#Finally remembered to draw the grapple | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mmani-e · 7 months ago

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Hello! After all this effort, behold:

DANGANRONPA DEMIX, THH EDITION!

Dr Demix 2

Finally got the talentswap designs I have for the THH characters one and done with! You can click through the read more section for some fun design insights. I'm intending on uploading a doc containing short lore bits about them eventually.

Kyoko Kirigiri - Ultimate Affluent Progeny

So Kyoko's design was both kinda simple, kinda not, wanted to give her a very fine and regal kinda attitude to her but not arrogant as that's very much Byakuya's thing. Her story is that she loves her dad more than the family business and her grandpa so she abandons detective work and just uses her brain to help her dad out.

Makoto Naegi - Ultimate Novelist

Makoto is a wonderful guy, just great all around. He loves writing children's books and happy stories. This is his main coping mechanism so he doesn't have to process any negative emotions he gets, the rest he can't process… well they go into a murderous psychopath alter.

Aoi Asahina - Ultimate Lucky Student

Shoujo protagonist Aoi. Cute, headstrong, affective, competitive, these are all the traits that make her fight for her friends and clash with Kyoko (and more often than not Byakuya) in the killing game, even when all hope seems lost… she pushes through, unafraid to let tears spill from her eyes for all those lost, but pushing all the same.

Byakuya Togami - Ultimate Detective

This one, I wanna go into more lore territory, cause I kinda memed around his last desc I gave him so here goes:

"A disgraced heir of the Togami household, Byakuya lost the competition that would've secured his riches. Disdainful and bitter, he sought out to get to the bottom of why he lost, uncovering a rabbit hole in the process. By the end, he proved his sibling a cheater, but it didn't matter because by the end as he found the sweet satisfaction of uncovering secrets and crushing liars and cheaters under the weight of their hubris far more satisfying than any inheritance."

Sayaka Maizono - Ultimate Spirit Medium

So Sayaka isn't a clairvoyant at all like Yasuhiro, in fact her entire skillset is completely different, first of all she is like an actual psychic, and I based her design off of the japanese Itako, quite loosely. Very interesting group, look it up, also she'll never use these powers in the killing game because I dunno how to even approach these rituals or what they look like or how to write them while remaining respectful, so she won't do it in a killing game for the express reason of her not having the right tools available and not wanting to disrespect her traditions.

Leon Kuwata - Ultimate Swimmer

I really wanna draw him again, all these characters again tbh, and I wanna show off the patterns on his wetsuit. It's a whole coral reef under there, that anemone and clownfish bit is only one part of a whole reef stretching his midline.

Sakura Ogami - Ultimate Programmer

Sakura has installed chips into her body to help optimize her body processes and also cause why not. As for the muscles, she's an Assembly programmer, the programs she's made can run on calculators she loves it.

Chihiro Fujisaki - Ultimate Martial Artist

Chihiro's design here with the two belts is an explicit nod to his preferred martial art - Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, so unlike Sakura in canon who'd be easy to imagine cracking someone's skull in half with a chop, Chihiro's approach is more crawling onto someone and bringing them down to the floor with grappling like an angry halfling monk. As for the belts themselves, on his head is his final junior belt, while around his waist is his current belt, he's not a black belt yet because he's still too young for it.

Celestia Ludenberg - Ultimate Baseball Star

Celestia actually isn't a legend in this AU, Taeko is. Celestia hates that and wants to start a baseball career going international, whatever the hell that means is up to her own definition, but she wants to be remembered forever as Celestia, not Taeko. Also extra sentence, but this is the SINGLE hardest design I've ever had to deal with here, I think in the future I'll be drawing all her little accessories and I have an alt costume for her I have in mind.

Hifumi Yamada - Ultimate Pop Star

So I changed Hifumi's story as I originally outlined in the OG post with him. He was friends with Aoi all his life, pretty much his only friend at all, and ever since he was little he had an obsession with writing songs, because he was obsessed with stuff like anime openings and was content to just keep the songs to himself. It wasn't till Aoi convinced him to share some of his songs that he started his journey to success, but bc he's not traditionally attractive, his first hits were literally just… his voice being played over other more attractive singers and it wasn't until very very recently that he even performed a song of his for the first time.

Toko Fukawa - Ultimate Fanfic Writer

So while Hifumi was clearly a Doujinshi but due to weird translation, ended up as fanfic creator, Touko is straight up a FF then Wattpad then AO3 girl, who would get obsessed with this really shitty, tripe manga that she didn't even like reading. It did however have super hot dudes in it, so she wrote good stories of those characters when she got frustrated with the actual authorial content - which was always.

Yasuhiro Hagakure - Ultimate Gambler

Quite LITERALLY the never stop gambling meme personified into a guy. He can lose 3 mil on slot machines but always comes out fine because it means if he keeps gambling he'll eventually run into his 1/3 and win giga millions, what he needs to pay off his debts. It isn't just with luck though either because his personality and lack of intelligence or understanding of most the rules of the games he plays means he'll never react the way he should when getting a good hand in poker or a bad draw in blackjack, so he wins those games almost always through just… stupidity.

Mukuro Ikusaba - Ultimate Biker

She's number 16 in her gang, and is easily the most loyal enforcer and taskman of the gang. She does anything she's told, to a grim and disciplined degree not typical for hooligan bike gangers, she doesn't really desire a seat as top dog of the gang though, after all she's got school to worry about, and her sister.

Mondo Owada - Ultimate Warlord

So his relationship and Kiyotaka's is gonna be interesting, because I don't want him to be exactly like Mukuro at all, who was just sort of an all-obsessed Yandere. It's more like he's always chafing under Taka, who is less than friendly with him in this AU, really the main way he even lets Taka boss him around is because he pays incredibly well and helps keep his gang members from devolving back into the unstructured, chaotic criminal life, the same that took his brother years ago.

Oh and yeah, he still looks like Guile, as he should.

Sparkling Justice - Ultimate Killer Killer

Yeah it's a reference to Killer Killer, sue me I love the manga. He has Hajirahara's ahoge, and I thought it'd be cute to also give him a mask just like the other Makoto from a Kodaka game series (Raincode.) Also, while Genocide jack stuffs all her scissors in her skirt, Makoto keeps a truth gun with "truth bullets" as his main weapon, the gun he stores inside the big book in the chibi of just Makoto, and the bullets kept on his person as the red buttons all over his body, which he pulls out when he needs to reload.

"Kiyotaka Ishimaru" - Ultimate Fashionista

Unlike Mukuro and Junko, Mondo absolutely cannot hide the fact that he acts nothing like Kiyotaka, though this is surprisingly fine to everyone else, because unlike Junko who plastered herself onto literally everything, Mondo always obfuscated himself from the public spotlight, at most showing only his suits while he hid his face behind something conveniently placed. Which played primarily to his vision of an ultimate fashionista, who was above everyone and catered to the rich and powerful.

Junko Enoshima - Ultimate Moral Compass

This was a fun one, I decided to let her have her red hair because I believe it to be the "natural" look of her hair, while attaching little clips of dyed hair to her buns as a replacement to keep her shape sorta and keep the strawberry blonde somwehere on her. Understand that while she is the "moral compass" she is still pretty deranged, and the only reason she focuses so much on keeping everyone on their best behavior is because it's endlessly entertaining to her to make her fellow moral committee members upset when she blatantly makes a mockery of the rules while still keeping kids on their best behavior to make a point.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru - Ultimate Fashionista and Tyrant, the Iron Hand of Despair

Taka's design I wanted to sort of focus on this sort of, holier-than-thou idea, where I wanted to make him look a lot fancier and upper-class than Junko does in his standard highschool fit compared to him. I wanted him to have an upper-crust sort of look

If you're reading this after reading this all, thanks! You're a wonderful person :) Signing off...

Mani

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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Run Away To Me (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, blood, angst, protective Johnny, violence, hurt/comfort, speedy relationship, talks of sex/intimacy (nothing in depth) & virginity pertaining to marriage, religious symbolism & mentions, etc.

A/N: That's it for this AU - onto Werewolf!Ghost next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You’re kept behind Johnny’s back as you both exit the treeline, and you feel yourself quivering with unease.

What would Lord Wilkin do to you? Drag you back? As the shelter of the trees leaves you, you tighten your grip on the blacksmith’s tunic, breathing out a shaky puff of air. Cobalt eyes look back at you, trying to reassure you as the first calls start up from the guards.

Johnny whispers out, his accent deep. “It’s gonna be just fine.”

“She’s here!”

Hounds dash forward but with a sharp bark of, “Get back!” They skid along the dewy grass and halt with rabid barks instead, fur bristled and spittle flying. The men surge forward, and you gasp as they grapple at Johnny’s arms.

One tries to snatch at the neck of your cloak, but a strong arm traps the armored wrist and twists it sideways, snapping the bone as you stare wide-eyed as the guard screams; jerking back and stumbling to his knees. With a fluid motion, Johnny grasps the handle of the downed guard’s sword as he writhes with agony, unsheathing the blade and laying it upon the breast of the other with a dim call.

He glowers and glares, eyes like burning coals.

“I suggest you step back,” you watch, holding your breath from over his shoulder as the blacksmith leans closer to the man, one arm kept behind him and resting on your hip. “‘Fore this gets bloody.” The guard raises his hands and backs up quickly, fear splashing his eyes.

All of the others watch nervously from the sidelines, either reigning in steeds or holding their hands to the pommels of their weapons. Waiting.

You swallow the saliva in your throat and ask, quietly, “Are you alright?”

“Don’t twist your head about me,” Johnny reassures, eyes traveling around the homestead as the guards shuffle and share glances. The Scot grits his teeth and tries to think of a way out of this.

If you had run, just as the man had anticipated, they would have caught up in no time.

The clop of hooves from your left draws both of yours’ attention in a quick succession of perked heads and pounding hearts. You feel your blood drop to pool in your feet at the face that meets you. Johnny growls and shoves you farther into his shadow as Lord Wilkin comes closer with a horse of bay coat, decorated with all the finery of his station. Gold, great coat with an embroidered tunic, and riding boots. Strapped at his waist was a dagger encrusted with gems made of blood and diamonds.

Never mind all that wealth, he looked ugly and cruel to you—a glint of arrogance in his eye. You glare and grit your teeth, rage coming off in waves from Johnny as well as yourself.

Wilkin’s old face is the same you remember smirking down at you as he drove the ceremonial blade into your palm, and your entire hand flinches in memory, digging your nails into the Scot’s waist.

He puffs a sound of reassurance but otherwise doesn’t move an inch from in front of you.

“And who might this be holding my bride hostage?” The Lord’s voice is sly. Black eyes dart up and down Johnny’s form and the man you latch to has to restrain a rabid grunt of anger. Stay his molten tongue. “A blacksmith?”

“It’s MacTavish, to you,” Johnny calls, tone dead and laced with danger. Your body restrains a shiver as his warm skin sinks into you; the memory of his lips on yours is addictive, even now. “Be best for you to remember it, eh? Considerin’ I’m the one who supplies your fucking guards with arms.”

Lord Wilkin utterly ignores him, his gaze sliding to you halfway through his sentence. You stay silent, lungs tight inside of your ribs. The unfortunate truth was that Johnny still had more standing here than you did, anything that you said would come up as null and void; in fact, it would be better to be completely mute.

But with how the Lord was looking at you, your teeth had to bite into your lip to silence yourself. You had to come up with a way out of this. Soon.

“Take my bride away from this brute. Chain him.” Wilkin hides a smirk, pulling at his steed’s reigns to shift the beast away with a snort and a flick of a dark tail. “I want his head on the block in the town square by tomorrow. I have a wedding to finalize.”

“Let the fires of hell go cold if I go anywhere with you,” you say, stepping out slightly from behind Johnny, much to his hesitation, but still, he watches over you and lets you do as you please. The blacksmith would rather not have this Lord’s eyes anywhere near you if he’s being honest with himself.

This Scot had made you bold—his words gave finality. If he said nothing would happen to you, you believed him. Perhaps that made you foolish, but his word meant far more than anyone else. Johnny kept his promises.

Lord Wilkin’s horse is jerked to a stop, its head snapping back and forth with a frothing mouth. His eyes travel back and a slow sneer pulls at his lips, sitting under a mustache of white hair. You restrain a cringe, and Johnny barks an order to the advancing guards to stay back as his large feet set themselves.

“If they grab me,” he mutters, speaking over his shoulder, “run, Little Lady. I’ll be sure to give you an opening.”

Your eyes widen in shock and horror, but before you can answer, your husband-to-be calls to you. The Blacksmith’s expression is the picture of defense as he angles the sword in his grip at the far-off Lord when even the barest hint of his tone indicates you.

A low grunt was ringing in his throat like that of an animal—as if the bear fur inside of the house had come to life and was a shield of muscle and iron shavings.

Your eyes blink, and something begins forming in your head, but it’s gone before you can really grasp it.

“My Lady,” Lord Wilkin states, his guards taking up places beside him, glaring. The hounds have still not gone silent, and Johnny eyes them nervously. “I believe you’ve been overcome by some…” He grumbles and gnashes his teeth in rage. “Spell of disobedience. I’ll have a physician examine you and keep you in my home for a stay of recovery—”

“The lady said she’s not goin’ with you,” Johnny seethes, pupils slits. Your hand rests on his back, spread over the swell of his broadness as you feel his pulse. Hot and racing. “So pack the fuck up and scatter! And take the bloody mutts with you!”

You spare a worried glance at the back of his head. The blacksmith can’t possibly believe that threatening them will make Wilkin pull back, and when he meets your eyes, you know he doesn’t just by the wrinkles by the sides of his lids.

He’s nervous, shifting his feet in small increments to try and push you nearer to the tree line. Your body hardens.

You’ve already made your mad dash—there was no more running. Certainly not if your new center of affection and protective build wasn’t coming with you.

Wilkin raises a brow. “Quite demanding for the man surrounded…Woman!” You flinch at the sudden shout, the quick rage of his snapping head, and the quick switch. Johnny glares and his hands are strangling the hilt of the sword, white and held still. The Lord barks, “Your parents gained valuable gifts for your well-bred hand—would you enjoy them being taken away? I can do so.” Dark eyes sweep over you. A smirk. “Forget this spark of madness and consummate what you know to be done.”

Johnny lunges with a snarl, eyes burning with horrible anger and the intent to cut the head off the snake. The guards meet him as he yells to you, “Run, Dearie!”

But your feet are stone.

When the man realizes you’re going nowhere without him, his eyes gain a sheen of panic as his blade clashes with sparks of steel with another. A dance of feet and wit that speaks to years of careful study; practice from both parties. Wilkin looks smug as Johnny lets off a loud curse and has to turn his attention back to the fight.

“Seems the woman’s come to her senses. Praise God, perhaps there’s hope for her yet.” You breathe heavily, hands clenched under your cloak. Your mind wished for a dagger—one to show this pathetic excuse of a man how much it hurt to try and have someone mark you for the pleasure of ownership. Like some common branded cow.

Wilkin nods to you as Johnny gazes on in horror, narrowly dodging a swipe at his side before he elbows a guard in the face, splaying him out along the ground in a heap of leather and fabric.

“What are you doing?” He yells, voice booming out over the forest. You don’t look at him before you suck down a breath and steady your nerves; standing taller and setting back your shoulders.

The trained grace that had been shoved down your throat on a silver platter came back easily. Forks and spoons sliding under your teeth, all engraved with images depicting holy scenes of sanctity while the blood of your flesh spills at the poke of thorns sitting on your head. A halo of bloody martyrdom.

A tool.

You can be a tool, you decide, flinching when Johnny’s body is tackled to the ground; form ricochetting as he growls and writhes. His sword clatters to the ground. They have him in binds, cheek shoved into the dirt, and great shackles that skirt the line between animal and human restraint. A guard’s hand forces his face deeper into the earth and Johnny bellows, ordering with wild eyes, “Run, dammit! Get out of here!”

Sending a stiff glance, you stare blankly into cobalt eyes and blink away just as quickly, standing and staring down Lord Wilkin as he watches in contentment at the scene of the raging blacksmith and his seemingly placated bride. At the twitch of his lips, you raise your voice high.

“Release him.” Dark eyes turn to slits before they slowly slither back to you.

“Pardon?” You grit your teeth and feel Johnny glaring, a snarl ripping out of his mouth as he coughs through the grass.

“Dearie, no!” A punch hits his stomach as he’s jerked up to his feet and attacked; chains rattling as hounds bay for blood. You sense your gut roll with bile as Johnny fights back—tree-like legs laying a kick square into one's abdomen.

The two guards hang onto his arms, shouting at each other to try and restrain him further.

“I ask my husband-to-be to release the man that graciously gave me shelter during the storm,” staring hard, you’re trying to stop yourself from running to Johnny. You know you have nothing to help him with—it would be pointless and utterly stupid.

Your brow raises, but a nervous twinge is still in your voice. “Does My Lord not take pride in the fact that the men of his fiefdom are so open to taking in those less fortunate than themselves?”

Wilkin’s cheeks go tight, skin pulling as the eyes of the free guards travel to him. The struggle gradually dies down across the way; cobalt eyes darting back and forth with panic.

“Don’t bloody do what I think you’re doin’!”

A trade would happen, but only for a moment. In your head, you were whipping past possibilities and scenarios. There was something on the cusp of discovery—so close to giving you the upper hand, but what was it? Like a thorn in your foot, you continue to walk over it; ready and willing.

Johnny had your back last night, it was time you had his.

“Let the honorable blacksmith go,” you level. “And name your price.”

The response is immediate. A flashing smirk. “Deal. I’ll take my bride back, just as was intended.”

“No!” Johnny’s tunic is all ripped up, tears from gripping hands only making the damage larger—nail scrapes along his hardened flesh from the guard’s ruthless hold. Skin white from the force.

If you look at him, you’ll lose your mind.

Under your cloak, your hands shake as Wilkin descends his horse, coming closer.

“Keep your fuckin’ bastard hands off of ‘er!”

Think. His footsteps march closer—thin and sly-looking like a sharp-eyed Egret. Think!

Before his hand can snap at your wrist your mind sparks in a panicked moment, and you’re exclaiming with a loud voice before you can stop yourself or think the sentence through. You stutter at first but quickly gain your footing.

“I-In good faith, I cannot accept—I am unfaithful to you, Lord!”

The entire homestead goes still, and those struggling with Johnny’s binds freeze. Lord Wilkin goes confused, his wrinkled visage peeling in like a rotted corpse. But no faces are quite as good as the blacksmith’s, who goes so pale and wide-eyed before he can school himself in secrecy; his jaw loose. His heart pounds in his breast, shreds of tunic waving in the wind. You continue with utter conviction, so much so that you even start to believe the lie you’ve crafted with a swift mind. “See the evidence upon the blacksmith’s sheets—where we lay last night in the throes of lust; I am no longer a pure bride.” Breaths get caught in throats; eyes bugging to a nonsensical degree. You swear someone choke. Your face burns as you continue, faking a shameful falling of your chin.

“I cannot marry you!” It’s almost enough to break you, the realization on Johnny’s expression as he darts his vision to your hand—which you hide inside your cloak; wrapped around your waist with false fear. Blood on your hand.

Blood on the sheets.

“It would be shameful to do so, do you not understand? I am not but a used good.” Fake or not, the last comment still makes Johnny’s hands clench his jaw working itself with a restrained growl.

But pride furrows his brow. A smirk was forced back from his lips.

You just took away what Wilkin loves more than anything else—control.

The older man halts, his mouth going agape and a vile sheen coming to his cheeks. He stutters, “I...what?” It’s a violent snarl, but the man balks back from you as if you’re infected. “You dare lie to me, Girl? Play off this fallacy?”

“It’s no lie,” you say, gaining confidence with how Johnny watches you closely, only once rumbling at the guards that hold him when they tighten their grip. “The evidence is plain as day in the Blacksmith’s bed.”

Wilkin’s eyes flash, and he barks an order to one of his men to enter the main house. Only when his dark eyes are off of you do you spare a look at Johnny.

You sag softly, shoulders losing some tension.

Blue eyes lock with yours, firm. Sending an apologetic squint of your eyes, the man only slightly shakes his head, mouthing out, “Don’t worry your little head about it.” A quick, barely-there smile flashes his lips—but then you have to look away before you let the shaking of your body be known. No matter how hard you plead with your muscles to stop vibrating, they do so instinctually.

You know what lying about this will cost you, successfully or not. You’d be labeled for the rest of your life; separate. But Johnny’s eyes on you ease the pain. Lets you breathe. If the worst thing that could happen to you was living out your life in his homestead and being at his side, then perhaps social execution was the only thing that pleased you at the moment.

You just hoped that it didn’t lead to an actual execution.

“Lord!” The guard returns as Johnny continues to watch you, panting, with sweat dripping down his chin. His ribs hurt something awful, but he only glowered at the men holding him and stayed his violent tongue to let you work your strengths like fine iron wrought in the fire of his hearth.

Wilkin’s lackey was hurriedly carting the length of the Blacksmith’s sheets behind him—clutching in his fist the vibrant red stain of your blood and displaying it to the light. Thinking about what they saw it as, instead of your wound opening, you cringe and restrain a sound of disgust.

Even being around Johnny for as little time as you had, despite the kiss and infatuation, you had forgotten how crude the rest of these men could be. It’s like this sanctuary of trees and dew-soaked ground was in an entirely different world, and these intruders were wrecking it. By Johnny’s face, he felt the exact same.

Half of the Scot wanted to save your honor and tell them you were lying, but the desperation of the situation was far more serious than that. He couldn’t let you go back to Wilkin—he’d promised. So Johnny took down a tight breath and stayed silent; face burning and glaring at the ground with clenched fists shaking for blood.

The guards holding his arms slightly release their grip, listening intently themselves.

Blanking, the Lord’s eyes lock onto the stain as the man brings him the fabric. Not a moment later his hand snaps out to drag it to his face, looking daggers into the redness as his eyes snap from place to place.

“...You did this on purpose,” the slow dead tone takes you aback, hands around your abdomen digging further into your flesh as a dread spills into your stomach with blossoming unease.

“M-my Lord?” Johnny tenses, eyes sharp like a wolf.

“You did this so you could spite me, you little,” the encrusted dagger is unsheathed from its scabbard. “Whore!”

“Shut the fuck up!” The blacksmith bursts with wrath, jerking forward so violently that he drags the guards holding him along the ground, their calls of alarms making the hounds go ballistic.

You take a small step back as Wilkin gets nearer to you—the point of the blade setting itself right under your chin; tilting your head up. Breath going tight, you stare with wide eyes and a pounding heart.

He wouldn’t kill you…would he?

The Lord’s eyes are brimstone and deeper than Hell, holding sinners in the bars of his pupils while devils of brown specks prod the pool of obsidian. If a man could be on fire and still be living, Wilkin was an inferno incarnate.

“You belong to me,” he grits his teeth as Johnny’s voice blurs in the background, having to be forced to his knees by three men yet still nearly throttling one with the force of his arms. “I paid for you.”

“Then you should find it a lost investment,” you shakily reply, not knowing how you have the strength to stare into Wilkin’s eyes. But you do. You stare and you hold your hands tight into your flesh until the skin under your gifted fabric aches. A small prick of the blade makes you suck in a tight inhalation, a tiny droplet of crimson sneaking down your throat.

It’s a battle of wills, and before you say what you’re thinking, you’re nearly sure that in less than three seconds you’ll be grasping a slit throat.

You clear your throat softly and speak in a dim whisper. “How will your guards react to you killing a woman in anger?” Expressions freeze. “What does God say about that?” You swallow, throat bobbing. Hit him where it hurts. “...What would the townspeople say? Mercy is not above our great Lord, that is an earthly prospect. I believed that was your greatest quality, is that not what everyone believes?”

Wilkin stares, his mustache twitching. Dead face. Dead eyes.

It’s a long, long moment before anything else happens, and when it does, you flinch.

The dagger disappears from your chin and you instantly back up several steps, breathing unevenly. Pointedly, you place your uninjured hand on your slowly dripping skin.

Johnny’s taken down three of the guards, their faces bloody and your blacksmith’s nose broken. He yells and screams curses. You feel your heart constrict at the sight, pain zooming down your veins in bursts of adrenaline, but it’s seconds later that Wilkin speaks, loudly so that everyone can hear.

“I would never harm a woman,” you hold back a violent scoff as your hands shake, wanting to be taken into Johnny’s arms now more than ever—feel his heat and inhale his scent. Wrapped in a blanket of steel and ash. “In my good graces, I will pray for your salvation, Miss. But being soiled—”

“Bloody piss off!” You send Johnny a quick glance at the outburst. He’s forced back face-first into the ground with a grunt and sputtering of grass in his mouth.

“I no longer wish to be joined with you in holy matrimony. It would be dishonorable to my station.” Dark eyes swim with hatred, but the tone of his voice is easy and pliable. The Lord was a good fake—he plasters on an appeasing smile for his men and waves a quick hand in the air as he turns to his horse. “Release the brute. Let the pair roll in their sin of carnal desire. God will be their judge.”

Johnny struggles as they unlock his chains, but the second he’s out he’s springing full-force towards you; his skin sliding across your cloak as you’re guarded far better than any loyal hound or King might be.

“Johnny,” you grapple at his biceps, sighing raggedly in relief. He doesn’t brush you off, only curling his side around you and angling his head to the mounted horses; pupils slits and lungs heaving. His nose looks awful. “Don’t, don’t,” you plead, “It’s over.”

The man doesn't respond, looking feral as his hair goes this way and that; coiled around your body about to strike at anything that comes close.

“I’ll kill him,” Johnny grunts. “I’ll rip his damn throat out for speakin’ to you like that—for puttin’ a knife to your throat. I’ll rip him into bloody bits and pieces, you just say the word, Little Lady.”

Your arms encase the one of his you’re holding, dragging the limb to your chest. Cobalt eyes dart back to your face. It’s a long moment, but his expression softens slightly—the wrinkles beside his eyes easing while his lips twitch down. Blood drips off his lower face, spread around his under eyes, and stains his stubble with crimson gore.

“Please,” you mutter.

He looks down and nods stiffly, even if he doesn’t like it.

The horses are rallied, the hounds called, and with a throw of dirt from their hooves the convoy is off. Silence returns in slow increments of nothingness.

Wind, the call of a bird, and the babble of a far-off stream echo through the pines. Only when they’re entirely out of sight and the dust has cleared that Johnny swiftly moves, picking you up into his arm. You squeak as he carries you speedily into the main house, rushing to place your backside on the table.

His large hands immediately tilt your head up to spy the tiny mark from Wilkin’s blade, and you feel his shuttered breath against your throat as you go heated.

“J-Johnny, what are you…” But you don’t get an answer, the man disappearing before coming back with a wetted rag. Once more, the man cleans your wounds with delicate presses of the cloth—ridding you of all blood.

His jaw is clenched, and as you watch, your hand in your lap twitches.

In a broken act of pain, you lightly run your fingertips over the swelling of his nose. The man stops, but serious eyes stick to your throat—unable to meet your gaze; there’s a red sheen to his neck and ears. Anger or embarrassment, you know not.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, guilty, and his widened gaze rips itself to lock with yours. Your vision blurs, afraid to touch him fully as if it might burn him.

“No,” he’s shaking his head. “No, you never tell me that. What you did, Dearie…I,” Johnny stutters, closing his mouth before opening it again. “I should be apologizing to you. It wasn’t fair to make you do that. Any of it.”

A wobbly smile flicks your lips.

“Are you saying I should have left you?” Johnny moves his face farther into your hand, blood contaminating your skin but you don’t pull away. You let him sag into your palm instead, reveling in the scrape of his stubble against your soft hands.

“I’d not see you harmed,” is all he answers.

You sigh and blink away your tears, stealing the man’s rag so you can dab at the bloody nostrils. Johnny’s pulse is still fast under you—like the pound of his hammer.

“Well,” his eyes dig into yours and you smile. “I believe my priorities are the same. I may have only met you yesterday, but I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

“Aye, well, everyone will know how fond soon enough.” He’s more worried about this than you are, a stubborn and almost grumbly tone to his words.

“Is my purity that much of a sore point for you?” You can’t help but tease him, even in the circumstances. “I had no idea.”

His face goes more crimson than his own blood, and he blinks at you rapidly.

“I…That isn’t what I…” You chuckle gently and press your forehead to his, whispering.

“I was just joking.” He sags with relief, his hands coming up to rest on your hips with the care of a man unbefitting to his station. Again, you have to ask yourself how an individual so intimidating can be, at the same instance, kind and generous.

His lips mutter, brows tight. “Are ya sure you’re alright, Hen?”

You think, wondering about the run through the forest when this all began, the plea for shelter. Such a deep coincidence that you’d end up here—perhaps the most safe place in the entire fiefdom. Everything had lined up perfectly, barring a few bumps in the road. You doubted Wilkin will mess with this place after the spreading of your ‘promiscuous’ behavior.

He was too sly for outright violence if given the option.

“Yes,” you know, and thin your lips. “What about your nose? A-and everything else?”

“Don’t think about it,” the Scot smiles, eyes still glinting with worry. So many hours and you’d barely gotten any sort of break. “I just want you to rest, then, eh?”

Maybe it was outwardly obvious, but the entire ordeal had left you drained; shaky, and still coming off of panic. What if they had killed Johnny…?

You’d go back to Wilkin and live as his wife, producing heirs and locked away in his estate for the remainder of your life. What kind of existence was that? No, you knew, you’d never live like that.

You’d never live like that here.

With a shaky breath, you watch Johnny’s eyes flash with concern for a moment by your silence, but before he can speak you’re pressing your lips to his in a firm and honest kiss—sinking in every emotion you could.

The man grunts in surprise, but doesn’t move back; if anything, his grip on your hips increases, sliding up to your waist.

After a moment of tasting flesh, you pull back and whisper, “Thank you.”

Johnny breathes heavily, a glimmer in his blues, “Well,” he grumbles, “I’d say you did most of the work.”

You both share a chuckle before you’re lifted again, carried gently over to the bed without sheets. You’re placed atop the bear fur and wrapped in that instead after your cloak is unclipped and folded neatly, set on the floor. Outside, the call of a far-off storm hits your ears and you blink to the window.

“Stay with me?” You ask before you can stop yourself or can even think.

The blacksmith’s breath catches, his fingers flinching as they were pulling the fur tighter around your neck.

It’s a moment before he asks in a quiet tone.

“You sure you want this, Dearie?” His lips go tight, eyes narrowing in inner conflict. You stare and already know the answer just by how he speaks to you. “I’m no King. I…I can’t give you fine jewelry or fancy clothes. There’ll be no grand suppers beyond the game I catch or what I can afford to buy. Long winters.”

The air goes quiet with worship, and your eyes go wide with care. His broken nose is crooked, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. You wonder if that was for your sake or his.

“I’m not someone worthy of your beauty,” he rubs at the back of his head, bending down by the edge of the bed. “Certainly not your smarts. I’m only a blacksmith, Little Lady.”

“Only?” You huff a chuckle. Johnny looks at you in confusion as the black clouds outside roll in, seen through the window of this quaint and lovely home. The hearth is warm, the scent of food still in the air, and the memory of a dash through the forest behind you.

“If you’re only a blacksmith, Mr. MacTavish,” you’re sent a fake stern look as the back of a hand goes to brush your cheek. You shiver. “Then I’m only a runaway bride.”

“Aye,” Johnny admits with a growing smile of adoration, “but still a bonnie one, at that.”

“...Stay with me?” You ask again.

The man breathes out, “Tell me why.”

“The trees do not deny what they need to make them whole, Blacksmith,” you whisper. “Why should I?”

He’s clambering under the fur, wrecked clothes, and blood on his face but never feeling more whole. Is so little a time enough to fall in love with someone? What deity had tied your souls together so soon with ribbon soaked in rainwater—tinged with blood?

His lips meet yours as you sigh into him, hands gripping his arms as they circle your waist tightly. Johnny breathes you in and lets his hands span your back, fingertips digging into your clothes. Into his mouth, you whine a plea for him to keep you close and hold you tight. It’s all your need from him. It’s all you want.

For the wise know best: there is nothing better than a simple life.

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tiiraameesu · 7 days ago

Text

The One That Got Away Pt. 1

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.

tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual friends to lovers (maybe), gojo is dumb af

NOTESજ⁀➴ hi im new here so pls be kind! do feel free to dm me if any of my content offends you! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

wcજ⁀➴ 7.0k

The ice rink was alive with excitement as the final seconds of the game ticked away. The roar of the crowd echoed throughout the stadium, a sea of faces clad in school colors, jumping to their feet in anticipation. On the rink, the Arctic Aces were poised for a victory, the puck at the feet of their captain, Gojo Satoru.

With a deft flick of his stick, Gojo sent the puck careening toward the goal. The opposing goalie was caught off guard, a split second too slow, and the sound of the puck hitting the back of the net sent the crowd into an explosion of cheers.

“GOAL!” the announcer bellowed, but the noise from the stands already drowned out everything else. Gojo’s teammates rushed towards him, lifting him into the air as the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. The victory was theirs.

You sat in a quieter corner, slightly detached from the chaos of the bleachers, the game still playing out in the background. Your notebook was open in front of you, its pages filled with half-finished lyrics, the melody lingering in your mind, yet elusive. At the bottom of the page was a small doodle—just a simple, almost careless sketch of Satoru’s jersey number. You hadn’t meant to draw it, not really, but there it was, a subtle tribute to the guy whose presence always seemed to fill a room without trying.

With a soft sigh, you closed the notebook, the sound nearly lost amidst the cheers echoing around you. You slipped it into your bag and rose to your feet, your gaze briefly lingering on the jubilant team celebrating in the center of the rink.

You clapped along with the rest of the crowd, your smile wide and genuine as the team gathered at the center of the rink, already celebrating. It was hard not to feel a surge of pride yourself, even if you weren't directly involved. You’d been there for the highs and lows, through every game, every practice. And now, here he was, surrounded by his teammates, basking in the glow of victory.

From across the rink, you spotted him.

Gojo’s eyes were immediately drawn to you in the crowd, his expression lighting up with that familiar, cocky grin. The chaos around him seemed to blur, and for a brief moment, it was just the two of you. He nodded in your direction, his gaze lingering on you as the celebration continued around him. His eyes said it all—pride, admiration, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

Your heart gave a soft jolt, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips in response. You clapped harder, cheering for him as your eyes met his, silently acknowledging the bond that had existed between you for as long as you could remember.

The celebration around you continued, the sound of clapping and cheers echoing in your ears as you remained at the edge of the stands, watching Gojo and his teammates bask in their hard-earned victory. The pride in his eyes when he’d glanced over at you made your heart skip a beat, but you quickly pushed the fluttering feeling aside. This was his moment, and you were happy for him—just like always.

As the team began to make their way off the rink, you slowly made your way toward the back hallway where they would head to change. You’d been in this routine for years: waiting outside the locker room for Gojo to finish, stealing a quiet moment together before he went off to celebrate with his teammates.

You turned the corner and found yourself face to face with a small group of girls—other members of the team’s girlfriends, their laughter and chatter filling the hallway as they stood near the entrance to the locker room. They were all dressed up, their excitement just as evident as the boys’ on the rink. The sight of them made your heart thump a little faster, the realization creeping up on you that you, too, were here waiting for Gojo.

It wasn’t that you didn’t belong here. You’d been doing this for years—being there for him after every game, every victory, even after every loss. It was just that... well, in this moment, it hit you all at once: the way you were standing there, waiting like everyone else, but your connection to Gojo wasn’t like theirs. You weren’t his girlfriend, not in the way they were to their boyfriends. You were his best friend.

You flushed at the thought, suddenly acutely aware of the blush creeping up your neck. Was it silly to feel this way? To feel just a little out of place, even though you knew—deep down—that your relationship with Gojo was different. Special, in its own way. But still, it didn’t stop that feeling of awkwardness from bubbling up. You knew you had no claim over him in the way they did. You were just... well, his best friend.

Still, the thought made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain, and as you stood there, trying to seem casual, your fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the strap of your bag.

The door to the locker room swung open, and soon, Satoru emerged, his white jersey drenched in sweat, a cocky grin plastered across his face. He jogged toward you, his energy undiminished by the physical toll of the game.

The moment your eyes landed on him, all your thoughts seemed to vanish. Everything—the other girls, the lingering self-doubt—faded away. There was only Gojo, glowing with the thrill of victory, and the familiar rush that came with being near him. It was like slipping into something comfortable, and just like that, your nervousness was gone, replaced by the ease of a banter that had become second nature.

"Well, well, well," he teased, stopping in front of you, out of breath but practically glowing with energy. "Were you actually watching this time, or were you scribbling in that nerd journal of yours again?"

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. "Wouldn’t you like to know?" you replied, a teasing glint in your eye. "Maybe I was writing an exposé about how predictable your moves are on the ice."

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if offended. "Predictable? You wound me!" He leaned in a bit closer, eyes sparkling with playful mischief. "Did you see that shot? I’m the best, and you know it."

You smirked, reaching into your bag and pulling out a towel, handing it to him. "You're okay, I guess," you said, shrugging like you were just barely impressed.

Satoru took the towel with a grin, pretending to be hurt by your indifference. "Oh, come on, I expected more from my number one fan!" He draped the towel over his shoulders, exaggerating his disappointment. "Here I am, out there scoring game-winning goals, and all you’ve got is ‘you’re okay’?"

You smiled, amused by his theatrics. "Well, you know, someone has to keep your ego in check."

Gojo grinned, clearly not ready to let the playful banter end. He tilted his head slightly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. He wiped his face with the towel, still looking at you with that teasing smirk.

"You’re no fun," he remarked, a hint of disappointment in his tone as he playfully shook his head. Then, his expression shifted, his voice turning a bit lighter but with an eager undertone. "But hey, speaking of fun... you’re coming to the party, right?"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference as you folded your arms. "I don’t know… I’ve got a lot of important nerd journaling to catch up on."

Gojo’s expression immediately shifted, pouting dramatically as if you had just crushed his dreams. "What? No way! You can’t just leave me hanging after I win the semi-finals for us!" His hand came up to his chest in mock offense. "I’ve got a whole celebration planned, and it’s not the same without my favorite person there."

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth tugged upwards despite your best efforts to resist. "You’re unbelievable."

Gojo stepped closer, his tone turning slightly more pleading, though still playful. "Come on, please? I’ll even save you a spot by the snacks, I promise." He added with a wink, "You know I’m much more fun when I’m not around all these crazy fans. I need someone who can keep me grounded."

You glanced at him, considering it for a moment. It wasn’t like you had any other plans, and honestly, it had been a while since you’d just hung out with him. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to join the chaos for once.

"Alright, fine," you relented with a sigh, though you couldn’t help but smile at the victory in his eyes. "I’ll come. But if you make me regret this, I’m leaving early."

Gojo’s grin returned in full force, and he playfully pumped his fist in the air. "Yes! Victory! You’re the best, you know that? Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior," he said, though it was clear from the sparkle in his eyes that he was definitely not going to keep his promises.

The party was in full swing when you arrived. Gojo had given you and a few of his teammates a lift, and as soon as you stepped inside, the vibrant atmosphere hit you. The music was loud, the lights dimmed just enough to set the perfect party mood, and people were already dancing, laughing, and enjoying the night.

Gojo, as always, was in the center of it all, surrounded by teammates and friends, a bright grin on his face. He turned to you with that familiar gleam in his eye, his excitement contagious.

As soon as you stepped inside, Gojo grinned at you, his excitement clearly building. "Told you this would be worth it," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "See? Not so bad, right?"

You shook your head, laughing lightly. "Alright, alright. You were right. But I’m still not convinced this is my scene."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, leaning closer with that characteristic smirk. "You’ll warm up to it. Just give it time."

Before you could respond, a couple of teammates called out to him from across the room, pulling his attention away. With a quick, almost apologetic smile, he waved at you before being swept into their conversation, his laugh carrying over the noise. You watched him for a moment, his energy like a magnet for those around him, before turning toward the snack table.

The music pulsed around you as you picked through the snack table, finally grabbing a drink. You popped it open with a satisfying crack and took a sip, letting the coolness settle in your hand as you surveyed the party. It was a lot—too much for you to dive into right away, but you were managing. The hum of conversation, the laughter, the occasional burst of songs—it all blended into the background.

"You look like you're in your element," a voice said from beside you, breaking your moment of observation.

You turned to find Geto Suguru, another member of the Arctic Aces, leaning casually against the snack table, a grin playing on his lips. He wasn’t as flashy as Gojo, but there was something laid-back and steady about him that made his presence comforting. His dark hair framed his face as he looked at you, his usual calm demeanor offering a contrast to the louder energy around you.

"Yeah, I’m just trying to keep up," you said with a smirk, raising your drink in a mock toast.

Geto chuckled, glancing around the room before his eyes landed back on you. "I get it," he said, that easy grin of his showing. "It’s a lot to take in if you’re not used to it. But hey, sometimes it’s fun just watching the chaos unfold without jumping in headfirst."

You raised an eyebrow, sipping your drink. "Yeah, I’m more of an observer. Not sure I get the hype about all this, but I guess it’s not the worst way to spend a night."

"Fair enough," Geto said with a shrug. "It’s not for everyone. But, you know, there’s something about a party like this—it brings people together. Everyone’s just here to have fun and let loose, no pressure." He looked back toward the group near the center of the room, grinning as a few of his friends got into a debate about something, probably over a game. "But hey, not everything has to be high-energy. You can always hang back and enjoy the quieter moments too."

You nodded, spotting a few people hanging out on the couches, chatting quietly. "True. A little peace in the middle of all this madness wouldn't hurt."

Geto’s grin widened. "Exactly. No need to dive into the madness if you don’t want to."

You both stood there for a moment, casually observing the party, and for the first time that evening, you felt a little more at ease.

"So," Geto broke the silence, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. "There’s a beer pong game going on over there. You in? It’s chill, nothing too serious."

You looked over at the table where some of his friends were already setting up. A couple of cups lined up, a few people tossing ping pong balls with varying degrees of success.

"Beer pong?" you asked, a playful glint in your eye. "I’m not sure I’m ready to show off my amazing skills yet."

Geto smirked, clearly enjoying the teasing. "Oh, I’m sure you’ll blow everyone away. Or, you know, at least keep us entertained." He nudged you with his elbow. "Come on, it’ll be fun. Plus, I promise no one's going to make you do anything too crazy."

You rolled your eyes but smiled, the idea sounding better than the noise of the dance floor. "Alright, alright. But if I end up losing, you’re taking the blame."

Geto laughed. "Deal. Let’s go—just try not to throw off my perfect winning streak, yeah?"

With that, he led the way over to the beer pong table, the two of you joining the group already gathered around. You felt a little more relaxed now, ready to see how this party game would unfold.

The beer pong game was in full swing, and you found yourself leaning into the rhythm of it, despite your initial hesitation. Geto was on your team, and with his laid-back demeanor, he made the whole thing feel a lot less intense than you’d expected. On the other side of the table was Shoko, laughing softly as she lined up her shot, her usual cool demeanor only slightly cracked by the casual fun of the game. Her relaxed approach made her a surprisingly good opponent, and she had a knack for landing her shots effortlessly.

"Alright, you’re up," Geto said, giving you a playful nudge as he grabbed another cup from the table and set it back in place. "Don’t mess this up, we’ve got a streak to keep."

You chuckled, grabbing the ping pong ball and eyeing the cups across the table. "No pressure, right?" you teased, though you could feel a slight tension in your fingers as you focused. With a flick of your wrist, the ball bounced off the edge of the table and landed neatly into a cup.

"Nice!" Geto grinned, his usual calm facade replaced by a proud smirk. "Guess you did have it in you."

"Yeah, yeah," you said with a smile, taking a step back as Shoko raised an eyebrow at you, clearly impressed.

The game continued, with a few more players hopping in and out of the action, each one bringing their own unique flair to the table. As the game wore on, the noise and chaos of the party became more distant, like a buzz in the background of your focus. The cups kept getting fewer, and despite the light-hearted teasing and competition, you were starting to enjoy yourself.

Finally, after a round where you successfully sunk another ball, you stepped back, leaning against the edge of the table and catching your breath. The game was getting intense, and you felt the adrenaline picking up, but you decided to take a small break. Your eyes wandered, searching the crowd for a moment of calm.

And then you spotted him.

Gojo.

He was dancing with a cheerleader, a girl you’d seen around campus but never paid much attention to. But this time, the way he moved with her was different—charged. He was still his usual animated self, effortlessly spinning and swaying, but there was something undeniably magnetic about the way they fit together. They laughed, their bodies gliding and shifting in sync, a fluid rhythm that felt more intimate than anything you’d seen before. His hands brushed against her lower back with a confidence that made your chest tighten. There was a certain spark between them, the kind that you couldn’t ignore—like they were feeding off each other’s energy in a way Gojo had never done with anyone else.

The playful, carefree smile he wore was still there, but there was a deeper connection in the way he held her, a closeness that felt charged and electric. It wasn’t the usual flirtation, the casual touch-and-go kind of connection Gojo had with the girls who passed in and out of his life. No, this was different.

You quickly tore your gaze away, heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself—not exactly—but something about the scene unsettled you. Maybe it was the raw, undeniable chemistry between them, or maybe it was the fact that Gojo, the one who never seemed interested in anything serious, was making you feel like an outsider in his own world. You tried to shake it off, refocusing on the game, but the lingering feeling wouldn’t go away.

"Hey, you good?" Geto’s voice broke into your thoughts, but you hadn’t noticed him watching you. His tone was casual, no hint of suspicion, just his usual calmness.

"Yeah, just catching my breath," you replied with a small smile, grabbing another drink from the table as if nothing was amiss. "This game’s getting competitive."

Geto nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah, that's what makes it fun." He motioned to the cups in front of him. "Your shot next."

You pushed the moment with Gojo out of your mind, focusing back on the game as if nothing had distracted you at all.

The game continued with the usual back-and-forth banter and some impressive shots, but you couldn’t shake the growing feeling that your attention was divided. The lively energy of the game was fun, but your thoughts kept drifting back to that moment you had seen Gojo dancing with the cheerleader. It wasn’t anything that should’ve bothered you, but for some reason, it did.

Shoko tossed the ball at the cup with a confident flick of her wrist, sending it into the last cup with a victorious cheer. "Yes!" she exclaimed, raising her hands in triumph. "We win!"

You blinked, realizing you were so distracted by your own thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed the last round coming to an end. You let out a small laugh, trying to shake off the distraction. "Guess I lost focus there."

Geto leaned back with a playful grin. "Yeah, I noticed. You okay? You seemed a bit out of it."

You gave him a small shrug, not wanting to dwell on the weird feeling that had taken over you. "Yeah, just... a little distracted."

Shoko was already high-fiving the others, and a few people started gathering around to congratulate her. You felt the buzz of the crowd all around you, but it was starting to feel a bit too much, and you needed a break.

"Alright, I'm out," you said, pushing yourself up from the table. "Gonna grab some fresh air."

Geto gave you a lazy salute, looking half-amused. "Go on, take five. We’ll keep your spot warm."

You nodded, flashing a smile as you made your way through the crowd. The noise, the trashy music, the movement—it all felt too much, and you couldn’t quite place why your thoughts had been so scrambled. Maybe it was the way Gojo had been so carefree with the cheerleader, or maybe it was just the overwhelming energy of the party in general.

Once you made it outside, you stepped into the cooler night air, the sharp contrast immediately soothing your frazzled nerves. You leaned against the railing of the patio, taking a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill your lungs. It was quiet here, a much-needed break from the chaotic energy inside. The noise of the party was muffled, distant, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to just take it all in.

But as the fresh air settled your mind, the thoughts you’d been trying to ignore bubbled back up, more persistent now.

Gojo and the cheerleader—what had that been?

The way they danced so close, so natural with each other. It was like they had their own rhythm, their own unspoken connection. You could’ve brushed it off, but it was hard to ignore the tightness in your chest when you remembered how easily Gojo had slipped into it. He was always the life of the party, always the one drawing attention, always so effortless with everything, even with women.

A part of you—one you liked to keep tucked away—had always been amazed by how effortless Gojo made everything look. He just fit into the world, like he belonged. And yet, standing there now, in the cool night air, with that image of him twirling with the cheerleader flashing through your mind, you couldn't deny the pang of something… sharper. The way he looked at her, how easily he connected with her—it was all so natural for him.

And then, you remembered the words he'd said to you, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather: that he wasn’t really into relationships, that he wasn’t interested in finding a girlfriend. He didn’t want to be tied down, didn’t want to complicate things with attachments. He just wanted to have fun. At the time, you’d respected that, admired his free spirit, and told yourself that it didn’t bother you. He had made his stance clear. No strings. No complications.

But as you stood there, feeling the chill of the night air against your skin, you found yourself wondering why it felt different now. Was it because you had thought, somewhere deep down, that maybe things were just… simpler with him? That you didn’t need to define what you were to still have moments that felt real? You weren’t sure. All you knew was the sudden, inexplicable weight in your chest. It wasn’t supposed to matter. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, trying to focus. Why was this bothering you so much?

It wasn’t like you expected anything from Gojo. Hell, you didn’t even think he’d look at you the way he looked at others. He had made that perfectly clear. And you had always told yourself that was fine. You were fine with it.

But then, seeing him with someone else, laughing with her, so at ease—it stirred something inside you. Something you hadn’t really known how to name, and certainly hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

You ran a hand through your hair, frustrated with yourself. It shouldn’t matter. You barely knew him outside of these parties. Hell, you weren't even sure you were looking for anything at all. So why did it feel like something was missing when you thought about him with someone else? Why did it hurt?

You sighed deeply, trying to shake off the unease that clung to you like a fog. You hadn’t signed up for this. You hadn’t signed up for the confusing mess that your thoughts were becoming, nor for the overwhelming weight of emotions you hadn’t asked for.

As you stood there, trying to ground yourself, a loud cheer from inside cut through the quiet, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. The music and voices from the party had reached a fever pitch, the energy almost tangible, and for a moment, you were distracted by the chaotic buzz from within. The door felt like an escape, a safe boundary between you and everything that was swirling inside your chest.

With a deep breath, you pushed yourself off the railing and walked back toward the door. You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts, before stepping back inside. The noise hit you again—laughter, the clinking of glasses, a sense of collective joy—and you couldn’t help but feel out of place, as though your personal storm didn’t quite fit in with the party’s sunny atmosphere.

You made your way through the crowd, your eyes scanning the sea of faces, searching for something familiar, something to anchor you. That's when you spotted Geto, leaning casually against the wall, a half-empty cup in his hand. His sharp eyes met yours, and in that instant, you felt like he already knew something was off, even before you had a chance to say anything.

"Everything okay?" His voice was quieter than usual, soft but laced with an undercurrent of concern. The question hit you harder than you expected, and the tightness in your chest only worsened.

You forced a smile, but it was thin—barely a curve of the lips—and you knew Geto could see right through it. You shook your head, not ready to expose everything that was eating at you. "Yeah, just needed some air."

Geto didn't press, but his gaze lingered, measuring you with a quiet intensity. He wasn’t the type to pry, but he could read you like an open book. After a beat, his eyes shifted around the room, the calm in his demeanor a stark contrast to the growing chaos inside. Then, he looked back at you, his voice quieter still. "There's a lot going on in there... If you want to keep your peace, maybe it’s best you stay out here for a bit."

His tone wasn’t teasing. It was low, almost protective, like he was warning you to shield yourself from the storm brewing in the room. You frowned, a knot tightening in your stomach. Geto didn’t speak like this unless something was really going down.

"Why’s that?" you asked, your voice betraying the unease creeping up your spine.

He shrugged slightly, his faint smirk only half-formed, like he knew something you didn’t. But his eyes were darker now, unreadable. "Just a little... drama brewing."

You tilted your head, still not getting it. But before you could ask again, a sudden eruption of noise crashed over you—loud cheers, boisterous shouts of encouragement. It felt like the entire room was vibrating with an unseen energy, something in the air urging everyone to push harder, get louder.

And, against every instinct telling you to stay out of it, your feet moved. Drawn toward the door, the buzz inside almost impossible to ignore. You stepped closer to the entrance, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening, but before you could make sense of it, you saw them.

In the far corner, Gojo was kissing the cheerleader.

The world seemed to slow. The kiss wasn’t the playful, casual brush of lips you’d seen a thousand times before. This—this was different. It was slow, deep, intimate, a connection that felt effortless, yet so charged, as if every moment they shared was weighted with something unspoken. The way Gojo held her, the soft curve of her body against his—it was like they fit together in a way you’d never seen before.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart slammed against your ribs, too loud, too painful. This was no fleeting moment—it was real, it was them, and it made something inside you shatter in a way you couldn’t explain.

The crowd around them erupted in cheers, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears, the beat of your heart thudding painfully in your chest. Your body went numb, your vision narrowing as you tried to force yourself to look away, but you couldn’t. Every detail of that kiss, the way Gojo’s hand lingered on the small of her back, how she leaned into him as if there was no one else in the room, etched itself into your mind. It was too much. Too raw. Too real.

You felt cold, exposed, like the weight of the room had just pressed in on you, suffocating. The realization hit like a gut punch—Gojo, the guy who never did this, never gave anyone more than a fleeting glance or a brief touch, was suddenly offering someone else everything you had wanted to give him. The part of you that had always been there for him, the part that had waited and stayed in the shadows, felt torn wide open, vulnerable in a way that left you trembling.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. And in that moment, you knew—it was too late.

You stood frozen in place, heart pounding, the world around you blurring as you tried to force yourself to breathe. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. You blinked, feeling like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t control.

That's when you felt Geto’s presence again, the way his gaze settled on you with an intensity that cut through the haze of your emotions. You could hear the concern in his voice, though it barely registered through the ringing in your ears.

“Are you okay?”

The question hit like a wave. You struggled to keep your composure, but the crack in your smile was all too obvious. You shook your head, the sharp edges of your thoughts scraping against your skull.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Geto didn’t buy it. He stared at you, his gaze sharpening. He could see through every wall you tried to build, and for a moment, you felt like he was going to call you out. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave you a small, understanding nod, though his eyes were still full of that quiet concern.

“Alright,” he said, his voice softer now. “But if you need anything, I’m here.”

You nodded quickly, too quickly, like you were desperate to move on from this moment. You didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to feel any more. So, you did the only thing that made sense—you grabbed a drink from the nearest table, your hands shaking as you wrapped your fingers around the cold glass. Without a second thought, you tilted the glass back and downed it in one shot, the burn of the alcohol stabbing through your throat.

It was harsh, but it was enough to take the edge off. Just enough to dull the sharp sting of everything crashing down on you.

You set the empty glass down, the room spinning a little as you steadied yourself. Your chest still ached, but at least it was bearable now. You didn’t know how much longer you could stay, how much more you could watch, how much more you could pretend that you weren’t falling apart.

“I’m gonna head home,” you muttered, already turning away.

Geto didn’t argue. He just gave you a small nod and a glance that said everything without saying a word. You could feel his eyes on you as you made your way out, but you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t. Not when you knew if you did, you’d break open in front of him.

You didn’t want to be seen like that. Not by anyone.

So you left.

The cool night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, and for the first time in hours, you could breathe. The city stretched out before you, the distant lights barely reaching up to where you stood. You knew you couldn’t just go home—not after everything that had happened tonight. Not when your mind felt like it was about to crack wide open.

Instead, you walked, each step purposeful, until you found yourself at the door of your studio. It was quiet here, isolated, the perfect place to think—or, at least, drown out everything with noise.

You shoved open the door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of wood and old instruments hitting you like a wave. It was a strange kind of comfort. The walls were lined with guitars, and the sound of your fingers brushing against the strings felt like the only thing that could quiet the storm in your mind.

You didn’t bother to turn on the lights—just went straight for your guitar. The soft, familiar shape of the acoustic greeted you like an old friend, and you sat down on the edge of the old couch in the studio, fingers instinctively resting on the strings.

You strummed a few chords, the sound mellow and comforting in the silence of the room. It was familiar, something that had always calmed your mind. But tonight, it felt... hollow. The notes felt small, contained, like they couldn’t fully capture the mess swirling inside you. You tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, in the song you were playing, but your fingers faltered. The music wasn’t matching what you felt.

What was it that you were searching for? You didn’t know. It was the kind of feeling that started in your chest and spread through your body, but the acoustic guitar didn’t have the power to express it. It wasn’t the quiet melancholy you’d often poured into your songs. No, this was something else—something more urgent, more intense. Something that, as much as you hated to admit it, made you think of Gojo.

You closed your eyes, letting the last chord ring out, but the silence that followed felt too thick, too heavy.

It was his smile. His laugh. The way he seemed to move through the world like he had everything figured out, with no hesitation or doubt. It was the way he looked at her—the cheerleader—like there was nothing but the two of them, and how effortlessly they seemed to fit together. There was something so... easy about it. Something you couldn’t quite place, but it made your chest tighten.

You set the guitar down with a frustrated sigh and stood up, pacing around the room, the weight of everything pressing on you again. You thought about Gojo and the cheerleader. The way they moved together, so effortlessly, so sure of themselves. You thought about how he could be so light, so carefree, and how you were... not that. Not in the same way.

It was strange. You didn’t want what he had with her—what he could have with anyone, really—but there was something about it that made you wonder. Why was it so easy for him? And why was it so hard for you?

You grabbed the acoustic again, but this time, it felt even more distant. The softness, the quiet—none of it matched what you were feeling. You needed something more. But what was it?

power to express it. It wasn’t the quiet melancholy you’d often poured into your songs. No, this was something else—something more urgent, more intense.

You closed your eyes, letting the last chord ring out, but the silence that followed felt too thick, too heavy.

It was strange. You didn’t want what he had with her—not in the sense that you wanted to be with someone else, but it made you wonder. Why was it so easy for him? The way he was with her, so relaxed, so certain. And why was it so hard for you to even acknowledge the way your heart twisted every time you thought about him, about the way he made you feel?

The cool night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, and for the first time in hours, you could breathe. The city stretched out before you, its distant lights flickering like they belonged to someone else. You knew you couldn’t just go home—not after everything that had happened tonight. Not when your mind felt like it was about to crack under the weight of all the thoughts crowding in.

Instead, you walked. Each step was mechanical, like you were trying to outrun something. Anything. And before you knew it, you found yourself standing at the door of your studio, its silence a sharp contrast to the chaos that had swirled inside the house. It was the kind of quiet you could lose yourself in—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You shoved open the door and stepped inside. The familiar scent of wood and old instruments hit you like a wave, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. It was strange—this place always felt like home, like the one constant you could rely on, but tonight it felt more like a refuge from something you couldn’t outrun. Something that had started the moment you’d seen Gojo with her.

Your fingers brushed the neck of your guitar as you sat down on the worn couch in the corner. The shape of the instrument was familiar, comforting in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. You strummed a few chords, the sound soft and tentative, as if even the music knew you weren’t really here.

But the melody felt wrong. Hollow. Like it was a poor imitation of the storm inside you. The rhythm, the notes—they couldn’t capture what you were feeling, no matter how hard you tried to make them. Your fingers faltered, slipping on the strings as your mind wandered, unwillingly, back to the image of Gojo and the cheerleader. The way he’d kissed her, so easy, so effortless. Like there was nothing else in the world, like nothing had ever been more natural. It was all so... simple for him.

Your chest tightened, the air thick with something that wasn’t just frustration—it was something sharper, something you couldn’t define. Something that stung, deep and raw.

You closed your eyes and let the final chord ring out, but the silence that followed felt too heavy, like the space between the notes was just as suffocating as the weight in your chest. The truth that you were trying to ignore came crashing down in a way you couldn’t escape: It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the way he moved, the way he was with her—so light, so carefree. It was how he looked at her, the ease with which he seemed to fit into everything, into life.

And you... you couldn’t even breathe around him without wondering if you were doing everything wrong.

You set the guitar down with a sharp sigh, the sound too loud in the quiet of the studio. Standing up, you paced, unable to sit still as your thoughts collided with each other, sharper now, more frantic. What was it about him that made everything feel both so simple and impossible? The way he’d looked at her, the way they fit together—it felt so effortless, so right. You’d watched him move with her, and for a brief, ridiculous moment, you wondered if you could ever have that. But you weren’t like them. You weren’t that easy, that sure of yourself.

You grabbed the guitar again, but it felt even more distant this time. It was just another object, another tool, in a room full of things you used to make sense of the chaos. The soft notes, the gentle strumming—none of it matched the whirlwind inside you. You needed something stronger, something that could hold what you were feeling, but the music just wouldn’t come.

What was it you were really searching for? You still didn’t know. But you did know one thing: you weren’t ready to face it.

The guitar felt foreign now, the touch of it somehow wrong as you strummed another failed chord. The frustration built, and your fingers slipped off the strings again. Your thoughts turned back to Gojo—his laugh, his smile, the way he moved like he was untouchable. And, God, how easy it all seemed for him. Why was it so effortless for him to just... exist, and so impossible for you? Why did everything about him make you feel like you were drowning?

The last thing you wanted was for him to be in your head like this, but there he was. His face, his touch, that damn smile that seemed to slice through everything, leaving you exposed and uncertain. And what were you supposed to do with all of that?

You exhaled shakily, leaning back into the couch, the room spinning just slightly. It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t anger. It was... something else. Something far more unsettling. You tried to deny it, but it was there, festering beneath the surface—the way your heart twisted every time you thought about him.

You didn't want to want him. You didn’t even know how to want him. But there it was, the ache.

Maybe it was the feeling that you'd never quite measure up to whatever it was he had with her. Maybe it was the knowing that, no matter how hard you tried, you’d never feel the way he seemed to make it look—effortless, natural, right.

And all you could do was sit in the silence, that hollow ache growing louder, until the music was just noise, and nothing made sense anymore. PART TWO

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #angst #jjk #tiiraameesuTOTGA

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rosekasa · 9 months ago

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(slumber) partycrasher

He’s finishing up on Rue de la République when he sees Ladybug on Alya’s balcony. His footsteps slow to a halt on the roof tile. It’s Sunday today, isn't it? Ladybug doesn't patrol on Sundays. Did something happen at Alya’s? He stops, reroutes, and heads over.

He gets closer, the lights bringing them further into focus. The two girls stand close together, huddled over Alya’s phone, murmuring quietly.

“Good evening, ladies,” he says as he lands.

The shriek that exits Ladybug echoes through the street.

He stands there, rigid, all the punny greetings he had planned effectively smacked out of his mouth. He has never heard Ladybug make that sound before. He didn't even know Ladybug was capable of making that sound. Even Alya seems taken aback, staring at her wide-eyed.

After five heavy seconds of silence, Ladybug comes back to life. “Um—!” she says. “Wow! Chat Noir! Hi! I wasn't expecting you to crash our slumber party!”

He blinks, still reeling from the scream. “...Slumber party?”

This time, it's Alya’s stupor that lifts. “Um— yep! Ladybug comes over every Sunday and we have a sleepover. Y’know, Ladyblogger-Ladybug bonding time.”

Huh. So that’s why she doesn't patrol on Sundays? He thought it was a civilian thing.

…She could've told him.

“Oh. Well.” He hopes his voice doesn't sound strained. “Don’t let me intrude.” He gives them both a smile, then leaps back onto the rooftops.

Neither of them say goodbye.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

He doesn't want to be petty, but why would Ladybug not tell him about the sleepovers? They’d agreed to keep superhero things completely transparent between each other. So is this not a superhero thing, then? Is Ladybug hanging out in costume with Alya Césaire more personal than hanging out with Chat Noir?

He huffs, eyes snapping over to the light on Alya’s balcony. He has a right to bring this up, surely. He's her partner.

Ladybug is alone, this time, but the glass door is open. She has a blanket over her shoulders, a fox-printed mug in her hand, the light of Alya’s phone illuminating her face, eyes glued to the screen.

Remembering her reaction from the last time, he steps onto the balcony a little gentler from behind her. “Hey—”

“They're making out on a fire escape.”

He chokes on his spit, grappling for purchase at the balcony door. “I— I’m sorry?”

Ladybug whips around, the blanket flying onto the floor. At least she doesn't scream again. But the look in her eye is somehow even more concerning.

Behind him, a toilet flushes, and padded footsteps draw near. “Did you get to the part where he books a hotel—” She cuts herself off with a gasp. “...Chat Noir. Hi.”

The three of them stand together silently, in their awkward vertical line, for what feels like a full minute.

This was such a stupid idea. What’s wrong with him, accosting his partner on her days off? It’s not his business how she spends that, nor who she spends it with. Unlike him, she’s not wasting all her time thinking about their partnership. Maybe he just needs to get a life.

“Sorry for crashing— again,” he quickly says. He takes a couple of steps back to the railing, turning to face both of them. “I— uh, thought there was an akuma down the road and wanted to tell you but, uh, looks like it's just a tree.” He laughs nervously, grabbing around for his baton. “I’ll be off, then.”

“Wait— are you sure—” Ladybug starts.

There’s sympathy in her eyes. His breath hitches.

“Yes!” he says. As he steps away from her again, his baton slips from his hand. “Sorry, I’ll just text next time.”

Alya pipes up from behind him. “Chat, you’re always welcome to stay—”

“No, seriously, I, like, am allergic to sleepovers. I break out into hives.”

Ladybug furrows her brow. “I don't think that's true.”

“My medical history is very complicated.” Finally retrieving his baton, he opens it and turns to the skyline. “Well, bye!”

Ladybug makes a small, aborted sound of protest. But then as she reaches to stop him, her grip on Alya’s phone slips.

She screams. Alya screams. Chat Noir wonders whether this is what they're practicing together every Sunday.

Still balanced on his baton, he grabs the phone midair, holding it up over the safety of the balcony.

Automatically, his eyes fall on the screen.

Ladybug moans as Chat Noir kisses down her neck. He lifts her onto the fire escape, pulling her legs around him, lifting his head to press a hot, wet, kiss to her—

Alya snatches the phone from his hand. “Thanks.”

Ladybug’s face is crimson, hands tight around her mug.

Chat Noir looks from Ladybug, to Alya, to the phone. Her screen is still on. He looks away before he catches any more words.

He clears his throat. “W-Well, I should, uh, get off, then. I mean—!” He holds up his hands. “Be off! This balcony! And back home! Um— you should read— I mean, um, use your phone indoors just in case. Bye!”

He never does get around to asking about their slumber parties.

#im sorry #miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #ml fic #♡alizeh writes♡

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pikahlua · 10 months ago

Note

Wait pika do you really mean don't ask you about predictions? Some of my favourite Tumblr posts of all time are your thoughts, theories and predictions! :((

Please sleep also, but when you can let us know what's going on in that head of yours. I'm desperate for someone with a brain cell to discuss this chapter! (Twitter is a cesspit)

I mean, you can ask lol. I just sometimes get these vague "any predictions?" asks and it's like, YES. YES I HAVE SOME. BUT IT'S FAR TOO MANY TO JUST LIST LIKE THAT, CAN YOU PLEASE BE MORE SPECIFIC?

Okay, I'll tell you about my thoughts.

This is a new frame of the scene in chapter 1. This perspective doesn't exist as a drawing in chapter 1, but we know pretty easily what this scene was about. Why is Horikoshi putting the scene here though? Why does this scene have the line "Let go of One For All"? Why not draw Kudou saying it, or Izuku's reaction to it? Is it because this is a memory of the scene where Izuku receives OFA, so giving OFA up is coming around full circle to this moment again?

I don't think so.

This is not the moment where All Might proclaims "you are worthy of inheriting my power" and Izuku looks up in shock. This is the moment where All Might says the words Izuku has longed to hear his whole life: "You can become a hero."

We're coming back to this moment now because the emphasis is on Izuku's upcoming choice. This is about the MEANING Izuku places in OFA. All Might told Izuku "you can't become a hero without a quirk," then shows up to tell Izuku he can become a hero...by giving him his quirk.

To Izuku, letting go of One For All is sacrificing his greatest dream. He believes by giving up One For All, he can no longer be a hero. Even though there have been moments where All Might let on that the reason Izuku deserves to have OFA is because he's already a hero, Izuku never seems to internalize that answer. He thinks his heroism is tied to being the bearer of One For All.

No one has ever told Izuku he can be a hero without a quirk.

I said before I had a big guess about why Katsuki's memory was wiped at the end of Heroes Rising. Notably, he is allowed to remember most of what happens. His memory cuts off from the moment Izuku passed One For All onto him. Do you remember what Katsuki said after he got OFA?

"This is the end of your dream then, too, huh?"

That's the last thing he ever says on the matter. Sure, it's the moment where Izuku answers with "It's okay if it's you" and all that, but Katsuki never responds to that. We don't know what he's thinking about this moment.

The only clue we have is the fact that he accepted the quirk from Izuku, and how he reacted to that. He seems quite upset by the prospect, but in the end he relents and accepts OFA willingly.

Perhaps the issue he is grappling with in his heart in these moments is not the fact that he has to inherit OFA but that Izuku has to lose it. Which means...the reason he loses his memory is because his reaction is important. It's a moment we will have in the manga, which makes it a spoiler.

We've never heard Katsuki tell Izuku what he thinks of quirklessness now. All he's ever told Izuku is that way back when, he thought it meant Izuku was supposed to be beneath him. He doesn't even tell Izuku why he felt like somehow Izuku was actually above him.

He's also only ever told Izuku his actions were correct ever since he received One For All, nothing about before.

I think Katsuki's reaction to Izuku losing OFA--which could come before the final battle or after--will have to be about his feelings regarding Izuku's quirklessness. I think Izuku is going to be incredibly hurt by losing One For All because he'll think he has lost his dream, and Katsuki is going to have to set him right, because only Katsuki knew who Izuku was before he had One For All. All Might is the only other person who had at best a glimpse of Izuku.

I think Katsuki has been coming to terms with just how special Izuku is, how heroic he always has been, and that he's the only one capable of acknowledging it in a way Izuku will be able to hear because he knew Izuku before he got One For All. I think he's been grappling with this possibility ever since DvK2.

And I think he grapples with it again in Katsuki Bakugou: Rising.

In the same way Izuku saw something great in Katsuki that he wanted to cling to so he could see what Katsuki would one day become, Katsuki has always seen something great in Izuku, which awed and scared him. Their greatest divide was in not knowing what greatness the other saw in them. Katsuki has to tell Izuku what Izuku is to him.

Katsuki has to tell Izuku the words he's always wanted to hear, that he can be a hero, quirk or no, that Izuku always has been a hero, more than anybody else. Katsuki knows the truth of it firsthand.

#anon ask #ask pika #my hero academia manga spoilers #final arc spoilers #my hero academia heroes rising spoilers #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugou #meta #theory #bakudeku

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drarryspecificrecsdaily · 3 months ago

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2024.08.27

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. The Art of Getting By by @thusspoketrish [E, 149k]

►This is a story about love. Draco is on a desperate mission to escape the devastating voice controlling his life, taunting him about his past, and cursing his future. As he reaches his breaking point, he’s sent to a psychiatric hospital, rendered mute, and struggles to find meaning in moving forward. Harry, grappling with his own demons, has been spiralling out of control with an unchecked temper. Unable to escape the anger that has consumed him, he finds himself involuntarily committed, believing that there’s little hope in achieving the semblance of normalcy he craves post-war. Their paths collide, and fate proves how beautiful and cruel it can be.

2. Fight Me by @accio-sriracha [G, 3k]

►[...] Furious by Potter's numbness after the war, Draco does everything he can to try to bring him back to the way that he was, to his old, happier, self. As a last resort, Draco does the only thing he's ever known to do when it comes to Harry Potter. He fights with him.

3. From Rivals to Forever: A Potter-Malfoy Story by @freudianprinciple [T, 14k]

►When Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy start working together, their playful banter quickly evolves into something deeper. From Draco’s teasing remarks to unexpected proposals, their journey from rivals to lovers is filled with humor and heartfelt moments. As they navigate their feelings and build a life together, their story becomes a testament to how love can bloom in the most unexpected places.

4. you again, my love by @mintyelbows [T, 6k]

►Harry has an overthinking problem, and Draco is rolling his eyes.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. the echo of an axe by @dancingsparks [M, 51k]

►Draco gets attacked on his way home. He doesn't remember much, but it was scary and he desperately needs it to happen again. Harry has orders to prevent this. ★ 31 Days of Fear Fest 2022 | @hp-fearfest

2. Final Exams at the Curse-Breaker's Academy by Anonymous [M, 20k]

►Final exams at the Curse-Breaker’s Academy are simple: If you can’t be a good curse-maker, you can’t be a good curse-breaker. When Draco gets cursed by a classmate’s invention, Harry has 24-hours to break the curse. Much to Draco’s ire, Potter seems oddly dedicated to drawing out this exam until the very last second. ★ HD Hurt-Comfort Fest 2024 | @hd-hurtcomfort-fest

3. Hits Different by Storybelle [T, 45k] --- ART by @fictional

►Nearly five years on from the battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Draco both fly for the same minor league quidditch team and somehow have become good friends. On the back of a win that could mean big things for them the team goes out for celebratory drinks. Draco admits he once had a crush on Harry. It was a while ago. He got over it. This shouldn’t drive Harry absolutely insane. It’s also, without a doubt, going to. ★ Drarry Mini Bang | @drarry-mini-bang

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #daily list #2024 #2024.08

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badbatchsprincess · 7 months ago

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Heated ~ pt. 3

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9 ~ Pt.10 ~Pt.11 ~ Pt.12 ~ Pt.13 ~ Pt.14 ~ Pt.15 ~ Pt.16 ~ Pt.17 ~ Pt.18 ~ Pt.19 ~ Pt.20 ~ Pt.21 ~ Pt.22 ~ Pt.23 ~ Pt.24 ~ Pt.25

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake.

Warnings: Some suggestive themes regarding heat cycles and general awkwardness. Also Layla is a playful omega causing trouble for the boys.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

A sweet scent filled your nose, drawing you slowly from your slumber. Reaching out with your hand, you were met with the softest sheets you’ve felt in a long time. A silky hand lightly traced along your cheek and combed back your hairline in a soothing manner. You leaned into the touch, finally starting to come back to consciousness.

“Hey, pretty girl,” a saccharine female voice lulled you back.

You groaned, feeling the aches returning to your body as your eyes fluttered.

With a slow blink, you winced at how bright the lights were, longing to return to the comforting darkness behind your eyes.

“Her vitals are coming back,” the voice said, moving to brush your hair away from your face. “You can get the General now.”

You finally started to adjust to the white lights. Looking around, you took in the stark hospital room, along with the massive window of stars to your left. Sitting on the stool next to you was a face you didn’t expect to see outside the field.

“Layla?” you croaked, feeling how hoarse your voice had become.

“Hey,” she gave you a sweet smile, never leaving your side.

“Where…?” you tried sitting up, but she gently kept you lying down with a small, manicured hand. “W-where am I?”

You recognized the room as a Republic vessel. This certainly wasn’t the Marauder.

“You’re on General Skywalker’s Venator,” she informed you.

You scrunched your nose in confusion. “H-how?”

“Your squad brought you here,” she kept combing your scalp with her nails. “You had a pretty bad accident.”

You stared at her, struggling to piece together the events that led you here. How had you ended up back on Skywalker's ship? Wasn't he on Coruscant for repairs?

"Why are you here? You never leave the clinic," you noted, trying to make sense of the situation.

"I wouldn't have, but I was with the boys when they received the call," Layla explained, with a sweet smile. "They thought I should come and be with you. And there was no way my boss was turning down a directive from General Skywalker."

You sighed, still grappling with confusion. Where was your squad? Was the 501st here? Your mind raced with questions until Layla offered you a glass of ice-cold water, which you eagerly accepted.

You looked down at your hands, seeing the deep purple bruises on your left wrist along with the scraps and cuts. Suddenly, you started to remember what happened. The wild look in Hunter’s eyes as he manhandled you around the ship. The way he threw you like a rag doll, trying to tear the implant out of you. You gasped and went to touch your shoulder where he had cut you.

Layla watched you with concern. "It's okay. We patched you up. The sniper did a decent job, but you passed out when they brought you on board."

"What?" you looked at her, recalling Crosshair's unexpected assistance and protection.

You remembered his uncharacteristic behavior, both his hostility and his unexpected care. It was a jarring contrast to his usual demeanor.

“Strange Alpha,” she smiled. “He snarled at us when we tried to get you to the medical wing. He only agreed to let you go when he realized omegas would be treating you. I thought he was going to take Kix’s head off. He carried you all the way up here.”

You looked at her with shock in your eyes. Crosshair? He doesn’t give a crap about anyone… Especially not you…

“If you knew him, you’d be shocked hearing that,” you tried to laugh, but your throat was killing you. She laughed.

Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps signaled the arrival of General Skywalker. With a kind smile, he greeted Layla before turning his attention to you, offering a warm embrace that elicited a wince from your still-aching body. You didn’t miss the way Layla’s cheeks flushed pink in his presence.

"Explain yourself," he teased, though his eyes held a hint of concern. "I thought you were tired of taking beatings, which is why you left us."

You chuckled weakly, feeling a pang of guilt at his playful reproach. You knew he and the others were likely unsettled by your departure. They didn’t like their pack mates straying too far.

"If I had known this was in store, I would have stayed," you joked, gesturing to your bruises. "Your hair has gotten long," you noted, observing its length.

An amused smirk played across his lips.

"Can someone tell me what happened?" you asked, still bewildered. "How did I end up here? Where's my unit? Is Hunter okay?"

Anakin hesitated, exchanging a glance with Layla before responding. "Sergeant Hunter? He's alive," he assured you, explaining the situation as best he could.

“He’s alive?” you asked confirming. “I-I had, I had to…” you remembered pulling the trigger. The sound his blaster made and the look on his face when he realized what you did. The monitors next to your head started beeping faster with your anxious heart rate.

“He’s alive,” Anakin said trying to calm you. “They had to run some tests on him to make sure the chemical compounds were out of his system. I-I didn’t know exactly what happened until your pilot informed me. He said the Sergeant was exposed to drugs that caused him to attack you…”

“He brutalized her,” Layla growled, looking you over. You were covered head to toe in bruises. Layla had cried when she saw the cut he had made, tearing out your implant, then the bruises. When she had peeled Crosshair’s shirt from you, she had sobbed seeing the bruises littering your entire form.

You lowered your eyes to the sheets, starting to feel like you were going to cry again.

“He didn’t know what he was doing. He wasn’t in his right mind,” you whispered, feeling guilty for shooting him.

Anakin sighed and placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to console you.

“You did what you had to do, Tiny,” Anakin reminded you. “He’s a soldier. He understands that.”

Layla huffed. Omegas understood alphas can be cruel. That’s just the universe we live in. But it was eating up your friend to see the damage you withstood.

“We are working with the survivor. She’s trying to help us understand what happened to your Sergeant. But until then…” he stood up and walked to the door, “You have a lot of very anxious pack members waiting to see you.”

He opened the door, and not a moment later, two blurs of white and blue came barreling into the room.

“Tiny!” Fives and Jesse flung themselves on top of you. Anakin left with a smile, leaving you to be dog-piled by his men.

“Ugh!” you barked on impact. Jesse snuggled into your side while Fives curled up on your feet. Just like pups. You winced as their armor collided with the fresh bruises.

“Tiny, I thought you died!” Jesse wailed, clinging onto your side.

“I’m okay,” you petted his head.

“I’ll get some more bacta for those bruises,” Layla giggled and stood up, leaving the boys to rub up on you with their comforting scents.

“I was worried,” Fives squeezed your ankle. “We had just gotten to the hangar when we got the distress call.”

“How did you get here?” you asked.

“We met you halfway. The cruiser was en route for Naboo. Crait was one system over, so we just met in the middle. You had us all types of worried, even the General.”

“Are you hungry?” Layla asked suddenly.

You nodded. You couldn’t even remember the last time you ate. She left the room, presumably to get something from the mess.

“What happened out there?” Fives asked.

“Hunter got hit with something and went crazy. I had to shoot him,” you felt the tears coming back.

“Aw,” Jesse hugged you, “It’s okay, Tiny.”

“It doesn’t feel okay,” you whimpered, letting the tears fall. “He’s my Sergeant. I didn’t know what else to do. I was so worried I had killed him.”

Jesse just hugged you. They all knew about your aversion to guns. You spent your days patching up the aftermath; you never wanted to participate in the violence.

“Where’s Kix?” you asked, rubbing your eyes.

“He’s treating your Sergeant,” Fives chirped.

“And the others?”

“Who? The 99’s?”

“Yeah. They’re pacing a hole in the hangar bay floor,” Jesse chuckled.

“You should have just stayed back on base, Tiny,” Fives nudged you. “Could’ve been curled up with the Commander right now.”

You screeched and slapped him, “I almost died, and you’re making jokes?” Your grin gave you away. It totally wasn’t the racing heart monitor beeping aggressively in the background.

The three of you laughed. It felt so good to have them with you; it made the constant body aches more tolerable. You missed your pack more than anything. You hadn’t ever fully recovered after Ahsoka leaving. None of you did. It felt like a massive hole every time you saw the boys. That’s why you had to go too. You had to get away for a bit. You saw the heartbreak in their eyes, but you knew it’s what you needed. But this, this was starting to make you feel like you belonged again, even without the rowdy togruta that made you all smile.

Layla returned with a steaming platter of whatever food they had in the mess. She settled back down next to you, setting it in your lap.

“Mmm,” you groaned, smelling the braised Shaak roast. You grabbed the spork and dug in. Jesse leaned over, snagging a piece of the meat and slurped it down. Layla scolded him, trying to protect your meal from their grabby hands.

You just giggled and listened to their stories about their most recent trip down to Naboo’s surface with intrigue while you finished off your food. You could have licked the plate and would have if there weren’t people watching.

While you were sipping the last of the blue milk, Layla took your tray from you and set it down on the nightstand. “The Sergeant has been medically cleared. I just wanted to let you know.”

You looked up at her, “Can I go see him?”

The three just looked at you a little uneasy.

“Are you sure?” Layla asked, clearly concerned for your mental well-being. The man did just brutally attack you not even 24 standard hours ago.

You nodded. You were sure. The guilt was eating you alive.

“Okay,” she nodded and helped you stand up. She helped you slip into a pair of loose white sweatpants and tied them around your hips. The boys turned away when she helped peel the gown off of you. You winced, raising your hands over your head, feeling every muscle burn and ache. She gently wrapped a fresh set of bindings over your breasts and lowered a loose white T-shirt, some of the physical therapy patients used in treatment. The material was soft and stretchy. You liked it. It was so much better than the cotton surgical gown.

“You can look,” you said to the boys, and they got up to help with your walk down to the hangar bay. Layla insisted you at least put on a pair of socks against the freezing floor while Fives wrapped your arm around his and Jesse supported your waist as the four of you made a slow journey down to the hangar bay. You practically let them carry you, quickly realizing you should have asked for a high dose pain killer. Hunter really had done a number on you.

“Are you sure about this, Y/N?” Layla asked one last time.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you nodded, “I just need to make sure he’s okay with my own eyes.”

Layla nodded and held the lift door open while you and the boys shuffled out into the hangar bay. Over to the left, you saw the Marauder parked next to a row of assault transports and drop ships.

“Woah,” Layla said, shocked at the sheer size of the military ships. You had forgotten she’s never been aboard a Venator before.

“Impressive, huh?” Fives laughed at her wide eyes.

They stopped when you made it around the corner. Over next to the Marauder was your unit sitting on some ammunition crates talking with the scientist from Crait, Rex, and General Skywalker. You stood there holding onto Fives when Tech noticed you. He perked up, getting Hunter’s attention. The Sergeant whipped his head around, staring at you. The first thing you noticed was the many layers of bandages wrapped around his middle and his shredded top. You could have thrown up seeing what you did to him. He still wore his lower armor, but his top was barely holding on by a few threads.

“Pip!” Wrecker yelled, getting everyone else’s attention.

You let go of Fives and slowly made your way over to the Sergeant. He stood there and lowered his gaze, unable to look you in the eyes. Your heart broke. You could see the guilt eating him up. Skywalker watched the Sergeant carefully in case anything changed suddenly; he wasn’t entirely sure how you were going to react. When you were close enough to him, you broke out into a jog, unable to bear it any longer. Letting out a low whine, you threw yourself at him, wrapping yourself into his chest.

He was shocked, standing there unsure what to do. He had expected you to tell Skywalker to execute him on the spot. Slowly, he lowered his arms and embraced you gently, still afraid to touch you. He didn’t want to hurt you again, no matter how warm your embrace was.

He smelled your tears before he saw them, and his heart shattered.

“I’m sorry,” you cried, pressing yourself further into his chest. You were desperate for his forgiveness; he could smell it all over you. But once again, he was shocked.

“Why are you sorry, Pip?” he looked down at you. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Crosshair grunted from behind them.

“I-I thought I killed you,” you sighed, feeling guilty for hurting him.

He let you go despite your protests and kneeled down in front of you. "I’m the one who is sorry, adi’ka," he said earnestly, now seeing all the damage he caused: bruises in the shape of his hands on your neck and arms. The smell emanating from him made you cry even more, and he felt terrible, the poor alpha. You knelt down with him and pressed yourself into him again, trying to comfort him. "Look what I did to you," his voice choked with emotion.

He was so upset and horrified. "You should hate me right now," he said.

"It wasn’t you, Sarge," you croaked out, trying to coax him into embracing you again. "And I hurt you. I could have— I-I—" You stuttered, looking at the side you put a bullet through, biting your lip until it bled. He let go of any restraint and wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head into his neck.

"I’m so sorry, adi’ka," he whispered, petting down your hair and holding you close.

The others watched the interaction in silence. Even the scientist, who was just getting to know these people, observed with curiosity, trying to understand your dynamic with these defective alpha clones.

"But next time," he pulled back, making you look him in the eyes, "you put that bullet in my head, or any alpha that ever hurts you. Do you understand?"

You just looked up at him, chewing on your lip, and gave him a little nod. He wiped your tears with his thumb and pulled you back into him. "You’re lucky, pip. It’s hard to stop an alpha like that. You’re a very strong omega."

You sat there shaking and bonding back with your sergeant, giving him the same comfort you needed. The others slowly returned to their conversation, but you two remained on the floor, sitting near one another. You kept yourself wrapped around his arm while he petted your damaged wrist, trying to soothe away the bruises.

"What possessed your team to go to Crait?" Skywalker questioned the scientist. She adjusted the thermal blanket around herself, appearing cleaner than before. She must have been able to shower and run a comb through her hair. It was a stark difference from when Wrecker had brought her on board the Marauder.

"We were informed that separatist forces were opening mining operations on Crait. We were instructed to figure out what they were looking for," she said. "When we realized the dangers of the compounds, it was already too late. My only speculation was that they figured out that the spice from Crait was different and it could affect your designations so drastically."

"What happened to your team?" Rex asked.

"I had a team of omegas," she said, looking at you. "They died from extreme heat symptoms. Their systems just gave out."

"And that explains what happened to Hunter?" Tech asked, noting everything down on his datapad.

"I believe so," she said, looking to the sergeant who protectively surrounded you. "It has all the normal symptoms of a spice high, but for the designations, it seems to elicit a different response. Omegas go into an incurable heat, and alphas become… something else."

You shivered, making Hunter tighten his hold.

"Why are the separatists collecting this spice?" Crosshair’s silvery voice cut in.

"I don’t have any confirmation on my theory, but—" She looked around at everyone present. "You have an entire army of Alphas. I can only imagine what would happen when they’re exposed on the battlefields… You’d all go mad."

"Thousands of rutting alphas in close proximity," Rex sighed. "They’d turn on one another."

She nodded.

General Skywalker immediately left to make a call with the council to report the findings. Hunter stood up, pulling you up with him before lifting you and setting you on one of the ammo crates. His alpha instincts were itching, desperate to care for you. He grabbed a spare blanket from under Tech and wrapped it around you before tucking you into a little cocoon.

Tech and the others watched in amusement, seeing their leader fuss about how wrapped up you were in the wool fabric.

You just smiled and let him get it out of his system, knowing he couldn’t help it. You both went through such a trauma. It was all part of the reconciliation ritual between an alpha and omega. You got a little emotional, realizing he may even view you as a pack member with how he’s acting. You’d make sure to ask him later on.

Then Layla dumped a metaphorical ice bucket on the two of you. "There’s something else I have to tell you, Y/N," she said, stepping forward, careful not to get in Hunter’s way.

"Hmm?" you asked, starting to feel a little giddy with all the attention.

"I-I…" Her face betrayed her soft-spoken nurse voice. She looked anxious. "I wasn’t able to give you a replacement implant… neither of you."

Hunter stopped what he was doing and looked at the medic.

She continued nervously, "We tested your hormones and found alpha pheromones in your bloodstream. It’s sending you into a breakout heat. We can’t give you another implant until you do."

Hunter suddenly lifted his hands from you and stepped back, realizing what he was doing. The two of you didn’t have effective suppressants and were acting like a bonding pair. It was your scent driving him to do all of this. He flashed back to him licking at your wounds on the ship. He could shoot himself at this very moment; the guilt was setting in again.

He looked at the medic. "What does that mean?"

You were a little annoyed he wasn’t touching you anymore, but you looked to your friend. "I have to have a heat?" You could cry.

She nodded, still keeping her distance from the alpha, not wanting to be perceived as a threat. "I was going to wait a bit and hope you’d have more time, but you’re both displaying traits that have me a little concerned."

"Well then we’ll have to keep them separate," Fives pointed out.

Hunter made a low growl.

Layla made a face as Hunter proved her point. Rex just crossed his arms and walked forward. "We can’t have an omega in heat on this ship. We have suppressors for a reason. She’ll force everyone into a rut, and then it would be a disaster around here.”

Layla also didn’t like the idea of being trapped on a ship full of horny alphas.

“So then what do we do?” Wrecker asked.

Hunter moved to get closer to you again, but Crosshair tutted, flipping the firepuncher to stun. The sergeant stopped and looked at his brother challengingly.

“You take her down to Naboo,” Crosshair said, keeping his weapon trained on his brother. “Leave her at a heat center and put Hunter back on his suppressors.”

You whined, not liking that idea either.

“Absolutely not,” Hunter and the other 501st boys objected.

“You don’t have a choice,” Crosshair drawled. “She’s slipping quickly, and there’s no other solution. I can smell her through the suppressants.”

“Crosshair would be correct,” Tech agreed. “I see there are five locations just in Theed. And while I acknowledge that heat centers are not ideal places, there is no one here equipped to assist Y/N without mating with her. Which we also know is not an option.”

You gulped when they all looked at you. Suddenly, you were starting to feel warm, knowing Crosshair was correct. You realized you didn’t have much time.

“I’ll take her,” Layla offered, knowing Hunter would put up the least resistance with her.

“You need a pilot,” Echo stood up. “I’ll come with. We’ll keep an eye on her,” he said to Hunter, trying to convince him to stand down.

Hunter’s scent was getting stronger by the second, and they knew you wouldn’t budge without his direct consent.

“Vod,” Crosshair urged.

Hunter looked at you with soft eyes. “Is that what you want, adi’ka?”

You tightened the blanket around yourself. “They’re right. I don’t have a choice,” your voice was meek.

He knew you were scared; he could hear your heart fluttering and your anxiety filled his nose.

He begrudgingly stepped to the side, allowing you to slide off the crate and limp over to Layla. She gave a quick goodbye before helping you over to one of the smaller transports. Rex gave the clearance while the other boys ran to fetch your clothes and shoes.

Crosshair kept his rifle aimed at Hunter while he fought all of his instincts to board the transport with you.

“It’s better this way,” Crosshair offered his consolation.

Hunter was devastated watching the transport leave the hangar bay and make a direct line to Theed.

“Alright, buddy, open up,” Wrecker tossed the bottle of suppressors at Hunter, who caught it and groaned before popping two in his mouth with a growl.

The heat center was nicer than you imagined. Everything in Naboo was actually so beautiful. You haven’t even been but you’d heard stories from some of the troopers. The whole planet was stunning, but the care put into all of their buildings was hypnotizing.

You stared up at the art inside the dome ceiling while Layla and Echo checked you into the system. A protocol droid waddled up to you taking your small amount of belongings before walking you to your designated suite. You waved to Layla and Echo before disappearing down the stone hallway. Everything was starting to get foggy in your mind. You couldn’t even remember what Layla had said to you before she left.

You were a little nervous. You had two years of suppressants to work off. You knew this was going to be a grueling week.

“Here you go Mistress Y/N” The 3PO- Protocol droid opened the door for you, “This will be your home for the week.”

You stepped inside smelling the sterile cleaning supplies inside the lush room. There was an area with a holoscreen, a small living room, a kitchen, bedroom, and full bath. This was way better than any place on Coruscant. You looked around getting familiar with the space.

“Food will be delivered three times a day, but the door will remain locked until you’ve been cleared. It’s a safety precaution for the other guests.” The droid rattled on setting your things down on the dresser top.

“There will be round the clock medical care if needed. If you need anything please let us know.” It finished its routine before scuttling back to the door and closing it behind it. You heard the locks slide into place and settled in.

It didn’t take long at all for the warmth to shoot up through your body again. You changed back into the comfier therapy clothes you had in the hangar bay before settling onto the couch to turn on the holonet. You preened at the smell of Hunter still lingering on your clothes. You had rubbed up against him leaving his smokey scent all over the soft fabric. You picked up the front of your shirt and brought it to your nose inhaling the scent.

Shit. You didn’t remember it feeling like this. The warmth became scalding forcing you up onto your feet. You made a beeline for the bathroom turning on the fresher to cold. You stripped out of your clothes and stepped into the glass shower letting the cold water drench you.

You sighed feeling the relief. That was then the slick started to produce between your legs. You whined trying to wash it away. When you were satisfied with being somewhat clean. You shut the water off and grabbed a towel wrapping it around yourself.

A wave of cramps hit you making you yelp and double over.

“Kriff.” You shouted feeling like you’d been hit by a bantha. What the hell did you sign up for.

Crawling over to the bed you brought the clothing with you feeling the urge to start forming a nest. The cramping began to ebb the more you leaned into instinct. You rearranged the pillows to surround you along with the comforter and sheets. You placed the scented clothing right up against your nose obsessively breathing it in like oxygen.

You groaned feeling more cramps churning your insides. You reached down between your legs feeling the wetness spreading everywhere. You ran your fingers through your folds before settling on your clit. Desperate for some relief you began circling the nerves making yourself twitch. Your orgasm came quickly but it barely took the edge off. You were craving more. You needed to be filled and stretched. You craved a rough fucking. You tried again but once again it didn’t do much. You wailed and tossed and turned praying for relief. You really had wished you stayed with the Commander or let the Venator to fall into madness because right now you needed an Alpha. A big, strong, powerful alpha.

You wanted the Sargent…

~~~

When Layla came to collect you eight days later, she said you looked like a drowned rat.

The cleaning droids had come and gone, leaving the place sterile once again. They had washed your clothes, repaired your uniform, and shined your boots, leaving them outside the bedroom in a neat pile.

You felt yourself come back to yourself on the sixth day, but you weren’t totally back to normal. The box of toys left for your convenience had been thoroughly dirtied, along with all of the soft fabrics in your nest. You had even shredded the clothing scented by Hunter on one particularly bad night. The droids had pried the ripped-up fabric out of your pathetic grip and disposed of it, insisting it was a safety hazard, whatever that meant. On the seventh day, a medical droid determined you were out of the thick of it. The droid had also informed you that your bruises had healed entirely.

You were starving and dehydrated. The droids had left food, but you didn’t care one bit during the week. You couldn’t snap out of the frenzy long enough to eat anything anyway. Usually, an alpha has to command you to eat, and without that, you were lost to the madness of the heat.

Layla had helped brush your hair after your final bath. You had scrubbed down in scent-neutralizing soaps before slipping into the repaired Republic uniform. She put your hair in a simple braid, trying to keep the knots out. You munched down on the lunch served to you and happily drank the water, making your friend happy. You popped two bacta pills for the soreness and called it a mission complete.

When it was officially time to go, you thanked the droids before stepping outside with Layla.

“I’m almost scared to ask,” she sighed, interlocking your arms.

“It was horrible,” you shook your head, “Like the place was nice, but it’s been so long I almost forgot.”

She hummed, “That’s why you gotta find a hot alpha.”

“Well, I almost had one, but everyone tore us apart,” you nudged her playfully.

She gasped, “You’re a little-”

“What?” you laughed, “You said it first.”

“He looked like he was going to bend you over that container before I said something,” she pinched you and you squealed.

“Maker help us,” you smiled, noticing Echo waiting awkwardly in the lobby.

“I wonder what he’s like,” she whispered before Echo could hear. You just gave her a playful look. You had a feeling Hunter was a more dominant Alpha. He was a sergeant, after all. But especially since you’ve been on the receiving end of his full strength, you know he could manhandle you like you weighed nothing.

“I had a whole week to think about it,” you thought about how you had run your voice hoarse crying out for your sergeant. The omega in you had nearly snapped from him not being present. The scent on your clothes acted as a cruel torture.

“Hi Tiny,” Echo smiled sweetly. You skipped forward and hugged him.

“Miss me Echo?” you beamed.

“Always Tiny,” he ruffled your head, “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you laughed awkwardly, “Do I smell?”

“No, you’re all clear,” he took your shoulders in his grip and led you out of the building towards the waiting transport.

“Yay,” you were excited to get back to the Venator. You were hoping Anakin would let your unit stay until you received a new mission. You missed having so much personal space.

The ride back to the Venator was short from the surface of Naboo. Echo pulled into the hangar bay and set the transport down softly. You suddenly got a little nervous to face your unit. Not saying what you went through this past week was shameful by any means, it was just a bit awkward that they knew what had just happened. They knew way too much.

“I want to get your new implant in if that’s alright with you, Y/N,” Layla said, stepping off the ship with you. You nodded and opted to follow her out of the hangar bay and into the medical wing.

“I’m heading back to Coruscant now that I know you’re okay. Fives and the boys said that General Kenobi was supposed to be arriving soon with his unit. I just wanted to let you know. I think I’m heading out tonight after dinner.”

“Aw, okay,” you sighed, wishing you had some more time with your friend, “How was living on a Venator for a week?” you nudged her.

She smiled, “I don’t know how you think straight with so many hot alphas running around.” The troopers posted at the doorways perked up.

“It was weird at first, but most of them are alright,” you smiled, “Especially Rex’s boys. They’re very sweet.”

“Sweet?” her tone shifted to something sultry, “I wanna ride that captain.”

Multiple troopers walking by whipped their heads around to stare at your friend as you passed. You turned red and ducked your head laughing.

“Layla!” you chastised.

She just smirked, “I got a thing for blondes.”

“Oh my god.”

“…and authority.”

“Layla!” you screeched, turning down towards the medical wing.

“Have you seen the way he holds that gun?” she bit her lip, “Ugh, being an omega around all these soldiers is really difficult.”

“I’m going to throw you into a cold shower,” you pleaded for her to stop.

She loved making you loosen up and gossip with her. You had seen her during your trainee days and knew she was a little wild omega. The way she had those alphas in the club wrapped around her manicured finger always kept you entertained.

“I saw him out of the armor,” she mused, “Right after training. Mmm. I almost fell to my-.”

You rounded the corner to the medical exam room, finding said Captain and his boys waiting in the lobby, helmets in hand. They all turned to face the two of you, making you stop in your tracks and snap your mouth shut.

“Oh, hi Captain,” Layla’s voice was saccharine as she gave him a little wave and a once-over.

You giggled, walking forward through the crowd stifling both of your laughs.

“Layla,” he gave her a proper nod, “Tiny, you’re back?”

You panicked, “Yes, sir,” it came out more flustered than you had wished.

Rex raised a brow.

The boys watched you two disappear behind the divider curtains. You turned to her and silently made a funny face at her which she returned, “Yes, sir?” she mimicked silently before grabbing her injector kit.

“What was that all about?” Kix asked, looking up from his datapad.

You didn’t miss the way some of the boys tried to silently laugh at the very awkward interaction.

“Nothing, Kix,” you smirked.

Layla bit her lip, “Up,” she patted the table.

You jumped up, moving your collar out of the way. She sterilized the injection site before placing the mechanism up to your skin. As Layla finished administering the implant, she couldn't resist adding a playful jab.

"Try to keep this one inside you this time," she quipped, her tone laden with mischief.

Kix, caught off guard, choked on his own breath, nearly dropping his datapad in surprise. His eyes widened as he struggled to compose himself, realizing the unintended innuendo.

Tiny yelped at Layla's crude joke, a mix of embarrassment and amusement coloring her cheeks. She shot a quick glance at Kix, who was now sporting a flustered expression, his cheeks flushed..

More snickering erupted from behind the privacy curtain, where the other troopers couldn't contain their amusement at the exchange.

"I'll try my best," Tiny replied, her voice tinged with laughter, trying to diffuse the tension. But the mischievous glint in Layla's eyes hinted that she was far from finished.

Before Kix could recover from his embarrassment, Layla leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You know, Kix, I've heard suppressant injections can be quite stimulating."

Kix's eyes widened even further, if that were possible, as he struggled to find a response, his mind clearly racing to keep up with Layla's playfulness. She bent over giving him a good look up her uniform skirt when she grabbed the bin of implant cartridges.

Tiny, trying to contain her laughter, shot Layla a warning look, silently pleading for her to stop before things got even more awkward. But Layla, clearly enjoying herself, wasn't about to let up.

"Just be careful not to get too excited," Layla added with a mischievous grin, before finally pushing Tiny out of the exam room.

As they emerged from behind the curtains, Tiny couldn't help but blush furiously, knowing that the entire 501st garrison had likely overheard the entire exchange. But Layla seemed unfazed, her playful demeanor still intact as she greeted the troopers with a sly smile.

The sight of Kix, still visibly flustered, only added to the amusement of the moment, as the troopers exchanged knowing glances and suppressed giggles. Just as you passed through the curtains, she gave you a sharp slap on the ass and a wink before turning back to her injector. Your cheeks burned hot pink as most of the 501st garrison looked at you with varying smirks.

You gasped and covered your mouth, refusing to look Rex or anyone in the eye before scurrying out of the lobby. You could feel everyone’s eyes glaring into the back of your head. I’m going to kill Layla.

“Alright, who’s here for a replacement?” you heard Layla’s teasing voice behind you. Then a symphony of troopers were suddenly vying for her attention, just begging to go first.

With a sigh, you’d had your fun, you realized you needed to show face with at least one member of your unit so they knew you were still alive.

Even though you had absolutely no clue where they could be. If it was up to Wrecker, they’d be in the mess. If it was Tech, they’d be in the engine room, probably causing curiosity-based chaos. Crosshair would be in the armory, and Hunter? He’d probably be in the barracks somewhere. You decided you weren’t in the mood for guessing and just pulled out your com device, “Hey, is anyone there?” you asked.

You waited a few seconds before Wrecker answered, “Pip is that you? Are you back?” he sounded happy.

“Yeah, Wrek, where are you guys?”

“We're in the barracks,” Tech replied.

“Okay, I’m coming,” you turned around, walking in the other direction.

The walk to the barracks was short. A couple of nice troopers pointed you in the right direction, and before you realized, you were there. The massive blast door was hard to miss. The door slid open, revealing your unit lying around in various bunks. Tech sat, legs crossed, leaning against the headboard of a lower bunk, messing with the electronics of his helmet, while Crosshair took the top. He was tossing and catching what looked like a silver ball into the air while swinging his long leg off the side in front of Tech’s face. Wrecker was in the center of the room, chowing down on a ration bar, while Hunter and Echo sat facing one another in the middle of a conversation.

“Pip!” Wrecker put down his ration bar and ran over to you. “Hi, Wrek, ahh!” you screamed as the big guy wrapped his behemoth arms around you and lifted you off the ground like a little tooka cat.

“Wrecker, put her down,” Hunter chastised.

“Ugh, fine,” he settled you back down gently before stepping back and grinning down at you, “I missed Pip. The pack wasn’t the same without you.” Your heart fluttered at the thought that he saw you as pack.

“I missed you too, Wrecker,” you smiled.

“How was the heat center?” Tech asked, looking up from his tools.

You shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed, but you had to clear the bantha in the room. You knew they had to be curious. “Ehh,” you bit your lip tilting you palm side to side, “It was far better than any place on Coruscant but nothing I’d like to repeat anytime soon.”

“It had good reviews on the holonet,” Tech replied.

You giggled. Of course, he studied the reviews.

“You look thin,” Crosshair pointed out, displeased, “Did they even feed you?”

“Thanks, Cross,” your mood soured, feeling a little self-conscious, “And yes, they gave me food.”

He snarked and went back to tossing his toy around in the air.

“I’m shocked the GAR didn’t send you guys on a mission somewhere while I was gone,” you said, realizing how bored they appeared. Had they really been here the whole time?

“Command heard about what happened. I think they felt bad and decided to give us a small break until you got back,” Hunter said sympathetically, standing up from his bunk.

You just nodded. He looked at you strangely. You were hoping he didn’t still feel guilty.

“And,” he shifted to one side, looking uncomfortable, “They want to know if you desire a unit transfer after everything that’s happened…” he looked deflated.

Wrecker whined from behind you clearly upset with that possibility. You looked at him and the others, realizing how sad they looked at Hunters news.

“A transfer?” you clarified.

Hunter nodded his head.

“They want to know if you don’t feel comfortable,” Echo said calmly.

You just stood there a little in shock.

“We’d understand if that was the case, Y/N,” Hunter said, trying to be the good sergeant. You gave it a moment of thought before turning to look at Wrecker, who looked dejected.

“No.”

“No?” Hunter repeated, sounding relieved.

“No,” you crossed your arms, “I’m not leaving… Do you want me to leave?”

Hunter shifted a little, “I don’t want you making a decision based on our feelings. We’ll be okay if that’s what you want.”

“You’re my pa-…you’re my squad,” you stood your ground, feeling a little insecure. You didn’t miss the way Crosshair stopped for a moment at your slip up. Did they not want to work with you now? Did you and Hunter mess up the dynamic? You couldn’t smell it, but you were certain Hunter could pick up on your stress.

“Pip is staying!” Wrecker was jovial. He was pumping his fists in the air like a little kid.

“I’m relieved to hear you are still wanting to work with us, Y/N,” Tech looked at you.

Echo got up and gave you a hug, “I was worried I was going to be losing my favorite stakeout buddy.”

You hugged him back, “I’m not going anywhere as long as you’ll all have me.”

They just smiled and started to settle back in.

“So what do we do now?” Crosshair asked. Clearly, none of them have ever been trapped on a Venator for long periods of time with nothing to do.

“We wait for orders,” Hunter said, sitting back on his bunk.

You slipped off your boots and curled up on the bunk next to theirs. You had a week of sleep to catch up on, and frankly, you were just excited to have a proper mattress to sleep on and you could move on from this horribly awkward situation.

You were positive the missions would come rolling in soon. You guys were the best after all.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

I loved writing the Layla scenes so much. I'm hoping now that we have a baseline for the story I'll finally be bale to start working on Y/N's relationship with the bad batch.

To join the tag list comment down below!

@substantial-exposure

#abo #badbatch #abobadbatch #polybadbatch #clonewars #rex #hunter #tech #wrecker #crosshair #echo #anakin #smut #omega #heat #starwars

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anniebeemine · 3 months ago

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Some Days Are Diamonds, Some Days Are Stone- s.r. x reader

I found a new needle for my turntable so I’ve only been listening to John Denver recently.

Spencer's life after prison was a delicate balance, a constant tug-of-war between reclaiming the normalcy he craved and grappling with the shadows that prison had cast over him. Some days, he was able to push through the memories, the trauma, and the pain, but other days, it was all he could do to get out of bed. You stood by him through it all, a steadfast presence in the storm that still sometimes raged within him.

On the good days, Spencer seemed almost like his old self—calm, reflective, eager to engage with the world around him. He would wake up early, slipping out of bed with a lightness that had been absent for so long. Those mornings were precious, filled with quiet moments where the two of you would sit together in the living room, your legs tangled as you sipped coffee and talked about everything and nothing at all. He would lean back against the cushions, his arm draped casually around your shoulders, drawing comfort simply from having you close.

Some days, he’d suggest going out—just the two of you. You’d wander through the streets, hand in hand, taking in the sights of the city like tourists rediscovering its hidden gems. He loved going to dinner, savoring the taste of food that wasn't served on a plastic tray, the ambiance of a cozy restaurant that offered a semblance of normal life. The flicker of candlelight at your favorite Italian spot often brought a softness to his face, his eyes reflecting the warm glow as he listened to you talk about your day, nodding thoughtfully as he twirled spaghetti on his fork.

There were visits to museums, where Spencer would lose himself in the art, tracing the history behind each piece with that same enthusiasm you remembered from before everything changed. He'd stand in front of a painting, his hand lightly touching his chin, deep in thought, and you couldn't help but smile, seeing a glimpse of the Spencer you fell in love with—the one who could get lost in his own mind for hours, analyzing every brushstroke, every hue.

And the libraries—oh, how he loved the libraries. He would wander the aisles with you, fingers trailing along the spines of books, occasionally pulling one out to read a passage to you, his voice gentle, soothing. Those days were peaceful, filled with the quiet joy of rediscovery, of building a new life together, one moment at a time.

But not every day was a good day.

There were mornings when Spencer couldn’t find the strength to get out of bed. You’d wake up beside him, feeling the tension in his body, the way he curled in on himself as if trying to make himself small, invisible. Those were the days when the weight of everything he’d been through was too much to bear, when the memories of prison, the fear, and the loneliness crashed over him like a tidal wave.

He would lie there, staring at the ceiling, his mind far away. Sometimes, he would start to cry, silently at first, as if ashamed to let the emotions out. You’d reach out to him, gently placing a hand on his back, and he would turn into you, burying his face in your shoulder, his body wracked with sobs. All you could do was hold him, letting him release the pain in whatever way he needed to, whispering reassurances in his ear even though you knew they could only do so much.

On those rough days, Spencer would often retreat into himself, locking himself away in your room for hours at a time. He’d close the door, the sound of it shutting a painful echo in the quiet of your home. You’d give him space, knowing he needed to process things on his own, but it never got easier, hearing him cry on the other side of the door, knowing you couldn’t take the pain away.

When he finally emerged, he looked exhausted, eyes red-rimmed and weary, like he’d aged years in just a few hours. He wouldn’t say much on those days, just give you a small, tired smile that broke your heart a little every time. You’d guide him to the couch, making sure he was comfortable, and sit beside him, letting the silence between you be filled with unspoken understanding.

The rough days were hard, but you faced them together, even when Spencer didn’t have the energy to reach out to you. You’d make his favorite tea, read to him from his favorite books, or simply sit beside him, holding his hand, letting him know you were there, that he wasn’t alone.

In time, Spencer would start to come back to you, little by little. He’d start to talk again, to share the thoughts that had been tormenting him, and you’d listen, offering what comfort you could. The good days would return, and you’d cherish them all the more, knowing how fleeting and precious they were.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reidx reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst

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adiraargent · 11 months ago

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I wish you were a boy - Robin Buckley

wc: 3.9k warnings: homophobic parents, fluff, friends to lovers Summary: You're Steve Harrington's younger sibling and you're in love with your best friend, but you're scared of people's judgement... but you get over it and finally admit your love. Based off the scene 'why not' 'I wish you were a girl'

The cold evening air nipped at your skin as you hurried through the dimly lit streets of Hawkins, thoughts racing a mile a minute. It had been a chaotic day at school, and your mind was still reeling from the conversation you'd had with Robin earlier.

You and Robin had been friends for as long as you could remember. But lately, the friendship had started to morph into something more. She was captivating, with her quick wit, infectious laughter, and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about the things she loved.

But there was a barrier you couldn't bring yourself to cross. You had been raised in a conservative household with parents who held strict traditional values. You'd only ever dated boys, and admitting to yourself that you had feelings for a girl felt like stepping into an unknown territory, a place wrought with uncertainty and fear.

As you finally reached home, the façade you maintained throughout the day began to crumble. The walls you'd built around your emotions threatened to collapse, and the fear of what it meant to acknowledge your feelings for Robin loomed over you like a shadow.

Entering the house, you were greeted by the familiar sight of your parents, engrossed in their own world, oblivious to the turmoil brewing within you. You offered a weak smile, excused yourself, and retreated to your room, seeking solace in the silence of solitude.

The weight of your own admission echoed in your thoughts like a relentless drumbeat. "We can't be together," you had whispered, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "Why not?" Robin's innocent inquiry pierced through your defenses. You had struggled to find the words to say, screaming internally to just go with your heart instead of your mind.

You wanted to be with her, you know you did. "I wish you were a boy," you murmered, your voice laced with a longing you couldn't suppress.

The truth gnawed at your insides, a secret that threatened to consume you whole. You wanted to be honest with Robin, to bare your soul and tell her everything, but the fear of judgment and the consequences it might bring weighed heavily on your shoulders.

The night passed in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, leaving you tossing and turning in your bed, grappling with the realization that your heart yearned for something society deemed unconventional.

The following day at school was a haze. Robin's smile felt like a beacon, drawing you in, but you kept your distance, burying your emotions beneath a facade of normalcy. You tried to ignore the butterflies that danced in your stomach whenever she laughed, the warmth that spread through you whenever she was near.

The hours crawled by, each passing moment a reminder of the distance you had imposed between yourself and the one person you longed to be close to. The weight of your own truth felt like a burden, a secret too heavy to bear alone.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, you found yourself lingering by your locker, lost in your thoughts. You felt a presence behind you and turned to find Robin standing there, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Hey Harrington," she greeted, her voice warm and familiar. "Are you okay?" she asked, concern flickering in her eyes as she scanned your face.

You wanted to say so much, to pour your heart out and tell her everything, but the words caught in your throat. "I'm fine," you managed to say, offering a weak smile before turning away from her.

Robin's expression shifted to a mix of confusion and understanding, as if she could sense the internal battle you were fighting. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said softly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before turning away.

As she walked away, you felt a pang of regret and longing. The internal turmoil gnawed at your conscience, the weight of your unspoken truth heavier than ever. You wanted to be true to yourself, to break free from the confines of societal norms, but the fear of judgement held you back.

That evening, as you sat in your room, the walls seemed to close in on you. The world felt suffocating, and the weight of your own doubts threatened to suffocate you. Tears welled up in your eyes, a testament to the internal struggle tearing you apart.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of your own sobs. The realization that you might lose Robin because of your own fear was a bitter pill to swallow.

Robin was so brave and so strong... and you could hardly even bring yourself to look at her now because you were the opposite. A coward.

As you lay there, battling your inner demons, a sense of hopelessness washed over you, leaving you feeling isolated and lost in a sea of conflicting emotions.

The days that followed were a blur of pretense and inner turmoil. You attempted to navigate the tumultuous sea of emotions while maintaining a facade of normalcy. But every interaction with Robin felt like a missed opportunity, a chance to share the truth slipping through your fingers.

You didnt want to lose your friendship.

The weight of your secret grew heavier with each passing day, gnawing at your conscience and creating an ever-widening chasm between you and Robin. You felt torn between the fear of being seen with a girl and the desire to be true to yourself, and the constant battle took a toll on your mental and emotional well-being.

Meanwhile, your relationship with Robin seemed to grow strained. The casual banter and easy conversation you once shared were replaced by awkward silences and hesitant glances. It was as if the unspoken truth lingered between you, a barrier you couldn't seem to overcome.

Your parents' traditional values and societal expectations loomed over you like a shadow, adding to the weight of your fears. The thought of disappointing them, of not fitting into their mold of expectations, cast a shadow of doubt over your decision.

Yet, amid the chaos of your conflicting emotions, there was a flicker of hope—a beacon of light in the form of Steve, your brother and confidant. He had always been there for you, a pillar of support in times of distress.

One evening, as you sat in your room, consumed by the turmoil within, there was a soft knock on your door. Steve's familiar voice filtered through the silence, "Hey, can I come in?"

You nodded, and Steve entered, his eyes reflecting concern as he settled beside you. "You've seemed distant lately. Is everything okay?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

You hesitated, unsure of how to articulate the storm of emotions raging within. But as Steve's comforting presence enveloped you, the words spilled out, a rush of emotions and pent-up truths.

"Steve, I... I think I'm in love with someone, they like me back, they told me they liked me but I told them I didn't feel the same... I'm scared," you confessed, tears welling up in your eyes.

Steve listened attentively, offering a reassuring smile. "You don't have to be scared. Love is love, and it's okay to feel what you're feeling," he said, his words a beacon of understanding in the tumultuous sea of uncertainty, "what's there to be scared about? Whoever he is, I'm sure he's a nice guy and if he isn't, I'll sort him out."

"Steve..." you murmered.

Tell him

Just tell him

"Thanks Stevie," you plastered on a fake smile. Steve reached over, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Whoever it is, I support you."

With Steve's support, a glimmer of courage began to blossom within you—a resolve to confront your fears and embrace your truth, whatever the consequences. You knew that the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but having Steve by your side gave you the strength to face the uncertainties that lay ahead.

The following day at school, as you navigated the halls, thoughts of Robin consumed your mind. You knew that you had to tell her the truth, to lay bare your feelings and the struggles you'd been wrestling with.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, you sought out Robin, determined to finally confront your fears. You found her sitting by the bleachers, her eyes fixed on the distance.

Taking a deep breath, you approached her, your heart pounding in your chest. "Robin, can we talk?" you asked, your voice laced with a mixture of nerves and determination.

As Robin turned to face you, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity, you felt a surge of nerves. The weight of the unspoken truth felt heavier than ever, but the resolve to come clean persisted within you.

"Sure," she replied, a hint of concern in her voice as she noticed the apprehension etched on your face. "What's on your mind?" she asked, giving you her full attention.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you drew in a deep breath, steeling yourself for the confession that had been weighing on your heart for so long. "I need to tell you something," you began, your voice quivering ever so slightly.

Robin's gaze was fixed on you, her eyes urging you to continue. "I... I like you, Robin," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Looking up in her eyes, you almost lost it. God how the hell were you supposed to talk when she was looking at you like that, her pretty eyes looking up at you filled with support

"More than just friends. But I've been afraid to say it because..."

Your words trailed off, the weight of your fears rendering you momentarily speechless. You wanted to pour your heart out, to confess the depth of your feelings for her, but the unspoken truths held you captive.

Robin's expression softened, a gentle understanding in her eyes. "Because of what people might think?" she finished your sentence, her voice filled with empathy.

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Yeah. My parents, everyone... I've never told anyone this before, but I'm scared of what they'd say. I've only ever dated boys, and I don't want to disappoint anyone. I wish it was different."

There was a brief silence between you, the weight of your confession hanging in the air. You braced yourself for Robin's reaction, unsure of what she might say or how she might feel.

But to your surprise, instead of judgment or rejection, there was a gentle smile on Robin's face. She reached out, taking your hand in hers, the touch a comforting reassurance that eased the tension in your shoulders.

"Hey, I get it," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. "Feelings are complicated, and they don't always fit into neat little boxes. But that doesn't change anything between us."

Her words were like a ray of sunshine breaking through the storm clouds. You looked at her, a glimmer of hope igniting within you. "You don't... you don't hate me? You arent mad at me for that stupid thing I said to you the other day? You don't hate me bec-" you rambled tentatively, your heart pounding in your chest.

Robin shook her head, her eyes locked with yours. "No, I don't. And it doesn't change anything about how I feel about you either. I adore you y/n Harrington"

A surge of relief washed over you, a weight lifting off your shoulders at her understanding and acceptance. The fear that had gripped you for so long slowly began to dissipate, replaced by a newfound sense of courage.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the two of you, you felt a sense of liberation. The truth was out, and despite the uncertainties that lay ahead, there was a glimmer of hope and acceptance in Robin's eyes.

The evening passed in a blur of shared laughter and heartfelt conversations. You and Robin sat together, hands interlocked and in between you as you finally were able to have conversations comfortably like you used to.

You could feel her thumb rubbing your hand tentively, the feeling making you all giddy on the inside, butterflies erupting in your chest.

As you walked home that night, a sense of relief washed over you. The journey ahead might not be easy, but having Robin by your side, uncertainties seem less daunting. You were excited... you couldn't remember the last time you had felt this happy, the feeling of her warm hand in yours imprinted in your memory.

The days that followed your heartfelt conversation with Robin were filled with a mixture of relief and trepidation. You felt a weight lifted off your shoulders now that your feelings were out in the open, yet the fear of how others would perceive your relationship lingered in the back of your mind.

You spent more time with Robin, relishing the comfort of her company and getting more comfortable with the relationship. You hadn't done this before. She understood the complexities of your situation, and her unwavering support gave you the courage to confront the challenges ahead.

However, the prospect of revealing your feelings to your parents loomed over you like a dark cloud. Their conservative values and traditional beliefs had always dictated the choices you made, and the fear of their reaction gnawed at your resolve.

One evening, as you sat at the dinner table with your parents, the silence between you felt heavy. You struggled to find the right words, to express the feelings and the truth you had kept hidden for so long.

Finally, summoning all your courage, you cleared your throat, drawing your parents' attention. "Mum, Dad, I need to talk to you about something," you began, your voice trembling slightly.

Your parents looked at you, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. "What is it, dear?" your mother asked, her voice gentle yet expectant.

Taking a deep breath, you forged ahead, the weight of your confession heavy on your chest. "I... I have feelings for someone," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your parents exchanged a quick glance, their expressions growing stern. "That's good to hear. Who is he?" your father asked, his tone indicating the seriousness of the matter.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Summoning every ounce of courage, you continued, "It's someone... unexpected. Someone I care about deeply."

The silence that followed felt suffocating, the tension palpable in the air. You knew the gravity of what you were about to say and the impact it would have on their perception of you.

Finally, you found the courage to say the words that had been weighing on your heart. "I like a girl. Her name is Robin," you confessed, your voice filled with a mix of apprehension and sincerity.

The room fell silent, the weight of your admission hanging in the air. Your parents exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of surprise and disbelief.

After what felt like an eternity, your father spoke, his voice laced with disappointment. "You know our values, our beliefs. This... this is not acceptable," he said firmly, his words echoing in the quiet room.

Your heart sank, the reality of their rejection hitting you like a tidal wave. Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to come to terms with their response.

In that moment, a whirlwind of emotions consumed you—disappointment, fear, and a profound sense of loss. You had hoped for acceptance, for understanding, but their disapproval only deepened the chasm between you and your family.

Your mother looked like she was about to burst into tears, while your father was about ready to boil over and kill you. "You're a disgrace. Look at your poor mother. You are no longer welcome in this house, pack your clothes and get out.

Your jaw dropped open, looking between your mother and father in disbelief. "Mum!" you begged your mum, eyes pleading with her to make your father change your mind, but she just stared at you, "ma please..."

Stunned and hurt by their harsh words, you felt a surge of emotions welling up within you—pain, confusion, and a deep sense of betrayal. As tears streamed down your cheeks, you struggled to process the reality of being rejected by your own family.

Your hands trembled as you tried to speak, to defend yourself, but the weight of their disapproval made it hard to find the right words. With a lump in your throat, you choked back the tears, struggling to comprehend the sudden turn of events.

"I can't believe you're doing this," you managed to say, your voice trembling with a mix of hurt and disbelief. "I'm still your daughter, I'm still the same person," you pleaded, hoping they'd reconsider their stance.

But the look in your father's eyes spoke volumes—disappointment, anger, and an unyielding resolve. "You've made your choice, now face the consequences. You're not welcome here anymore," he declared, his words cutting through you like a knife.

Feeling the weight of their rejection, you stood up, your legs trembling as you made your way to your room. Tears blurred your vision, making it hard to see as you packed a few belongings into a small bag. Each item felt like a piece of your shattered world, a stark reminder of the fracture that had torn through your family.

As you glanced around your room for what might be the last time, memories flooded your mind—the laughter, the shared moments, the love that once filled these walls. Now, it all felt like a distant dream, fading away in the wake of their disapproval.

With a heavy heart, you slung the bag over your shoulder and made your way to the door. The house that had once been your sanctuary now felt alien and unwelcoming. Your parents stood there, their expressions hardened, unmoved by the pain etched across your face.

Without looking back, you stepped out into the world, your heart heavy with the weight of rejection and the uncertainty of the future. The chilly air outside matched the emptiness in your soul, and as you walked away, tears continued to fall.

Steve was godknows where, probably out with Nancy or Dustin so you hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye, but you'd just call him tomorrow and hope it was him that answered the home phone. Or you could just go with Robin to her work and see him there.

With a heavy heart and a mind clouded by emotions, you headed towards the only place that felt like home now—Robin's house. Each step felt like an eternity, the weight of your belongings dragging you down both physically and emotionally.

The journey was a blur, your thoughts consumed by the haunting echoes of your parents' disapproval. Tears stained your cheeks, but you pressed on, driven by a desperate need for solace, for refuge.

Finally arriving at Robin's doorstep, you hesitated for a moment, the fear of rejection gnawing at you. With a trembling hand, you knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet neighborhood.

The door creaked open, revealing Robin standing there, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of you, tears staining your cheeks and your trembling form. Without a word, she pulled you into a tight embrace, sensing the distress and pain etched across your face.

"Hey, what happened?" she asked gently, her voice filled with concern and warmth.

You couldn't hold back the flood of emotions any longer. Between sobs, you managed to choke out fragments of the painful encounter with your parents, the hurtful rejection, and the feeling of being cast away from your own home.

Robin's embrace tightened around you, offering a sense of security and comfort. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that," she whispered, her voice soothing and filled with empathy. "You're safe here, okay? You can stay with me."

You nodded, finding solace in Robin's words, in the reassurance of her arms around you. In that moment, her home felt more welcoming than anywhere else in the world.

With a shaky breath, you wiped away your tears, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the pain. Robin guided you inside, offering a warm embrace and a shoulder to lean on. The weight of your burdens felt lighter in her presence, and for the first time since the ordeal, a faint smile graced your lips.

Robin gently took your hand, guiding you to her room. The ambiance was serene, a soft glow from string lights casting a warm hue over the space.

As you settled on her bed, the comfort of being close to her washed over you. Robin wrapped her arms around you in a gentle embrace, pulling you close. The air was filled with a mix of nervousness and excitement, a palpable tension that added to the anticipation of the moment.

You cuddled close, feeling the steady rhythm of each other's breathing, the rise and fall of chests syncing in a silent, comforting dance. The softness of her touch against your skin felt like a soothing melody, calming the inner turmoil that had once gripped your heart.

With each passing second, the closeness between you grew, the space between your bodies diminishing. The intimacy was tender, innocent yet charged with unspoken feelings, a silent acknowledgment of the emotions that blossomed between you.

The touch of her lips against your forehead sent a shiver down your spine, a gentle gesture filled with warmth and affection. You looked up, meeting her gaze, and in that moment, without words, the unspoken understanding between you bridged the distance.

As if drawn by an invisible force, your lips met in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was delicate, a fluttering of emotions exchanged through the gentle press of your lips against hers. The moment lingered, a sweet and innocent exploration of newfound emotions.

The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that cocoon of warmth and affection. Your heart raced, the feeling of closeness amplifying the intensity of your emotions.

You rested your head against her shoulder, feeling the steady beat of her heart against your cheek. The simplicity of the moment was beautiful, an unspoken language of love conveyed through gestures and shared emotions.

In the quiet cocoon of their shared embrace, Robin's fingers gently traced patterns on your back, eliciting a tender shiver down your spine.

"You okay?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper, her breath warm against your ear.

You nodded, a contented smile playing on your lips. "More than okay. I'm happy right here," you confessed, your voice a gentle murmur.

"I'm glad," Robin murmured, her arms holding you closer, the feeling of warmth and safety in her embrace making your heart flutter.

The air between you was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional soft chuckle or whispered sentiment. It was the kind of quiet that didn't need words, where the language of touch and shared glances spoke volumes.

As the night wrapped around you like a cozy blanket, you reveled in the simple joy of being close to Robin, feeling a sense of ease and contentment settle over both of you.

With a soft sigh of content, Robin leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek. "You're my favorite person," she murmured, her voice filled with warmth and affection.

"You're mine too," you replied, your heart swelling with a quiet happiness. In that moment, amidst the tranquil intimacy of the room, you knew that no grand gestures or elaborate confessions were needed—just the simple joy of being together was enough to fill your hearts with warmth and happiness.

Written by adiraargent

Please do not steal, copy or post on other platforms

Requests are open for pretty much anyone :P

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