#and i think about how he's the one who taught her how to fight (alongside bruno ofc but likely before then too!!!)

[moe-broey]

@hulloitsdani I HAD TO. ROTATE THIS. IN MY MIND. SO MUCH. CAUSE HERE'S THE THING I think on the surface it COULD make sense and has SO much potential writing-wise and I have hardly thought about that before -- but!!!!

While I have been goofing on Ratatoskr and how she's just a poor little thang, upon meeting she DID tell Alfonse this:

Which gives you SO much information actually. Like. She knows a lot more than she lets on -- not because she's lying outright or even putting up a front, but because she's just. So overwhelmed and emotional and sensitive (LOUDLY so) that may be the only thing you notice, maybe even underestimating her. But I feel Alfonse took this information and did the opposite -- it's an odd position to be in, to be known presumably very well by someone who's a stranger to you. But I think he takes this in, and takes his first impression of her and her personality, motives, the conflict within her, and decides to put his faith in her.

I think ALSO he could be viewing her as a valuable ally, acknowledging:

I think, he sees she has potential, if he can win her over and have her fight on his side. I THINK. Primarily his motivation is practical. Making a quick judgement of her, coming to the conclusion she could be a valuable asset and could help the Heroes even more (going back to, him saying "She can even tell them I asked her to get us more information on the assassination plot" and "If our enemy thinks like I do... they'll see a similar opportunity in front of them.")

AUGH INTERRUPTING THAT THOUGHT THOUGH!!!!!! I FEEL LIKE!!!!!! PART OF THE GAMBIT IS "She would be a valuable ally" AND on the flipside "She could pose a considerable threat if she changed her mind and strengthened her resolve in the opposite direction (to kill me)" so winning her over is part of defusing the threat. AND it's an extra win to have all that information if she does choose the Heroes. AND it's an extra LOSS if she does leave, since she takes all that information with her AND has the advantage while the Order is left scrambling in the dark. Plus also!!!!!! Her having that intimate knowledge of his routines!!!!!! If he loses Ratatoskr, he Knows he's gonna suffer severe consequences.

ALSO. ALSO!!!!!!!! I FEEL LIKE!!!!!!!!!! That is WHY him letting her go and EMPHASIZING she can do whatever she deems necessary, EVEN giving her sisters inside knowledge on the Heroes. I FEEL LIKE. THIS IS ACTUALLY. VERY MUCH (on a much smaller scale!!!!) another Letizia moment. HEAR ME OUT

Right before The Moment, he's judging Letizia's character, what he knows to be true about her, her PERSONALITY and the way she thinks. Which leads him to go sicko mode on her (because! That Was the course of action to take with her!!!!)

THIS TIME. He's met with a very emotional, very distressed and conflicted assassin who seems to have a moral compass and is conflicted about what she's been ordered to do. In one way, she's almost like a bomb that has to be defused -- she Does pose a threat, and the threat needs to be addressed before it goes off/is out of his hands. And in this case, appealing to her emotions IS the answer!

AND. I THINK. PART of that appeal WAS to place That Much trust in her. ESPECIALLY communicating to her, she's not Required to remain loyal to the Heroes. Giving her a choice, between them and her sisters. He's heavily relying on Ratatoskr's internal conflict and also (surely it hasn't been missed on him) her attachment to him, or at very least her respect for him as a person she's come to admire. It's an extreme chance to take, but I think he knows if Ratatoskr can 1) Feel like she made the choice herself, and 2) He can catch her on another emotionally driven motivation (When she requests a favor in return, which is for the Heroes to Save her Sisters) -- I think he's fully confident he can win her over without forcing her to do anything.

WHICH. ALSO. HELPS WIN HER OVER BC her MAIN conflict she's struggling with is Being Forced To Do Something She Doesn't Want To. By NOT being forceful with her, by EMPHASIZING she can take any action she deems fit, he's set up a situation WHERE the Order of Heroes is the preferable option. He leaves her with the impression that her feelings matter, that she has agency, and ultimately it's up to her.

I FEEL LIKE........ I am talking in circles LMFAOOO BUT. I think Another thing (before thought interruption) was Alfonse's lines saying, "It's a gamble on our part, but if our enemy thinks like I do... they will see a similar opportunity in front of them." ESPECIALLY into:

WHICH stood out to me SO much because I think it really captures how practically motivated he IS here. He is using her. He's acknowledging, that if their enemy is Like Him, they're using her, too. He's creating a situation with a desired outcome, making the Order of Heroes the more desirable option to align with, giving her the feeling that she Can choose -- and, this is true! He's entirely put the choice in her hands. But in DOING that, it strengthens the possibility of her seeing the Heroes AS the desirable option. Which is the goal. Which is what he wants. He Is prepared, most likely, for the event this backfires, but also he's fully confident Ratatoskr Will choose them. (Also, as I say he was "most likely prepared for backfire"..... honestly that may not even be the case. Alfonse bluffs and bullshits his way around and out of things so much it would make Phoenix Wright blush).

WHICH ALSO LIKE..... AAAUGHGHHHH rotating him in my mind forever. You can See his traits and tendencies, see how he uses them for the benefit of his allies and those he cares about, but also SO clearly you can see. How A Lot of That is deeply rooted in his own moral compass (which is good!) and his own perspective (which is limited and sometimes flawed) and you can see. EXACTLY how these things can twist and turn and get really ugly LMFAOO

And man I haven't even gotten to Alear yet but I have THOUGHTS about his interactions w her too I need to make a separate post about LMFAOO 😅 (hit image limit and also feels like another topic entirely 🫡)

[onlyangel4]

baby fever. dominik mysterio.

dominik mysterio x wife! reader

synopsis: after winning the tag titles alongside becky lynch you attend the press conference. joined by a very special guest, roux. and in that moment you realise that you are ready to think about having kids. and when your boyfriend finds out about this he is over the moon.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you hadn't even taken your boots off yet. the laces were still tugged tight around your ankles, your wrists sore beneath the tape, the title belt heavy across your lap but none of it mattered. not the ache in your shoulders, not the ring burn on your knees, not even the fact that you'd be icing your back for the next three days. you and becky had done it. you were sitting behind a sleek table, bathed in fluorescent light, holding gold.

tag team champions.

the press conference room buzzed camera shutters clicking in bursts, murmurs bouncing off the wwe-branded backdrop behind you. becky sat to your right, her signature smirk intact despite the sweat clinging to her collarbone. on her lap, little roux babbled quietly, gripping the edge of her mother’s title belt like it was a toy treasure.

becky leaned into the mic with her usual fire.

"it feels damn good. it’s not just about being back on top. it’s about showing roux that her mama never stays down for long."

the crowd laughed softly, some let out warm "awws." becky kissed the top of her daughter’s head, her face softening in a way that you hadn’t seen in the ring. it made your throat catch.

you looked at them the two of them and something stirred. not envy. not quite longing, either. but something.

a flashbulb snapped you back to the table.

a reporter pointed your way.

"and for you y/n, this is your first tag title, right? what made you decide to partner up with becky, and how does this compare to your singles accomplishments?"

you sat up straighter, pushing your belt higher on your shoulder.

"i used to think going solo was the only way to make a mark in this business", you said honestly. "but teaming with becky it taught me what it means to fight with someone. to trust, to rely, to build. this win doesn’t feel like the end of a road. it feels like a new beginning."

becky gave you a sideways look, like she heard something under your words that even you hadn't quite realized until just now. you offered a small smile, but she didn’t press.

roux, however, had other plans. she reached over becky’s lap, tiny fingers grabbing at the glinting plate on your championship belt. becky chuckled and let her lean closer, and before you could stop it, the little girl was half in your lap, giggling as she pressed her hand to the metal.

you let her.

"careful, kiddo", you murmured. "this thing’s heavier than it looks."

becky laughed. "she’s gonna walk out of here with both belts at this rate."

but you weren’t listening.

roux's fingers tapped along the letters, and for a second, just a second, you weren’t in the press room anymore. you were somewhere else entirely.

you were thinking about mornings. quiet ones. with coffee brewing and toys on the floor. about the sound of baby laughter from the next room. about hands far tinier than yours holding on tight, not to a title belt, but to you.

your chest ached in that unfamiliar, quiet way. the kind of ache that made you want to reach out, not for a win, but for something soft. something permanent.

you looked at becky, her calm, grounded joy and then back at roux, who babbled something and clapped.

something cracked open.

maybe you’d been avoiding the thought. maybe you’d told yourself the timing wasn’t right. that you couldn’t slow down, not yet. but now, holding roux for all of thirty seconds, the clarity hit fast and quiet.

you were ready.

to try.

not just for gold, but for something new. something far more precious.

you shifted roux back into becky’s arms gently, careful not to make a show of it. but your heart was beating differently now. there was adrenaline from the win, yes, but underneath that, a quiet, unfamiliar thrill.

you were going to talk to him tonight. to dominik. your husband. your partner. the man who had never once made you feel like your ambition was too much, even if it meant putting his own dreams on pause. the man who had once told you, "whenever you’re ready, I’ll be right there."

well. you were ready now.

and he would be over the moon.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the hotel room door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud, the hallway noise fading instantly. you dropped your bag near the armchair by the window, both championship belts, yours and dominik’s resting together on the foot of the bed, glittering under the warm light.

he was already in the room, barefoot, damp from a quick shower, hair slicked back and curling slightly at the ends..

he looked up at you with that same boyish grin you’d fallen for in the middle of a training ring, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.

"you were incredible tonight", he said, arms sliding around your waist before you even got a word out. "tag champ and hottest woman alive? god, i married up."

you laughed against his chest, letting yourself melt into the warmth of his embrace, the scent of clean skin and just a hint of his cologne clinging to the curve of his neck.

"you didn’t do too bad yourself, champ."

he leaned back, mock offended. "didn’t do too bad? babe, i’m holding gold. that crowd was chanting my name."

you giggled, but your fingers stayed curled against his ribs. you could feel his heart still thudding with post-match adrenaline, the same rhythm as yours. except yours carried something else now.

something you hadn’t said yet.

he pulled you onto the bed beside him, both of you tangled together in lazy limbs and loose smiles, the belts resting just out of reach. his thumb brushed absently over the back of your hand, grounding you in the kind of quiet intimacy that always felt like home.

you turned toward him.

"hey", you said softly.

his eyes found yours immediately, still bright, still buzzing. "yeah?"

you hesitated just long enough for his brows to furrow slightly. concern started creeping in around the edges.

"nothing’s wrong", you assured him quickly, hand smoothing across his chest. "i just… i’ve been thinking. about us. about everything."

he nodded, quiet now. attentive. he always gave you his whole focus when you needed it. even when the world around you was loud, he knew how to be still.

you reached for his hand, twining your fingers.

"dom i think i’m ready."

his brows lifted, but he didn’t speak yet. waiting.

you swallowed not from nerves, exactly, but from the weight of the words. the beauty of them.

"to start trying. for a baby."

for a second, the silence was absolute. just the sound of the hotel ac humming low and the rush of blood in your ears.

then, his smile cracked wide open, and the light in his eyes. it was different than after a win, different than anything gold ever brought him. it was pure joy.

"wait, really?" he breathed.

you nodded. "yeah. i've been thinking about it for a while. i saw roux tonight, sitting with becky, and i just… i don’t know. something clicked."

he sat up, pulling you with him, hands cradling your face like you were glass and gravity and the entire world all at once.

"i've wanted this", he said, voice a little hoarse. "i wanted it so bad. but I didn’t want to ask. i didn’t want you to feel like you had to stop chasing your dream."

"you are part of my dream", you said. "so is this. so is us. expanding."

he laughed through the beginnings of tears joy, relief, something sacred blooming right there in that quiet room above a city that didn’t even know what was happening inside.

you pressed your forehead to his, both of you still smiling like kids who’d just been told the world was theirs.

"so we’re doing this?" he whispered. "you and me?"

"you and me."

"with a little us."

"exactly."

he kissed you then, slow and deep and full of everything that didn’t need to be said. You were both champions tonight.

but soon, you’d be something even more.

parents.

[mk-wizard]

What Elita-One Taught Me About Femininity and its Importance to Feminism

Hi. Since there are so many articles and videos that talk about what Optimus Prime taught young boys about masculinity and being a real man, I wanted to do an article about my favourite lady Transformer who is none other than the better half of Optimus: Elita-One. And when I mean Elita-One, I mean the definitive version not the TF One version who is an immature teenager who still has growing up to do and not the Skybound version who is an angry broken shell of what she used to be (the real Elita-One is unbreakable but more on that later).

Specifically, I want to talk about what she taught me about femininity and how important it is to true feminism and yes, a character who only appeared once can have a profound effect. Think of female characters who appear in one off films or mini series. Anyway, I grew with the TFs, but rewatched the episodes in my very late teenage years which is when I could really understand what was going on. I should also mention that during this time, I was the weird girl who went through a phase where I kind of hated my own femininity. I thought that I had to choose between being a girl and liking action comics instead of fashion magazines. I started resent girl stuff, I started to believe I hated pink and I even began to believe the propaganda that Barbie was "problematic" and it was all her fault I had a weight problem.

But then... Enter Elita-One. When I first saw her and heard about her, I thought she was another female character who played love interest, but she wasn't. In fact, she very much was independent from Optimus yet was not separate from him (more on that later). I saw grown mature adult woman who was shamelessly girly, clad in pink, was very beautiful and was still taken seriously as a leader. Elita-One also doesn't put down, act sarcastic, shout, threaten, hate on men or act mean to be taken seriously. She is polite, speaks with grace and is calm helps her be a better leader. By keeping her feminine side intact, she kept her "humanity" intact as well as her sanity, her spirit and her hopes. She doesn't have this "I don't need a man!" obsession nor does she let the jabs of Shockwave or any Decepticon over her being so openly girly get to her. Elita is happily married to Optimus and uses her love for him and the future they could have as a motive to keep fighting and be so brave hence her famous quote "Elita-One knows no fear."

Moreover, she doesn't live to show up men or be better than them. She and Optimus are a team. She has bigger fish to fry like saving Cybertron. In her debut episode, she did get captured and only after putting up one hell of a fight. Although Optimus did come to save her, she did not take this as a blow to her ego. Elita-One was grateful, but also worried about his well being because he too got caught. Might I also add, she did not reprimand him or humiliate him in front of everyone for winding up getting caught himself in attempt to save her. Instead, she used her secret power to save him knowing it would likely kill her because she loves him and wanted at least one of them to get away alive not be martyred. In return, he saved her with the help of another man she loves dearly as a father and is not above turning to him for help either: Alpha Trion. Afterwards, Optimus and Elita fought alongside each other like a team. In other words, Elita sees Optimus as her partner not her rival nor does she feel a need to be perpetually dominant in the relationship because she loves him, respects him and in return, he treats her the same way. She also accepts that they each have a job to do and that he is Prime. Such a fact doesn't make her feel insecure. Elita-One is proud of him and loves being married to him.

Because Elita-One acted in such a way while preserving her femininity, her gentleness and taking up this protective, loving, wise mother figure approach to leading her team, those positive and wholesome habits rubbed off on them. Her female team mates are also openly proud of their femininity, they are confident, they are likeable and most notably, they don't hate men, they don't blame men for their problems and don't mimic the worst of the men just to appear strong. In fact, they had husbands and boyfriends themselves who they act very lovingly towards. The only people they hold accountable for the suffering in their lives are the actual antagonists being Decepticons who might I remind people aren't all men either.

When I saw all this, it was eye opening. It made me realize that while feminism is indeed about choice, it's not about choosing between nor is it about treating your feminine side like something you have be ashamed of. Even the biggest tomboys or androgynous people have feminine sides that they make peace with and even tap into from to time.

In the case of Elita-One, she taught me that femininity can be the source of a woman's strength, it can give her a lot of confidence and it makes her happy much like how wearing plaid shirts and jeans, growing a beard and other masculine habits give men a lot of confidence. Plus, a lot of these very masculine men are nurses, teachers, gardeners, florists, artists and even cake artists. The right to be feminine without shame is a huge part of feminism because a woman should be able to express herself and present herself without shame. Elita-One also made me realize that if I wanted to make it in the world, I had to stop seeing men as enemies all around me. This wisdom especially helped me when I began writing comics professionally and as you know, the comic community is male dominated. I built bridges instead of walls which helped me a lot and to add to that, it was my HUSBAND who encouraged me to do comics full time. And later, it was my dear son who inspired me to write a comic that got me nominated for an award.

Bottom line is that Elita-One taught me that femininity is not a weakness or outdated. Femininity is beautiful and can make you feel confident, mature and happy. Most importantly, it can help you let go of the false notion that you must act like a man (specifically, a toxic man) to be accepted or get ahead. You can be a pink lady who is married with kids AND still land your dream job. Moreover, when I at least stopped resenting womanhood, I stopped seeing enemies in men, enemies in other women especially successful ones or enemies in fictional women like Barbie. I learned to be happy for other people when they succeeded while still focusing on myself. And I can tell you all from now that being a feminine woman NEVER held me back socially or in my work. Yes, I still sometimes deal pigs out there, but they were not the norm. Even now in the comic world, nobody judges me for being an openly girly woman or for my lifestyle. And anyone who does is not someone I want in my life anyway.

That is what Elita-One taught me about femininity. She taught me what real confidence and what real strength in a woman looks like. You don't have be loud, rude or pretend you're a man. You just have to be yourself, and do your job. One does not hold back the other. Plus, if you really aren't girly, that's ok too. Just don't be a she-jerk.

With that all said, I have hope that feminine lady loving wife Elita-One will make a come back.

She never needed fixing just as Optimus never did. She is perfect.

[razorblade180]

Archon Ranking

Charlotte:Aether! As a famous traveler with deep connections to other nations and their Archons, I have to ask, *pulls out pen and paper* who do you think the best Archon is among the ones you met?

Aether:…*looks around* I don’t know how, but it feels like they’re listening. I just know it’s going to get back to them.

Venti:*behind a house* Shhh

Archons:*nod silently*

Aether:This question isn’t exactly easy, it’s not impossible. The Raiden Shogun and Rex Lapis are out of the running.

Ei:(That’s fair…)

Zhongli:*slouches*

Charlotte:Well one of them did kick off a civil war, but why think little of the deceased Lord of Geo? Is it because you didn’t get the chance to know him enough.

Aether:…Yes. While I commend his diligence, I fear having such a strict and uncompromising approach to the concept of contracts lead to a few… rather unnecessary predicaments that could’ve been avoided by forming more open and new contracts with his people.

Zhongli:An interesting perspective. One that may or may not hold some merit. I won’t outright dismiss it, but some things must be set in stone.

Furina:Now I don’t mean to criticize such an enlightened individual, but as someone who actually had a national incident set in stone, I don’t think your plan had to have one.

Zhongli:Hmmm

Aether:The others are sorta tricky. I can’t find fault in how Nahida chose to conduct herself. Centuries of isolation by her own people and yet she still helped throughout history. Perhaps it would’ve been simpler for her to take a hands on approach and speak out against the injustices she felt, but she’s still a young and gentle god. I can’t blame her for feeling small.

Charlotte:I’ve read dozens or articles after Sumeru’s liberation. I gotta say some brought me to tears! Though she’s far older than us, I must say I don’t think it’s inappropriate to say asking such a feat is no different than expecting a child to stand up to an adult without ever being taught to do so. If anything, it makes it more amazing that she eventually did!

Aether:I agree. I’m very proud of her.

Nahida:*sniffles* Aw, I see. Suddenly I’m all warm inside.

Charlotte:Am I correct to say you’ve met the god of Anemo?

Aether:….

Charlotte:Off the record.

Aether:Yes. I’ve met them several times. As for on the record, the Anemo Archon may not be present often, his presence is always felt down to the blades of grass. From the very start he made a place made for his people, and lead by his people. A hands off approach not only not only fits the god of freedom, but is beneficial for the common man. Plus, it’s not like anyone feels abandoned. There’s countless records of their god returning to aid in times of need.

Charlotte:Make you wonder if he had any hand in the Storm Terror crisis.

Aether:I wouldn’t put it past them. My glider never seemed to fail a rookie like me when I needed it most.

Venti:*smiles smugly*

Zhongli:You still drink too much.

Venti:Because I have the time. You do too. Some might say, Liyue is more like Mondstadt these days.

Ei:No one is saying that.

Venti:And yet I still find it comical how much a certain someone put into retiring, just to live among his people with a normal occupation.

Mavukia:He…makes a point. To a degree. You both ended in the same spot surprisingly.

Zhongli:Sigh….

Aether: As for Furina and Mavuika… it feels wrong to praise one without the other. The Pyro Archon is a strong capable leader who’s very personable. Her plan was a bit more than crazy, but it had to be to face the abyss. Most importantly, she suffered alongside her people and sacrificed a lot in order to see her plan through. Things nobody should ever have to give up; like being an older sibling. She has my respect. Truly, no one fights alone with her around.

Mavukia:*smiles* If you ask me, he should share some of that praise with himself.

Aether:As for Furina, well, do I really have to tell you about her. To this day, people see her as a the Hydro Archon.

Charlotte:How could Fontainian’s not? Even with the truth discovered, it doesn’t change she’s been prevalent in our history.

Aether:While I don’t think I can say her leadership skills are as astute as other Archons, I personally can’t bring myself to say she isn’t brilliant. Furina did her job to the letter and never compromised it once for the sake of her people despite every single day wearing down her soul until she was in literal tears. I honestly don’t know what’s more impressive. Mavukia has always moved forward without faltering. That takes immense strength. Furina though, she doesn’t have that kind of strength. In a lot of ways, she did break and hesitate, yet she walked forward all the same. It’s both amazing and terrifying. Human Archons sure are interesting.

Charlotte:Maybe it’s our shared humanity that made them so strong in your eyes.

Aether:Maybe, but I think even archons in the traditional sense are more human than some give them credit. For instance, they’re all nosy enough to eavesdrop behind a house.

Venti:Ha, busted…

Furina walks out with a red face and eyes that tried to act serious but failed to do so thanks to their glossy gaze that struggled to hold back tears. She didn’t even know what to say and feared her voice might shake. Before she could try, Aether hugs her. She can only hug him back in frustration. It didn’t take long for Nahida to join. Meanwhile Mavukia and Ei walked out into view simply because there was no need to hide.

Aether:You guys are ridiculous.

Ei:True feelings are typically expressed when the subject isn’t around. I must admit, I wish you had said at least one positive thing.

Aether:No one can ever doubt that you care. Maybe you didn’t express it correctly, and very few people know your grief, but you are a good person. I mean that.

Ei:I appreciate your understanding. Perhaps in the future, many more will share a similar idea.

Charlotte:…*squints* Are the Anemo and Geo archon behind the house too?

Aether:Off the record?

Charlotte:*tosses pen and paper* I can keep a secret! I’ll make a contact if I have to! I just gotta know~

Venti:..*peeks head out* Hello!

Charlotte:I’ve seen you!!! You’re the drunk bard everyone likes even though he doesn’t pay his tab!

Venti:I pay my tab! It just keeps coming back.

Charlotte:*bounces with anticipation* Is the Lord of Geo with you? Hehehe~

Zhongli:…*sticks arm out*

Charlotte:DIRECTOR HU TAO’S FUNERAL CONSULTANT!?

Zhongli:Wha- she knew by my sleeve!?

Aether:I am going to be honest, wearing all brown and having a job that uses your encyclopedic knowledge of history is a conspicuous disguise.

Venti:I told ya, you might as well of chose to be a miner. There’s dozens of those; much like there’s countless bards! So what if I sing an old song!? Nobody would bat an eye if you were good at digging.

Zhongli:Sigh…

[rusalka52]

Tell me I’m pretty

↝completed

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || part 5

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Summary: It’s time for your detention with Sirius! What sort of tomfoolery will he get up to now?!

cw: Sirius is a bit of a fiend, mention of smoking, blood-purist attitudes

3.5k words

A/N: sorry for the late update I got sick during the week and was simultaneously fighting and losing in the trenches of the “idgaf about my situationship” war but we pulled through!! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and don't forget to like reblog etc etc and let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list !!!!

The rest of your week went by fairly quickly, filled with your regular routine along with stress because of the upcoming exams and your daily, demanding classes.

After completing your assigned homework, your entire Tuesday afternoon was spent cleaning the mess in the bathroom with Barty, since he was one of the perpetrators alongside you. The stains on the mirror were so set in that not even magic could remove them so you had to resort to regular muggle cleaning products.

Wednesday was spent watching the Ravenclaw quidditch team practice for their upcoming tournament while Barty was gossiping with you about each player on the team. Who had a crush on who, who shagged who’s sister and so on. After the team finished you and Barty started gathering your things and were about to head to the library along with one of Barty’s friends when the Gryffindor team took to the field. You were halfway through the pitch on your way out when your eyes accidentally landed on Sirius’ toned arms as he was passing the quaffle to James. You might have stared a bit too long at the veins running along his arm and the way his muscles flexed when he caught the ball because you ended up walking right into Barty. You quickly regained your composure and prayed to Merlin that a blush wasn’t tinting your cheeks.

“He’s not even in the team, why is he on the field?” You complained to your friend.

“Why are you staring at him?” Barty teased. You huff and walk faster towards the castle.

On Thursday you taught Regulus how to roll cigarettes behind the herbology greenhouses.

“Now, Regulus, put the tobacco leaves in the rolling paper. No, no- stop. You have to leave space for the filter!”

“I can’t figure it out. I’ll just get the normal cigarettes, they taste better anyway.” He says sitting up.

“No! That’s not the point!!!” You whine, pulling him back down.

Your last class of the day on Friday -Charms, double period no less- was cancelled thankfully because Flitwick had a cold or something you didn’t really pay attention to the announcement. You sat under the enormous oak tree in the courtyard with the Slytherin girls from your year, discussing the upcoming Hogsmeade trip the next day.

“Ugh, I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to wear tomorrow!” You groan, thinking about the clothes you packed from home.

“Umm, you’re not going, remember?” A catty brunette girl from your year, who’s name you can never seem to recall, chimes in.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You spit back annoyed, she was always causing trouble with anyone and everyone for no reason. She was itching for a fight.

“Did you forget what you have tomorrow?” She giggles, side-eyeing her friends.

“Wha- Ohh… yeah… I remember.” You groan, hiding your face in your arms. The detention with Sirius had completely slipped your mind. It felt like it was assigned ages ago!

“Hmph, I really don’t understand why you’re complaining. I’d give anything to be locked in a room with the Sirius Black for an hour.” She snickers. “He might be a blood traitor but at least he’s a sexy one!”

You look at her with a disgusted expression as the conversation goes back to Hogsmeade.

~

At 1:30pm on Saturday you arrive at the classroom you were told to wait at for McGonagall and push open the wooden door. As you enter Sirius is already sat at one of the desks near the back and he makes eye contact with you, a smirk rising to his lips.

“Hello, love.” He says in a sing-song voice.

“Hi, Black.” You respond monotonously.

“Aww, why are we back to last name basis, what happened to pretty-boy?”

You grimace as the concert night escapade comes to memory. Choosing to ignore the question you sit down at a desk away from him and near the blackboard in the front of the classroom.

Sirius was about to protest and move closer to you but before he could do that McGonagall opens the door and enters the room holding in her hands a stack of papers.

“Sit down both of you and stay quiet.” She says. “I have a few more assignments left to correct and then we will continue to your detention.” She sits down at the desk in the front of the classroom, dropping the massive stack of papers with a loud thud.

“Excuse me, professor,” you whisper quietly trying to not disturb her, “but what will our detention be?” You have to prepare mentally for whatever task you’ll have to complete. If you have to clean the bedpans in the hospital wing without the use of magic again you might as well fake being sick to get out of it.

“Professor Slughorn is running low on potion ingredients so you will have to pluck some plant leaves and organise them in jars in the potions store room, without magic of course. More than a fair detention considering that you two did not bring your assignments two weeks in a row! Don’t you think?”

“Yes, professor…” You two say in unison.

“Good, now be quiet.” She picks up her quill, dipping it in the red ink and continues correcting. You begin zoning out thinking about all the assignments you have to get done, the exams you need to study for, what your friends are doing at Hogsmeade right now, are they even thinking of you? Will they bring you the chocolate frog you asked for?

Not even 5 minutes go by when suddenly you feel a crumpled piece of parchment hit the back of your head and fall to the ground. You look back at Sirius -bloody hell with an aim like that he should try out for chaser or beater- and glance at McGonagall making sure that she’s not paying attention to you. She hates it when students pass notes amongst one another and has no hesitation reading them out loud in front of the entire class. You remember one time last yeaf when she caught Dorcas red handed passing a note to Marlene. You can still clearly see Dorcas’ and Marlene’s faces get 5 shades redder as McGonagall read “your bum looks amazing in your skirt, Marls, winky face” aloud for everyone to hear and you shudder.

You drop your pencil next to the note as a distraction and swiftly pick up both of them.

“Hogsmeade, tomorrow, you + me = <3

What do you say?

-pretty-boy S.O.B”

You read Sirius’ neat handwritten note and roll your eyes. It must be a Black trait to have nice handwriting, they definitely took calligraphy classes in their youth you imagine. You decide to humour him seeing as you don’t really have anything more interesting to do and McGonagall was still busy with the grading.

“What do you have to offer me if I decide to go?

P.s. you’re not that pretty”

You scribble back right underneath his question and toss the paper back towards him. The answer to the question was of course going to be no but it’s important to see what he’s offering.

A second goes by when you hear a ‘psst’ behind you. You turn your head and the paper ball hits you right in the face and see him suppressing a giggle. You tut in annoyance but nevertheless you still bend down to pick it up.

“I can offer you my cock my love :)

P.s. that’s not what you said last Friday...”

You groan. He is so unbelievably haughty and arrogant. You are about to write back a response when McGonagall clears her throat and stands up. You quickly shove the paper in your pocket and stand up. She looks at you disapprovingly, shit she probably saw you scribbling something but thankfully decided to ignore it. Your dignity would not be able to take it if anyone else saw the vile things Black was writing to you.

“Come, follow me.” She announces as she exits the classroom.

You and Sirius follow behind her as she makes her way down to the dungeons towards the potions store room. As you’re walking you suddenly feel Sirius nudge your shoulder but you choose to ignore him.

“How about I show you my… um… love now that we’re going to be left alone.” He whispers in your ear making the hair on your body stand up. He’s obviously referencing the note he sent you a few minutes ago and you subconsciously tighten your first around the parchment paper still in your pocket. You snap your head towards him.

“Shut up!” You walk faster almost right next to McGonagall. You try to ignore the irritable expression that crosses Sirius’ face at your rejection.

~

You arrive in front of the potions store room and she turns back to look at you two.

“You will need to dittany leaves since professor Slughorn is running low on his supply, be careful to not get burned. Afterwards, sort them in jars and put them in the correct spot.” She instructs while outstretching her hand. “Give me your wands, you will need to do this task without magic. You can have your wands back after you are done.” You comply with her request, albeit a bit hesitant. You always feel uneasy going anywhere without your wand. How do muggles do it!?

The door to the potions store room closes behind you and you’re left alone with Sirius. You approach the desk in the middle of the room and sit on the stool on the left while Sirius sits next to you.

You attempt to break the ice and ignore the tension that arose between you two a few moments ago after you ignored his advances in the hallway. He’s just trying to make you feel guilty for not wanting him, you think to yourself.

“I mean, I guess it beats polishing trophies.” You say, making casual small talk. You can’t handle the awkward tension in the air especially considering the massive pile of dittany leaves you have to pluck. “It is just flowers at the end of the day.”

“They’re not just flowers. If you use them in a mixture with silver it helps cure werewolf bites, you know. It prevents the victim from bleeding to death, but it doesn’t cure them of lycanthropy of course… Plus they sometimes release flammable vapours, so be careful” He replies, still sulking. His mood changes were making you dizzy. One moment he’s cheery and flirty and in an instant, as if a switch flipped inside of him, he starts moping around at the smallest hint of criticism.

“You seem to know a lot about lycanthropy.” You muse, attempting to lighten the mood which clearly didn’t work as he just lets out a “Hm” as a response. Whatever, if he doesn’t want to talk you’re not going to bend over backwards to get him to make conversation.

~

Around 15 minutes pass of you quietly picking the leaves off the stem and dropping them in the correct jars in total silence, something that was rare for Sirius Black. You hear him huffing and puffing next to you, pushing his long raven curls away from his face and trying to, unsuccessfully, tuck them behind his ears. You are not about to offer him your pink hair tie around your wrist after he completely iced you out moments ago. If he wants it, he can ask for it.

“Can I borrow your hair tie?” He finally relents as if on queue after realising you’re not about to offer yours.

“No.” You respond, not taking your eyes off the plant. “I’ve seen how you treat hair ties. You completely stretch them out and toss them away. I’m not going to give you mine as well. You continue. He snorts in response.

“What’s so funny?” You question, turning to look at him.

“Are we still talking about hair ties or..?” He answers with a smirk on his face.

“Yes!” You slap his arm suppressing a giggle. You’re not going to laugh at his stupid innuendos. “I was not being allegorical, you freak, although I suppose that applies too.” He chuckles.

“Please.” He whines tapping your arm. He is seemingly back to his teasing mood. “I will give it back to you after we’re done, I promise!”

“No.”

“Please.” He’s shaking your arm now. You look at him and he’s giving you his best puppy-dog eyes. There really is some puppy-like quality to him that you can’t quite point out.

“Ugh, fine! Turn around.” You acquiesce.

“Oh, kinky! Why? What are you gonna do?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, his voice dropping an octave.

“So I can tie your hair up!” You roll your eyes at him, grabbing his shoulders and roughly pushing him to turn around in an attempt to hide the smile that you involuntarily broke into.

“Love, if you wanted to touch my hair so badly you could have just asked! I would have gladly let you, no need for all this scheming!” He announces, turning around in his chair, mirth lacing his voice.

“Merlin, Black, how did you figure it out!? That is all I’ve ever wanted, thank you so so so much!” You reply sarcastically, smile evident in your words. His hair really is soft, no wonder he takes so much pride in it. As you pull the ponytail through the loop of the hair tie you catch a whiff of his shampoo, vanilla, and you breathe in. Shit, he really does smell good. You quickly exhale hoping he didn’t notice.

“Although, from the back, your hair is almost identical to Snape’s!” You tease as you finish tying up his hair and tapping his shoulder. He spins around, mouth hanging open in shock and playful offence.

“How could you say that!” He gasps dramatically.

“It’s true! I’ve even gotten you two mixed up more times than I can count.” Your smile broadens as you go back to plucking leaves off the plant. Only a couple more branches left.

“Oh, now I know you’re lying! My bum is way sexier than Snivellus’ and you know it!”

“Hm, I suppose it is.” You giggle.

“Huh? What did you say? Can you repeat that one more time, just a bit louder, I didn’t quite hear you?”

You’re about to tell him to piss off when a sudden heat erupts from the plant, scorching your index and middle finger.

“Ow!” You exclaim in pain looking down at your burned fingers. It was the very last leaf on the branch that burned you as well! Just your luck.

Sirius quickly looks over at you, eyebrows raised in concern.

“Fuck, are you okay? Just- wait a second.” He says standing up and walking over to his bag. He swiftly returns to the desk with a roll of bandages and kneels in front of you, pushing your knees slightly apart to make room for himself.

“Give me your hand.” You comply and he gently takes your hand in his, bandaging up the burn. It didn’t even hurt that much anymore; you were just interested to see this side of Sirius. This was completely different from the usual bad boy facade he put on. He was caring, almost nurturing as he bandaged each finger tenderly, careful to not hurt you.

“Does it still hurt?” He looks up at you through his eyelashes, your hands still in his. You nod in response.

He then raises your injured hand up towards his face kissing each finger, not breaking eye contact with you. His eyes seem to glaze over as he continues to kiss up your hand and your breathing quickens. You’re almost panting as you look at him placing delicate kisses to your wrist. You suddenly pull your arm away from him, unable to contain your urges anymore. You cup his face in your hands and pull him roughly against your lips. He takes a second to register what’s happening and he reciprocates the kiss immediately, with as much fervor and intensity as you. He stands up from his kneeling position between your legs, pulling you up with him and pushing you back slightly against the stacked potion shelves. You can hear the jars and vials filled with various potion-making ingredients clatter above you as he pulls away for air, finally trapping you against the shelves with his arms. Your hands reach up and grip his ponytail, pulling him closer towards you.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting all week to taste you again.” He whispers against your lips. “You’re even better than I remember, I’m so glad I’m sober this time.” His lips crash into yours once more and he deepens the kiss. He nips at your bottom lip making you gasp, allowing his tongue to freely explore your mouth.

He’s first to pull away for much needed air after the kiss and as you're about to lean into him again when he pulls back even further. You whine in response, he's being so unfair!

“If you want me to call you pretty again, it’s not happening.” You huff, realising what he wanted to hear you say. “You're not as pretty as all those girls make you out to be and I stand by that .”

“Really?” He leans in once more to tease you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His tongue darts out to flicker at your ear before he nips at it with his sharp teeth, making you shudder.

“No.” You whisper with a smirk on your face as you slip underneath his arms that were holding in place against the shelves, returning back to your seat. You truly did not want to pull away, relishing in the attention he was giving you, but you would rather avoid having McGonagall find you with Sirius’ tongue down your throat and your work unfinished. Godric knows how many house points she would deduct and the consequences you’d have to suffer after that.

“Wha-?”

“Come on now we still have work to do.” You interrupt his protest as he looks back at you, lips parted and swollen, his appearance not much dissimilar to your own. “If you're a good boy and we finish on time I might even reward you!”

“Yes, ma’am!” He exclaims returning to his seat excitedly immediately and picking up the jars of dittany again.

You continue with the few branches you have left, working silently and ignoring the longing, almost hungry, glances he shoots your way. As you’re finishing up McGonagall opens the door, signifying the end of your detention, right on time.

“Very well, here are your wands, you are free to go.” She says after thoroughly inspecting your work. You exit the store room and McGonagall disappears into the hall, headed towards her office no doubt. Sirius lingers next to you.

“Soooo… about that reward you promised…”

“I said I might reward you, I didn’t promise anything.” You respond to him slyly.

“But I was a good boy! And we finished on time!” He whines.

“I’ll think about your reward next Saturday on our date to Hogsmeade, okay?” You say as you walk past him towards the Slytherin common room, brushing against his shoulder.

“I- um, y-yeah okay!” he stutters behind you. You just made the Sirius Black stutter. Unheard of!

He better not make you regret this.

~

You walk through the arching snake statue and into the Slyherin common room with an involuntary smile on your face. This is the first time you return from detention in a cheery mood so it’s not difficult for someone to deduce that something positive happened. You greet Regulus who was splayed out on the couch with a fiction book resting in his lap.

“You smell like him.” Regulus comments not even bothering to lift his head from his book as you walk past him towards your dorm. You stop dead in your tracks behind the head of the dark brown leather couch and your smile drops.

“Well duh, we just had detention together.” You try to play it off. “Anyway, what's the book you're reading about?”

“Was your detention to snog him for an hour?” He questions, completely disregarding your poor attempt of changing the subject.

“I did not snog your brother, Reg, drop it, we just had to pick dittany leaves.” You roll your eyes.

“And did the leaves make you smile so broadly or..?” You smack the back of his head and run up to your dorm before he can argue. You’ll have to tell him about your date with Sirius one of these days or risk having him find out through the numerous Hogwarts gossips.

~

“WAKE UP TWATS, WE’RE GOING ON A DATE NEXT SATURDAY!” Sirius exclaims as he bursts through the doors of his dorm room, scaring the rest of the boys.

“Are you jealous, Prongs?” he winks, teasing his friend.

Before he can even think about continuing his jibes he is interrupted by a pillow hitting him square in the face, courtesy of James.

tags: @gastroentred @beekeepingageissome @is-it-better-to-speak-or-todie @lolalleins

Likes and reblogs help a lot! If anyone wants to be added to tag list for the fourth part just let me know!!

Requests: open :D

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: The last chapter! Hold on, it's about to get bumpy...

Disclaimer: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

**Pronunciation guide at the end!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, smut (mutual masturbation, fingering, and more), angst, and fluff.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 3: Worthy

They travel together for two more days. Dean isn’t really a talkative man, but inevitably, he finds himself speaking to fill the comfortable stretches of quiet plodding across the grasslands.

He tells her about growing up on his family’s farm, where his father was firm but fair, and a larger-than-life presence when Sam and Dean were kids. His mother though, she was the only one who could ever go toe to toe with John Winchester and win.

“She tamed him,” Mila remarks with a smile. Dean’s lips quirk in response.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he chuckles, “but he knew he couldn’t pull a whole lot of shit with Mom. She’s a real pistol when she’s gotta be.”

Talking about them makes his heart heavy and sobers his mood, so he deflects with other stories, other chapters of his life. 

He talks about going through basic training alongside Benny Lafitte. As privates, Dean pranked his friend by filling his lumpy old pillow with raw eggs and chicken feathers. In retaliation, Benny swapped Dean’s morning coffee with actual dirt and hot water. Their boyish games escalated until they were nearly kicked out of the military.

Dean managed to smooth things over though. He’s always had a way of charming people, even the gruff Sergeant Major, Bobby Singer.

Mila admits that she and her cousin Šóta used to sneak out of the village when they were younger. He taught her how to climb trees, how to fight and protect herself, and how to ride a horse astride, like a man. He was the only one who ever encouraged her to have the “free mind” her mother dreamed about.

The more she confides in him, her eyes sparking with life and her hands gesticulating along with her words, the more Dean listens.  

On the third day, it’s nearing mid-afternoon when Dean slows Baby to a stop. After miles and miles of forest and grassland covered, they’ve finally approached a large, wide river. Mila stops beside him.

“My tribe lives beyond the river,” she says, “but the current is strong now.”

Dean looks over at her. A question he hasn’t wanted to ask crops back up. He feels that now is the time to voice it.

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

He’s still not convinced, but at this point, he really doesn’t have many options. It’s either take his chances with her tribe, or become a vagabond. He’s not sure how long he could survive in the wilds of the West alone, especially while trying to dodge military patrols.

In the past three days, it’s taken Dean all that time to come to terms with a simple fact. He’ll likely never see his brother again, or his mother. It’s a pain that cuts into him deeply, down to his bones. It stings behind his eyes.

But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be.

He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.

With that decision made, Dean expels a long, somewhat faltering breath. He locks away the rest of his uncertainty, his apprehension, and even his grief. He hides it deep inside, where she won’t see it. 

“All right, the current doesn’t look too bad over here,” he says, pointing to farther north along the river. “The horses can make it.”

Mila nods in agreement. She still looks uneasy, though she tries to hide it too. She ventures ahead into the river. Dean follows close behind.

The water is shallow at first, but it all too quickly gets deeper. The horses plod over the river stones and vegetation under the surface, and the humans are led deeper, until they’re submerged into the water up to their waists.

It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.

That’s why he’s able to act fast when Mato slips, dunking Mila under the water. She gasps and tries to cling onto him, but the current is fierce. It pushes Mato down the river no matter how much he scrambles and kicks at the water, braying wildly in distress.

Shit! Dean tugs sharply at Baby’s reigns and strives to catch up to them. He grabs Mato’s reigns and pulls and pulls, until he and Baby are able to drag him to the other side of the river where he can get a foothold with his hooves.

Mila is starting to fall off his back. She struggles to cling on while the river pushes at her, with her wet hair falling in her eyes. Dean leans back as far as he can to try and pull her up.

“It’s okay, I’ve gotcha,” he calls out, even though his heart hammers with alarm.

She reaches out for his hand in turn. Just as his fingers begin to close over hers, a wave from the current crashes into her. A short scream tears from her throat after she loses her grip on Mato’s neck. Without her weight, he’s able to pull himself back up onto the bank along with Baby.

Damn it! Gut-wrenching alarm spears Dean into action. He leaps down from Baby and removes his gloves, his hat, and his uniform jacket, so he can dive into the water. Thank God he’s a strong swimmer.

Mila seems to be too. She carves through the water against the current the best she can and tries to keep her head above the waves, but Dean can see it’s a losing battle. He manages to grab hold of her arm, and then wraps an arm around her waist to keep her close. Both of them work together to try and cling to any passing rock or low-hanging vine as the current sweeps them out toward an ultimate end.

A waterfall.

Of course. Goddamn it. Dean doesn’t know how steep it is on the other side, and he doesn’t want to know. All he’s trying to do is keep himself and Mila above the water.

She hooks her hand around a sharp rock. It bites into her hand, making her cry out, but she clings to it for all she’s worth. She holds onto Dean just as tightly, even though the current wants to take him. She tries to pull him closer, close enough for him to get a hold on the rock as well.

This time, it’s Dean who loses his footing. The rocks slip beneath the soles of his feet when he attempts to gain some leverage.

A shout of surprise escapes from him when he fails, and it gets swallowed up by water rushing down his throat.

“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.

The river takes him over the edge of the abyss, and he falls.

He never expected that he would get to open his eyes again, let alone to the sight that greets him. Mila’s familiar face, framed by the dark, drying waves of her hair, is bright with firelight. It dances in orange-gold across her features. Her eyes are warm like rich molasses when she looks down and finds him awake.

She smiles in relief.

He realizes that he’s lying on soft grass with his head pillowed in her lap. She’s taken off his boots and half of his white undershirt; she tore one of his sleeves to wrap around a mercifully shallow gash in his shoulder.

The horses are drinking from the river nearby, with a pile of apples split between them. There’s a fish roasted over the fire, but all Dean cares about is the way her fingers are running through his hair. She sings a soft song under her breath while she passes her other hand over his injured arm without touching it.

He doesn’t understand the words, but he thinks she might be trying to heal him. He’s heard plenty of stories about the Sioux people, most he’s taken with a grain of salt. He does remember Cas saying that their healers are different from doctors.  

Dean’s never given their hoodoo much thought, but right about now, he hopes it works.

“Mornin’,” he croaks.

Mila’s relieved face becomes touched with amusement.

“It’s night,” she says. “You slept for a long time.”

Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble. 

“Thank you,” she says. Emotion is thick in her voice.

Dean meets her eyes again, and he smiles. He raises the back of his hand to touch her smooth cheek, gently. He lets his fingers glide across her tan skin, down the column of her neck. Her breath hitches.

She takes his calloused hand in her slender one. Her long hair falls like a curtain over her shoulder, almost like it’s shielding them from whatever is left to come for them beyond the forest. Dean wraps an ebony strand around his finger, just to feel it fall loosely again.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says.

Mila graces him with another smile from her lips. He wants to know what they taste like.

“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly.

Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown.

“Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says.

Her brows raise. “No?”

“Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man.”

“Toothsome. I don’t know this word,” she admits. “Am I supposed to eat you?”

Dean resists the urge to say the first incorrigible thing that pops into his head. Instead, his body shakes with laughter.

It’s difficult at first, all his muscles pulling at him in protest, but he raises himself into a sitting position. He cups Mila’s cheek, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Her lashes are dark and long. They move when she looks up at him. He knows the look in her eyes, wanting, desiring, but also unsure of what she should allow him.

Dean leans in slowly, giving her time to decide.

She tilts her face up to his. He noses at her cheek, his eyes falling closed along with hers.

He finds her lips with his own on instinct and feeling alone. Soft and tender movements, testing, asking.

She answers him. Her fingers tangle in the front of his tattered shirt as her lips begin to move against his. Dean wraps an arm around her waist and gathers her against his chest. His other hand glides down her arm, down her side and along every soft curve. Her clothes are still damp, and so are his.

“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.

“I can’t,” she gasps. She says something in her native tongue, too fast for Dean to even register. He slows down so he can meet her eyes.

“What was that?” he asks. Her face falls, and she starts to trip over her words.

“I am not…how you say, married. I have to be…”

Dean smiles ruefully, sliding a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Chaste?” he offers. She nods, her brows furrowed. Her grip on his shirt tightens.

“Yes,” she says. “In the eyes of my people, it is…”

“I get it,” Dean says. When she still seems conflicted, he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Really, I understand,” he says.

His problem is that he stares into her eyes too long, and at her kiss-swollen lips. He dives back in for another taste.

This time, he’s a little less gentlemanly than he promised. His tongue sweeps along her lower lip, begging entrance. She makes a sound of surprise, but she opens up to him. Her gentle hands slide up his chest to hold his face, and her thumbs stroke his cheeks. He holds one of her wrists to keep her there as his tongue dances with hers. She tastes like the river, and like salty tears.

Had she cried for him? How long did she sit with his body, waiting to see if he would wake up?

Despite those worrying thoughts, Dean knows this feels right. More right than he’s ever felt.

It’s harder than he might’ve imagined, but he still pulls away, before he won’t be able to stop himself. Mila pants for breath. She seems to feel she should let him go, but also doesn’t show any sign of wanting to. Smiling, Dean caresses her cheek one more time before he turns to the fish she roasted.

“This looks good,” he says, clearing his throat. “What kinda fish is this?”

With a sigh, she attempts to steady herself and moves to join him by the fire.

That night, Mila dreams.

She dreams of wings, white and beautiful. She hears the cry of an eagle before she sees his great wingspan take off in flight. He soon finds his mate, and they dance together in the sky. 

When she wakes, the fire has gone out and it’s still dark in the night. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s safe. Finally safe.

And she’s lying securely in Dean’s arms.

She’s no longer conflicted when she stares up at his face.

She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize…

Her heart has already chosen.

“Kimmímila, what have you done?” her uncle asks in the language of their people.

He is Tahatan, Chief of their tribe.

Mila’s father, Chatan, and her cousin Šóta have tied Dean Winchester to a post in the center of the Chief’s large tipi. Dean kneels with his head bowed in respect, even though he keeps sneaking looks at Mila to try and gauge what’s happening. He doesn’t understand a word of any of it.

“You’ve brought this outsider into our village, this White Man!” Tahatan shouts, his voice deep and resounding.

Mila steps forward, despite her mother’s embarrassment and her father trying to grab her shoulder. For the second time in her life, she defies her father for what she believes is right. The first was to rescue a member of their tribe—because even a horse’s spirit should not be broken by greed.

“Uncle, I’ve told you the story, though you don’t want to believe it,” she says. “Dean Winchester saved me when he could have killed me, or worse. He defied his own people. He is dead to his own people, for me, and because of me. You may think they lack all honor, but this man is different.”

She looks over at Dean, and he meets her gaze. He wears an anxious frown as he looks between her and the chief, but she has a feeling that his fear is for her, not for himself.

She kneels beside him, then looks up at her uncle with all the stubbornness she’s ever possessed in her life. She feels it’s led her to exactly this moment.

“And we are one,” she says. Nerves trill up her spine as she says it. She predicts the way shock falls over the room. The way her father curses out loud, angry. The way her mother covers her mouth in dismay. The way the Chief takes a step back, tilting his head at his niece.

“You would take it that far?” he asks.

Her face doesn’t change. “It’s already done.”

Tahatan is beside himself, both angry and perplexed. He goes back to his chair of wicker and wood that lies centered in the room. He drops heavily into it. After a long while, in which he thinks in silence…he releases a heavy sigh. He gestures for his brother and his son to untie Dean. The men do so, but they don’t let him go free. They force him to stand and bring him forward to kneel again before the Chief.

“Dean Winchester,” Tahatan says.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies.

“You prove yourself to be a man with honor,” he says in English. “Kimmímila has chosen you. She claims you have chosen her in return. Do you deny this?”

Dean glances over at her. She bites the inside of her lip, a bit worried about how he’ll react. She’s not sure he completely understands what Tahatan is telling him, but he nods, regardless.

“No, sir. I don’t deny it,” Dean says.

“Then, you will be allowed to stay, and live among us,” Tahatan declares. "We will see for ourselves what you are. We will see if you are worthy."

Dean gives a nod, crossed with a bow of some kind. He obviously isn’t sure of what he’s supposed to do, but he does say thank you. Mila wraps her hands around his uninjured arm and helps him to his feet. She smiles at him to let him know that the worst is over. He blows out a breath in relief.

“Is that it?” he whispers. He expected more of a thrashing, if he’s honest.

“Almost,” she replies. The two of them stop short before her father, Chatan.

Dean straightens up and holds out his hand. “Sir.”

Chatan glances down at the white hand extended toward him. His gaze raises back up to Dean. 

He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.

She seems satisfied by what she finds, and she lets him go. Afterward, she takes Mila’s hand and heaves a deep sigh.

She kisses her daughter’s hand and says nothing else, leaving them to find her husband and calm him down.

Dean turns to Mila with a look that says, please tell me that’s it.

She smiles more genuinely.

“Come,” she says.

She leads him by the hand out of the Chief’s tipi and through the village. Dean takes in the rows of other tall, cone-like structures covered in buffalo skin, as well as all the faces that turn to stare at him in a mix of curiosity, wariness, and even fear. Some of them whisper to each other, taking their children by the hand and keeping them close.

Dean’s still on guard himself, even when Mila takes him to a smaller tipi. It’s been closed up for a while now, by the look of it. Weeds have grown right outside the entrance. 

“This one’s yours?” Dean asks.

She pauses, giving him another small smile. “Ours.”

Dean raises a brow. Ours. Really?

She opens the flap in the front and beckons him inside. There’s still enough daylight to shine through the outer lining. Inside, his gaze flits over the old pile of stones in the center for heating, clothes folded in the corner, some cooking pots and utensils, paintings on wood and clay, and a couple of beaded decorations. Buffalo skin bedding is laid out on the other side with a couple of soft looking furs. 

Son of a gun. Dean doesn’t even blink as he processes it all. He’s in a damn tipi. This is really about to become his life.

Shaking his head a little, he forces himself to focus on Mila. She’s his anchor, and she seems to sense that he’s reeling. She guides him to sit beside her on the bedding, holding his hands in hers. After a moment, he reaches up to tuck a curling strand of hair behind her ear.

“You didn’t get in too much trouble because of me, did you?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No. My father and uncle are very similar. Strong to anger, but it is quick to run out. At least with me.”

Dean thinks he understands. Short fuse, quick fizzle.

“There is just…one thing,” Mila says. Her eyes fall away from his, like she’s embarrassed. He squeezes her hands.

“What?” he asks, his brows furrowing. It gets her to look at him again, but she seems worried to tell him.

“To convince my uncle to let you stay, I told them that we…” she trails, trying to find the right words in English. “That we are married.”

Dean’s brows raise high. His heart trips up faster. Okay, “ours” makes a lot more sense now.

“I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want you hurt—”

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”

In fact, this is a best-case scenario, as far as he’s concerned. He leans in to kiss her, and it doesn’t take long at all for her to sigh in relief, melting against him.

“We’re married, huh?” he asks. “No ceremony? No white dress?”

“We are bonded,” she replies, nodding as she meets every one of his kisses. “Or, we will be.”

She tugs him closer and revels in the feeling of his hands beginning to roam her body, sliding down her waist, her hips and thighs.

“Guess that means we have to seal the deal,” he grins. His lips drift away from hers to burn a familiar path across her cheek. He takes to nibbling her ear, making her flinch and laugh as it tickles.

“Seal-the-deal. What does that mean?” she asks.

Dean chuckles lowly in her ear. “Oh, I think you know.”

He guides her onto her back, over the comfortable mess of furs. He wants to take his time exploring every inch of soft, tan skin, but he first sweeps her hair away from her eyes, the back of his hand brushing against her cheek. She smiles up at him softly.

“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?”

Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others.

It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life. 

“No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”

He bows his head toward hers, and he proves it to her. His lips capture hers, fueled by passion and wanting. Mila’s hands slide over his shoulders and down his back. Maybe without her realizing it, she implores him to let go of the weight heaped on his shoulders.

When he begins to bunch up the hem of her dress, she sits up to help guide his hands. Her quickening breaths mesh with his as the first layer of clothing drops beside the bedding. His tattered shirt joins her dress, along with pants and shoes and boots, until all that’s left is skin against warm, bare skin. He lays on his side right beside her and explores wherever she lets him begin.  

“Beautiful,” Dean murmurs, as his lips follow the column of her neck, down between her breasts. Her breaths rise to meet him, especially when he begins to toy with a dark, pebbled nipple. Her fingers slip through his hair, and his name falls from her lips. He palms one breast while kissing and gently teasing the other, exploring sensitive flesh and grazing her sensitive fleshwith his teeth.

“No man’s ever touched you?” he asks, despite knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, her fingers gripping his hair tighter as his lips and tongue move against her skin.

“No,” Mila gasps a reply. Her hand slides down the back of his neck, and the more he teases her, her nails soon create faint red lines down his back, her thighs squeezing together. She feels a throbbing ache at the very center of her. Despite her inexperience with men, she knows what it means, and she knows what she wants.

Dean’s mouth drags away from her breast. He pulls back so he can meet her eyes. A smile curves his lips, and he takes one of her hands from his shoulders. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks. He guides her hand down her body, brushing over a wet, sensitive nipple, down her stomach, and between her legs. This time, Mila nods in answer. She stares up at Dean with eyes like molten honey. He leans in to kiss her neck.

“Show me,” he says.

She shudders at the depths in his voice. It increases the flood of wetness she already feels, even before she slips two fingers between the folds of her sex. She gathers some of that slick and circles it over the source of her pleasure, the small nub above her entrance.

Dean takes his hardened length in his hand. While she writhes by her own hand, he drinks her in with his eyes. A soft groan falls from his lips as he pumps himself a few times, sliding a thumb across the weeping head of his cock.

He can’t be a spectator for long though. He nips tantalizingly at her neck, creating a zing of added sensation across her skin. She whimpers, though she tries to stifle it, her knee bending further.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dean says. “Let me hear you.”

He releases himself and replaces her hand with his own. He slips two long fingers inside her drenched entrance, earning a gasping moan from her. She latches onto his shoulders and buries her face into his neck. She whispers fervent things he doesn’t understand, but it only spurs him on.

His thumb circles insistently over her clit as his fingers pulse inside her. Her hips buck a needy rhythm against his hand, until her thighs begin to shake, and her inner walls squeeze even tighter around his fingers.

“Shit, that’s it, baby,” he pants gruffly against her cheek. “Let go for me.”

Warmth snaps and floods from her throbbing core, and she cries out near his ear, her nails biting into his skin. Her release coats his fingers.

Mila drops her head back against the furs underneath her. Her chest rises and falls quickly while she tries to catch her breath, her eyes tightly shut. Dean surprises her with a soft kiss.

“Mila,” he prods. He wants to see her eyes again, so pretty and wanton when she comes. He veers away from her lips to kiss her cheek, and then the other side of her neck. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a small laugh. Opening her eyes, she gestures to her bare body. “This is not enough?”

Dean’s lips tug at a smile. He shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, no.”

He shifts over her, finding his place between the cradle of her thighs. His elbows come to rest on either side of her head. She feels trapped by his body, even as she welcomes his weight and the feeling of his arousal, long and heavy and hard, trapped between their bodies. This man fills every corner of her world in this moment.

“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection.

“All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.” 

Dean chuckles. “You sure about that?”

She smiles in satisfaction, and her lips claim him this time. One kiss turns into many, each one mounting in passion and desire. Dean groans into her when she begins to touch him. Her hands are soft, but direct in their seeking; they caress his shoulders, run down his chest and stomach, and then, more tentatively explore the now painfully hard length of him pressing against her.

He makes a grateful sound of pleasure when her hand wraps around his cock, squeezing gently. His fingers bury themselves in her hair.

“I want all of you,” she says, this time a plea and a demand all at once as she strokes him.

Dean nods in agreement. He’s come this far. He can do that for her too.

He spreads her thighs a bit wider and encourages her to adjust the angle of her hips for him. His hand glides down her plush thigh and gets a healthy grip. Then he slides his hand under hers and guides his cock through her folds, first just holding himself at her warm, wet entrance.

He manages to wait for a second, in order to meet her gaze. She’s already holding onto his arms tightly, like he’s become her anchor. Her thighs wrap around his hips and beckon him closer.

Slowly, he pushes inside. He takes care in how he works her open. She winces at the sting of his girth stretching her, but his fingers once again massage her clit, stroking her arousal back into a keening flame. He swallows her gasps and moans as he bottoms out inside her, fully sheathed. Tears prick at her eyes, but not from pain.

Mila’s dream flashes like a waking vision behind her eyes. Wings take flight, along with the gleam of a golden beak and a sharp eye.

She blinks, and the image disappears. She’s left with the man who has become hers, making love to her with every stroke of him deep inside her. She presses grateful kisses across his neck and shoulder, wherever she can reach while she clings to his strong arms.

The thick head of him brushes a sensitive place over and over, one that tightens the coil in her lower belly and makes her core tremble again with warmth, until her body convulses against him, pulsing in pleasure, gripping him tight from the inside. Mila’s fingers clench in his hair just as tightly as her release hits her in a powerful wave; even her voice becomes lost to it.

Gritting his teeth, Dean grips the soft flesh of her hip and chases his own end. The way her inner walls choke his cock, he has no choice but to come hot inside her, his spend mixing with her own release. A strangled shout tears from his throat.

He has to brace himself before he crushes her. With his forearms resting on either side of her head, he lowers his forehead against hers. Her legs slip from where they’ve been tightly molded to his hips, her feet meeting the floor. Eventually he slips out of her. He watches his seed drip out and create a mess on the dark furs. The sight of it satisfies something primal deep inside him.

Later he’ll ask her about washing up (and about supper), but for now, he just turns onto his back beside her. She inches toward him, and he raises an arm so she can splay out against his side. They both lay there for a moment in the quiet, just catching their breath together. It marks the end of a long journey, and yet, the start of one too.

Mila turns to raise onto her elbow. She reaches over to wipe the sweat from his brow in a tender touch. Dean smiles up at her. He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm.

“I could get used to this,” he says.

Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she laughs softly. “Yes.”

Her hand moves down to his chest, over his heart. She sobers as she considers her people, and how much trust has yet to be bridged—not only her own father and uncle, but the entire tribe. When she led him through the village, they called him wašíču.

Fat-taker. Greedy White. Not one of us.

“It will be hard for you here,” Mila says. She worries it will be too hard for Dean.  

He just squeezes her hand, earning her attention through tumultuous thoughts.

“I’m not afraid of a little hard work,” Dean replies. His usual confident charm is infused in his smile, but she has a feeling he’s just trying to reassure her.

Sensing she’s not convinced, Dean reaches up to hold her cheek, guiding her to look at him and not the floor.

“Listen. I made my choice, and I’m sticking it out, come hell or high water,” he says.

Mila’s brows knit together. “Hell-or-high… What does that mean?”

Dean sits up on his elbow along with her. He takes her chin between his fingers and meets her gaze.

“It means if you want me, you’ve got me. The rest, we’ll figure out as we go along,” he says.

A smile slowly lightens Mila’s face. She tilts her chin up to meet him with a kiss.

“I will be with you,” she says. It’s a promise.

Dean smiles back.

“Good,” he says. “Because that’s just about all I need.”

AN: There we have it, friends. 💜 I really, truly hope you enjoyed this mini series! To be honest, I have more ideas for this little world (like how Dean might try to assimilate into this culture), but I'll leave it to you guys to let me know if that's something you'd be interested in reading.

Until then, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter! 

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew")

Read the Sequel:

Dive into more Cowboy Dean with the sequel of this story, Outlander:

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won?

▶️ Keep Reading: OUTLANDER (PART 1)

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Guilty As Sin

Summary: Rhys has been watching Feyre Archeron for a long time. Thinking about what he'd do if he ever had her. How he'd keep her.

And now he has her.

TW: Dubious consent, blood kink, knife play

Read On AO3

-

It would be, perhaps, Rhysand’s greatest triumph to kill Tamlin Rosewood. After all, Tamlin had set him down this path so many years before—when they’d been teenagers, two boys from questionable, if not wealthy homes, looking for something to make them feel alive. Tamlin had asked Rhys if he wanted to see something cool, and then let him watch as Tamlin sliced apart a local vagrant. It should have been horrifying. Disgusting.

And yet Rhysand had found the whole thing fascinating. More fascinating still was how easy it was to claim his first kill. Rhysand needed a moral code to keep himself in line, to keep from just jamming a blade into every person who passed him on the street. Tamlin had suggested it, too, perhaps recognizing Rhys’ propensity for violence. Or maybe he knew all too well how enjoyable snuffing out life was. How close to God it made Rhys feel.

Pick those that can fight back.

People who’ve wasted their life.

Do the world a  favor.

Of course they’d eventually turn on each other. How long before two serial killers realized the world might be better off without at least one of them? It had been a cat and mouse game ever since, trying to catch the other unaware and going to ground when they failed. Tamlin had come close a couple times while Rhys had mostly just watched.

Waited.

Bided his time until Tamlin genuinely believed himself to be a god. That Rhys was so afraid of him he wouldn’t dare. Tamlin had let his guard down just enough to find himself a girlfriend he apparently liked. And she, Rhys decided, was going to be how he finally killed Tamlin. Collateral in their feud, he told himself. After all, any woman dumb enough to fall for Tamlin wasn’t worth much. 

He’d looked her up—Feyre Archeron. Her profile picture on facebook was an artbrush, but she’d helpfully listed every job she’d ever had since high school—and there had been many. Rhys ran them all down until he got to the art studio she taught at and, because he liked a little drama in his life, signed him up for one of her intro classes. 

He had been unaware he would be the only adult in said class until a wave of bouncy, giggly children had stormed through the doors, taking seats at easels while their parents vanished. He could have slipped out—he’d meant to, he swore it. But Feyre Archeron had come waltzing in wearing a baby blue sweater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem hanging just beneath her ass, and oh. Rhys stayed in his chair, if only to admire the curve of her hips in those cotton soft leggings.

She didn’t seem like Tamlin’s usual type. There was a softness to her features, a constellation of freckles dotted across her nose alongside a splatter of violet ink in those cerulean eyes, that made Rhys certain she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her full mouth curved into an easy smile, gaze settling on him.

“Did you mean to sign up for this?” she asked him, eliciting another round of giggles from the children. There was no malice to her words, playful and sweet. He wanted to put his hands on her. Was she corruptible? Oh, how Rhys wanted to find out. His plans reshaped themselves as they looked at the other, though Feyre didn’t know it. Killing her wasn’t an option, not anymore. No. He’d take her for himself, stripping Tamlin of everything he cared about before finally spilling his blood. And he’d start with perfect, pretty Feyre Archeron.

Rhys offered her a lazy smile, running a hand through his ebony hair. “My skill level is comparable, I’m certain.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she replied, her delight evident. Rhys felt her amusement reflected in his own body. When was the last time anyone had charmed him by sight alone? Nevermind how funny he found her, watching as she interacted with each student with the kind of unending patience he could only dream of. It begged the question—what did Tamlin want with her? He knew Tamlin, and of all the virtues Tamlin might claim to have, patience certainly wasn’t one of them.

He had a famously vicious temper. 

Did Feyre know her boyfriend was a serial killer? Did Tamlin know his girlfriend taught school children in her spare time? What would be more abhorrent to who? Rhys never managed to untangle that, just like he never managed to make his brush strokes half as nice as the eight year old beside him. Rhys lingered, waiting until the kids were gone and Feyre was cleaning up to say something to her.

“I’m not some kind of weirdo, I hope you know,” he began, drawing a pretty laugh from prettier lips. 

“No? I might have thought so if I hadn’t seen how abysmal you are with a brush. I teach preschoolers on Tuesdays. You might be better suited in that class.”

“You wound me, Ms. Archeron,” he replied, one hand pressed to his chest. “You didn’t like my house?”

“Oh, was that what it is?” she asked, squinting at his muddied colors on the paper. “I thought you were painting me a stormy sky.”

“I’ll paint whatever you tell me to,” Rhys quipped, noting how her cheeks flushed. No ring on her finger—god, but how incredible to seduce her out from under Tamlin’s nose. For Tamlin not to realize he was losing everything to his old nemesis. How long before Tamlin learned of Rhysand’s treachery? Rhysand was a patient man. It was one of his better qualities, few as they were.

He’d send Tamlin a wedding invitation inked in blood, fuck his new wife, and then, as a gift to her, bring her Tamlin’s still beating heart.

Wife? That was a weird thought.

Rhys cleared his head. He was merely excited at the prospect of punishing Tamlin—that was all. Feyre was beautiful, but hardly wife material. Besides, the kind of woman who spent her time teaching children to color within the lines didn’t want to get shackled to the likes of him. Not long-term, at any rate. Rhys had dated plenty of women, all of whom woke up one morning deeply unsettled and certain they were making a mistake. He couldn’t blame them—he would make an awful husband. 

A good lay, though? He could give her that. 

“Watch yourself Rhysand.”

“Come, now,” he said, rising from the little metal stool he’d been sitting on. She was so much smaller than him—lithe and lovely, so breakable in a way that made him want to be careful rather than rough. “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“Fine. Watch yourself Rhys. I’ll think you’re flirting if you’re not careful,” Feyre said, twisting that thick, golden brown hair off her face with a paintbrush. Something within him stirred at the sight of wispy tendrils framing her face, fingers twitching with the urge to brush them from her cheekbones. 

“Careful isn’t how anyone who knows me would describe me. Besides…maybe I am flirting.”

This was the part where she told him she had a boyfriend. Rhys waited, catching the flicker of indecision streak over her features. He could practically hear her rationalizing it in her mind—there was no harm in a little flirting.

Oh, Tamlin. Rhys cocked his head. How far could he take this before she broke? If he could just get his hands into those tight leggings of hers, she’d forget all about that blonde haired bastard. C’mon, Rhys urged.

His silent plea fell on deaf ears. Too good for the likes of him, Feyre said, “Well, if you were flirting, I’d have to tell you that I have a boyfriend.”

“Lucky him,” Rhys replied, gut twisting despite his easy expression. “I know when I’ve been beat. See you around Feyre.”

And then he left, still smiling to himself as he went. She had no idea, of course. 

But Rhys would be seeing her very soon.

– 

Feyre stared down at the meal, ruined again. Behind her, Tamlin practically seethed with unseen anger. She could feel him working to leash his temper, to resist the urge to tell her I told you so.

I told you you’re a terrible cook.

“I’ll order dinner,” Tamlin said, ignoring the way Feyre blinked back tears. Bracing the ledge of the sink, she stared out the open window into the dark. She was trying—didn’t that matter? It wasn’t that badly burned, besides. They could have eaten around it. Feyre wished Tamlin would sit down, tell her it looked good, and eat it. Was that so much to ask? 

Apparently, given the heavy, long-suffering sigh from the man behind her. “You don’t need to try so hard, Feyre. You have me.”

“It’s—” She choked back the urge to scream that it wasn’t about impressing him. It was about care, about showing him that she loved him in some tangible way. Doing something for him so that he, in turn, might do something for her. Might do or say something that made her feel seen and safe. 

It had been a year of the stretching silence and the long sighs. Of not technically doing anything that would cause her to break up with her, all while giving off an air of not liking her very much. Well—that wasn’t fair. When the lights were out and they were in bed, Tamlin was very attentive. Detached, somehow—he never wanted her to look him in the eye—but he knew every place to touch and tease to make her writhe. And that was too often enough to convince her it was better to stay and hope whatever was bothering him faded and he went back to the love sick fool she’d first fallen in love with.

It didn’t help that Rhysand—Rhys—was still lodged firmly in her brain three days post meeting him. He’d been…well…he’d been beautiful. And charming. And funny, too. Endearing, even, as the kids teased him for his poor paint work. And when he’d said he was flirting, well…Feyre had imagined sending Tamlin a quick text message.

This is over. Don’t call me again. 

Throwing away a year on a man with a roguish smile seemed like a call for help. Still, he’d been on her mind, unshakable as her relationship with Tamlin stagnated like pond water. He ordered food without consulting her, ate it silently, all the while staring at his phone. He worked for a security firm and spent so much time watching the cameras, tracking people with a single-minded devotion she wished he’d focus on her.

“I’m going out,” he told her abruptly, only after Feyre had changed into a tiny slip of a nightdress, thinking she’d feel better if they at least had sex. His pine green gaze slid down her body without a hint of interest or appreciation. Just an acknowledgement that she had nearly every inch of her skin out for him before looking back to her face. “You can wait up, if you want.” How romantic, she wanted to scream. She felt utterly pathetic, a neglected housewife married for twenty years while her husband had an affair. Only Tamlin’s affair was with his job and Feyre would never come first. 

Say nothing, she ordered herself. And yet her traitorous lips said, “Couldn’t it wait another night?”

He regarded her without emotion. “It can’t. Get some sleep, Feyre. I’ll be in later.” Tamlin turned without a look back, swiping his car keys thrown haphazardly on the dresser, and strode from the room. Feyre didn’t, listening to the sound of the soft snick of the closing door and the sound of tires pulling away from the curb.

What was more pathetic, she wondered as she padded into the kitchen for a drink for water? Staying up late to seduce him, thus allowing him to have everything he wanted without doing any work at all, or staying with him when she was so miserable in the first place? Was this love?

Feyre didn’t get a chance to answer any of those questions. 

There, in the hall, stood a tall, muscular…man? They certainly seemed masculine, with broad shoulders that tapered into a rather nice waist beneath that high necked sweater. Matching black pants and a belt would have made him look rather nice, had he not been holding a massive, jagged knife in one gloved hand.

The ghost face mask obscuring his features didn’t help, either. Feyre didn’t move, heart hammering against her ribs. Scream. Run. Do something.

“There you are,” a deep, rich voice spoke from beneath the mask, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

“Don’t hurt me,” Feyre whispered, rooted in place as he made his way towards her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, drinking in the heady smell of his cologne and that horrible knife glinting beneath the artificial lights beaming overhead. 

With his free hand, he reached toward her and to her credit, Feyre didn’t flinch. She merely stood utterly still as he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone before sliding his gloved thumb over her lip.

“Hurt you? Darling, I’m here to rescue you.”

Her brain couldn’t make sense of those dark words dripping with the promise of…the promise of what? Feyre tried a step backward, tripping over her own nervous feet to fall to the ground. The man lunged and she braced herself for the pain of his blade, for blood and misery before finally death. But all she found was fingers around her body, hoisting her into the air.

She flailed, heel connecting with his jaw. He swore and the two fell to the ground gracelessly a second time, him tearing her nightdress to keep her pinned beneath him.

“I do so like you like this,” he all but growled as she tried to yank that mask off his face. If she was going to kill her, she deserved to look him in the eyes. His fingers curled around her wrists, subduing her quickly—easily, before gathering both in one big, broad hand. The other came over her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered as she kicked out her legs from beneath him. Why was this happening? She was going to die. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. How could he say that as he was suffocating her with his hand? She  continued to writhe, for all the good it did her, her screaming mind drowning out the words her attacker was saying. Lungs burning, desperately trying to gasp for air, Feyre couldn’t control her limbs. She felt herself getting dizzy, choking on her own pooling spit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” her attacker said, his voice far away. “Stop fighting me and I’ll remove my hand.” Her body went limp as she complied immediately, willing to do anything if it meant she could breathe again. And true to his word, her attacker removed his hand, letting her take a gasping, sobbing breath of air. 

“Good girl,” he praised softly, caressing her cheek a second time. “If you do everything I say, no one has to get hurt. Can you stand?”

“No,” Feyre said, eyes closed as she focused only on the sensation of air in her body. She wasn’t going to help him abduct her, besides. Not that it mattered. He had her wrists bound before he picked her back up like she was weightless to him, walking her toward her front door with ease.

“My boyfriend has cameras on the door,” she said, unsure if she was warning this man or helping him. “He’s going to see you.”

A chuckle rumbled from his broad chest. “Oh, I am well aware. Your boyfriend is too busy hunting tonight to check…and by the time he does, you and I will be long gone.”

The cool night air was like a caress against her clammy skin. Feyre saw the car—sleek and dark—parked so brazenly in the drive. 

“The police will find you,” she warned, deciding for a little boldness despite her swimming head and desperate desire to fall asleep.

“That would require Tamlin to call them…and he won’t. No, my darling—this is personal and you’re simply caught up in the middle of it. Now—can I trust you to behave in my back seat, or do you need to go in the trunk? I don’t want to put you back there…but I will.”

“What do you mean?” Feyre demanded, mind swimming.

“I mean, I don’t want to die on the road—”

“About hunting,” she interrupted, looking up at that ghostface mask. “About Tamlin not calling the police.”

Her attacker seemed to hesitate, muscles going taut beneath her. “I had a whole presentation planned. Why spoil it?”

“Tell me.”

“Your boyfriend is a killer—just like me. He taught me, in fact—or rather, we taught each other. He can’t involve the police without risking himself so he won’t.”

“Am I bait?”

“Oh, Feyre darling, you are so much more than that. For now, you’re merely my guest. Now—can I trust you in the car?”

Ferye closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to be careful. She had the thought just as her attacker laid her in the back of his car. She panicked, seeing him hovering over her, and immediately kicked him in the throat. He stumbled back as Feyre filled her lungs with air and screamed. She didn’t yell help—but screamed at the top of her lungs hoping a neighbor would come out.

“Fucking shit,” the kidnapper groaned, lunging forward. With her wrists bound, Feyre couldn’t do much, especially when he picked her back up. “Go ahead. Scream as loud as you want—-” She screamed directly against his ear, causing him to jerk back a step. He didn’t speak, merely popped his trunk and dumped her unceremoniously inside.

“Remember I tried,” he said before slamming it shut. Feyre immediately started looking for the little hatch that would open it, pulling it with her teeth.

The masked man was waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “Why must you make this difficult?”

“I hate you,” she bit back, heart racing in her throat. He only sighed before producing masking tape. After a moment, she found it pressed over her eyes and mouth before he bound her ankles, too.

“Open my trunk and roll out,” he dared her, the sound of his voice somehow more terrifying than the sight of him. “See how far that gets you.”

He slammed the trunk again, leaving Feyre alone in the dark. She screamed against the tape, trying to break it until her wrists were raw. He’d begun driving, the music faint through the fabric of the backseats. Would it have been smarter to pretend to be his friend? To lull him into a false sense of security? Feyre had never been particularly patient. In fact, she was spontaneous to a fault, acting without thinking and hoping it all worked out. Of course, that was for school assignments and ghosting friends—never because she’d been kidnapped.

Think, Feyre. 

She couldn’t, though. Not beyond her immediate problem, which was the tape over her mouth and eyes. If she could just get it off, Feyre thought she’d be able to think more clearly. Figure out a plan and execute it. She rubbed until her wrists ached and her head pounded, but at no point did she manage to do anything but chafe her skin, exhaling for air roughly through her nose. 

Eventually, the car came to a stop, the music cutting off abruptly. Lost to the dark, Feyre went limp as the sound of shoes on gravel flooded her senses. A moment later, cold air rushed into the trunk as hands lifted her in the air.

“You’re a terrible actress,” her captor murmured, his amusement plain. “I’m going to unbind you when we get inside. Are you listening to me? Nod your head.” Feyre did.

She heard the sound of numbers being keyed into a pad followed by the smell of warm cedar, drowning out the unmistakable scent of snow. Feyre was set on something soft—a sofa, before the tape was peeled off her eyes, and then her mouth. She was in a cabin, she realized. Well decorated and comfortable—and likely remote. Had he taken her up into the Illyrian Mountains?

“People will be looking for me—”

“No they won’t,” he replied smoothly, reaching for the edge of his mask. He was showing her his face? Feyre panicked—the only reason he’d do that was if he didn’t intend for her to tell anyone. She almost begged him not to, but a second later he’d peeled it back, revealing…well. Not what she’d imagined.

He was handsome, the asshole. Dark hair paired with eyes so blue they seemed violet were the first things she noticed. He was staring down at her, his sensual lips curled into a smile. The sharpness of his jaw and his high cheekbones gave him an almost aristocratic air, and his warm, brown skin was utterly unblemished and smooth. 

She’d been imagining him as some ugly man. This was worse, somehow. If he was caught, he’d have prison groupies. People would wonder if he’d really done anything horrible at all given how lovely he was to look at. That charming smile certainly didn’t help. 

"I remember you," she said. "From the art studio."

Rhys grinned. 

“Let me explain to you how things are going to work between us,” he began, running a hand through his thick hair. “There is nowhere for you to run, and if you try, you’re likely to plummet to your death or freeze before I find you. No one is looking for you. Repeat that as often as you need to. Tamlin will make all your excuses. He’s not going to rescue you. Until I’m done, you are at my mercy.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, wishing she could curl herself into a small ball. 

He chuckled. “No, Feyre. I’m not going to kill you. I think we might get along perfectly well so long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

Like running away. The look on his face told her he expected her to. She didn’t have shoes, was dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. She wouldn’t get far, but maybe he was lying. Maybe he banked on her fear to keep her compliant. 

He made a show of pulling a pocket knife from his pants and freeing her, frowning at her raw, bruised wrists. Feyre drew them against her chest, looking up at him warily. “What now?” He shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you remain within these walls.”

Fat chance of that. But Feyre nodded, hoping she looked properly scared. The cabin itself was small, and filled with cameras. He’d see her. Fine. He had to sleep at some point—he couldn’t be monitoring her all day, every day.

It was a bit of a stretch to call it a cabin given the home had two floors. It was remote, though, and seemed to function mostly off the grid, and had a rather nice kitchen she doubted he knew how to use. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a den he seemed to work out of—she wasn’t sure, given he didn’t open that door and merely gestured to it with a casual, don’t go in there.

Maybe it was where he tortured his victims. 

Feyre was given a room down the hall from him, devoid of a lock. “Look up,” he murmured, chin gutting toward the camera. “Wave to Tamlin.”

Feyre glanced up, unsure which of them she hated more. “He can see me?”

“He’ll see this,” Rhys murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s easy enough to send it to him.”

“You could get back at him without involving me,” she heard herself say, wondering if that made her a traitor. This had nothing to do with her, and Feyre felt as if she was being punished unfairly for whatever was going on between Rhys and Tamlin. 

He shrugged. “Consider this a rescue.”

A rescue? Feyre was going to kill him. Maybe he saw it, because he nodded toward the twin bed shoved in the corner. “There’s some clothes in the closet you can use—”

“Who did they belong to?” she demanded, heart leaping in her throat.

“My cousin,” he replied, eyes narrowed. As if he were offended she might suggest there’d been another captive in the room. Feyre didn’t want to think about that—it made her panic all over again. 

Rhys left after a few more self satisfied words around how he’d find her if she tried to escape so not to bother. Feyre wasn’t listening, already thinking about escaping through the window. Was it locked? Her bedroom door wasn’t, which felt like a test. Was he hoping she’d try and escape? 

Feyre sat on the edge of that bed and talked herself into her plan. Ignoring that it was cold and isolated and that she was woefully unprepared, Feyre instead thought about Rhys.

He wasn’t a god. He was only a man. He might have cameras on her, might have her watched, but he couldn’t search miles and miles of forest. The only advantage he had, supposedly, was that he knew she was missing before anyone else did. Feyre had grown up running through the backwoods and something about the slick way Rhys had his hair shoved off his stupid, too-perfect, face, told her he could not boast the same.

Feyre found booties in the back of the closet, and a million pairs of leggings hanging in the closet besides sweaters that were far too big for her frame. They’d double as a blanket, she decided as she pulled it all on. 

He was probably watching her. Feyre turned toward the camera and the blinking red light and offered her middle finger before throwing open that window. 

“For fucks sake!” Rhys’s voice called from somewhere inside the cabin. Feyre scrambled out the window, toppling feet over head into the frigid snow. Rhys’s fingers skimmed her ankle, attempting to drag her back inside. 

Scrambling to her feet as he came right out behind her in that stupid mask, Feyre realized it was a lot harder to run in snow than she’d expected. She had a head start on him for a solid ten seconds before he slammed into her, taking them both back to the ground. Rhys was made of solid muscle and was heavy. 

His bare hand wrapped around her throat, arching her neck upward until his lips touched her ear. “I told you not to,” he said as she writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get out from under him. 

“I don’t care what you say!” Feyre screamed. Rhys grabbed her arms, holding them in one broad hand as he restrained her thoroughly.

“You will—” he began, but Feyre head butted him, earning a furious curse in her ear. He half fell to his side, losing his grip on her wrists, which gave her time to scramble back to her feet. Rhys was just behind, grabbing her around her middle before hauling her up on his shoulder.

Feyre screamed, and though Rhys stumbled, he didn’t drop her like she’d hoped he would. 

“Scream all you want,” Rhys roared in response, as if he needed to make his point. “No one can hear you!”

“Tamlin is going—”

“He’s not coming!” Rhys interrupted, his fury finally scaring her. She hadn’t been frightened before—not truly. But right then, draped over Rhys’s shoulder while he wore that mask in the dark, his voice dripping with condemnation, Feyre was frightened. He sounded irate, dragging her back into that cabin with sure steps.

He didn’t take her back to that same room. Instead, Rhys dropped her into a different one—one that looked distinctly lived in. One that belonged to him, she realized. Feyre attempted to scramble up but Rhys was consistently faster. He had one leg, and then the other bound to the posts at the end of the footboard.

He sat on the bed beside her, laptop resting on his thigh. He pulled that mask up over his face, tossing it to the bed beside her. 

“Look for yourself,” Rhys snarled, shoving the open messages on the screen in front of her face. “Look and see how much he loves you.”

There were a slew of messages between them, and yet Feyre’s eyes snagged only on one.

Kill her then. 

She waited to see if she’d cry, but nothing came. “You’re lying.”

“He’s not coming for you,” Rhys informed her, eyes bouncing over her face as if he were searching for something. “This is between us, and you’ve become collateral.”

“Then why don’t you kill me?” Feyre snapped, yanking at her ankles trapped in the leather cuffs. They were bondage cuffs, she realized, rather than handcuffs. 

“Why would I kill you?” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “Tamlin might not be mounting some heroic rescue, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t view you as his. His little toy to play with until he gets tired of her…” Rhys murmured, sliding the side of his finger along her neck. “I’m not supposed to touch.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I asked you not to leave,” he continued, ignoring her plea as his fingers made their way down her shoulder. “Left the door open so you knew you could move freely through the house. You’re so desperate to get back to him, but I know what he does to pretty little things like you. Where they end up. How their families mourn.”

“Stop,” she whispered, unsure which terrified her more—his touch, or the threat of what Tamlin might eventually do.

Rhys caught her wrist, binding it over her head before Feyre’s mind could catch up with his actions. She was wholly restrained and he was holding a knife as he walked around the bed. 

“You’re still bait,” he murmured, one hand sliding over a wooden bedpost. “He can see us right now, you know. He’s watching, hoping I’ll kill you before you tell me something you shouldn’t.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” she whispered, trying in vain to wriggle away. 

“If you didn’t know anything, he wouldn’t have responded at all. He’s slipped up—you know something,” Rhys declared, running the sharp edge of his blade across her leggings. The fabric snagged, ripping neatly from ankle to waistband.

“I swear I don’t,” she protested as cool air caressed over her now exposed thighs. He wasn’t done as he ruined that oversized blue sweater, too, leaving her in nothing but the shredded remains of fabric. Violet eyes swept over her now naked form and rather than sadistic amusement, Feyre swore she saw unguarded desire staring back at her.

“You do,” Rhys murmured, pausing between her legs. She tried to hide herself from view, but she was restricted by the restraints. “You just don’t remember.”

“How is this supposed to help?”

“Who said anything about helping?” Rhys questioned, tossing his knife beside his mask. The weapon left a small impression atop the black duvet, sharp end pointing toward her ribcage as if to warn her not to try anything.

Feyre pulled against her restraints, for all the good it did her. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Rhys told her without moving. He did, however, gesture behind him to a wall half hidden in shadow. There, hanging in a gold frame, hung a familiar work of art. Her first ever painting sold—it was a moody seascape Tamlin had accused of being cliche. She’d been brand new, and yet talented enough to be accepted into a showing where an anonymous buyer had overpaid for it.

Feyre still had that first check tucked away in a desk drawer, and when she felt overwhelmed or dejected, she’d pull it out to look at. That same buyer had purchased something from every collection she’d done, always paying far more than she was asking. 

“That was you?”

“I have an eye for beautiful things you know,” he informed her, his gaze a brand against her skin. 

“You’re jealous?”

“Desperately,” he replied without irony. “It’s always been like that between us. He has everything I want.”

“Rhys,” she whispered, unable to look at him anymore. She wanted to tell him not to do this, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid. 

“He’s watching,” Rhys told her, glancing over his shoulder. “Keeps hacking into my system to see what you’re doing. Will you smile for him, Feyre? Let him think you’re happy?”

“Just let me go,” she pleaded as her captor slid to his knees between her legs. “I won’t say anything.”

“I can’t,” he murmured, lips ghosting over sensitive skin. “I want to keep you.”

Alive, was the unspoken word between them. Did he realize that was a low bar? A bar already set in hell, so far beneath his feet there ought to be no trouble clearing it. And yet…Feyre turned her head as he kissed up his leg, stomach tight from anxiety. 

“Like this?”

He shrugged. “I’d untie you, but I think you’d kill me with your bare hands if I did.”

“I think you’d like it,” she shot back, squirming when she felt his warm breath tease between her legs. 

“I’m hard just thinking about it,” he agreed with a grin. 

His tongue slid up the center of her pussy before Feyre could think of a good comeback. She yelped, trying—and failing—to escape the feeling. It had been too long since someone had done this for her, which was how Feyre explained the bolt of lust racing through her. He didn’t stop, eyes pinned to her face to see if she liked what he was doing.

Feyre was resolved not to react. Men always tired of this act after a minute or two, doubly so when they weren’t being catered to on their back, but instead forced to kneel. It was easy, at least in the beginning, to ignore his tongue teasing her clit. She thought about how cold the snow had been when she’d fallen out the window and reminded herself he’d shoved her in a trunk. That he was a killer, too, and toying with her boyfriend.

Or ex-boyfriend. Feyre wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. She supposed they were over, given he’d told Rhys to kill her. Feyre’s eyes slid to the camera in the corner of the room and somehow, she could feel him watching. Could feel his anger, too—as if this were all her fault. As if she’d kidnapped herself, tied herself up, and was now being forced into pleasure, too.

Are you happy now? Feyre wanted to scream it. 

“Eyes on me,” Rhys growled, forcing her to look back down at him. How long had it been, anyway? Her body hummed at the loss of contact, proving that though she was trying not to feel anything, she couldn’t block him out entirely.

“You’re wasting your time,” she whispered.

“All my time belongs to you now,” was his frustrating reply. He returned his tongue back to her pussy and this time, though she tried, Feyre couldn’t refocus on anything but his touch. It was all wrong—his mask lay on the bed, the knife still pointed toward her, inches away from her exposed skin.

For all she knew, he was lying to her and would kill her when he finished.

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling on her restraints.

“Come, then,” he said in response, his voice muffled. 

Feyre didn’t want to come. For a while, she writhed against her restraints until he physically pinned her to the bed, holding her still so he could continue his slow torture. Feyre thought he liked when she fought him—that he wanted to bring her under submission. She held herself back, whimpering from the effort as she counted in her head. 

“Do you need a distraction?” Rhys murmured when he heard her reciting the ingredients to a recipe. “Something to turn off that meddling brain of yours?”

“No,” she gasped, but he was on his feet, hands undoing his dark trousers. “I don’t need—I’m fine, I’ll finish—”

“I know you will,” he replied, pulling his long, thick cock from his pants. Feyre couldn’t not look at it as Rhys moved around the bed, extending his restraints so he could reposition her. Feyre fought him, slapping Rhys hard in the face when he undid her arms. He grunted but didn’t react other than to sigh, his frustration plain. With the longer rope, he could tie her hands to the bedposts without overextending her arms while her head now hung off the edge of the bed.

“I won’t,” she informed him.

“You will,” Rhys replied, pinching her nose when she pressed her lips together. As he waited for her to take a breath, he rubbed his cock over her cheek while his other hand slid across her breasts to play with her nipples.

Feyre tried—oh, how she tried—but in the end, she had to take a gasping breath of air. He pushed the head of his cock between her teeth, not caring when sensitive flesh scraped roughly against the jagged edges. The hand that had once pinched her nose now held her throat, squeezing just enough to warn her not to try and bite. 

She did anyway.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned, taking his knife and resting it on her stomach. Feyre didn’t believe he’d use it until he took the hilt and began using the smooth silver to tease against her clit.

She couldn’t argue with him, mouth filled with his cock. She widened her jaw to take a breath as he angled his hips, pushing himself further until he was backed up against her throat. Feyre gagged lightly, praying he wouldn’t keep going. 

She didn’t want to throw up.

Clearly neither did Rhys. Groaning softly, he whispered, “You suck so well.”

She wasn’t doing anything, really—Rhys moved his hips, setting the pace so he could fuck her mouth. Feyre screamed around him when she felt him push the hilt of the knife into her body so he, too, could fuck her with it. He’d been right about one thing—sucking his cock kept her focused on what was happening between her legs. She could think of nothing else, her mind torn between the air coming into her lungs and what Rhys was currently doing with his mouth. 

With his legs spread, he’d returned to licking her clit, focused wholly on that and nothing else. How did he not cut himself on the blade, she wondered as she tried to wriggle the knife out of her pussy.

It didn’t work. Whatever he was doing, he was skilled. Feyre was reacting, her body tightening around the hilt of the blade thanks to the skill of his tongue. Rhys groaned when she sucked in more air than she’d meant to, lips forming a seal around his shaft.

“Just like that baby,” he moaned before picking up his pace. She was going to come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Feyre tried, eyes leaking from the cock bruising her throat as saliva dripped down her neck. He was going to come, too.

Quick, she realized with some relief. He was timing himself with her, well aware she was close to completion. At least he wouldn’t draw it out? Or he had something else planned. Feyre didn’t know.

Didn’t want to know.

Didn’t want to admit that this was the best she’d felt in a long, long time. How fucked up was it that she hadn’t been able to get off for months, and now, tied up and forced, she was careening toward the sort of pleasure that threatened to unmake her. Was this how stockholm syndrome worked? Her body, flooded with pleasure, began to think that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here with him.

“Keep sucking,” Rhys moaned again, his hips losing some of their controlled rhythm. Maybe it was better to just get it over with. Feyre sucked around him, though she refused to move her head and help him.

Rhys licked faster, moving in precise circles until her hips began to roll into him, chasing the inevitable. Feyre clenched, finding purchase on the hilt of the blade. Rhys rubbed it just against the perfect spot, his tongue unwavering and Feyre was undone. She screamed around his cock, body bowing off the bed and directly into his mouth. She heard him curse though she didn’t care, half ruined from the pleasure now ribboning through her. Feyre was a star, white hot as it erupted over a silent sky.

She’d forgotten, just for a second, he still had his cock buried in her throat. With a twitching jerk, Rhys came into her throat, his come spilling out the sides of her mouth to join the mess of spit pooling along her collarbone. 

Panting, he pulled himself out of her to show her the knife coated in her own release and dripping with blood. His blood, she realized with alarm, noting the gash sliced over his palm.

“I got too excited,” he breathed, wiping it over her naked breasts. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Untie me,” she whispered, tugging against the restraints. “Please, untie me—”

Despite his injured hand, Rhys was quick about it, undoing her hands first, and then her feet. She’d told herself she was going to hit him for what had just happened, but instead Feyre merely sat up while he stepped out, half naked from the waist down, only to return with a warm rag he used to wipe up the mess of come and blood. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her against his chest. 

Feyre looked up at him, unsure if she believed him. “Tamlin told you to.”

“I wouldn’t kill my worst enemy to satisfy him.”

She swallowed. “And…if I wanted to kill him?”

Rhys grinned. “Say less, pretty baby. Say less.”

[rheindell]

My thoughts on why (just) going to therapy would have not saved Suguru Geto

I see a lot of people talking/writing/musing about how Riko's death was a starting point of Suguru's downfall.

But I, for one, think that foundation for Suguru's deflection had been laid way prior his meeting with Riko. It was the way he had been taught (or simply grew up) thinking about sorcerers and non-sorcerers.

From the very beginning he had labeled non-sorcerers as "the weak", those, who need to be protected. The weakness in question being the inability to use cursed techniques and manipulate curse energy.

Ultimately, despite his initially noble and relatively collected facade, he'd been showing signs of being a classist (or racist? Considering how later he came up with the thought that sorcerers and non-sorcerers are two different species entirely) from the very beginning. He wasn't "a sincerely kind and good person", he chose to act like one, maybe because he was told to, maybe because he was youthful (and who doesn't want to be a hero, when they're young?) and untainted, but not flawless still, and thus instead of being straight up cruel and genocidal, he used to be patronizing and lowkey condescending alongside with being nice. Non-sorcerers always were a second class people for him. It's just before Riko's death he'd been wearing the mantle of the "noble protector", and after her demise and finding out how Nanako & Mimiko had been abused by the hand and will of those who, he'd thought, needed his protection, he snapped and spiralled down to straight up hating every non-sorcerer.

I see a lot of people saying that if Suguru had a proper therapy, he could have been "saved", but I can't agree with that, not entirely, at least.

Yes, he was in dire need of proper help after Riko's death, after Satoru's near death experience, he needed help to fight his identity crisis, but what he had needed way before that was a proper teacher and/or a parental figure, or a wider social circle, or a friend beside Satoru, or anyone, honestly, with a properly working moral compass who could have knocked those ideas of segregating sorcerers and non-sorcerers from each other out of his head. And, unfortunately, level-headed and responsible adults are what Jujutsu High and jujutsu society in general severely lack in (Nanami, forgive us, for we've fucked up).

It should have never been about "the strong protecting the weak", it should have been more about fighting the way one can to save lives, period. A sorcerer can't safely remove a tumor from a patient's brain to save their life, but a neurosurgeon can. A neurosurgeon can't exorcise a cursed spirit to save a life, but a sorcerer can. Both doing what they are able to in accordance with their innate qualities and abilities in order to achieve the same goal.

It's not about being better than others because one can do something other people cannot, it's about just doing what you can do. A pity there was no one to show Suguru that.

In the end, he was a child who'd fallen victim to adults' neglectful teachings and leniency, and got stuck in his simplistic beliefs. To me it feels like he'd never been given an opportunity for proper mental growth, and stagnated in his radical black-and-white (and naive, frankly) views and, eventually, his unhinged gargantuan dreams of making the world "better" in the most lunatic way possible.

And that's just sad. Not just the demise of a beloved character, but also the "what could have been".

[rana-temporaria]

How late stage Numenor twists first age history, propaganda!

Ok so late stage Numenor hates elves, the valar, and are literally colonizing, enslaving the Atani of middle earth, and oppressing the faithful; They do all of this WITHOUT Sauron being involved

Now when Sauron does get involved it gets much worse, they build a temple for Morgoth and start sacrificing faithful people, the faithful also lose their only voice in government, Amandil who is removed from the kings council

To get a populace to believe any of these things are ok or even to think it's good, propaganda is used, a group of people is villanized and considered dangerous, they are blamed for problems that have nothing to do with them

Elves and the faithful are the ones who are villanized in this case

Now obviously they're not teaching first age history as it was, with the faithful and elves fighting against morgoths evil, true history is distorted and erased in late stage Numenor

So let's talk about how different events are taught in mid to late stage Numenor!

Elros Tar-Minyataur

-Elros is still greatly admired by the people of Numenor but late stage Numenor changes almost every fact about him

-They erase him being Half-Elven, his pointed ears are broken off of statues of him are replaced with rounded ears, him being a Peredhel is called an "elvish lie" They argue he was a full Atani and the reason he lived so long is Namo was afraid of him (Late stage Numenor blames Namo for death existing, rather than him being the keeper of the dead)

-In Ar-pharazôn's rule Elros is depicted as a blonde, for 3 main reasons: To make him and Elrond look less alike, to make him look more like Earendil, (They portay Elwing as unimportant and useless) and because I hc Pharazon as blonde and he wanted to make himself seem like the legitimate king instead of Tar-Miriel (who is dark haired)

-Elrond Peredhel is villanized and hated, he was banned from the island 20 years before elves were, he is called a liar for saying Elros us his brother and that the Numenoreans are his kin

-They don't have a good opinion of Peredhel in general

Luthien Tinuviel and Beren Erchamion

-Elves are fetishized before they are hated (both are dehumanizing, of course) Luthien in mid stage Numenor is generally only described with her beauty and her accomplishments are erased, Beren is portrayed liberating Tol Sirion instead of Luthien, her power in song is erased

-Her dancing in front of morgoth is stated to be Beren's plan, the dance itself is portrayed as easy and sensual instead of the grueling whirlwind it was

-Beren is depicted as stealing the silmaril during the dance instead of after morgoth is asleep, the silmaril is depicted in a chest behind the throne instead of the crown

-Luthien being half maia is erased and she portrayed as fully elvish

-Finrod Felagund is still there in mid stage Numenor

-It's not good

-Finrod is portrayed as the prince of Nargothrond instead of the king, he's also portrayed as being in love with Beren (Elven harems are a pretty popular concept in mid Numenor, I did say elves were fetishized)

-Note that the fetishization of elves continues in late stage Numenor alongside hatred

-Beren and Luthien is presented as a tragedy; Beren is depicted being killed by Melian and Thingol after he delivers the silmaril

-In mid stage Numenor Luthien is presented as naive and unaware and dies of grief as per canon but neither come back to life or meet again

-In late stage Numenor Luthien is depicted as a malicious seductress who purposely lead Beren to his death

Morwen Eledhwen

-Morwen is depicted as a witch, just as the invaders of dor lomin did

-In late stage Numenor she is depicted as being part elf, with one of her parents being a Peredhel

-Usually depicted as cursing Dor Lomin to be barren and cold

-Often depicted as working with elves to lead Húrin to his death

-Blamed for the deaths of Brodda and Aerin and accused of burning down the house due to jealousy

-Often depicted as lusting after Húrin or accused of bewitching him

-Húrin and Morwen are not depicted as married in late stage Beleriand

-Sindarin is banned and so Morwen is given an Adûnaic name which translates to "Witch"

Aerin

-Aerin is depicted as marrying Brodda of her own free will

-Their marriage is depicted as a loving one

-They still teach the part about Aerin bringing Morwen food but write it as Aerin being under a spell cast by Morwen

-All of Aerin's agency and bravery is erased

-Aerin is depicted as dying by Brodda's side in the fire, as said before Morwen is blamed for the fire

-Aerin is also called by an Andûnaic name which means "wife"

-Morwen is portrayed as the villainous witch while Aerin is depicted as the dutiful wife, they are nothing more than these roles in late stage Numenor

[geekgirles]

Even though we all know it's eventually going to bring disastrous consequences for Amalia, I'm so glad she didn't just control her fight with Aurora since the very beginning, but that she got to call her out on her foolishness and undeserved arrogance. I was really getting ready to call bullshit had Aurora at some point gained the upperhand by some sort of "legitimate" skill of hers.

Because Amalia is absolutely right! She never stood a chance because, realistically speaking, she never should have!

Ever since she was first introduced in season 3, there has never been any indication that Aurora knows how to fight. In fact, I'd say there's never even been any indication that anyone in her family is actually skilled at combat. Ashdur seriously looked more like a bodybuilder or circus strongman than a warrior, for example.

(See?)

But Aurora especially seems to have been raised to be married off to some other nation's heir to act as his arm candy rather than an actual queen and partner capable of running a kingdom in her husband's absence. During the entire time we've known her, she's never displayed any leadership, diplomacy, or tactical skills, let alone battle prowress. We all know it; for the entirety of season 4 and the webtoon, she's done nothing but quietly and passively follow Armand around and then act snide towards Amalia alongside her father.

And how could we forget the one time she took proactive action, she immediately had to retreat because she was lightly struck by lightening, which, and I cannot stress this enough, amounted to a small burn on her hand?

(Most dramatic bird I've ever seen, I swear to God...)

Not to mention that at the first sign of things not going her way or taking a direction she doesn't approve of, her first instinct is either to stand powerless and cry about it or throw a tantrum and recklessly and impulsively throw herself headfirst into things without thinking about the possible consequences.

All the while treating Amalia like nothing but a spoiled brat that is beneath her and who she can easily dispose of. But as Amalia pointed out, due to her complete and utter lack of experience in the real world and inability to let go of her self-perceived importance and worth or even acknowledge her own mistakes and privileges, the only spoiled brat here is Aurora.

Meanwhile, Amalia's adventures have allowed her to grow in ways no other royal can even fathom. She learned to let go of her prejudices when she worked with Pandiego; learned to refuse to be cowed into submission and fight for what she believes in when she went against Armand's orders; aside from the ocassional tantrum that is mostly played for laughs, she values the people around her as much more than mere servants or how she can benefit from them; she's fought wars, faced monsters, dragons, and demigods, and an undead, unbeatable army of Wakfu-vampires; and, if that weren't enough, her position as Sadida Princess and later Queen, hence protector of the Tree of Life and Sadida Kingdom, already implies the entirety of the Sheran Sharms are taught the art of combat in order to fulfill their duties to their kingdom.

Which can be seen when Armand and King Oakheart were the first in line during the war against Nox back in season 1, and again against the Nécromes (in Armand's case). As opposed to the Osamodas King, who didn't just neglect to send troops to help the supposed allied nation his daughter ruled over, but said daughter went as far as confirming he barely ever leaves his cave, always delegating everything on members of his court.

In other words, even before she met Yugo, Amalia already was a Warrior Princess by virtue of her family and their devotion to their kingdom, while Aurora never evolved from spoiled princess. And the fact that she failed to take Amalia's real world experience into account, besides how vastly she overpowers her and her father, only highlights how her own ego and pride blind her to reason: she really never stood a chance.

In short? Will Amalia's bludgeoning of the Osamodas bring unfortunate consequences? Yes, most definitely. Did they deserve it? Abso-fucking-lutely.

[jpmarvel90]

The Healer

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Word Count: 3588

Relationship: Natasha x Reader (but not really)

Summary: Y/n was a prisoner of Hydra where she was experimented on to give her the powers to heal. She was then forced to use those powers to heal any person Hydra sent her way. That was until the Avengers stormed the base she was held at. Surely her life would only get better from here....right?

Y/n's POV:

You'd think being an Avenger is a dream. Maybe for the others it is. But for me it's a nightmare. For the majority of my adult life, I had been held captive by Hydra. In that time, I was tortured and tested on. So much so that I now have the ability to heal people. I would dream for the day that I might escape and be able to use my powers for good, rather than healing those causing pain and destruction.

Then one day, the Avengers came and stormed the base I was being held in. Because of my powers, I was being forced to heal the wounded and when Tony Stark came across me, he assumed I was one of them. He knocked me out and I woke up in a new cell. Granted this one was slightly more comfortable.

Three months I spent in there, only being let out if it was to heal one of the team if they were hurt. I had tried to explain to them that I have never and will never support Hydra, but they wouldn't listen to me. I gave up in the end, realising that they would never listen or believe me. After some time had passed, Fury decided that I would become part of the Avengers or be sent straight to the raft. I obviously decided the former and soon was allowed out of my cell and into a room of my own. Not that I was ever permitted to leave the compound, except for missions.

I had hoped that over time, maybe I could earn the team's trust. That I could prove to them who I really am and maybe even make some friends. But I couldn't have been more wrong. None of them cared for me. I wasn't welcome at team meals. I was to eat on my own. So, you can imagine that I was never allowed to team building events or parties.

I was simply a healer to them. And an evil one at that. I was used to go on endless missions and heal anyone who was injured. From small cuts to stab and gun shot wounds. They had no care for the impact that it was having on my body. Each time I heal, it drains me. The more severe the injury, the long it would take for me to recover. But to the team, it was a price I had to pay for my sins.

I wasn't just sent on Avenger missions either. Any important Shield ones, I would be made to tag along. There were times I struggled to see the difference to Hydra. I was being used in exactly the same way but here, I had a more comfortable room. But I was still a prisoner, being used for powers I never asked for.

It didn't take me long to realise that I would never be able to show the team that I'm no threat and was taken against my will. Not even Wanda, who did actually volunteer to work with Hydra, gave me the time of day.

I would hear the snide comments and questioning of my worth. Then Steve would speak up and talk about how valuable I was. But not because of me as person, but because of my powers. If they could take my powers from me and give them to someone else, I know they would do it in a heartbeat and I would be locked away for life on the Raft.

I started to train myself to help with trying to keep my mental health in check. Some days it was hard to get out of bed. I'm ashamed that I have considered ending everything. Maybe I wasn't meant for this world. But then I would snap out of it and know that I have to fight. So, I taught myself how to. I wasn't too bad, and Steve found me one day and sparred with me. He was impressed and told me that I would be able to support in more than just a healing capacity. It didn't change his view of me as a person though.

So that's what happened. I was expected to fight alongside them, as well as heal them. Although my stamina increased overtime, I still couldn't control the impact on my body when healing someone. But once again. The team didn't care when I would practically crawl back onto the QuinJet. In fact, I'm sure they would leave me behind if they weren't so desperate for my healing abilities.

Today, we're heading out on a big mission. They have found one of the main Hydra bases. Our job is to go in, get intel and blow the place up. Natasha and Wanda will be going in and getting any information they need. Steve will plant the bombs, whilst the rest of us keep the Hydra agents busy.

There weren't too many injuries that I had to heal. Barton took a knife to the stomach, but it missed any vital organs, so wasn't too bad to heal, whilst Sam broke his arm when his wingsuit was taken out and he fell to the ground. It meant my energy was up and I was able to focus on fighting and making sure I did my job to the best of my ability.

As the fighting grew more intense, my comms crackled and I heard a shaky voice coming through. "Y/n. We need support in the comms room. Nat's been hit. I-it's bad." Wanda calls out.

Nat's POV:

This mission was going to be a huge success if we could take this base out. It was one of Hydra's 4 main bases. It would significantly affect their ability to carry out attacks on the scale they have been doing so.

Wanda and I were able to get inside relatively easily with the others fighting out the front. Wanda used her powers to deal with any agents we came across and protected me whilst I started to download as much information as I could. I then started looking through the rows of filing cabinets, hoping to find something useful. Whilst flicking through one of the draws, I see a picture of someone I recognise.

It's Y/n, though she looks far younger. Maybe 18. Intrigued, I start flicking through the file, but soon regret it when I read her history. My hand flies to my mouth and I gasp as I see the evidence that proved what Y/n had told us was true. She truly was a prisoner. Captured when she was 19 and held captive for 7 years. She wasn't born with her powers but was instead tested upon. My whole body fills with regret and I feel like I could be sick. We have treated her like the enemy for so long when she was the victim.

"What is it?" Wanda asks me as she appears by my side. "We were wrong about Y/n." I state, handing her the file, before running my hands through my hair. "Oh my God. She was telling the truth." She gasps herself at the realisation. "How could we treat her so badly. We basically have held her prisoner and forced her to heal us. It's no different to what Hydra were doing to her." I exclaim, anger building within me at how we treated someone who just needed our help.

"We can fix this. When this mission is over, we'll show this to the team, and we'll work to make this right." Wanda suggests. "Assuming she could ever forgive us." I mumble, knowing we have done far too much damage for her to easily accept our apology.

My guard is down as my mind races over all the horrible things I've said, that we've all said. I don't see the guards coming in the room behind us. Both Wanda and I are too late to react before two gun shots go off. I feel the burning instantly in my chest and stomach as my mouth starts to fill with blood. "NAT!" Wanda calls out, rushing in my direction. Not before using a blast of her red magic to end the agent that had managed to hit me.

My legs start to wobble, and I fall to the floor in a heap, my hands trying to stop the bleeding. Wanda drops to her knees and presses her hands down firmly on my wounds to help in the task, but it's all in vain as her own hands are soon painted in red. "We need Y/n." Wanda mumbles before activating her comms. Her eyes never leave me as they fill with tears. I know it's bad. I'm going to die if Y/n doesn't get here in time. "Y/n. We need support in the comms room. Nat's been hit. I-it's bad." Wanda calls out for our teammate. The one that we have failed so badly.

We're amazed at how quickly she gets here, she's out of breath as she drops to the floor besides me. I can feel my life slowly seeping away. "It's ok Agent Romanoff, I've got you." She smiles at me. I can never understand how she is so kind in these moments. She's soft and caring as she heals you. Then once it's done, we treat her like the enemy we thought she was.

"You guys need to get out of there. The bombs have been set and are due to detonate in a couple of minutes." Steve informs us and I see panic form in Wanda's eyes. "Go Miss Maximoff. I've got this." Y/n tells the witch. She's reluctant to leave as Y/n places her hands over my stomach to start healing. "GO! I promise that Agent Romanoff will be safe." She shouts, taking Wanda by surprise. Reluctantly, Wanda gets to her feet and walks backwards slowly. "I'll see you at the jet." She says, before running back through the building to safety.

I look to Y/n who is focusing on the job at hand. I can feel the warmth as my body starts to heal. Though with each passing second, I see Y/n's face become paler. Her eyes struggle to stay open and it's then I realise the real impact of healing someone does to her. Especially when they are so close to death. We've tortured her ourselves as we've forced her to heal us.

Her body suddenly crumples to the floor, and I look down to see my wounds completely healed, not even a scar. "Y/n, wake up. Stay with me." I say, moving to her side, tapping her face gently to get her to wake. Her eyes flutter open and I smile at her. "Thank you." I say, though my heart breaks at the affect my words have on her. I don't think we've ever thanked her for saving our lives. She's done it on numerous occasions.

"You both need to get out now. The bombs are due to detonate any second now." Steve yells down the comms. "Go." She indicates to me, but I shake my head. "Not without you." I tell her, wrapping my arm around her trying to lift her. She's a dead weight but I know I can carry her out. "Stop." She says firmly. "We won't make it if you try and get me out." She says with a look of acceptance on her face. "No, I won't leave you behind." I reiterate, but she uses what little strength she has to push me off her. "It was only a matter of time until I was no longer useful to you all. Go and save yourself." She snaps at me, and I realise that she thinks the only reason I'm saving her is because of her powers.

"No Y/n. I know the truth now. You deserve a happy life. One where you chose your destiny. I won't let you die here in this hell hole." I tell her firmly. "Mr Stark, are you able to come and get Agent Romanoff?" Y/n asks through the comms. "We're both getting out of here. Do you hear me?" I shout just as Tony confirms he's a minute out.

We feel the ground shake as the first bomb goes off, it's only a matter of time until they reach us. "Maybe my death will purge me of my sins." Y/n says through laboured breath. "No, you have nothing to atone for. We do. For how we've treated you. I'm so sorry Y/n. We never should have done what we did to you. It's unforgivable." I try to apologise to her, cupping her face.

Before I can say anything more, Tony blasts through a wall and grabs me in his arms. "Time to go Romanoff." He says but I fight to get out of his arms. "NO! Not without Y/n." I try to get back to the stricken girl on the floor. She can't die. Not like this. "We're going Romanoff. It's fitting that she should die in the place she called home." Tony snarls, making the anger boil within me as he runs out the hole in the wall he had just created.

Even with all my strength I can't get out of his grip, and I give in as he flies away. I watch the building below me getting smaller as we get further away. Just as we're out of danger I watch in horror as the building explodes. "NO!" I scream knowing that Y/n is in there. Tony lands and places me on the floor and is shocked when I start pushing him. "You left her there to die! You asshole!" I scream at him, my anger boiling over as the others come to see what the commotion is. "It was you or her Romanoff and that wasn't even a choice." Tony growls back at me.

"She was innocent!" I yell, taking them all by surprise. "She was telling the truth. She was never working for Hydra by choice. She was a prisoner who spent the majority of her time there being tortured. She would have thought she was free when we saved her, but instead we made her a prisoner of our own, using her for her powers." I rant angrily, tears falling down my cheeks.

"Come on Romanoff, she got to you. Just because she healed you doesn't mean you have to believe her." He argues back. "She's right. Y/n was telling us the truth. We've treated her like the enemy when really, she was the victim." Wanda backs me up. At our revelation, I watch as the others come to terms with what we've done. Steve's head drops as he pulls off his mask. Sam holds the arm the Y/n had not long ago healed whilst Clint looked like he had seen a ghost.

"How do we even know this is true. It could still all be some elaborate plan." Tony tries to dismiss the truth. I reach into my pocket where I had put her file and slammed it into his chest. "Read this and tell me you still feel the same." I spit at him. "We're meant to be the world's mightiest heroes. But how would people react when they hear how we treated a helpless prisoner." I fume, embarrassed by our actions.

I turn away from my team and look to the mountain of rubble in front of me. Maybe she's still alive. Maybe I can find her. With determination in my step and tears stinging my eyes, I start walking towards the rubble. "Where are you going?" Wanda calls after me. "To find her. Hopefully alive, but if not, she deserves a funeral. One showing the real hero she is." I shout back over my shoulder, my eyes locking on to the rough area she would have been.

I start moving the rubble with my bare hands, calling out for Y/n periodically. I'm praying that she responds to me, that she calls out and we're able to save her. Whilst I'm moving the rubble, I see a whisp of red, helping to move it out of the way. I look up to see Wanda, giving me a tight-lipped smile. "She's our teammate. We do this together." She tells me. Soon after the others join us, working to move as much as we can in the hopes of finding Y/n alive.

"Can you feel her at all?" I ask Wanda when we're no closer to finding her. She doesn't respond. She doesn't have to. The pain and regret in her eyes give me the answer I didn't want.

As time goes on, my hope starts to dwindle. She can't die like this. The last words said to her were out of such malice. She needs to know how much we appreciate her, how sorry we are and how much we want to make this up to her. I can see the hope fading for everyone, but we refuse to stop. Even when Fury sends Maria to get us back home. She's soon to join us, her own guilt building.

When I move a large bit of wood, I see a familiar tattoo. 98-321. Y/n has that tattoo. "OVER HERE!" I shout out to the others who are quick to head in my direction as I quickly work to remove the rubble on top of her, ignoring the blood and bruises forming on my hands. I manage to get her free and pull her into my lap whilst the others gather around. "Y/n? Y/n? Can you hear me? It's Natasha." I say to her, tapping her face. But unlike earlier, she doesn't wake.

With shaky hands, I move my two fingers towards her neck and press against her pulse point. I close my eyes tightly hoping to find any signs of life. Though if I really took in her body, I would have seen it would have been an impossible ask. "No." I whisper when I feel nothing.

I hold her close, her skin feeling cold against my touch. "I'm so sorry. Please come back to us. I'm sorry." I start to cry as I hold her limp body in my arms. I rest my head against her chest where her heart no longer beats. I don't care about the blood and dusty that is starting to cover my body. I just want to hold her, in the hopes that, by some miracle, she may understand how sorry we truly are.

"You were a hero Y/n and we didn't treat you like one. We let you suffer when you needed help more than anyone. I wish we could have saved you. Given you the life you deserved. I can only promise that we will never allow this to happen again. Believe me when I say you were seen, and your input to this team was invaluable. You have saved all our lives in some capacity or another. I'm sorry we couldn't do the same for you." I apologise to her through my tears.

A hand on my shoulder brings me back to the devastation around us. "We should go." Steve tells me, with a sad look on his face. He bends down and carefully takes Y/n in his arms. "Be careful with her!" I warn him and he nods. "We will treat her with the utmost respect. As late as that may well be now." He reassures me.

Wanda helps me to my feet, and we follow behind Steve as we make our way back to the QuinJet. The whole team is in shock. I watch as Steve lays Y/n on one of the medical beds and gently places a blanket over her. I quickly move to the seat next to her and hold her hand. I hate the idea of her being alone in this moment.

The journey back is silent as we mourn the loss of a teammate and the embarrassment and guilt settles. When we arrive at the compound a team is waiting to take Y/n's body away and I'm reluctant to allow it. I'm alive because of her. Yet she is dead because of me.

The next few days are dark. Wanda and I plan a service that Y/n deserves. We were able to trace some family. Her sister, Sam, talked of how Y/n was taken one night, and the police were never able to find her. They had assumed she was dead. She had asked why she didn't try and find her once she had managed to escape, and I had to admit that she wasn't permitted to. It's safe to say Sam wasn't too happy when she heard about how we treated her sister.

Despite that, she attended the service for her little sister. She held a lot of pain. I guess finding out that Y/n was alive all the way along only to learn she died like she did much have been hard.

The service was perfect, and the majority of Shield turned up for it. Word had gotten around about the truth and there was a great shame felt by many. None more so than me. I'm a spy, I pride myself on being able to see what others don't. But for some reason I was blinded to this. I could have saved her. She died because of me. It's something I'll never be able to forgive myself for. But I know, that I will never let anyone else be treated the same. I will also never allow anyone to forget that Y/n Y/l/n was the true hero of the Avengers.

[moonlit-witches]

☾ Requiem — Chifuyu Matsuno

☾ Just to Die — Chifuyu Matsuno

❝you learn it ain’t fair by design/so you do what you can/when you’re born into life just to die❞

pairing: chifuyu matsuno x fem!reader

synopsis: in which you meet your new neighbor chifuyu matsuno for the first time

warnings: mentions of death (parental), language, violence, suggestive themes (nothing explicit), questionable morality, reader is lowkey a brat but ya know aren’t all preteens??, one (1) use of y/n, depressive themes (i be depressed so most of what i write is gonna b a lil depressing lol)

word count: 2.8k+

a/n: y'all i haven’t written fanfiction in years so please be mindful lmfao, this takes place right around/before chifuyu meets baji, so he’s his lil asshole self who thinks he rules the world, i have multiple parts to this planned so beware, let me know if you enjoyed! thanks homies!

now playing: [just to die — keshi]

part i

⋯⛩︎⋯

growing up with a single father definitely had its ups and downs. while you were on your own when it came to figuring out catty fights between jealous tweens who thought that words and hair pulling would affect your social standings, or why exactly there was a bright red stain inside of your underwear for a week straight when you were around eleven, your father stepped up in other aspects of your life. teaching you how to persevere against those that talked down on you with a sharp punch to the nose while avoiding retaliating fists, to making you feel as though you were princess of the universe when he’d walk you downtown late at night. he’d let you swing manically off one of his arms, while his other smoked a cigarette. you remembered glancing up and seeing a wide smile illuminating his face, as you giggled trying to kick at the walking pedestrians, causing him to have to flex and move his arm to avoid the collision.

you remember feeling like nothing and no one could touch you as long as your dad was next to you.

that was until you lost him too — moving into a bustling new city, with an unfamiliar aunt who claimed to be a relative of your long-gone mother and scolded you for the ways in which your dad taught you. one minute you were a happy child with confidence that shined through all aspects of your life including caring about schoolwork, helping your dad around the house, and being kind to those around you. the next, you were transported to the police station instead of walking back home alongside your father as he insisted on picking you up from school every day after work. you remember the flickering overhead lights as they said something along the lines of “you’re dad is in heaven now” to keep the conversation kid-friendly. you remember looking up the real story on the library computer late one night. some bitch stabbed your father and took his money.

your aunt suddenly had her hands full — although after losing both parents, was a wild child not what she was expecting to come out of this situation? especially a family member you had never heard of before your father’s untimely death. from violence, to sneaking out, or stealing anything your pockets could hold; you’d begun a search for any sort of feeling other than despair. cheap thrills seemed to be the best ticket.

you had punched your seatmate the first day of school for asking if you needed help purchasing pencils when she’d seen you chewing on a perfectly working pen. you were banned from the four closest convenience stores to your home, whom your aunt seemed to personally know the managers of as they’d ratted out your little heists to her. you’d even sneak out of your ground floor window to share half of your dinner with the city's stray cats as you couldn’t stomach much of an appetite once your solid footing on the universe had whisked out from under your feet. your middle school years seemed to be shaping into the bane of your existence. 

however, you learned just as quickly that simply because all of the lights had been shut off, it doesn’t stop soft, stubborn flames from flickering in long stale corners.

the apartment complex that you now resided in sat on a poorly lit corner, standing five floors high, and rang quietly with the sounds of mother’s scolding their ruly children while the dark alleys surrounding it smelled of tobacco and skunk, flitting behind the bodies of those that stopped to smoke. most days, following the lengthy and boring school days, you would stay out as late as you could, lying to your aunt that you’d been at cram school instead of running rampant along the streets of tokyo.

even after your father’s death, you’d feel him by your side, especially when you’d walk the streets after sunset with an unlit cigarette sitting between your tense teeth. the bustling streets weren’t as safe as they had been when he’d physically been here, but his somatic skills of protection that he’d ground into you as a child as a way to bound with the baby girl he’d had no intent of raising by himself before your mother had died six months after your birth in a fiery car accident, acted as a shield for your own wondering steps.

this night was no different. although, you’d receive stares from those passing as they searched for an adult figure in your vicinity to explain your late night strolling on this side of town, you ignored them, staring upwards at the crescent moon that followed you around. your lips played with the stick between your teeth, rolling it back and forth, slightly praying for a way out of the situation that is your life now. sometimes, you’d find a sick fuck who’d catcall you from a darkened alleyway, or find a stray cat being targeted by a group of unruly teenagers, which caused you to snap out of your almost unconscious state to beat them back into place.

those evenings, it was harder to convince your aunt that you’d been out at cram school, but eventually she’d tsk her tongue at you and retire back to her bedroom leaving you in the stillness of the living room as the street lights highlighted your bruised knuckles and sometimes brow bone. you’d often wonder in these moments how your dad would have reacted, daydreaming of his bright smiles and praise at his child standing their ground, asking all the right questions to rile you back up, your own smile mirroring his.

“oi!”

an unwelcoming yell alerted you to a group of half a dozen third-years milling about the alleyway beside you. their eyes were already on yours as you halted, tilting your head to allow the nuisance into your eyesight. your eyelids were heavy, your cheek twitching at the sudden interruption. you sighed slightly, removing the unlit cigarette from your teeth, moving it and your hands into your zip-up’s pockets.

“and what the hell is a young thing like you doing out this late?” the seeming leader of the group sneered, stuffing his own lit cigarette out on the ground under his foot. you stayed silent, uninterestedly sizing the growing boys up. they seemed to be dressed the same, in button up long sleeve shirts, with something embroidered on their left chests, although the kanji was too far away for you to read. they must report to someone with outfits like that, you think, righting your head finally and taking a few steps away from the well lit street into the alley.

after a pregnant pause, another spoke up harshly behind the first to speak, asking “you looking for some fun, little girl?” 

your hands removed themselves from your pockets, twitching against the school skirt you hadn’t changed out of since the final bells, slightly aggravated by the placename they’d given you. you were your dad’s “little girl” and now that he was gone, so too was that person. a slight rage beginning to boil under your skin as someone else addressed you as such.

“what’s it to you?” you spit back, rolling your shoulders to try and appear somewhat bigger.

this created a wave of reaction amongst the delinquents; laughter echoing against the damp, cracking brick walls surrounding them. you smirked slightly, somewhat glad that society had made everyone in it believe a small, young girl like you posed no threat to these older schoolboys, much less those that willingly participated in acts of violence such as brawls and beatings. 

once the fit of hysterics had quieted, the one that seemed to lead those behind him opened his mouth, seemingly, to reply to your rhetorical question. you decided now was as good a time as any. your feet carried you quickly forward, watching his face shift from that of amusement, to one of confusion, before your right foot came up to meet the side of his face. you pivoted on your toes, leg still in the air from coming down off his face, and used the momentum to slam the follower next to him square in the temple. taking a step, you brought your burning knuckles upwards, locking a solid hit on a third’s jaw, relishing in the sound of teeth clashing, before facing the one formerly standing next to his leader. you pulled your arm back, and felt your knuckles reverberate against his face as you smashed his nose in.

you turned on your heels this time, figuring you could take the remaining two third-years on at once, as usually those in the back weren’t as renowned in their skill as those between the object of victimization (you, in their hopeful case) and their leader, who laid moaning as blood ran from his ear that you’d smashed against his skull seconds earlier. your calculations weren’t usually wrong, but they seemed to be a bit off, as you watched the other two boys yell as they rushed you from either side.

you let out a small cry yourself, turning slightly to the bigger one, your fist meeting his chest, as he stormed into your personal space. the one behind you yanked the hood of your sweatshirt, choking you a bit as they pulled you downwards, back hitting the concrete with a jolt that had the remaining air leaving your lungs at an alarming pace. the position made you panic, grunting a bit as you held your fists forward, towards the remaining boy as he lunged on top of you. you sucked in a quick breath before his weight landed on you, causing an involuntary oof to escape your mouth. you had managed to get a knee between his chest and yours, as you let out another yell, and pushed with all your weight, forcing yourself back into the ground as the delinquent stuttered in his movements to catch your flailing hands. 

“get off,” you huffed angrily, as a voice in the back of your mind reminded you that maybe you weren’t as invincible as you’d perceived yourself to be. you shook the thought from your head, rearing a fist back to smash the skull of the one on top of you, when a strong vice gripped your wrist, smashing it back into the ground next to your head. you looked up with wide eyes and saw the one you’d punched in the chest catching his breath in pants, holding you down. you became frantic as his other hand wound its way around your other wrist, pulling it away from your chest and above your head as well. a harsh blow to your lower jaw brought you back to the present, as you heard your ears ring, and felt a sting from your upper lip being split by your tooth.

Shit, you thought, mind temporarily blanking, as your vision began to blur with frustration knowing that if you didn’t get out of this quickly, this night would be one of hurt and hell.

“if you wanted to have this much fun,” the one on top of you grunted, a smirk erupting along his ugly cheeks, “you could’ve just asked nicely.”

 you begin puffing, straining your taut muscles aiming to bring your other leg up along the other to force his stank breath out of your face, mind beginning to race at his implications. the one pinning your wrists above your head, struggling to move your wrists towards one another, and you spared a glance upwards, seeing a sadistic glint within his dark eyes as his own mouth formed a toothy grin.

suddenly, his face moved rapidly to his left, disappearing from your view followed by a sickening thunk as it echoed off the concrete next to you. you let a small gasp escape your already open mouth, averting your eyes back to the front of you, watching the third-year on top of you as his mouth transformed from a twisted smirk to a perfect ‘o’ before a fist smashed into his mouth, causing him to collapse face-first against your side.

the added weight made you anxious as you moved your body back, leaning on your elbows as you scrambled. before you’d even turned to see who had attacked the two, another hand was wrapping around your arm, this time yanking you up onto your feet, and pulling you towards the other side of the alley. your breath came back sporadically, sparing a glance behind you at the beaten group of teens who were beginning to rekindle their surroundings, before the grip on your arm yanked you to the right, causing you to trip over your own feet, struggling to keep up with the heightened pace.

after about a minute of combing through side streets, the grip loosened around your forearm, causing you to slow, leaning forward to catch your breath. you lifted your head slightly to see who it was running alongside you, and your eyebrows contorted at the sight of a boy your own age, maybe a year above you, with dyed blonde hair in a faux hawk, curling into itself. before you’d collected yourself to make an attempt at conversation, he was lowering his chest, towering into your face, face scrunched in frustration. “what the hell is wrong with you? don’t you know that they could’ve killed you — or worse?”

his eyebrows were angled inwards, half covering his green eyes, anger raiding from him and onto you, causing you to bristle, standing up straight to counteract his intimidating stance.

“i didn’t need your help,” you scoffed, wiping the side of your mouth, as he watched the blood smear from the corner of your lips and half disappear into the black sweatshirt sleeve.

for a minute he stared at you, disbelief surrounding the situation transforming into an unbelieved laugh. “then what the hell did i just fight those pricks for, huh?” he stared at you with wide eyes, finally turning away from you while shaking his head.

you frowned, crossing your arms. “it was just a small misjudgment on my part,” you muttered without looking at him. “nothing i couldn’t have handled.”

the last part came out breathy and if he hadn't been standing so close to you, he probably wouldn’t have heard it.

he gave you an inconceivable side-eye before stuffing his hands into his pockets, beginning to walk off — the same direction you needed to go to return home. you furrowed your own eyebrows in irritation realizing you couldn’t split off from the blonde just yet, and began to trail behind him. he sighed deeply before speaking, “you just moved downstairs, didn’t you?”

you gape in disbelief. how did he know that you’d just moved here?

he shot you a look over his shoulder, before facing forward and shrugging. “you and your mom sure know how to yap about you being out too late, you know?”

your mind reeled for a minute, coming to the conclusion that this boy must live in the same apartment complex you’d recently found yourself home in. and on top of that, he had to have heard the recurring arguments you’d gotten into with your aunt about your punctuality or violent tendencies. after shaking off the questioning thoughts from your mind, you grumbled, “she’s not my mom,” while fumbling for your crumbled cigarette in your pocket.

he turned to look at you, seeing the cigarette between your lips and it was his turn to gape as he asked, “whoa, what the hell are you smoking cigarettes for?”

his hand reached out, seemingly to remove it from your lips and you shifted sideways out of his grasp, humming, “i don’t. just reminds me of someone.”

his fingers returns to his side, nodding as if he understood, before saying, “i’m matsuno chifuyu.”

you huffed, wondering when the hell you’d even asked, before he stopped suddenly, causing your chest to collide with his back, creating a huff to escape you. he slyly looked over at you. “and this is where you tell me your name.”

you gave him a glare back, stepping around his figure to continue home. “(l/n y/n).”

he grinned slightly in satisfaction, matching his pace to yours as you approached the apartment building the two of you reside in. he pulled the glass door open after punching in his access code, awaiting your entry before following himself. you turned to the hallway entry on the right before moving your head to look at him as he moved towards the stairwell.

“thanks,” you said quietly, moving the cigarette to the side of your mouth.

he turned to look at you, giving you a cat-like grin, before you finished your sentence and entered the hallway before you. “by the way, your hair looks stupid.” you caught sight of the grin disappearing as his lips turned into a scowl, as you turned away to hide your own grin.

and thus began your unlikely and somewhat unwanted friendship with the delinquent upstairs.

⋯⛩︎⋯

[gojoscalico]

Turn Back Time || t h r e e

Summary: You were never sure when it started to fall apart but it did. 10 Years later and now you're facing him again. Will it reignite the feelings you both once had for one another? Or will you both end up walking away from each other once again?

Word Count: 1990

A/N: WARNING!! This chapter does mention graphic violence and death of an animal.

Tags: @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn

&lt;;- Previous Next ->

“Y/N!” Afraid that you would burst into tears in front of not just Shoko but in front of the students who suddenly have turned their attention to the both of you, you bit your tongue. You winced in pain. The taste of blood triggers your memories of living as a corpse in your family’s basement. It was something you had always done when your mother would strike you until you were unable to stand. It became a hard habit to break. You remembered whimpering in pain. And if you had cried she would only pounce at you some more. The sudden twinge of pain from biting your tongue calms your nerves, pivoting suddenly and turning towards Shoko with a smile. The best smile you can conjure up. It was something you had been good at. Taught at a young age how to smile for the public even with a broken rib. To hide how you felt to survive. But eventually it was also something the trio was able to look past. Shoko looked at you with a pained look on her face.  “Y/N…Toru he–”

“I’m fine! Shoko I just forgot that I had to grab something from my lug–” She interrupted you with a sudden hug. Suddenly you were sixteen again and here you were struggling to survive…to breathe freely in a world that wasn't the cold dark basement you had grown familiar with. And here again a decade later was Shoko with her healing touch. You had thought that maybe moving away had helped you fight the demons inside your head but in her arms you knew that you had just silenced them for a moment and learned to live alongside them in the shadows. You had never really faced them. You dug your head deeper into her arms and the tears just flowed. “Shoko…I wish I could tell him…I wish I could just tell him everything but being a Gojo is everything to him.”  She petted your hair as she ran her hand down your back,” Shh…I know…I know… everything…” You stopped crying, lifting your head up you felt a sense of confusion, “What?” 

“When the clan called on you I was there…I heard what they said. I thought that you were going to tell us. I thought that you were gonna ask Sugu and I for help…I’m sorry that we made you feel like we weren’t safe enough to talk to when they forced you to make a choice.” You shook your head. You never thought that even once this whole decade. You stepped away from her crying into your hands. You were thinking about how much this hurt Shoko. To know the truth about everything but was unable to tell anyone. “No…Shoko…I never…I just didn’t want to…” Shoko took a step towards you to reassure you that she didn’t hate you for your choice. She never once hated you for how you handled a shitty situation chucked to you as a child. Especially not by adults who had promised to protect you. She had only wished she was able to help you more, “Maybe I can help…Tell Toru what it was that–” BOOM. 

It was an attack.

Shoko looked around with a confused look on her face. How was she okay? How did she end up outside of the pavilion that just collapsed? Then she remembered hearing you clap before the loud boom. She looked around to find a tree standing where she had been just mere seconds ago. Turning her head to where you had been standing just seconds ago she saw a huge mountain of rubble. She heard ringing in her ear from the loud noise, which left her a little disoriented . “Y/N!!” Shoko yelled at the top of her lungs, panic was distinct in her voice. In desperation she called out to Satoru and Suguru. “PLEASE ANYONE! I can’t find her!” Shoko felt the tears in her eyes. Please. She begged that you were okay. Please. She fell to the ground as she noticed your shoe right outside the mountain of rubble. She picked up the shoe to realize that it had been wet. Staring at the vivid cherry colored liquid on her hand. She panicked as she looked around for any sign of you when she saw the blood seeping through the debris. She yelled for Satoru and Suguru in desperation one more time before she started to dig through the wreck. Her fingers were bleeding after cutting herself from the sharp edges of the fallen debris. “Shoko…what are you?” She turned around to find Satoru standing over her. Suguru appeared right behind him, his eyes widening as he noticed the blood. “Y/N…she’s under here.” Shoko stated as she stared at the rubble. Satoru’s eyes widened as he took a step forward, “No…No…” Using his curse technique he lifted the rubble so easily. There he finds your body miraculously not crushed by the wrecked parts of the pavilion. Still there was blood staining your clothes. You were hurt. You gave him a weak smile. “T-Toru…I–” You coughed up some blood. Your body was at its limit. “I’ve got you princess…I always got you…” After hearing those words you released your technique. Unsure if it was muscle memory but your body knew that if you heard those words you were gonna be okay. You took one last breath in before closing your eyes. 

“Y/N! You’re too slow!” Heavily breathing you lunged at Satoru with a spear as he dodged it…again. You groaned, “Just once I want to be able to hit you just once.” Satoru laughed, “Oh come on princess, then it’s not sparring, I just become target practice.” You scoffed, “Doesn’t sound too bad especially if you keep calling me princess. You know I don’t like that nickname.” Satoru laughed at you mockingly as he kept avoiding your attacks. He watched as your cheeks just got redder as you continued. He was worried that you were going to pass out from the heat. “Okay let’s take a rest before you hurt yourself.” You groaned again as you took off the uniform jacket and fanned yourself with your sweat-soaked t-shirt. “Fine.” Satoru watched as beads of sweat dripped down from your face to your chest. The sweat soaked t-shirt practically transparent, he swiftly threw his jacket over you as he heard footsteps from behind. “Hey!” 

“Shut up!” You then suddenly hear Suguru and Shoko laughing down the hall. “No and then he…woah are you two okay?” You tilted your head confused, “What do you mean?” Suguru placed an ice cold sports drink on your cheeks, flinching letting out a little moan of pain as the cold drink touched your warm cheeks. “Ow…” Satoru watched Suguru laugh as he handed you the sports drink. He felt a tinge of jealousy as your cheeks turned even more red. “Yeah exactly, you look like you're dying of heat exhaustion. And why are you still wearing the uniform jacket?” You glanced at Satoru who was now looking down at the drink that Shoko had brought. “It helps with conditioning my body for extreme temperatures.” Shoko laughed at your remark, “All that training would be useless if you die Y/N. You have to take care of your body more.” You pouted as you ran towards Shoko hugging her, “I mean it’s not even my jacket…” You then glared at Satoru’s direction, “Someone just suddenly threw his jacket at me. When I was trying to cool down.” 

“Well I mean her…sh-shirt is...” You tilted your head unsure of why the arrogant Satoru was suddenly flustered. Then you looked down at your sweat soaked t-shirt and you noticed that your bra was seen through it. You felt the heat of your cheeks turning red in an instant as you covered your chest, “P-Perv! Toru you’re a pervert!.” 

“Huh? ME? You’re the one who just just took off their jacket in front of me. A man.” You laughed, “A man? You? Please Toru. I won’t see you as a man for as long as I live.” Pissed off, Satoru laughed, “And I will never see you as a woman, just a little girl who can barely land a punch.” With that you scurried away huffing with anger. You weren’t sure what it was about Satoru but whatever he did he pissed you off. It was his arrogance. His arrogance was based on nothing but the fact that he was a part of the Gojo clan and that he was born with those eyes. 

Satoru watched you hurry away. He chuckled because no matter how pissed off he was at you the way you moved was so cute. You were like an angry rabbit. He knew that no matter how pissed off you always get you would still bless him with that pure and innocent smile. The smile that made his heart skip a beat. “You know Satoru, if you like her you shouldn’t be so mean to her it’s not like we are still in grade school.” Satoru sighed at Suguru’s comment. “Go apologize and tell her you love her.” Satoru threw a punch at Suguru who blocked it, “Tsk. Always acting like you know everything. Shut up.”

With Suguru's advice Satoru followed you so he can apologize. He knew how hard you were working but he wanted you to catch up soon so that you could start to fight alongside him. “Hey Y/N…” Satoru stopped in his tracks as he watched you sitting on the floor looking at an injured squirrel. Typical. He figured you were going to pick it up and cry about how you wanted to take care of it. Shocked as he watched you pick it up and break its neck instantly killing it. He watched your dull expression as you held the lifeless squirrel in your hand. He flinched. It wasn’t something he expected you to do. “Hey, What are you doing?” He asked as he took the squirrel’s dead body away from you. He caught a glimpse of your eyes. It was as if you were a different person. They were hollow and dark; it was the eyes of someone who knew what they had done and meant it. Satoru pried the squirrel's body from your hands and placed it by the tree where it had probably fallen from.“Y/N! Why did you do that?” He shook you as you glared up at him. “Why? The squirrel was in pain Toru…it was gonna die anyway.” Satoru looked at her in shock. This wasn’t the Y/N he knew. But he knew for the first time he was seeing you for who you were. Cold. “You didn’t have to kill it…we could’ve nursed it back to health.” You laughed almost mockingly, “How do you know it would’ve lived? What if it suffered even more if we had let it live?” He looked at your eyes. He knew you weren’t talking about the squirrel anymore. “Weak things die…it’s how the world works Toru.”

He looked at you with a distressed look in his eyes. In this moment, he wanted you to forget the pain you were forced to bear before coming to Jujutsu. For the first time ever since he had met you he reached out his arms. He placed his hands lightly on the back of your head as he pulled you into a gentle embrace. “I’ve got you princess…I always got you…” It was as if the anxiety that blanketed over you since the day you were rescued was lifted, you felt a sudden relief. You cried as you dug your head deeper into Satoru’s arms. “Toru…I…” He looked at you, placing a hand on your chin as he lifted it, bending down a little until his lips touched yours. He knew that whoever you become he will always love you. And he will always follow you. 

[sombrathedragon]

I almost forgot-

warning, LONG

Okay so I’m going to give you as in depth a character summary as possible about the main character of my best friends series, Protector!

all art by said Best Friend, @faymaker

Name: Stella Erebus Busanna

She’s the daughter of Nyx and Erebus! It’s difficult to tell due to the lack of color for this but her hair is similar to the starry night painting by Vincent Van Gogh!

Now for some character details

Growing up Stella was kind of pampered, having loving parents and a closely knit family, never knowing much about the outside world, and never felt the need to as well! Alongside her family, she also had a teacher who would often take care of her, named Azazel, with her coming to see him like family as well

When Stella was 8 years old on her birthday, her parents were taken by what I can only described as a soulless sin against creation itself, during which Stella also was given a horrific scar after trying and failing to fight back, with this monster carving a star shape into her head all the while mockingly singing “Happy Birthday.” During this she also lost her close teacher Azazel, the beast crushing his heart in front of her.

That however was not Azazels end, as he signed a contract for him and Stella so that he shall act as her protector and almost like an extension of herself in many ways

After her parents were taken, Stella was passively raised by some of her siblings, but mainly by Azazel taking care of her, and becoming like a second father to her

She also grew up heavily loving more fantastical media, with them shaping her whimsical nature and her constant optimism, with this optimism being reflected in her goal to one day find and save her parents, and to be like the heroes she saw on TV and in her books

Stella couldn’t quite do much yet however, as she was still a child at this time, and instead would have to continue her childhood, including being taught by her family and Azazel, who luckily were smart people, allowing Stella to still have a solid education because of it.

For 6 years, the only people Stella really knew where her family and Azazel, though she would many tomes go to the surface to buy herself snacks, she rarely if ever was able to connect with others…you can only imagine how lonely that truly makes someone

Her dreams would come to be realized when she was about 14 years old however! With her being scouted by the lovely Goddess Hestia, who offered her enrollment in Altor Academy, a highly respected school where when one graduates, they become a God. Stella eagerly accepted, only realizing shortly afterwards just what agreement she made…AND BEING EXCITED FOR IT.

Finally she could truly see the outside world! Finally she could meet other people! Finally she can…have a chance to find her parents.

When she would get to Altor she would meet all kinds of people! People from all around the globe from every mythology you can think of! To out a cherry on top of it all, she was even made team leader of her group, that she’d go on to name Team Virago!

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get into some of her friends(and other types) mainly her love interest, rival, and teammates!

that she meets in Altor Academy! Starting with possibly the most important one, The Son of Apollo, Solaris Kitrinos!

(Yes, he’s an underaged smoker, there’s a whole backstory to it trust me)

Solaris is our stories deuteragonist! And is Stellas rival, friend, and later, boyfriend!

When Stella and Solaris first met, they DESPISED each other. Solaris saw Stella as nothing but a high class piss ant trying to act like hero, while Stella saw him as a thief who takes from whoever he wants.

Due to both of these people being ever so slightly crazy, this escalated horrifyingly fast, but luckily was calmed down by a character I’ll get into soon after.

The two would often be forced to work together after this as well, with their two teams being partner groups that would do missions together, and over time the two would develop a truce between one another, and overall respect and friendship, soon followed by a mutual crush between each other, which later blossomed into full on romance

I could keep going, but you’d be here all day if I went into every detail about everyone-

A quick fact about him, his best friend is his cousin Malakai Hermalao, son of Hermes and Hecate The Mother(there’s a whole thing with it I promise I or my friend can elaborate if ya wanna know)

Next up, since I mentioned her before. The Daughter of Zeus and Hera, Elizabeth Vermillianos!

She is Stellas “Rival” but in reality she’s more like her role model, everything Stella wants to be and more! At first Stella expected Elizabeth to be hiding something, but quickly realized she’s as genuine a paragon as she puts on, and not just doing an act for others to appear better.

Elizabeth also helped Stella be more comfortable in wearing more “feminine” colors, like pink! With Stella having once acted like she was against the color due to some of the negative stereotypes behind it, Elizabeth soon helped her realize she can easily embrace that part of herself!

Overall, Elizabeth is someone Stella greatly looks up to, and looks up to throughout the entire story!

An interesting fact for her, she uses 3 main weapons! Thunderbolts(separate from her fathers I imagined), a chain whop, and a buster sword!

Next up, Stellas teammates! Starting in order of when I believe she meets them

First up, The Daughter of Huracan, Agua Ribeiro!

These two were fast friends, in part due to them both being very kind and overall outgoing people. Agua acts as the team healer and backfoot of the group(in the literal sense, she full on refuses to use her hands for combat)

She’s a very compassionate person who hates seeing others sad, in part because seeing others happy makes her happy in the process, so she does whatever she can to make others feel happy!

An interesting fact for her, she’s completely fire proof! No kind of fire has any effect on her!

Next up, the daughter of Agni and Svaha two normal people! The totally wasn’t adopted Aiden Yadav!

This gal has a fiery personality whose explosiveness is matched only by her airheaded nature and inability to realize she very visibly isn’t the kid of an irish immigrant! She’s the big attacker of her team and does that role VERY well!

Despite her more fiery, she’s actually pretty nice to be around, and when ya get to know her is a very good friend!

Unless you’re Thana Mikka, then you two are probably like each other’s least favorite sister-

Interesting fact for her! She frequented multiple dojos growing up trying to get stronger, and aside from very very very few, was near unmatched even by her teachers

speaking of Thana Mikka!

The Daughter of Izanami, Thana Mikka

I almost accidentally pressed X at this moment and had a heart attack, luckily I didn’t!

Anyhow, Thana is one of Stellas closest friends! She’s initially very aloof and seemingly unemotional(trust me, there’s lore behind that(and the eye)). She’s actually quite witty when ya get to know her, even if she often accompanies herself with self doubt, she will always do her best to assist her friends so that she never loses them.

An interesting fact, 2 for her, since I know damn well Blaze’ll kill me otherwise!

She used to know a small red demon boy when she was much younger, and often still thinks about him fondly(why am I being coy about this? it adds flair damn it, that’s why!)

She uses a scythe as her main weapon! Not only that however, she is also able to SEE out of the scythe!

And finally, Stellas best friend, Yokka

They’re someone who initially DESPISES the divine(tbh, who wouldn’t?) and was in a state of constant annoyance and anger when they joined Team Virago initially. However, Stella chipped away at that demeanor over time, and helped them become a more whole person in the process, overcoming their hate and helping them feel a more complete love for life as a whole, helping them also learn to truly befriend others and enjoy life, instead of living as though everything might end your life, and that you must constantly be on alert.

It’s part of this that then causes Yokka to act as a secondary protector(eyyyyyy) for Stella, and help her also develop more nuanced ideas on others, and how to truly see her role as a protector in the process.

an interesting fact about Yokka, they have an extremely long Katana(iirc about 6 feet) that is made of something known as chaos magic, that Yokka can then separate into 2 smaller katanas made of dark and light magic respectively

they also have a laser eye-

and that’s all for now! depending on how you feel about it I’ll be sure to send more!

Oh, and most importantly, follow @faymaker and look at her art tags for more character designs and artwork!

Oh wow this is actually such a cool story!! :0

I like how she included children from all different gods instead of just Greek gods :]

Although I have a small question. Shouldn’t Stella and Elizabeth already be gods? Because both of their parents are gods :p

But overall seems really neat !!!!

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hi there!

I was wondering if you could do a yandere RoR with the reader being the daughter of either Acnologia (Fairy tail) or Whitebeard (One piece). The reader being the kindest person there is, but have a wicked temper.

Like when they fight their opponent (a rather cruel god) and they try to attack their family and they lose it and unleash their power and rage on them.

And that gains the attention of the gods and humans.

Gods: Thor, Poesidon Buddha, Loki, Hercules and Hermes

Humans: Lu bu, Jack the Ripper, Raiden, Sasaki Kojiro and Leonidas

-The strongest man in the world, one of the strongest and mightiest of pirates, who commanded a massive crew full of powerful individuals, calling them his family, his sons and daughters, was an opponent none wanted to cross unless if they had to.

-Of all the children he laid claim over, there was only one who was biologically his, his daughter, Y/N. She was tall, beautiful, and just as powerful as her old man.

-Normally level-headed and a good leader, Y/N was a force to be reckoned with in her own right, earning her respect and power young, but she did have one little weakness- her temper.

-You weren’t known for losing your temper often, but when you did…. There was usually a lot of property damage, usually a couple of deaths, and lots of people crying, begging for forgiveness.

-However, you had a pretty good lid on your temper, only losing it for a few small things here and there, so your crew, your family, had learned quickly to avoid those triggers, and if someone else caused you to pop off, they would be safe, as they all knew to stay a safe distance back, away from the carnage.

-You lived a life full of adventure and fun, and died doing what you loved, sailing, being pulled to Valhalla, as you were deemed someone worthy of coming.

-You enjoyed your time in Valhalla, being able to meet new people, make new friends, and battle strong opponents, and while you did miss your family dearly, you knew they would yell at you for lingering on them rather than sailing forward like your dad always taught you to do.

-You weren’t like a lot of the other women in Valhalla, you were crass, talked back, could drink almost anyone under the table, and you loved to fight, you had no issues getting hurt if it meant you were going to get a good brawl out of it.

-This is what led Brunnhilde into seeking you out to fight in Ragnarok, fighting alongside with other champions of humanity for it’s very survival against the gods.

-You knew that gods existed, being in Valhalla for so long, and while there were many good ones, ones you could call friends, there were ones who were cruising for a bruising and you had been feeling a little antsy here as of late, mainly because you weren’t getting the challenge you so desperately wanted.

-Your opponent was cocky, seeing a woman, despite her not looking dainty and delicate, but he was arrogant, immediately thinking that this was going to be an easy fight.

-People were cheering loudly for you, those you had befriended and those who knew of your power, many of them knowing full well who was actually going to win the fight.

-Your opponent laughed obnoxiously when he heard your dad’s name, “Whitebeard?! What kind of stupid name is that?!”

-Many people groaned in the audience, immediately handing over their losing bets to their friends; it’s not that they were betting against you, but they were betting on how quickly this fight was going to end.

-He was not prepared for you to come flying across the arena at him and throw a harsh right hook across his face, sending him flying back into the brick wall behind you.

-You glared darkly, a murderous aura surrounding you as you cracked your knuckles, stalking towards him, “Nobody talks about my daddy like that.”

-You won your match in a little under two minutes, not even using your weapon with your Valkyrie partner, you did it with your bare hands.

-While you assure her that you were fine, Brunnhilde dragged you to the infirmary to get your knuckles wrapped up, as you had busted them open pretty bad during the beat down.

-A knock came to the door of the room you were in with two nurses, one working on each hand, and your eyes lit up as a man walked in and you beamed, “(Love)!”

-Couldn’t help but chuckle, seeing you getting patched up, walking in but not bothering the nurses, “Have to say Y/N, it was pretty hot watching you go feral for once.” You pouted lightly up at him, showing your softer side, “Nobody gets to talk about my papa like that!” he chuckled, as he knew that was a fact, that’s how he met you, seeing some cocky upstarts insulting your father which led to a one on however many there were with you walking away the clear victor with no major wounds. He asked you out right after that for a drink, which you accepted and the two of you have been nearly attached at the hip. He respected you heavily, you were not to be underestimated and he demanded respect for you if he felt like you weren’t getting it. Keeps PDA to a minimum but behind closed doors he’s a total cuddle bug. Once you were free from the nurses he picked you up like you were a delicate maiden, making your face blaze brightly. He thought you were adorable when you got so shy, but now that you won your fight, he was treating you to a drink- you earned it!

            -Leonidas, Lu Bu, Thor, Poseidon, Hermes, and Raiden

-Knew not to coddle you, but you could see the worry in his eyes, even if he didn’t say anything, sitting nearby, “How’s the hands?” you grinned, flashing him a wink, “They ache so good- bastard got what he deserved.” He chuckled warmly, finding your humor comforting. He knew that you were going to win, but he was still nervous watching you fight, not wanting you to get hurt as you were important to him. You knew of his worry but said nothing out of respect to him, something he did appreciate. Your hands were stiff from the bandages, leaving you not able to use them really easily, but (Love) was happy to help, letting you sit on his lap, holding your mug of ale for you, enjoying your after fight feast he prepared for the two of you. He praised your fighting skills, showing what you were able to do without a weapon but also while overcome with fuming rage. He knew of your triggers that would set you off, unintentionally setting a few off himself, but now knew better. Adored you, showers you with love and praise and just makes you feel so happy and dainty, but at the same time knows full well you will throw hands with anyone if they were to disrespect you, your father, or (Love).

            -Buddha, Hercules, Loki, Jack, and Kojiro

[sweet-evie]

No, but think about putting SaShiSu in an Avatar: The Last Airbender AU... 🥴

Waterbender!Gojo, Waterbender Healer!Ieiri and Firebender!Geto Imagines😭 Hear me out!

They go on adventures together, get in trouble together.

Plus, if SatoSugu friendship blossoms into romance, it's so Romeo and Juliet-coded ✨💖

I like the idea of the three of them being childhood best friends.

Imagine this takes place during peace time, and there's no war (YET), and it's just the four nations being normal.

So Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru definitely met as children during an official visit to each other's country or something.

Suguru Geto is Fire Nation nobility who knows a thing or two about manipulating body heat and more...

🔥 Listen... It's the bun istg... Because why does his hairstyle remind me of Ozai, lowkey?

🔥 He's a talented firebender, martial artist, and adept scholar.

🔥 His mom and dad are political figures and I imagine his mom is a lady-in-waiting to the Fire Lord's wife, while Suguru's father actually sits in the Fire Lord's council. The man is an admiral in the Fire Lord's navy.

🔥 Suguru would be a nerd about Wan Shi Tong's library. 🦉

🔥 Suguru would be good at war strategy. It comes from his obsession with Pai Sho.

🔥 You know, his uncle may or may not rope him into joining the Order of the White Lotus at some point in his life.

🔥 Suguru in RED Fire Nation armor~ 🥹🥴🤤

🔥 Also, if I was skilled in photoshop, I will not be above photoshopping Suguru's head on top of Ozai's body. As in, I just need that image of Suguru Geto as a Fire Lord. 😩

Shoko Ieiri is a talented and renowned waterbender for her healing prowess and knowledge in human anatomy.

💧 She is from the Northern Water Tribe, like Gojo, and was raised alongside Satoru, so they're basically siblings.

💧 Her knowledge of human anatomy is unmatched. As in, yes, there are skilled waterbending healers, but Shoko is iconic because she goes beyond practicing healing on human mannequins. Our girl does autopsies and often ponders how the human body works. She's a legit doctor, okay?

💧 She practiced healing on Satoru a lot while they were growing up too, because Satoru acquired plenty of scrapes and bruises and dislocated bones through the years. He was a rambunctious child who had way too much power in his menace-causing hands. (more on Satoru later).

💧 What Satoru lacks in healing prowess, Shoko makes up for in buckets and buckets.

💧 Shoko is a decent waterbender in combat, but she would really rather her two friends do most of the fighting.

💧 Not like Satoru or Suguru would let her on the field that much anyway. She's too valuable to risk. Shoko knows it and plays that up to her advantage A LOT.

💧 Aside from escaping the arranged marriage her parents set up for her, Shoko eagerly ran away from home with Satoru at 18 in pursuit of scholars who eagerly studied human anatomy like her.

💧 Shoko is interested in how the other nations tend to their wounded and sick when they can't find a waterbending healer.

Satoru Gojo is blessed by the spirit of the moon and the ocean.

🌊🌕 He is literally Yue 2.0, but better! Still the Honored One in any universe. 😍 The white hair and blue eyes... Need I say more?

🌊🌕 Okay, so... I'm thinking... Satoru Gojo in ATLA universe is just like his JJK counterpart. He was highly favored by the spirits from the moment he was born.

🌊🌕 His parents look like typical Northern Water Tribe people. Dark-haired. Satoru is the only one in the family who is pale and white-haired.

🌊🌕 He's a Prince, of course... Prince Satoru of the Northern Water Tribe sounds hell'a good.

🌊🌕 He grew up sheltered, he's a waterbending prodigy, and he's still a menace.

🌊🌕 Gojo is also definitely a blood-bender, but I like to think he learns that skillset later on in their adventures or something (kind'a like how Katara learned it, but with less guilt). Also, Choso definitely taught him right?

🌊🌕 Satoru does not know how to heal other people. It's one of his greatest flaws. He can heal himself just fine, but using water to seek out illness and heal it for other people? Yeah... He sucks at that... (Not different from JJK in other words, where Gojo can't output Reverse Cursed Technique to heal other people. He only knows how to use RCT on himself).

Their Adventure Backstory...

➼ At 18, Satoru starts to get antsy about seeing the world and whatnot. He's sick of the family politics and the arranged marriages about to be shoved down his throat.

➼ Shoko is in the same boat. If the arranged marriages are suffocating for a prince, it's even worse for a talented young woman of noble birth.

➼ Shoko's situation is what pushes Satoru to say "Fuck it!" and run away from home.

➼ So against their parents' wishes, these 2 reckless teenagers devise a plan to run away for a much needed world tour. Satoru's reasoning is that they won't be gone forever... He and Shoko will come back eventually.

➼ First destination in mind: the Fire Nation... to see Suguru and rope him into their grand plans, of course!

➼ Satoru and Shoko steal a ship from the Water Tribe fleet and go on their merry way. (I like to think they got there fast because Satoru was manipulating the water underneath the ship to propel them faster to where they need to go).

➼ By the time they reach the Fire Nation, word has already spread of the Northern Water Tribe's runaway Prince.

➼ Shoko thinks Satoru is being stupid, but hey, according to Satoru, "What can my parents do about it at this point?"

➼ Sure, Satoru is a highly valued individual that could fetch a high price if kidnapped by pirates (he's a Prince, after all), but he's also an insanely powerful waterbender and combatant. I'm sure he'd say something like, "I don't need my bending to win."

➼ Satoru and Shoko make it to the Fire Nation unscathed, meet up with Suguru, and convince him to come along on a grand adventure.

➼ They switch out the Water Tribe ship for something a little more discreet from Suguru's own father's fleet. (Side-eye the kiddies using their parents' resources carelessly to do whatever they want. 😆 They're nepo-babies... all 3 of them.)

➼ I like to think Suguru's parents don't mind though. His mom, in particular, thinks it's a good idea for Suguru to go out and see the world and shit.

➼ Where are they going? Satoru didn't actually know.

➼ Suguru suggests a visit to the legendary knowledge spirit's library, since he's a nerd about that, but also, Shoko wants to see if she can find anything that indulges her curiosity. So that's where they're headed first.

➼ It would be a cute idea for a coming-of-age story... where SaShiSu grow up through the experiences they've had and they realize they have responsibilities to attend to or something.

➼ Because as much as they would want to, there's no such thing as traveling the world as nomads forever. Satoru is a Prince, and Shoko and Suguru are of noble birth. They have stuff to do...

➼ OR... OR... OR.... They're 3 stupid teenagers who ran away from home right on the brink of a war happening. Like, they had no idea conflict was rising, so shit hits the fan and Suguru just receives word from his father via messenger hawk, telling him to come home because there is a war.

It's embarrassing how I'm thinking about their combat prowess + the trouble the three of them get into too...

➼ Gojo and Geto enhance each other's combat. They're so in sync.

➼ Of course, they started out pretty rough... Water vs Fire and all that.. But as they train together more and inevitably encounter situations where they had to fight their way out, they learn to work together and be so in sync.

➼ Watching them fight each other, or fight alongside one another is a treat. It's like a dance -- a perfectly choreographed movement of legs and limbs.

➼ Suguru's fire can burn hot enough to evaporate water. It burns hot enough to destroy tightly packed walls of stone. He is not a stranger to carrying out executions on the most heinous criminals in the Boiling Rock, so yes, Suguru has burned a man alive and/or electrocuted a criminal in prison in the name of justice.

➼ Satoru is the perfect support to Suguru when Suguru launches a lightning attack.

➼ At some point in their adventures, Suguru pointed out how Satoru could try sucking moisture out of plants or draw water from the air and Satoru figures it out.

➼ I like to think Shoko put the idea of bloodbending in Satoru's head. It was a hypothetical thought that led to Satoru actually trying to figure it out and eventually running into someone who does that.

➼ It all started with Shoko randomly saying, "Hey, did you know that water takes up 3/4 of the human body?" as they sat around their campfire one night.

➼ Also... something something shenanigans happen where Satoru keeps waterbending boiling water out of a pot to fling at something -- the little shit that he is.

➼ After they left the Northern Water Tribe, Satoru has become Shoko's impromptu combat waterbending teacher.

➼ Shoko always complains about it during training days because Satoru HAS NO CHILL. He's also banking on the fact that Shoko can heal herself, so he finds little use in holding back.

➼ Shoko and Satoru have definitely pulled water-based pranks on Suguru multiple times. This is gross, but.... piss-bending. Satoru did it once as a prank. 🤢🤮

➼ On a brighter note, Satoru definitely makes silly water sculptures/giant puppets in the middle of the ocean for his and his companions' begrudging entertainment. Suguru and Shoko roll their eyes at it, but honestly, it's kinda cute when a water serpent or a water squid rises out of the sea to greet their ship once in a while. Yeah, it scares the shit out of ocean wildlife and maybe nearby ships and such, but at least Satoru is having fun. 🥴😁 (the unhinged wittle baby)

➼ Shoko thinks the Moon and the Ocean Spirits regret blessing the Prince when he was born. Suguru agrees...

➼ But hey, they make each other proud in their own ways.

➼ Shoko once stalled their trip and stayed in a remote fishing town for a week to heal the sick, and Satoru and Suguru were there as her assistants. (Satoru was complaining about the poor amenities and Suguru had to remind him all over again that though he was raised in a noble household, it was his duty to protect and care for those who cannot do that for themselves).

➼ Satoru once helped mediate a political issue that was severely affecting several neighboring towns in the Earth Kingdom.

➼ Suguru cracked a criminal case that was unsolved for months in a town in the Fire Nation, and was personally responsible for delivering the serial killer to the Boiling Rock. (Satoru saw the boiling lake and definitely played around with it, much to the chagrin of Suguru and Suguru's uncle).

Side note for my peeps who are familiar with ATLA lore:

You know how they say no prisoner has ever escaped the Boiling Rock? Suguru told Satoru and Shoko about that, and Satoru definitely bets that he could do it.

Prince Satoru argues it's only because, "None of you waterbend."

They're visitors to the high security prison, but it doesn't stop Satoru from doing dumb stuff, like sneaking out without alerting the guards.

To prove his point, Satoru did what Sokka and Zuko did to escape the Boiling Rock: Use a cooler as a boat.

So in the dead of night, Suguru, Satoru, and Shoko do it, and Satoru successfully ferries the three of them across the Boiling Lake.

Afterwards, Suguru's like, "You've proven your point, Satoru. Let's head back."

Satoru is laughing and flashing his friends that cheesy, cocky grin he's known for and brags, "'No one escapes the Boiling Rock, highest security Fire Nation prison' my ass. All you needed was a waterbender!"

Shoko rolls her eyes at her friend's antics and speaks to him in a matter-of-fact voice, "Sure, but it wouldn't make sense for waterbenders to be kept here anyways or to be stuffed in coolers as punishments. It's meant to hold a firebender, not for people from the Water Tribe... and especially not for you."

Suguru is smirking at them both, "Theoretically speaking, precautions would be in place to prevent you from bending water. So that means pumping dry air and probably suspending your hands and feet before you're given anything to drink."

Shoko was nodding. "It'll take more than getting stuffed in a cooler for you to escape actually, so this little plot proves nothing, Satoru."

They got caught regardless because they lingered on the edge of the Boiling Lake on the opposite end of the island for far too long, and a watchman saw them and alerted Suguru's uncle.

Needless to say, SaShiSu were thoroughly scolded when they made it back to the prison.

Satoru's paying for damages to one of the dismantled coolers that were used as boats.

➼ I seriously need to stop, but yo...

Somebody please write a JJK X ATLA AU for real... 🙏