he tried. The absurdity of his stories increased drastically and he didn't know where to stop... Louis was smart and cold when it came to the lies he sold for the television, not when it came for the ones he told to you.

And that's when you decided to investigate.

You knew that every time he allowed himself to close his eyes, he would sleep very heavily, since it was so rare. But you needed to make sure of it. So you planned a pretty exhausting night for him...

"Hi, baby" you greeted him with a smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as soon as he walked into the apartment that night. "Hope you're not too tired..."

"Hey, love. I'm fine, What do you have in mind?" he smiled back, not suspecting anything.

"Wanted to treat you real good..." you said, moving your hand down his chest, over his shirt. "You deserve to relax a bit..."

"Yeah?" He smirked and you nodded, big doe eyes acting innocent, like you knew it would drive him crazy.

You guided him towards the sofa while he kissed you passionately, his hands softly on your waist. He sat on the sofa and you kneeled on the floor, in front of him. The look on his face made you forget about your plan immediately. And the part of you that remembered it, felt extremely guilty... you couldn't do that to him. He was such a loving, caring boyfriend, you had no reason to suspect he had been doing anything wrong.

He unbuttoned his shirt, as your hands worked on his pants, pulling them down to his knees. You could see through his underwear that he was starting to get hard.

"Come on, angel, let me see those pretty tits, huh?" He asked in his sweetest tone.

You didn't hesitate to remove your top, playing with your tits in front of him, watching his smile grow wider and his dick get harder.

"Lay back, Lou... let me take care of you, okay?" You insisted. "Just relax, I'll be so good for you... put on a show like you deserve..."

"Fuck, little girl..." he frowned, dick now throbbing. He obeyed, though, letting you pull his underwear down.

As his cock sprung free, your mouth watered. What a fool you were! Acting like you could control him when you were down that bad... cock drunk before even having a taste...

You grabbed his shaft, tongue running up and down slowly, getting him wet. You started stroking him as your mouth went to his balls. You sucked and caressed and drooled all over them, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he moaned in pleasure. Louis was the type to hide his moans, but he barely could when you worshipped his balls this good...

You could tell he was getting impatient and the last thing you wanted was to lose control of the situation. If he decided to be in charge, you knew you were in trouble. So you took his shaft in your mouth, little by little, until it hit the back of your throat. You moaned as you did it, hands squeezing your own tits as you tried not to gag. Every movement you made was designed to keep him entertained, to keep him lost in the moment.

Your head bobbed faster as his words and praises got more and more filthy. As he went from "Fuck, you're doing so well, my sweet angel, keep going, you're making me feel so good" to "Fucking whore, so hungry for this cock, bet you can't wait to swallow all I have to give you".

And fuck, you were grateful when he came down your throat, giving you an unexplainable feeling of joy as you watched your man so satisfied, so... calm... maybe a little... sleepy.

"Come on, Lou... let's go to bed... you must be so exhausted." You suggested. He didn't argue, even though he didn't like not returning the favor you just did for him. He just had a long day, and he would be able to please you harder and better in the morning, not now.

The ache between your legs after sucking him off and not getting any attention afterwards worked as some kind of fuel to carry on with your plan. You left him sound asleep in his room, closing the door and walking to the living room as silently as possible, finding his computer there.

Not a single suspicion you had before could have prepared you for what you would find there. That wasn't the sweet Louis you knew... the way he dragged extremely hurt people around the streets, positioning them like they were toys... he didn't seem to be... helping them. Took you a while to understand that it was all fake. He had been creating entire scenes from scratch, he was a fucking actor... you shivered as you heard a woman screaming for him to stop as he manipulated her body like a doll... the way he told her to shut up...

"You know that's really none of your business, darling."

Your blood froze. You wouldn't dare to look up, but you could feel him standing beside you. How long has he been there?

"Lou, I can explain..." your eyes filled with tears.

"I know you can." He sighed, sittind beside you on the sofa. "But I don't really wanna hear it."

You flinched as he raised his hand, but he just rested it softly on your cheek, wiping a tear away.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, sweetheart... you know I could never do that..." he reassured you. "You need to know a few things about me."

You sat still and he saw that as a sign to continue. "You see, I don't hurt anyone. I just... find them in a very bad situation and... I have to do my job, you see. And my job is not giving people the truth, my job is to give them something they wanna watch..."

"But... Lou... that's wrong..." you gathered strength to finally speak.

"Then tell me, little one, who's so bad? Me? For giving people entertainment... or is it the people who find this entertaining?" He continued caressing your cheek. "And that would include you, I'm afraid... cause you watched everything I ever showed you and you fell in love with me while you did so."

"I didn't... I didn't know..." you tried to justify it all to yourself more than to him.

"I know it's shocking, my love." He brought you closer to him, giving your forehead a kiss. "You're new here... LA, Hollywood... every magical thing you see on TV is absolutely filthy behind the cameras."

Maybe he was right, and you hated it. You knew you were being manipulated, but you just couldn't... not see how it all made sense.

"Come back to bed, princess." He offered, his voice was calm as if nothing had happened. "We can talk more about all of this tomorrow. There's so much I need to show you."

His calm attitude indicated that he knew you were sticking around, even after he revealed his true self. The fact that you took his hand and followed him back to the bedroom, showed he was right.

[martyrdeer]

HIII i love ur writing sooo much. can you pls write for fem will & abigail? i'd LOVE that. thx!!

THE CHILD IS GONE

synopsis: after multiple failed of attempts at connecting with her adoptive daughter abigail hobbs, special agent will graham tries once more.

tags: kind of what you can expect from will & abigail. this loosely follows kombucha. hannibal is mentioned in passing as well as gjh. parental issues!! will having no clue how to connect with abigail!! abigail resenting will every chance she gets!! y’all know what’s up. borderline oc will if you squint (again, yes i know.)

a/n: thank you anon for the kind words and request. i apologize for taking so long to write it. i just wanted to make it perfect. i attempted to stay true to the characters expect for will. in my opinion, fem will would actually not want to start a family. i feel like being a woman would change will’s perspective of children and etc. (if that makes sense.) but i could also be projecting onto will like i always seem to do. if there’s any grammar mistakes or something doesn’t make sense, let me know please!!!

word count is 1.7k!!

Wilhelmina towered over Abigail as she sulked whilst sitting at a table. It had been a few months since the tragedy and Will still yearned for Abigail to let her in. She already accepted Hannibal, Will knew she was capable of making room in her heart. Through her sleepless nights and silent awkward drives with Jack, she pondered why Abigail continuously rejected her. It caused Will to question her abilities—possibly she had the right idea of not wanting children in the first place.

Weeks prior, she was conversing with Hannibal about the topic of procreation. She expressed her distaste for it, not only did the thought of pregnancy make her skin crawl—for years, Will believed that family fit her like an ill-fitted suit. Which is mostly why she had dogs as her children. Dogs keep promises that humans can’t keep. But after catching a glimpse of Doctor Lecter’s face with this juicy information, she instantly regretted telling her. Despite her lack of maternal instincts for her entire existence, when she held Abigail’s bloody neck, something in her changed. Yet somehow she didn’t feel like a mother. She felt more like a father.

As time went on and her hallucinations grew worse, fantasy blurred with reality. Unknowingly to Will, Abigail was not what she seemed to be. In her frivolous dreams of her adoptive daughter, Abigail took the form of Astraea. Everything was fine when she blocked out Jack Crawford’s assumptions. She even purchased a how-to-teach novella regarding fishing. Will wanted to unteach her anything violent Garret taught.

She was uncertain about what to teach since most of her things were tottery or perhaps boring to a nineteen-year-old girl. So she chose the one hobby Abigail could enjoy. But the gift never saw the light of day after Will told Hannibal about it. On the drive to her therapy session, she had second-guessed her behavior and decided against it. Although at home, she tucked away as if she’d magically changed her mind one day.

As of now, she proceeded to hover over Abigail, scrutinizing her. She still remembered the last time she was here—at the Port Haven Psychiatric facility in Baltimore. She and Hannibal came to visit her. To possibly talk to her once again. But it fell frail for Will. In the midst of attempting to advise her, Abigail coldly cut her off and snapped.“Just because you killed my dad, doesn’t mean you get to be him.” And that’s when it should have made Will realize.

When she murdered Garret, he possessed her. Maybe even before that. Jack forced her—took advantage of her empathy disorder just like Hannibal alluded to that one time. She avoided Abigail because being around her made Will feel like her father, not her mother. No, a mother wouldn’t feel this way—she was her father. Abigail Hobbs turned the almost-proud, childless woman into something sickeningly familiar: her father. And any reasonable person would resent that. Abigail might have held a grudge for the same reason. But Will was attached to her. By hook or by crook, she had gotten too close.

She wanted to sit at the table with Abigail to gain some sort of connection. But she was already picturing all the ways Abigail would recoil at her being near. Nevertheless, she thought standing over her would make her feel like a troubled child. Will couldn’t win. They sat in unpleasant silence. This time, Hannibal wasn’t there. Unfortunately for both of them, she was their buffer. Her cryptic borderline poetic words crafted to sound sympathetic would give them a sense of comfort. Abigail had run out of things to say to Will. She already questioned her on what she was doing there.

Will started to talk with a stiff shrug, “I wanted to come see you again, Abigail.” Abigail gazed up at her, her shoulders hunched slightly & arms crossed. For a millisecond, the two made eye contact. Will took notice of the magenta shade resting under her icy azure grey eyes. Besides those, there were storms behind her optics. “Where’s Hannibal?” she wondered, finally speaking. Will frowned, slumping her shoulders in defeat.

“It’s just me and you today,” she said, forcing a reassuring tone that probably didn’t come out so great. She watched Abigail’s eyes widen a bit and gulp. Her fingers began to tug on her shirt’s sleeve and chew on her bottom lip. She nodded slowly, cringing at the situation at hand. Will could practically see the gears turning in Abigail’s head. Looking at her felt like staring into a reflection. Beyond the uncanny similarities in appearance—brown hair, blue eyes, and the stoic yet uneasy expression—there were the personality resemblances.

And lastly, both were only children who clearly struggled to connect with the outside world. Will partly wished she could give Abigail her father since she seemed so disconnected from any parental role. At least Will’s father was simply troubled by his cluelessness about how to raise a daughter on his own. She felt Abigail would take that in a heartbeat over the cannibalistic serial killer who happened to be her dad.

“Are you here about Nicholas Boyle again?” She asked tiredly, raising her eyebrows. Will shook her head and gently explained, “No I’m not. I’m here for something else.” Abigail's gut churned, hoping it wasn’t something daunting. She didn’t particularly enjoy the way Will phrased it. But she was trapped with this strange woman staring down at her. “What do you want then?”

Will shrugged, slipping her hands into the front pockets of her navy pants. She was just as bewildered as Abigail, unsure of what had compelled her to come here after multiple failed attempts at a real connection. ‘I just—’ Will paused, searching for the right words, unsure how to continue without scaring Abigail away. ‘Wanted to talk to you.’

Abigail let out a short, dry laugh, tilting her head. Her suspicions were right—she was trapped. Locked in a menagerie for people to gawk at. "Are you sure you don’t want me to confess something first?" she asked her voice light but edged with something she couldn’t quite name.

Will tensed, jaw tightening. She cursed herself for everything that was happening, though she didn’t know exactly what it was—only that she was hexing herself. Abigail shifted slightly in her chair, ocean-grey eyes refocusing on the table in front of her. “Because that’s what everyone else wants from me,” she murmured. “They look at me, waiting. Like if they stare long enough, I’ll admit to something."

Will was now biting her bottom lip, she could easily relate to that. Hannibal, Jack, Alana, and everyone she was close with similarly treated her. “I’m not them,” she stated. Abigail looked up one brow lifting. “Aren’t you?” she inquired.

Will exhaled sharply, sliding a hand out of her front pocket to drag it across her face. "I'm not here to interrogate you." her voice was lower now, irritated, though at Abigail or herself, she was doubtful of that. "I just—I thought you might want someone to talk to."

Abigail looked at her for a beat, then scoffed lightly. "What's the catch? Or is this one of those ‘this is a safe space’ things? Like the group therapy sessions they forced me into?"

Will stepped closer to Abigail which wasn’t the smartest choice. Abigail instantly leaned her head backward just as Will feared she would do. She couldn’t blame Abigail for feeling that way—after everything she’d been through, how could she trust anyone at the moment? “I'm not trying to fix you," Will reassured her tone harder than she meant it to be.

She tried to ignore the judgment in Abigail’s eyes and hide the pity in her voice. “You've had enough people trying to ‘help’ you." She paused, her eyes softening just a fraction, a quiet sincerity bleeding through. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Sometimes silence feels safer.”

Abigail’s gaze flickered back down to her pale hands. Her nails were torn off, her picking must’ve gone unnoticed. An unreadable expression crossed her face. There was a brief pause before she responded, her voice quiet but steady. "Silence is the only thing I trust anymore," she hushedly declared, her words carrying a weight of something much older than her years.

Abigail softened though she still wore the hardened edge of someone who'd been burned too many times. Her whispery voice became raspy, “Yeah, silence is safer. But it feels like a cage.” She glanced up at Will, then quickly looked away again. Her eyes narrowed like she was trying to guard herself from whatever might slip out. "I’m not sure which is worse: the noise in my head or the silence."

Will stood still for a moment, she hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected the rawness to surface so soon. She took a step back, letting Abigail breathe. Will was irresolute in herself to react or respond—how to reassure someone when she was struggling to reassure herself. Eventually, she did speak, taking a gentler approach. “I don’t think you’re ever supposed to be alone in that kind of silence. No one should have to carry all that by themselves.”

Abigail scoffed lightly anew, but it lacked its usual bite. "Yeah, well, that’s how it goes, right?" She hesitated, making eye contact with Will. Just like her adoptive mother, she also disliked eye contact. But she was searching for something she couldn’t put a name on. "People leave in one way or another. And their voices start to sound like static.”

Will nodded, understanding. She let out a long breath, letting all the words settle in. She hoped her presence was secured but not invasive. “I’m not leaving,” she assayed to comfort her. “And if it gets too loud, you and I can just... sit in the quiet for a while.”

Abigail looked at her then, a twinkle of doubt sprinkled on her face. “You sure?” she questioned, almost too softly for her to hear. Will nodded with a sweet smile. "Yes, I'm sure."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Abigail’s fingers twitched at the edge of her shirt’s sleeve, and Will, though her mind raced with a thousand things she could say, remained silent. She let the moment unfold without trying to fill it. Finally, Abigail broke the silence. She sounded more vulnerable than she wanted to. “You don’t have to fix me, Will.”

Will's heart tightened at that, but she forced herself to keep her voice steady. "I'm not trying to."

[unhetalia]

I was very unprepared to explain the switching hairstyles thing. But I will. I absolutely will. Just bare in mind i am unprepared, so this is probably slop.

So to explain that I think I have to deanon to… reanon. So. For context, I am actually the body anon from awhile ago. With the muscle headcanon. Yes. Me. Ok.

I say that because some of this actually does tie into some of the other body related headcanons I have, so if I ever do get back around to dumping another of those in your ask box & some of the concepts sound oddly familiar, that’s because this is me. lol.

I don’t think I can actually explain this quickly, bc there is so much thought put into it? So here is the skeleton of this concept whittled down into scraps in order to avoid another info dump being put into your inbox. Maybe I should just actually post on my account instead of doing this to you every time! (I won’t I am very afraid)

So the whole hair thing goes into how I characterized a young Matt & Al respectively. I don’t… like the canon. Them only meeting after the seven years war (1763?!?!). Them still being children at that time (again, 1763?!?!?!). I don’t like it. So I vehemently ignore it! A portion of eastern Canada was ceded to Britain in 1713, so fuck it, that’s when I say the hand off happened. With that being said, we’re going off of that idea that they actually were raised together for a decent amount of time.

Matt, being a French colony first & foremost, looks like Francis. Both of the twins actually do, but in Arthur’s head Matt even moreso. Ergo, no long hair for you, you miniature Frenchman.

More than that though, it plays into the differing ways they were raised. The short of it is that Matt was raised to be more manly, assertive, & independent. Al was raised to be a symbol. So, Al follows the more fashionable, less conventional trends for the time period. & long hair during the 1600-1700s is VERY trendy.

Being a physical status symbol, Al is able to have long hair & not have it be a mess the whole time. He’s forced to sit for hours getting it done, bc he has to look perfect. That’s his whole purpose. On the flipside, Matt is not allowed to have long hair, bc it would get tangled & be a huge hassle. He’s not allowed to sit for hours just to do his hair, bc he doesn’t have hours to spare.

A very popular hairstyle in the 1600-1700s (I believe it’s called a lovelock?) was used by men during colonial times. It’s a long strand of hair separated from the rest, often braided, that rests over your left shoulder, over your heart. It’s used to symbolize devotion. You can see where I’m going with this.

Revolution = Al cuts his hair. A loss of devotion.

Post-Rev = Matt grows his hair out. A replacement.

+ a sort of symbol of them quite literally trading places & expectations. Matt, raised to be assertive & independent & strong, is soft spoken & outwardly docile. Alfred, raised to be seen & not heard, is assertive, independent, & louder than everyone.

There’s more. There’s sooo much more. There’s a bunch of intricacies & little details I’m leaving out for the sake of word count. These are just the things relating STRICTLY to this. Sorry. Sorry. Thank you for having me. Lovely inbox you have here. Very sturdy. Sorry.

I adore your body headcanon for Al and have settled it into ny own headcanons. This one is another banger - I love the idea of Matt-as-replacement because it kind of adds to the more fraught side of the siblings' relationship.

I love the cutting of hair as symbolic of a loss of devotion - it's such a unique way of tying the change in hair to their change in status.

I'm also interested in why Matt being raised by Francis means he was raised more independent, while Alfred raised by Arthur is raised as a symbol.

You're ALWAYS welcome in my inbox with these amazing headcanons, honestly.

[miabbh]

hiiii my miaaa!!! i just saw that anon msg and omg it genuinely pissed me off??? like how fucking entitled can someone be??? this is a fun lil website for hobbies!!! and creators like you? sharing YOUR work for FREE??? if someone doesn’t vibe with how YOU post on YOUR own blog, why don’t they just…not interact??? it’s really not that deep!!! but anyway i just wanted to remind you how insanely amazing you are!! not just as an author but as a person in general!!! you’re such a sweet n kind soul so seeing someone talk to you like that really irritated tf outta me. but sharing snippets of priest!baek is such a gift n we’re honestly so lucky to get even a tiny peek at your creativity whenever YOU feel like it. you don’t owe anyone your work, your process, or your time, period. focus on what inspires you, prioritize what feels good to you n don’t let any hateful messages bring u down ok?? ur doing SO incredible n ur real ones (aka me + sooo many others) are always cheering for you 😚‼️‼️‼️ sending u all the love, hype, n good vibes foreverrr 💘💕💞🩷💗💘💕💞🩷💗 mwah mwah mwahhh!!! 😚😚😚

okay, bringing this up after a week but...

i. a few time an anon came to share some slightly strange accusations in my inbox: that i wasn't posting priest!baek fully but only sharing spoilers (and that apparently irritated them) and, last wednesday, that i was adding explicit sex scenes to priest!baek to get readers. well, if something i truly believe in literature is that posting smut is hard for the writers because it's literally a little piece of you. you can right every little lie (you don't believe it's that way) you want about love and hate, but when it comes to this scenes, if you're not into it/comfortable with it, you won't write.

to say i was adding these scenes to gain readers truly wounded me—especially because I made it very clear in this post that I would link the post with this part to the main post so that younger readers or those who are not comfortable with this type of scenes to read it freely.

ii. there were a few more accusations that really hurt me, but this anon was careless and sent one of the messages in the inbox without anon. it was an empty blog, no pp nor name, i reported it and blocked it.

i felt sad, frustrated trying to understand where all that anon's frustration was coming from, and for a moment i started to doubt if i was really doing something that wrong.

iii. i knew i wasn't deep down, but still it really got me and i deleted most of the work but a few words from the beginning that i thankfully missed. it will take time to rewrite everything, and yet i'm still saddened by some of the things that were said. but i won't give up💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻!!! i know many of you loved Au! and want to read it, and honestly, i really want to share my ideas with you all because you're the sweetest readers i've ever had 💖💓💗💓🩷💞💖💗🩷💞💗����💓

i thank you so, sooooo much for the kind words, Lisa, for remembering me that we're doing this for fun and for the people that appreciate us. you know sis how much you mean to me 🩷

everyone, i'm so sorry about this. but that's what they say, some evils come for good—the good is that i won't give a shit unless it's a constructive criticism 😚 hopefully im posting soon and then i'll work on priest!baek as i feel like and it'll be better than before

sweethearts, kisses kisses for you 😘 i love you all, readers 💓💖💞💗💖😚💞💖

[2000sangel]

For the Adam thing waaahh..

She/her i’m about 4’10, a bit chunky but not majorly overweight. Alt/metalhead style. About 50 piercings and a butt ton of tattoos incl 2 full sleeves. Dye my hair every colour of the rainbow but rn its black. Mullet with microbangs and an undercut with sides shaved as well. Big ass glasses cos i’m blind af lol.

Personality wise shiiiiiit insanely unstable actually. Diagnosed Bipolar and BPD is like, scratching the surface. But deep down im soooo sweet and gift giving is my love language. Super aggressive to those i don’t know, but submissive to those i do. Anxious as balls. Total virgin literally have never even kissed anyone HAH. Love reading and writing and playing all sort of video games. Am a hair stylist. Ahhh idk what else! Thats probably it :) am a fair bit boring

Good day, anon!! Hope you enjoy these, and thank you for sending this in! I’m having sm fun lol ^_°

dividers credit : rookthornesartistry

★ Adam x You Headcanons ★

Couldn't think of Emojis, so here's your ship name : Blast Beats !!

★ First of all Adam thinks you’re so unbelievably cool – I mean, he dresses pretty much the same! And if you ask me, I’d probably say that he’s got at least some tattoos and piercings of his own. He genuinely thinks you’re so attractive and he can’t resist the urge to kiss you whenever you’re getting ready to go anywhere, if he flutters his eyes open don’t mind him, he’s probably focusing on your tattoo-filled arms reaching out to cling onto him.

★ Speaking of which! You’ve never kissed anyone, and don’t have any experience in this kind of thing? He’s more than willing to teach and show you things – Adam has had, let’s not lie to ourselves here, multiple experiences with different people before you, so he’s more than willing to take the lead in your first kiss and he’s got a way of correcting you on things he doesn’t like that’s just...the slightest bit of attractive. Don’t be embarrassed to accidentally kiss him the ‘wrong’ way or putting your hands in an awkward place during it, he has ways to fix it so that it doesn’t ruin the moment.

★ He’s also a master of dye – he absolutely helps you dye your hair at home and it’s actually pretty funny how he acts like a true hairdresser during the process, double checking in the mirror and puffing up your hair a little once it’s finally dyed and dry.

★ Adam doesn’t mind you having your moments, truly. He will make sure you get enough love and care no matter what, but if you have especially bad days he’s learned to ask you what you need and accommodate you as best as he can. The only thing is that he’s not the best with words, at least at the beginning of your relationship: expect him to fuck up a little, or even say something a bit tone deaf, but he will immediately apologize after and resort to physical contact to comfort you instead. Do you like being securely wrapped up in his huge, soft wings? Good, because he will keep one of those at least around your shoulder for the whole day.

★ He loves your gifts!! He has never actually been a gift kind of person, but sometimes he will sneak out of your shared house to get you something in return, or he will hang out with friends just so they can suggest what to get you that you could appreciate, because in all honesty, this man wants to impress you... but he’s not sure he gets the gift thing 100% right yet. He might bring you stuff that he likes the most at first...but hey, the sentiment is there!

★ Also, since you like reading, writing, that sort of things...he will definitely opt to get you a book you haven’t had the chance to read yet sometimes, and it’s funny how he’s so bad at being mysterious about it...”Sooo, babe... random question... anything new you want to read came out recently?” he asks, on his way out to a very secretive outing, tote bag of his own band draped across his shoulder. You can’t help but giggle...

★ ...though sometimes he changes his mind midway and decides to bring home a whole new console so you can both play on it together. Your house is full of those, Adam loves videogames, too! The videogames he likes are a tad bit violent, so if you’re not in that kind of thing he won’t force you play –though he will joke around a bit and call you a pussy- and get you more games of your liking that you can play while he sleeps on you.

[redcherrykook]

Hi love, how are you doing? There's been quite some time since we interacted

I, i will always

remember how sweet and loveable you were to me when i was feeling low, it made me feel so much better.

I made a request some time ago, tumblr don’t let annex links in anon messages, but i was going through a heart break and asked for a breakup with JungKook with a happy ending, that reminded me Happier Than Ever by Billie Eilish

In our last interaction I thanked you, gave myself the 🎭 anon, anyways I missed talking to you

I love your blog and your imagines, I probably have already read it all, i was wondering can you please recommend me some JungKook series from authors you like?

Also i just noticed i never answered your question, i am Brasilian, my native language is Portuguese, how about you? I read in your bio that you are Italian, that's lovely, i lived in Italy for some time, i also speak italian, Spanish, French and Chinese.

Can you tell me a little bit more about you? Only if you feel comfortable, of course.

Always nice to interact with you

hello sweet baby!! I missed you loads, glad to hear from you again. I'm so thankful for your words, so so grateful that my little drabble means so much to you.

Thank you for liking what i write, i love you!<3

Sooo so cool that you speak this many languages!! You're so inspiring. My native language is german along with Italian.

I'm not really a fan of personal questions so i will share some little things about me, thank you for your kindess<3

I'm gonna study psychology in a year and a half, i absolutely love literature and i drink caramel ice coffe every morning. My espresso machine is my best friend. I actually am a huge, gigantic hopeless romantic and that's also why kdrama and romance manga are my comfort hold.

Here are some recommendations of my favorite fics on here!!

anything by har, my baby. @jeonful

the wine series by @hoseoksluna

Also the steam series by her

the all kinds of wine verse by @frmisnow

Promise you series by @luvismenu

babydaddy JK series by @muniimyg

crybaby series by @lavishedinjimin

Infrunami by @kooktrash

Obvious by @lovieku (go read her entire ariana grande songs series honestly its SO good)

There are so many more amazing writers on here that i love with all my heart, but these are the ones of the top of my head!

Have fun reading sweetheart, i hope to talk to you more often<3

[shizuturnspages]

mmfngngnhnh hi i love love love your yandere diluc ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ he makes me sooo happy (read: this anon has a few screws loose) like i love going through his tag and filtering the latest just to go, “Oh! that’s the person who wrote that yandereluc fic the other day, let’s see it!” and he makes my heart very very mushy. i can just HEAR his voice and it drives me mad. dialogue is so yummy. thank you for these two fics! ’m gonna melt into my daydreams now <3

I'm literally kicking my feet and blushing. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR KIND WORDS. You have no idea how much this means to me. Sweet daydreams pookie🎀