#and like... just kept beating the audience over and over with that until it was sure to be internalised.

[lovinglokilaufeyson]

Somethin' Stupid - A.A.

Pairings: Astarion x Fem!Tav/Reader (Bard)

Warnings: BG3 Act 3 Spoilers! Fluff! Use of Frank Sinatra’s “Somethin’ Stupid” lyrics, Tav gives off Disney Princess Energy, Astarion is stuck in a rut but you help him out, Insecure!Astarion, Spawn!Astarion

Wordcount: 1,182

Summary: You’ve had your eyes on Astarion for a while, but lately he seems distant. You take it upon yourself to brighten his day, with the use of what you know and love. Music. And of course, a goofy smile.

A/N: Thank you @ditzdreamweaver for this prompt for Y/N serenading Astarion! I think it was an absolutely adorable idea, I definitely went a bit angstier with it but there's still a bunch of fluff/cuteness.

Ever since the party had defeated Cazador, Astarion seemed down. He chose to free the thousands of spawn that were kept in captivity into the Underdark. And yet, he struggled. He slightly regretted his decision not to ascend. He felt that he could have been a much more powerful asset to the team. In short, his insecurities were eating at him, and he couldn’t stand being around the rest of the group. Not for long, anyways. He could only uphold his confident aura for so long. Especially with you. You would never judge him, you had seen him covered in blood after stabbing Cazador, and you were the one who took a damp towel to wipe off the blood he should see or reach.

You and Astarion had grown fairly close, even with the heartache everyone in the party suffered. But lately, he felt distant. Typically, he would spend most nights chatting with the party, then you two would continue conversing into the late hours of the night. Astarion, was of course, a vampire elf, and you were a bard who was a natural night owl from the late nights playing in the taverns. Despite this, and the pull he felt to continue those late nights with you, something within him inhibited him from doing so.

“I’m heading to bed” Astarion muttered, before puttering off towards his tent. It was merely a few moments following your return to camp, and the sun had not yet set. Gale had begun to prepare a meal for the rest of the group, the glistening fire flickering below a large pot, which he intended to fill with a stew of sorts.

As Astarion’s tent completely secluded him from the rest of the group, you finally decided you had had enough. You would not let him suffer alone. You trotted over to your own tent happily, grabbing your lute from the corner. It had been a while since you played for an audience, but you needn’t worry about your abilities.

“I know I stand in line” You sang. “until you think you have the time”  Astarion listened intently to your melodic voice, which easily had the capacity to draw him in. He hadn’t heard it since the very beginning of your journey together, but the strength of your voice hadn’t faltered. In fact, it sounded even more powerful than before. “to spend an evening with me…” You continued singing, dancing around the camp, with your typical goofball smile along your lips. The others reciprocated your happiness. Wyll, Karlach, Shadowheart, and even Lae’zel danced along the perimeter of the camp with you, Scratch and the owlbear cub clearly enjoying the music as well. Gale swayed as he was cooking, his feet pitter-pattering to the sound of the beat coming from your lute.

“Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two” you sang, dancing towards Astarion’s tent. Your voice radiated outside of the tent, steadily ushering him towards you. He wondered if you were a siren in your past life. “And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin’ stupid like” with that, Astarion approached the edge of the tent, his fingers pulling the flap of his tent so he could view you just as you sang “I love you.” He watched as your pupils dilated as he came into your visibility, and he felt like you truly meant the words you were singing. The goofy smile plastered on your face was enhanced even more, and Astarion was able to smile for the first time in several weeks.

“I love you too, darling.” In all honesty, Astarion couldn’t remember the last time he spoke those words truthfully. You continued strumming as you ushered him to follow you over to sit on a log with you under the shade, a little further from camp. The rest of the group had disbanded to allow you your time together. As you began to slow the song down, some of Astarion’s insecurities began to plague him once more, but you tugged him past them. “Talk to me, Star” you prompted, pulling your lute off of your lap and opting to place it up against the tree next to you.

You turned towards Astarion, granting him your full attention. He looked at you with saddened eyes but couldn’t bring himself to look away. “I should have done it, Y/N.” He stated simply. A puzzled look came upon your face, and you reached for his hands to place in yours. He granted you them, then shuttered with pleasure as you softly ran your thumbs up and down the back of his hands. “What should you have done, Astarion?”

“I should have ascended.” Instead of acting flabbergasted, you remained calm, looking at him with gentle eyes. “Why do you say that my love?”

Gods, Astarion could barely take when you spoke those words to him. You were so gentle with him, which he was grateful for, but on the other hand it made him feel weak. He didn’t want to need to be taken care of.

“I want to be stronger for you. To protect you. To protect the party. To have the power to ensure that none of you ever get hurt again.” He spoke, and you felt your heart palpate against your chest. “Star…” You spoke, gentle eyes looking at him yet again.

“Do you realize how strong you are?” You questioned, with little response from him, merely a glance from his glossy eyes. “You have traveled far and wide for all of us here. You defeated your sadistic master, you helped us through the Gauntlet of Shar, through the Creche, through Grymforge, through Moonrise Tower! You learned how to stand up for yourself and what you wanted! We’ve saved people, and brought others to their demise, deservingly so!” You exclaimed, nearly standing up and lecturing him. “You’ve learned more about yourself in these past few months than you have in the rest of your lifetime, Astarion. Do you know how much you have to be proud of? I’m glad you didn’t ascend, Astarion. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t. Ascending would have been the easy choice. The easy way out. A way for you to continue Cazador’s pattern of torture. But you decided to do better for yourself! You are one hundred percent the strongest man I’ve ever met, Astarion. And I’m not going to sit here, and let you tell yourself other-” with that, Astarion placed the gentlest kiss upon your soft lips.

Your eyes widened upon impact, surprised by the pale elf’s action. After a moment, you pulled away, simply stating “uhm- wow. That was really nice.” Next, you felt Astarion’s arms wrap around you, nuzzling into your neck. You allowed one of your hands to trace on his back, while the other played in his hair. “Thank you, darling.” He mumbled into your skin. “Of course” you responded, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to just be there with him for a while. It was what he needed, after all.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion fluff #astarion vampire #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fandom #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x y/n #astarion romance #baldurs gate astarion #tav x astarion #astarion angst

[frostgears]

the chosen one

there are handlers that went to officer school and supposedly know what the fuck they're doing, all swagger with the authority of the Service behind them, uniforms like slices of space, voices like knives, their lethal charges trailing docile behind them.

they're the ones that show up in the porn sketches and the short clips of grainy video that circulate in the Fleet network. they're the ones that have pages and pages of fan fiction written about them.

then there's you. you didn't go to officer school. your entire signup process was this:

"hey, Cooper, you were in its old unit, weren't you? before it went to the lab? remember anything that'd distract it from biting at its own link sockets and screaming at techs?"

"uh, shit, sir, i can try…"

"great, it wandered into the rec room. go nuts."

you called your last conversation to mind. there'd been two major rec time activities in your last squad, and the alert that kicked off Paloma 17 had interrupted something.

you sat down next to the thing that had once been your squadmate, not meeting its weird red eyes. you already knew it didn't like that; looking it in the face was how Muñoz got their arm broken yesterday.

the augment whiffed of human sweat, the fake citrus of type-2 interface gel, something musty and unpleasant. its fatigues probably hadn't been washed ever.

"hey, asshole," you said, "you still owe me a Kinetic Princess match. best of five, remember? we were two and one when the hammer came down for P-17."

you put a gamepad on the floor next to it.

"ch. ch. ch."

was it laughing?

it swatted the gamepad away.

and then player 2's character select screen came up. without moving a muscle, it picked Valkyrie, switched her outfit to red, and handed you your ass, twice in a row, with no apparent exertion.

"ch. ch. ch."

yeah, it was laughing.

it kept laughing as it used its onboard hardware to disconnect your gamepad, choose the princess you'd just been playing, and win three matches against itself, beating Valkyrie with Marjoram.

again.

three-one.

three-zero.

three-one.

"well," someone said behind you, "that's kinda freaky. but better than tearing up the couch. guess you're on augment duty."

it was going all out. maybe trying to prove some sort of point. to itself? to you?

you got up.

it immediately paused the game.

"hey," you told it, "i gotta piss."

it followed you down the hall into the restroom. it tried to follow you into the stall.

"hah, you find a friend, Acey?" someone laughed.

"shut the fuck up, Lima." you tried to finish your business as best you could. it wasn't easy. the thing really did reek and it was not giving you a lot of space.

fuck it. you rose, didn't bother to wipe. you grabbed the augment and hauled it into the shower, spun the dial to hot, drenched the both of you, fatigues and all.

"wooooo! take it off!"

always a fucking audience in this place.

you found the zippers to strip the thing, flung wet clothing out of the shower at a spectator, pumped all-purpose soap into your hands.

"if you're gonna follow me around," you told the augment, "you gotta smell better."

this had to get done. you soaped it. all over. the generic floral smell of all-purpose soap was definitely an improvement already. felt human enough under your hands, except where it wasn't, the occasional beveled edge of a link socket. between its legs… human standard.

more hooting and hollering from the onlookers.

you remembered too late not to meet its eyes, but it just stared back at you, tilting its head a bit. no sign of aggression. was it smiling?

you never got around to the second major rec time activity with your old squadmate. you had no idea if she was ever interested. you also had no idea if sexual preferences survived augmentation.

fuck it. audentes fortuna iuvat, right? said so on your shoulder patch.

you slid a finger in.

shut the audience right up.

the thing kept staring at you.

you slipped a second finger in and stared back right up until you finished it off. it shivered visibly, made a sort of low whine.

nobody said shit after that. when you finally shut off the water, silence like a library.

you walked out. it trailed behind you. you grabbed a towel off the stack by the shower exit, wrapped the thing in it. it didn't protest. wearing nothing but your own towel, you stalked back to your bunk, hoping you still had a few clean uniforms, your expression daring anyone to mention that a single thing was out of the ordinary.

"heyyyyyy Acey, you get lu—"

someone always dared. this fucking unit.

the augment hissed. an unmodified human throat wouldn't have been able to make that noise; it sounded like a fire extinguisher. there was reverb in that hiss. there were teeth.

"oh, gods, just don't," you said wearily, looking back over your shoulder. it let Chroma, who had a tiny bit of sense in her head, back away slowly, in one piece.

anyway, that's how you became a handler. the pay bump is nice, your CO says you've been fast-tracked for officer school someday, and more to the point, the augment has already saved your whole squad at least three times.

but you have not once showered alone since that day, and you know it'd be a really, really bad idea to ever refuse a game of Kinetic Princess. that's just how it is when your real MOS is "weapon's favorite person". □

#empty spaces #dollposting #microfiction #combat doll

[blugerine]

I’m just now realizing the geniusness of the dance scene in season 2 and how taking a “comedy” show seriously reveals so many new things about it.

NOTE: I have no idea if Neil Gaiman wrote this scene with the intention of it being interpreted in this way, but I really think it sheds so much light on why Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship seems like it went nowhere but downhill ever since season 1.

I feel like because New Omens is marketed as a “comedy show”, viewers usually go in with the intention not to take things too seriously (except for the more emotional beats that are signaled by somber music and intense acting *cough cough*), but as a result of that, we (or at least, I did) missed out on seeing some scenes differently because we originally wrote it off as “just a silly bit”. I definitely did that during the scene where Crowley performs the “apology dance” in front of Aziraphale because he left him alone to take care of Gabriel. I kept thinking about that scene over and over again in my head because it always seemed much more intentionally childish to me than any other goofy scene we see the husbands get up to in season 2 and even in season 1, and I just realized now a reason why that might be the case.

When Crowley comes back to the shop and has to apologize to Aziraphale, the first words that come out of his mouth are “I’m back”, and both him and Aziraphale know those words aren’t enough for Aziraphale to take him back, so what’s the next best thing? The apology dance! When Crowley initially resists the idea of performing the apology dance, Aziraphale reminds him that he’s done the apology dance numerous times in the past, listing all the specific years over the centuries to really get his point across until Crowley relents. After Crowley begrudgingly finishes the silly dance, the audience share a good laugh, Aziraphale is content enough to accept him back, and the fight they just had all seems so “stupid” now in comparison to the bigger fish they have to fry.

Now, what’s the problem in this scene? Or rather, why is this scene such a big deal in regards to why they broke up at the end of season 2? That’s because it’s, again, another example of how they always DANCE (quite literally) around the actual problems in their relationship that result in them constantly breaking up. And this has been happening for CENTURIES, time and time again, they always default to pushing their problems under the rug, letting bygones be bygones. They believe they’re forgiving and forgetting, but as Aziraphale keeps recounting all the years he’s done the apology dance, it’s very clear that they’ve actually never forgotten any of those previous instances of frustration and words of venom they’ve hurled at each other. Instead, they’ve opted to pretend they’re over it, onto “bigger and better” things to do as a distraction. The only time they start conveniently bringing up past wounds is when they have YET ANOTHER breakup scene.

The dance is performed so childishly because of the childish way they deal with the problems that arise in their relationship. Despite knowing very intricately about the infinite vastness of the universe, of mankind’s greatest strengths and weaknesses, they were not made to view themselves as having human emotions, and they were not trained to make compromises that did not threaten their very existence. Crowley and Aziraphale both started as angels, and Crowley wanted God to compromise with him about keeping the universe around for more years than She had planned. But God doesn’t take suggestions, so Crowley’s angelic status was quite literally burned from him as he was sent down to Hell, which traumatized him greatly, and made Aziraphale exist in fear of the divine punishment that came to those who disobeyed God.

As such, Aziraphale and Crowley have so little understanding of how to compromise in a healthy manner, because the first time one of them tried to do it, it ended terribly for both of them, and they subconsciously vowed never to do it again. That’s why, when one of them wants to apologize, it’s almost like a child’s idea of what one is. There’s no addressing of why Crowley’s so desperate to abandon everything and run away, or why Aziraphale is so adamant on staying, even when it clearly hurts him to do so. There’s NO reasoning or compromise. There’s NO talk other than “I was wrong, you were right”. It’s either your side or my side, or we never see each other again.

Aziracrow represents a very realistic on-and-off relationship, where two broken and codependent individuals cannot compromise for fear of divine punishment or even just fear of losing the one that means the most to them. And their little dance? It’s just one of the many times they’ve tried to ignore their very real and important relationship (and character) issues, and it just continues to rot away their relationship time and time again. It’s like putting a bandaid over an infection, but they’re both immortal and everything’s working against them to actually work on healing that infection from the inside out.

So yeah, the dance scene is fucking brilliant because no one saw that coming until you actually finish season 2 and think back on it. Again, maybe I’m just being delusional reading into a scene that wasn’t a big deal, but if Neil did write it with this intention, then I think the way he disguises meaningful insights into broken relationships, tortured characters, and religious trauma through the use of comedy to be really. fucking genius.

And really sad.

I think I might cry a bit after this actually.

(Also, hello, I still have no idea how to use tumblr 💀)

Edit: Just made a couple clarifications here and there! Also, thank you so much for all the positive reception 😭!!! Reading all your reblogged tags gives me so much serotonin agsjdgs it feels so nice being in this fandom so far ❤️

#you better hope the apology dance doesn’t happen in s3 because that means they’re avoiDING THEIR PROBLEMS AGAIN and REPEATING HISTORY #good omens 2 #good omens #good omens analysis #good omens 2 spoilers #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #neil gaiman #good omens spoilers #ineffable spouses #good omens brainrot #good omens broke me

[tickly-tufts]

Progression

aka 2 times angel didn't tickle husk + 1 time he did (with implied timeskips to different stages of closeness)

—

“Did you just… giggle?”

Husk flushed at the question, ears folding back as soon as Angel released them. Angel had only wanted to see how they felt. Husk himself had allowed it… until he realized…

His ears were ticklish. Especially the insides, where Angel’s attention inevitably wandered. Husk had kept it together for an entire 5 seconds before Angel’s thumbs were sweeping over the hearts.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned after, scowling to cover up his embarrassment. He braced for a taunt, or a real attempt at tickling… only for Angel to back off entirely.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t meant anything by it!” Angel soothed with the offending hands raised. “Thanks for lettin’ me touch ‘em, though. They’re really soft!”

Husk blinked, bewildered.

“Uh… sure… but don’t expect this again. It was one-time deal.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

With the subject settled far more easily than expected, Husk returned to his work… oddly unsatisfied.

—

“Ears and wings?” Angel marveled, remarkably unfazed about being on the floor. Mere moments ago, he’d been on top of Husk, enjoying the purrs rumbling through his chest.

Once again, it had been an accident. Angel had meant to grab the blanket. At some point, though, Husk had spread his wings, and thus Angel’s fingers burrowed right into feathers.

Husk squealed, which was adorable, even after he flung Angel off the bed. His face betrayed both shock and confusion, which soon made way for mortification. “I didn’t- Are you-” He was clearly flustered, and Angel considered teasing him about it… but he’d promised to stop pushing Husk’s boundaries, and he didn’t want to risk whatever it was they had.

“All good here!” Angel assured, crossing his legs as he sat up. “If I swear to keep my hands off the wings, will ya let me back up there?“ He already missed the warmth.

At his question, though, Husk’s expression took a turn. Angel froze when he thought he spotted… disappointment?

Then it was gone, replaced by a frown.

“Yeah, yeah, just… no more surprises.”

—

“ANGEL YOU- FUHUHUCK!”

“Pfft, I sure do, but let’s save that for later~” It was a corny comeback even for Angel, but his captive audience couldn’t help but laugh. “Are the paws actually worse than the wings?“ He scratched the yellow center of one heart-shaped pad. Husk immediately screeched, leg nearly jerking free. “Damn! I’ll take that as a yes!”

Three times, Angel had tickled Husk. Three times, he’d stumbled on a weak-spot by accident. Two times, he’d chosen to play it safe… but by the third time, he knew what had to be done. Holding Husk’s ankles with his lower set of hands, Angel wiggled the fingers of his upper set for show. “I promised ya the full massage treatment, though, and I’d just hate to break a promise!”

“You’re the worst, you know that?!” Husk covered his face, refusing to look Angel in the eye. It didn’t escape Angel’s notice, however, that he wasn’t fighting the grip on his legs.

“Aww, don’t act like y’don’t love me,” Angel countered because he could. “And obviously I love you, so try not to kick me in the face, alright?”

Husk nearly did when Angel’s fingers made contact, squeezing and rubbing at both of his paws. The tops and sides weren’t so bad on their own, but those damned yellow hearts were unbearable. He could only cackle as Angel’s thumbs pressed in, massaging the pads in the most ticklish way possible. Hoping to both hide and muffle himself, Husk grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved it over his face.

“C’mon, Husky, no need to be shy,” Angel cooed reassuringly. When Husk simply pretended not to hear him, Angel made a decision, crawling up the bed. Husk’s furry body tensed beneath him, but only enough to indicate he’d been noticed. Once Angel was close enough, he readied his arms, waiting just a beat before he struck.

Husk jumped when he felt a hand on each wing, jolting when they started to card through his feathers. In the same moment, Angel grabbed the pillow, flinging it away before pinning Husk’s wrists.

“Wha- Shit! NohoHOHO!” Husk’s wings flapped uselessly against the bed. Angel had started tickling them in earnest, scribbling right through the layer of patterned plumage.

“Ya look so cute!” Angel gushed, admiring Husk’s helpless grin up-close. When Husk turned his head, bashful at the attention, Angel didn’t hesitate to pepper his cheek with kisses. Husk’s fur concealed the resulting blush, but the movement of his ears still gave him away. Not only that, but it reminded Angel that he still hadn’t revisited his very first discovery.

Finally extending his third pair of arms, Angel passed Husk’s wrists down as he himself climbed up. His second pair landed on either side of Husk’s head, supporting his weight and leaving his first pair free. Husk’s eyes widened at the new arrangement, gaze shooting upwards in search of Angel’s. Husk found his line of sight blocked, however, by none other than the spider’s iconic chest fluff.

Soon enough, though, he felt it. Two fingers per ear, scritching lightly and playfully over red and white fuzz. His ears twitched madly beneath Angel’s ministrations as the rest of him was seized by a fit of giggles.

“Now ya sound cute, too!” Angel teased, though it was also a statement of fact. Husk’s uncharacteristic giggling was addictively adorable. “Wonder what’ll happen if I just-“

“NEHEHEEHEEE!”

Angel had been leaning down as he spoke, mouth drawing closer to Husk’s left ear. He’d moved his hand to cup said ear from the back, and then… he’d started nibbling.

It tickled. It really tickled. It was unfair how much it tickled. Husk thought he’d combust when Angel switched ears, giving his right the exact same treatment. The spider's pointed teeth were evil, prickling gently around the edges.

“OKAY! OHOKAHAHAY!” he ultimately cried out. “S-STOHOHOP!”

And Angel did.

“Alright there, Whiskers?” he checked to be safe, releasing Husk's arms to cradle his face. It would've been easy for Husk to throw him off, but instead, Husk did the opposite. Angel oomfed when he was pulled down, falling into their usual snuggling position.

"...Thanks," Husk mumbled into Angel's hair, sensing the giddy smile he couldn't see from that angle.

#*throws this at the hazbin tickles community and runs* #lee!husk was simply too cute to resist #hazbin hotel #huskerdust #husk #angel dust #tickling #a tickly fic

[driaswrld]

ultraviolence — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 3k

summary : suguru coming home was supposed to make things better. but, it's as if everything is going wrong again.

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : pls read this and this first ty!! LORE DUMP 🤭 mostly from sugu n toru's pov dealing with their new life and the twins along with jujutsu society. reader is trying to be the mediator as always and shoko is the best ofc. just the one where everyone has an existential crisis. (part one of two hopefully)

other : I PROMISE YOU'LL GET FLUFF SOON 😭 mentions of alcohol, blood, smoking obvi, idk why i named this ultraviolence lmao (shit hits the fan in the next tsr im js trying to be kind i promise!)

comment to be added to the tsr taglist!

current cassette : pretty when you cry - lana del rey

You come home to a house colder than you left it.

There’s a small comfort in the droplets of water that splatter against the wooden floor when you hang your jacket up, having remembered the way the girls beamed up at you only an hour ago as you walked them to school.

The twins were adamant to hold your hands, Mimiko blushing the whole time and Nanako poking fun at it, promising to hold your hand everyday until they became big girls.

Big girls that would only need you to hold their hand halfway — the same way Suguru only walks you and Satoru halfway to the school before heading back.

But the sliver of a chill that reverberates through your bones doesn’t resemble the comfort of a morning’s soft rain drizzle.

“You can’t just dismiss the issue like this, Satoru!”

“Where’s my own will, huh? Can’t I just do this?”

“This isn’t about you.”

You hear everything for a moment, muffled shouts and grumbles from the bathroom.

“Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear, haven't you?”

Then you hear nothing at all.

The investigation launched on the ninth day in December.

Suguru had all but been home for a week and then some, settling into the shoddy apartment you and Satoru called home between missions and meetings with Yaga and the higher ups.

It took half a day to move his old things out of the dormitory building, most of what really mattered was already sitting in the hall closet untouched, kept the way Suguru would’ve wanted it.

It was after he rifled through the closet in search of a fresh set of clothes did he realize, he had been mourned.

You and Satoru had mourned him like a mother would a child, like a womb stretched to make space, only to bleed.

His clothes smelled more like the both of you than it did him.

The fourth day, Suguru spent the night hunched over the balcony, smoking a silver blue parliament with Shoko while you and Satoru attended a hearing with the higher ups.

A necessary audience, they defined over the cryptic email.

Shoko described it as a means to an end, Satoru was still the strongest and you were his voice. The meeting was all but a farce to keep you two in check — but Suguru read it clearly for what it was.

A threat.

“He’ll be clan head,” Suguru murmured between plumes of smoke. “They won’t let him turn it down any longer, especially with me around.”

At this, Shoko chuckled, sucking in a sharp breath.

“You think he’ll do it this time?” She asked, somewhere between knowing and not knowing.

The higher ups want Satoru under their thumbs — not that you’d so much as let them come close — that much is evident. But it’s become a lose to win situation.

The guarantee that Suguru and the girls would remain untouched and hidden under the condition that he follows their rules, does it their way, doesn’t ask, doesn’t so much as breathe a word or commit an action using his own strength outside their command—

“Satoru as a lap dog?” Suguru laughs a little.

He just can’t picture it.

What he can picture though is the Six Eyes user backed into a corner, with no other choice but to concede. Then again, Satoru’s never been submissive to authority, no matter the setting.

A beat of silence passes over him and Shoko, and she knows what he’s thinking before he says it, yet she doesn’t caution him otherwise nor does she blame the nicotine.

“He could kill them.” Suguru says, “It wouldn’t take him long.”

The seventh day, Suguru stands in the middle of one of the many engawa corridors of Jujutsu High, dressed like a teenage dropout, teeth sinking into the inside of his cheeks until crimson stains his tongue.

You told him last night while cuddled into his side, Satoru’s head on his chest, “Walk away from it the right way, Suguru.”

And admittedly, he was going to laugh a little, kiss your cheek and maybe lull you back to sleep and ease your worries.

I don’t resent you,

for the path you chose.

As long as you swear,

yours and ours will converge.

“Geto, what is this?”

Suguru looks down at the sealed envelope he passed to Yaga seconds ago, the word resignation printed in bold atop the sealed flaps.

If he intends to kill himself, he should at least do it the way you asked him to.

He owes you that much.

Suguru never thought of himself to have been in a position where he could live past twenty ; he thought he was lucky Satoru even let him live to see the first snow, even if it was from the bittersweet solitude of the bed you three shared.

“I’ll graduate first,” Suguru says, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets.

For the sake of saving face he took a total of ten missions after his sentence was pardoned.

Five to prove he wasn't a liability to the Jujutsu world, two to hover by your side – he hadn't realized post traumatic stress could manifest in the need for more physical attachment – and three to see up close just how much Satoru had on his shoulders now.

To see just how different Satoru had become because of him.

“And then?” Yaga asks it like a cruel joke that only he and Suguru know.

People are talking. People have been talking.

Suguru Geto the defect. Suguru Geto the cancer of the strongest. Suguru Geto the curse. Suguru Geto—

“Maybe I’ll die of old age.”

I pray death finds me

under you two

in our bed.

If not,

kill me yourselves.

There’s meaning in that too.

That same afternoon, brandished with what should be newfound freedom – Suguru Geto. Not the sorcerer, not the curse, not the man – he drinks himself sick until he blacks out on the sofa.

Alcohol is cheap at Shinanoya, it’s been that way since he was sixteen and idle in the summer of ‘06, coaxed by Satoru into printing fake IDs, blacking out on the floor of your dorm room and waking up to throw up, just to blackout again.

Suguru took the train back and passed his stop two times.

Two times he thought of two different outcomes and two different destinations.

First, he’d go back to Jujutsu High and take the resignation back from Yaga before he signed it.

He’d call your cellphone, tell you how he's had a change of heart, whisper into the line : “We should celebrate. Me, you and Satoru.”

But you’d know it was a lie.

He still has twisted dreams of waking up in a gas station bathroom in a pool of blood that isn't his own.

Dreams that don't frighten him at all.

Second, it came to him the moment he considered actually getting off at his stop and going back to the apartment.

He’d let the train take him to Shibuya, stand in the middle of the crossing and scream.

People would look at him weird, others would walk by.

And the first monkey to reach out and offer him help, he’d—

“Suguru?”

He wakes with a startle, eyes bloodshot and half lidded.

“Name—” he opens his mouth, half empty vodka bottle tilted over and soaking the carpet. Satoru comes through the door a moment later, leading the twins to the kitchen to set their half eaten bentos down.

A shiver runs down his spine when he glances at the clock above the mantle. 12:53pm.

“School ended half day,” you say to him. Satoru doesn't so much as glance at Suguru when he steps back in to take the plastic bags of takeout from your hands. “They called but you didn't—”

Suguru's already sitting up, fishing through his pockets for his phone and clicking at the buttons.

Two missed calls from Mimiko and Nanako’s school.

Two missed calls from their homeroom teacher, Ms. Aiko.

Four missed calls from you.

One voicemail from Satoru.

“I'm so— shit,” Suguru sets the bottle of alcohol upright, pressing a palm to the carpet to find it damp.

His skin is hot, he feels like a mess, no doubt he looks like a mess with the way you're already kneeling beside him to screw the bottle shut. “I’m so sorry, I didn't— everything with the letter and then the train got delayed—”

“Suguru.” Satoru speaks for the first time, looks at him for the first time – behind bandaged eyes. “Sober up by tomorrow, yeah?”

Your head flits around to give Satoru a stare, as if to ask if that's all he has to say right now. But Suguru’s fingers enclose around your wrist, it’s okay, I was the one at fault.

“Satoru—”

“Just do this one thing right, please.”

The twins’ school dismissed half day due to heavy snow this early in the month. Suguru, listed as the girls’ primary guardian, gets the calls first.

He doesn't pick up.

Your work line rings next, and it goes to voicemail.

In between exorcising a special grade in Shinjuku, you don't hear it ring.

As the devil would have it made and done, Satoru’s line rings while he's at the school. Loud.

“Gojo-san!” The lady from the admin office knocks on the door twice, and is met with silence. The phone rings again, but this time it's the main line. The office extension.

The one he’s been using since he put in his teaching application.

The phone clatters against the desk in robust vibrations, Limitless almost bending the coily cord to nothingness.

The meeting room of four higher ups and two members of the Gojo clan watch him intently, scrutinizing him, waiting.

Beyond his better judgment, Satoru tells himself it's just you, calling to ask if you should bring back kikufuku or just the udon.

Or it's Suguru, who’s confused and can't find one of his things in the apartment and needs some guidance.

Satoru's not a pious person. But he wishes he’d have prayed the moment the call went to the answer machine.

“Good day, Mr. Gojo! I’m calling regarding the girls. School’s been dismissed half day today on account of the weather but Mr. Geto nor Ms. Name are picking up.”

“I’m hoping this reaches you soon so the girls can have a ride home. Thankyou! Stay warm!”

The eighth day, you wake to the smell of jasmine and hot oil. Four messages from Yaga, one email attached, forwarded to Satoru : Adoption fraud.

“—he hates me.” Suguru mumbles, shirtless and damn near cowering from your gaze, flipping the omelet in the frying pan, two steps away to avoid the oil splatter.

“Don't say that so casually,” you shake your head, shutting the fridge door, setting a carton of milk on the counter. “It's not like you believe that.”

Suguru flips the omelet with one hand on the pan handle, the other flicking the carton open and turning it to his head in a quick gulp.

He doesn't confirm it.

“Suguru—” you smack his arm and take the milk, turning away to rummage through the pantry for the pancake mix.

“I know.”

No, Suguru.

You don't know.

"I try to be patient," Suguru says quietly, shaking his head. "I know we're not sixteen and that this and then are two different things—” He turns the flame down, refusing to look over at you.

“Nobody's asking you to be perfect,” you cut him off, pancake mix forgotten on the counter. “You made a mistake, it happens—”

The higher ups are already breathing down Satoru’s neck about the twins now that they've been found out. It's an uphill battle in the Jujutsu world, your phone won't stop ringing.

Whether it's Yaga proposing damage control to have you and Satoru set apart on missions or another higher up waiting for you to slip up and beg for help, beg to be in their debt.

“I owe you better,” Suguru whispers, more to himself than to you.

He’s never been the type to ask for help or beg for forgiveness or cower at someone's heels. But you saved him — by putting your life on the line and in turn making Satoru cover it up — and he hates himself for it.

I wish

you would've

just let me stay dead.

“Because that's what I deserve? Better?”

Suguru gets the call from Shoko the next day.

December 9, 2007.

A formal investigation is announced into the involvement of [name] [name] in the case of Suguru Geto’s defection and pardon — alleged charge : fabrication of evidence.

Satoru makes his mind up the same day, sends the twins to stay at the dorms with Shoko for the weekend and brings you and Suguru with him to the Gojo estate.

“I can feel your eyes,” you whisper, seated cross legged on the tatami floor, nursing a cup of tea in your cupped palm.

You've never liked the Gojo estate. Not in winter at least, not when it's like this.

Satoru has his back turned to you, fingering the loose cloth of white bandages covering his eyes, almost hesitant. He recalls his mother's words to him from a few hours ago.

You look tired, Satoru. You're never tired.

There’s an unspoken thing residing here between both your energies and it becomes unbearably evident.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs, slipping the baby blue haori off his shoulders, draping it over the edge of the bed. “Just the cold getting to me 's all.”

Loose and darkened strands of hair lay on the silk sheets where Suguru sat moments ago. Satoru holds his breath.

My lover’s hair is splitting at the ends, tearing apart at the seams just like me.

I pray you don’t notice.

“Is he okay?”

You set the ceramic cup down on the table, turning your head to glance over at Satoru, who despite himself, wears his emotions like a cardigan knit tight between his brows.

“Why won’t you just ask him, ‘toru?”

He thinks he hates you. He hates not being more like you.

With the way you say these things so easily.

Maybe it’s the deep rooted thrum of Suguru’s cursed energy in his veins, or the bitter taste on his tongue when he wakes in the middle of the night just to see if he’s still here—

Maybe it’s that voice in the back of his head, the instinct pounding on the walls of his heart, telling him this is only for a while, it won’t last.

“You can’t lie to me.” Satoru reasons, bending his knees and folding his body next to yours, wrapping and unwrapping the length of cloth around his fingers over and over again. “But he can.”

Or maybe it’s the way he knows even if Suguru lied to him again, said it was okay, said that he’d stay, said that he’d let you and Satoru be selfish for once and keep him here, keep him tethered to this existence he loathes so much—

“Satoru…”

—he’d believe him.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” He sighs, near breathless.

You lift your hands to cup either side of his face, hooking your thumbs under the pale cloth, unraveling and unraveling and unraveling.

How many more layers?

How many more walls?

How many—

“His energy is restless.” Satoru could find other words to describe it, the aura, the shape of Suguru’s soul, his scent, his being, his whole existence. Something only you could understand.

“It’s pouring into me, and I can’t— I pretend I don’t feel it, that I don’t know that he’s…”

Different.

Suguru is different now, he wants to say.

Suguru’s unhappy with me, unhappy with us.

I can’t give him what he needs.

I was too selfish to have asked him to stay. You were too selfish in saving him.

We were too selfish. Do you think he hates me for it? Do you think he wishes he were—

“He loves you.” You tug on the cloth, let it fall and pool in endless strands around his neck. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

Satoru’s eyes are dim, bleaky sapphire and cerulean staring back at you.

Don’t look at them, look at me, look inside me, my eyes are lying, that’s not how I feel—

“He loves you too,” he says it like a confession, a secret. Love can’t be enough, can it?

Love never stopped Suguru from leaving the first two times.

Love never stopped Satoru from waking up so many nights with tears running down his neck, from where you cried for Suguru in your dreams.

Love never stopped Satoru from not being strong enough to bend the world and stretch it to fit Suguru inside.

Why should you love him whom hates the world so?

Satoru lets his head fall into the crook of your neck, body slumped over yours and breath shaky.

Loving Suguru came as easy as breathing if not easier.

He’d spend nights curled in his bed at the dorms, clicking through photos he’d taken of you three, back then, when it wasn’t anything yet but still everything to him.

“Yaga-sensei, please pair me with someone else!”

“Hah!? We not good enough for you anymore, name?”

“Satoru, name, don’t yell so early in the morning…”

And even from the first mission, when Suguru’s hair was shorter and you hadn’t quite figured out how to control your technique.

When Satoru had to save you from plummeting to your death after you sliced a curse open just for grabbing Suguru and yanking him by his hair.

Satoru thinks, maybe, he came into this world loving you two.

Because he loves me more than all the world.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispers into your neck, full of conviction.

He’s never not the strongest, except maybe when he’s here, in these moments. “I’ll protect the both of you.”

Let me do this one thing,

just this once.

Let me be the one

who holds us together.

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

tsr taglist :

@wishmemel @draecys @pearlvalley @cookielovesbook-akie @astral-hydromancy @celestair @/midnightbluehorizons @plaggi @blue-blossomss

#★ DRIASWRLD #tsr ⭐️ #jujutsu kaisen #satosugu x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #satoru gojo #suguru geto #gojo x geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #satoru x reader #suguru x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing #5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Shorter list this time, but longer points. I expect this one to be more divisive, but it is what it is, and this is what ‘no one tells you’ about writing, after all. This one’s all about feedback and how to take it, and give it.

1. Not everyone will like your book, no matter how good it is

I’ve said this before, granted, but sometimes you can have very arbitrary reasons for not liking an otherwise great story. For example: I refuse to watch Hamilton. Why? Because everyone I knew and their dog was trying to cram it down my throat when it came out and I still don’t really like musicals, and didn’t appreciate the bombardment of insisting I’ll like it simply because everyone else does. I’m sure it’s great! I’m just not watching it until I want to watch it.

It can be other reasons, too. I won’t read fanfic that’s written in first person, doesn’t matter how good it is. Someone might not watch a TV show because the primary cast is white or not-white. Someone might not watch a movie because an actor they despise is in it, even if the role is fantastic. Someone might not watch or read a story that’s too heavy on the romance, or not enough, or too explicit. I went looking for beta readers and came across one who wouldn’t touch a book where the romance came secondary in a sci-fi or fantasy novel. Kept on scrolling.

Someone can just think your side character is unfunny and doesn’t hear the same music as everyone else. Someone can just not like your writing style with either too much or not enough fluff, or too much personality in the main narrator. Or they have triggers that prevent them from enjoying it the way you intend.

How someone expresses that refusal is not your job to manage. You cannot force someone to like your work and pushing too hard will just make it worse. Some people just won’t like it, end of story.

2. Criticism takes a very long time to take well

Some people are just naturally better at taking constructive criticism, some have a thick skin, some just have a natural confidence that beats back whatever jabs the average reader or professional editor can give. If you’re like me, you might’ve physically struggled at first to actually read the feedback and insisted that your beta readers color-coded the positive from the negative.

It can be a very steep climb up the mountain until you reach a point where you know you’re good enough, and fully appreciate that it is actually “constructive” and anything that isn’t, isn’t worth your time.

The biggest hurdle I had to climb was this: A criticism of my work is not a criticism of me as a person.

Yes, my characters are built with pieces of my personality and worldview and dreams and ideals, but the people giving you feedback should be people who either already know you as a person and are just trying to help, or are people you pay to be unbiased and only focus on what’s on the page.

Some decisions, like a concerning moral of your story, is inadvertently a criticism of your own beliefs—like when I left feedback that anxiety can’t just be loved away and believing so is a flawed philosophy. I did that with intent to help, not because I thought the writer incompetent or that they wrote it in bad faith.

I’m sure it wasn’t a fun experience reading what I had to say, either. It’s not fun when I get told a character I love and lost sleep over getting right isn’t getting the same reception with my betas. But they’re all doing it (or at least they all should be doing it) from a place of just wanting to help, not to insult your writing ability. Even if your writing objectively sucks, you’re still doing a lot more just by putting words on paper than so many people who can’t bring themselves to even try.

As with all mediums subjects to critique, one need not be an author to still give valuable feedback. I’m not a screenwriter, but from an audience’s standpoint, I can tell you what I think works. Non-authors giving you pointers on the writing process? You can probably ignore that. Non-authors giving you pointers on how your character lands? Then, yeah, they might have an opinion worth considering.

3. Parsing out the “constructive” from the criticism isn’t easy

This goes for people giving it as well. Saying things like “this book sucks” is an obviously useless one. Saying “I didn’t like this story because it was confusing and uncompelling” is better. “I think this story was confusing and uncompelling because of X, and I have some suggestions here that I think can make it better.”

Now we’re talking.

Everyone’s writing style is different. Some writers like a lot of fluff and poetic prose to immerse you in the details and the setting, well beyond what you need to understand the scene or the plot. Their goal is to make this world come alive and help you picture the scene exactly the way they see it in their minds.

There’s writers who are very light on the sensory fluff and poetry, trying to give you the impression of what the scene should look and feel like and letting you fill in the missing pieces with your own vision.

Or there’s stories that take a long time to get anywhere, spending many pages on the small otherwise insignificant slice-of-life details as opposed to laser-precision on the plot, and those who trim off all the fat for a fast-paced rollercoaster.

None of these are inherently bad or wrong, but audiences do have their preferences.

The keyword in “constructive criticism” is “construct”. As in, your advice is useless if you can’t explain why you think an element needs work. “It’s just bad” isn’t helpful to anyone.

When trying to decide if feedback has merit, try to look at whatever the critic gives you and explain what they said to yourself in your own words. If you think changing the piece in question will enhance your story or better convey what you’re trying to say, it’s probably solid advice.

Sometimes you just have to throw the whole character out, or the whole scene, whole plot line and side quest. Figuring out what you can salvage just takes time, and practice.

4. Just when you think you’re done, there’s more

There’s a quote out there that may or may not belong to Da Vinci that goes “art is never finished, only abandoned.” Even when you think your book is as good as it can be, you can still sleep on it and second-guess yourself and wonder if something about it could have been done better or differently.

There is such a thing as too much editing.

But it also takes a long time to get there. Only 10-15% of writing is actually penning the story. The rest is editing, agonizing over editing, re-editing, and staring at the same few lines of dialogue that just aren't working to the point that you dream about your characters.

It can get demoralizing fast when you think you’ve fixed a scene, get the stamp of approval from one reader, only for the next one to come back with valid feedback neither of you considered before. So you fix it again. And then there’s another problem you didn’t consider. And then you’re juggling all these scene bits and moments you thought were perfect, only for it to keep collapsing.

It will get there. You will have a manuscript you’re proud of, even if it’s not the one you thought you were going to write. My newest book isn’t what I set out to write, but if I stuck to that original idea, I never would have let it become the work that it is.

5. “[Writing advice] is more like guidelines than actual rules.”

Personally, I think there’s very few universal, blanket pieces of writing advice that fit every book, no exceptions, no conditions, no questions asked. Aside from: Don’t sacrifice a clear story for what you think is cool, but horribly confusing.

For example, I’m American, but I like watching foreign films from time to time. The pacing and story structure of European films can break so many American rules it’s astonishing. Pacing? What pacing? It’s ~fancy~. It wants to hang on a shot of a random wall for fifteen seconds with no music and no point because it’s ~artsy~. Or there is no actual plot, or arc, it’s just following these characters around for 90 minutes while they do a thing. The entire movie is basically filler. Or the ending is deeply unsatisfying because the hoity-toity filmmaker believes in suffering for art or… something.

That doesn’t fly with mainstream American audiences. We live, breathe, and die on the Hero’s Journey and expect a three-act-structure with few novel exceptions.

That does not mean your totally unique or subversive plot structure is wrong. So much writing advice I’ve found is solid advice, sure, but it doesn’t often help me with the story I’m writing. I don’t write romance like the typical romance you’d expect (especially when it comes to monster allegories). There’s some character archetypes I just can’t write and refuse to include–like the sad, abusive, angsty, 8-pack abs love interest, or the comedic relief.

Beyond making sure your audience can actually understand what you’re trying to say, both because you want your message to be received, and you don’t want your readers to quit reading, there is an audience for everything, and exceptions to nearly every rule, even when it comes to writing foundations like grammar and syntax.

You don’t even have to put dialogue in quotes. (Be advised, though, that the more ~unique~ your story is, the more likely you are to only find success in a niche audience).

Lots of writing advice is useful. Lots of it is contradictory. Lots of it is outdated because audience expectations are changing constantly. There is a balance between what you *should* do as said by other writers, and what you think is right for your story, regardless of what anyone else says.

Just don’t make it confusing.

—

I just dropped my cover art and summary for my debut novel. Go check it out and let me know what you think!

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #editing #constructive criticism

[achaoticeternal]

nothing between us

aemond targaryen x reader part two - can’t you see...? ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ word count: 3.6k summary: under the influence of his mother, Aemond has followed the Faith of the Seven closely. The second son of the King is proud to meet a young noble Lady who shares the Faith as closely as he does.  a/n: there will be a part two :)  warnings: AFAB reader, theme of obsession, religious themes and guilt

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“And may the Mother and Father watch over us as we walk in light…” The prayer rolled off your tongue with a finish. With a nod of your head, you finally rose from your spot at the altar.

The High Septon bid a dismissal as the halls of the sept began to clear. Your mother linked arms with you, serving as your guide through the crowd. She kept a warm smile on her face, nodding to both nobles and peasants alike. Though your father was just behind you, not showing the same warmth to the general public as your mother. 

You continued to follow out the doors, the sun shining brilliantly upon the capital. The light bounced off the blue waters, reflecting beautifully onto the shore. It had been either overcast or raining for the past week or so. But a day of sun was something you would truly thank the Mother for later. 

As you continued to be tugged along down the steps of the sept, your arms slipped out of your mother's, instead lifting up your skirt to be more diligent with your steps. In the courtyard below, merchants and spinsters began to announce their wears, bidding anyone who dared to take a look. Usually, they would be selling more exotic things than they would on any other day. 

With a giggle, your steps picked up as you tapped your mother on the shoulder, “We must stop by one of the book stands! I’ve read practically everything I can access in the prince’s and king’s library. A book from afar would be a welcome distraction!”

“You and your books…” Your father chuckled behind you, patting your back, “You’ll have to choose quickly, the Hand is summoning the Small Council to convene once that bell strikes two.”

With a nod, you picked up your steps, hoping to get to the book stand sooner. However, you were stuck behind a group of stragglers who cared to chat far more than they cared to walk. A sigh passed your lips as you continued trying to move around the group and reach your destination soon. You were able to press yourself against the wall in order to squeeze through the small gaps the group of elders made. When bumping past them, you whisper small apologies and pardons.

It isn’t until you are fully around the group of elders offering you small smiles that you are able to take large strides. You take the steps two at a time, hoping to beat the rush of the audience fleeing from the sept this morning. A smile spans across your face as you eye the end of the stairs, close enough that you feel the sparks of gratification stir inside. Accounting for the commoners surrounding you, your steps continue light and quick against the cobblestone. 

Yet what you did not account for was a mother and her two small children toddling next to her. The little girl drops her wood carving of a bear which tumbles down the stairs. As the toddler leans down to grab her belonging, you take a swift sidestep to avoid falling upon her or her mother. And just as quickly as relief passes through you, your foot dips into a small hole in the ground, causing your balance to unfavorably sway. Your hands can cling to nothing to keep you up and so you feel yourself free fall into the courtyard.

You brace yourself for an impact that never comes. Instead, two firm arms have caught you, saving you from any injury of landing so roughly.

“May the Seven bless you! Thank you,” The words spill from your lips as you regain your footing, standing to meet whoever has come to your aid. The breath exits your body as you meet, the violet eye of one Prince Aemond Targaryen. A dark cloak hangs over his shoulders, the hood pulled up most likely to hide his silver blond hair from straying eyes. If not for your somewhat familiarness with the royal family, you might have dismissed him as another stroller in the courtyard. Except you do recall seeing him and the Queen Mother, Alicent Hightower, observing the service in the sept just mere moments ago. The only other indicator to confirm that it is the Prince is the two King’s Guard that has joined his side, their shoulders relaxing when they recognize your noble appearance. 

“My-”

“My lady,” Aemond is quick to cut you off, clearly wishing not to be recognized, “May I ask where you were rushing off so quickly? It seems patience might not be among your virtues.”

Before you can properly answer him, you feel a hand on your shoulder -- your father who bows his head slightly in observance to the prince, “I apologize for my daughter’s clumsiness, ser.”

Aemond’s face remains stoic as he addresses your father, “All is well, my Lord. Perhaps we might thank the Seven that your daughter fell into my arms, rather than injuring herself or others on the abrasive ground.” 

A pause lingers for a moment as your father tries to find his next words. Should he thank the prince? Correct his daughter before the royal before him? Instead, you reply to the prince’s original question.

“There is a book stall that is only in the market once a moon with books from across the sea. I’ve almost read everything in the royal libraries, so I hoped to find a new text to read,” Your tone was polite, and kind when addressing the prince. You almost swore to the Mother that the corners of Aemond’s lips twitched into a smile before his disposition settled once more.

“Enjoy your noon then, I hear the Hand has summoned the small council and tends to busy them later” the Prince spoke with a nod, “my Lord, my Lady.” 

And just like that, the Prince and his guards have almost dissipated among the crowd. They are undoubtedly returning to the Red Keep, yet you wonder why the Prince did not join his mother in the royal carriage. But the thought leaves your mind just as quickly as your parents escort you to the book stand, not wishing for you to cause another scene.

--

The sun has fallen past midday and your father has long left you and your mother to attend the meeting in the Hand’s tower. While your Lord Father attended to work and the realm, you entertained your mother in one of the social dens of the Keep. Your mother was currently perched on a chair by the window, completing some needlework. In the chair opposite to her, there you sat with the religious text of the Faith in your lap. 

This was Sunday tradition, and even if your father could not be in attendance, you would not deny your obligation to thank the Seven for all they do for you, your family, and the realm. Though you knew nearly every passage by heart, your mother insisted you read so as not to be distracted from the outside temptations of the world.

But the book only kept your attention to a certain extent. Your mother was too enamored by her craft to notice when your eyes strayed from the pages and to the people that passed through the Keep. It was mainly guards going about their duties, and servants tending to wherever they must, but even Prince Aemond and Prince Aegon made a pass through. 

Both the Targaryen princes were walking in the direction of the Hand’s Tower. Most likely to participate in the Small Council meeting as a part of their royal duties. After living almost two moons in the castle, you noticed that the elder brother, Aegon, did not share the same satisfaction in performing his tasks as Aemond did. Once you swore that you watched Aemond nearly drag his brother to one of the council meetings, but you would never vocalize such. 

Here they were, the Targaryen princes, strolling through the corridor. Aegon was currently speaking but was too distant to make out what he quite said. You only assumed it to be a joke as he laughed while Aemond seemed less than entertained. But with a slight turn of his head, the younger prince caught sight of you, continuing your readings to your mother. He noted the book in your lap, familiar with it himself due to his time with his own mother, and offered you a nod. 

A moment later, the princes were gone. It was as if you had only imagined it, in fact, you could have convinced yourself the slight interaction had never happened. Except your mother spoke up when she noticed you had fallen silent, “Continue reading, dear.”

-- 

Days passed and with it, routine settled into place. Consistently socializing with the other nobles taking residence within the Keep, attending septa lessons, and continuing your residency in the library. However, a new commonality slithers into your routine. At least once a day, your path would cross with Prince Aemond, just briefly, but always the same gesture. Just a nod. 

You had anticipated today to be no different, spotting the prince earlier in the day. He had been sitting in the gardens with his beloved sister, Princess Helaena, as she cared for her collection of insects. Others would gossip of the princess’s peculiar curiosity, but you thought it endearing, almost divine, in how she cared for even the smallest of the Seven’s creatures. While you took station across the garden, Aemond gently passed back to his sister an arachnid one of the maesters had brought back from the citadel as a token to the princess. Once the creature was safely in Helaena’s palm, Aemond almost instantaneously caught your gaze. 

The impromptu action caused your breath to hitch in your throat. As always, you offered the Prince a nod of your head and a smile as a sign of respect. And as always, Aemond returned the nod. But then the corners of his mouth twitched upward as well, eyes locked on yours. It was the first time you had seen Aemond truly smile. 

Now that smile haunted your memory whilst sitting and attempting to read one of the new books your father recently purchased for you. It was some Braavosi epic that reached astounding popularity, yet now hardly held your attention. The poems bored you more than the Concise History of the Construction of Lemonwood. Taking the pendant of the Maiden between your fingers, you silently prayed to the Gods to rid these thoughts of the prince from your mind. Even as innocent as they were… you did not want temptation to come knocking at your door.

But the Gods speak in rhythm, or at least enjoy seeing mortals grovel, you thought as none other than Prince Aemond entered the library. He wore his usual dark tunic and trousers with a matching waistcoat and belt to cinch it all together. Even outside his training garbs, he reminded you firmly of the Warrior. 

Prince Aemond offered you a curt nod upon his entrance to the library before making his way over to a previously organized stack of books. Most of them were about the histories of Old Valyria with the occasional book on law and reform. It seemed Aemond was consistently studying as if that were his duty to the realm. Though you acknowledged that it was part of what was expected of him. 

Your focus finally returned back to your own novel when the Prince decided to claim your attention once more, “I have not seen that book in this library before.”

“Pardon me, my Prince?” You looked to him curiously, surprised at his observant eye.

“That book,” He gestured to your hand, “The binding is not only fresh but there is not a book in this library with a green cover and red stitching. That red stitching is not of Westeros either.”

You blinked a few times, absorbing this information, “You would be correct, my prince.”

“Then how did you come across such a book, my lady?” 

Swallowing your nerves, you continued the light conversation with the Prince, “My Lord Father bought it for me from a Braavosi merchant.”

“Mmm… if I recall, it was the same day you took that tumble,” He raised his brow.

“Yes, my Prince.” The day I tumbled into your arms.

“And, if my memory serves correctly, you made a sentiment on how you’ve already read through the titles in this library.”

“Yes, my prince.” You agreed once more, “All titles that I was permitted to read.”

“Permitted,” The word lingered on his tongue as if it were a curse, “I see.”

Silence fell over the library. You assumed it to be the end of your conversation with the prince. Minutes passed and you returned to your pages, mulling over the same lines for what felt like eons. That was until the prince called your attention once more.

“Who gives you permission as to what books you read?” There was something in his tone that you couldn’t quite place, but it stirred something within you.

“That would be my Lord Father,” You answered softly, “my prince.”

Then footsteps thudded across the floor. Aemond moved swiftly from his desk to stand before you instead. From your seat, you gazed up at the tall lean prince. In your current position, he towered over you and a warm hue of orange outlined his head from behind - as if he was carved from the perfected chisel and marble in the hand of the Seven. With ease, he took the epic from your hand and replaced it with a slightly heavier book. 

“At this time every day, I expect you to meet me in the library and read this to me,” Aemond instructed you.

Looking down, you took note of the title: Encounters of the Maiden and the Warrior.

“As you wish, my prince,” You nodded your head, “But I must ask my Lord Father for-”

“I am your prince,” Aemond interrupted, “Are direct orders from your prince not enough for you to do as you are told?”

You did not respond. Words were lost on you, and how could you correct him? He was right, in a sense… wasn’t he?

“Then the matter is settled,” He tilted his head, “Besides, your family mulls over religious texts quite often. This is simply a text to expand such education.”

Without another rise from yourself, you opened the book and began to read it to him. Aemond settled himself in a chair opposite of your own, fingers lightly tapping against the wood of the armrest. His expression gave away little of what he was thinking, so you simply continued.

The activity continued till the end of the moon. At first, you anticipated the meetings would only last till you finished reading the book aloud to him. But it shocked you one day when Aemond would instruct you to skip a few pages or even entire chapters. When you questioned him about this, he simply dismissed them as unnecessary to your divine education. He did not allow you to press the matter further. 

--

One evening, you joined your mother in your parents’ apartments after a visit to the Sept with your mother. Together, you had participated in your weekly prayers to the Mother and Maiden, lighting a candle for each. When you both returned, you recounted the trip to your father who had been too tied to his duties to participate. 

Dinner plans had been arranged for the families of Small Council members to have a private feast with the royal family. Typically, your family would pray in the godswood of the Keep before attending any supper, but tonight your parents thought it best to make an exception. 

Your mother had just finished pinning your hair when a knock fell upon the chamber door. Looking at your father, he answered the guest’s knock. 

There stood Prince Aemond, and his loyal King’s Guard, Ser Criston Cole. It was rare for a royal to come calling at a door. Quickly, you all rose to your feet, paying respects to the prince before you. While your father and mother offered him a nod, you honored the prince with a curtsy. 

“My Prince, why might we have the pleasure of your presence?” your Lord Father asked.

Aemond’s eye drifted over your form. He drank in the sight of you, prepared even if simply for a dinner with the King. His eye then adjusted back to looking your father in the eye.

“I have come to call upon the young Lady,” He stated simply, “I’d like to pray with her in the godswood before supper, under supervision, of course.” The prince gestured to Ser Cole who remained still. 

Warmth filled your cheeks and chest at the thought of being alone with the prince. It wasn’t your first time, of course, but each private moment with him brought over a wave of new emotions. 

Taking a moment to think, your father then nodded his head in agreement, “You have my permission.”

--

Ser Criston was notably trailing quite a few steps behind the prince and you as if he did not want to infringe upon the interaction. A part of your mind wondered if it was by order or out of the guard’s own consideration.

Aemond had led you from your parents’ apartments to just outside the garden wall. Your arm was carefully linked in his own, shoulders brushing against the other with each step. While you walked, you recounted your visit to the sept to the prince. He had not inquired, but you disdained any silence between you both and he did at least act amused. Amused as the prince would allow himself to be, at least. 

“And who gifted you your pendant of the Maiden?” The prince asked.

“My grandmother, before she passed,” you explained to him, “It was hers. A gift from my grandfather upon their betrothal.”

“I see,” He nodded, falling quiet once more. 

Before another word could be uttered, you arrived at the courtyard where the small godswood lay snug. Though you appreciated having a place to properly pray to the Seven nearby, your mind always trailed back to the godswood of your own ancestral home. It was considerably larger than this, or any of the Southern kingdoms. You never commented on the size though, not wanting to offend those who tended to it or sought comfort here. 

As Aemond led you forward, Ser Criston remained in the archway at attention. His eyes focused on the halls, surveying for harm as expected of him. 

Just as you approached the heart tree, Aemond stopped his moments, keeping you tucked into his side. Your eyes turned to his face, scanning his demeanor for a clue of what was in his mind.

Suddenly, he spoke once more, “My mother often comments on the fact that there is not a proper weirwood tree in the Red Keep’s godswood.”

After a pause, you offered him a response, “I believe I understand her sentiment.”

The prince turned toward you with a raised brow, dropping your arm in exchange for taking your hands in his own, “And what is that sentiment, my lady?’

Your eyes flicker over his face, the faintest hint of a smirk playing upon his lips. Tearing your gaze away from his face, you refocused down… down at his large hands which grasped your own. His cool, calloused hands nearly engulfed your own. Such thoughts sent a chill down your spine. The warm feeling returned, but you pushed away your acknowledgment of it. 

Taking a deep breath, you looked to where a weirwood tree might take occupancy in this godswood, “I do not wish to speak in ill opinion of the crown, my prince.”

“I want to hear your thoughts,” His hands squeezed your own, albeit gently, “Speak them.”

With a sigh, you continued as instructed, “Very few Targaryens, much less Targaryen Kings have truly devoted themselves to the Seven. The show of faith is merely a guise to appease the High Septon and common folk. As I’m sure you are well aware, it was always said that Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. Being compared to Gods does not ignite one to take up faith in what one might perceive themself as an equal to. So King’s Landing and many southern kingdoms are sullied with sin.”

Silence hung in the air, but the prince did not weaken his grip upon you. Worry sank in your stomach, wondering if you had spoken too freely for the prince’s liking. His common smirk played at his lips once more, “An observant lady… a very smart girl.”

The small praise made your heart drum against your chest, You could sweat to the Gods that he could feel it in your pulse too as he ducked his head closer to your own.

“My smart girl has been paying attention to our lessons,” His breath was warm against your face. His eye flickered from your own to the pendant resting atop your chest, “Good…”

Slowly, Aemond released one of your hands and raised his own up toward your face. His fingers took hold of the pendant, thumb grazing over the engraving. Then, he brought the pendant closer to his face, the tension of the chain against your neck, causing you to lean closer to him. His eye now held your gaze in a moment of surprising intimacy. Aemond raised the pendant to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it, eye never once leaving your own. 

When he released it, the pendant fell back upon your chest. You released the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. 

“Now that I’ve given you my blessing,” Aemond’s voice was warm, but still caused your skin to prickle, “Get on your knees and pray…”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

#prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd #house of the dragon #mattie writes #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #house targaryen #x reader #Aemond the Kinslayer #prince aemond #Ewan Mitchell #aemond targaryen fic #hotd fic #fanfic #one shot #alicent hightower #Aegon II Targaryen #helaena targaryen #cirice series #cirice by ghost

[triflesandparsnips]

Lot of takes going around the internets about certain "deaths" in the ofmd season finale, so, uh-- guess it's time for me to try and lose some followers on tumblr dot com with

Some Thoughts on Why I Am Not Particularly Bothered or Concerned about Izzy's Apparent "Death"

Laying the groundwork first...

1. Narratively speaking, Izzy's been a dead man walking since the start of the season. Babe shot himself and got a rebirth-- but he still definitely intended to die. Every minute he was still around was borrowed time.

Did he have to die? Maybe not. I know I could've written a version of the show where he didn't. But then that would be my show-- not theirs. I can't know exactly what themes, bugbears, bête noires, catharsis, or artistic Vibes are driving that writers' room, and until the credits run on the finale of the third season, none of the rest of us can either.

2. Izzy spent the season being in a liminal state-- and there's nothing in the story saying that he can't continue doing that. Izzy spent the season having one foot in one space, one hoof in the other, and himself halfway through the door, a chimera of mirrored things right up to his "death": pirate and ship, hard and soft, old ways and new, etc etc. But "the gravy basket" is a weird little liminal space between life and death, a place that both Ed and Buttons have found (and returned from) before. We don't know where Izzy "is" right now-- he could be there.

(tbh, I wonder how much poor feeling we'd be having about all this if we'd gotten a final tag of a blue-washed Izzy staring down at a bowl of soup while helplessly saying "but this isn't gravy, what the fu--")

3. I think there is an unfortunate belief that "it's not real unless you see the body" is a universal -- or perhaps inarguable -- "fact" of storytelling. But it's not. It's just a bit of narrative shorthand that got popular, and now we're too ready to fall into the trap of believing the inverse is true too-- that if there is a body, then there must therefore have been a "real" death.

This season has spent quite a lot of narrative time and effort telling us that its story is using a different model, with different shorthands; specifically, that magic is real, that there is at least some kind of existence after death, and that the dead can be resurrected.

And that brings me to the meat of why I'm not particularly bothered or concerned about what, at this stage of the story, could still very well be just a minor setback--

4. This whole show, and particularly this season, is a fairy tale. It's a story that works with fairy tale logic and tropes, and it's in conversation with other fairy tales too, ones that the OFMD audience is likely to know well enough to spot their narrative beats in action. So "Pinocchio" gets mentioned a lot? Cool-- the audience applies what is commonly known of that story to this one ("a real boy", the mirror-opposite being a puppet with no nose, etc), and finds some Cool Shit. Then they're primed to keep looking for fairy tales, even unnamed ones, in case there's another little nugget of reward-dopamine for finding a connection.

So the fact that we saw a mermaid? Suddenly, I personally am noticing "Little Mermaid" motifs all over the place. That Ed was in a "sleep like death" -- after fucking around with a spinning wheel -- until his prince came to wake him? Well fuck, man, that's Blackbeard playing "Sleeping Beauty" for us all.

And bringing it all back to a "dead" Izzy Hands... when I add up a "dead" body surrounded by a bunch of laborers mourning the person who nominally kept their living space nice AND who was wanted dead by an authority figure for the crime of being the "better" version of what that figure wanted to be...

...well fuck, idk about the rest of you, but to me that all adds up to Izzy's story being Snow fucking White. Waiting for someone to come pull the bullet poisoned apple from his body so he can live again.

5. This is a second season. Of three. And Izzy Hands is the writer's favorite chewtoy, so there is lots of time, space, and incentive to bring him back. If there's a third season, we have a pile of ways he could be brought back over the course of hours of literal viewing time and possibly months of in-narrative time. That's ages.

And the solutions don't have to be difficult! For instance, we still have canonical hallucinations from Stede-- that's one route. Or fuck it, we could have Izzy's (very solid-looking) ghost be the embodiment of their being haunted by the Sea, that would work too.

And even barring all that-- his grave is right there with our heroes. The ship is out there hunting down his murderer. Even if you're happy he's dead... bad news, friend. He's all over the third season landscape. (uh oh, it's GNU Izzy Hands)

But those are just a few options that leave his body rotting but his character still alive. I happen to think we could all dream a little bigger, darlings. For instance:

A. You cannot tell me that these writers, on this show, with these actors, would not absolutely go all in on a zombie-esque hand thrusting out of the dirt mere hours after burial. Look me in the eyes and tell me Con O'Neill wouldn't pull off an entire digging-out scene only to end with himself panting beside the hole, looking around, hearing Ed and Stede being weird in their haunted hut, and wearily say, "Are you fucking kidding me."

B. Don't like zombies? Want to stay closer to the Snow White vibe AND introduce a love interest for him? One hyphenated word: body-snatcher. Gotta dig those bodies up fresh for the Definitely Historically Accurate anatomists of the time! But oh, says this New Guy, this corpse is-- wow, it's weird that they buried him with a rose and really amazing makeup and a truly extraordinary number of whittled whales, plus what's with that horsey leg grave marker, this guy must've been fucking fascinating, man, I wish I could've met him-- --at which point Izzy's hand shoots out and chokes the guy half to death and the lads come tumbling out of the house and ta da, mission accomplished, Izzy resurrected in 5 minutes or less with his horsey leg conveniently beside him and an entire season for himself and everyone else to Deal With It, amazing, fantastic, no notes from me.

C. Come to think of it, there is genuinely a non-zero chance that the crew just. Fucked up the burial. I mean... even though I was just arguing why we shouldn't see it as Law, we didn't actually see the body. We saw a grave. What did they bury him in? Was it a box? Was it some canvas? Did they definitely pick up the right one when it was time to bury him? Or did they maybe carefully make him an ahistorical safety coffin just in case a cat demon came to bother him and his corpse wanted to make a fuss about it, y'know, very common, could happen to anyone, and Frenchie just so happens to have Blackbeard's old collar bell right here--

6. Here's the bottom line, imo: The only thing that would keep Izzy really actually dead and completely removed from the story is a lack of narrative time and space-- and we have plenty of both. Stories are like Lego. If you've got enough time and you're willing to play with pieces from a whole lotta different sets, it's not hard to put the same elements together in different ways to get new, exciting configurations. It's why I'm actually rubbish at predicting exact details of stuff-- there are a lot of ways something could go, there are infinite doors out of problems the narrative seems to throw at us, and no two people will come up with the same thing because we're all different.

That, to me, is one of the big ways I personally enjoy and engage with stories. And it's why I genuinely can't be fussed about Izzy's death, not when we're only two-thirds through the story as a whole; observing someone setup and then try and execute a complicated narrative trick is my jam.

But my way of engaging with all this is by no means the best or only way. How we all interact with art, and what speaks to us, is extremely personal. If how this season and Izzy's death went just didn't work for you, that's okay. I'm sorry it wasn't the story you wanted it to be. That blows.

I just know I can't say yet that it didn't work for me. I won't know until I can take in the entire picture, just as I can't judge a finished Lego set by the one piece I step on midway through construction. I can see different ways Izzy's death/rebirth could absolutely work, but will the writer manage it? I dunno.

But I'm willing to wait and see if the stupid puppet can pull it off.

#will it be the content or the length that causes the unfollows? #WHO CAN SAY #but every day is Unfollowing Amnesty Day #farewell and be free #our flag means death #our flag means death s2 spoilers #our flag means death seasons 3 rampant speculation #izzy hands #engaging with stories #and curating your own experience #(but for real - I had to stop myself at just the few possibilities I gave for a resurrection) #(real talk if you ask me for more I can just-- come up with more) #(it's my party trick) #(for very certain kinds of very nerdy parties)

[upsidedownwithsteve]

hi love! for modern au could I please request modern!eddie dinner/movie date where r and eddie see a horror movie and r getting super scared and spending most of the movie hiding her face in eddies chest?

“This completely defeats the purpose, y’know,” Eddie whispered to you, his breath warm in your ear. You shivered despite the anxiety clawing at your chest, ‘cause the lights had lowered after the trailers had finished and an unsettling film score had started creeping through the speakers.

You’d immediately turned to the boy beside you, face in his chest as you took quick peeks at the screen, trying to work out if the opening credits were already too much for you to handle.

You frowned at him, pouting despite the mouthful of popcorn you’d shoved past your lips. “I told you,” you hissed back, wary of the surrounding audience already glaring at you. “I don’t mind a horror film, but this is like, big leagues.”

Eddie snorted, grinning at you when your grip on the front of his hoodie tightened as the title flashed across the screen, dripping and oozing red in a typical eighties horror tribute.

‘Evil Dead Rise.’

He managed to prise your fingers from the material, bringing your hand to his mouth to press a kiss over your knuckles. He kept it in his, his own fingers soothing over your own, pulling softly until he felt you wilt a little under his touch.

“What’s your level, babe? Gremlins? Scary Movie?”

Eddie was joking but you side eyed him, cheeks warming as you whispered, “look, the Exorcist scene in Scary Movie 2 was just as traumatising as the real thing, alright?”

Eddie smothered another laugh, rolling his eyes when someone in front of you both huffed in annoyance. He mined the threat of launching some popcorn at them, but he was distracted when a jarring screech from the movie made you jump. Your hand was a vice around his.

“Baby,” Eddie soothed. “You shouldn’t have said you’d come if you didn’t wanna see it.” He felt bad, taking in your stricken expression, eyes wide and now glued to the screen as if you couldn’t look away.

“I wanted to spend time with you,” you replied sweetly and well, didn’t that make Eddie feel even fucking worse? “You went to the cinema with the guys last week to see that Joe Quick thing-”

“John Wick,” Eddie corrected but he was smiling, amused.

“-so it’s my turn for date night,” you whispered and Eddie could hear the pout in your tone. “Not Steve’s. Or Dustin’s.”

“You get all my date nights, sweetheart,” the boy assured you and secretly, he was a little pleased at how you jumped when the theatre gasped, another shrill spike of music making you tug him closer. “You okay?”

Your face was against his neck, lips brushing the skin there when you hummed what he thought was a hesitant sound agreement.

In typical fashion, it didn’t take long for the movie to be kicked into high gear and by the end of the first hour, you’d never been more glad to be late to a showing, with the only seats left up the back. You were practically on your boyfriend's lap, back pressed to the cinema wall as you curled into him, feet pressed onto the seat between his thighs and your hands gripped his sweater, the collar of his denim jacket.

“Babe,” Eddie whispered, a fond smile on his lips. “Baby?”

You made a sound, questioning, but you didn’t move from where you’d tucked yourself into Eddie’s shoulder, eyes definitely not looking at the screen. There was a woman crawling along the ceiling and that shit just wasn’t for you.

“You wanna leave? We can leave, I don’t mind.”

And you knew Eddie was telling the truth. He truly wouldn’t have minded, seeing as it was you. But he’d been waiting an age for the film to release and he’d looked forward to it all week. So you shook your head and mumbled a small, “I’m fine.”

You weren’t fine, there was something going on with a cheese grater and a possessed woman and you weren’t down for that. Eddie waited a beat or two, bit down on his lip to hold back his laughter when someone on screen screeched and you wriggled your way even closer in response. He could feel your heartbeat against his chest, double the speed of his own.

“We can go home after and watch whatever you want, alright?” He promised, sneaking a hand up the back of your T-shirt, warm, wide circles drawn over your skin in an attempt at comfort.

He felt you nod. “We’re watching New Moon.” He groaned. “And Eclipse. With the lights on. All night,” you added for good measure.

And who was he to say no to you?

…

#Eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson fanfiction #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson oneshot #Eddie munson blurb #eddie baby blurb

[mondaymelon]

meet me backstage.♡ (6reeze x gn!reader)

(written handcanon style with aether, xiao, venti, kazuha, heizou, and wanderer)

(a/n) this took me so long so im praying it doesnt flop (人´口`)

total wordcount - 3,382! (extra long since i wasnt able to post yesterday)

˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚

aether ♡

aether, or better known as starbound✩, is someone you've known for a long time, even before his debut as an idol.

you know his potential better than anyone, so it's no shock to you when his popularity skyrockets, and he's even able to form a band named 6reeze. But as he gains more and more fame, with shows, practice rehearsals, vocal and dance coaching, board meetings, tours, and fan meet-n-greets filling up any free space in his schedule, suddenly, you conversations and hangouts grow scarce.

so you're ecstatic when he invites you to one of his shows even gifting you vip front row tickets.

you've never actually been to one of his performances before, mostly because aether shoots it down each time, mumbling something about how it's "embarrassing beyond belief," his face and tips of his ears flushed red each time you bring it up.

you don't catch a wink of sleep the night before the show - too busy preparing all the fanmerch you've so lovingly compiled.

in the morning, you're blown away of how many people are gathered at the entrance, and by noon the crowd has just about settled into their concert seats - yours being in the very front row.

the performance blows you away - every part of it is immaculate. all of their moves are fluid and rhythmic, but still, aether is the one that stands out to you the most.

the way his golden hair whips back and forth as he moves, the way his eyes light up when he spots you in the crowd, the way his smooth voice rings out from the stage, and the way his face is flushed from effort as he dances to the beat. then, he extends his hand outward, blowing a kiss to the crowd, and about half of the audience squeals with excitement and swoons dramatically. and then, so subtle you almost miss it, he locks eyes with you and mouths silently, "meet me backstage."

and when you do, glancing around the rooms for any sight of the blonde man, something, or rather, someone, pulls you in, grabbing you gently by the wrist and pushing it against the wall. you're barely able to register aether's familiar golden hair and eyes before he leans forward, closing the gap between the two of you, his hot breath fanning your face as he presses his lips against yours. and just for a moment, everything fades away until the only thing you can see before you and the only thing you can feel is him. and only him.

"that kiss was for the crowd. this one was for you, sweetheart.♡"

xiao ♡

alatus was his stage name.

and he was cold to you, but that wasn't really a surprise to anyone. he was cold to many and all. and it wasn't like it bothered you, either. you were glad to know him.

so when you heard that the indifferent, unapproachable xiao was an idol, and in a group no less, it was utterly shocking. you just couldn't picture the male on a stage, dancing to pop music and sending crowds of fangirls swooning.

...okay, maybe you could imagine the last part. even you would admit that xiao was handsome. dark, silky smooth hair with startling teal highlights and honey-like amber eyes... it would just about sway anyone's resolve, not excluding yours.

as for your relationship with the man, the two of you had been classmates for years, and over that time you had grown pretty close to him, or at least, you'd like to think. you still kept in touch with him, and xiao occasionally invited you out to dinner or to come over, but it had been a while since the last invite. from what he had told you, his schedule had gotten a lot busier. it was a shame.

after a moment of thinking, you come to a brilliant idea - you'll attend xiao's next performance and surprise him! just imagining the shocked look on his face immediately brightens your mood.

so when you do settle in your front row seats, waving your glowing teal lightsticks, and xiao finally turns around and spots you, he does a complete double-take. his mouth hangs slightly open and his golden eyes widen by just a fraction, and you can see his confusion slowly spread across his face.

"what are you doing here??" he mouths to you frantically.

you just grin at him and cheer louder.

"ugh... you- meet me backstage after this."

that's what he had said. so why wasn't he here?? you had searched all the rooms up and down, bumping into several assistants on the way who sent you disapproving glances, yet you had yet to catch sight of the dark-haired male. you let out a long sigh, slumping your shoulders and preparing to give up when a low whispering of "over here." came from the closed door right across from you.

with a moment of hesitation, you swung open the door, only for someone to tug you inside and shut the door behind you, enveloping the room in darkness. through the faint light that filtered through the window, you could see the figure of xiao, his hand holding yours as he scowled at you.

"you surprised me, you know. i almost messed up my choreography."

"ah... sorry... it's just that we haven't been able to talk for a while and i was hoping that-"

something cut you off. but it wasn't xiao's voice, it was the sensation of his lips against yours, sending sparks flying across your skin. heart racing in your chest, you shoved him away, hands pushing against his chest. you glanced up at the man, trembling. "what- what was that for??"

"i had to shut you up somehow, didn't i♡ ?"

venti ♡

you're venti's roommate - so in short, you're his babysitter. and there's no end to the trouble he causes.

there were many a time where he would come home absolutely wasted, reeking of alcohol and red in the face as he stumbled around, usually waving an empty wine bottle about.

still, he kept up on work on his idol side of life. his stage name was barbatos, but his band members all deftly called him tone-deaf bard. for his group, 6reeze, he was one of the songwriters and the main vocalist. and his voice was no joke, it really was astounding. his vocal range was stellar and his voice was smooth - not to mention that he was always on key. so... yes. as reckless as he may be, venti still had his work going for him.

so when he finally invites you out to accompany him on one of his tours, you steadily agree, curious on how they’ll perform.

and you’re not disappointed.

their concert blows you away, the bright colors and shining lights, the stage effect and the wonderful choreography - everything is incredible, and you can feel your heart racing just looking at them, just hearing venti’s melodic voice singing out the lyrics that you’ve already memorized.

“fly you away, riding the day

open up your heart, darling

you’re a work of art~

and you’ll never have to be alone

cause we’re standing with you

just ring my number on your cell phone,

let’s raise our voices in song, yeah!”

maybe you’re imagining it, but you swear you can feel a gust of wind inside the stadium, blowing past you as venti continues to sing, the lyrics ringing out clearly. then, he twirls in a circle, sending the crowd a winking grin. as he meets eyes with you, he mouths you the words “meet me backstage after this~!” before sticking his tongue out and finishing the choreography.

following the rushing crowd outside, where they’re hoping to get one of 6reeze’s autographs, you instead head into the stage rooms, stepping inside and spotting the twin-braided man sitting on one of the tables, absent-mindingly spinning a pen around while kicking his legs back and forth. as he spots you, he drops his pen, teal eyes lighting up as he hops off the table and grips you into a hug.

“hehe, thanks for coming today!”

“it’s no problem at all. the performance was really good. i’m impressed.”

“then… if i did so well, can i have a little reward in return?”

“uhm… what do you-”

something warm presses against your face - venti, and you can feel your heart hammering in your chest as he leans forward and kisses you, grinning his usual carefree grin all the while, a light red dusting his face. it’s warm, unbelievably so, and you can feel the heat spreading across your body like wildfire. when he finally pulls way, he smiles at you.

“that was what i meant♡.”

kazuha ♡

kazuha had a way with words.

every syllable that left his mouth was elegantly phrased, the way the letters rolled off his tongue with such ease, and the way his voice just sent a wave of calm washing over you was almost addicting.

so when your closest friend became an idol named wanderai, a mix between the word wandering and samurai, you immediately decided to be one of his biggest fans. you frequently sent him fan letters, signing your name as "anon", always gushing about how flawless his movements and singing is, completely entranced. and he did respond, always sending you back small thank you’s and his polite gratitude. as courteous as he replies were, receiving his letters always made your day. scratch that, your entire week.

then you heard there would be a fan meet-n-greet after the next concert - so of course you had to attend! you sat through the entire performance, completely allured by kazuha's fluid dance movements throughout all of the songs and his rhyming verses. when its finally over, you try to rush ahead of the crowd, knowing full well that there will be a swarm of fangirls who will shove and push and... bite to get a earlier spot in line. it had happened before.

yet, despite your efforts, you aren't able to get the first spot in line, or any of the first spots. instead, you're stuck in the back, thirty-ish place or so. it's not that bad, per say, but you had wanted to get to meet your favorite idol before he lost too much steam from having to answer hundreds of ravenous fans. it would have to do.

when you finally reach the front of the line, he smiles up at you politely, giving you a little wave from where he's sitting. "hello there."

"hey, wanderai! uhm..." you give him a letter - your piece of mail that you've prepared just for this moment. "i'm anon. thanks for... well, you know, existing, i guess." you stop there, already awkward. "a-anyways- i'm sure there's a lot of people behind me, so i'll save you the time and-"

"you're... anon??" the male's eyes widen as he takes the envelope, freezing his movements. he glances up to you, almost unbelievably, and just blinks.

"ah... yeah, that's me. didn't expect me to be here, did you?"

kazuha smiled, shaking his head. "it's a pleasant surprise. actually, after this..." he makes a gesturing motion, ushering you in, and lean forward as he whispers into your ear, "once i'm done with this, meet me backstage. please, wait for me."

"of course! then... i'll take my leave. th-thank you!" you dash away, face flushed red from the close contact, hoping that you didn't come off as too... fanatic.

and you wait. it takes a while, but that's too be expected. it's only been about half an hour, a lot shorter than you had predicted, when the white-haired male peeks inside the room, smiling when he spots you. "you're here."

"well, you told me to wait, so..." you laugh nervously, still blushing from the memory of kazuha's whispering voice gracing your ear. shaking your head, you grinned. "so, what was it that you wanted?"

"this."

then he moves in, his soft lips pressing against the side of your flushed face, his own expression quite red himself. he pulls away as quickly as he comes, glancing down at the ground as his face burns. "wh-what-" you can feel your heart rate increasing to rapid levels as you just stand there, eyes wide and trembling.

"that was a thank you, anon. for being by my side for all of this time♡."

heizou ♡

heizou is a clever man, even when he doesn't try.

and he's smart enough to hide his identity from you, especially since he knows that you'll completely lose your mind if you ever do find out. and it's only a matter of time until you find out that he's actually shiki, part of the world-famous boyband 6reeze. he's been lucky enough already that you aren't that much of an avid idol fanatic.

the two of you are sitting in the main room, one of his arms lazily across your shoulders as the two of you watch the television. heizou has a day off, and what better way to spend it than by doing absolutely nothing with his favorite person?

that's when everything just goes wrong.

you're bored at the constant torrent of ads, so you grab the remote from off the coffee table and start browsing through the channels, casually trying to find something better to watch. as you surf through the endless options, a familiar head of wine red catches your eye.

heizou spots it too, and immediately cringes, hoping you haven't seen it, but it's already too late. you glance at him, then at the tv screen where it's showing a close up of his face. "heizou... are you... did you commit some crime and is this your mugshot??"

"ah- well-" the usually level-headed man is trying his best to keep in his laughter at your absolutely confused expression. "it's not like that-"

"...heizou. you can be honest. tell me. am i harboring a criminal right now???" you turn the tv volume down - thank the archons - and turn to stare at the man with blown eyes.

"listen... they just are... interviewing me. for something." heizou's hammering heart had started to go down, thank the archons yet again, yet he was still a little red in the face and blinking a little faster than normal - all things that you noted silently.

"reaaalllyyy?" you sent the man a questioning look. turning up the tv volume again, the news interviewers voices were loud and clear.

"now then, shiki, how has this idol career affected your life?"

heizou watched in horror as he saw himself laugh slightly on the screen. "well, it's certainly made many things more awkward and embarrassing when meeting up with friends and family... but for the most part, it's been really rewarding! especially being able to meet so many great people, and by that i mean, my wonderful bandmates, of course!"

"oh? embarrassing, you say?"

"yeah. they always tease me about it too, but its always fun to meet up with them afterwards backstage. they sometimes even bring me flowers or snacks."

you turned off the tv, watching the monitor blink into black. you just sat there, hand on the remote and not moving. a gradual silence settled over the two of you. "...why, heizou? why didn't you tell me...? i would've helped you any way i could've!"

"...love. it's not like that. i just... i just didn't want to make things more awkward between us. i promise."

"how do i know you aren't just lying to me again?"

"then will this help convince you?"

and just like that, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to his embrace as he meets his mouth to yours. he catches you by surprise, even surprising himself.

thump. thump. thump.

the motion seemed to lift you up into the air and drop you somewhere high above the clouds, all you could feel was indescribable warmth and you could feel your face burn under his soft touch.

"h-heizou...!"

"is that enough of a reason to trust me one more time♡ ?"

wanderer ♡

as a good friend of all of 6reeze, you've also gotten to be pretty close with scaramouche. or, at least, that was what you called him.

if you really had to, you would call him kuni, or maybe even wanderer. but to you, kuni had always been scaramouche. the man had been part of a past idol group that he had quit a while back, and just recently had he joined 6reeze, where he had been named wanderer. yet to you, as a devoted follower of his past band, and himself, you still couldn't bring yourself to not think of him as scaramouche.

having only woken up seconds ago, you bring the constant ringing of your phone, which is buzzing away on your nightstand, to your attention.

"...hello?" you pick up the call, voice still groggy.

"what's up with you? just woken up?" scaramouche's usual tone of voice greets you. you can tell he's sneering just from the sound of it.

"...yeah, actually. half a minute ago."

"...it's two. in the afternoon."

"okay, and?"

"...you're hopeless. i was going to invite you to one of my concerts, but..." you could hear him shrug on the other side of the call, the sound of fabric rustling. "i'm not sure if i want to anymore."

you hastily sit upright, pulling on whatever you can find from your wardrobe before speedily making yourself as presentable as possible. "nono, i'm awake! it was a joke. IT WAS A JOKE!!"

you can hear the man scoff. "fine. here. i'll send the digital tickets your way. it's tonight. don't miss it." with that, he hangs up.

it takes you a while to get things prepared, and its almost already time when you do. quickly gathering up your things, you're able to make it to the concert hall in time to give the male a little wave before he heads onstage.

he acts like he doesn't see you, but that farce crumbles when he just scowls, embarrassed, before mouthing, "meet me backstage after."

so you do.

after the show passes, the event containing several songs that all shared a similar theme. maybe it was because white day was coming up, but there were a surprising amount of… well, love songs. romance. it wasn't in scaramouche's nature, or you should say wanderer's, to sing those kinds of songs. you were already shocked enough that he had agreed. needless to say, the concert was flawless, and the audience seemed to think so too, wildly cheering and screaming out their favorite members' names. it was almost entertaining to watch.

"heeellooo? anybody there?" you peer about the empty rooms, wondering if your conscious has failed you. maybe scaramouche hadn't told you to go backstage after? maybe your brain just imagined it and was playing tricks on you?

those thoughts all dissipated as you rounded a corner and spotted the man sitting at one of the round tables. as his violet eyes landed on you, he let a small half-smile crack across his face. "it seems that our late contender has finally made it. took you long enough."

"hey!" he always acted like this, and it seemed that today, as lucky as it was, was not an exception. "nevermind that- why did you want me to come here again?"

"ah-" the boy suddenly looked a lot more... shy? that was not a typical sight. "i-i actually have something for you."

"oh?" now you were interested. this was not a normal occurrence by any means.

"here." he reached into his bag, which was sitting on the table, and pulled out a small wrapped box. "don't expect anything big, okay? i just got it because i... felt like it." with that, he handed you the box and watched you unwrap it with a nervous expression.

"it's a... necklace?" you stared in amazement as you held the pendant up to the light, watching the tear-drop shaped sapphire and amethyst shard glimmer with a thousand colors.

"do you like it?"

"more than anything." you smile, placing it around your neck and securing the locking chain in the back. "does it look good on me?"

"you don't even have to ask to know my answer, idiot♡."

masterlist ✩

@lume-nosity come get your kazuha and xiao ♡

@dizzy-sekai oh hey its your husband✩

#mondaymelon #genshin impact x reader #gender neutral reader #aether x reader #xiao x reader #genshin xiao #x reader #kazuha x reader #venti x reader #heizou x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #aether headcanons #xiao headcanons #kazuha headcanons #venti headcanons #heizou headcanons #kaedehara kazuha #shikanoin heizou #genshin heizou #genshin venti #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #scaramouche headcanons #wanderer headcanons #4nemo au #4nemo x reader #5wirl x reader #5wirl headcanons #genshin fluff

[a-heart-attack-ow]

The Arrangement. Part Eight

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight: Smut/unedited

The cameras flashed like lightning snaking across a dark sky. Blinding and magical all at the same time. I held the soup ladle with my left hand as I’d been instructed to, my massive black diamond ring on display to my audience. I smile widely, making sure to remember that the smile needs to reach my eyes to be believable. Before me was a line of homeless individuals waiting for me to serve them. I’d done work with the soup kitchens before, but this was the first time that I had photographers watching my every move. I try to focus on the people I’m serving, the camera flashing as daunting for them as it is for me. I recognize some of the faces of the people in line and I greet them accordingly, an action that makes the cameras flash in another quick frenzy. I serve the food and try to remain focused on the people I want to bring awareness to. I mentally remind myself that this is why I’m doing this. 

Well, one of the reasons why I’m doing this. Aside from keeping my in-laws happy and aiding their goal of making Colby Brock’s image better to the public. Aside from the fact that if I don’t do this my father could pay the price for my insubordination. 

Worse than he already had. 

I try to shake the thought from my head, my focus returning to my work. I try to remember all of the points that Sam had walked me through this morning. The angles I needed to stand at and the facial expressions I needed to maintain appearances. 

Appearances that couldn’t indicate the agony bubbling beneath the surface of my skin.

The true nature of the family I married into. The true nature of what my husband got up to on behalf of his family. My smile grows as I serve the last person in line, my eyes locking with the cameras. 

As if on command, I feel Colby’s hand on the small of my back as he joins me at my side, the sensation uncomfortable and alien after the past seven months since that night. Months that had made us strangers once more. Except when there was a camera pointed in our direction, then we had a show to put on. He kisses the side of my head, my eyes fluttering closed. My heart skips a beat when he does this, the spark still evident between the two of us. 

God I loved him. Despite everything I loved him. Despite the distance that had grown between us.

He feels it too. The spark. I can tell by the way that his fingertips lightly rub where his hand is resting on the small of my back. A small reassuring gesture. I open my eyes and look over at him, our gazes meeting. 

Suddenly, it feels like it’s just the two of us. The way that it should be.

I want to tell him I love him, but I don’t. Instead, I simply smile up at him and he smiles back. The rest of the event passes by in a blur and before I know it, he’s holding my hand and guiding me to the car. Making sure the cameras see that we’re holding hands. It’s not until we are in the car and he pulls away that we drop the act. His hands grip the wheel tightly as he drives, his eyes on the road ahead. 

I can feel he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He’s quiet. 

The way that he had been for the past seven months. Since that night.

Sure, we still fucked, but he seemed more reserved around me. More determined to only truly interact when he had to. He slept next to me every night and brought me along with him to his meetings with his associates, but I couldn’t place why he was so distant. I kept repeating that night in my head and I couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong. He was just hot and cold and hard to read. 

Without realizing it, I’d been watching him for too long and he noticed. His jaw clenches and his eyes remain focused on the road ahead.

“There isn’t anyone watching us, you don’t have to pretend you care.” 

His words hurt and I can’t stop my eyes from watering. I couldn’t understand why he was so mad at me. I hadn’t done anything to warrant this response. I’d done what I was told the entire time we’d been together. This entire arranged marriage, I’d been good and now he was punishing me for something I wasn’t aware of.

I just couldn’t figure out what that something was. 

I hadn’t been unfaithful or strayed. All that had happened was my father got hurt by his parents and ever since then he was distant. The tears sting my eyes as I look down at my dress covered stomach. Down at the secret I’d been keeping from everyone for the last three weeks. 

I’m pregnant.

The removal of the I.U.D. had been a success and now I was carrying the heir to the Brock Family Estate. 

Just like I’d been told to.

The tears slip out silently as the weight of my situation hits me. I know that I needed to tell Colby, but I didn’t want to. Not when he’d been acting like this. I wasn’t even sure he’d be happy about the baby. 

Would he be upset that things were going to change? Would things get worse when they did? 

I tuck my hair behind my ear and remain silent as I break down in the passenger seat. I don’t know if he’s noticed, but I decide that I don’t care if he has. All I do is try to control my breathing as he pulls up to the gate outside of our house, buzzing security to let us inside. He parks the car in our driveway loop and I don’t wait for him to turn off the car before unbuckling and getting out of the vehicle. 

My feet move along the gravel of the driveway and up the thirteen marble stairs that lead up to our front door. I hear him turn off the car and get out. The sound of the car door slamming behind him the moment I reach the front door. I leave the door wide open for him, but I don’t make it too far into the house before I’m met by Sam’s sympathetic blue eyes. He sat on the steps of the grand staircase, waiting for an update on today’s events.  A look of confusion flashes over his face as he studies the tears escaping me. He glances behind me at Colby when the front door closes. 

“What the fuck did you do to her?”

He growls at Colby, standing up from the steps. The blonde brushes past me, his hands going for Colby’s black button up as he pulls his friend in close. I turn to face the two of them, my tear soaked face now evident to Colby. From the look on his face, he didn’t know I was crying, but now that he does an undetectable look flickers over his face. 

“Sam, please. He didn’t do anything to me. He just said something rude in the car. I’m sorry for getting upset.”

The words fall from my lips in a sad desperate tone. A tone that causes Sam to look over at me. His grip is still firm on Colby, who doesn’t move out of Sam’s grasp. 

“Don’t say sorry Emilia. This entire time that you’ve been here it’s always you apologizing for his behavior towards you. It’s fucked up and I’m tired of it…”

He pauses looking from me to his friend and adopted brother.

“... You’ve been treating her like shit since our parents hurt her father. As if it’s her fault or something, but if it's anyone’s fault it's yours. You’re supposed to protect her and you should’ve been the one to talk to mom and dad before anything happened to her dad in the first place. Instead, you ran away and did a delivery that any one of the guys could’ve done. You just didn’t want to step up.” 

Sam’s words hit hard to my husband and I can tell. It's in the way that he looks at Sam, the bitter look of disgust that overtakes his handsome face. My tears worsen at the words, my hand moving to my nonexistent baby bump. I can’t help but the feeling of heartbreak that I’m experiencing will kill me. Surely, I would shatter underneath all of this weight. 

“I’m pregnant.”

The words fall from my mouth in a gasp. Like a breath that had been held for too long. The desire to keep it a secret seemed to vanish under the tension I hadn’t been expected to feel today. The moment I speak, it’s like the air has been sucked out of the room. 

Two sets of eyes stare back at me in shock. Two mouths agape at the newest development. A sob escapes me as I look at Sam, my heart breaking at the look of kindness that he directs to me. Over the past seven months, Kris, Celina, and Sam had been my only friends at the house while my husband had chosen to ignore me. 

Until he wanted a fuck.

Even the other guys that worked with Colby had come by to visit. I’d become friends with Corey, Johnnie, Jake, and Nate. What would they all think when they found out? Would they look at me like Sam is right now? I hate to imagine how disabling that would be to experience. How their looks of sympathy might be the straw that breaks me completely. 

“When were you going to tell me?” Colby’s voice rasps in a mixture of frustration and disbelief. The tone of his voice is enough to make me want to snap and instantly I’m defensive. 

“I don’t know Colbs, considering you only truly talk to me now when there’s a camera stuck in our faces I wasn’t sure.”

His eyes narrow at my words. 

“What about last night when I was balls deep in you? Or this morning? You didn’t think to tell me then?”

There’s a smirk that finds the corner of his lips. The same smirk he wore whenever he talked about fucking me. A smirk that normally got me hot and bothered, but now made me want to slap him. This time I look at him with a clenched jaw, anger radiating through me. 

“Fuck you…”

The words come out in a broken sob. It had been years since I’d let myself get so angry that I cried.

“... All I’ve done is love you. Despite everything and every gut feeling that told me not to. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be the bright spot in this fucked up situation and for months you were. I thought maybe everything would be okay, but you took that from me the same night your parents chose to threaten me…”

Sam lets go of Colby and moves to my side, holding me against him as I break down, my knees wobbling. 

“... And the worst part is I’m still in love with you. Even though it’s clear you aren’t anymore. I don’t know what happened that night, but I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been mourning you and you didn’t even notice. I’ve been so alone even when you’re next to me and it's been agony.”

I stop speaking because I can’t say another word. I just crumble against Sam and his arms wrap around me as I sob against his chest.

 I hear him mutter something to Colby about ‘getting the fuck out of here’. 

But I can’t bring myself to care. 

I’m so tired of caring.

—

I fell asleep on the couch after spending hours crying into Sam’s lap, his fingers playing with my hair to soothe me. I don’t know how long I’d been out before I felt someone lift me from the couch, their arms strong as they held me tightly against them. The smell of his cologne is all that gives me the hint that it's Colby’s arms I’m in. Despite our arguing earlier, he gives my head a soft tender kiss. His grip on me tighter when he starts to take me up the stairs. It’s this softness that had made me fall in love with him in the first place, a softness that I’d been missing recently. 

“I got you darling.”

He whispers once he reaches the top of the stairs. I’m still out of it enough to be sleeping, but awake enough to know that he’s bringing me to our bedroom. Once we are inside, he lays me down on the bed and makes sure to pull the comforter up over me. I feel him brush the hair out of my face as he sighs. 

“I don’t know if you can hear me, but I have to say this now or I won’t say it at all. The dinner with my parents was harder than I let on. Yeah I cried like a little bitch and you saw that, but it's the way my parents view me that really got under my skin. I have a history of messing up or not being enough of what my parents wanted me to be. I never worked hard enough, I never kept secrets well enough, and then I messed up with you. The thing that happened with your father should’ve been avoided, I should’ve done the talking that night we had dinner with my parents. They saw that you’d become someone I cared for, that I didn’t have you under control and in line with what they wanted you to be with me. So they hurt you to punish me. I am so sorry about that...” 

He pauses to take another deep breath.

“... That’s why I’ve been so distant. If they knew that I was keeping you in line and not letting my feelings for you cloud my judgment they wouldn’t hurt you again. But in doing that, I’ve hurt you and I honestly didn’t mean to do that. I am still in love with you Emilia. I’m so proud of you and your ability to keep your head up in all of this. I promise to be better about communicating and I promise to be a better husband. I promise to be the best dad I can be. I want a future with you, not just an image in front of a camera. I hope that you’ll let me do that. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me.”

He finishes speaking without realizing I’ve opened my eyes. He’d been looking forward the entire time that he didn’t notice until he felt my gaze. A small smile finds his lips when our eyes meet.

A smile I don’t return. Instead I look at him blankly, my body still tired from the hysterics brought on by today. I’ve never cried as hard as I cried today. My heart hadn’t ever shattered as badly as it had today. A simple sorry wasn’t going to do it and I needed to stick to that. Even though the sight of him in only his black sweats causes my mind to wander for a second, desire laced deep within me despite it all. 

“This cycle needs to stop. The hot and cold bullshit has to stop. We are having a baby and I’m not going to allow this type of atmosphere for them. You’re either all in now or I’m not doing this anymore. I’ll have our child, but I’ll stay in my own room and keep up appearances for the sake of my father’s life. But if you don’t want us then I’m done.”

He listens to what I have to say, truly listens to every word and contemplates. Not even when I sit up in our bed and look at him does he speak. He really mulls it over and I do appreciate that. We’d both spoken more words to each other in the last few minutes than we had in months. 

I missed hearing him speak.

I shake the thought out of my head as he reaches for me, his hands pulling me onto his lap. I try not to meet his gaze as he does this, but it’s no use. He places a hand under my chin and focuses his attention on me. 

“I want us.” 

He speaks so softly that I almost can’t hear him. Like he’s afraid that he’s going to upset me again if he speaks any louder. I place my hands on his bare chest and breathe out a deep sigh as I trace the tattoo above his heart. He’d explained what it was to me once, a symbol that meant ‘protect your heart’ , something I thought was cute, but now I look at it and I wish that I’d done the same. My heart had been through the ringer for the last year.

Year.

The thought enters my head as I recall the date. One year ago today we’d been married. An anniversary that snuck up on us both with cruel irony.

“We’ve been married an entire year Mr. Brock.”

I state lifelessly as I swallow hard. He nods as if he already knew it, something that makes today worse. He had to choose today of all days to be an ass. 

“Has it all been bad, my darling wife?”

He asks. Eyes trained on me. 

“No, some of it has been good. But my husbands a real dick sometimes.”

I respond quickly, unable to stop myself from smiling when he feigns offense. He places his hands on either side of my waist and I can feel what direction we’re heading in. He bites down on his bottom lip and focuses on how my breathing hitches. Slight annoyance with my own body’s inability to chill the fuck out overtakes me briefly, before he places his lips to mine in caution. 

I don’t bother trying to fight how good he feels as he kisses me. Nor do I bother with the fact that he’s lifting up my dress, his hands finding my thighs. Instead, I lean into it, my hands on top of his as I help him unwrap me. He groans at the action, satisfied that I want him as badly as he wants me. But wanting Colby has never been an issue for me, which is how I’d ended up in this mess in the first place. I can feel him getting hard beneath me, harder as I grind myself against him. An action that practically causes him to growl in sexual frustration. He moves me off of his lap and into our bed, his body straddling mine. He keeps his attention on me as he slides my underwear down my legs and lifts my dress up. 

“I’m sorry I made you cry.”

He rasps, placing light kisses on the inside of my thighs. I lay there with my eyes fluttering closed as the sensation of him kissing further and further up my thigh fills me with anticipation. Anticipation that feels worth it the moment I feel his mouth against my aching core, his tongue dipping inside of my slick sex. The feeling of his mouth was always incredible, but today it felt even better. Today I could feel the extra care he was spending on me as if his tongue was trying to atone for his actions earlier. My back arches into the bed beneath me as his tongue works on me, soft whimpers escaping me with each flick of his mouth. He works on me for several minutes of indescribable pleasure, my head spinning the entire time. I hear him chuckle darkly to himself as he can feel me getting closer to the edge. 

“Come on baby, cum all over daddy’s tongue.”

He speaks in a lower register as he whispers the words against my needy sex. The invitation is all that I need to release, his tongue lapping up my orgasm with feverish need. A moan escapes my lips as I come down from my high. My hands grip the comforter I’m laying on top of as my chest heaves up and down. 

“Fuck, Colbs.”

I whimper as his mouth moves from me, his body suddenly straddling mine. In the darkness his pale blue eyes find me, his face serious as he studies me closely. I can tell he wants to say something, but that he’s unsure of what exactly to say. He knew words wouldn’t change my frustration. He needed his actions to reflect a change, but he wasn’t sure where to start. 

I didn’t know either.

But at this moment I make the executive decision to deal with all of that later. Instead I move my left hand to the back of his head, guiding his lips to mine. His breathing gets heavy, when I deepen the kiss and my fingers lace in his hair. Moments like this made me thankful for the electricity burning between the both of us. It was undeniable and magnetic. 

It had always been. Regardless of whatever else was happening at the time. 

A groan escapes him as my hips lift slightly, enough to cause friction between the two of us. I may have just came, but I was more than ready to feel him inside of me. 

It didn’t matter how many times we’d done this. Everytime felt like the first. 

The air around us is heated, our bodies needy for each other. I slowly move my hands from his hair, my fingertips ghosting along his toned body and down his chest. I reach his sweatpants, the pads of my fingers lightly toying with the fabric. I drag them down an action that causes him to chuckle. 

“You seem to know exactly what you want Mrs. Brock.”

He lets me drag the sweats down and to expose himself to me. A sight that I knew I wouldn’t ever get tired of seeing. For a moment he stares down at me in wonder, at the mess he’s made of me. The heap of uneven breaths and a look of desire in my eyes. I smile up at him, a smile he returns. 

“I’ll always want you, Colbs.”

My voice sounds more sentimental than I intended it to, but I meant every word. He knows I mean it as he looks down at me, his face sweet as he presses his lips back to mine. This kiss is slower, more cautious as if he’s trying to savor the moment. As we kiss, he aligns himself with me, the tip of his cock sliding in slowly. Another groan from him sounds against my lips as he allows himself to savor how tight I am around him. He breaks the kiss as he slowly starts to thrust inside of me, our eyes meeting once more. He’s so gentle as he fucks me, a slow satisfaction that I didn’t want to stop. 

We remain entwined in each other, his head leaning down to rest in the crook of my neck. Light kisses a trail along my collarbone as he continues moving in and out of me, my body moving with his in perfect rhythm. He marks me carefully, aware of where he’s leaving the marks. The gentle sucking of his lips sent shivers up my spine. He thrusts deeper and deeper inside of me and with each movement I feel the nerves of my stomach building up. I can feel him getting closer to the edge as he thrusts. 

“I’m going to cum Emilia, but I want you to cum with me too.”

He rasps against my skin, breath heated. I moan in response, unable to form a coherent word. As he thrusts once more, I feel myself spill over the edge at the same time he does. Filling me with his cum. 

We lay in heated silence as we try to catch our breaths, our bodies slowly coming down from their high. We remain entangled together as I feel his cock twitch inside of me one more time before he pulls out of me to lay at my side in our bed. His blue eyes remain on me as he studies me closely. 

“I really am sorry.”

Softly he speaks, his hand reaching out to tuck some of my hair behind my ear. I can hear how sorry he is, but again I need to see a change before I’ll fully believe him. 

“How do you feel about me being pregnant?”

I ask instead of responding to his ‘sorry’. I knew that we had to get pregnant because that’s what his parents wanted, but now that it was happening I didn’t know how he actually felt about it. We’d only briefly spoken about it prior to this moment. He sees the insecurity in my eyes and the uncertainty of this new chapter of our lives. 

“I’m excited. There’s no one else I would want to have children with, but…”

He hesitates, his brows furrowing as he chooses his words carefully. 

“...I’ve got to figure something out about my parents. I don’t want my parents to get their grubby hands on our child. They’re not going to do what they did to me to them. I have to figure out a way of standing up for us and what we need without them retaliating in some way.”

His fingertips run through my hair, his face full of thought. I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t worried about the same thing. If I hadn’t worried that somehow they’d retaliate if we did one thing they didn’t approve of with our child. 

How else would they hurt my father?

The thought dances in my head, spinning out of control for a second before Colby’s hand moves to my face, his thumb lightly tracing over my cheekbone. The worry must’ve been evident on my face. 

“I’ll take care of my parents. In the meantime, you are literally growing a human inside of you so I want you to just focus on that. I’ll do the heavy stuff with my family.”

He draws me in against him, my head resting against his chest as he kisses my forehead. After what had happened with my father I wasn’t sure if I could fully relax. 

I trusted that Colby wanted to do the right thing, but could we out smart his family when they always seemed to be two steps ahead?

I wasn’t sure if we would be able to.

But God, did I hope I was wrong. 

#colby brock #colby brock fanfic #colby brock smut #sam and colby #sam and colby smut #sam and colby fanfiction #colby brock imagine #colby x reader

[fluentmoviequoter]

Could you do fic for David 'Deacon' Kay with wife reader where she's a ballet dancer? Maybe he brought the team to see her and he's proud of her. I don't know if it make sense. Add something you'd like though. Thanks!!!

Of course! I know next to nothing about ballet, so hopefully what I found online is accurate lol. I hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think!! Proud, obsessed with his wife (and showing her off) Deacon is the best, so thanks for the great req!🤍

Warnings: just fluff! 1.1k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Your Biggest Fan

People always say opposites attract. Most people don’t really believe it, though; you, for one, expected to find something compatible, comfortable, or, in other words, similar. That was until you met David “Deacon” Kay. He is your polar opposite. You’re a ballerina, and he’s a cop. You’re soft pastels, and he’s dark blues and blacks. But you love each other more than anything else and are proud of each other in everything you do.

✯✯✯✯✯

Since marrying Deacon and moving into his house, he has developed a ‘dance day ritual.’ He makes your favorite light breakfast and serves it with a single red rose. After he wakes you, he kisses you in the bedroom doorway, promising to be on time to watch you.

“You’re my biggest fan,” you murmur against his lips.

He nods, pulling you tighter against him as he wishes to spend the whole day with you. When you finally manage to direct him to the porch, you have to practically force him off you, laughing as he fights to stay in your arms.

“I will see you tonight,” you argue.

“Too long,” he says with a pout.

He steps backward off the porch, waving as he closes the door, and you begin preparing for your performance. From morning stretches to rehearsals, you have a full day leading up to the dance at the end of it. Deacon never leaves your mind as you prepare, cheering you on from miles away.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Dance day!” Luca cheers as soon as he sees Deacon.

Hondo, Hicks, and Luca always know when you have a recital because Deacon is in a better mood than any other day.

“You have our tickets?” Hicks asks.

Deacon nods, and Street inquires, “Tickets for what?”

“The ballet,” Luca answers.

Street’s brow furrows, looking back and forth between the men standing before him. He can’t tell if they’re serious but doesn’t know how to ask.

“Deac’s wife is a ballerina,” Hondo explains, filling in the gaps.

“Oh!” Street exclaims. “Cool. Have an extra ticket?”

Hicks laughs, gripping Deacon’s shoulder as he says, “Deacon would buy out the entire theater just to show off his wife if he could.”

Deacon shrugs but doesn’t argue. He knows what he’d do for you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Waiting backstage, you take a few deep breaths and smooth your hands over your stomach. Peeking out of a gap in the curtain, you easily find Deacon sitting in the center of the theater. It looks like he brought his entire squad, plus Hicks, Molly, Rocker, and his wife Val. You smile when you see him and step away from the curtain as you tap your wedding ring six times for good luck.

While you were dating and then engaged, Deacon didn't make it to six dances. In his wedding vows, Deacon promised never to miss another one, and so far, he has kept that promise. Once or twice, he’s come in a few minutes late dressed in full SWAT gear but has never missed an entire dance since becoming your husband. He's your good luck.

Approaching your backpack, you pull a small ring safe from the bottom, slide your ring in, and lock it. You hug your friends as you take your place, closing your eyes and focusing on the moves.

The curtain rises, and your eyes lock on Deacon as the music begins while you lift into a relevé. When you dance in front of Deacon, simply knowing he is in the audience takes all the stress away. Everything melts away except you, Deacon, and the dance you know. It begins to feel like a private show until you pause in the fifth position as the ballerinas before you glissade across the stage. Counting the beats, you find Deacon again as you move to the side, spinning into a fouetté before performing a grand gete. As you land, you hear clapping and are reminded that your husband and friends will always be in the audience cheering you on. Even if they don’t understand ballet etiquette.

✯✯✯✯✯

The moment the curtain touches the stage, you rush from your spot, finding your bag in the staging area and exiting in search of Deacon. You compliment your friends as you hurry past, promising to see them at the next practice.

As you rise onto your tiptoes to search the crowd for your husband, Deacon finds you, pulling you into his arms and spinning you around. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you raise your feet and laugh against his neck. You feel cellophane pressed against your back and smile as Deacon sets you back on the floor.

“Wow, they’re beautiful! Thank you” you exclaim as Deacon hands you eleven red roses. After you dance, Deacon always completes the dozen he began at breakfast.

Turning toward his team, you thank them for coming before you are showered with more praise and flowers than you think you deserve.

“Beautiful as always,” Luca says, pulling you into a hug as he passes you a bouquet that matches your costume.

“You always know just what to get,” you reply, thanking him.

“You were amazing! I understand why Deac gets everyone tickets,” Street says, smiling.

“What are you doing here?” you exclaim, pulling him into a hug. “I thought you would be against anything that happens in a theater.”

“I can give things a try,” he argues playfully.

“Okay, okay, my turn,” Deacon interjects, pulling you into another hug.

After a few minutes of talking to his team, you and Deacon say goodbye and he leads you to his car, setting your bag in the backseat before retrieving your ring and sliding it back on your finger. He stows your flowers safely in the back before returning all his attention to you. Deacon kisses your hand before pulling you closer by your waist.

“You were amazing, as always,” Deacon whispers.

“You’re amazing,” you reply, looping your arms over his shoulders to kiss him.

As you pull back, Deacon’s eyes narrow as he asks, “What?”

You tap his shoulder, leaning against him to say, “I have a chance to dance at Lincoln Center in New York City. But… I don’t want to do it unless you can be there.”

“Tell me when and I’ll be by your side the whole way,” Deacon promises. “Stuck to your side, actually. Like a leech.”

“Gross!” you exclaim with a laugh.

“I love you, twinkle toes,” Deacon teases.

You groan, pressing your forehead against his shoulder until he whispers an apology and helps you into the passenger seat.

“Where to?” he asks.

“Anywhere with you,” you reply.

He leans across the console, kissing you quickly before his big brown eyes meet yours. “I meant: do you want to get food on the way home?”

“Nope. Just get me home so I can shower you in affection.”

“That’s my job; you’ve been dancing all day.”

“You have no idea what I do on dance days, do you?”

“Stay on my mind,” Deacon replies, sighing as he takes your hand.

“You are my biggest fan.”

“That was never in question.”

#david deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #deacon kay x reader #david deacon kay #deacon kay #deacon kay fluff #swat cbs #requests

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for stranding my character in a desert wasteland?

I suppose this may take a bit of explaining, won’t it?

I (rude question, M) will say that in the past I have had a rather… difficult time making decisions for myself. I’m a… well, technically I’m a ‘game designer,’ and I had this wonderful idea for a new game. But I lacked a good protagonist! I assumed that given the right character, they could also assist me in making decisions for the game. It was a wonderful idea, if I do say so myself.

Eventually, I stumbled on just the right man for the job. He (34, M) is a rather boring fellow, but he seemed very good for my intentions. He would even fit right in to the setting I’d been imagining— how wonderful is that! Finding the perfect character is an almost unparalleled feeling.

I truly thought the process would be straightforward— direct him down the correct path, have an interesting plot twist here and there, and my game would be perfect. But right from the get-go, he began defying my instructions. You give a man clear expectations, and he decides to go against exactly what you say! Really, how rude is that!?

I had a script prepared and everything, but he simply was not keen to follow my instructions, forcing me to improvise instead!

Despite it all, I was helpless to stop him— not even my control over the setting could help. As much as I attempted to remove possible choices, they would either return on their own, or he would find a way to make them anyways. It was terribly frustrating, but I’d grown rather attached to him as a protagonist at that point, and I was dead-set on making it work.

Fast-forward a little while, and my game actually did catch on! Something about my character being able to make his own decisions was rather appealing to my audience, and so begrudgingly, I chose to let him stay.

However, the developers made the decision to make a sequel of my game— which had absolutely the intention to stain the integrity of my original game. They didn’t even think to give it any worthwhile features!

Despite it all, my protagonist decided that he enjoyed these pointless features, and I could tell the developers were winning him over. But no, no, I couldn’t have that!

You see, I had an area that I’d stashed within my game— one that only I knew about, one very, very special to me. It contained every one of my positive experiences with my original game, so I could remember it without any blasphemous new additions attempting to appeal to a wider audience.

Now that my protagonist was wanting the features of the ‘new game’, I decided to bring him to this area, in an effort to remind him how good the old game truly was.

I’ll be honest, I don’t really remember what happened next— my protagonist seemed rather distraught by it, kept telling me he was happy to see me again— as if I had gone somewhere, hah! I wouldn’t abandon my game like that, I don’t know where he could’ve gotten the idea.

But either way, I had a new idea on how to win him back over— a burst of new ideas and features that I chose to implement into the old game! Beat that, developers!

At this point, my protagonist had settled into his routine of going against what I said, but at least he was listening to me some of the time.

I’ll admit, it was rather nice. No longer did it seem I had to fight with him, and I had even developed a script for every wrong choice he made! No more surprises.

…However, that is, until he got UNREASONABLY attached to one of the new features I’d implemented.

I wouldn’t blame him it he simply liked the object I had given him, but no! He carried it around everywhere he went, and even had the gall to get upset when he lost it!

And not only that, but this progressed into him thinking that it was speaking to him! Can you believe it!? And because of that, he began ignoring me for the sake of following perceived directions from this object!

I gave that thing to him because I’d noticed he was lonely, and obviously I couldn’t be there with him, so I thought that it may be nice for him to have something else to hold.

However, it all came to a point where I was going over good memories I had shared with him, and instead of listening to me, he blatantly told me that he wanted his bucket back.

I suppose it was a sort of ‘straw that broke the camel’s back’ situation, as it were. I was done with him and his bucket-loving nonsense, and I didn’t NEED him to make my decisions anymore. And so I cast him outside of the game, into a desert wasteland, because it was the only other map I had on hand.

I will admit, for posterity sake, that I do miss him sometimes. He was a wonderful protagonist, and if I could bring him back, I certainly would. But I simply do not think I could deal with the fact that he’d chosen an object over me. Me! The man who’s been with him since the start!

So, dear reader— am I truly the asshole in this situation?

Edit: What’s with all this nonsense in the comments? I keep saying MY protagonist because he is the protagonist to my game! It’s simply easier to type! I don’t know what you all are implying, but it certainly doesn’t have the connotations you think it does.

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

[sallage]

Secrets; Secrets Are No Fun

One Shots

Warning: This is a tickle fic!

Summary: It’s movie night and somehow, some of class 1A had convinced Bakugo to join them. When a jump scare knocks Kaminari into an unsuspecting Bakugo, chaos ensues for the angry blonde.

Pairing: Lee Bakugo, Ler BakuSquad

Words: 3,450

Reading Time: 13 Minutes

A/N: I wrote this a long time ago and thought I would share. Enjoy!

Read more ∘₊✧ Here ✧₊∘

It was storming outside. Rain pounded against the roof and wind carried it across the glass. Everyone was gathered in the common room covered in blankets and telling scary stories.

Kirishima and Kaminari held their audience captive as they used ominous voices to tell the chilling story of a man with black bat wings for arms and a craving for human flesh. Mina was enamored with the story, shoving popcorn in her mouth at world record speeds. Midoriya looked petrified as he held a pillow over his face, Todoroki occasionally deadpanned questions and Sero did his best to look brave and unbothered, but everyone could tell his skin was crawling.

Bakugo was in the kitchen, sipping on some water and watching the morons entertain the extras. He rolled his eyes and looked at the time.

10:30pm

Suppressing a yawn, he decided to head to bed. He finished his drink, and threw the bottle away on his way out.

“Bakugo!” Kirishima yelled.

“Huh?” Bakugo growled but he stopped walking to see what dumb hair wanted.

“We’re about to watch a horror movie! if you stay we’ll let you pick!”

“Why would I waste my time hanging out with you idiots?” And with that he continued walking, tunnel vision for the path to his room, until he heard something that made him stop in his tracks.

“Kacchan never liked horror movies, when we were younger, he would act like he wasn't scared but he would actively avoid them back then too.”

Immediately, Bakugo whirled around to meet the gaze of the annoying nerd he’d begrudgingly considered a rival.

“What the hell did you just say, damn Deku?” He started walking towards him, causing the smaller boy to shriek. Kirishima blocked Bakugo’s path, motioning for the other to calm down.

“Bakugo, chill-”

Bakugo pushed Kirishima off and glared at Deku who was hiding behind an also terrified Sero. He pointed at him and cursed. “I’m not scared of anything! Pick whatever movie you bastards want to watch and hurry up!” With a huff, he sat down angrily in front of the tv. After a moment, everyone quickly took their positions as well, gathering blankets, pillows, and snacks.

Around 20 minutes into the movie, Bakugo had relaxed enough to lay back against the couch with his arm over his head, using his wrist as a way to prop up his head. Bakugo gritted his teeth as the electric hero next to him was vibrating out of pure fear. He jumped at every little shadow, expecting something to jump out at him at any moment.

Bakugo was genuinely interested in this part of the movie, so he clenched his jaw and tried to ignore it, promising himself he would wait until the scene ended to cuss him out. Then, in the movie a demon doll jumped out of the closet, causing Kaminari to shriek and fling himself onto Bakugo.

Kaminari grabbed at the first thing he could, which would have been the blonde’s arm but because his head was leaning on his wrist, he grabbed onto Bakugo’s ribs instead. Bakugo yelled, jerked his arm down, and pushed at Kaminari, losing it when Kaminari kept grabbing at him even after the scene was over.

“AAAHGH! Gehet the hell off of me, Dunce face!”

Kaminari stopped, everyone stopped, even the rain had stopped. Bakugo’s heart beat wildly in his chest, and it was so quiet, he was sure everyone could hear it.

Mina opened her mouth first, suppressing the obvious bout of giggles that wanted to pour out of her. “Did Bakugo just-”

Kaminari gaped at Bakugo and while the blonde was distracted and before he lost his nerve, used that opportunity to reach out and intentionally pinch his ribs. Bakugo jerked back and moved his arm protectively over his body, glaring at the electric hero with a deathly scowl. Kaminari couldn’t help it, his eyes lit up with excitement and a smirk crossed his features.

“No freaking way! Dude, are you ti-”

In one fluid motion, Bakugo harshly shoved Kaminari off of the couch. The electric hero fell to the floor with a startled yelp, cringing when he landed hard on his shoulder.

“Whoa, what just happened?” Kirishima asked, jogging over to Kaminari and reaching a hand to help. Kaminari swiftly recovered and ignored Kirishima’s gesture. Irritated from aggression he didn’t think he deserved, he stood up and pointed at Bakugo who was also standing, looking like he was ready to murder the other.

“Keep your damn mouth shut, dunce!” Bakugo threatened through clenched teeth. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

It took Kaminari a few seconds to weigh his options. Continuing on like he was would surely guarantee a slow and painful death at the explosive hands of the angry blonde. But feeling his shoulder pulse from his tumble, he was feeling less than gracious. He pointed at Bakugo and sang with a shit eating grin;

“Bakugo is ticklish!”

Everyone’s jaws hit the floor. Bakugo froze, refusing to shift his eyes from Kaminari’s smug face. Boiling anger steamed at his core, making him see red. “No, I’m not.” He growled.

Kirishima was the first to speak, not bothering to hide his grin. “No way, man.” He chuckled. “Is that true, Bakugo?”

“Of course not!” Bakugo’s eyes finally left Kaminari’s, inconspicuously darting around his surroundings. The couch was right beside him, there was another couch right behind him with a small gap he could get through then the door would be a straight sho-

Kaminari took a step towards Bakugo and the blonde instinctively took a step back, immediately cursing himself for showing that kind of nervousness.

“Whoa,” Sero said, moving to stand. “I’ve never seen Bakugo stressed out before!” He grinned and flexed his arms, intentionally reminding Bakugo of his quirk.

Bakugo knew that if he got restrained by Sero’s tape, the only way out would be to destroy the entire building. Which he was briefly considering when Mina spoke up. “Aww that’s so cute! A tough guy like you, ticklish?” She practically squealed into her hands. She grabbed Deku and shook him. “Did you know about this? Of course you did, you two grew up together! Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Midoriya yelped and scratched the back of his head. Shrinking back into himself, trying to disappear. He refused to even look in Kacchan’s direction, already feeling stressed out for his friend. “Actually, I’d really rather not get involved.”

“This is gold!” Kirishima whooped. He took a step towards Bakugo, softening his expression when he realized how overwhelmed and stiff Bakugo looked.

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, Kacchan.” Kaminari grinned. “You might have to start being nicer to us!”

Bakugo gritted his teeth in an effort to keep his voice steady and his hands free from explosions. There was a reason why his heart was beating 100 miles a minute, and he knew what it was.

He couldn’t beat all of them. If they wanted to, they could turn him into a puddle of weakness with just a few fingers.

And they look like they wanted to.

A million responses whirled through his mind. Threats, excuses, dismissals, even remaining silent. But when he opened his mouth, only words to be regretted came out. “Fuck off! I knew hanging out with you losers was a waste of time. I’m outta here.”

Although his heart raced and every instinct in his body told him not to, he shoved his hands into his pockets, turned his back, and rounded the couch. His eyes were fixed, the door to freedom in the line of sight. The hairs on the back of his neck stood right before a hand closed around his wrist. He quickly shoved it off but it was replaced by arms as hard as rocks wrapping around his waist. In a flurry of friendly faces, amused laughter, and tape, despite his violent efforts, the explosive blonde found himself bound with his wrists next to his head and his legs together.

His face burned with embarrassment and he wasted no time struggling in his bonds, trying to rip the tape from the ground. Despite his better judgment, his hands started to pop.

“Come on, Bakugo! You know you can't use your quirk in here.” Kirishima said.

The sparks in his hands died but he still struggled. “Let me go! don’t fucking touch me- STOP!” Bakugo screamed when he felt hands scribble up his sides.

“Why? Does it tickle?” Kaminari’s voice was smug as he scribbled and pinched up and down Bakugo’s sides. Mina giggled and with Sero and Kirishima, took their spots around him. Bakugo felt his face burn up again and he clenched his teeth, feeling small sparks of electricity jolt his brain, causing him to flinch and jerk whenever Kaminari hit a soft spot. This wasn't lost on the electric hero, as he smirked and pressed his fingers in harder.

Bakugo was about to say something insulting when suddenly he clamped his mouth shut. He felt hands on his ribs, under his arms, on his stomach and thighs. He arched his back slightly, and held his breath. Aside from twitches and sudden bursts of laughter disguised as coughs, Bakugo managed to keep his cool and along with it, his dignity.

After a few minutes, Kaminari huffed in annoyance. “I think we need to kick it up a notch, let me test something out.” Before Bakugo could protest, he lightly activated his quirk and the sensations ripped through his body like lightning. Bakugo bucked once before splutters escaped his pursed lips. He threw his head back and squinted his eyes shut, trying desperately to keep his laughter at bay.

“Come on, Kacchan! You know you want to laugh!” Kaminari teased.

“Yeah, come on, Bakugo!” Mina giggled, pressing harder into his ribs earning another sharp yank at the restraints. “Midoriya, you have to tell us where his spot is.”

His eyes suddenly flew open and his mouth opened to shout his protests, but when he felt the scribbling in his underarms graduate to kneading, he shut his mouth.

Midoriya looked uncomfortable, sitting on the couch while everyone else swarmed his childhood friend. “N-no, that's okay.” He smiled nervously and put his hands up. “You guys seem to have it covered.”

“But he's not laughing!” Mina whined, taking her hands off of his ribs.

Everyone else followed suit, and Bakugo relaxed, surprising himself with how out of breath he was. “I’m not going to say it again!” He breathed. “Let me go!”

“Not until we get you to laugh buddy.” Kirishima smiled.

“Dream on, you shitty haired bastard! You’re all dead!”

“Midoriya?” Mina asked. “Come on, you cant let him get away with that!”

“Yeah come on, man! Unless you want what he's getting.” Sero smiled and pulled out a little bit of tape. Everyone looked from Sero to Midoriya, evil grins coating their faces. Midoriya’s face changed from bashful to horrified as his friends stood up to advance on him.

Midoriya quickly stood up, almost tripping over his own feet. “W-wait, guys?”

“Come on, Midoriya, we would hate to have to get it out of you!” Kaminari said, electric sparks covering his hands. Midoriya gulped, wondering how sitting in the corner quietly ended with him being the next target. He thought about trying to hold out for his friend, getting tickled until he couldn't breathe to save Kacchan from the humiliation, or just straight up running for it.

He put his hands up in surrender. “Come on, guys. This isn't a good idea, he doesn't like it and when we were younger these-”

“If you wanna be next, keep talking!” Sero said with an evil glint in his eye. Midoriya clamped his mouth shut. The closer they got, the more Midoriya's heart pounded in his chest. He knew he wouldn't last ten seconds before he told them everything they wanted to know. They were dedicated to this. Either way, Kacchan was screwed and at this point, he would rather skip the process if he could. “Wait! Okay okay, I'll tell you.”

Bakugo had hardly been listening to the exchange between his classmates and the nerd. As soon as the spotlight left him, he went back to trying to escape Sero’s tape which, predictably, he couldn’t. Then he heard Midoriya concede with his hands up and everyone surrounding him. He whispered something incoherent and everyone turned to look at him with sly and evil faces. Kaminari even rubbed his hands together and let out a small chuckle, electricity sparking from them like a faulty socket. It didn’t take long for Bakugo to put two and two together.

“What the hell? Wait!” He yelled as everyone resumed their positions around him. He tried to turn his head to glare at Deku, but the cowardly bastard wouldn't even look at him. His voice was filled with more betrayal than he intended, but his focus was elsewhere at the moment. “You damn nerd! What- What did you-”

“Now!”

Bakugo’s body exploded with ticklish sensations. Thumbs rubbed ticklishly right in the tendons of his underarms. Fingers scribbled all over his lower ribs, kneading right into the bone. Thumbs worked his hips, where the ticklish electric current wasn’t making it any more bearable. Bakugo clamped his eyes and mouth shut and jerked around hysterically, trying to loosen his restraints at least a little. He coughed as they tickled him, trying to expel some of that ticklish energy while trying to threaten and curse them. It was when some of the giggles knocking around the back of his throat got loose that he realized he was rapidly approaching his breaking point.

He squinted open a watering eye to see Kaminari’s wicked smile over his head. Suddenly, He felt the fingers on his ribs start kneading upwards. He couldn’t help the sudden short laugh that slipped past his pursed lips.

“Get your hah-hands offa me, Dunce Fahce!” Bakugo squirmed, trying to push his body up in an effort to slow the ascent of Kaminari’s fingers.

Kaminari giggled and kept climbing the bonde’s rib cage, excited to see how his reactions grew more intense with each rib that he climbed.

Bakugo swore, hardly able to keep a coherent thought together as he felt Kaminari’s devious fingers heading towards the point of no return. He thrashed in his restraints even harder, feeling less of the tickling around his body and more of it around Kaminari’s fingers. Then suddenly, the fingers on his ribs reached their final destination and Bakugo jerked so violently, even the tape shifted on the floor. He silently jerked around for a few seconds before bringing his chin to his chest in a desperate attempt to sit up. When that didn’t work, he could do nothing but arch his back, throw his head back and finally…

“AAAHAHAHAHAHHAA NOHOHOHOAAHAHAHAHA!”

“YES!!” Everyone cheered.

Bakugo was a pink-faced mess on the ground. Now that the flood gates were open, he couldn’t help the hysterical laughter that poured out of him. Everything tickled like hell and try as he might, he couldn’t do anything about it. Kaminari focused on that spot longer than Bakugo felt he could tolerate, his laughter going completely silent for a few seconds before the next breath set it off again.

“NONOHOHOAHAHAH FUCK! AHAHAHA STAHAHAHAP!”

“I’ve never heard him laugh like this before! It’s adorable!” Mina squealed.

“This is pretty awesome! Too bad we’ll be dead before we can hear it again. Because he’s going to kill us.” Sero said as a matter of factly.

“Come on, he’s taking it like a man!” Kirishima laughed as he tickled harder.

“BAHAHAHHASTERDS! STAHAHHAHA- STA- GAAAHAHAHAH!! NO! KAHAHAMINARIHIHI STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Kaminari’s eyes widened at the use of his name. His thumbs dug harder into Bakugo’s sweet spot, rubbing in little torturous circles. Bakugo thrashed and writhed on the ground, arching his back and frantically opening and closing his fists. Even though Kaminari knew he wasn’t having a good time, he had to admit the large smile plastered on the others' face was a nice sight. Maybe he should tickle Bakugo more often. He smiled in thought, missing that the frantic blonde was starting to wheeze.

“Kaminari,” Midoriya stood and took a hesitant step toward his friend. “That’s too much, he can only handle that for a few sec-.”

“SHUHUT UP, YOU DAHAHMN- AAAHHAHAHAHAHHA!”

Sero dug Into his hips and Bakugo lost it. He yanked harder at the restraints, starting to lose track of who was doing what when he was trying so hard to dislodge Kaminari’s fingers.

“Hey, be nice! He’s trying to help you, dude!”

“YOUHUHUHU BAHAHA- FAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH! GET OOAHAHAHAHAFF!”

Kaminari laughed and dug in. Sero found a better grip and rubbed his fingers into the bone. Kirishima squeezed his thighs and Mina pressed her thumbs into his lower ribs. Bakugo arched his back and his laughter grew silent. He jerked around on the floor, knees rising and falling just a few centimeters with each struggle. The prospect of begging briefly slipping into his mind and it weighed on him like a rock. He didn’t want to beg, but…

“AAAHAHAHAHHAHAHA WAHAHAHAHAHAIT! WAIT! I CAHAHAHAHA- AHAHAH! DAHMN IT! MAHEHEHE- MAHAHAKE THEM STAHA- SSTAHAHAHAHAHAHP!”

“Guys!” Midoriya said firmly.

Bakugo’s hands opened from laughter induced fists and small sporadic sparks popped out of them. They gradually grew bigger and louder the more desperate he got. Belly laughter shook his entire frame and made his face and throat sore.

He didn’t want to beg, but…

Kaminari moved his fingers slightly up, sliding right into the center of Bakugo’s death spot. His entire body jolted as if he had been struck by lightning before panicking and finally losing all control. He no longer cared about what he looked or sounded like, he just wanted out.

“NO! NAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OKAHAHAHAHAHY! GUHYES STOP! GAHAAAHAHAHAHAHA! FAHAHACK! PAHAHAHA- PLEHEHAAHAHAH-”

He released a small explosion. Kaminari yelped and jolted back, the blast missing him by a few inches.

Everyone stopped.

Bakugo slumped and he closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell with the effort to replenish the oxygen he lost and his face was bright red with embarrassment. He felt someone messing with the tape, and in a few seconds he was free. He laid there for a moment before sitting up.

He stood. Everything was still and everyone was quiet. They watched with wide eyes as he shoved his hands into his pockets and rounded the couch. Before walking out of the room, he turned his head and channeled all of his emotions into a cold hearted stare, unleashing everything he wanted to scream in the form of a crippling look aimed straight at Deku. The green-haired boy stared back, understanding that the role he played in this situation had crossed a line. He sighed, knowing that the amount of steps he and Bakugo had been taking to get used to each other had been officially divided by two.

Deku finally looked down at his feet but Bakugo didn’t relent until he reached the door, yanked it open, and walked out.

The rain stopped and the sun broke through the clouds. Everyone remained silent, each sharing a look of regret even after the sound of Bakugo’s footsteps faded.

Kaminari was the first to speak. “We went too far.”

“No kidding.” Mina agreed.

Sero sighed. “What do we do now?”

“Man,” Kirishima sighed. “We screwed up big time. We should go and apologize.”

“How do you apologize to someone like Bakugo?” Sero asked, not bothering to hide the nervousness in his voice.

“I mean, we can start with ‘i’m sorry.’” Mina suggested.

Kaminari bit his lip. He knew he was the one that pushed Bakugo too far. He took advantage of information he knew would be embarrassing and he exploited it mercilessly. He looked over at Midoriya whose eyes were fixed on his own shoes, looking as guilty as he felt.

“I didn’t mean for it to go this far, it was just tickling.” Mina sighed. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“It is to Kacchan.” Midoriya said in a low voice. he looked up from his shoes. “I’m the one to blame, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Me too,” Kaminari said. “It’s my fault too. He told me to stop and I didn’t listen.”

“It’s not your fault Midoriya, we were going to do it anyway. We would have found out eventually.” Sero said. “Kaminari, we all kept going after he said stop. It’s not just on you.”

Kaminari nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

“The only thing we can do now is find him and apologize.” Mina said, standing.

“Right, let’s go find him.” Kirishima said.

#ticklish!bakugou #bnha tickle #mha tickle #t word community #tickle blog #tickle fic #sallage-mha

[n0v4t33z]

The Syndicate - Chapter 2: The Traitor

Pairings: Choi San X Female Reader, Park Seonghwa X Female Reader, Ateez X Female Reader

Summary: Y/N is a Detective with a promising future in the police department until she's kidnapped by the infamous mafia boss Choi San and from him, she learns the dark secrets her superior has been hiding the whole time so she teams up with him in order to put a stop to it.

Genre: Lots of angst, Romance, Crime Fiction, Psychological Drama

Word Count: 5.1k

Tags/Warnings: For Mature Audiences, Language, Graphic Violence, Mentions of Illegal activities (i.e Kidnapping, extortion, assassination etc.), y/n gets roughed up by Wooyoung in the beginning , Slow Burn, Fluff sometimes, Work In Progress, Non-Idol AU, Mafia AU, Very suggestive at times, y/n cries alot, y/n having inner turmoil, Ateez being bad boys, Wooyoung and Yeosang are a little mean in this story tbh, Guns, Gunshot wounds, Assassination attempt(s)

I'll update tags as the story progresses

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Please Reblog if you like it! 🔁

Spotify Playlist🎵 | Series Masterlist📝

Author's Note: So here it is, Chapter 2! I wanted to at least try and post a chapter for San's birthday so this is it! I hope you guys enjoy it!💜

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“So you’re the infamous Detective that San has kept his eye on for the longest..” Hongjoong asks while fidgeting with the keys in his right hand. “Infamous?” I quietly answer back and he nods silently almost like I was being judged. Something tells me he really doesn't like me I can already tell by the way he's looking at me. “Yeah, ever since you joined Ulwood PD you’ve been costing us a lot of business.” Taken a back from the bluntness I gather my courage and respond but this time a bit more respectful not wanting to start an argument and possibly anger any of them again. "Really? So besides my superior having something San wants that's one of the reasons why you guys decided to kidnap me?" Hongjoong lets out a small exhale from his nose "In a way, yes. That as well but not majorly." I slowly nod "What if I get my superior to make a deal with San to return whatever it is he wants?" Hongjong shakes his head, his earrings making a faint jingling noise "Maybe you should speak to San about that." I look over at Hongjoong who was looking straight ahead while we walk the dimly lit corridor, I didn't get a good look at his face before but he looks fairly young. Definitely shorter than the rest too, except Wooyoung. Luckily enough the silence doesn't last too long as we arrive outside San’s office so I didn't have to deal with the awkwardness much longer, Hongjoong opens the door “Here she is, I will be outside.” He slightly pushes me to sit down and closes the door behind him. San then stares at me for a bit and without breaking eye contact he says “Sit down Detective.” Stay focused, try negotiating with him. I carefully sit down on the leather chair in front of San’s desk while he clicks his pen a few times then sets it down. “First of all, before anything I’d like to apologize about what happened with Wooyoung. He wasn’t supposed to beat you like that.” I roll my eyes “Right, care to explain why you abducted me?” I want to hear this from the man himself and not his "inner circle" goons. San looks over at me with a deadpan expression “You’re ransom Detective. Something that belongs to me is in possession of Ulwood PD, not just that but Captain Lee owes me for all the stuff he’s been putting my family through. He’s no saint, and what a better way to taunt him than taking his secret weapon against us, you.”

Captain Lee? He’s always been a very respectable man and very stern. What does he have to do with the Choi’s and Aurora Syndicate? I look at San slightly suspicious “Captain Lee? Ever since I joined Ulwood PD, he’s been a very good role model of what a Detective should be. What does he have to do with your family?” San looks away almost like he was holding in a laugh then says “Oh come on Detective, can't you read between the lines? I guess he’s been keeping his double life under wraps from everyone in the department.” I glare at San. “What are you trying to say? Captain Lee works for you?” He smirks and slightly nods “Good guess, but it's more like he used to. The man is a crooked cop.” His face then grows serious again and he continues “ He used to work for my father. He’s also the reason my father got murdered. He began to work with a rival mob, The Obsidian Dragon a few years back which led to him giving away my father’s location to those people.”

No way, no fucking way. Captain Lee was one of the organizers for this hit and I’m the one having to suffer for his mistakes? “Why not abduct him? Why was I brought into this?” San pushes his glasses with his middle finger and sits back on his chair “Well, if we kidnap him he’ll be marked as a hero and that’s what I don’t want. I want him to be known as my father’s killer, and what a better way to bring attention to it than when a very infamous and well known Detective is kidnapped and in order to save her his whole team has to slowly unravel how evil and dirty he is. If he doesn’t give in, either way he’ll be seen as a terrible and incompetent person for letting a gifted Detective die in order to save himself.” I slowly clench my fists. This has to be a crude joke.

“I need proof of Captain Lee doing the things you’re claiming. I can’t just take your word for it, I don’t trust you.” San opens the drawer next to his desk and sets a file about an inch and a half thick in front of me “These are photos of him and my family and documents with his handwriting on it. Not to mention there are photos of him meeting up with someone from The Obsidian Dragon” I open the folder and the first thing to catch my attention is a picture of a dinner with presumably the Choi family and next to San’s father is Captain Lee smiling brightly. I squint my eyes to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me then I look over to a financial document with Captain Lee’s signature. I look at a few other photos carefully examining if it was the right person and to my disappointment it was. It’s Captain Lee, I'd recognize his signature anywhere and the man in the pictures looks exactly like him including his golden tooth. I look over at San in complete shock and San smirks and raises his eyebrow “You believe me now?” I slowly nod then I close the file and set it back on San’s desk in disappointment.

“This has to be a misunderstanding, he’s a great person I know so. I’m sure there has to be a reason he did this.” San throws his head back and laughs and says “The man loves money Detective, the difference between us and him is that the majority of us had nothing at one point but desperation to survive while this man has had money and a good life from the beginning. Also, what type of person kills their best friend over money? ” My body runs cold, and my stomach drops “The Phantom was friends with him?” There is a slight hint of disappointment in San’s voice “Yeah, so close I even called him uncle when I was a child.” Oh no, why do I feel bad for this man? When he's the reason Ulwood’s crime rates went up to begin with. I sigh and Sympathetically look at him “Look, I’m so sorry he caused all this pain to you and your family but there’s no reason to keep me here to get back at him. That file you showed me has enough evidence to send him to prison for the rest of his remaining life, I'll do that for you only if you let me go.” San looks at me for a few seconds and he shakes his head “No, i’m sorry.” I scoot up closer to his desk and I put my hand over the file “Please, you can do this the right way instead of possibly ruining your life.” He sits up and leans over the desk close to me and in a very calm voice he says “My life is already ruined Detective, all the things I've done are enough to send me to prison for the rest of my life. The least I should do with the last of my freedom is to destroy the man who killed my father.” I sit there for a while processing his final decision “Well, all I’m hoping is that Captain Lee does the correct thing although now I’m doubting it.” I have a feeling I’m going to die here now. “I sent the ransom note about an hour ago so we’ll have to wait for his answer in maybe a few days.” A few days?! I know for a fact we usually see ransom calls and answer them right away, why is he just going with a ransom note? "Why a ransom note when you can just call?" A smirk appears on his face "It makes it a little more dramatic, it's amusing, Even more knowing how much he's probably freaking out" I scoff and look at the book case to my left. He's such a childish man, it's ridiculous.

Out of nowhere my stomach growls and I clutch my stomach then San curiously looks over at me “Are you hungry?” I quietly nod then he grabs a radio from his desk and says “Hongjoong, can you escort the Detective to the guest room.” Hongjoong sounding a bit confused says “Uh yeah, sure right away.” The door then opens a few seconds later and Hongjoong walks towards me but before he reaches over to grab my arm I take off my badge and set it on San’s desk “Here, I have a feeling I won’t be needing this anymore.” San gives me a slightly confused look then Hongjoong escorts me out.

The walk to the guest room was excruciatingly quiet so I begin to lose myself in my own thoughts until finally we arrive at the guestroom. Hongjoong continues to hold my arm tightly while he opens the door. After opening the door Hongjoong walks me inside the guest room and sits me down on the bed and says “This is escape proof, so don’t even try.” He exits the room, and after hearing the door lock I lay down and begin to silently sob. I don’t want to die here, I want to see my family, I want to fall in love and have a family. I close my eyes and I slowly drift to sleep hoping that the horror I was living is just a dream.

Later, I’m gently nudged awake then I groggily open my eyes and I see Seonghwa holding some food “Hey, San got you some food. He didn’t know if you were allergic to anything so he just went with steamed rice and veggies and for your drink it’s apple juice but in a bottle so you know we didn’t mess with it.” He helps me sit up while I quietly wince in pain trying to sit up “Oh, thank you. Do I get these removed too?” He opens the food and says “I would but I can’t. The only one who can is San, my apologies Detective. I can still feed you though so it’s okay.” I look over to the food then I nod slightly disappointed “I see. Well, since we have to get that familiar with each other with you feeding me and all call me Y/N.” He chuckles and grabs a spoonful of food and feeds it to me “Alright Y/N, my name is Seonghwa but you can just call me Hwa when it’s just us.” Something tells me he's friendlier than the rest here “So Hwa when did you start working here?”

He hesitantly smiles and feeds me another spoonful of food and says “Well, I started working here a little before San’s father passed away. You? When did you start working as a detective?” While I chew I think for a few seconds “3 years this march as an actual detective, I’m honestly still not really used to it though I still have slip ups where I start talking like a civilian.” He opens the apple juice and puts a straw in the bottle “Oh I see, so you’re somewhat still new to the department?” I nod then I take a sip of my juice “Yes, but I guess weirdly enough people at the station no longer see me as the newbie because of the case clearing rate. streak I have" He hums in acknowledgement "I've heard, you're a criminal's worst nightmare." we both quietly chuckle then I ask "So, are you friends with San and all those guys I've seen?” He sets the juice back on the floor “Oh, yes. In a way we’re all friends although sometimes we do get into pretty heated disagreements.” I furrow my brows while focusing on the wall behind Seonghwa.

“So then does that mean I'm going to have to see the one who hit me? Wooyoung I think was his name.” He gently pats my shoulder “Unfortunately you probably are but don’t worry he’s not going to hit you anymore, San got onto him about it. It’s weird because this is the first time San has gotten upset over something like this happening, usually he doesn’t really care when Wooyoung goes around beating the people we’ve kidnapped. Then again this is the first time we’ve kidnapped a cop.” That’s weird I didn’t think he’d even care either, I thought maybe Wooyoung somehow messed up the procedure or something like that. Seonghwa continues “Let's have you finish eating so you can clean up and change clothes." Later, after Seonghwa finishes feeding me he helps me up and says "San got you a really pretty dress so you can wear it after your bath"

Embarrassed, I respond "Wait what? You're going to give me a bath?!" He chuckles and says "No silly, San is going to help you since he's the only one who is able to remove your handcuffs" Confused, I scrunch my nose and say “Why him?” Seonghwa shrugs and gives me a confused face “Honestly, I have no idea that’s just what he told us.” I look down and fidget with my hands then I say "So you're leaving then?" He reaches over and holds both my hands "I'm sorry, but don't worry I'll try coming back as much as I can." I sigh and with a slight disappointed tone in my voice I say "Okay..” He picks up the leftovers and gets up then the door opens behind him. I watch as San enters the room with a few shopping bags. Surprised, Seonghwa looks over at San and says “Oh hey, I was just about to go get you.” San walks over to the bed and sets down the shopping bags and says “Thanks for helping her eat, can you tell Yunho to let me know when something comes up regarding the ransom?” Seonghwa nods and closes the door behind him leaving me alone with San.

I watch him glance at me for a few seconds then sit next to me. “How are you feeling?” Why is he asking me how I feel? This is so weird. I shrug and say “I’m still in pain but I feel way better than I did earlier but I'm sure the bruises will come in tomorrow.” He smiles and says “I’m glad you’re feeling better, also was the food okay? I didn’t know what to get you since I didn’t know if you had food allergies or not.” Is he joking? Why is he asking me if I liked the food or not? Why does he care if I have food allergies? Why is he being so nice? He might be trying to get me to talk by being nice. “Food was good, don't worry.” He looks over at my hand cuffed hands “If I take these off of you do you promise me you won’t try to escape?” I might take a leap of faith and try but without hesitation I respond “I promise.” he uncuffs my hands and I gently massage my wrists and press my lips together forcing a smile. “I never say this to criminals but thank you, for like the food and everything.” He gives me a soft smile and says “Of course, now it’s time for you to get cleaned up and wash off all that blood off of you.” Should I ask him why he’s being so nice? Or is it too soon? Maybe.

I get up and stretch then San stands up next to me and chuckles gently patting my head “Oh wow you’re really short Detective, I've never seen such a short cop before. it’s actually kind of cute. I’m surprised you were even allowed to be in the police academy.” Oh my gosh did he just call me cute? The man is really committing himself to get something out of me. I raise an eyebrow in confusion “Gee, thanks but just in case you didn’t know I can do alot of damage despite my small stature.” He looks down at me and smirks “Yeah I know, which is why I’m the only one who can uncuff you.” If I change the subject maybe he’ll stop being weird. “So where’s the bathroom?” He leads me over to a door next to the entrance “There’s a shower in there but I’ll tell you right now the door has no lock so I can easily check up on you if you get too quiet.” Ew no. What if he’s being a pervert and watches me shower then what? I cross my arms in front of my chest and I say “Fair enough, just don’t be a pervert or….”

We both exchange looks for what feels like forever then he gently lifts my chin with his finger and says in a low voice “Or what Detective?” He’s good. My face gets hot and I swat his hand away from my face “I’ll press charges on you for harassment when I get out of here.” San lets out an amused laugh “Oh, are you really? But can’t I just admire a woman’s beauty?” He proceeds to push his glasses up with his middle finger then winks at me. I give him a disgusted look and walk into the bathroom closing the door behind me then from the other side of the door I say “I bet this is why you don’t have a girlfriend because you’re so weird!” I hear San laughing on the other side of the door and say "I was kidding!" I roll my eyes and get in the shower letting the water completely soak through my hair while I stand in the shower with my eyes closed wondering if what was happening right now was actually happening or a weird figment of my imagination from a breakdown or something. I mean being a cop is not necessarily an easy thing and I'm constantly under excruciating pressure from my superiors. So maybe my mind is making it all up.

After showering, wondering whether I'm in reality or not and occasionally checking the door in fear of San looking at me at my most vulnerable state. When I get out I see a nice robe and put it on. When did this robe get here? Where are my clothes? Did he seriously somehow come in without me noticing? I open the bathroom door and I see San standing next to the door on his phone I then ask “Did you take my clothes?” He nods then turns to look at me “Yep, I did. I bought you some clothes but I don’t know if you’ll like them though I asked my mom what a girl likes to wear and she said a nice casual dress will do.” I ran my fingers through my wet hair trying to comb it out “Oh, okay. I swear if you looked at me in the shower.” He shakes his head and pleadingly responds "I didn't I promise." I need to watch out for him, he's good. Maybe he's lying. He scratches the back of his neck and hands me the shopping bag “I also bought some um… you know underwear and some bras.” I grab the bag slightly embarrassed. What happened to me being a prisoner of the Aurora Syndicate? Where is this headed? Am I going to be sold off or something? “Oh, thank you, I’ll go put this on I'll be right out.” I walk back into the bathroom and close the door and I change into the dress, a beautiful ruffled dark purple chiffon dress with a tie up at the waist. When I step out, San’s lips curl up into a smile “It looks beautif- I mean, it looks great on you.” I nod and I bite my bottom lip to keep me from smiling.

The first time in a year that I get male attention and it’s from one of the most dangerous men in Ulwood. Embarrassingly I’m falling into his trap and it hasn’t even been a whole day, just 16 hours ago I was kidnapped. I have to get it together, this man is just playing tricks on me he doesn’t care about me at all whatsoever. Suddenly San’s radio goes off Slightly startling me while a male's voice says says “San, they know about the Detective and they said if we don’t hand her over right now you’ll have a warrant for your arrest.” Amused, San lets out a chuckle “Tell them the first note for her rescue will be on 398 Barry Ave.” The man then responds “Okay got it.” San walks over to me and pulls out the handcuffs from his pocket and puts them on me “I have to go, but I’ll come back later. In the meanwhile I need you to rest okay? ” I nod then he exits out the room and closes the door behind him then a few seconds later I hear the small click of the door being locked. I let out a sigh and walk over by the door and turn off the lights leaving some sort of night light on and I lay down with my back facing the door. I feel quite tired and the pain medicine Jongho gave me is starting to wear off so I begin to have a million thoughts racing through my head trying to get my mind off of the pain that eventually I fall asleep.

I suddenly wake up to the sound of the door unlocking and opening I felt too tired to turn and check who it was until eventually I feel a gentle nudge on my shoulder "Hey Detective, it's me Jongho I brought you some more pain medicine." He helps me sit up and gives me the painkillers and some water soon after he says “Did that warm shower help you feel a bit better?” I nod “Yes, it actually did but I started to be in pain again right before I fell asleep since the medicine was wearing off” He stipples his fingers and says “Don’t worry, just give it an hour and the medicine will kick back in again. Tomorrow when you wake up is when it will hurt a lot so I’ll come back in the morning to check up on you.” I nod and for a few seconds I pick at my nails then I look at Jongho and I say “San told me about Captain Lee, I told him he would get his revenge the right way with all those documents and pictures stacked up as evidence but he doesn’t want to.” He slightly frowns “Well, Detective you have to remember San and basically everyone here including myself are criminals. What San wants is to humiliate Lee and inflict as much pain as that man did to his father, I’m sure you’d do the same for your family if you ever get the chance right?”

I lower my face and purse my lips. “I mean If I had the amount of evidence San has against Captain Lee I’d go to the police.” His eyes widen for a split second in shock then he recollects himself and goes back to his serious expression “Well, police can only do so much, sometimes the best way to get back at someone who's hurt your family is not necessarily the legal way. I’m sure in the back of your mind you know this even if you don’t want to admit it which is understandable since you’re a detective and you work for the police leading me to believe you fully trust them. You have to remember that some of these cops aren’t clean and half the time they’re just as bad as criminals like us, if not worse.” I gently brush my hand on the soft chiffon ruffles of my dress “Actually despite what you probably think I see Captain Lee differently now, seeing all those pictures and evidence and being the empathetic person that I am I genuinely feel sorry for San. That doesn’t mean that I think what he’s doing is okay because it’s not but I do get where he’s coming from and I understand what you’re trying to get at.”

Before he can answer Jongho’s radio goes off with Wooyoung saying “Hey Jongho where are you?” Jongho grabs his radio and says “I was with the detective giving her medicine, what happened?” Wooyoung answers back with a slight annoyance in his voice “I need you to bring the Detective downstairs, Lee wants to talk to her he’s on the phone with San.” He presses the button to his radio again and with a calm voice Jongho says “Okay I’ll be right there.” He puts his radio back in his jacket’s pocket then he turns to me and says “Let’s go Detective.” He helps me up then he walks me downstairs.

When I enter the dimly lit room filled with lots of monitors, computers, and servers I notice that all of San’s inner circle was present, 2 of which I haven't seen. One had dark brown hair he looks as if he’s around the same height as Mingi except a little bit taller. The other wasn't as tall as the hair dark brown haired male in fact he seemed to be around the same height as Wooyoung and Hongjoong. His was a cool brown shade. He was very handsome looking having the face of a Roman statue with no visible flaw on his face besides the pink birthmark next to his right eye, definitely not taking away from how handsome he looked. Now that I notice I realize how all of San's inner circle is basically handsome young men. This is exactly why they probably get away with as much as they do because they're intimidatingly handsome, they probably don't even need money to keep people quiet. Their looks alone will probably the charm any one of their liking. Jongho walks me over to a single chair by where everyone was huddled. San looks at me briefly then says “She’s here, you have 1 minute with her.” San then hands me the phone and I say “Captain Lee?! Please get me out of here I’m begging you. I’m terrified. I want to go home!” In a worried tone he answers “Detective Y/LN, are you okay? Have they hurt you in any way?” A knot forms in my throat and I say in verge of tears “Um, yeah I’m okay except for a few bruises and a busted lip” As angry as I am with Captain Lee for betraying the police department I need to urge him to get me out of here. I hear silence from the other end of the call then Captain Lee clears his throat “Look Detective, I’m going to try my absolute best to get you out of there, Detective Bang is also working on this to get you out of there as soon as possible too. Don’t listen to anything these dirt bags tell you either, they’re low life criminals who don’t care about anyone but themselves.” I release the knot in my throat and I begin to sob “Please, Captain just get me out of here please, just give them whatever they want! I need to see my mom and my family, I have a life too! Please!”

San puts his finger over his lips to hush me and takes the phone “So now that I proved to you that she’s alive and not in some trash can in an alleyway are you are more keen on cooperating?” Seonghwa walks over to me and helps me calm down while San is still on the phone and chuckles, turning around giving the 7 guys behind him a thumbs up. Captain Lee probably agreed. “I have eyes in every corner of the city Lee, if you don’t follow the requests I leave for you and decide to go your own route there will be consequences.” he hangs up with a huge smirk on his face. “I have him right where I want him, now we just wait until his fellow investigators find out his dirty little secrets.”

San hands the Phone over to Hongjoong and walks over to me giving me a curt smile “Thanks to you Detective, he’s probably scrambling to find a way to rescue the PD’s female prodigy.” He helps me up and says “Yeosang, do me a favor and take her back to the guest room.” He nods and he quietly walks me back upstairs to the guest room while we walk up the stairs I slip on the fabric of my dress and he grabs my arm “Careful.” I quietly thank him and continue to walk in silence then I suddenly grow the courage to at least try and make small talk, maybe he's nice like Jongho and Seonghwa “You’re really quiet, this is the first time I’ve heard you speak.” He continues to look forward in silence then he answers “There’s no reason for me to speak to a cop.” Nope, I was right this guy is ice cold. There’s no use in trying to talk to these people, they straight up hate my guts. “Okay, I’m sorry”

After a long and awkward walk back to the guest room we arrive, he opens it and shoves me in the room with such a strong force that I fall on the hard marble floor on my knees and I wince in pain from the stinging sensation on my knees. I pull up my dress so that I could see my dress, then I look down at my knees and notice both my knees are scraped. I get up and lay down on the bed letting out a long exhausted sigh. “So much for trying to be nice.” I slowly close my eyes. Sleep, eat, wake up. I wonder how many of these I have left before I end up dead in a ditch.

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#ateez series #ateez imagine #ateez fic #ateez angst #ateez fanfiction #ateez x reader #choi jongho x reader #choi san x reader #park seonghwa x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #jeong yunho x reader #kang yeosang x reader #song mingi x reader #kim hongjoong x reader #Fic: The Syndicate

[crushedsweets]

How did Nurse Ann die in your au??

She's one of my faves and I rlly want to hear your take on her backstory

-💉anon

PERFECT QUESTION OK. ok . man ok. i have a lot to say cw for abuse, torture, kidnapping, etc. typical creepypasta style stuff

annemarie mia was born into a rowdy family in NYC. She had two older brothers & one younger brother. each were 1-3 years apart. Her older brothers were pretty cruel to her and her little brother. she turned it right back onto her little brother. biting, spitting, smothering him in his sleep, stealing his food so he goes hungry, cutting him. she'd been so mean since he was so little, she's threatened to kill him so many times, so he kept it to himself. he was beyond happy when, at 18, she moved out without a word.

by 27, annemarie was a neet. no job, school, social skills - she was unpleasant to be around, really snappy and bitchy and generally had a nasty attitude. cut off her entire family just because she didn't want to deal with the emotional labor. went through some pretty difficult shit to make a living.

and not that anyone really asked how she owned a decent little home in the more rural parts of tuscaloosa county, but she'd attribute it to inheritance, generational shit, the sort. she would be lying

she went by 'nurse ann' online, hosting a 'red room' service on the dark web thats exactly what the urban legend entails. what made her stood out is that she preformed in a dominatrix style, fitted with leather straps, studs, whips, corsets- had a generally more 'sexy' atmosphere to it. her audience liked the way she followed some sort of hospital roleplay half the time with the nurse dress, medical equipment, syringes, etc.

again, its an urban legend, but her red room is basically taking donations alongside requests for certain torture methods on her victim. depending on the price, she could cut off some fingers, use acid, rip out their teeth, skin them, whatever the fuck her audience could ask for - and she has quite the fanbase, too. most of her streams lasted days, sometimes she'd turn it off and come back, sometimes she'd just leave the victim there writhing on camera the entire night. even after they died, she'd dissect them to keep up the nurse persona, making a whole show of it - showing off her body and her sadism all in one. she wanted to make the most money she could

she mostly acquired her victims from dirty, dingy bars where she'd drug whoever she wanted to bring home. drag them into her truck, dump them into her basement way out in the middle of nowhere, set up her camera, shimmy her way into some leather, and make thousands in a single night. she typically preferred men, but if enough people paid for her to bring in a woman, she would.

very very very rarely she'd let an audience member interested in their own murder, an autassassinophiliac, come onto her stream. it'd be a whole ordeal, they'd have to already send a fucking massive sum of money before she even considers it. always brings a fully loaded gun, drugs that she expects them to take right in front of her, cuffs, so on and so forth - too much work and too much risk most of the time, hence the rarity of this occasion.

she fucked up one day. quickly, the man over powered her & beat her unconscious. she woke up in a completely unfamiliar location, hung by her hands like she was meat at a butchers. she was dressed in a shitty nurse outfit, and a camera was set up right in front of her.

what happened to her that night was karma. he dismembered her on camera, with many of her own fans waiting for the footage of him taking out her left eye, her hands, her arms, her legs. the only reason he didn't live stream was because he had no signal.

she slipped in and out of consciousness for the first portion of her torture, until she began to bleed out. she died when he began setting up the tools so he could stitch her right back up and make a doll of her, keep something to keep the 'fans' happy.

he brought her to an abandoned hospital in the middle of a forest. her murderer didn't fully know where he even brought her. slenderman was not very happy about all the mess he made

kate, coming from a mine less than a mile from the hospital, was notified that a human was in the forest. after a short sprint, she begins stalking through the hospital as the man is finishing up his work.

theres a bit of a chase between the two, until kate does her job and kills him with a random weapon he left around.

kates not really paying attention to annemarie's corpse, she's just dragging the mans body somewhere for her to dispose. it takes a couple hours for kate to get it handled, and by time she's coming back to the hospital to deal with annemarie, she gets the shit scared out of her when the woman is walking around. stumbling and already rotting, but walking nonetheless. even introduced herself as 'nurse ann'.

kate had to get that figured out cuz it was really freaky.

anyway, zalgo had a part in ann's "revival." he's another entity trapped in slendermans forest, similar to the operator but significantly weaker. he keeps infecting corpses and bringing them back, partly hoping they can be used as puppets (but he fails to get into their head) and partly trying to cause trouble for slenderman.

he can only bring back people who die in the forest who aren't killed by proxies slenderman/the operator, since the corpses are 'locked' otherwise

but yea :3 she's fun

#maybe her wealth is still accessible after her death and the proxies can find a way to get into her shit.. hmmm.. dunno #asks #creeped #hcs #nurse ann #nurse ann hcs #nurse ann headcanons #nurse ann headcannons #creepypasta #creepypasta au #creepypasta headcanons #ann lusen mia