#thank god for ao3 muting and blocking

[precambrian-sea-pancake]

Me minding my own business but then seeing Mia hate out of nowhere:

[itsjustpoopeh]

the blocking and muting features are genuinely god tier features and we should all thank ao3 staff for implementing. that and filtering

i recommend blocking anyone you're going to mute as well. for *spite*

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

Re: discussing fan works publicly.

As a writer, I imagine coming across a post on my dash at random, of people openly criticising a fic I’ve written and the thought makes me feel ill. I think it would genuinely stop me from posting my work, maybe not permanently but for a long time.

As a reader, I’m so grateful people post fics at all. I’d be mortified if I saw people shitting on a fic I love on social media.

I think if a work is problematic and you’ve already commented to ask the author to tag appropriately or make changes and it’s gotten you no where, and you’re posting a PSA to warn people in the fandom who will be affected by the work to tread carefully, then yeah I can see how that would be necessary.

But I personally think it’s unnecessary to make a post mentioning a fic or author with comments like “yeah this fic needed to be beta read” or “this author writes this character soooo OOC” or “this character would NOT do that” or “look at this fic why would anyone ship this lmao”.

Feels like this really could just be in the DMs or a group chat or discord server where the author won’t come across it. Obviously yeah, people can post whatever they want on their blogs, but do people want to be the reason a fanfic author decides to never write again?

I’m like you. If I don’t like a fic, I just tap out. I don’t even complain about it in DMs because what if the other person enjoys it? I’m not taking that away. Just because it’s not my cup of tea doesn’t give me the right to stop someone else drinking it. The most I’ll ever do is block or mute an author on AO3 so I don’t accidentally read their works again.

These aren’t published books people are writing where public criticism is expected and encouraged. This is fanfiction written completely unpaid, usually unedited, specifically to share with a very selective fandom space.

There’s a level of vulnerability to all writing, but fanfic writers in particular, I would say most (if not all of us) choose to share our fics online because we trust fandom to be kind.

If people wanna post about their “honest thoughts” of a fic on social media, writers can’t stop them, but, god I hope y’all are being kind.

Hey ship! Thanks for weighing in on this! I appreciate your point about people being afraid to post if they hear negative criticism. Sorry for my delay, it's been a busy week. Yeah I think it's definitely a hard balance. We don't want to discourage people from writing, for sure. Writing is a gift! No one's being paid to write fanfiction.

From what I've heard from other people this week after my question was that it seems like there's a balance in terms of criticism on a specific fic. If you have a pairing that is very common, then if you write vaguely about not liking a pairing/fic it doesn't usually cause stress because it's not clear who's it is and it could be anyone. In general, it sounds like if someone wants to talk about something in a fic that bothers them, it is fine as long as they're not tagging the author/fic-- but generally just don't be a dick about it. Where it sounds like some wrinkles come in is if a pairing doesn't have a lot of fics attached to it. Then if a pairing is mentioned, it's much easier to deduce which fic it is, and then the writers may feel bad and it may seem more like a passive aggressive move. I think where it gets even more hairy is if we're not even talking about fics, we're talking just about pairings. Like I really love discussing the implications of specific pairings because I find it very useful to understand why someone might find it endearing. I'll be hard pressed to ever be pulled from my OTP but sometimes discussing pairings can help me to like a pairing I didn't like before, or just understand where people are coming from. (That's how I feel basically about all conversation, I like listening and learning from people, even if I don't necessarily agree by the end of it, being able to understand other people's perspectives help me to grow as a person, so I do think it's important to talk about things). Again though, where it seems like some of the struggle with that is if you've got a pairing (I'm going to crack ship Jackie and Buttons for this example) that isn't very common, again, it could seem like you're coming off as criticizing a fic when you may just be criticizing a pairing in general. It seems like there's a delicate balance-- because yeah I absolutely never wanna make anyone feel bad about their writing-- and like you said, writers trust that their fellow fans are going to be kind (and I never wanna betray that trust!). If they ask for feedback/ constructive criticism I'm happy to dm about it if it will help, but I don't want to make someone feel bad about their writing in general. We are all just having fun here. It does also seem like there are a lot of different perspectives when it comes to what is allowed feedback wise in fandoms, and so it seems like airing on the side of caution is a good way to go. All that being said-- if anyone ever wants to talk about things and they arent sure if what they say will be hurtful please feel free to dm me! I might be slow to respond depending on my capacity at home at the moment but i"m happy to talk it through. Also-- if I ever commit a faux pax or make someone feel bad please let me know! I never want to make people feel bad (and I try my best not to!), but I understand I'm an imperfect being like the rest of us so feedback is something I appreciate too. We all come from different levels of trauma... experience...neurodiversity, sometimes we won't say the right things from a place of ignorance, and one of the things I've appreciated over the years is when people were kind enough to give me constructive feedback about that. Anyway, thank you so much again for weighing in ship! Hope you're hanging in and have a lovely long weekend coming up! (if you're in the US, idk if the rest of the weekend is getting a day off)

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Momtara fans, who usually are ztara fans trying to make the ship seem more feminist, have this weird attitude with sokka. One thing a lot of these fans think is that katara buried all her emotions and took on all the emotional labour for the gaang, specifically her brother- which is blatantly untrue and a great misread of her character because in the series we see so many times how she allows herself to be angry, to be happy and sad. she's a very emotional character. but there's this opinion that katara stepped up to be sokkas mom, and that he got over his trauma because of it, and they use this as a reason for why katara takes the emotional labour but it is so untrue. Like the momtara argument based on the fact katara stepped up into kyas role doesn't really work, because we know sokka stepped up into hakodas. You can tell this opinion is biased because even though katara did help her brother a lot, sokka buried a lot of his real emotions on things (like his mom and yues death), and had this thought he had to keep her safe. Weirdly enough the momtara argument fits sokka more lol. But either way, it's such a dumbed down reading of sokka because not only does it just tell people you misunderstood his conversation with toph (personally i did not see it as "he views katara as his mom!" More that he associates katara with her sacrifice and that's why he sees her) but also just ignores that he did suffer too. More than one character can suffer, katara did a lot for him but she didn't take it all on, vice versa. He's also dumbed down quite a bit by those shippers as well, but that's a whole other thing.

"Momtara fans, who usually are ztara fans trying to make the ship seem more feminist, have this weird attitude with sokka" Boy, don't I know it. I had a very unpleasant discussion with one of them in the comments of my "In Defense Of Azula" collection of metas on Ao3.

I mentioned fandom misogyny in one of said metas, and that person, somehow, thought that that was the perfect opportunity and place to say shit like "Sokka never really cared about Katara, every nice thing he ever did for her was all about wanting to be 'Macho', not out genuine affection" and I was just in SHOCK at such an obvious bad-faith reading of the character and story. I could not understand what the fuck that person had against Sokka to just flat out about him like that.

Then they started ranting about how nobody in the Gaang truly cared about Katara, essentially treated her as their maid, and then just "casually" mentioned how she'd be much happier in the Fire Nation because they're totally a more egalitarian nation, and I was like "Okay, I get it now. This person is a zutarian and they think they have to dunk on every character that isn't Zuko." I checked their profile and yup, that was exactly the case. Thank God Ao3 lets you block/mute users now.

[just-antithings]

Annoying antecedent: was checking the AO3 tag of my fandom for new fics and found a fic that instead of a summary, had a whole ass DISCLAIMER that the author found proshippers disgusting and didn't want them on "their platform". Buddy:

You are on the proship site

You are writing a smut fic where the reader bangs a cannibal

Thank god we have the mute and block feature now.

[alonetogether]

Its times like these im glad they finally added muting and blocking to ao3. Like get that shit outta here

goddd i knowww imagine the shit we'd have to wade through with this influx of ai written works if we didnt have it. i mean we still have to wade through shit before blocking but thank god i can instantaniously pummel these idiots over the head if i see them

[cornplateur-fritz]

We're Gayuma and this is our main and dragon ball blog!

Last update: Aug. 11, 2024

System/DID, bodily 25↑, and SEAsian! Here's our rentry for dni/byf details, our other socials, etc.

This is our main blog! We mostly have dragon ball content here. Sometimes one piece and yu yu hakusho.

The following are our sideblogs:

@loreofthegayuma - personal sideblog

@thedemon-mirajane - dungeon meshi, frieren, fairy tail, naruto/boruto, undead unluck, hunter x hunter, to your eternity, and other seinen-young adult media sideblog

@isabelabeloved - pixar, dreamworks, and disney sideblog

@soccerpunching - sports animanga (mostly inazuma eleven) + mob psycho 100, dr. stone, bakugan sideblog

@cornplateur - cornplate blog of soccerpunching

@loreoffandoms - sideblog for the rest of the fandoms we're in

❗️This blog may post suggestive things on rare occassions but never fullblown NSFW❗️

Little about us...

Most of us are semiverbal/nonverbal/selectively mute and we struggle with hearing so please kindly share a caption or transcriptions of your videos if you're sharing it to us specifically. Thank you for understanding!

When I said we're semiverbal/nonverbal/selectively mute I mean...

That we have a hard time verbalizing our thoughts. Sometimes we're experience verbal shutdowns; we won't be answering asks, DMs, and won't be talking in the tags. Please be patient when that happens, we will be back shortly. Even if you find us posting text-heavy content, it means that sometimes we just post those that have been in the drafts a long time ago.

If there's any issue or problem at all that you want us to address, feel free to slip an ask or DM. Obviously malicious ones will get you blocked.

Dragon Ball Z Fanfiction:

All our works are only available to those with AO3 accounts

Nice God - [Nov. 17, 2022] Dende contemplating about being Kami. Less than 1k words. Details posted here | AO3

Four Stars in Glass - [July 08, 2023] My piece for the DBZ Big Bang 2023 event about the Son family. Details posted here | AO3

My Headcanons in Dragon Ball:

Serious Headcanons:

Dende's Kinto-un named Lutu - Kinto-uns are to test Kami

Mostly Earth-centric - Universe 7 Earth specifically + some about Namekian ancestry

Namekian Culture - Language, Careers, Nuptials, etc.

Do not take this seriously, I did it for funsies but they're my HCs still -Fritz

The Lookout Squad ™️ - Piccolo/Kami, Mr. Popo, Dende, and Gohan

Tags for Own Content Posts:

#masenko huh - dragon ball/z/s/gt/games

#answered lore - asks that I've answered

#lores of fritz - personal / opinions

#fritz in rants - my rants

#autihd fritz - my experience as an autistic with adhd (or with one of them), or shitposts about one or both of them

#not db lore - not db-related posts

Helpful Reblogs:

#academic help - links and advice for writing academic papers

#creative help - links and advice for creating content

#writing advice - links and advice for writing

[cheesybadgers]

I know this is pointless to complain about because people are gonna do this shit anyway, but the tag spam in a certain actor's fandom has gotten SO bad in the last few months. And thank god for the new mute/block functions on AO3 as well, because they mean I no longer have to be subjected to RPF tagged with every show the actor has ever been in.

[dreastmilk]

I THOUGHT THEY WERE GONE im crying please get a therapist thank god ao3 has introduced mutes and blocks -glowberry (same anon who was confused af)

I didn't know this was someone who was known in the community?? I just found out about this a few minutes ago myself

[helenwheelsridesagain]

Aaaaand the bullshit comments start despite the warnings and tags lol. Anyhow thank god there's a block and mute button on Ao3 these days, nuking that fucker from space

[residenthesitant]

Hey Emily, I’m back again! 11 for violence-choosing?

11. number of fandom-related words you've filtered

ooooooh interesting. i love choosing violence so this is. cuuurious.

so i dont block a ton of stuff because im not on twitter/not on discourse sides of mcytblr but glancing through my blacklists apparently the only tag i have muted on tumblr is "syndicate critical". like if something's bothering me i just unfollow but apparently i got so fed up with syndicate critical folks that i blocked the tag.

if im going into ao3 tho i am blocking SO many terms. miscommunication d/nf any tag that mischaracterizes wilbur bad dad philza you name it im blocking it. esb if its s/bi stuff.

yeah actually hang on. hang on re: choosing violence. i dont have a lot of stuff filtered because i simply dont follow the people who post things i dislike but one of those things i dislike by god is a LOT of s/bi stuff. have i written fics for them in the past? yeah kind of. do i care about their dynamic in character? absolutely not. they are better as duos than as one single unit. thanks.

[heich0e]

more than you can chew sakusa kiyoomi/f!reader (haikyuu!) CROSSPOSTED TO AO3 word count: 4.3k tags: 18+ MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI, tw blood, tw monster fucking, vampire!au, smut, pwp, biting (obviously), kiyoomi as a rich old vampire just makes sense ok? a/n: thank you @shuwuji​ for putting the idea of vampire sakusa in my tiny little brain

It was a stupid idea.

Possibly the worst you’ve ever had, even.

Your heels scrape against the wet concrete of the narrow alleyway as you skitter down it, your every footfall on the pavement echoing off the walls of buildings that all look the same as you rush past them—an incoherent blur that you don’t have time to contemplate. Your breaths are ragged, and your heartbeat—your pathetic, foolish, hopelessly human heartbeat—is racing in your too-tight chest.

You know what this place is, and what you’ve willingly walked into.

You know the dark district isn’t somewhere you’re supposed to travel at night.

Not alone.

Not if you know what’s good for you.

Not if you want to live.

But you also know it’s where he is, and so setting aside every rational, reasonable warning your mind had pleaded with you to abide by, you find yourself there all the same. Wrapped in a little cocktail dress and expensive pair of heels he’d bought for you, you're an all too perfectly primped prey, ripe for the slaughter.

You’d been so determined only a few hours prior. So sure that you were brave enough to face the side of town you’d been raised to avoid—like all good, god-fearing girls are supposed to.

But that confidence has abandoned you now that you need it most.

One brief meeting with a pair of red eyes and a smile too sharp and too predatory to be sweet had sent you running.

You crumple against a brick wall when you can’t run anymore, pressed against the cool, rough stone when your body is no longer able to continue in your flight. You struggle for breath, dropping to your knees on the gritty asphalt, grappling blindly for the cellphone you know is tucked away in your little cross-body bag.

If you can just get to it, if you can just call him before—

“Get up.”

The voice is so shocking you fumble the device in your hands, almost crying out.

But not in fright.

“Sakusa!”

You scramble to your feet, throwing your arms around his middle and burying your face into his broad chest.

He stays rigid throughout your emotional display.

He pushes you back with a firm hand on your shuddering shoulder, prying your hold from his waist. He holds you at arm’s length as he appraises you, eyes flickering to every inch of you that he can see. His usual black mask covers his nose and mouth but his eyes speak volumes to what he’s feeling.

He’s livid.

“How did you find me?” you breathe out, voice watery with tears of relief.

“I could smell you from two blocks away,” he replies flatly. He catches your wrist in his hand, his thumb finding your pulse point just like it always does, and tugs you forward. “Now move.”

There are no streetlights in the dark district. At least, not as many as you’d find in the neighbourhoods made to accommodate the city’s human populace. You’re lucky the moon is out tonight, hanging full and heavy in the sky overhead, otherwise your journey through the labyrinthine back alleys where you had fled would have been even more unnavigable than they already were.

Sakusa doesn’t struggle to see in the dim light as he drags you along behind him, yet another reminder of the fact that this place was built for his kind—not for yours.

Yet another reminder of how the two of you are so very different.

It’s only slightly brighter when you make it back to the main drag—stepping out onto the street to see the soft glow of neon signs in windows, the muted glimpses of light as doors open into the businesses that line the street as shadowy patrons file in and out. You swallow thickly as you realize that this is because the people working in these establishments are mostly human, like you, and the lights serve as a beacon to guide them through the doors—like a lighthouse leading ships into the rocky shoreline to run aground.

Sakusa steers you towards the street corner with a hand on the small of your back and the other still tight on your wrist. He seems to be shielding you from view as best he can—his broad, imposing body following the movement of yours, as though he’s making every attempt to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

It doesn’t work.

“Omi-omi!” a voice calls, cajoling and gregarious.

Sakusa freezes, his grip on your wrist tightening.

Before you can blink there’s a man in front of you—tall, with tousled blonde hair and a dark undercut, wearing a suit that looks as expensive as Sakusa’s though the top three buttons of his dress shirt are undone in a more ostentatious way—and he stoops down to meet your gaze, almost nose to nose.

You don’t even have a chance to yelp, the sound stuck behind the breath of air that lodges itself in your throat.

Red eyes framed by thick lashes blink at you slowly.

“And who are you?”

Sakusa quickly tugs you behind him, leaving you to peer at the unexpected newcomer from around the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“Hey now,” the man laughs, but it sounds almost warm. You don’t feel threatened by him—though you’re sure you should if the speed with which he appeared before you and the red hue of his eyes are anything to go by. “I just asked her a little question, Omi.”

Sakusa stays silent, his body between the two of you like an impregnable wall. You’re sure he’s glowering even if you can’t see his face from your place behind his back.

The blonde looks to you again, quirking an eyebrow in place of repeating his question, and you introduce yourself quietly in response.

“No shit? Yer Omi-kun’s girl?” A wide smile breaks across his inhumanly handsome face. “Ya never told us she’s a—“

“Fuck off, Miya.” Sakusa’s voice is low and warning, and you fight back a shiver at the unfamiliar hostility in his tone.

You’ve heard Kiyoomi upset before, but now? He sounds downright vicious.

But even as the uttered threat hangs heavy in the air, you heartbeat can’t help but flutter at being called his girl. At the fact that this Miya seemed to know of you by name, though you’d never once heard of him.

“Miya Atsumu,” the blonde speaks again, an unruffled smile still lifting the corner of his lips as he introduces himself. “Nice to finally meet ya. Dunno if you know it, but yer all this old man ever talks ab-”

“That’s enough,” Sakusa snaps, but the damage has effectively be done: you know they can both hear the sudden excited acceleration of your treacherous pulse. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“But she’s just so sweet,” Atsumu whines a little, peeking further over Kiyoomi’s shoulder to grin at you, inching ever so slightly closer.

Sakusa pushes him back forcefully with a hand wrapped around his throat, so quickly you barely see it happen. A look is exchanged between the two men, tension crackling in the space dividing them. They’re fairly evenly matched in terms of build—both tall and broad in stature—but you can’t deny that there’s just something more imposing about the darker haired individual and the way he carries himself.

His grip around Atsumu’s throat is so tight, you know that a human neck would have already snapped under the force of it.

After a few painfully tense moments, Kiyoomi lets his hand drop.

“C’mon Omi, y’know I’m only playin’ with ya.” Atsumu laughs, clapping a hand on his shoulder that Sakusa swiftly brushes off. “But yer gonna wanna get this little lamb outta here before the other boys catch wind of her.”

You sense he means it literally.

“They aren’t as well behaved as I am, after all,” Atsumu winks at you as he says it, something playful and mischievous lilting through his voice, and you can’t help but smile a little bit at his charm.

Sakusa scoffs, taking you by the waist and pulling you into his side as he begins to lead you away.

“Seeya later sweets!” Atsumu calls after you, and you turn back to see him waggling his fingers flirtatiously, a glint of fang peeking out from his quirked lips.

You almost hope he’s right.

“Put this on.”

You’re a few paces away when you feel the weight of Kiyoomi’s coat settle upon your shoulders, the command grunted at you with no room to protest.

It’s to mask your scent, you realize, and you grip the lapels between your trembling fingers, drawing it a little tighter around your frame.

“It won’t do nearly as much as you think it will,” the man at your side’s tone is disparaging, as though mocking the thought you hadn’t even expressed, “but it will mark you.”

“Mark me?” you reply quietly, struggling to match his pace as he guides you down the road towards the familiar outline of his sleek black sports car.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, a glimpse of red in the dim night.

“As mine.”

The drive out of the dark district is tense.

The only sound in the car is the soft rumble of the engine as Sakusa guns it, driving far faster than you’d ever dare. Soon the unlit streets give way to those illuminated by far more streetlights overhead, the unsettling atmosphere of the forbidden district easing with every block you travel outside of it.

You’re well beyond the dark district’s limits when you finally dare to speak beyond the two apologies you’ve already meekly offered up to no avail.

“Did you…” you trail off before you finish your thought, suddenly wrought with doubt that you should bring the subject up.

“I didn’t get the chance,” he understands even without you saying it, his voice stilted as he replies. Though you can’t see his mouth beneath his mask, you know his lips are pulled into a thin line, the tightness of his throat a telltale sign of the clench in his covered jaw.

“Oh,” you respond, quiet and apologetic. “We can go back, I could-“

“You’ve done enough for one night, don’t you think?” Sakusa hisses, and you watch as his knuckles tighten as they grip the steering wheel.

He draws in a breath that you swear shakes a little on the inhale.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that stunt you pulled was? How badly this night could have ended if I didn’t happen to catch your scent?” His fury is apparent in his tone, but his eyes never leave the road even as he scolds you. “Do you know what could have happened to you if I hadn’t gotten to you first?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper for the third time since you’d taken your seat on the passenger’s side.

You hear Sakusa swallow thickly beside you.

“So you’ve said,” he mutters lowly in reply.

You don’t speak again for the rest of the drive.

Sakusa’s penthouse is the same as it always is as the two of you step through across the threshold after a long, silent elevator ride up to the fourteenth floor.

Spacious and luxurious, with sumptuous interiors and priceless art lining the walls, it has the feeling of a museum more than a home. Immaculately clean, with not a speck of dust to be seen lingering on any surface. The entire place feels practically unlived in, an almost uncanny atmosphere hanging in the air.

Imposing. Tidy. Unliving.

Perhaps the space is a better representation of its occupant than you give it credit for.

You trail along behind Sakusa quietly, following on his heels after removing your shoes in the entryway and handing him back his suit jacket to hang up.

You linger on one side of the kitchen as he crosses the cold marble floor towards the refrigerator, fidgeting nervously with your fingers.

You watch as he wrenches the door of the appliance open, light spilling out across the impeccably polished floor and dancing along the stainless steel finishes around the room. It’s predictably empty, save for a dozen little silver packets with white capped nozzles on the centre shelf. He grabs one, not even bothering to let the door shut before he’s cracking open the pouch and lifting it to his lips.

It’s not what he needs.

You know that.

You know that bagged blood isn’t as nutritious or as satiating at the real thing. Not in comparison to a fresh feed.

He’d explained it to you once: he sustains himself, as most modern vampires do, on packaged, processed, pasteurized blood—though it’s the best money can buy, to be sure—and only goes to feed when he absolutely needs it.

The blood den you’d followed him to that night was an exclusive, members only club—reserved for the most respected and elite of his kind, with a price tag to match. It was how you’d known where to find him in the first place: it’s the only place he trusts the safety and quality of. He knows they only hire the best servers, take excellent care of them, and don’t overexploit them like a lot of other blood service establishments do.

You watch as he swallows down the contents of the sachet; one, two, three long gulps and then it’s empty. His nose twitches a little as he squeezes the last drops out, like the taste is unpleasant, or at the very least disappointing.

He reaches immediately for another.

Your eyes follow the bob of his adam’s apple raptly with each swallow.

“Stop it,” Sakusa growls, crushing the empty packet in his hand. He doesn’t turn to look at you—his eyes fixed to the marble countertop in his shining, underutilized kitchen.

“What?” you ask him, blinking slowly at your eyes flicker up to his face.

“I can smell you from here,” he spits, finally turning to glower at you. “You’re practically dripping.”

Your eyes widen, legs clenching unconsciously together on the opposite side of the room. You can feel it: the slickness between your thighs, the slide of skin on skin as they meet at the apex, the sticky pull of your damp panties over your cunt.

“What about this is so arousing to you?” Sakusa stalks over to you, crowding you against the wall. “What about watching me feed gets you so wet?”

“It’s just… I-I—“

“You what?” Sakusa has no patience for your stammering, no patience for anything when you smell so good and he’s so thirsty.

“I wanna help you, Kiyo.” It’s not the first time you’ve brought it up. Not even the fifth time. You’ve begged him so many times to feed from you, only to have him shut you down on each and every occasion.

You reach up, slowly smoothing your hands along the firm planes of his chest. Your touch is tentative, like you’re approaching an animal that you fear might bite, but you revel in the feeling of the chiselled musculature hidden underneath the soft Egyptian cotton of his button-down.

Kiyoomi shudders under the gentleness of your touch, like even after all this time he’s not used to the way you imbue so much care into every simple graze.

Your pulse pounds.

“You’re impossible,” the man above you growls, teeth gnashing together as he forces the words through them. But there’s something else there: a fracture in his composure that you’ve never seen before, a fissure in the carefully maintained pretence of control he usually wears that you know is threatening to give way.

You stand on your tiptoes, gently fisting the collar of his shirt, and pull him into a kiss.

Sakusa tries to deny you what you want, tries to keep the kiss chaste; a simple brush of his mouth against yours. But the slightest little mewl from the back of your throat makes him snap—his lips parting as he presses you more firmly into the wall behind you, taking your face in one large hand and tipping your head back so he can kiss you like he’s taking it from you.

Your tongues tangle, slick and wet, and you taste the lingering tang of copper.

It makes something flare in the pit of your stomach: a tight coil of arousal, burning white with jealousy as you kiss the taste of someone else’s blood right out of his mouth.

Another growl rumbles through Sakusa’s chest as he smells the fresh wave of slick that seeps out between your legs, shoving the hand that’s not holding your face beneath the hem of your skimpy dress—right under the lace of your panties.

He wastes no time teasing you—he doesn’t need to considering the mess that’s already smeared itself along the tops of your legs. Sakusa’s long, lithe fingers crook the moment they slide inside of you, and he holds you upright on your unsteady legs by the grip on your pussy and the press of his body into yours alone.

He finds that spot that has your eyes rolling back effortlessly—like he always does.

“Is this what you wanted?” Kiyoomi pulls his mouth from yours and pants into your hairline as he rests his chin against your temple, his voice tight and angry. “What you were so desperate for that you walked into a district full of beasts who wouldn’t hesitate for an instant to tear out your throat?”

You moan.

“Kiyo, please,” you beg mindlessly, chest heaving with sobs that slip out before they even seem to fully form, crackling through your words. “Want it, wanna feel you, wanna feed you, please.”

Kiyoomi has had centuries to perfect his patience, to master his thirst, to develop a sense of self-control that most vampires never achieve. He’s a legacy—a member of a clan so old it’s seen the rise and fall of dynasties, empires, and eras. He’s stronger than a human mind can fathom, body corded with a power that could rase a city to the ground with nothing but his bare hands.

And you—foolish and fragile and human as you are—are the one who manages to break him.

Kiyoomi’s mouth drags down the column of your throat, tongue pressing against the place your pulse pounds most violently under your impossibly delicate skin.

“Please, please, please,” you whimper, fingers tangling in his dark curls as you hold him against your jugular. “I love you, Kiyo, s’much. Let me give you what you need.”

He lets out one long, low groan, and then you feel his teeth pierce your neck.

It should hurt, but it doesn’t.

Then you feel it: a euphoric warmth that spreads through you, turning your body pliant and your legs to jelly.

You’ve heard about this before—read about it in trashy magazines you bought with flushing cheeks from the checkout counter at convenience stores, poured over posts in forums on the internet that described the experience in first-hand detail that was a little more believable. Feeding a vampire is an intimate, incredibly sensual experience for a human.

A rush of hormones floods your system as he feeds from you, triggered by a chemical in his own saliva that keep you willing and writhing as he sates his thirst—an evolutionary response to make it easier for vampires to lure their prey and keep them in their clutches.

Because who would ever try to run when it feels this good?

People get addicted to the rush, and you understand it now as you float up up up on the high of Kiyoomi drinking from you. You finally understand how it leads people to jobs at blood dens, or even selling themselves on the seedier corners of the dark district just to get their fill.

Or more appropriately, their drain.

Kiyoomi groans, a primal, beatific sound, and you watch with hazy eyes as he pulls away from you. He throws his head back, fangs bared and smeared in crimson.

Blood.

Your blood.

You crash into your orgasm with no warning at all.

Sakusa’s fingers inside of you don’t stop moving as you ride the sharp edge of your release, clinging to him as desperately as your walls do to the digits trapped between them.

Before you can even blink you’re sprawled across his bed and his teeth are sinking into your neck again—on the other side of your throat this time—a perfectly symmetrical pair of bite marks framing the delicate column of your throat.

You don’t have time to question how you get to his bedroom so quickly. Don’t have time to notice that your pretty dress is torn in half—leaving your flushed skin bared as the two sides of a garment that used to be united hang limply on either side of your body. At least not enough time before you’re cumming again with a strangled cry of Kiyoomi’s name.

Your toes curl at your back bows, your body drawn so tightly you feel like you might snap.

He pulls back to watch you writhe underneath him—scarlet dripping down to the fair, chiseled point of his chin. His eyes are wild: red with fresh blood and a glint that’s downright insatiable.

Kiyoomi descends slowly down the bed, down your body, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he goes while you fight to catch the breath that evades you. Crimson lip prints trail in his wake that dry like an iron-ochre map imprinted to your skin.

Your panties are long gone as he settles between your legs—though you couldn’t even begin to guess where. He takes your thighs in his hands, guiding them up and apart, hooking one leg over his shoulder while the other is pressed back towards your waist. He drags his tongue along your skin before his teeth sink into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, and another wave of warmth ripples through you to override the ebbing pleasure of your second orgasm. A throb of lust tightens in your core, sending another drip of slick along your folds.

“Kiyoomi,” you call to him, breathless and wanting. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, your vision fuzzy along the edges.

He pulls away from your thigh, laving his tongue over the two crescent shaped imprints of his teeth in your skin to soothe the wound—or not miss a drop.

“Yes?” his voice is even as he responds, but the feral look in his eyes betrays him.

“Do I taste good?” you whisper, feeling the corners of your lips pull in a drowsy little smile.

He pauses for a moment, pressing one last kiss to the bite mark between your legs before crawling back up the bed to cradle your face between his palms. It’s hard to focus your eyes, even when he’s so close to you, and nearly impossible to make your tongue cooperate in speech—as drunk off the feeling of him as he is the taste of you.

“You’re divine,” his words are breathed out like a prayer: reverent and pious.

Kiyoomi’s hands guide you where he wants you, settling your head gently against the soft down of his pillows, holding your quivering thighs back as he positions himself on his knees between them. He drags the head of his cock through the mess between your legs, the hot, velvety soft petals of your slick cunt parting as he pushes through them, the tip of his length nudging at the puffy, sensitive swell of your clit.

You can’t take his teasing, not after you’ve already cum twice, not when you already feel so spent. He seems to sense this before you muster the strength to do anything other than whimper, and suddenly he’s sinking into you.

“Oh—oh!” you cry out, voice breaking between the repetition of the word. “Kiyoomi s’too much, too much.”

Kiyoomi shushes you gently, a contrast to the sharp thrust of his hips against yours. In spite of your words, of your hesitation, your walls still desperately suck him in.

His thumb drags through the drool that dribbles from the corner of your parted lips, forcing it back into your mouth as his ruby eyes flicker between the place his cock is disappearing into you and the way your features are screwing up in pleasure. Your lips wrap around the tip of his thumb instinctively, sucking on it as he continues to fuck into you with long, forceful strokes that have the sturdy bed shaking beneath you.

You moan around the finger in your mouth as Kiyoomi pummels into that spot that has your vision going white, stars crackling across your already blurry vision as your entire body flushes, over and over again. You feel the slick sheen of perspiration clinging to you, and Kiyoomi’s low body temperature feels positively frigid as his skin meets yours.

“Kiyo, kiss?” you slur around his thumb needily as want burns white hot in your belly, and he doesn’t hesitate to comply your desperate request, his chest pressing into yours as he dips down to capture your lips with his.

He bites your lip as your panting mouths move fervently together—a simple nick, but enough to send a burst of copper and salt across your tastebuds. Kiyoomi’s own tongue chases the taste as it washes across yours.

Another surge of heat and endorphins courses through you as his tongue presses his saliva into your wound, blood and spit smearing down your face, and you cum with soundless cry—fingers clumsy as you scrabble for purchase in his perfect, unyielding skin.

Kiyoomi’s toppling over the precipice soon after, though his hips don’t stop fucking you down into the mattress through both of your rapturous peaks.

This is different from the other times he’s allowed himself to touch you; lacking the restraint that up until this point he’s been so steadfast in exerting. Limbs and lust and breaths entwined, you hardly feel like two bodies at all.

You’re one in every way, body and soul, down to the blood that runs through your veins.

You know, you both know, that nothing will ever feel like this again.

That nothing will ever satisfy either of you in place of it—in place of what you've found in each other.

The two of you are well and truly damned.

Together.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Where the Crossroads Meet, Part I

Read on AO3

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Fandom: The Great Wall

Ships: Pero Tovar x you/reader (cishet female)

Tags/warnings (chapter specific): Fear of assault (lonely woman, strange man)

Words: 1,630

Summary: You lead a quiet life on the outskirts of society, tending to the needs of your garden and animals. One spring evening, a fearsome stranger with a scar over his left eye comes knocking on your door in search of food and shelter.

It is the time of sowing, when the dark, rich earth has finally warmed up enough for the least fragile of seeds. You have spent the day carting dung from the cowshed and turning it into the soil of your vegetable garden. Your young body jubilant in the repetitive motions of swinging the hoe, your mind relishes the physical labour and excitement as well as anxiety about the coming season. Will you be granted the summer you sorely need to make your garden flourish, so that you can feed yourself during the winter months? You whisper a blessing to each seed you drop into the little hole in the ground before lovingly covering it with soil. You sing as you water the tidy rows, already imagining the vulnerable sprouts that soon, gods willing, will burst through the hard shell of their seeds and push up towards the light.

As the air turn blue with the evening settling in, you milk your three cows whose winter-lean frames are already looking fuller as their diet is enriched with fresh grass. You feed the chickens and bar the door to the shed before taking what little milk you have received back to your cottage. Putting a couple of logs on the fire before preparing your humble dinner, you smile against the last light of the evening. Every day, the sun sets a little later, the evenings get a little warmer, a little longer. The darkness seems less compact. You feel energy buzzing inside you, despite the hour and the long day of physical labour. Spring has that effect on you.

When your meal has been taken and you’re clearing the table, you suddenly hear the snorting of a horse. Shortly after, there is a heavy knock on the door. You’re instantly on edge. You don’t get a lot of visitors, and even less so in the evenings. This is most certainly not anyone from the village, and travellers are potentially dangerous.

You grab a knife and hold it steadily in your hand as you go to the door and first peek out through the small hatch in it. In the gathering dark outside is a man, weatherworn and dressed in leather armour. There is something feral about him that makes you certain that you should not under any circumstances open the door for him.

“There is nothing of value here,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice from betraying your wildly beating heart. “And I don’t have room for guests.”

“I have dried meat to share,” he grunts, “and my horse needs rest. We’ll both be happy in the barn.”

Barn, that’s a big word for the shed that shelters your animals. They might accept a horse in there with them, but certainly not a man.

“There’s no room,” you state again.

“I won’t touch you,” he says brusquely. “I just need a roof over my head for the night. I’ll be gone by dawn.”

You don’t know why, but you close the hatch, unbolt the door, and open it. The man fills up the entire doorframe, blocking out the evening light, and for a heartbeat, you fear that you’ve made a terrible mistake. He’s dirty, scowling, and has a scar over his left eye, and there are dark stains on his leather armour that you’re certain is blood.

“Thank you,” he mutters. “Can I have some water to wash myself with?”

You nod mutely as you let him in. He smells of the road; leather, dust, horse. So different from what you are used to: soil, flowers, cows. He wears a sword strapped to his back and you can feel the hum of the cold steel. When he turns around and gestures towards his horse, you see that there are, in fact, two blades in the same scabbard. One hilt points up towards his right shoulder, the other down at his left hip.

“Can my horse fit in with your livestock?”

“I’ll take care of that,” you tell him immediately. “The cows don’t like strangers.”

You slink past him, careful not to get too close, and grab the horse’s reins.

“There’s hot water in the cauldron over the fire,” you inform the man before you lead his horse to the cowshed. The cows are anxious about the strange animal but as soon as you have taken off the saddle and bridle, and brushed the horse down, they relax. You give the horse some hay to eat and check on your animals one last time, avoiding the inevitable return to your cottage. You are uncomfortable to say the least, regretting your decision to let the man stay. Gods alone knew what he would do come nightfall.

When you eventually leave the cowshed, you see the man outside your front door. He has carried out your washbasin, put it on the bench beside the door, and is washing his naked upper body with a washcloth.

You stop and stare at his scarred skin stretching taut over hard muscles. It is not your first time seeing a man with no shirt on, but you have never seen a man quite like this before. This is a warrior, and a lethal one at that. Carefully, you come closer. He looks up at you, something wary in his eyes, like he is always ready to be attacked.

“Do you need to treat any wounds?” you ask him, averting your eyes from his naked chest. He shakes his head no, and you incline yours in what could be interpreted as a nod, before hurrying past him and into the cottage. Heart pounding, you take out what food you can share, lay the table for him, then busy yourself by the fire as he comes in. He quickly pulls his dirty shirt back on.

“Left the water in the basin,” he mutters. “In case you have to reuse water.”

That is unexpected. You gesture at the table, inviting him to sit down.

“I don’t have much,” you remind him as he grabs his pack and pulls out dried meat, wrapped in leather.

“It’s fine.”

You go out to empty the basin into the barrel where you collect rainwater for your crops. If the summer is warm and dry, you sometimes need to preserve water, but so far you have not had to do it yet this season. You are a little surprised that the stranger thought of it.

Dusk has settled over your garden, and you go back in, wondering about the sleeping arrangements. Your cottage consists of the kitchen and a small bedroom. There is nowhere else to sleep but the bed, and that’s the last place you want him.

He eats greedily and without speaking, his dark stare fixed on the plate in front of him. When it’s empty, he burps behind his hand, and turns his divided gaze to you. You shrink under his scrutiny, and your hand goes to the knife in your skirt pocket.

“Thank you,” he grunts. “Is it okay if I sleep indoors?”

You meet his gaze, trying to gauge it, determine if he is a threat or not.

“I don’t have anywhere – “

“This is fine,” he cuts you off, making a gesture towards the chair he’s sitting on, and the table. “It’s warm here. I’ll be comfortable enough.”

You nod mutely as you clear the table and clean the dishes, your back turned to him. The silence between the two of you is thick and you wish once again that you hadn’t invited him.

When you’re done, he insists you take the last piece of dried meat. Not wanting to contradict him, you accept it and put it into your pantry.

Finally, you can no longer pretend that your long day hasn’t taken its toll on you. It’s dark outside, the fire is dying down, and you have no more chores.

“I have to sleep,” you say unsurely, not wanting to use the word bed in case it would give the stranger ideas. He merely nods, and crosses his arms in front of his chest, leaning back in his chair. His eyes close, and you take the opportunity to disappear into your bedchamber. You don’t undress but curl up in the far corner of your bed, the knife in your hand, the covers pulled up tightly as you fix your eyes on the closed door.

Your heart almost stops when you hear the chair legs scrape against the floor, then heavy boot steps move across the floor. Shortly after, the roar of the fire tells you it has been fed more wood. The steps move back to the table. Another scrape of wood against wood, and a while later: deep snores.

Slowly, you relax, and sleep takes you as well.

Warming rays of morning sun fall on your face. You blink your eyes open and stretch, frowning when your legs are constrained by your skirt.

The stranger.

You sit up despite your body being stiff from the uncomfortable position and listen intently for sounds. All you can hear is the call of your cows for their morning milking. You get out of bed and tiptoe to the door, carefully opening it.

The kitchen is empty with no trace of the visitor, except for a couple of coins on the table. You walk up to it and look at the currency, chewing your lower lip. It’s not a large sum, but larger than he would have had to leave for a little bread and a hard chair to sleep on. You collect the coins and put them away, grateful nonetheless. After having a drink of water, you open the front door and step out to a new spring day. Your chores soon wash away all thought of the stranger.

[lostcauses-noregrets]

hi lost! i’ve been lurking around here for quite a while now because your blog brings me such a calm when i start feeling confused or angry when it comes to this fandom. things have quieted down now that the anime is on pause again, and i think that a lot of people left after the manga ended. but it’s also sad bc it’s hard to find blogs that are still active. tumblr only recommends me ones that haven’t posted in years so i’m just hanging around the tags, but even they are pretty non-eventful. i only hope the fandom starts buzzing again once the anime continues, but considering how toxic everything became last time scares me. i love your blog because eruri is pretty much the only reason i’ve stuck around for so long but it’s hard to find active blogs that would be like yours :(

Thank you so much Anon ♡ I'm glad you enjoy my blog and that it's a place you can come to chill and relax.

There's no denying that the Eruri fandom here on tumblr is much smaller and less active than it was about 5 years ago. Some fans moved on after chapter 84 when Erwin died, a whole wave of people left the platform after the porn purge, while others hung around until the manga ended and then drifted off or left in frustration. It's always a bit sad when fandoms start to dwindle and people move on, especially if you're still invested. To some extent it's inevitable though, fandoms are always in a state of flux and they all wax and wane over the years.

Having said that, reports of the Eruri fandom's demise are very much premature. Against all the odds the fandom survived the death of Erwin, the tumblr purge, and the end of the manga and it's now more active and creative than I've seen it for years. NSFW Eruri week was huge this year, there’s the Eruri wedding zine in the works and there are new artists and writers appearing out of the woodwork every week. It's just that most of this activity is on twitter rather than tumblr. I know a lot of people dislike twitter as a fandom platform, me included, as it’s a wide open public platform that really lends itself to drama, harassment and dogpiling. I don’t think there’s any doubt that fandom has become more toxic as it has moved out of closed curated communities, such as LJ (though gods know that was no fandom utopia), to open social media platforms, such as twitter, where it's much harder to control who interacts with your content and on what terms. Having said that, there are always ways that you can curate your fandom experience, even on twitter, by liberally blocking and muting accounts and topics that you don't want to engage with, or by locking your own account.

Personally speaking I have a foot in both camps. I hang out on twitter on a daily basis, but I have no plans to leave tumblr any time soon. I've got too much content here to simply abandon it, and I still enjoy answering asks from other fans. If you do want to follow me on twitter, I’m @losteruri over there. And of course I'll always be on AO3 at Anteros / Lostcauses.

I have no doubt that when the final season of the anime airs the whole SnK fandom will explode into life again, and I expect the ending of the anime to be just as divisive as the ending of the manga was, so my advice would be to block out as much of the toxicity as you can and just focus on things you enjoy, like Erwin and Levi and their amazing, inspiring relationship.

Have a good week Anon ♡

[blackstarising]

precipice, a buckysarah fic | also on ao3

bucky and sarah spend saturday mornings together on the wilson's back porch. neither remembers when this became a habit.

She’s awake for a few moments before she hears it, the creaking, through the open window. It’s not loud, of course, it’s never loud, Daddy had dutifully oiled the swing’s joints to make sure that wouldn’t happen, but age had touched it just enough that, nowadays, you’d know if someone was sitting there.

Sarah sits up, and rubs the sleep from her eyes. The thick, summer air fills her lungs, the same that coats her forehead in a sheen of sweat. Lingering tension from melts from her shoulders. Unconsciously, she brushes the dog tags nestled inside of her shirt.

He’s okay. Thank God.

A familiar electric buzz runs up the back of her spine as she pads past the boys’ rooms and tiptoes down the stairs. Months ago, that buzz would have prompted her toss her bonnet onto her bed, to swiftly change into jeans and a somewhat presentable T-shirt, even though Saturday mornings before 8 were, by law, designated as Sarah Time.

And then, three weeks ago, the last time she’d seen him in person, she’d raced down the stairs to get AJ’s stuffed toy (some Minecraft thing? Sarah could never keep track) that he’d accidentally left outside before he woke up, cheesy printed pajamas and all. He hadn’t flinched.

He could fit into Sarah Time, she’d decided, right then and there. Lizzo’s “Cuz I Love You” was left on repeat on her phone for her the rest of the day.

So she slips downstairs, ‘Bad Mama Jama’ shirt and all. Coffee steeps. Two mugs are produced, lactose-free milk dumped into each, and a sizable glop of honey into hers.

After all this time, his breath still catches a little when he sees her come out the back door. The humidity that sticks to Bucky’s skin like a stifling coat makes her skin shimmer in the faint sunlight. She yawns, her nose wrinkling just enough that it’s painfully cute, and then she relaxes, still sleepy but serene as she presses the hot mug into his right hand.

“Hey.” He greets her.

“Hey.” Her smile grows. “You’re back.”

“I am. With cinnamon rolls.” Sure enough, a paper bag rests next to the swing. He pats his left side, and she obliges. Their thighs touch plainly this time.

She takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Hope you haven’t been sitting here all night. Where’s Sam?”

“About an hour, and still in DC. Captain America business, and all that.”

“And what? No Winter Soldier business?”

Bucky shrugs. “I like the quiet.” Her quiet. Or maybe just her and the boys, though the boys weren’t that quiet. And ‘like’ was too weak a word at this point, probably.

She takes another sip of coffee, strangely proud. He does too, if only to silence the annoyingly insistent voice in the back of his head nagging him to just put his arm around her shoulder already.

“Still not sure about this fancy milk, though.”

“You mean milk that me and the kids can actually digest?” Sarah knows damn well he can’t taste the difference. “Well, I have bad news for you about oat milk. And soy milk." She grins wickedly. "And don't forget rice milk-”

“None of which belong in coffee.” After nearly a century of identities and missions she’s not sure if she ever wants to hear about, his Brooklyn accent is faint, but he still stretches out the caw in ‘coffee’. How mortifying it is, the way she perks up when that grit bleeds out.

He brushes the bright blue hem of her bonnet. “Is this new?”

She shakes her head and pulls it off. Dark braids tumble down her shoulders. These ones are new, he notices - they’re tighter at the root, and shimmer with oil that smells of roses. “Found out AJ stuffed it in the couch cushions a month ago. I just happened to stick my hand down there yesterday. I do not know what it is about him and that damn couch.” She snickers. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a signed check for a million dollars down there one day.”

He chuckles, and gives the ground a little kick the start the swing going again. “Did he get his new glasses yet? Last time I was here, he was saying that he didn’t want to see the optometrist again.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like the...” Sarah makes a motion with a finger, like she’s pressing a button. “There’s a little gun they use. They blow a puff of air onto your eyeball.”

Bucky recoils a little. “They what?”

“It’s supposed to measure it for the prescription. They tried to do it on me before they did his. I thought it was supposed to be just like a little breeze, but it bounces off your eye.” She pauses and scratches her head. “I may have hollered-”

“Ha! I bet he took that well.”

“I had to get him on my lap to calm down.” She sighs and pouts, just a little. “At least he still wants to be held. Cass makes me drop him off a block away from school now.”

Cass is indeed growing. Overnight, he’s shot up like a reed so that he’s just as high as Bucky’s shoulders. His normally smooth skin is interrupted by a few bumps, and his voice bounces around in pitch like an untuned clarinet. Something in his chest twinges when he considers it, how time marches forward. How, very soon, the collective wide-eyed innocence of the boys will harden into adulthood.

Her gaze falls to his left hand. The fingers curl and flex. She still remembers the first time she’d looked at his arm, really looked at it, the dark plates molding and shifting. It’d been the second time they’d shared this same porch, waiting for Sam to bring back the boys from fishing.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Sarah, he’d said suddenly, catching her gaze. His voice had been heavy, but clear. Dark blue eyes filled with regret. I’ve hurt people. Killed people. I didn’t have a choice, but, with you and- here, she’d held her breath as his Adam’s apple bobbed, how quickly he’d blinked - and the boys, I...I don’t want- I need you to know all of me. Who I’ve been. Who I am. And then you can decide. But you can’t do that if I’m not honest.

She doesn’t remember what she’d said after. She does remember watching him get into the truck so Sam could take him to the airport. How he’d paused when he’d opened the door, and turned towards her, eyes wide. Vulnerable. How she’d smiled at him, and waved, maybe a bit too cheesily, like it’d been the easiest thing in the world, because despite it all, oddly, she hadn’t been afraid. How the widest grin had broken out on his face and something deep inside her chest that had been closed had burst open for the first time since she’d lost Andrew. And she remembers watching the truck pull out of the drive as her heart filled to such a capacity that her chest hurt, and the second they’d disappeared over the hill she’d promptly burst into tears, well, really, half laughing and half sobbing, because how the hell was she supposed to know she could find that feeling again?

It’s only when she sees his jaw clench that she finally notices the cut, long and fading pink against his chiseled cheekbones. Maybe she’s getting too used to them - he’s always injured in some way when he gets back.

He can see that familiar softening in her eyes as she catches sight of the gash. Well, it had been a gash just an hour before, the result of catching a thrown knife on his cheek before he’d caught the hilt. But what’s about to happen next will play like clockwork.

First, she’s going to try to get a closer look. Her index and pointer finger come up just under his chin, tilting his head to the side. His skin tingles, the electricity of her concern rushing through him.

Then, she’ll hum. She’s never chastised him, though he wouldn’t know what there’d be to say if she tried. But that hum says more than enough.

“Hmm.”

In the moment, she doesn’t feel herself cupping his face with both hands, it just sort of happens. Her throat dries instantly as the stubble brushes in her palms.

He can’t breathe, but every single muscle in his body relaxes. He sinks into her touch.

“Y- you should see the other guy,” he manages to get out. There’s a faint memory that breaks to the surface, the docks in New York, 1940-something, 1943? A date whose name has been lost to time, the last date he’d ever go on. Soft hands cupping his face, just like this, and warm, pleading ruby-red lips crashing dully into his, a whisper to not forget her.

Sarah’s tongue darts between her lips. Both thumbs rub small circles into his cheeks. It wasn’t a question of if he wanted to kiss her, no. When has a day gone by that he hasn’t thought of kissing her? How is it that it’s never happened, but he can see it, clear as crystal, and hold it in his mind’s eye. How can he already feel her warm and flush and present and breathless and real against him?

Very slowly, she comes back to herself, and her face immediately flushes with a sharper heat. Her hands awkwardly drop from his face. She tries to think of something, anything, to interrupt the silence (to explain herself?), but every word that comes to mind sticks helplessly in her throat and she just can’t stand it because she’s the same, she’s exactly the same as she’d been at 17, leg jiggling and sweating and staring a hole right through the back of Andrew’s head in AP Calculus.

(She’d never wanted to punch Sam so bad back then when he’d had the audacity to say well, just tell him, already. The audacity of him, to think things were so simple.)

She leans back, scooting just a hair away this time. The crest of the sun beams through the trees, painfully bright. Her pulse is louder now. She’s looking at the small grove so intently she doesn’t even register the weight gently settle on her left shoulder at first. It only clicks when she feels the cool metal of his thumb brush up and down her bicep. Their eyes lock, brown against against blue.

He’s still smiling, and she, she realizes, is too.

So she melts into him. She melts into him, her ear landing over his chest, her arm wrapping around the small of his back. She sighs into the muted whoosh whoosh whoosh of his heartbeat, the cotton of his shirt, and the faint smell of spearmint on his breath. Another kick of her foot and they’re swinging yet again, back and forth, back and forth. The sun pulls itself up ever higher and higher.

The light starts to burn his cheek. “The boys’ll be up soon,” he murmurs into her hair.

She snuggles deeper into him. “Mmm.”

They’re on the precipice of something, this, they both know. They're inching closer and closer, and one day they’ll step off, and she’ll kiss him full on the mouth and whenever he’ll come back to the house he’ll be coming back home and whenever they go anywhere they’ll stick each others hand in their back pockets in that particular way that teenagers do that let everyone know that they’re each others and there’s nothing they can do about it.

One day. But for now, this is more than enough.

They like the quiet.

[cucumbers-and-olives]

Enemies to Lovers Part 3

masterlist  <<part 1 <part 2 part 3 part 4 (coming soon!) >

Summary: You leave the Gillespie house and head to the airport with Charlie after an eventful two weeks. While at the airport, your flight gets delayed and you learn of some interesting news...

Category: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff

Fandom: JATP

Paring: Charlie Gillespie x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings/Includes: arguing/fighting, small panic attack, cringy songs i wrote

A/N: so... i can never post on time. and i know its been a while since i posted the last chapter. i really hope you guys like this chapter! please reblog and comment and let me know what you think! your support means everything, and keeps me going, so thank you.

Mandatory Thanking of the Betas: thank you to @wrhen for giving me help and feedback with this chapter!

AO3 link here (coming soon!)

Please don’t repost my work without my permission, in part or whole. My work can also be found on AO3 @cucumbersandolives. Thank you!

Ice & Fire, and Enemies to Lovers are both my own songs that I wrote. All song rights go to me.

“Charlie! Y/N! Your cab is here!” Ms.Gillespie called. You checked under the bed one last time before grabbing your suitcase and backpack.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality Ms.Gillespie,” You said, walking up to her. “If you hadn’t invited me I would have spent Christmas alone, and this was so much better.”

“Christmas alone? What a loser,” Charlie remarked as he put his bag into the trunk of the cab. You just rolled your eyes.

“Charlie, be a gentleman and grab her suitcase.” Ms.Gillespie said with a calm yet authoritative tone. He grabbed your suitcase and did as he was told. “I’m sorry about him, but I’m happy you had a good time. Maybe you can join us next year?”

“I would be honored,” You said, taking a last glance around the house you had stayed at for the past two weeks.

“Hey! Let’s go!” Charlie hollered from outside. “We’re gonna miss the flight!”

“Thank you, Ms.Gillespie,” You adjusted your backpack and stepped outside to the man who had become a whiny teenager.

“Finally,” He said as you sat down. “She’s my mother, not yours.”

“I’m sorry about him,” You said to the lady in the driver's seat. “We’re all ready to go now, sorry for the wait.”

She nodded and began to drive. The scenery was nice, but it only took a couple of minutes for you to start yelling at Charlie.

“Fuck this,” You pulled out his earbud. The niceties could stop now that his mother wasn’t here. “I have tried to be nice to you this whole time, but now I can say this: You want to act like a little boy throwing a hissy fit? Fine, be my guest. But at least do it in someone else’s company, I have been nothing but kind to you, you-” You almost cussed again, but you reined yourself in. He was worth your anger but not that much of it.

He just rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Whatever you say, princess.” His words, taken in another context, could have easily been mistaken for something other than the daggers they were.

~

“It’s delayed,” He said, and that simple fact destroyed the rest of the day. “The plane has some issue. They think it’ll be at least two hours, if not more.”

“God, every time I try to like airports, something bad happens,” You said, slumping back into the uncomfortable airport chairs. You knew it wasn’t the airline’s fault, (well it kinda was), but you needed to get back to work. You fiddled with the cord on your headphones before putting them back on.

“Ah- Not so fast,” Charlie said, blocking you from putting them on. He showed you who was calling him. “If I have to talk to the boss man,” He said, referring to Kenny, “Then you do too.”

“See but I don’t,” You said, as you received a different call. “I have a different boss to talk to.”

“I mean, I’m not your boss-” The girl on the other end of the phone said, but Charlie cut her off.

“Are you actually going to talk to Jadah?” He said, about to accept Kenny’s call.

“No, Charlie. Sav’s phone died, so you talk to your boss and I’ll talk to mine.” You walked around for a bit to find a quieter corner of the airport.

“You okay, Y/N?” Jadah asked, finally.

“No, but that's for another time. What’s up?”

“So… Kenny is telling Charlie about the song showcase, but there’s one thing that he’ll leave out.” She said, leaving you on a cliffhanger.

“That is?” You said, prompting her.

“I- I may have slipped him your demos?” Jadah said slowly, and at that moment, all sense of keeping up public appearances went out the window.

“Jadah! Those were not yours to share! In any capacity!” You took a deep breath and asked your first question. “Where did you get them? I thought that the sound guy and I were the only ones with copies?” “I may have bribed him for a copy,” She said sheepishly. Even though you couldn’t see her, you knew she was nervous.

“Jadah, I have one other question.” You paused, trying to figure out how to ask nicely. “Which songs did you give him? Cause if you gave him Enemies-”

“I gave him Ice & Fire, Enemies to Lovers, and I can’t remember the third one. Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not.” You were, a little bit. “Can you put Savannah on the phone though?” She gave a quick yes, and you could hear the phone being passed between hands.

“Y/N?” Savannah said.

“Did you know? A-about the demos,” You clarified.

“I knew you recorded them, and Jadah had me listen to them. You are amazing!”

“Thank you,” You said. “Uh, E.T.L. isn’t finished yet, but I had the time in the studio so I recorded it.” “Y/N, if you want to be a songwriter, you would be amazing!” She said, but you could tell what she meant.

“I won’t leave you in the middle of a show, Sav.” You were honest with your words. “I know.” She paused. You both knew what amazing opportunities would open up if you did. “Hold on one second, I’m going to go on mute really quick, okay?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

You could see Charlie coming towards you. His walk had a purpose, but one that was unknown to you.

“Hello, Mr.Ortega! How can I help?” You put your hand out to Charlie, signaling to him that if he talked he would be dead as Kenny spoke.

“I’m not sure if the girls have told you, but we’d love to have you perform your songs at the showcase.” He said, and you chose your words wisely, so that way Charlie wouldn’t know.

“I’d love to! What time, and which ones would you like to hear?” You asked, as you pulled out a pen and rolled up your sleeves.

“Ice & Fire, Enemies to Lovers or uh, E.T.L., I believe that was how Jadah referred to it?” He said, and you could tell he wasn’t sure what to call it.

“Yeah, I can do that, any others?” You said, scribbling down quick abbreviations of the titles.

“Oh there was one more, How to Be a Heartbreaker, I loved that one.” He said, pausing. “And I believe that Jadah mentioned that you had a few others? If you want to pick one or two, that would be great!”

“Alright! I know it’s weird to ask this, but no one has given me any details, so what time is the showcase, and where is it?” You asked, excited for the opportunity to perform.

“4:30 this afternoon, in dance studio A.” You wrote down the time quickly.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll be landing from my flight only an hour before that.”

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“You can do it.”

You scoffed a bit as the call ended. “Fuck.” You cussed under your breath.

“Wow, you talked to Kenny, and that's your response to a conversation with him? Anyways, I’m going to grab a coffee, want one?” He offered.

“Uh, I’ll just take a muffin, if they have one.” As you walked away, your brain was moving a mile a minute as you tried to figure out how everything would work.

“C’mon Y/L/N, if there’s one thing you can figure out, it’s making this work. You can do this.”

~

“Owen!” You said, running over to him.

“Hi!” He said giving you a hug, and then he looked at you. “Sav told me, you look like a mess.”

“Yeah, I know. Look, can you fix my necklace?” You said pointing to the jumbled mess it had gotten into around your neck.

“Yeah, ‘course, turn around,'' He said, and you did so. He got surprisingly close as you moved your hair away from your neck, and as he fiddled with it, you could see Charlie out of the corner of your eye. He had a look that you couldn’t put your finger on, but it almost seemed like… jealousy?

“All done!” He said, patting you on the back.

“Thank you,” You said, adjusting your sweatshirt a bit.

“You got this,” He said, grabbing your hand. “Okay?”

“Okay-” You said, but Kenny’s voice rose above everyone else's.

“Hello everyone! If you could turn your attention to the mirror, that would be great!” Everyone’s eyes turned to him, standing on a chair with a mic in hand. “Here's how this is going to work. I’d like our lovely leads to come to the mirror. Anyone else who isn’t singing can stand off of the dance floor over there,” He pointed to an area.

“If you are singing, you can follow me,” Paul said, raising his hand.

“Okay, go!” Kenny said, and as you followed Paul, you could hear him as a question. “Where is Charlie? Jeremy, check that bathroom, and Owen, look in the break room.”

~

“That was amazing Anna! Okay, who is next?” Kenny said, motioning to the person in front of you to come out. “Ah, Kevin, what do you have for us?”

Kevin began to talk, but it was hard to hear anything over your beating heart. You tried to take deep breaths, but it just got louder, and your worries began to overwhelm you. You took a step back in the line, making your way to the back. That would give you some time to overcome your worries before you went out there.

The line seemed to move a warp speed, because before you knew it, Kenny was calling your name.

“Y/N? Are you back there?” He asked, and you could hear everyone start to whisper when you didn’t respond.

“Yeah, gimme one second!” You said, fixing your shirt a bit. You got this. You can do it.

As you stepped out onto the stage Kenny’s face lit up. “There you are! How was the flight?” His eyes were kind, but as you looked into the audience, there were many shook faces.

“It was rough, but I’m happy to be here,” You said, sitting down in the chair in the middle of the stage. You kept taking deep breaths, trying, desperately to calm your nerves.

“I know you have a couple, so whenever you are ready, just say the song's name, and what characters you wrote it for,” Kenny explained. You looked around to see who was there. There was the choreo team, some Netflix executives, the lead cast, and a couple of other people who you didn’t recognize.

“This is lce & Fire, and I pictured Alex and Willie singing it.”

“Oh the desire

Like Ice & Fire

Shout it out loud

They won’t bring us down

Not a disgrace

We’ve made mistakes

Our love is strong

So sing along

I’ve been looking for you for so long

(I couldn’t find you)

Now that I’ve met you I’ve

Done something wrong

Oh, Ohhhh, Oh

Oh the desire

Like Ice & Fire

Shout it out loud

They can’t pull us down

Runnin’ from our past

Met in a crash

Through thick and thin

We can win

I’ve been looking for you for so long

(I couldn’t find you)

Now that I’ve met you I’ve

Done something wrong

Oh, Ohhhh, Oh

The forces pullin’ us together

Can’t stop, won’t stop

Oh hold on a little longer now

We’re Ice & Fire

(Fire)

Two parts of one

(One)

Can’t you see the passion in my eyes

Of Ice & Fire.”

As you finished, the final chord rang out from your guitar. The room was silent until Kenny spoke.

“That was wonderful! Booboo, Owen, what do you all think?” He said, turning to the actors for their opinion.

Booboo nodded to Owen. “Well, I think that your song embodies the characters really well. Uh, I definitely would love to sing it in the show, and I, uh personally can see our characters singing it. You wanna go?”

“Yeah, I agree with Owen on so many levels. I’d love to sing Ice & Fire, if that's okay with you Kenny,” Booboo turned to Kenny and the smile that was on his face was slowly mirrored on yours.

“Let’s do it! You wanna sing any others?” The room held its breath waiting for a response. And so did you.

Your first song had passed the test. Made it through. Your knee started bouncing again and you looked up to Savannah.

You got this. She mouthed.

You cleared your throat and moved the capo on your guitar. “Yeah, uh, this one is called Enemies to Lovers, and I didn’t write this one about any specific characters so it can be changed to fit any of them.”

You started singing and getting into the song. A door creaked open and you looked up, curious, and you continued to sing and play.

It was Charlie. He looked like a mess, like he had just gone to hell and back. Moving among the cast to find his seat, he didn’t notice you singing. Until you started the chorus.

It’s like we’re written in the stars,

Enemies to Lovers

Swinging past the bars,

Baby, we’ll discover-

You, me, we’re not so different,

You, me, we always win it,

You and me, we’re better than we seem,

Enemies

He watched you as you sang, and you, in turn, watched him. As you went into the chorus for a second time, you saw something change in his face. A realization or something, and you turned back to face Kenny as you finished the song.

We are written in the stars,

That's how we became

Well, what we are

Bicker hard and far,

Maybe we’ll discover-

You, me, we are different,

You, me, we can’t beat it,

You and me, we’re worse off than we seemed

You strummed your guitar, leaving the song and the story unfinished.

“That was amazing, unfortunately, I don’t think we have space for it in our show.” He smiled. “Someone will contact you about using Ice & Fire.”

The panel along with the rest of the room, packed up their things and started to leave until just you and the main cast remained. You started to walk out of the room when someone called out.

“Y/N! Wait!”

It was Charlie.

You looked at him, “Yes?”

“What the fuck was that song? Who’d you write it about?” He asked, like a love struck boy.

“I wrote it about you, duh!” You watched his face turn into one of- slight happiness? You laughed and started to walk away. Of course, he would think it’s about him, but why would it be? “Fuck you, Charlie. I didn’t think you were that self-centered!”

“I’m not!”He countered, and you stopped walking to look at him.

“Really? Cause only a self-centered person would ask me that… Or, do you have a crush on me? Aww, that’s so sweet!” You mocked. “See you around, lover boy.”

~

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