#i have nothing left to raise his affinity

[starmocha]

Pinch me, pinch me, pinch me, pinch me, pinch me

[queenpiranhadon]

A/N: Yayyy we finally get to meet our blondie in this chapter :) Obligatory mention to the awesome @cashmoneyyysstuff GO FOLLOW HER RN ISTG SHE DESERVES IT!! Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Cursing, reader is the daughter of Aizawa, Shinso and Eri are biological siblings, reader is 20 years old, reader befriends Kaminari and Sero, Reader uses "Cattus" as her alias, reader's nicknames are Cactus and Cattus, a man insults you a ton and Aizawa by extent, mentions of drinking, two characters aren't from MHA but are there for the plot, bonding time with one of Aizawa's old friends, spoilers (?), Bakugou challenges you to a fight, a tualia is a type of duel for reference, Sero has an unnamed younger sister, lmk if I forgot anything

Pairing(s): Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ: To the Victors Go the Spoils

You weren’t really sure what you expected, but it sure wasn’t this. 

The men tasked with recruiting the lot of you forced you all into a straight line, as another one loaded the men of your village into vehicles similar to a hay wagon, one by one, asking you for both your name and address to make sure every family was accounted for. You counted 4 wagons total, along with four others that were filled with wooden barrels. 

You swallow nervously, feeling a stab of guilt run through you as you remember your sleeping family at home.  

You knew it was wrong, it felt so foreign, an out of body experience to be standing where you were at that moment, knowing that it was happening, but refusing to believe it was happening to you.  

But it was, and you couldn’t jeopardize everything due to emotions that wouldn’t benefit you in the future. 

Yet, you remembered the picture of your family, and your mind couldn’t help but wonder what they’d say, if things were in better circumstances.  

What if you lived in a world where women could go to war too? 

What would your family say when you left to go protect them and your country? 

Your father would place a hand on top of your head in affection, telling you to come home soon and safe, and that he was proud.  

Toshi would’ve teased you, saying you had a “hero complex” and that you worked too hard for your own good.  

Which wasn’t true- but Hitoshi sure loved to poke fun when he could.  

All part of being your brother you surmised.  

Eri would’ve maybe cried a little bit, whining that you were leaving her with “stinky Toshi” and that you better not get hurt, but if you did, she would be there to heal you up when you came home.  

You would leave, and they would have large smiles on their faces, with Eri yelling “BYE CATTUS!” at the top of her lungs.  

Like your friends, your younger sister had an affinity for nicknames as well, once hearing Izuku refer to you as “Cactus” for the first time when she was around six, the same age you were when you started sword fighting.  

Eri had recently lost her two front teeth, attempting to say “Cactus” with difficultly, and saying Cactus instead. Needless to say, everyone found it both endearing and amusing, so it stuck.  

You smiled weakly to yourself, and a harsh voice snaps you out of your thoughts.  

“Oi, you enjoying your daydream? Shit like that’ll get you killed.” he says, eyes narrowed and cold.  

You frown, but say nothing, prompting the man to snap at you again. 

“Whaddya call yourself daydreamer?” he says, almost condescendingly.  

“Cattus.” you blurt, the first name that popped up in your mind. “Cattus Aizawa.” 

He raises an eyebrow at the mention of your surname, a bemused smirk tugging at his lips.  

“An Aizawa huh? Didn’t know Shota would tolerate such a dim-witted man living in his house. How old are you kid?”  

“T-Twenty...” you stammer, the words each a sting to your heart, knowing they technically didn’t apply to you but for now, they had to.  

The man snorts, laying a hand on your shoulder, seemingly an act of affection but there was no warmth in his tone as he says, “Well Cattus Aizawa keep daydreaming and let’s just say that your old pops’ll lose more than just his one leg.”  

Rage bubbles inside of you, but before you could properly retort, you’re shoved into the “hay-wagon” almost completely filled with other men, some you recognized to be from your village, but others were entirely new faces, but you heard that they’d been rounding up men all night, meaning these men were here all night, from different villages.  

Some looked terrible, a few sobbing their hearts out, some haggard and silent.  

Others, not so much, going as far as to bring tankards of beer in celebration as they cheer alongside their comrades, triumphant as they honorably leave to fight for their home.  

You let your eyes wander, not letting their antics affect you in any way. Men like that, they had nothing to lose. Willing to risk your life for your country was no doubt noble in your mind, but these men never experienced loss, or death. Which made sense, given that the kingdom of Bellorant was prosperous when it came to war, casualties were few and victories were countless.  

And yet, war was war, and a life was a life. You wanted to cry just like the other men you saw, but you also knew that this was your choice, and that the alternative was worse.  

Your eyes lock onto a familiar red head in the distance when you feel your heart drop. Ejiro. 

He was the oldest male of his family too, given that his mother had left his biological father and remarried another woman, living with her wife, Ejiro, and his younger sisters, who were twins.  

Fuck. 

You wish you could push him out of the way, send him back to his family, alive and well. But you couldn’t, knowing that you had your own family to protect, and that you had to trust that he’d protect himself.  

Still, you felt sick to your stomach, watching the red head you grew up with chuckle nervously and mount the wagon that reeked of death and destruction.  

Taking in another shaky breath, you rub your index finger against your thumb in an attempt to ground yourself. Retreat. You would make it back home, as would Ejiro. You had to.  

You spot Izuku’s brother Tenko on the same wagon Ejiro was on, feeling another pang of sadness for the man, though you didn’t know him all that well. He was a little of a loner, you knew, and didn’t really interact with him much.  

But a life was a life regardless.  

You feel someone tap you on your shoulder, whipping your face around to see a boy around your age, most likely from another village.  

His hair was his most defining feature, though, bright yellow with a black streak that resembled a lightning bolt to you. Golden eyes analyzed you briefly before he grins, sliding in to join you on the floor where you sat, offering you half the loaf of bread he carried.  

“Hi there!” he beams, acting as if the two of you were lifelong friends. “You looked pretty lonely, so I figured I’d give you some bread.” 

You blink, tentatively taking it and nibbling the crust. It was fresh, and lightly floured- something only those with a higher society standing could afford.  

“Thank...you?” You say, unsure of what to say, those golden eyes staring at you for a moment of silence before letting out a loud laugh that makes a few of the other men in the wagon look in your direction.  

“Y’know... no one’s ever gotten ol’ Fern Bat over there to crack anything other than a scowl- you must be special.” he says, nudging your shoulder.  

“Fern Bat...?” you ask warily, not sure if you wanted an answer to the question.  

He grins wolfishly, looking at the man that insulted your father earlier. “Old man’s so uptight that he reminded me of a Fern Bat, what with his pinched face and so many wrinkles that he’s eternally pruning.” 

You snort at that, and the man next to you whoops in celebration. 

“He smiles!” the blonde cheers, and the pronoun change catches you off guard.  

Just another thing you’ll have to get used to.  

Extending your hand, you offer your pseudonym.  

“Cattus Aizawa.” 

“Denki Kaminari.” 

*** 

You dozed off at some point during the ride over to wherever they were taking you- the capital you think, you weren’t sure. 

Denki was snoring away, using your shoulder as a pillow, and you made no movement to shove him off, knowing he was probably as exhausted as you were. The majority of the other men were asleep as well, for the exception of yourself and those who were still silently crying. Everyone else was out cold, and most likely drunk. 

Trying to crane your head around without waking up Denki, you see that the sun was setting,  

The ride to the capital of Bellorant, Vitoris, was a week-long journey, you knew, so you made yourself comfortable, mentally preparing yourself for the trip ahead.  

The week went by in a blur, you learned a lot about Denki during that time.  

His mother and grandfather ran a bakery where they sold pastries and baked goods in his village, which was located in the wealthier areas of Bellorant, as you predicted. His father and mother split when he was very young, similar to Ejiro, you noted, and he, like you, had never fought in a battle before.  

As far as he knew, Cattus Aizawa was pretty much just like you- you found no need to lie about your life, other than the fact that you weren’t a male.  

He said that Hitoshi reminded him of his grandfather, and you laughed, picturing your brother as a wrinkled old man.  

Throughout the week, you ended up stopping at other villages as well, another man by the name of Hanta Sero joined your little group that you formed, whom you soon found out had a little sister around Eri’s age.  

The three of you kept each other company in that way, entertaining each other with stories of your respective pasts.  

And just like that, you reached Vitoris as the sky showed signs of early dawn.  

Or, not really Vitoris, but the by the outskirts of it, an area nicknamed Polemori’s Grounds.  

Polemori was the goddess of war in Bellorant, which is why you thought it was befitting given that the area would be used for military training. 

Yet, you couldn’t help but feel concerned, given that Ejiro and Tenko’s wagon was nowhere in sight. In fact, it was only your wagon that stopped here, along with one filled with supplies. - you watched the other three wagons disappear down the path, eyes lingering on the one you knew housed the shark-toothed man, before turning away.  

Maybe it was a good thing you two weren’t together- he would recognize you immediately.  

The two soldiers at the head of the wagon, Fern Bat and the other that the three of you dubbed Moss Bear due to his resemblance to the ursine species that was a probably the size of a common dog. Harmless, but it looked intimidating.  

They instructed you to set up the tents kept in the other hay wagon, and once that was done, you were to store all the food and weapons into their larger tent.  

There were about fifty men in your wagon, all asleep to some degree, stumbling out and scrambling around to get to work.  

While you set up your tent, you took in your surroundings a bit, noting a lake a decent distance away from camp, as well as the gates of Vitoris miles and miles away, barely visible.  

It was once the sun finally went down that you all finished, gathering around the campfire you all made, Denki and Hanta and you lay on the grass, exhausted.  

“We need to get tons of rest tonight.” Hanta groans, turning to face you. “I heard that tomorrow the captain is coming to train us personally.” 

Denki shudders “They call him “The War Dragon”. Load of bull if you ask me.” 

You huff, staring at the sky. You could see the stars this time.  

“What’s up with the people of Bellorant and nicknames?” you ask, quirking up an eyebrow.  

“A country of such great prosperity finds great significance in bestowing titles to those they deem worthy of it.” Hanta says, sounding so much like Toshinori that you laugh.  

Denki continues his train of thought, adding “And our country is filled with multitudes of people and places who are befitting of titles due to the enormity of our sheer awesomeness.” 

“You two are full of shit, you know that?” You chuckle, launching a fistful of grass blades at the two of them. “I bet you don't even know what “multitude” means.” 

Hanta barks out a laugh at that, leaving Denki spluttering, aghast. 

The rest of the night was spent in laughter, until Moss Bear told you it was past curfew- and that you should go to bed.  

But before you can leave you hear him say, “Aizawa, a moment, please.” 

You turn around, heart pounding. Did he find you out already?! 

“Yes...?” you ask warily. 

He sighs and gives you a fond smile.  

“I heard from Officer Tradeyn that you were Aizawa’s kid. Just wanted to apologize in advance, I know he can be a lot.” he says, patting your shoulder slightly, but awkwardly.  

You chuckle wryly, nodding in assent, also storing the information that Fern Bat’s name was Officer Tradeyn (you were still gonna call him Fern Bat though). “It’s okay- it's my fault for not being focused at the time.” 

Moss Bear squeezes your shoulder. “Your old man is proud of you.” 

Would he be? Your family would most definitely be awake by now and would’ve read the letter you left them. Would your father be worried, upset, disappointed even, for being so rash? 

Noticing the faraway look in your eyes, Moss Bear removes his hand, waving slightly. “I’ll let you sleep; you’ve got a big day ahead tomorrow. Goodnight, Cattus Aizawa.” 

You smile slightly. “Goodnight.” 

You enter your tent to see both Hanta and Denki fast asleep, pratically on top of each other at that. Tucking yourself into your bedroll, you try to get comfortable, even though you could feel small rocks poking you where your body contacted the ground.  

Uncomfortable as you were through, you finally fell into a dreamless sleep. 

The next morning, you awoke to the sign of clanging bells, groaning as you hear Fern Bat’s sharp and irritating voice screech “WAKE UP YOU USELESS WATER LILLIES!” 

Denki grumbles beside you “I’ll show you water lily...” 

You punch his arm warningly. “The captain arrived today, right? We have to make a good first impression.”  

Groaning, both Hanta and Denki get up begrudgingly, thankfully taking turns changing into the armored uniforms they provided you with. Each grabbing a sword from the rack, you join the other men in their formation, each spaced out in a large square, standing still.  

Each of you had a sword by your side, and you gripped it tightly, refusing to look anywhere but ahead. 

Suddenly, you hear a deep voice bark out “ATTENTION!” 

Everyone around you stands tall, in a salute, and you copy them, watching the owner of the voice walk into your vision.  

“M’name’s Katsuki Bakugou, and I’m yer captain.” he says, low and menacing, his voice had a raspy quality that shook you to your core. “Ya lot have probably never even held a sword before, and it’s my job to make sure ya don’t end up slitting your own throat on the battlefield from inexperience.” 

He scans the people in front of him before making eye contact with you.  

Staring directly into his vermillion eyes, you don’t waver as he says,  

“Let’s get started, shall we?” 

To say the least, training was boring. You sat through a demonstration of “The War Dragon’s” “superior fighting skills”, watching as he takes down Moss Bear in a mock fight, a feat you could probably do in half the time.  

Huffing under your breath, you mutter to Denki, “bastard’s a complete fake- this shit’s easy-” 

“HAH?!” you hear Captain Bakugou’s voice boom throughout the entire training field. All eyes turn to you. “THE FUCK DIDYA JUST SAY?!” 

“Well- I meant-” you stammer, face turning bright red, not realizing just how perceptive the captain was.  

“Fine then. You think yer so smart, eh?” he growls, marching up to you until you stood face to face, the red eyed blonde towering over you. “What’s yer name?” 

“C-Cattus.” you mutter. “Cattus Aizawa.” 

“Well then ‘Cattus Aizawa’,” he mocks, grabbing your shirt, gripping the fabric tight enough to rip it. “Let’s see how good ya are then hah? I challenge you to a tualia.”  

You steel yourself, forcing yourself to look him in his stupidly gorgeous eyes. Now wasn’t the time to fawn over a man like a flustered schoolgirl, nor was it the time to shy away from an opponent.  

You were a warrior.  

“To the victors go the spoils.” 

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[racheyace]

When Your Wings Are Tired - Chapter One

So I started a thing! I've fleshed out the idea for this story and summarized most chapters, but I will really be writing them and publishing them when I can so please bare with me.

It's a little different to what I've previously written but the idea has been in my head for about a year and with the reminder of Disney's Dinosaur and found family gt I just knew it was time to post this!

TW: Abandoned child

Chapter One

“We can’t just leave him, he’ll die.” Thazelle urged her husband as they both watched the small human child cry from their perch atop a high branch.

They’d been scouting the area like many other Fae, a human war had broken out months ago and the war had been getting closer and closer to their Fae city of Donterra. They needed to stay vigilant but were also determined to stay out of human affairs, if humans chose to war with each other, so be it, it just wasn’t the way of the Fae.

“We musn’t meddle with human affairs Thaz, you know the rules. I’m certain the child’s parents will come back for him.” Bracken reasoned, though made no show of moving from his place on the branch, eyes firmly on the human child.

“We will wait for them to return.” He continued firmly, decision made.

“And if they don’t come back for him?” Thazelle raised her slender auburn eyebrows at him.

She knew her husband well, they had their own youngling back at home, now parents, they could not turn their back on another child, even one that was not their own.

She had a good idea about how this would play out, she knew that in the end Bracken would not abandon the innocent child who knew nothing of human destruction and was not to blame for his parents mistakes.

Bracken said nothing, instead keeping a hand on the hilt of the sword that rested on his hip and watchful eyes waiting for any sign of human interference.

The hours dragged on and Thazelle could no longer tolerate just standing there and listening to the child’s echoing wailing that was starting to pierce through her skull. She flew off before Bracken could stop her and using her affinity with the High Fae of water, Whista, she pulled water from a nearby stream and brought it over to the human youngling.

“What are you doing?” Bracken hissed now becoming stiff and alert.

“The poor thing is thirsty.” She said before shushing the human child who must have only been seven or eight months old.

Though even being the smallest human she had ever seen, he was still far larger than herself, her own body only the same length as the child’s chubby face. To the babe she must have appeared to be the size of a doll. And as she approached, the child grew quiet, his icy blue eyes following her movement with wonder, her soft blue glow reflected in his irises.

As gently as a mother, she hovered before his face, placing a soothing hand on his supple cheek before guiding the water toward his mouth, he sipped on it greedily and when the water had gone he smacked his lips together.

When Thazelle did not respond immediately to this strange behaviour however, the human baby then began to cry anew, alarming her and causing her to drift upwards and shield her poor ears.

Bracken had now joined her and hugged her to his chest.

“He want’s more, Finn used to do that when he was hungry, remember?” He explained gently.

Sure enough when she came back with more water, the child grew silent again and sipped on the water as it was guided into his mouth. This time when the water was gone the child did not cry but instead his eyes grew droopy, no doubt exhausted from crying.

Thazelle landed in the tall grass beside the child’s head, feeling no danger at being so near to him, instead her hands kneaded gentle circles into the side of his face in comfort. Her gold eyes met her husbands stormy ones and she sighed heavily as her heart broke for the human child, left alone in the cold, left to die.

“We must take him back with us.” She said quietly, not wanting to wake the tired child.

“I do not think the High Fae will approve.” He stood beside her, arms folded over his chest as he usually did when faced with a complex decision he would need to make.

“He’s not a danger to anyone right now, there is no harm in caring for the boy, he’s only a youngling.” Thazelle insisted.

“Let’s let the High Fae decide.” Bracken said gruffly, he was still unsure about the human child, but much like his wife he couldn’t bring himself to leave the innocent child to die.

 Without another word they split apart before holding their hands out to cast a levitation spell.

The world distorted around the child as he was lifted effortlessly into the air and then guided quietly and slowly back toward their city of Donterra. As they approached the glamour surrounding their city they were stopped, the child was guided toward the forest floor once more and the barrier would not let them pass.

Another Fae materialized from within the glamour and regarded them with surprise.

“Bracken, what is the meaning of this? I thought there was a human intruder.” Rylo stated flying closer to them, the young couple seemed winded and drained of magical energy.

“You must allow this human youngling entry, he was left abandoned and requires our protection.” Bracken explained, gesturing to the still sleeping human child.

“I’ll call the High Fae.” Rylo said as a matter of urgency, he spun around and was gone just as fast.

Only a minute or two must have passed before the four High Fae materialized before them. Each one with glimmering gold wings and an ethereal glow about their bodies that regular Fae such as Bracken and Thazelle simply didn’t have. They were tall and regal and their faces revealed no emotion upon observing the sight before them.

Each one represented one of the four elements that protected the Fae and gifted each Fae with the power to reach one of the elemental energies, lending them their magic. The four High Fae had lived longer than any other in Donterra and would remain the source of all Fae magic for thousands of years to come.

“Forgive me your excellencies, we wish to grant this human youngling safety within our city, protected behind our glamour.” Bracken though his hands were shaking, spoke loudly and clearly without letting his voice tremble under their intense golden gazes.

“Human’s do not belong in Donterra.” Etha, the High Fae of the Earth spoke, her voice resonating in the quiet of the forest, the other’s nodded their heads in agreement.

“This Human poses no threat to Donterra, he is only a youngling.” Bracken tried again.

“Human’s grow up Bracken, he will not stay this small for very long, and what say his parents come looking for him? You would ask us to place the people of our city in such danger?” Frix, the High Fae of fire spoke then, his eyes sparking with a fiery red before returning to a glimmering gold and Bracken fought to keep his composure.

“He was left abandoned.” Thazelle spoke up, ignoring her husbands insistence that she leave this to him. “His own kind would leave him to die cold and alone, they will not return for him.”

“Human’s are dangerous, they are selfish, cruel and know only destruction, what’s to stop him from growing up within our walls only to become our undoing, you’ve seen what they do to their own kind.” Frix continued, a fiery halo materialized above his head, in the smoke was images of human’s engaged in battle.

“If he is raised under our teachings, he will grow up as any other Fae youngling would, he will not know the destructive ways of his ancestors because he will grow up learning only our ways of life.” Thazelle explained calmly.

“Will you both personally take responsibility for this child?” Whista asked, the High Fae of water, the source of Thazelle’s own power seemed to be starting to see reason.

Thazelle tried to keep her composure but a small relieved smile played on her lips.

“Human’s are like animals sister, instincts cannot be untaught, there is nothing stopping this child from growing power hungry and destroying us all.” Frix growled at Whista though she barely seemed to notice, her gold gaze fixed on the sleeping human child, she tilted her head thoughtfully at his peacefulness.

“I agree with our sister, he deserves a chance to prove himself to be more than his ancestors, to grow up with Fae ideals, if he is raised correctly I do not believe he will pose a threat to us and he may even assist in protecting out city as he grows older.” Arlander, the High Fae of Air turned to his siblings, waiting for Frix to argue the point.

“It is decided then.” Etha nodded. “You both will raise the child as your own, if at any time this human child poses any risk to our people, he is to be destroyed, is that understood.”

“Yes your Highness.” Bracken breathed a sigh of relief.

“We will help you bring the child inside the city and deliver him to your home, from there, you are on your own, there are no second chances.” Arlander explained.

The glamour dropped revealing the elegance of Donterra beyond and three of the four High Fae raised their arms in preparation of casting a spell. Their magic combined surrounded the human child in a golden glow before he was lifted off the ground and floated toward the city.

Frix glared at the two young Fae parents before turning abruptly and flying toward Donterra castle, refusing to help.

Many other Fae flitted about as they passed by, whispering to each other, some gasping in horror at the sight of a human within Donterra walls, none approached though, only watching on in surprise, distress or anger. None would dare question the decision of the High Fae though.

The child was brought to Bracken and Thazelle’s home tree, fortunately their tree was situated on the outskirts of the city and backed onto a large clearing, the human child would have space to grow.

The High Fae of the Earth then influenced the roots of their tree to grow and bend creating a spacious room for the child, shelter from the elements and a warm place for the child to sleep.

Once the room was built, Whista flew toward the child’s head, brushed a stray brown lock from his eyes before turning to Bracken and Thazelle who had not said a word the entire journey here. Too stunned at the gravity of the situation they had gotten themselves into to speak.

“Does he have a name?” Whista asked gently.

“We do not know what his parents have named him.” Bracken said simply.

Etha hummed in thought for a moment before speaking again. “Raiden will be his name, it is a strong Fae name meaning ‘Peace of the Earth’. I hope it will serve him well.”

Etha, Arlander and Whista wished them both the best in their endeavours, swearing to offer advice and safety when needed. Then they were gone and only the sounds of the sleeping human younglings even breaths could be heard.

“Mumma!”

The babble of their first and only child up to now broke the silence and they turned to see their youngling Finn and his Auntie Jezabelle making a slow approach toward them.

Finn toddled along, his wings still too small to lift him, and his arms out wide for a hug.

Thazelle scooped him up and set him on her hip before nuzzling her nose with his.

“My beautiful cherub, I hope you’ve been good for your Auntie Jezzy.” Thazelle cooed and giggled with him before holding him close to her chest and hugging him tightly, her golden eyes met her sisters of the same colour.

“What have you got yourself into now Thezzy.” Jezabelle sighed, observing the human child who squirmed in his sleep a little before settling down again.

“We could not leave him to die sister, he will grow up strong and kind and gentle, I’ll make sure of it.” Thazelle insisted.

“You’re a brave man.” Jezabelle eyed Bracken with a knowing look before laughing good naturedly.

“We did the right thing, it was a choice we made together, like always.” He said in his stoic sort of way and held his wife’s hand before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Are you ready to be a big brother Finn?” Aunty Jezzy smiled at her nephew and his stormy eyes that matched his father’s twinkled at the idea.

“A big brother?” Bracken asked, somewhat put off by the assumption, he just couldn’t see it, not yet anyway.

“If you are to raise him as your own, Raiden will be your son will he not?” She continued on. “That would make Finn the big brother, seeing as he is older than this youngling is.”

“I suppose you’re right, Raiden will be Finn’s brother, if all goes as we hope it will.” Thazelle agreed, Bracken still watched the child with unsure eyes.

Just then Raiden began to stir, his striking blue eyes blinked open sleepily and immediately landed on the Fae folk standing outside his makeshift bedroom. He did not speak, he would be too young, but his eyes held such curiosity and wonder that Bracken was sure he would make a grab at them at any moment.

Though no such thing happened, instead Finn squirmed in his mother’s grasp and eventually was let down onto the floor where he then ran to stand before the eyes of his new brother.

The two stared at each other for a moment, Raiden blinked his long lashes and seemed to be waiting for the Faeling to make the first move. Finn the energetic ball of auburn hair leapt toward the human youngling’s face and clung to his nose in a funny sort of hug.

The human child giggled which made Finn giggle too but otherwise made no move to catch him in his chubby hands.

Raiden seemed happy and cautious and gentle, but only time would tell what kind of person the child would grow to be. Bracken and Thazelle could only hope that their love and guidance would shape him into a kind young man who knew not the ways of war as his ancestors did.

Only time would tell.

[sideprince]

Snape's Doe Patronus

'Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus, which is a kind of anti-Dementor — a guardian which acts as a shield between you and the Dementor. The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon — hope, happiness, the desire to survive — but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can't hurt it.'

Lupin explaining what a Patronus is to Harry, Prisoner of Azkaban, Ch. 12

The essence of a Patronus, as we see Lupin explain, is hope, happiness, and the desire to survive, though this last point may be specific to the use of Patronuses as a defense against Dementors. It's unclear whether a Patronus has any other use, or was specifically invented to protect against Dementors, and if Dumbledore and the Order's use of them to communicate was specific to them or part of a more general practice and purpose. While I don't necessarily think that extra-textual references have a reasonable place in meta discussions, the Harry Potter Wiki also has the following quote from the Wonderbook: Book of Spells video game that JK Rowling contributed to and is attributed to the fictional character of Miranda Goshawk, which offers a bit more insight:

"This ancient and mysterious charm conjures a magical guardian, a projection of all your most positive feelings. The Patronus Charm is difficult, and many witches and wizards are unable to produce a full, corporeal Patronus, a guardian which generally takes the shape of the animal with whom they share the deepest affinity. You may suspect, but you will never truly know what form your Patronus will take until you succeed in conjuring it."

The key points here are that a Patronus is a projection of a person's most positive feelings, and takes the shape of an animal with whom they share the deepest affinity.

Based on this information, it makes sense that Tonks' Patronus changed form when her unrequited love for Lupin became all consuming. We see how much it affected her because in all of HBP she's consistently described as sad, downcast, and unlike her usual cheery self. The change in her Patronus is specific to her personal emotional state and isn't necessarily a statement on whether Patronuses change form any time a person is in love. Therefore we can conclude that a person's Patronus changes based on their emotional or mental state, not based on whether or not they're in love. Whether a person is even able to conjur a Patronus is also dependent on these factors. This is supported by the way we see characters who had previously been able to produce corporeal Patronuses struggle to do so when under stress:

The air around them had frozen: Harry’s breath caught and solidified in his chest. Shapes moved out in the darkness, swirling figures of concentrated blackness, moving in a great wave towards the castle, their faces hooded and their breath rattling … Ron and Hermione closed in beside him as the sounds of fighting behind them grew suddenly muted, deadened, because a silence only Dementors could bring was falling thickly through the night … ‘Come on, Harry!’ said Hermione’s voice, from a very long way away, ‘Patronuses, Harry, come on!’ He raised his wand, but a dull hopelessness was spreading through him: Fred was gone, and Hagrid was surely dying or already dead; how many more lay dead that he did not yet know about; he felt as though his soul had already half left his body … ‘HARRY, COME ON!’ screamed Hermione. A hundred Dementors were advancing, gliding towards them, sucking their way closer to Harry’s despair, which was like a promise of a feast … He saw Ron’s silver terrier burst into the air, flicker feebly and expire; he saw Hermione’s otter twist in mid-air and fade, and his own wand trembled in his hand, and he almost welcomed the oncoming oblivion, the promise of nothing, of no feeling … And then a silver hare, a boar and a fox soared past Harry, Ron and Hermione’s heads: the Dementors fell back before the creatures’ approach. Three more people had arrived out of the darkness to stand beside them, their wands outstretched, continuing to cast their Patronuses: Luna, Ernie and Seamus. ‘That’s right,’ said Luna encouragingly, as if they were back in the Room of Requirement and this was simply spell practice for the DA. ‘That’s right, Harry … come on, think of something happy …’ ‘Something happy?’ he said, his voice cracked. ‘We’re all still here,’ she whispered, ‘we’re still fighting. Come on, now …’ There was a silver spark, then a wavering light, and then, with the greatest effort it had ever cost him, the stag burst from the end of Harry’s wand. It cantered forwards, and now the Dementors scattered in earnest, and immediately the night was mild again, but the sounds of the surrounding battle were loud in his ears. ‘Can’t thank you enough,’ said Ron shakily, turning to Luna, Ernie and Seamus, ‘you just saved -”

Deathly Hallows Ch. 32

We know Harry, Ron, and Hermione can conjur a Patronus, but it's their hopelessness and the trauma they've experienced in the battle so far after a year of isolation searching for Horcruxes that affect their ability to do so, or whether or not a Patronus is corporeal. There is a connection between how able a person is to conjur a Patronus based on their emotional state, and what shape their Patronus takes based on the same.

How does this, then, inform what we know about Snape's Patronus? We know it symbolizes Lily, because he conjurs it in a moment when he's trying to prove a point to Dumbledore:

‘But this is touching, Severus,’ said Dumbledore seriously. ‘Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?’ ‘For him?’ shouted Snape. ‘Expecto patronum!’ From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe: she landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears. ‘After all this time?’ ‘Always,’ said Snape.’

Deathly Hallows Ch. 33

We don't actually know if Lily could conjur a patronus, let alone if the shape it took was a doe. We don't know if James could either or what shape it would have taken, we only know that James' animagus form was a stag, and that we are meant to conclude as a result that his wife is therefore symbolized by a doe, and that Snape's Patronus reflects his love for her as a result.

At its core, based on the above definitions of what a Patronus is, we can conclude that Snape's source of hope and happiness was Lily. All we know for a fact, based on canon text, is that they were best friends until their fifth year at school. There are varying opinions on whether Snape also felt romantic love for Lily, but we know he definitely felt love for her as a close friend, and his Patronus alludes to him continuing to feel this way after she ended their friendship and they stopped talking, not to mention how much this was compounded by his guilt for his role in her death.

I would take this further, though, and argue that Snape's Patronus was a reflection of him, ie. that it wasn't a projection of his affection for Lily but rather of the hope and happiness that he felt in their friendship and that, if we're taking the Miranda Goshawk quote at face value, his Patronus reflected his "most positive feelings" and "the animal with whom [he] share[s] the deepest affinity."

This definition implies that Snape's doe Patronus reflects that he and Lily were kindred spirits. That's why they were best friends, and why the doe is both reflective of Snape and symbolic of Lily. This isn't surprising when you consider that they were the only magical children of their age in a small midlands factory town. They grew up in different classes, but the same culture, with the same isolating factor of being able to do magic while surrounded by muggles. Childhood friendships create a strong bond, and how much more so with such factors at play? As a result, I think Snape's doe Patronus doesn't just symbolize his attachment to Lily, but that he was like her in many ways. We see this in the glimpses we get of Lily - that she was a brilliant student as described by Slughorn, that she had a righteous temper as demonstrate in Snape's Worst Memory, and that she was not afraid of what others thought of her whether it was the best friend she was challenging unflinchingly or the popular jock bully who she told off when no one else was willing to. Though we only Snape and Lily's interactions at school as ones where they're at odds, their personalities share many similarities and it quickly becomes apparent why they became such fast, and close, friends.

We don't know if James had a Patronus, but we do know that he's represented by a stag since it was his animagus form. We're shown clearly by the text that Harry's stag patronus is a reflection of his father's spirit living on in him. While the author's intention, I think, was that as a stag and doe James and Lily were a pair, she may not have understood how these animals mate. I'm not concerned with her intentions, though, and the fact that stags and does don't spend their lives together actually offers a more interesting reading of the conclusions the reader is meant to draw from the symbolism of the doe Patronus.

After mating stags leave does to raise the offspring on their own. While this interpretation has been used by some people to circumscribe James as a negligent parent and partner, I'm not convinced of this. James demonstrated selfishness and immaturity in his tendency to sneak out under his invisibility cloak even while he and Lily were in hiding, but ultimately we learn almost as little about James as we do about Lily so it's difficult to define his whole character based on limited information. It's worth noting that he did also put himself between Voldemort and his wife and child, knowing he would be killed, and though he did so while foolishly having left his wand in the other room, this kind of self-sacrifice is antithetical to the reading of the stag/doe symbolism that highlights stags' tendency to abandon does after mating.

There is, nevertheless, an interesting metaphor for the way the two animals come together for a higher purpose - that of survival of the species and continuation of life. In this way Harry and Snape reflect James and Lily respectively. The two of them had more potential for friendship than either was willing to see, and though they were enemies (or at least they had a lot of animosity towards each other - I would argue Harry saw Snape as an enemy but not vice versa) they nevertheless they came together - at times aware of it, at times not - for the greater purpose of defeating Voldemort, ie. the survival and continuation of life in the wizarding world.

And this, the knowledge we gain by the end of the books, that Snape's main purpose in life as he saw it was to protect a child and help raise him safely while working to defeat an existential threat, is what best explains why his Patronus is a doe. In fact, he goes out of his way and risks his life for much more than Harry, fighting for the safety of all the students in his care, and anyone else he is able to save. As the text shows us, just before he reveals his Patronus to be the doe, he has the following infamous exchange with Dumbledore:

‘How many men and women have you watched die?’ ‘Lately, only those whom I could not save,’ said Snape.

Deathly Hallows Ch. 33

If we interpret the doe as symbolic of Lily, a self-sacrificing parent who put the life of her child before her own, how much more so does Snape embody that symbolism, having given his life after risking it repeatedly for the sake of countless people, including the very same child Lily gave hers for? Had Lily's Patronus also been a doe, it would have reflected who she was at her core, and those aspects of her character which gave her strength and hope - and which reflected all she had in common with Snape. Therefore I would argue that Snape's Patronus symbolizing only his unrequited love is a reductive reading, and that it was, in fact, reflective of him as an individual as well, and of the qualities he possessed that were the reason for his bond with Lily.

[justauthoring]

belonging

*belonging: an affinity for a place or situation.

pairing: geto suguru x f!reader, gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: HAPPY JJK RELEASE DAYYYYYYYY also... new series?

Suguru...

What... What was he doing here?

It’s the first thought that crosses your mind. That, and the undeniable pressure of fear and confusion that weighs on your shoulders just at the mere thought of him. It’s been months since you last saw him and you hadn’t wanted to either.

Not since... not since what he’d done.

He massacred everyone.

That’s what Gojo had told you and truthfully, you hadn’t even believed him at first. It hadn’t seemed possible or you just hadn’t wanted to believe it -- either way, the urge to deny it all hadn’t faded and it had taken Geto himself to have you believe what was so plainly the truth.

They said he murdered his own parents.

But that wasn’t Geto to you. Geto was kind, soft-spoken and he could always tell when you were upset or when you needed help. He had a way of being there without having to explicitly make himself known; and he was the polar opposite of Gojo in the ways they functioned. Geto was warm to you. Geto was soft and gentle. Geto would never hurt a single innocent being.

Or, at least, you’d thought.

The Geto you knew now had done more than just hurt innocent people. 

And, most of all, he’d taken your heart and all but ripped it from your chest, leaving you empty and broken-hearted.

The pieces left behind picked up by Gojo, just as broken as you and yet he’d allowed you to find the comfort you so desperately craved in his empty soul purely because it matched your own. The three of you had once been one, and now, there was just you and Gojo... and Geto. Split apart.

But the months had passed, and with time it became easier. Easier to swallow the truth, easier to live; you were able to move on with your life.

So why was he here now?

“Hey Y/N.”

His voice is the same as you remember it. Soft, warm, it floods you with love even as the eyes that stare back at you are different. They aren’t the eyes you remember and they certainly aren’t the eyes of the man you’d fallen in love with; given a piece of yourself and submitted to whole-heartedly.

Your body is tensed, muscles stiff. Part of you wants to a run, a small voice in the back of your head that screams and pleas and cries to get as far away from Geto as humanely possible. But nothing moves. Even as you will it, even as you beg and plead and try to listen to that pleading, desperate voice, you stay rooted in your spot, right before him, pale, shaking and beyond... terrified.

Terrified of the man you once sought comfort from.

“Been a while.”

Been a while? That’s seriously all he had to say? His nonchalance fills you with a rage not yet felt or discovered; truthfully you hadn’t felt so much anger as you had felt hurt and betrayed and agonizingly heart-broken. The rage is new, but it feels nice. Something different, something hot and boiling festering deep in the pit of your belly that breaks away the drowning sensation you’d felt for months now.

So, yeah. Yeah, it’s been a while; months since Geto turned his back to you, not offering a single word of explanation and left you aching with his absence.

Scoffing, you shake your head.

Geto tilts his own, raising a brow; “it has, no?”

“No, it has,” you finally say, impressed at the way your voice steadies. “Just... thought if you ever did find me, you’d say something more than ‘been a whike’.”

“I’m just saying the truth.”

“You’ve always been good at that.”

Geto, not oblivious to your narrowed gaze, takes a small step forward. One that you instantly jump back from, body shifting into the defensive as you eyes watch him carefully.

Geto pauses at that; “you think I’d hurt you?”

“I don’t know what you’re capable of now.”

The words are spat with venom, but even you can’t hide the trace of hurt buried beneath the words.

And then, when Geto remains silent, you finally cave; “what is you want, Geto?” You huff, shoulders dropping. “It’s been months... months since you suddenly left without a word. You were there and then you weren’t, and I had to find out from others what you’d done. What... what you’re still doing.”

He disappears and reappears in front of you with a blink, startling you as you move to jump back only for his hands to grab your arms, holding you steady before him. His grip isn’t tight nor painful, it’s loose and gentle, but still, you find yourself unable to break away.

“Suguru.”

“What?”

“My name.”

Realizing his meaning, you huff; “you lost that the second you turned your back on me.”

Face as stoic as ever, Geto lets his eyes fall shut; “I’ve been watching you.”

Your breath hitches.

“Seen you with him.”

And it’s no doubt who he means.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you sigh; “you broke my heart, Geto. And... Satoru, well, he picked up the pieces.”

“That was mine.”

Eyes narrowing, you meet his gaze, baffled.

“That heart is mine,” he says with ease, unwavering in the slightest. “Your heart belongs to me.”

He... He can’t be serious can he?

“Geto--”

“Suguru.” He hisses, “you call me Suguru.”

Feeling his grip tighten, just ever so slightly, you huff, caving. “You lost it the second you started killing the people we swore to protect, Suguru.”

He shakes his head, face twisting with frustration; an emotion you frankly don’t think he deserves to wear. “They’re monkeys, the lot of them. But not you. Not us. Sworn to give out lives to people never thankful, never caring... Y/N, you have to understand--”

Shrugging his hands off of you, you scoff, leaving him stunned in the spot as you make sure to create a distance between the both of you. And the look you send him... the utter look of betrayal, telling every bit of emotion you’ve felt since the day he left, all for him to see.

“I don’t understand,” you finally whisper, “and I never will.”

And Geto just sighs, as if he’s a tired parent dealing with their bratty child. He shakes his head, and presses his hand to his forehead, before pulling back, meeting your gaze directly, unwavering and determined. “You will,” he nods, “I’ll make sure of it.”

The fear kicks back in then, his words scarily omninuous in a way that has your heart falling to the pit of your stomach and your muscles to tense all over again.

What did he mean?

I’ll make sure of it.

“Geto--”

He’s back in front of you, inches away. You can feel his breath on your face, and he’s so close it’s suffocating. Nothing reacts the way you want it to, frozen in place as you stare back up at him, a gasp of fright leaving your lips when you register the soulless black eyes staring back at your own.

“Your heart is mine, not his.”

His hand falls on your arm, tight, pinching; “I just need to remind you.”

Your world tilts, eyes rolling back as your world fades to black; the panic fading as you lose your control. The last thought in your head simply being;

Satoru...

[spider-ghoul]

Nice to have a friend

Percy Jackson x Gn!reader (loosely based off the taylor swift song)

summery: winter nights, gloves, and your impulsive best friend

Warnings: reader is mentioned to be shorter than Percy, use of Y/N, light cussing(?), nothing else I can think of lmk if you spot something :)

I wrote this really fast so idk it might be complete shit

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

"Walk me back to my cabin?" I say though a yawn, it wasn't really late but today was overwhelmingly tiring and i wanted nothing more than to sleep for about three years. 

"Yeah yeah, whatever, dummy." Percy said,  he had his signature grin on his face. The one that told me he was about to say something stupid. "You know...if you're so tired you could always let me carry you-" there it is.

"Shut it, Jackson." I cut him off, watching as he raises his hands in defeat.

"My bad, my bad-" he still has that stupid shit-eating grin on his face, he's too damn cocky for his own good. but I wouldn't change a thing about his stupid face.

I stick my tongue out at him, and he does the same in response, "let's go, you big baby-" I mumble, yawning again.

We quickly fall into pace with each other, it's almost routine at this point. We've been doing it since we were twelve, sitting by each other at the campfire, making fun of each other's singing, and him walking me to my cabin.

I was spending my winter break at camp, with my  best friend, Percy Jackson. It was the perfect break from school, from everything. From monsters, and studying, and tests. I fell back into our patterns quickly. 

Although, recently, it feels a little different. His hand brushes against mine, and our fingers intertwine. Any jokes i wanted to make die in my throat. It's the same feeling every night, holding hands, never talking about what it means.

i look up at him, and he's looking at me.

He squeezes my hand twice, his gloves are scratchy on my skin. 

Whatever this is, whatever we are, it's an unsaid thing. Something under the skin, barely noticeable unless you're looking for it. A ball of yarn about to unravel.

Something we avoid, but can see. Something we hear but don't listen too. Longing glances and hugs a moment too long. Never pushing it, never reaching out just a little more for fear of what we would find.

I looked down at the path we were walking, it was covered in a light layer of snow. Yeah, camp had the weather shield, but Chiron has an affinity for snow, letting it sprinkle into camp during the cold months. 

there are a few sets of footprints, but most campers stay home during the holidays, leaving camp almost empty. 

 The cabins were a good walk from the fire place, the warmness of the flames quickly left me shivering. Goosebumps slowly plagued my skin, and I pulled my jacket  a little tighter. 

"Cold?" Percy asks, his voice laced with concern. 

I shrugged and he rolled his eyes. He pulled is hand away from me, I hated the way it made my heart ache in my chest. I watched silently as he tugged the glove off his right hand and passed it to me.

"..thanks." I whispered, my cheeks are only red because of the cold, I swear.  I tug the glove onto my hand, it was still warm from his. 

it only takes him a few seconds for him to wrap his finger around mine again. 

The rest of the walk back is in a comfortable silence, somewhere along the way he started swinging our hands back and forth. 

When we finally got to my cabin, I wished we didn't. I didn't want him to leave, I didn't want to lose the feeling of his hand on mine. 

He led me onto my porch, and I turned around to face him, our hands still intertwined. I smiled up at him, meeting his eyes. He smiled back. 

"See you tomorrow?" His smile was softer, quieter, just for me. 

"Course'." I whisper back. 

neither of us move, our hands still intertwined between us. I should just pull away, I know I should, but gods.. I don't want to. I only want to be closer to him. Who cares if the yarn unravels? 

"..Percy?" If I want to do it I just should, right?

"..yeah?" I should just ask him. I should just say it. I'm gonna say it. 

"..Percy.. I-" 

And then I hesitate. 

"...I'll see you at breakfast." I say with a breath out, peeling my hand away from his, stepping back. 

I could see the hesitance behind his eyes, but he nodded, "Night." 

"..night." I say quietly, watching as he smiled one more time before he turned to leave me. I was still wearing his glove. 

I stood there to watch him leave like I always did, watching him slowly sink into the shadows away from me.

I closed my eyes, turning on my heels, my hand on the doorknob when I heard him again. 

"Wait!" I quickly turned around at his voice, it was louder than he normally was. his voice sounded almost desperate to get my attention. He was running up the porch stairs.  

"Percy-?" 

And then he's in front of me, his hands on my cheeks, and his lips on mine. 

It only took me a few seconds to close my eyes, leaning closer to him. One of my cheeks was suddenly colder, and one had itchy yarn pressed on to it. Heaven. 

He pulled away a little too quickly, breathing heavy. 

"Goodnight." He said, turning on his heels and running back into the darkness. 

[peachsayshi]

In any of your future playboy!Getou parts (I know part 4 is in development), will you delve into detail of Getou’s process into gaining the reader’s trust and show her that while he didn’t want to be in a committed relationship before, he does with her now? Another thing, what would/is Shoko’s and Gojou’s reaction to their friend genuinely being in love with the reader and wanting to be with her? Will they like, change their attitudes concerning how they perceived Getou’s relationship with reader (especially shoko since she once told reader, “don’t fall for his bullshit or you’ll be reduced to a number.”” Also, what happened after Getou tried to kiss reader but reader rejected it? Like, it must have been a very awkward situation and I can see like, the reader getting out of there and convincing telling Gojou and/or Shoko that she had to leave cause of an emergency or something and then avoiding Getou after in a more lowkey kinda way so it doesn’t raise concern from Gojou or Shoko

➳  minors / ageless / blank blogs dni  ➳  fic: playboy geto x inexperienced reader

➳  notes: hi, anon! 🧡 so regarding the backstory about playboy geto x reader, I've been dropping small details here and there purely for background plot purposes. I actually don't have any plans to dive further into those details to be honest. the reason is because I plan on ending this specific mini story after part five.

(note: even if the story itself complete I will keep it open for requests for specific hc's or imagines in case anyone asks for it!)

my playboy geto story was only ever meant to be a small drabble, but I was heavily requested to write more parts which is why I did hehe however, I'm more than happy to give some back story for you regarding your questions! (ps. sorry if this answer turns out longer than expected)

what happened after geto tried to kiss the reader and she rejected it:

geto approached you with cunning eyes and a devious grin; when you first met, his intentions weren't in the right place. he saw a pretty face and knew it would look even more beautiful pressed up against his sheets. what he didn't expect was to fall for you in ways which left him dizzy and confused.

at some point during his budding friendship with you, suguru forgot who he was - he failed to remember the reputation that he so masterfully earned: the mystical seducer who lured many into his bed, wrapping his arms around lovers and whispering sweet nothing into their ear, only to leave as quickly as the season turns and having them wonder if any of it was real or simply a magical dream.

he leaned in for that kiss because he was guided by his scrambling heart, tossing logic and truth out the window. he's been spoiled by his confidence because he's never faced rejection before.

I mentioned that it was the point where he knew he had to change, and the reason is because of the distrust in your eyes when you stared at him. for the first time he saw the reflection of the man that he's become; it was a mirror of reality that riddled him with shame.

what happens after is silence, a blanket of tension surrounding you both. the situation isn't awkward necessarily, but the mood is heavy. the both of you are facing truths that you don't particularly want to tackle. your fingers fall to your lap, and you turn away from him.

what eases the pressure in when satoru remerges back into the room with utahime and mei mei. suguru casually leans against the sofa, his eyes still on you as you get up from your seat to approach the crowd. the two of you simply pretend like nothing even happened, but for the rest of the night you're catching the other staring longingly from a distance.

geto's process on gaining the reader's trust, and earning his commitment:

a few days after the kiss, suguru geto asks you out on a date. "you're lovely, and I would like to spend more time with you..." he says while the both of you are standing just outside your front door.

"you seem to have an affinity for lovely things, suguru" you boldly respond, but your eyes are soft looking into his own.

"if that's a no than I'll happily admire you from afar," he admits, his sweet words making your cheeks burn. "just one dinner, and we can see how it goes from there. if you'll have me, of course..."

geto earned the reader's trust through time and patience. his dates with you were always innocent; dinners at his favorite, low key restaurants. long walks in the park, and late night strolls. visits to cultural exhibits and art museums.

with physical intimacy entirely off the table, you started to see the intelligent spectrum of that beautiful mind. this allowed suguru the chance to woo you with his personality alone.

for him, it was a breath of fresh air not losing himself into the daze of passion, and he found himself enjoying the slow pace of romantic descent instead.

one of the key factors that led to this relationship working out was his honesty. suguru could have easily fibbed about his dating history, or choose to omit details. the man knew that it would only blow up in his face eventually, so he just granted the viewing of both the good and the bad.

despite his own reputation, suguru was equally curious about your own personal love life. you were always so quiet about it, barely letting out two sentences whenever he would ask a question or try to prod an answer out of you regarding your own dating history. frustrated with the barrier, he decided to breach the subject on both your pasts while the two of you were hanging out at his place.

"I want us to be able to talk about everything," he said, giving you another sign of just how serious he was about pursuing this relationship.

that night he revealed the secrets of his tainted history. of his pursuits for lovers because the man believed that desire shouldn't be suppressed. that sex and intimacy was a part of the human experience, and one that should be indulged in.

"I've always been an honest man about my intentions. I never made any promises about commitment to anyone," he pointed out, a blush tinting his cheekbones. "It's just that...sometimes people tried to force it on me, and that always led to messy situations"

when you asked him why he chose to carry on without strings, suguru replied that he simply wasn't ready. he revealed that he grew up with so many responsibilities, and he didn't want to tie himself down now that he had his independence.

that night you also disclosed your inexperience. you were so shy about the reveal, embarrassed that a woman your age has gone this long without ever being touched, without ever being kissed. an expression of guilt washes over suguru, and he immediately apologizes for attempting to kiss you at gojo's place in the way that he did.

his thoughtfulness is extremely endearing.

"we are on two completely different sides regarding this," you say with slight apprehension, "I'm just scared to tread this path with you. what if...what if you break my heart?"

"and what if you break mine?"

his question throws you off. you stare at him with puzzled look, like you're unsure if he meant what he asked or if he was just teasing you.

"you don't think that scares me too?" suguru sincerely questions, then takes your hands in his own and brings them close to his chest. "we are different, yes, but we've both never experienced this before," he gives you a reassuring smile, "and I think it's nice to know that we can figure it out together..."

that was the moment you dropped your guard; that was the gesture that secured his slot. from then on, suguru approached every conflict or challenge by simply laying all the cards out on the table.

and it worked every single time.

shoko and gojo's reaction to geto being in love with the reader and wanting to commit:

shoko and gojo definitely had two very different reactions to the situation. they've both known suguru the longest, and have both been witnesses to the cycles of his relationships. sometimes they were even caught in the crossfires of geto's mistakes, losing friends and acquaintances because of his actions.

gojo sees the change in geto first when the two of them are alone together. as a pair they naturally garner attention, but suguru no longer engages himself into any entanglements. his friend makes it clear that his time with you is a priority, and whenever he has doubts on how to approach things, he would turn to satoru for help.

"do you and your girlfriend have plans for tonight?" gojo asks one evening; a part of him using that specific title to see if he can stir even the smallest reaction out of suguru.

"she's not my girlfriend," geto replies with a slight pout and a tiny blush, "well, I haven't asked her yet anyway..."

satoru parts his lips in surprise. he was half expecting suguru to fight him on it, for him to get jitters over the thought of rooting down with somebody. his reaction makes satoru's blue eyes grow tender, and it's almost like he can read geto's thoughts in that moment

he can see the uncertainty, the smallest sprinkle of insecurity, that you might not accept if he did ask.

"you sure about that?" his friend teases to lighten the mood, and bumps his shoulder against geto's, "because you guys definitely act like it"

shoko, on the other hand, took a while to believe that suguru wasn't just playing a long con on your heart. she wasn't supportive about you dating him, and would flat out refuse to hear suguru's side of the situation.

"you don't know how to keep it your pants" she scolds at him over the phone, the two of them having another bickering argument. "does she even know that you hooked up with mei? that you hooked up with utahime?"

suguru groans, "I hooked up with them in high school. that doesn't even count! it's in the past and it doesn't matter..."

"I know this game of yours, suguru. I've seen you play it..." shoko scoffs, "you're dipping your toes into something new, but you'll stop swimming the second you get bored"

"thanks for giving me a chance, sho" suguru coldly responds through gritted teeth, "it's nice to know how highly you think of me."

when suguru and shoko fight they aren't dramatic about it, but they both hold an icy front that would make anyone feel frigid.

you don't know that they stop speaking after that. that they both avoid each other as much as possible, and that gojo stays out of the situation entirely. they kept it under wraps because everyone would still hang out without any issues being brought up.

but the distance is when shoko sees how geto fawns over you, recognizes the small acts of kindness that he mindlessly fulfills when he's by your side. and what completely shifts her perspective is noticing the way he gazes at you when you aren't looking, paying attention to the compassionate radiance that floods over him.

there's a level of guilt that stirs within her. her and satoru have always chastised suguru for his sins; snubbing the fact that the man grew up far too early in his life, that he was the anchor of support for his single mom and two younger sisters up until he left his home.

that he suffered the consequences of a broken commitment.

he's been running way from the duty of responsibility for as long as she can remember. and now that she sees geto in this new light, she almost can't recognize him.

later that night, she catches him alone outside on the patio. instead of walking away, she approaches her dear friend.

"cigarette?" she offers.

suguru looks at her over his shoulder, a tiny smile of relief curling at the corner of his lips. "no, I'm good..."

the two of them stand side by side, watching the waves crash against the sand as a breeze runs over them.

"so, what is it about her?" shoko pries nonchalantly and puffs out a cloud of smoke. "what makes her so different from the rest?"

suguru bites back a grin, "I have an affinity for lovely things, and she is by far the most captivating..."

"what makes you say that?"

"I've never..." he exhales, "I've never been drawn to a person the way I am to her. I've never been greedy about wanting more. There comes a point when I've had my fill, but with her it's like...I can't get enough, like my body is now dependent on more..."

there's a silence that follows his statement.

"she's...she's the one for me, shoko."

shoko nearly drops her cigarette, her brows tugging upward as she watches suguru sheepishly tuck his bottom lip between his teeth. her friend turns to face her and carries on.

"If this doesn't work out, I guarantee you it won't be by my own choice but you'll still have my gratitude because she's the best thing that's ever happened to me..."

shoko knows suguru like he's an extension of herself, and his heartfelt declaration speaks volumes.

she chuckles, her free hand moving to pat his broad shoulder. "I never thought I'd live to see you talking like a lovesick fool..."

"I know right," geto acknowledges, an easy expression highlighting his handsome features.

shoko and gojo don't weaponize geto's past against him after that. their his best friends; they love him and just want him to be happy. if anything, they both become your biggest supporters and they can see how much he's changed and grown for the better while being with you.

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

It was quite a shock when Damian had asked his brothers for assistance in a project for his advance music theory class.

It was a unspoken knowledge that music was a part of the Wayne family.

If they didn’t have an affinity for an instrument then it was singing and if not singing dancing.

Almost everyone who came into the family had some sort or knack and those who hadn’t picked it up along the way.

Damian was the most uninterested members when he had joined the family so it was quite a shock when he demanded help this morning.

Testing out the drums Jason shared a look with the others before asking,

“So why did you need all of us to begin with? You’re not recording or anything right?”

Damian let out a tch as for himself ready,

“Not right now, but I felt it imperative to go over my composition at least once altogether, in case I felt the need to add.”

The kid continued to tune the ukulele in his hands.

It was a strange choice for the ex assassin but when questioned he merely claimed it was due to it’s size being easier to travel with.

“Well I think it’s an interesting choice in lead instrument baby bird!”

Dick claimed as he played with his maraca while glancing over his sheet music.

“I think it will go nicely with the your lyrics! But I do have to ask-“

“I made the lyrics very clear.”

“And you did! But-“

Damian gave a glare as Dick took a seat.

“I will cut out the maracas, do not test me Richard.”

Tim gave a snort from his place slumped over the piano,

“Just be glad you got to see the vocal sheet music, he just annotated the places he wanted me to harmonize with you.”

“Yeah we’ll you kind of have to be more focused my your hands than anything else.”

Silence fell as they finished their warm ups and Damian began to strum his cords.

The eldest watched as the others raised their eyebrows at the tempo and of the tune but came just the the same.

“I lost my cool, I’m not sure how to act, not even sure how I can keep my pride intact.”

Jason felt his eyebrows raise at the lyrics as Dick and Tim started their backup harmonies.

“No, I'm not falling for you, so please have mercy on me

'Cause it's not romantic, I swear I'm not gasping for air

I want you to be here, but please don't come near

'Cause even though I'm pretty sure my head's exploding

I'm not ready for hand holding

It's not love, I swear It might be closer to despair.”

The first interlude began and Jason shot an incredulous look at Dick. Was this the demon brat? Were they sure he hadn’t been replaced in the night with some sappy clone?

Dick for his part tried to convey to younger brother to just keep playing.

“No, I don't want want you to teach me how to dance Get your heart away from me, you'll put me into a trance

And even though I think about you day and night

I'm not sure if this whole love thing sounds quite right”

Tim craned his neck as the chorus started again, to look at Damian and nearly fell off his stool when he realized that there was blush on the younger’s face.

‘Who in god’s name has somehow wiggled their way past the kid’s defenses?!’

Damian, for his part was refusing to look in the other’s direction as he powered through to the last verse.

“Cause even though I'm pretty sure my head's exploding

I'm not ready for hand holding

It's not love, I swear

It might be closer to despair”

Crooning the last notes to the song, Damian seemed to take a moment to gather himself before quickly striking last note and letting the room fill with silence.

No one seemed to know how to react after such a performance for a second.

Then Dick tried to clear the frog in his throat and the moment was over.

“Baby bird-“

“Cease your prodding, this was for a school project and nothing more.”

Damian gritted out as he stood from his seat,

“Now if you excuse me I am going to return to my room, I feel that if I were to add a bass to the background it would help with the mixing of sounds.”

And left as quickly as he could without raising suspicions.

“Holy fuck,”

Jason breathed out,

“When did the brat gain his first crush?”

“It has to be new.”

Tim rubbed his temple with his thumb,

“He’s still clearly in denial so he hasn’t really gotten used to the idea.”

“You say that like he doesn’t share his dna with the most emotionally constipated man in the known universe.”

“Guys.”

Dick raised his hands in exasperation,

“We can argue on whether or not he’s conscious about his crush later. Right now I want to do some background checks on this person.”

Before exiting the music room,

Tim gave him a disbelieving look,

“Background checks? Dick we don’t even have a name here.”

“Yeah dickhead, even if we’re assuming that he wrote this song about someone in his school we’re still looking a number in the hundreds.”

“That would be true,”

Dick’s eyes took a mischievous look as the other’s followed him into the office.

“If it wasn’t for the fact that Damian had complained about this assignment beforehand, so I know for a fact that it’s about someone in his Advanced music theory class.”

Jason and Tim shared a similar expression as they joined him in the cave.

“That does narrow it down a bit, what’s an average class size replacement?”

“Oh about 20 students, but with the fact that this is an non essential elective course, I would bet it to be smaller.”

With a shared nod and grin they started up the bat computer.

Not like they had any other big plans today anyways.

————

The song if you want

[slushiepizza]

Marie and Mother Mary

Relationship : Marie & Milo Greer

Tags : Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Partum Depression, Gender Roles, Catholicism, Motherhood, Italian American Marie Greer

Word Count : 1,510

ao3

Notes and Warnings:

this fic kind of surprised me because I'm not super into the Shaw Pack. But I do find Marie Greer's presence and bits and pieces we know of her character fascinating. I wanted to explore Marie's mind and feelings about being a mother when she's dealing with a gambling husband; and for her to raise someone like Milo Greer- she must've done a great job as a parent.

I took inspiration from my own experiences growing up with Catholicism and specifically in relation to the biblical Mary as a religious figure; and how mothers often find comfort in the thought of a figure who related in their struggles of motherhood and womanhood. It also has a theme of gender roles/ alluding to rigid gender identities because of the circumstances that Marie grew up in.

This fic isn't really... religious per se, and it takes more of a neutral standing while still criticizing how religion could be used to provoke feelings of personal guilt and trauma in someone who grew up in it, while also giving comfort to anyone that needed the universe to say that everything will be okay. If any of the themes may cause distress in you, I do implore you not read this fic, as consuming writing is a vulnerable activity.

The year was 1993. Marie Greer walked into the empty church lot with her baby in her arms. It had been decades since she last stepped on its stone floors. The security guard stationed outside looked at her strangely, but let her in once she asserted that she was there to pray.

She passed the main building for a small garden in the back. There were rows of wooden benches but nobody to be found. Good. Marie didn’t want company at the moment. To call it a garden was an overstatement- it was tiny and cramped, overgrown with vines. In front of the benches, the centerpiece of all the foliage was a statue of the Virgin Mary. Mother Mary, she thought, the double entendre not escaping her. 

As soon as she sat down right in front of the statue- Milo wailed inconsolably like he always did. 

The baby’s loud cries echoed disturbing whatever peace that was left from the place. Marie sighed, tired and weary, of this. He was an especially sensitive child, smaller than other babies his age. Marie was used to catering to people who’d fuss over the littlest things, Colm had a particular affinity for order and cleanliness whenever he came back from blowing his month’s earnings in a night, after all. The addition of Milo to the family just added more on her plate- she had to catalog every single one of his many allergies, and make sure that the room was never dusty because he’d have a coughing fit otherwise. The replacement of their popcorned ceiling had not been cheap, either, not with Colm leaving barely anything left after his trips to Vegas.

She did this all for love. For him. For her husband. But oftentimes, she felt like there was nothing left of her to give. Dry. Hollow. 

She shushed Milo and lightly rocked him in hopes that he’d calm down but to no avail. He thrashed and turned, his nails accidentally scratched her in the arm. Marie winced and tried to soothe him, lightly patting his back. It took thirty minutes of rocking and soothing Milo until the baby went back to sleep. 

St. Mary’s weathered ivory-colored face looked down at her, her expression blank and unmoving. Her lips were sculpted into a serene smile. Her pupil-less eyes gazed back at Marie. 

Just like any other Italian-American family at the time, church was a routine for Marie growing up. Her mother would dress them in their Sunday’s best and wrangled her and her seven unruly siblings into the building. “Quit fussin’ your pigtails, Marie. I did that real pretty for you,” she’d chide. They’d sit in the back of the church because tardiness ran in that family’s blood like a curse. 

Past the twelfth and thirteenth pews, God felt distant. 

Marie would follow everything diligently. She stood up when everyone else stood up as the priest lifted the circular white wafer, the body of Christ, above the altar. As a child, her height wouldn’t allow her to catch a single glimpse of it. She’d comfort her younger siblings whenever they’d make a ruckus. But the whole thing- it went one ear out of the other. 

She could’ve sworn she tried her best to listen and followed whatever the adults did. 

I have greatly sinned, escaped past her lips as she did the same thing she had now, rocking her baby sister in her arms. At the time, she hadn’t even lost her milk teeth. 

She stopped going when she married Colm. He was the opposite of the man her mother wanted her to marry, and in retrospect, she felt that it was one of the many reasons she liked him. His mind was raucous, his eyes wild and unmoored. Like nothing was holding him back. Colm used to be an ambitious man- the thrill of being an Investigator for DUMP perfect for his unrested soul. 

Marie loved that part of him, the fact that he’d question everything, unbelieving in anything unproven. 

He said that he wanted to purge the world of assholes- the unjust, those who hurt others for their own sake. As he turned in empowered criminals in the pursuit of it, he became one himself. 

Marie met St.Mary’s gaze- almost challenging her hollow stare. Something surged through her, from the ache in her back settling to her tight diaphragm.

After the birth of her boy, Mary couldn’t cook or clean. All she did was stay in bed. Her sister came by to help take care of the house while Colm stepped outside as usual. She said that it was normal, her body had been through hell, after all. But the heavy feeling, the heaviness that settled in her chest persisted for the next two months.

 Marie hated feeling helpless- her house a mess, and her baby cried constantly. She was a woman of action, and stagnation shackled her, leaving her trapped. Her visit to the psychiatrist- and the fourth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual- had told her that it was depression with a postpartum onset. She told the doctor that she refused to accept that she was a ‘bozo who was sick in the head’ and that she will cure herself with a margarita and a sorely needed hair perm alongside a fresh coat of manicure. 

And look where that got her. Crying in front of a statue in church.

She still stared at the other Mary, the statue’s size and height caused her to look like she was looking down on whoever prayed in the confined space, guiding them iin a time of need. With that, for once, Marie realized that she was angry. 

She wasn’t stuck to her mattress, fatigued, and lacked energy because of sorrow- she was so angry, the weight of her job description as wife, mother, woman, wolf, dog, bitch- Marie weighed down on her like anchors. She was angry, at the fact that Colm was nowhere to be found throughout all this, angry at her mother- for making her a mother to her own siblings when she was barely a child, angry at the fact that she couldn’t even love her child properly because she no longer had any love left in the hollow of her heart. 

The emotions had clawed the insides of her ribs and caused her to let out heavy breaths- she was a dog panting for air when there was none. 

“When does it get easier,” she demanded to the Mother of all Mothers through gritted teeth. “Tell me, Mary,” she begged, desperate, as tears started to roll down her face. “Tell me!” 

“When does being a mother ever get any easier?”

Her voice was a whisper, barely audible, as she started to sob and heave quietly. 

A soft breeze blew past the branches of the trees that surrounded her. It moved the leaves and allowed them to move gently back and forth. The statue still looked down at her, hand slightly outstretched in a supposed kind, helpful gesture. Ants crawled from the crack in the marble, they moved past Mary’s dress down to the hem, circling around her exposed foot, past the head of the sneak that was crushed triumphantly under her toes. 

Marie sank into her seat, tired. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, sniffling. Unbecoming of her, she thought. She’d rather die than let anyone see her like this. But there was a comfort between women, she supposed. Damage from rain stained Mary’s cheek like tears- not unlike the thick mascara that currently ran down her own. The air was comfortable, easy, and Marie felt light. It reminded her of the 80s. Of girls in the bathroom of the disco, talking someone out of calling their past lovers as they applied lipstick and passed cigarettes between one another.

“I guess,” she sniffed. “I guess you know better, right?” she stared into a picture that hung on a distant wall. In it, St. Mary cried as she held Jesus' dying body. “He didn’t give you a hell of a good time either,” her voice cracked pathetically. 

Girl, tell me about it, Marie imagined the statue said. The Virgin Mary had the voice of her best friend in college. Is that not what being a mother is? The pain so bad, it feels like you’re splitting in two? Going through all seven hells for your baby’s sake?

“Why do we even put ourselves through this,” she chuckled sardonically. “If I wanted to go through pain, I’d rather just listen to Colm talk about whatever fish he caught on the weekend.” 

Mary didn’t answer, and Marie understood. Milo opened his big eyes in her arms and reached up to her with tiny hands. He giggled, light and oblivious to the puffiness of Mary’s face and the swell of her eyes. She cooed at him and held up a finger. Milo wrapped his hand around it, gentle. 

St. Mary’s serene smile was still plastered on her face, her hand outstretched in the air between them. 

[naavispider]

Thanks for linking Stripes! It would be nice to see this on AO3, it would be easier to read 💙 Have you thought about writing a scene in which Spider would seriously talk to Recoms and Quaritch about life on Earth? This would be interesting to read :*

"Come on, you must have thought about it!" Wainfleet prodded, tossing Spider a water bottle as they rested near the night's campfire.

"Can honestly say that I haven't, actually."

The conversation was only really between the two of them, but the rest of the camp was listening in as they reclined against their packs or consulted their holotablets. Quaritch's ears perked up. "Are you being serious?"

Spider turned in his direction. "Yeah..." he said, shrugging. He couldn't see what the big deal was. "Why should I imagine Earth? It would be like an Earth-born human wondering what it would be like to grow up on Pandora."

"Yeah but you're from Earth," Wainfleet argued.

Spider ground his teeth. "No I'm not, jackass."

Wainfleet raised his arms in exasperation, gesturing around the camp. "Kid, like it or not, you're not from Pandora."

"I think what Wainfleet is trying to say," interrupted Quaritch before Spider could fire back and get worked up into a huff, "is that none of us believe you haven't at least thought about what it's like back home. Say, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

Spider frowned. He'd been read hundreds of books when he was a kid, all depicting Earth scenes with Earth plots and Earth problems, but he'd always felt the disconnect as if it was a physical feeling. None of it applied to him, because none of it was relevant to Na'vi culture. The possibility of growing up to be a doctor, or a teacher, or a mechanic simply weren't options that were open to him. And it's not like he ever felt like he was missing out. The scientists all agreed that Earth was a dismal place to grow up these days, and even if it wasn't, Spider's affinity and loyalty to his home planet was far too great to ever consider wanting to visit.

He shrugged. "When I'm older, I'm going to be a warrior. The first human to pass iknimaya."

Quaritch was looking at him in a way he didn't like: sympathetic and...sad?

"What is your problem?" he ground out, angered by this response.

"That shouldn't be your only option. You're sixteen."

"No. It shouldn't be my only option because my home shouldn't be being invaded by aliens." He could tell he'd hit a nerve.

Quaritch sighed, adjusting his grip on the rifle he was using to patrol the camp.

Wainfleet spoke up. "But if you could be something different. What would you be?"

Spider thought for a moment, staring into the fire. "I dunno... I don't know what I'm good at."

"There's plenty you're good at," huffed Quaritch from across the camp. The Colonel had his back to them in the darkness, focused on the perimeter of the clearing. Spider felt a soft rush of warmth pool in his chest, but he quickly pressed it down.

"Yeah," Wainfleet said. "You're top notch little punk, for starters!"

Spider punched the corporal's shoulder, hard, which earned nothing more than a chuckle from the amused Wainfleet.

"I could pull your tswin so hard right now..." he grumbled.

"You're smart, good with your hands..." Ja offered unexpectedly.

"Don't inflate his ego, Ja," Zdinarsk groaned, finally joining the conversation as well.

"You could make a good medic."

For the second time in as many minutes, Spider felt a blush spread through his cheeks at Ja's calm praise. "Nah, I'm no Tsa'hik."

"Okay, but good with people though. You care a lot."

"Okay... this is getting weird," Spider cringed. He had no idea the squad's medic saw him in such high regard.

"Agreed," Wainfleet echoed, but not before Quaritch returned from his sweep of the camp, taking off his AR and resting it carefully near his pack.

Spider watched the Colonel as he strolled over relaxedly, taking a seat next to Spider on the warm moss. He appreciated that the man left enough space between them so that it wasn't awkward.

"You coulda been anything you wanted," the man huffed. The rest of the camp suddenly became extremely interested in field stripping their weapons or rummaging around for supplies. "You were robbed."

The weight of his words seemed to bear down on Quaritch. His voice was low and full of regret. He was probably blaming himself for the whole thing.

"I know it seems like that to you," Spider began, adjusting himself on the ground so he was a little further away from the recom. "But I was happy with my life."

Spider's use of the past tense hung in the air like a mist of bellsprig spores.

"Spider-" Quaritch extended a hand, but Spider shrugged it off quickly. He shuffled further away, hugging his legs and resting his chin on his knees. This only seemed to trigger Quaritch. He exhaled gruffly, nodding his acceptance of Spider's actions, but his voice told a different story. "I'm sorry I've let this happen to you."

They both knew he wasn't talking about taking Spider into RDA custody.

Anger boiled up inside of Spider - hot and volatile, so much all at once that he didn't know how to control it. "Txanfwìngtu! Vonvä’!" Hot licks of fury bubbled up his throat, bringing the profanity with it. "Pxasìk... Are you serious?!" He glared at Quaritch, breathless.

Quaritch didn't return the look, instead staring ahead stonily, confirming to Spider that he was set in his beliefs.

"Fuck you."

Quaritch smiled grimly, clearly trying to contain his own anger now.

"You think I'm a complete victim in this! You think that because you died I'm just a charity case. Well guess what? You dying was that best thing that could have happened to me. I think about going back to Earth now, and I shudder. Fuck you for thinking otherwise!" He leapt to his feet and stormed towards one of the larger trees, swinging himself up to make his bed for the night in one of the branches before Quaritch could respond. His heart was pounding, his mind racing with all the things he still wanted to shout into Quaritch's face. If he wouldn't literally die, he'd rip his damn mask off and tear through the forest faster than he'd ever moved in his life. He knew they'd never find him again without the tracker. He growled furiously into the night, slamming his head back against the bark of the tree. He'd put enough distance between himself and the squad so that he was out of sight, and probably too high to be heard either. He could just picture Quaritch checking the tablet to make sure he wasn't doing a runner.

This is how it was between them. Just when Spider thought Quaritch was beginning to understand him, he went and got proven completely wrong. Quaritch was an asshole, and Spider hated him.

Angry tears slipped down inside his mask as he realised why he was so angry. It was so unfair. Why did he have to hate the one man he was supposed to feel so differently about?

[yoitsjay]

cardigan by taylor swift

imperial crosshair x f medic reader

reader was with bad batch for a year (crosshair was lowkey in love with reader) or so but went mia a couple months before plan 99. crosshair goes empire blah blah. crosshair is on a mission (s2 so his chip is like gone but hes still good soldiers follow orders) and finds reader on a remote planet helping injured people. and when he pops out she almost shoots him cause she doesnt recognize the armor but ima just leave it there and let you decide the rest of the angsty fluff or wherever you wanna go smut or not

I love you

My Cardigan.

Pairings: Imperial! Crosshair x Fem medic! Reader

Summary: Crosshair finds you after almost a year of you being MIA, and you made him realize how big of a mistake he had made, and what he could do to fix it.

Warnings: hurt n comfort, non explicit smut, p in v smut

Word count: 1,827

A/n: I loved writing this and listening to cardigan by Taylor swift on repeat. I will NEVER listen to this song again. lol.

Vintage tee, brand new phone. High heels on cobblestones.

On the harsh unforgiving landscapes of the remote planet of Yalara, where settlements and outposts scatter the vast and always changing terrain, there lies a medium sized hut, two floors tall hums with the sounds of medical and diagnostic equipment. It's a peaceful humming, background noise to fill the silence and make it comforting as patients get treated.

When you are young, they assume you know nothing.

Your hut had become a form of sanctuary for the people born on Yalara, travelers and refugees from all kinds of planets. You give them free healthcare, though they always find some way to repay you, and you help them find places to settle, or set them up with people who can help more than you can.

Sequin smile, black lipstick. Sensual politics.

You had always had an affinity for medicine, and caring for others was a hobby that you could never get tired of. Seeing their smiles every day, reassuring them that they were safe, and would be okay now�� it was all worth the supplies you went through on a daily basis. Though you always had a way to get more.

When you are young, they assume you know nothing.

You had been working out in the back area of your hut, the sun just beginning to rise over the foggy mountain range, light reflecting off the dew drops that rested on tree and plant leaves. Your garden had been booming, with all kinds of plants, large and small, growing with relentless fervor.

But I knew you, dancing in your levi’s, drunk under a streetlight. i, i knew you.

But then you heard voices, far away at first, though they were nearing the front of your sanctuary. You made your way back inside, and rushed the less injured people into a safe room you had hidden below the main floor, having opened up a hidden panel in the floor.

Hand under my sweatshirt. baby kiss it better, right.

Once the voice reaches the door, you close the panel and cover it with a carpet, moving in front of the more injured patients in your clinic. The door opens and you raise your blaster, spotting a familiar feeling man in unfamiliar armor.

And when u felt like i was an old used cardigan, under someone's bed…You put me on and said i was your favorite.

You fire, and the blue bolt wizzes past the man's head, he is about to reply with a shot of his own, only to let out what you can assume is a gasp as he hesitates, and nearly drops his sniper rifle.

A friend to all is a friend to none. Chase two girls, lose the one.

When you are young, they assume you know nothing.

You stare at the helmet of the man, watching as he slowly sets down his sniper rifle, then begins to remove his helmet.

But I knew you. Playin’ hide-and-seek and givin’ me your weekends.

I, I knew you.

The blaster in your hand falls to the ground as you see none other than Crosshair, the man you had loved, and left almost a year ago… Your eyes were wide, and you just stared at him, and he did the same.

Your heartbeat on the high line, Once in twenty lifetimes, I.

You both almost didn’t want to believe that you were standing in front of each other, but here he was, in imperial armor… and there you were, tending to the sick and injured like you always had…

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed. You put me on and said I was your favorite.

“Y/n…” Crosshair breathed out your name in a whisper, like saying it any louder would break him. Though it broke you as tears started brinking your eyes, and you let out a choked sob.

To kiss in cars and downtown bars, was all we needed.

“Crosshair-” You choked out, glancing back at your patients before you tentatively took a step towards the man. You saw the tears in his eyes, the way he looked at you with so much regret and guilt…

You drew stars around my scars, but now im bleedin’

“What are you doing here?” You asked him softly, leading him into another room. He was more than happy to follow you. “I- i’m here on a mission… s’ told there were rebel insurgents on this planet… coordinates sent me here.” He answered you honestly, and almost cried more when he saw your frown.

‘Cause i knew you, steppin’ on the last train, marked me like a bloodstain I,

“There are no rebel insurgents here, just innocent civilians, trying to escape an Empire that shuns them and abuses them.” You told him, crossing your arms over your chest… over his old cardigan. Crosshair looked away from you, ashamed…

I knew you.

“What are you doing Crosshair?” You asked, and he looked back over at you. “What do you mean?” He asked, voice cracking slightly as he spoke. “What are you doing with the Empire Cross? you were never one to follow orders, let alone from people like them” You pointed out, seeing the confliction spread across his face.

Tried to change the ending, Peter losin’ Wendy

“I-.” He didn't have an answer for you… though the realization hit him hard, especially coming from you… He betrayed his brothers… his family for an ideal that would discard him the first chance it got…

I, i knew you

“Why did you leave?” Crosshair then asked, looking over at you as your arms fell to your sides and you tensed slightly. But you wouldn’t lie to him…

Leavin’ like a father, runnin’ like water, I.

“I was scared… I felt something evil approaching, and on top of that i- I was falling in love with you… I knew I couldn't live with the looming fear of whatever was coming, and allow myself to love you so… I ran away.” You whispered, looking down at the ground, your hair falling forward and slightly framing your face.

And when you are young, they assume you know nothing.

Crosshair frowned, and he took a tentative step forward, and when you made no move to turn away, or reject his advances, he took another step forward, removing his glove from his hand as he gently cupped your cheek, tilting your head up so you were looking at him. “You were right… danger did come… the Jedi were convicted of treason… my inhibitor chip- i- i tried to kill a young padawan… and when i got my chip removed i…”

But i knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss,

“You stayed with the empire…”You finished, and Crosshair nodded. A soft sigh left your lips, and you stared into his eyes before surging forward, pulling the man into your arms. Crosshair tensed but only for a moment, practically falling to his knees in front of you as he finally broke, tears streaming down his face as he held you tightly.

I knew you’d haunt all of my what if’s

“I made a mistake, Y/n.” He whispered, feeling your soft fingers trailing the burn scar on the side of his head, though he didn’t even flinch, wanting to soak up as much of your touch as he possibly could. “It’s not too late.” She whispered, pulling back slightly so she could look into his eyes.

The smell of smoke would hang around this long.

“What do you mean?” He asked, staring into your eyes as you smiled a bit. “Leave the Empire Crosshair, i can help you find your brothers again, you can make it up to them, have your family back.” She spoke softly, cupping his face in your hands. “I can love you again… and I won't be running away this time.” She whispered.

‘Cause I knew everything when I was young.

And Crosshair felt hope, for the first time in a long time he was actually hopeful for his future… slowly but surely he nodded his head, and hugged you tightly in his arms.

I knew I'd curse you for the longest time.

The minute you weren’t helping patients, crosshair had his hands all over you, he couldn’t tear himself away, not that he had you so close to him again. He took you up to your bedroom, backing you up until the back of your knees hit the edge of your bed. His lips were on yours, a clash of tongue and teeth.

Chasin’ shadows in the grocery line.

Clothes were shed, and you laid in the nude with Crosshair placing kisses across every inch of your skin, for every day he had missed you, for every mistake he had made. So many silent apologies that were all forgiven as soon as you asked for him. And he could never make you wait.

I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired.

Within moments he had slid himself inside of you with no resistance. He was being so soft, and so sweet with you, both yours and his moans bouncing off the walls in your bedroom.

And you’d be standin’ in my front porch light.

By the night's end he had made you see stars, and then saw his own as he came inside of you, bringing you closer together than you had ever been before.

And I knew you’d come back to me

You and Crosshair showered, did what you needed to clean up and were back within your bed. He refused to let you go, his arms firmly wrapped around your waist with your head on his chest.

And you’d come back.

“I'm sorry.” He whispered softly, resting his chin on the top of your head which was resting on his chest. “I know Crosshair… but I forgive you.” You whispered, smiling against his warm skin. “I've done so many vile things…” he trailed off, and you sighed.

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan…

“and yet here you are, having realized those mistakes… and now you'll atone for it.” You breathed out, pulling your head back so you could look into his eyes. “they will forgive you too, though it may take a little bit.” You added, and he nodded his head.

Under someone's bed…

“We have to find them first.” He muttered, hearing you chuckle. “that will be easy… I have their contact codes, so we can meet them somewhere safe to just talk.” You stated, and he hummed. “Alright… maybe in a couple days… I just want to be here with you…” Crosshair trailed off

You put me on and said I was your favorite.

“Don't worry Cross… I won't leave you again.” You whispered softly, pulling the blankets up and over the both of you, closing your eyes as you rested against him, feeling him squeeze you lightly.

“I know.”

➺

Crosshair tag:

@nyctophobiart

Tbb:

@only-my-unexistent-fiances

All:

@moomoog017

[mafiasliege]

I dare you to let me go

(this is part 4 of my fic! Enjoy reading!)

Part 3 ↓

JAMESON

October is the best time Jamie had been to Scotland. Over the years, he'd visited vantage many times. It was built on a coastal cliff not too far from a lovely cove. The pleasant sunny days right before winter starts were the best. The beaches were perfectly warm and cliff-jumping into the water was a wonderful activity. At least, those are the inputs the Viscount Branford offered, except the cliff-jumping part, that was all Jameson. Branford had actually advised against it, which Jameson did not heed to, of course.

His relationship with his father may be tragically non-existent now, but his uncle made up for some of it. He'd never admit it, but he would have loved having him in his life growing up.

He'd landed in Scotland two days ago. And on the third, he'd started feeling lonely on his own and decided to dial up a redheaded Viscount who happened to be in Scotland too.

"You outdid yourself today" Jameson said, draining the last of the scotch and gesturing two fingers at the bartender.

"I did. And it looks like you can outdrink me. Tell me, was that your way of indirectly congratulating me for absolutely trouncing you at motocross?"

"In my defence, I may have underestimated you."

"And why is that?" Jameson's uncle raised a brow that reminded him too much of Grayson.

They must be worried, he thought, and then,

Stop it.

"Because you're an old man" he shrugged, to which they both ended up laughing. The drinks might be to blame, too.

7 seconds of silence died when Simon asked, "Why are you here, nephew? Surely it's not only to spend time with "an old man," as you put it."

To that, Jameson said nothing. Until a word stole his attention.

"You show up completely unannounced, and without your beloved heiress in tow, which makes me think there was a squabble, perhaps?"

"It's none of your business" he retorted with controlled fury.

"And yet I am here."

Maybe it was, in fact, the drinks, but Jameson told him everything. His uncle listened patiently. He didn't offer Jameson any advice, and at the moment, that was exactly what he needed.

After Jameson was done talking now than he probably ever did in his life, simon spoke, "are you staying at Vantage tonight as well?"

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

Jameson made it back to Vantage sometime around sunset. He always noticed, it looked so beautiful from the castle towers, or the cove. He'd considered proposing to Avery there, but then things had turned out the way they were now. He had left in such a hurry, he wasn't even sure he'd taken the ring with him, or at least hidden it away.

He couldn't hide anything from Avery, if he tried. That wasn't the problem now, though.

Now she just didn't care enough to look.

He parked the convertible in the garage built in the massive yard in front of the castle, alongside several other vintage cars that were too beautiful to be real. He discovered his affinity for vintage cars at an auction, where one of the items open for bidding was the 1962 Corvette Stingray he drove just minutes ago. The garage was huge, and a newer addition. It became a necessity because of the random thunderstorms he'd witnessed there. It was by the seaside, after all. The weather changed by the hour.

"Jameson?"

He could recognise that voice anywhere.

No. That can't be right.

He turned around to see a blur of brown hair and a worried face, and before he knew it, he was enveloped in a hug.

"You're okay" she said, much like she was trying to reassure herself. It felt nice to be hugged by her, but it was overtaken by the feeling that it took him flying off to another country for her to hug him spontaneously. So he pulled away.

He could get a good look at her now. She looked like hell. Disheveled hair, like she'd been running her fingers through it. Movements of her body that screamed exhausted. Puffy eyes from lack of sleep.

Or crying.

Jameson had seen and lived every kind of hell there is, but Avery crying made his heart break a little more every time, even when he thought it was already broken. By her, no less.

Don't fall for it. Resist it.

"Why are you here?"

"You suddenly disappear out of nowhere, you inform no one, fly off to god-knows-where on your plane you told no one you had. I was worried as hell" she fell a little short on breath, which made that last part sound even more distressed than it was. Her voice was rough too, like she had a cold. Or as if she'd been shouting.

His breath stuck at a mental image of a panicked Avery wandering around looking for him. It was so contrary to the distant, disinterested woman he'd sadly gotten used to.

If only she cared so much before.

"When did you come home?" He retorted, pushing away his thoughts, and a crumbling desire to comfort her.

"Jameson-"

"When?" He repeated.

Avery swallowed, "Eleven." He scoffed. Of course she showed up 4 hours after she was supposed to. Again. "I'm sorry, okay? I really am. I got held up by the-"

"See, that's the thing. There's always somewhere that need visiting or something that needs fixing or someone that needs saving. And you've put it above me, above us, every single time."

She seemed taken aback, and a little pale.

"Everything at both the foundations depends on me, Jameson, everything."

"So did I. But not anymore."

Avery looked even more pale now. And scared, more scared than she looked the many times people had tried to kill her. He felt a slight pang of guilt, looking at her scared expression.

You have nothing to feel guilty about.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. He pushed back the urge to wipe it away. He hated being the reason of her tears, even though she'd been the reason for so many of his. He sucked in a long breath.

"It means we can't be together anymore."

[enkihara]

Enki scarring hc post….

As previously established, Enki has an affinity to blood magic and, of my headcanon, has adapted his healing into being effective and fast, but not particularly to salvage his appearance. Most expected and notable is the heavy scarring on his wrists. This is the easiest place to access blood, it remains easy to cut, simple to manipulate and is visible to the caster. An arm can be moved and adjusted if needed, unlike other areas with similar access to main arteries. Most of the scarring is horizontal, varying from practically non-existent to still raised and red. They are more prominent on his left arm, because in my heart he is right handed. It is not impossible or discouraged to use his right arm, it is simply reserved to be more useful in different situations such as urgency due to closeness of the casting hand. Besides, it makes more sense to leave your non-dominant hand as the vulnerable one.

He also has a few vertical scars up his left forearm. These are older from his days of experimentation where he quickly realised that method was too destructive and potentially life threatening in comparison to straight across. After all, he is looking to harness blood and not actually kill himself.

His throat is in a similar state to that scarring up his forearms, in the sense that they are fairly old due to the inefficiency in comparison to his wrists as arterial access points. These remain more fresh than the vertical arm scarring though, as he will resort to his throat in a state of urgency or if given no alternate choice. He finds this method substantially more risky, he cannot see how badly he is bleeding at any given point due to its location. It is also greatly more uncomfortable.

He may have faintly damaged hands, knees, elbows and legs from his attempts to scale the steep and sharp walls of the well

He similarly may have various but subtle scars across his body simply due to his method of time-effective healing.

The long gloves and high neck of his robes are not present within other seen dark priests in game. This can be chalked up to his separation from priesthood due to his pilgrimage or personal change. It may be stated that he is simply of a separate division due to the widespread priesthood and that those in game wear a different uniform but i'm silly and choose to believe it is an active choice.

He is nonchalant about his scarring, not actively disclosing that they are there to others out of genuine lack of acknowledgement on his part. The scarring feels natural to him, it is nothing surprising or unexpected. After all, who else's blood could he possibly access?

Across his western travels it is more than likely that he learned his skills from other people, and with blood magic being common enough, it is agreeable that a large portion of priests and similar magic welders have such scarring. I choose to believe that Enki’s is more severe than average for a range of reasons stated prior.

I believe his specialisation came at a later time in his life, where his body is older and less capable of healing well, though his state of fragility does stem partly from his overuse of blood magic (compared to the average person)

I also want to hc that self-inflicted blood magic is discouraged when used by the average magic-wielding person, with dubious necromancy being a closely associated art, though this is not particularly backed by canon as all blood magic cast in game is taken from yourself.

I also like to hc that the sacrificial Alll-Mer ritual was a multiple day long event in which he was carved into as a sign of dedication to Alll-Mer. With this in mind I give him cross shaped scarring across the backs of his hands and his chest.

[lclrcs]

Under Grease-Stained Bandages Pt. 1

summary: charles is a mechanic who has made a name for himself and max is a racer who has been admiring his work for a while. the blonde wants charles on his team, but charles prefers to fly solo.

Charles had always had an affinity for cars. His blood flowed red, but in the same red that paints a Ferrari. That same blood dribbled down; his fingertips torn bloody after messing around with the engine of the client who sat nearby in the waiting room. Sweat prickled at his brow. The room was stiflingly hot. The sun poured heat through the open garage door. During the summertime, regulating how hot it was in the shop was almost impossible. The smell of hot rubber tires smothered him, an combination of sweat and oil coating him like another layer of skin. He raised his arm, wiping away the bead of sweat to realize how destroyed his fingers had become. Almost instantly after his realization, he felt a surge of pain in his fingers.

Wiping his hands on the rag he had half-tucked into his pocket, he stepped back from the car. He bent down, tugging at the toolbox drawers until a package of band aids came into sight. He took a few from the box and wrapped his fingers. He sighed, shaking his head as he readied his customer service persona to talk to the individual in the waiting room. The cold metal door handle felt heavenly against his hot skin. Pushing open the door, Charles leaned against the counter in the waiting room. He basked in the cold, air-conditioned room, staring intently at the blonde man who was completely enraptured in whatever was on his phone. If you had asked Charles to describe the man sitting in the waiting room, he’d say he was just like any other rich white boy who grew up in a safe cul-de-sac away from the dangers of the world.

“Your car is set,” Charles broke the silence, his voice still soft as if he was scared to be too loud. “I didn’t know my mechanic was French.” The blonde teased, sliding his phone into his pocket as he stood up. Charles rolled his eyes. He didn’t mind some light teasing about his accent but calling him French always ruined it. Charles spun the man’s keys around his finger before quickly tossing them towards the blonde. “Take better care of your car blondie.” He murmured, sliding behind the counter to close the guy out. “Yeah, yeah...” the blonde reached for his pocket, retrieving a wallet and pulling out a card. Charles took the card, and with a newfound curiosity, he flipped the card over to learn the man’s name. Something about the man having his last name abbreviated to fit on his license plate was amusing to Charles. “What?” The blonde man, Max, questioned. The brunette shook his head, fighting a giggle that was slowly rising up his throat, and handed back the card. “Nothing, nothing at all mate.”

Max shoved his card into his pocket, exiting the shop swiftly. As soon as the bell lightly jingled, Charles let out a small giggle as he ran his hand through his hair. He looked down at the register screen again, frowning when he realized the time. Dragging his feet, he walked back to the shop and closed the garage doors. He stooped down, locking the doors to notice a small gold pin had been left on the floor. He scooped it up, pocketing it for later. Usually, he would never close his shop so early, but he had appointments that he’d been pushing off for months that could no longer avoid. As he walked back into the waiting room area, his eyes immediately went to the mysterious pile of cash that had appeared on the counter. He furrowed his brow, walking over to the counter with unsure strides. There was $1,000 discarded on the counter, neatly bundled, and a cream card. The card had a faint bull design in the background, and in dark red writing, a small smile was drawn. Charles slipped the card into his pocket and tucked the money into his savings jar that he’d left under the register.

The next day, Charles followed the same routine he did every Thursday morning. He woke up at 5, went for a run at 5:15, showered at 7, ate at 7:30, got dressed at 7:45, and was at work by 8:30. Usually, work would be slow until 9. But when Charles turned into the parking lot of his work, there was already a car waiting. The engine idled, a rhythmic beat gently vibrating the ground around it. The brunette took a deep breath, parked his car, and walked into his shop. Ignoring the lobby, he made a B-line to the shop. He unlocked the three garage doors, pushing them up to let the cool morning air fill the shop.

“So, do you ignore all of your clients?” Charles jumped, spinning around to see the same blonde from yesterday leaning against the large frame of the garage doors. The man had a waggish look on his face, a mischievous glimmer in his eye as he pushed himself off the thin frame to walk towards the brunette. “Or am I special?”

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 13

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 4.5k

A/N: Long time coming! I've been so busy getting ready for uni, I recently transferred colleges so my life is a MESS rn. I hope you guys like this one, new chapter hopefully next week. Enjoy my lovies

You were going to be an aunt. That was very true, very insane, but very true. Your best friend, sister in law (to be), and childhood bully had a tiny little thing in her belly. A little friend in there, Tía Andrea.

You weren't having kids for a long time, you think, so this little blessing was going to be spoiled to a T.

 Juan, you named the baby, if he was a boy, Julia, if she was a girl. An affinity for J names you've noticed, god help you.

After sulking at the thought of Javier dropping you the second he sees Lorraine, you do see your brother and congratulate him. You cry, because he's going to be a dad, you want to tell him to be the dad you two never got to have, but that was far too heavy for a guy like Frankie. You leave him be, because you were quite the cry baby and that he hated about you.  

You groan in your bed, it had been 2 whole nights since Javi left you without a word. His face so full of nothing when he looked back at you for a chin raising nod as a goodbye.

You had the privilege of working at the summer school program from 9-2, the rest of your nights were alone. Spreading jam on toast, sitting criss-crossed dipping your finger in the purple goop and finger feeding your teething sister, who almost always gripped your finger and gnaw. It sort of hurt but tickled, the feeling of no teeth, hungry teething angry baby. Those were your moments of laughter. 

You ranted to poor Marisol often, “Do you think Lorraine and Javi will just rekindle that flame? I'm so stressed Sol,” she had a permanent grin on her face so you felt like she never took your problems seriously. She was 11 months old, still you felt judged. 

“I didn't want it to end”

Pause, a fucking pause. 

“I didn't want it to end that way either. “

Your chest expanded and tightened at the thought. And you did what you have always done best.

Overthink it.

What if it was Houston that tore them, too grown too soon. What if them both standing in a wedding in their hometown, a town where they fell in love in, what if that becomes just too much for them and they realize that they can try the damn thing again. You narrow your eyes at your sister as she slobbers on her fist. Lorraine has always been prettier than you. You couldn't see why Javi wouldn't just crumble at her feet when she comes home.

And she's a Christian, like a good one.

You recall in your sophomore year being teased by a junior named Terrance. He had heard about the rumor (the half true rumor), that Javier hooked up with his best friends sister atop a car. Close, you thought.

Hook up though? Depended on your definition, and it was against the car, not on top. Anyway, he crowded you at your lunch table while your friends stood to get their meals. He claimed you made it up for attention, why would anyone cheat on Lorraine with you? You held it together, brows pulling tight and leaving without a word. Finding the bathroom and breaking down, an experience unique to teenage girls. 

Biting back sobs in a bathroom stall. 

You stare at your baby sister longer, “Don't ever let a boy talk you down, okay mama?” She babbles and you take an aggressive bite of your toast. Face screwing up realizing you never really liked this snack. And don't let a boy shut you out after he's been intimate with you. You shake your head no, I’ll tell you that one when you're older. 

Like a light bulb hovering over your head, you grab your sister and walk out your room. Storming into the living room where your mother and her husband cuddled while watching some movie. The baby babbled at the sight of her daddy, “Going to bed.” You lie and plop your sister in their laps and hurry up the stairs before your mother could question you. 

You lock your bedroom door and shed your clothes with thoughts of Javier and his stupid sexy mustache and smile. How pleased he seemed to be getting you off, bastard. You stare at the mirror while you're bare, the hickeys on your soft skin mellowing in the slightest. And despite wanting to go over to Javier's just to talk, you slip on pretty panties. Just in case. 

You dig for something less appealing to stick on your body. If you don't tempt he wont have to see what's waiting for him under it all.

Jackpot.

Frankies track pants from high school, Laredo’s awful navy and black colors. Haven't they heard, navy and black is fashion suicide. You slip the loud material on, and then a gray tank top. You don't even bother with sneakers, slippers will do. 

You don't even call, you exit through your window and hop off the small shed Mr. Warden recently built for his storage. Passing your own car and walking to Javier's house at 11 pm. 

You're huffing 2 minutes in, despite Texas being famously flat, you still had the beastly hill to get to the two paths that led to Javier's home. The short cut that involved walking 3 minutes in the woods and ending at his house in less than ten, or the main road with long haul truckers and an additional 15 minutes to the walk. 

“God, please don't let me get mauled by a wolf.” You mutter to yourself before making a left into the barely lit trail, one warm light at the beginning and one off in the distance at the end. 

Well you don't die. You do get bit by some sort of bug on your elbow and startled by a squirrel. You just repeat to yourself that this is a good idea, the two of you need to communicate.

You end up at the Peña ranch, completely dark. You start to realize how silly it was for you to show up unannounced in the dead of night but the light from Javier's room has your stomach doing a strange flip. His window closed but the view of him sat at his desk was clear. 

Javier heard your call and didn't even startle. He was confused for a moment, looking at his door to his room but ultimately he threw that idea away, you strolling in his house near midnight, no way.

Hearing a crunching of leaves and a shriek, Javier is at his feet and opening his window, his eyes meeting your flushed cheeks and a leaf in your hair. 

Javier desperately tries to bite back a laugh at the sight, shirt strap off your shoulders, in track pants and slippers. Eyes wide in embarrassment, he’s just glad you aren’t hurt from whatever caused a piece of greenery to be stuck in your hair, a hand swiping to whack the thing away. Your hair disheveled from the midnight breeze, you were so damn beautiful. Always. 

“Will you stop staring and let me in before your dad comes out here with a shotgun?” 

Javier blinks, realizing he had just been ogling you for a bit too long, “Right, sorry.” 

He grips your hands and lifts you in. You huff with the sketchy landing, effectively kicking your slippers off and dusting off those loud pants, your cheeks are still red, maybe it’s from the fall or the weather or something else. You sit on his bed, wiping your brow free of sweat. “This thing makes me sound like a fucking wind tunnel.” You tug at the oversized pants. 

A strange primal heat spread across Javier’s chest seeing you wear pants that obviously weren’t yours but instead some boys.

The heat died when he realized they’re just your brothers. He remembers Frankie wearing them back in high school. 

“Wait-how did you get here?” A worry flashing him, you bring your knees to your chest on his bed. He stood against his desk, his arms crossed, leaned forward a bit to be face level with your own. He was just a huge broad man, you had to pounce on him.

About that, you think. 

“Walked, what were you reading?” You deflect, Javier shakes his head knowing what you're trying to do, he’s known you for a decade. He knows your often poor decision making skills and inability to lie, so he presses again, ignoring your question.

“I would have picked you up if you called.”

He would have, in a heartbeat. He’d drop anything and you knew that. Through all your insecurity and self depreciation you always understood that. That pissed you off, no wonder you had fallen so hard. He was always there, fixing up whatever mess you made.

He never did really mind, but you going M.I.A on him and then putting yourself in harm's way just to see him. That pissed him off pretty bad. Then again he could also never really be angry with you, not when you're finally here with him after so many years of no contact wondering if you were okay, happy, fed, healthy or whatever he killed himself over worrying about you. 

You, and your fucking tiny tank top and big eyes like you've never done wrong in your life. To him you hadn't and if you did, those eyes tell him otherwise. You just shrug with a pretty pout and a pulled brow. That stupid thought of pressing his thumbs to your forehead smoothing out any worry you’ve ever had. “I wanted to go on a walk and ended up here.” Lie.

“It just isn’t safe.” Javi’s crossed arms flex when you narrow your eyes in annoyance.

“Believe it or not Agente, I used to take walks by myself back when you lived with Lorraine 5 months ago.” You bite and ah, thats why you’re here.

He saw the look on your face change when he spewed that awkward phrasing to Genie’s news.

Truthfully Javier didn’t mean for it to come out like that. He gripped the wheel to his truck when he dropped Genie off at her house. His pounding head leaning against the wheel, feeling so dumb. Ashamed. 

He didn’t call you because he didn’t know how.  Didn’t know if your mom would pick up or if you were actually upset with him. Maybe you felt different after he ate you out, after he bent you over and came on your back. Maybe he was a fucking idiot and moving too fast. 

But the name drop gave him confirmation. Javier dropped his eyes to the floor and let out a sigh. “Yeah, about Monday…” His eyes stay trained to the ground, bracing himself for your attitude that he strangely adored. For you to rip him a new one for making you feel bad, for making you feel unsure in whatever this was. Waiting for a justified fuck off, or a firm talk like you gave him when he saw you again for the first time last week. 

But instead he hears you sniffle. 

Well fuck, you were crying and Javier looked like you had just stabbed him. Striding to you to get on his knees and hold your knees as you sat perched up on his bed crying over something so stupid. But the whole situation gave you deja vu.

A flash of trying to look pretty for him after the two of you kissed and fading at the hollow pit in your belly when you saw him arm in arm with Lorraine just two days after. 

Communicate, it’s what you told yourself to do on your way to his house. You lost too many years by being too damn shy to tell him how you felt. 

But now that the moment was here you couldn’t help but sob. But to feel like the insecure girl trying to compete with someone in a different ball park. But this time around Javi is repeating your name and attempting to soothe you, his hands moving from your knees to your wrists. Andrea, he presses so tenderly and so concerned. 

Andrea, querida, what’s wrong, hey. 

And all other soft calls to you. “I-I’m sorry- I don’t know why i’m crying, sometimes when I’m around you—i still feel like i’m sixteen and—" He drops his head, his hands loosening at the thought of all the mistakes he made with you. Your own hands flex and move from the hold completely as he’s at your mercy, head bowed. “I understand if Lorraine coming home changes things—you two were together for a long time and I know she’s probably less complicated or-or emotional—and not someone you need to hide— I know she’s easier to have and keep. I won’t be upset, I know in comparison i’m i don’t know, homely? And never really made for a good-“

“Andrea.” His voice strained but demanding you to stop your tearful rambling. It wasn’t like you to act that way, not anymore. You’ve grown too much to let all your insecurities wash you out, but it seems that maybe you never got over 1980, maybe you couldn’t just have casual sex with Javier Peña. 

“What?” Your voice breaks, god. And there’s Javier with that same look of disappointment, in you, in himself or in your doomed situation, you weren’t sure but he looks absolutely torn in half. 

His wet lips part like he was prepared to say something but they shut as his eyes search yours.

There’s silence again and his eyes drop and you begin to fear that maybe he agreed with all that you said. Maybe he knew that when his ex came home he’d be ready to fix that, maybe he knew Lorraine was a simpler, prettier girl. So your heart breaks further every second that passes. Every second he doesn’t look at you. 

 “Be with me.” 

Your mouth parts at the softness in his voice, and what was left of your heart swelling in your chest. Tears fell harder in confusion and praying this wasn’t just another spec of false hope, hoping it wasn’t another kiss by his car or another if you tell me to stay. 

You whisper, “What?”

His own eyes, glossy. “I don’t want anyone else, I don’t want you with anyone else. Nothing will change that. I don’t care if this is difficult, I don’t care if you think you’re hard to be with. I’m just asking you to be with me Andrea.”

You frown and shut your eyes tightly. You want him to repeat it again, over and over until you two wither away together.

Maybe he also knew that you two could never just be casual. 

Javier and Andrea casually hooking up, who were you kidding?

“Okay-"

He doesn’t let you finish whatever came next, you don’t even know what else you were going to say because his lips were crushing your own. His hand holding the back of your head as he presses you close. Tying your souls in his own way, kissing and holding you. 

Finally. Oh my god…

You arch your back into him, he groans against you when he realizes his uncomfortable position. His body hunched over in order to make out with you while you sat on the edge of his bed. 

“Fuck it.” He mumbles before grabbing your ass and lifting you up. Your legs wrap against him, holding to him like a koala. His hands generously squeezing at your behind in the track pants. Your nails raking in his pretty brown hair, his mustache scraping your lips raw and you love it. 

Laying you on his bed and kissing you there would be easy, but Javier obviously could care less about easy, I mean he just asked his best friends sister to be his for good. So he held you up, licking into your mouth with your legs wrapped around his stomach. Moaning when your core rubbed against his stomach. 

“Am I too heavy?”

Javi scoffed against your lips, “shut the fuck up.”

He takes a few steps back and bumps into his desk. The image of you bent over it, taking him makes his pants tighten. He turns to sit you on it, shoving the mail from work on the floor, the thing you had been so interested in just 10 minutes ago. 

He steps back slightly, your hands still attached to him with your swollen lips and desperation for more. You looking so pretty perched up on his desk. He had to have you every day, what was he going to do when he leaves, what was he going to do?

No time for that, he grabs your face again and continues kissing you, making up for all those years you spent wanting him. All the years he spent hiding how bad he wanted you. 

Without warning Javier hooks his left hand in the front of your thin top and pulls it down. Your breasts spilling out, and he looks like he’s ready to devour you. His mouth immediately attaching to your left breast eliciting a high pitched moan from you. His wet lips suctioning on such a sensitive and untouched part of your body. His right hand moving to your unattended one. Kneading and gripping while his tongue flicked and swirled. 

Your hair falls in your face as your heavy head falls at the pleasure. Still so wet, you move your hips to hopefully get some release, “Javi, please-“

His lips part from your breast, his mouth wet and open as he looks up to you, waiting for your request. But you’re so turned on by the circumstance, by him asking you to be his, by the way his hair is falling above his brow and by your breasts spilling out of your tank top “What do you need baby?”

“I want to come.” 

His lips quirk at your bluntness. He wastes no time and begins pulling off your pants—or your brother pants. Your chest heaves when he stands straight to remove you from the desk and you get a glimpse of his hardness. Heavy in the oh so causal sleep pants that made your head spin

“I want you to come.” You add, he pauses his brows raising a bit. “We don’t have to take off our clothes, i’m not ready yet but we can-“ You cut yourself off feeling awfully shy and juvenile for the suggestion but his eyes darken at your bashfulness. You were ready to fuck him on Monday when you were clouded by horniness and the uncertainty of if it was your last time but now he wants to you to be his. You never need to rush. 

He tilts his head slightly and grabs the bottom of your tank, freeing you from it. Leaving you bare breast and in your small little underwear, placed on his desk. His pretty girl, his, finally his. 

“What baby? You wanna dry hump me? Like a couple of fucking teenagers?”

Your cheeks heat quickly, embarrassed about your stupid horny ask, feeling frozen in shame until Javi smiles again. Picking you up for what feels like a millionth time and sitting you in his lap at his desk chair. Straddling him, you feel the weight of him, so close to him.

You love kissing him, you never want to stop and you don’t, your lips working on his. Dragging to his cheek leaving wet kisses from jaw to neck. The perfect position to hear his own pretty breaths. 

In between pants he gets a hold on your waist lifting you slightly. He gives himself space to move his erection, move it to help you feel him better. Lowering you, your lips suck and nip at his neck leaving a careless mark. A whine leaves your parted lips at the contact and his lips quirk in a sweet smile. 

But the smile fades into an eyebrow screwing groan when you move on him. He repeats your name in worship. His forehead dropping to your shoulder while you use his body. So little clothing for you and so much for him. Yet he’s mumbling in your ear like he’s already on the verge of finishing.

Feeling the underside of him rub against the thin cotton throws you for a loop and you can’t seem to care how feral you have to look getting yourself off on Javi like this. His head turns to place his lips on the space below your ear.

“Don’t leave, let me keep you here forever.” He urges and your core is pulsing just from his words. “When you let me fuck you—fuck—i’ll make sure you’ll never need anyone else querida.” 

“Oh god-“ You moan, your head dropping feeling closer, his own hips bucking up to meet you. The spaced out thrusts causing you to release a high pitched squeak. 

Javier’s hand moving to the back of your head, forcing it to his neck to keep you muffled. 

“Hijo?”

Your eyes widen and you squeeze Javi tighter. You stay frozen at the sound of Don Chucho calling outside of Javier’s room. 

Javi doesn't let up, you hold a muffled whine in his neck as he continues to buck his hips into you. “Si papi-uh dad yeah?”

“Todo bien?”

Javier, still moving below you, slips his hand between you, his fingers dragging along your clothed cunt, helping speed up your process. You're so close but if you come now, there's no doubt his father will hear. 

“I’m good, uh-working on some DEA stuff.” 

You would laugh if the pad of his thumb wasn't circling your most sensitive part of your body. 

“Alright hijo, try to sleep we have to be at Mrs. Glorias home tomorrow at 12. You're coming right?”

“Uh-yeah-I’m coming” His eyes grow large and he finally stills from under you, “I mean–yes I am coming…tomorrow.”

You stifle a laugh in his shoulder and he pinches your ass.

“Um, alright, goodnight.” His dad calls, the sound of footsteps and a door slamming ends that.

And you laugh into him forreal, but his fingers returning to your panties shut you up. “You're coming Javi?” you tease.

“Shut up-” He bucks harder and you’re close, your eyes going blank. 

You move your lips to his neck again, “Papi huh?”

And then he breaks, “Fuck-Andrea”. Coming in his pants in deep grunts and grips at your ass. Coming down from his own high he gets frustrated, his fingers dipping into your panties without warning. His deft fingers collect all the moisture he created and drag to your clit.

You come in a white flash, falling off the edge. You repeat his name in whiny cries. His hands hurrying to hold you up against his while you collapse into him. Heart racing, the orgasm comes in rippling. Javier holds you, sweat and all. Kissing the top of your head, whispering sweet words of You’re so good, feel so good baby. He keeps you like this for what feels like an eternity, feeling boneless and light when he stands.

He lays you on his bed like a doll. You lay still coming down, chest rising and falling. Still pulsing at the thought of how dirty and depraved the whole thing was. So wrapped in the high and replaying all the shit you’ve always wanted to hear, you flinch when he climbs in bed with a new pair of pants. 

“You’re bad.” He groans when he settles into the bed with a creak. 

You screw your brows together and turn to him, “Yea says the guy still trying to jump my bones while his dad was outside the room you psycho!” You whisper yell and he laughs that same deep sweet laugh you love. 

Javi brings you in closer to him, kissing you a quick chaste one. Blushing at the simpleness of it all. Cuddling in bed with Javier Peña and kissing him for fun, what is my life? “Mmm, take off your panties.”

You scoff.

“Not like that–I’m tapped out, unless you want to.”

“As much as I would love to have you between my legs, I am also tired.” You reach down and slip the soaked thing off, leaning over placing them on his nightstand. He pulls up the comforter over you. 

Javier slips his arm over your stomach, thumbing your hip in light circles. “You can put them in my drawer, they're mine now.” 

“You're a pervert.” You laugh, pinching his wrist.

“Mmm, when it comes to you? Yeah a bit.”

Red as a cherry you bury your face in his chest, hiding yourself. 

Silence passes for a few minutes, just the two of you together. The reality sets in, the hiding begins. But so does being with him, so does working this out so does communicating. “I should probably leave, don't want your dad to catch me.” You whisper and he grumbles an annoyed sound from his chest.

“Dont care, stay here. I’ll sneak you out early in the morning.” He grips you tighter and you smile feeling satisfied. “Tell me about Miami.”

You frown, “What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Tell me about your roommates, classes. I never got to go to college, tell me.”

Kissing his chest again, “You say it like you’re some dropout, you’re like a secret fucking agent.” He groans again, hatong when you talk him up, he gets shy like you. You spare him. “My roommate is cool, party girl. Her name is Delilah, from Arkansas. She was like a real southern-belle, big curly hair and blue eyes. She’s been begging for me to visit since I graduated early. We got along really well but she was annoyed with me often. I never partied.”

Javier’s chest rises, “Why? You used to party a lot in high school, remember when I had to get you from Juniors house at like 2-”

“Oh god don’t remind me I was a mess, case and point. Didn’t have a hot strong brother's best friend to pick up said pieces.”

“Oh shut the fuck up.”

The two of you laugh into each other, it's simple and perfect. 

“Besides that, it was an unfulfilling experience but I teach in the fall so it worked out I guess.”

“Ms. Diaz, sexiest teacher to ever step foot in Laredo for sure. If you were my teacher, whew.”

“You need to relax.” You mumble, feeling sleepier in his arms. “What were you reading by the way?”

Javier stirs and lets out another annoyed groan, gripping you tighter. “Some stupid fucking retreat for my office. In New Orleans in June, it's for all the people who are going to Columbia in fall. Stupid shit but its all expenses paid at the Roosevelt.”

Your brows raise, “Fancy, you gonna be flirting up the staff. Chest hair out with Getting your game back on before Columbia.” He scoffs and brings his hand down hard on your behind, eliciting a screech from you. “You’re gonna leave a mark pendejo.”

“Well you have a smart mouth, would rather see you half naked by the pool. I’ll sock anyone who looks at you though,” You shove him, the out of reach thought, fantasy, of maybe going away with him flashes in your eyes. Before you could dwell, he reached down to kiss you again. He mumbles against your lips. “You gave me a hickey so we’re even.”

Your eyes flutter shut, dosing off in the warmth of Javi. In the warmth of someone who’s yours. 

Half asleep you mumble, “Why’d you come the second I said the word papi?”

He scoffs tiredly and kisses your head again.

 “Shut up.”

[archoniluthradanar]

The Guard and the Newborn

This is in response to a request for a Demetri fluff piece, by @kpopgirlbtssvt

You are a newborn vampire, around twenty-three in human years, not that it will matter anymore. You're alone in the world because your sire left you on your own shortly after he had turned you. When you awoke, you and he began to explore the world, with all the sights, sounds, and colour around you. Eventually, he left you.

When you were a young mortal, you found out you had an affinity with the cold. You discovered you could turn water into ice merely by dipping your finger into it, or freezing something organic and throwing it into the water. You could also gather ice crystals in the air and form snow anywhere you desired. Once you had been changed, your gift was amplified. You had never felt so powerful.

One day, you found yourself in the countryside, still in Washington state, you thought. Towns of humans were few and far between out here. You tried to be careful when you fed, but at times, it was hard to control your thirst. If only your sire had stayed to teach you things you needed to know. At least right now, you're not hungry, and are simply enjoying the cool air, waving your hands to create snow that fell from the sky around you.

You came upon a field, one surrounded by trees, but the area itself was empty. It gave you the perfect playground. You raise your hands to draw together ice crystals in the air. The snow begins to fall, and you dance around in it, happy. It's interesting to you how you can no longer melt it, your body being cold as well.

Off in the distance, you see a group of people running very fast to a section of the open space. There is no where for you to hide. One man, a blonde, sees you and calls to you. You know he is a vampire as well, but fear makes you want to run. He is at your side in a second.

"Who are you? You shouldn't be here. This place may become a dangerous place soon." The man looked off in the distance, frowning. "It's too late. They're here. You need to come with me."

Whatever it was the blonde man saw, was here. You see a large group of what you know to be are vampires coming through the fog. They are dressed in grey and black cloaks, and just seeing the group intimidates you. You wait, slowly moving backwards, keeping your eyes on both groups. "Oh no.." you say to yourself, knowing you have to leave. These two groups are not friends, and you don't want to to be caught in the middle of this. "I'm not involved in this, and don't want any trouble. So I'm just going to say good bye and go."

You turn around, but hear someone say "Get her!"

You've barely taken three steps before you feel hard arms wrapped around you. Some man has you tightly within his arms, with no intent to let you go. You close your eyes, scared and struggling against him, albeit weakly. "Let me go," you plead. "I won't cause any trouble, I swear." If only your arms were free. You have no idea who these cloaked vampires are, but they are not as nice as the other one was. You struggle, but are held tight. "Please don't hurt me. I just want to go..." Where? You have no home.

The same voice as before says, "Bring her to us, Demetri." So his name is Demetri. You hear him tell you to open your eyes and stop struggling. One eye opens, as if partially blocking out the scene will make everything go away. Your other eye opens tentatively, making the vampire Demetri laugh. You want to cry, but have no tears. As he pulls you along with him back to the line of the dark vampires, you stop fighting him.

Once the two of you are behind the vampires, Demetri loosens his hold to see what you do. You've decided fighting will gain you nothing. At least they are vampires too, and strong ones.

You look up at the man holding you, his crimson eyes forcing you to stare. You've forgotten that your eyes are now red as well. You sigh loudly, stunned by his beauty. This also makes him laugh. You look away shyly, his stare intimidating you. His forefinger touches your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Your eyes meet, both of you seeing only the other and nothing else around you. He strokes your cheek with his knuckles, then they move down to caress your lips. You can tell he wants to kiss you, but doesn't.

"Master Aro, we must bring her back with us to Volterra. I...I feel like I know her. She belongs with me."

"I know, Demetri. Marcus has indicated to me she is your mate. That's why you're drawn to her and she to you, although she may not know why."

Demetri looks back to you, and leaning down, he captures your lips with his. "Will you come home with me?" he asks.

You kiss him back, no longer desiring to fight him. On the contrary, this feels right and perfect to you. In one day, you have found a new home and a mate to spend eternity with. "Yes, I'll go with you."

You stand watching what's happening, while Demetri stands right behind you, his arms at your waist holding on to you. He dips his head, inhaling the scent from your thick dark hair. He then kisses the top of your head, pulling you back against him. If you could blush, your cheeks would be a bright pink.

Whatever has been going on, it seems the two groups are not friends, but have somehow avoided fighting one another. The dark-haired vampire named Aro tells everyone in his group there is no danger and although one of the vampires is not happy, you see the fight is ended before it started.

Aro finally comes over to you, nodding at Demetri and holding out his hand to you. Demetri whispers to you to give your hand to Master Aro. You do so reluctantly. The vampires lets out a faint sigh and says nothing while he just holds your hand. He lets it go, a smile on his face. "You have a gift, my dear."

Demetri smiles, knowing this will ensure your being allowed into the Volturi. His hands grip you a bit harder while he nuzzles your neck.

"We shall enjoy testing your gifts once we are home. Now, child, I know you are a newborn, but who changed you?"

You tell him you aren't sure since you only have his name. You met your sire in the city of Seattle, along with others. This young man took you away from the group once they began talking about fighting another coven. The two of you traveled together, feeding on humans as you moved around the state. But then one day, he left you alone. He told you little about being a vampire. It might have been because he wasn't much older than you were.

Aro nodded, and turned to talk with a tall dark-haired vampire and the angry blonde one.

Demetri whispered in your ear so as not to interrupt Master Aro talking with Masters Marcus and Caius. "You're not alone anymore, cara mia. You will be with me from now on, and I'm sure Master Aro will let me teach you all you need to know. You'll stay with me in my room...our room. I hope you like it. If not, we can fix it up any way you like. I will enjoy getting to know you...very well."

You feel like blushing again. Staying with Demetri in his room has frightening yet interesting connotations. His lips on the back of your neck only makes you feel even more timid. But you want him to be happy with you, as you know he will work to make you happy.

The group of vampires flashes across the valley floor, Demetri holding onto your hand. You smile, your new mate at your side, knowing this coven is now your family.