#i think its the potential it had that draws me towards it

[glaxierr]

klance in 2024??? 🤯🤯🤯💯💯💯

[lalunanymph]

THE MAKING OF A MRS.

🗝️ LESSON 1: BECOMING MRS. QIN

shackled to sylus and stuck in the N109 zone and with no way of leaving until you figure out how to remove the aether core bond between the two of you, you take up his offer (and begrudging help) to try and blend in with his high-stakes, high-rewards life. how? by learning struggling to be his wife

ᥫ᭡ fem!reader, arranged marriage, slow burn, contract marriage, fluff, crack, we stress sylus out so badly....

ᥫ᭡ dawn says: hehe im so EXCITED to share this like u have no idea </3 fluff/crack for arranged marriage is something i've always wanted to explore and this idea is perfect to take a dive in 🥹 i hope u all loved this as much as i had fun writing it <3 ps: no steamy parts... yet 🫣

⇢ ˗ˏˋ main directory | lesson 2

“What do you mean I should chop off my hand?” 

Your seething and refusal to submit to his suggestion draws the first pulse of a migraine in Sylus’ right temple. 

Taking refuge back in his mansion after the Salon Hotel explosion, his face is pale amidst the black upholstery, though his grimace never falters. The air is ripe with tension, and you try for the umpteenth time to free your wrist from the morose reality of being shackled to one dangerous and trigger happy Onychinus leader.

You can tell he isn’t exactly thrilled by this new development as well, his jaw tight and ruby eyes flickering to your face, simmering with irritation.

But, he tempers down his vexation, preferring to think forward.

As a marked man since time immemorial, he’s never had the privilege to sit around and revel in misery; always working one step forward on the chess board while he peels his glinting eyes towards the bigger picture.

And right now, there is only one variable he can foresee until this little mess gets sorted.

Sylus’ lips curl into a smirk, and you can tell he has a potentially life threatening idea brewing in that sick mind of his. As much as you try to figure it out, predicting his behavior is out of your reach. One could never tell where a flame was going to fall and explode into a blaze.

“We will stay here and figure it out,” he promises. “In the meantime, I want to strike a deal.”

Your scowl is adorable, if a little uncalled for in a moment like this. When Sylus told you the both of you were more alike than you would think, he never anticipated actually having to be in your vicinity 24/7. 

“Do not show your claws to me like that, kitten,” he mutters curtly. “It was not I who was hellbent on locating the Aether core.”

Your glare gives way to confusion when he stands, tugging you along for the ride.

“Hey—where are we going?”

You huff and try to keep up with him, your right hand dangling limply in front of you as you struggle to match his longer strides.

Sylus doesn’t reply, his gaze locked in the front, mind a million miles away.

You don’t open your mouth again, not sure what to expect when he leads you right into his office. There, on his desk, is a stack of papers, and you have no choice but to hover beside him as he takes out what looks like a declaration form.

Squinting, you try to make out the words, but from your vantage point that’s blocked by the back of his head leaning absurdly close to the document, you can hardly tell what he’s scribbling.

“As it is, the N109 Zone is already a dangerous place for its civilians and made even worse for a Linkon citizen to be caught here.” He stands, tucking the paper into his coat pocket. The sudden movement inadvertently tugs you forward so your chest brushes against his sternum. Locks of frosty white hair fall into his face, tips brushing the highest points of his cheekbones.

You tear your eyes away, clearing your throat. “And?”

You wait for him to continue. Sylus doesn’t.

Instead, he heaves in a deep breath, and you raise your head, thrown off guard by the sheen of pain in his eyes. They waver upon you with such a lonesome, tragic veneer you think he’s about to announce his departure from this world.

Not—

“In order to keep you and my interests safe, we have to concoct a plausible story for everyone to believe. Having you constantly around me is not only a liability, but people will start to conspire.” He exhales a deep sigh. “Which is why I have drafted a document to bind us together in marriage for the remainder of your... unfortunate stay here in the N109 Zone.”

His words trickle with condescension, though you’re completely hung up on the singular one which makes you pause and double back.

“What?” You’re all but shrieking. “Sylus, are you saying you’re going to make me marry you?”

He winces slightly at the sharpness of your trill. Sighing, he brushes an invisible piece of lint from his shoulder, looking unimpressed.

“What I am saying, little hunter,” his lips curl into a sardonic smirk. “Is that until we figure out how to overcome this minor inconvenience together—” Sylus lifts his left hand, purposely dangling your right hand in his face much to your squawk of dismay that barely fazes him. “We have to prove our marriage is believable. Or else, you and I will suffer the consequences.”

He mutters those words with such finality, it’s hard not to envision guns hidden right in the shadows, their barrels trained right on your susceptible foreheads.

You shiver and don’t speak for a moment. Sylus drops his hand, stepping back until the invisible shackle can’t allow anymore give, gracefully providing you some personal space to work through this grave solution.

“Say I agree—”

“There is no room for objection,” he interjects firmly. “We have no other choice, kitten.”

Your mouth thins, a line of discomposure that he doesn’t miss. It’s not that you don’t agree with his idea, it’s just the execution would possibly squeeze all the sanity out of you.

You don’t know Sylus. You can’t trust yourself to handle such a dangerous man. Perhaps, death would be a kinder alternative than navigating such baffling terrains with a man who for all intents and purposes, has just tried to blow you up a few hours ago. 

He sighs, as if reading your mind. “Such an arrangement is unconventional. But, in order to make this work, we would need a few ground rules here.” 

Sylus starts before you can interrupt him.

“We will have a safeword to signal when either of us—most likely you—is in danger. I vouch for ‘bullet’.”

Despite the horrors of this situation, you manage a snort. “I can’t take that word seriously—knowing you, a gun will always be in the picture.”

His expression twists with something akin to humor. Sylus arranges it back into neutral waters, gazing at you with a look of veiled curiosity. “Alright then, you smart little cookie. What would you suggest?”

You tap on the tip of your nose to think, going back and forth until you settle on something innocuous yet also obvious.

“‘Guts’,” you finally murmur. He raises a brow. 

“So, ‘bullets’ is out of the question, but somehow, ‘guts’ make perfect sense? Are you desperately pinning all your hopes on me to never mutilate a body?”

The mental image of Sylus covered in gore up to his arms while you’re still cuffed helplessly next to him, makes you shiver.

“Then, have you ever considered not mutilating someone while I’m shackled to you?” 

He pauses for a moment longer than necessary. “Fine,” the white-haired devil finally agrees. “You're dreadfully boring, kitten. But, I concede. No mutilating people while we're shackled together. Next.” Sylus clears his throat, and makes to cross his arms, but that just draws you closer to him, your feet stumbling forward.

Frowning, he drops them, tilting his head back with a godawful deep sigh.

“Bed,” he says past gritted teeth. “And bathroom requirements. I would personally prefer for us not to be within an arms’ reach while we’re doing our business.”

The mental image of him hunched over the toilet bowl, face all scrunched up as he’s suffering from morning bowel movements while you’re there, uncomfortably in the background, makes it impossible to stifle a giggle. 

“Oh, so you think that is funny?” He arches his brow again. “What if you had an emergency, hmm? Would you still be this mirthful if you knew that I know what your… excretions… sound like?”

The fact that a foreboding, tall and dangerous man like Sylus Qin has just uttered the word ‘excretions’ in a sentence makes it impossible for you to contain your laughter. You double over, wiping tears from your eyes; he probably thinks you’ve already lost it.

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly repressing the trauma such a mental image branded into him, and forces himself to move on. 

“When we pretend to be husband and wife, our proximity would make sense. We could go into bathrooms together—sleep together. No one will know the—”

“Wait,” your composure returns after being doused with that shocking cold news. “A-are you saying we have to sleep on the same bed?” 

Sylus looks at you like you're a toddler who was asked to stop chewing dirt. “Unless you have a cheap parlour trick to physically regenerate your hand after chopping it off, then, yes,” he answers curtly. “We have to share a bed—isn't it wonderful?"

The bathroom is one thing—such gross indecencies barely phase you after months of being forced to sleep in a cramped dorm room with over 20 other female Hunter trainees. It’s the idea of your bed—your oasis—being tainted by his presence that pushes your nerves into overdrive.

You can hardly trust a knife to him without imagining it stuck somewhere in someone’s ribs, much less your vulnerable state while you were asleep.

The energy chain hums between you two, seeming to pick up on your despair.

Sylus purses his lips. “Look, kitten. I myself am hardly a fan of this arrangement. However, certain measures need to be taken to make things easy and as pain-free as possible for the both of us. We have to accept that we’re no longer individuals, but a team.” 

He steamrolls past your protests, shushing you with his next words. “An unconventional team of four feet, four limbs, two brains. Four eyes. We are not two people—but one. The sooner you accept it, sweetie, the faster we can resolve this problem. Do you understand me?”

There’s nothing else you can add or subtract without taking away the shittiness of this situation—you’re locked in with him, for better or for worse.

“Okay,” you muster enough courage to mutter. “Four feet, four limbs, two brains, four eyes. Got it.”

Sylus gives a nod, moving briskly into business.

“The first thing we shall do is this—” 

He removes the earlier document from his coat pocket, smoothing it out onto the large blackwood desk so you can read it. “These are the terms and conditions of a standard N109 Zone wedding. Unlike the tedious traditions of Linkon, there are no witnesses needed here. No tea ceremony, either. In fact, as proof of how easy it is, we can commence to be wedded right here and now. All you need to do is sign here and here, and we’re done.”

Sylus has already scrawled his signature under the agreement, and right underneath it, an empty dotted line yawns, waiting for your consent.

A pen materializes right by your hand. The dark mist of his Evol is cold when it brushes against your skin, retreating after procuring your one-way ticket to hell.

You pick it up, pulling back on the energy bond so you can use your dominant hand to sign this damning agreement. 

One loop. A scratch.

And it’s done.

It's a mockery of your wildest imagination. 

You're now a married woman, and next to you, looking forlorn and cross, is your brand new husband.

— reblogs and feedback is appreciated <33 i appreciate all ur support <3

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, take elements of my story and claim it as yours. i strictly do not allow translations of my works across other platforms.

[avelera]

Okay so I recently got low-key obsessed with Jayvik and I’ve been liking your posts about them (top tier analysis btw). Anyway I’m curious about your opinions on a couple of things:

If Jayce’s love language is physical touch, what do you think Viktor’s love language is?

What do you think the Anomaly actually is? My headcanon is that it’s caused by all the paradoxes/timelines that Mad Wizard Viktor keeps making, but idk why it would only be under the Hexgates.

Hmm, when taking into account that the love languages thing is basically horoscopes for real people, but they may have informed how the characters were written, I'd say:

1 ) I completely agree that Jayce's love language is physical touch. That much is obvious.

Viktor's love language is Quality Time - that would explain why he starts getting irritated and hurt with Jayce near the end of S1 and why he's so moved and touched by them solving equations and spending time together pre-time skip. Actually, so much of Viktor's attitude towards Jayce is explained by him seeing Quality Time as a love language it's actually making me a bit dizzy, I need to think about this a lot more because I think this might have cracked something for me...

2 ) Hoooo boy, I actually have an answer for what the Anomaly is in my mind, but it's a lot less character driven and a more metaphysics driven because I was feral about Arcane S1 before I had anyone else to talk to about it online and I've spent a lot of time thinking about Hextech and Shimmer. OK, here goes:

Hextech is an axiomatic (lawful) channeling of forces of nature, namely magic. However, magic to stay pure and reliable requires an anarchic (chaotic) AND the axiomatic (lawful) balancing act for each use of its power if it's to stay "pure" and reliable. Otherwise, you invite chaos in. Namely, the Anomaly.

In addition, every use of magic/the Arcane puts off a certain amount of "car exhaust" for every use, this allows it from a Doylist perspective to be a climate change metaphor but it does go deeper than that and follows its own magical rules. If you look closely, overuse of Hextech always puts off smoke. Early uses don't do so as much, though. In my opinion, each puff of that "smoke" adds to a potential Anomaly.

Now if you're good at magic, and skilled with it, say if you're good mage, as seen with The Mage / Viktor in 1.02, you make a point of scooping up up all the exhaust from any use of rune magic and pouring it back into the spell.

Look at how the mage scoops up all the exhaust coming out of the spell here and weaves it back into the spell!

Hextech doesn't bother to do that! Because Jayce doesn't fundamentally understand that advanced level of magic! He just keeps calling on its energy without dealing with the output of smoke/chaos/Anomaly fumes so it's just hanging in the air.

By the way, all the smoke in Arcane is hand animated so to my eyes, all smoke actually matters. I'm actually a little bummed that S2 didn't go deeper into explaining the smoke that comes off of some uses of the Arcane but not others but I'm assuming they'll delve more into in future shows because The Arcane Is Awake Now, thanks to my brilliant science boy dipshits.

The cleanest, clearest use of Hextech we ever see is the first time the science boys use it to float:

I draw a few conclusions from this:

1 ) The first hit is always free - first time you use magic, magic is happy to help you out! It will do the thing you ask! No consequences!

2 ) Magic gets more and more angry the more times you use it. Actually, by the time we get to Vi using the Atlas Gauntlets repeatedly in S2, there's a little puff of smoke every. time. she uses. them.

3 ) Magic requires some balance. Breaking a window before it let the boys float? Cool, that's balance. But if you just have it doing the same constructive motion over and over, like sending out airships, but you don't let it break some things too? It gets annoyed.

4 ) If it doesn't get applied in a balanced way, magic/the Arcane gets mad. Ekko compared the Arcane's frustration to a sigh. That smoke? Is the sigh. Again, first time you use Hextech, magic which is at least semi-sentient, is MORE than happy to help! The more you keep demanding repeated axiomatic actions, the more it sighs in anger.

Then we get to the crux of your question: what is the Anomaly?

The Anomaly built up at the base of a tower stuffed full with polished, axiomatic, reinforced Hexgems that do one constructive task over and over and over again all day, every day: safely send ships from one place to another.

The Anomaly builds up from the frustration of not allowing magic to be free. Jayce is an axiomatic thinker, he sees magic as a tool, not as a force of nature, so he's been channeling it super precisely and not scooping up all that extra exhaust and channeling it back into the magic and that means it builds up this... pearl of an Anomaly which is all this wild magic with tons of chaotic potential that can do basically anything, including time and dimensional travel but it's gonna be super weird about it.

Soooo... thanks for giving me the chance to yell about Hextech, hope that was sort of what you had in mind!

[meazalykov]

Hiii!! I hope you're doing well.. I just wanted to ask if you could potentially make a fic of reader and Ona Batlle please?

shirt swap

ona batlle x reader (requested)

authors note: I am doing well, I hope you are as well. enjoy this fic :)

a draw in the champions league group stage against barcelona was enough for your team to be overjoyed.

personally, you were feeling a rush of excitement and nervousness.

a few weeks ago, ona batlle, one of the barcelona defenders, followed you on instagram.

curious, seeing that all of your soccer friends follow her on instagram, you followed her back.

after scrolling through her instagram pictures-- lets just say, you have a lot of attraction towards her.

your teammate convinced you to go and ask ona for her shirt, a foundation to start getting closer to the spanish woman.

seeing that ona was talking to your national teammate, kika, you walked up to them with a smile.

"y/n! its so nice to see you!" kika yells in portuguese, hugging and squeezing you as if you were going to vanish away.

"kika I can't breathe!" you squeak.

"I'm sorry!"

"ona have you met y/n before? y/n this is ona and ona this is y/n!" kika speaks in english.

"its nice to meet you, y/n." ona speaks with a smirk.

your breath could've been caught in your throat when ona grabs your hand, taking a kiss on your knuckles before pulling away.

kika didn't think much of it, until she saw your face get hot.

"its nice to meet you too, ona." you smirk.

"actually kika, I came over here to ask ona for her shirt." you look over at kika, pointing towards ona's shirt.

"oh my-- that's so nice." kika says with enthusiasm.

"I'd love to swap with you." ona says as she grabs the bottom of her shirt and pulls it over her head.

you do the same, making sure to fold the shirt handing it over to ona.

she gave you her barcelona jersey, and you were surprised when ona put your shirt on right away.

after you put her barcelona black away kit on, you looked over at kika who had the brightest smirk on her face.

she is definitely going to tease you about this in portugal for camp.

"you smell good." ona casually says, adjusting your shirt on her body as you smile.

"thank you, you do as well." you respond.

"I'm gonna go talk to esmee really quick..." kika says, nudging your shoulder with hers before she jogs over to the dutch woman by the benches.

now that kika is gone, you feel bolder about asking ona out-- or at least getting to talk to her more to lead up to that.

"I find this a little funny, since I followed you on instagram not too long ago." ona speaks up, stepping closer to you as you nodded your head.

"oh yeah, I remember that. it wasn't that long ago." you respond.

"don't tell any of the girls this, but can I get your phone number? I wanna start talking to you more." ona asks.

your heart could've exploded right there.

"oh definitely! I don't have a paper or my phone on me though." you say, going to pat your non-existent pockets on your shorts.

"let me go get mine, I'll be back." ona calls as she jogs away to the benches.

your head turned to look at kika by the benches, she started giggling along with esmee brugts beside her--- you shook your head at them for being so nosey.

"here, you can type it here." ona says, jogging back to you with the keypad on her phone ready.

"done." you quickly type your number in, giving her your phone number.

"do you want to go out sometime, maybe after we start talking for a bit?" you ask.

your club was in england, and her club was in spain-- but you'd be willing to fly back here to spain sometime or flying her out to come see you. she's played in england before so you know she'd have some comfort there.

"I'd love that. I was actually going to ask you but it's nice you got to first." ona giggled.

you smile brightly, the sound of her laughter is something you found cute.

"okay, I'll see you then." you say.

---

three months later after that game, ona came to visit her old manchester united teammates in england.

on the last day before she left, she stopped by to see you at manchester city.

"hola!!" you squeal as ona threw herself into your arms.

for the last three months, the both of you have talked on the phone every evening.

the chemistry and compatibility between the both of you was undeniable, even from miles away.

"hey how have you been?!" ona asked, immediately running into your apartment and throwing herself on your couch.

"you know how I've been! I've been good." you say as you go into your kitchen.

"y/n you know what I mean." ona continues to lay on your couch, grabbing your remote and turning on your tv after a bit of struggle.

"okay okay-- well ona do you want anything to drink? I can make you coffee-- hot or iced-- I can make you a smoothie too, or I have water." you suggest.

"ou what smoothies do you have?" ona jumps up from your couch, keeping the remote on your coffee table as she comes towards you in your kitchen.

"I can make you a strawberry banana smoothie, mango, kiwi, peanut butter-- I have a lot of ingredients to make whatever you want." you say.

"I'll take banana." ona says.

"just banana?" you ask with a light smile.

"yup!" ona says with a *pop* on the ending.

"I got you." you say.

as you prepped her smoothie, ona started walking around your apartment.

you didn't mind it at all, since she is staying with you for the night until she catches her flight back to spain.

"you kept my jersey?" you hear ona call out from one your rooms.

you left the kitchen to go into your hallway, to see that ona was in your spare room.

you used that spare room as a room where you kept your vanity, gaming setup, and frames where you put player's jerseys in.

you have ona's jersey in one of those frames. her jersey was in-between marta's brazil jersey and messi's barcelona signed jersey.

"yes I did." you walked into the room, seeing her observing all of the jerseys you've gotten.

"why is mine beside messis?? do you think I'm on his level." ona laughed.

"I think you're better." you joked.

"oh shut up, don't even joke like that." the both of you laughed hard.

"ona, I highly value you, you're a great defender and play for barcelona of all teams!" you say.

you're playing for another club, so that's all you want to say about ona' club without betraying your club in manchester.

"you should come to barcelona, we need a right-back." ona smirks.

"someday, I really like manchester city now." you say.

"okay that's fair." ona responds.

there was a moment of silence as ona gave you a look you couldn't recognize.

you stood by the door, leaning on the frame as ona came closer to you.

you were a couple of inches taller than ona, so you looked down at her as she stopped in front of you.

nothing else was said as you both leaned in and kissed each other. you pulled away with a smirk as ona wrapped her arms around your waist.

"how long were you waiting to do that?" you asked, giggling as ona rested her head on your shoulder.

"since we did the shirt swap back in barcelona." ona responds, giving your shoulder a kiss as you rested your head on top of hers.

my masterlist is linked here if you wanna check out more fics <3

[notjustjavierpena]

i loved getting an insight into hubby in 4am. It got me thinking about other times I’d like to see into his brain.

Did he know straight away that reader was different and a potential future for him or did it take him a little while due to his past as a womaniser? His brain working overtime trying to process all the new feelings.

Did he ever feel like he should leave her feeling like he’s not good enough?

Bee (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N:  This is not totally what you had in mind, I think. However, this came to me and I think you’ll enjoy it. It’s soft and tender ❤️

Summary: Javier reflects on how gentle you make him.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Javi POV, fluff, insecurities, love

Word count: 1.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52937182/chapters/137384134

Bee

Sun filters through the clouds above Javier as he lies on the ground behind his father’s ranch. You’ve talked him into drowning in the tall fields of grass that surround the fenced-off area for the cows, listening to the sound of a million buzzing bugs that hide from you as you invade their home. He isn’t too fond of anything that could possibly land on him, too rough around the edges still to treat nature with the care that you do. 

You are talking softly yet enthusiastically about shapes that you find in the sky, reaching for heaven as you explain or draw out shapes with your finger. There’s been a dragon, a heart, and a bunny. You wonder out loud if it means something but Javier can hardly follow your words despite trying. He is too busy gazing upon you, having turned his head to the side to look at you in secret, the greatest marvel in his presence right now. 

The sun is hot in Texas right now and the shadows of the grass engulfing you and him dance across your face, your eyes glinting whenever the sun catches them even if it makes you scrunch up your nose and hold a palm up to cover the sunrays. Everything about this moment feels so delicate, terrifyingly sweet when he naturally thinks he is made of harsher stuff that should squash what little softness is left in his world. His hands have had to do so many destructive things in the past fifteen years that they feel too coarse to touch you. 

He turns his head towards the sky and closes his eyes, letting the sound of your voice wash over him like he wants it to for the rest of his life. There’s a part of him that’s afraid of you, afraid that he’s not made for this life with you, that he doesn’t know how to handle something so precious without breaking it. The way you treat the world around you with such reverence, such care, is foreign to him. He was used to being cold and logical back in Colombia, used to enduring. But here, in the Lone Star State with you, he finds himself wanting to be gentle, wanting to learn whatever he can from you. The love of his life. 

“Mhm,” he replies with the tiniest twitch of the corners of his mouth as you still haven’t figured out that he isn’t really listening. Not when your voice is accompanied by the sound of a breeze continuously creating waves in the grass that is tickling his arms, almost tricking him into thinking he is by the ocean. 

But then he feels it. It’s a sudden, light tickle on his nose that makes him open his eyes in slight surprise. There’s a small bee perched on the tip of his nose, its glasslike wings buzzing gently as it searches for pollen. Instinctively, he lifts his hand and gets ready to swat it away; he’s always been quick to react, quick to defend himself from anything that might harm him, even moreso during his time in Colombia. However, as his hand twitches mid-air, you notice, and your laughter is like music being carried through the air.

“Hold still,” you whisper as you lean over him, your face so close and your hand on his chest so he can feel the warmth of your palm as he sees your grin. With a gentler touch than what you even handle him with, you coax the bee onto your hand, lifting it away and letting it fly off again. Javier watches quietly in awe of his future wife.

“You don’t have to be so scared,” you say, smiling at him, “Not everything that approaches you is out to hurt you. Perhaps he just wanted to say hello.” 

Your words hang in the air, weighing nothing yet feeling heavy. Javier feels a tug in his chest like you’ve grabbed at the part of him that harbors hate for himself and has festered for too long. You’ve just pulled it loose inside him. He knows you’re not just talking about the bee. He hears the undertone, the suggestion that maybe he doesn’t always have to be on guard, doesn’t always have to assume the worst as he has done for so long. 

He looks at you and he wonders if you’re talking about yourself, too. If you’re telling him that you’re not here to hurt him, that your presence in his life isn’t a threat. He doesn’t know why he thought that twosomeness was not for him. Here you are and he doesn’t need anything more because you soften the edges of the world around him. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs and slides his arm beneath your body so he can snake it around your waist. His palm lays flat against the small of your back as he pulls you in, his heart still pounding against his rib cage when you are this close just five months after your first meeting. Five months since he saw you for the first time and realized that you might be different. Five months since you turned his world upside down. 

You curl your fingers on his chest and let yourself be drawn close, lowering your head until he can feel your breath against his face. You block out the sun, smiling fondly at him as if he is not at all rough and calloused. 

It is what makes him close the gap between you and kiss you on the mouth. It’s slow and unhurried, unlike many other kisses he has given you when the two of you have been alone. He pulls back to see your eyes fluttering open again. 

“What did I do to deserve you?” He asks himself out loud. The sun is around you like a halo, shining on your hair and making your skin glow. He wants everything with you. Everything that he never thought he wanted to have but also everything he never thought he could have.

“Doesn’t matter if you have done anything to deserve me. Do you want me?” You ask and the question floors him. He doesn’t need to think about it or weigh his options and words. He knows his answer. Yes.

“Para siempre (forever),” he says. You smile. It seems like that was the perfect answer. 

“Then that’s all that matters,” you reply and roll onto your back with a content sigh, laying in the nook of his arm while the sun shines on the both of you. He could fall asleep with you, let a whole hive of bees land on him one by one to greet him.

Javier feels a calm wash over him. Maybe this - him and you - isn’t bad just because he feels like he isn’t enough for your kind being. Maybe it is exactly right because it is something you both want. 

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[aesthetically-dying101]

Take me back, to the night we met.

A/N: gojo has just so much potential for angst and sad shit its fun.

Other Part: Part 2.

Warning: angst? is this angst? idk, just sad stuff, yes it'll get better, i think i use y/n like twice. she/her pronouns, no description of reader

Do not copy nor translate my work.

The once-bustling city was silent, a ghostly fog blanketing the streets.

Broken glass crunched underfoot as you and Satoru made your way through the ruins of a devastated shopping district. The air was heavy with residual cursed energy, oppressive and cloying like smoke.

Your technique had been invaluable in tracking the curse this far—it was clever, veiling itself in the chaos of its destruction. But now, even without your abilities, its presence was unmistakable.

“There,” you murmured, pointing to the center of the wreckage. A shadow writhed in the haze, its form shifting, contorting like a serpent coiled in fury.

Gojo’s usual carefree grin widened, an edge of exhilaration in his voice.

“About time. I was starting to think it didn’t have the guts to face us.”

He stepped forward, impossibly confident as always, the faint shimmer of his Infinity surrounding him.

You hung back, ready to support him as best as you could. You weren’t on Gojo’s level—no one was—but you could hold your own, and you knew how to keep him grounded when his arrogance threatened to blind him.

You were used to this, and honestly, you loved seeing him in action. Your too-pretty man.

The curse roared, its voice a grating cacophony that vibrated through your bones.

“Satoru Gojo.” The way it spat his name was venomous, dripping with hatred. Its grotesque form solidified—a humanoid shape with way too many eyes and limbs, each movement a jerking, unnatural twist.

Ew. Was the only thought going through your head.

“You think you’re invincible,” it hissed, its voice low and guttural, “but even gods have weaknesses.”

Gojo tilted his head, his blindfold concealing whatever expression flickered across his face.

“Weakness? Me? Funny. I’ll have to tell my fans about that one.”

The curse didn’t laugh. Instead, its many eyes swivelled to you.

“Her.”

Gojo didn’t react immediately, but you saw it—the slight shift in his stance, the way his head snapped toward you for a fraction of a second before returning to the curse.

“She’s your flaw,” it snarled, amusement dripping from its tone. “The way you care for her. The way you watch her. You may be untouchable, but she bleeds.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time in your life, you saw Gojo falter. It was slight—so slight that anyone else might have missed it—but you caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand tightened into a fist before relaxing again.

“And I will make her bleed.”

The curse lunged toward you with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible. Your instincts kicked in, barriers flaring to life around you as you stepped back. The defensive layers you conjured groaned and bent under the curse’s assault- but didn't break.

“Stay away from her.”

Gojo’s voice was colder than you’d ever heard it.

The air shifted, the pressure around you becoming unbearable as his Limitless technique snapped into place. The curse was flung backward, its body slamming into the rubble with a deafening crash.

But it wasn’t done. It laughed—a horrible, choking sound, sounding like his vocal chords were snapping.

“So predictable,” it sneered. “You’d sacrifice the world to protect her, wouldn’t you?”

Gojo didn’t reply, but his silence spoke volumes.

Because he would, you both knew that.

The fight that followed was brutal. Gojo’s attacks were precise and devastating, yet the curse kept taunting him, weaving in and out of his strikes, deliberately drawing the battle out.

You supported him from the sidelines, tracking its movements and throwing up barriers when needed, but the strain was immense.

When Gojo finally delivered the finishing blow—a shimmering violet sphere of destruction that obliterated the curse in an instant—the air went still.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

You leaned against a crumbling wall, your energy depleted.

Gojo didn’t move. He stood there, staring at the spot where the curse had been, his hand still outstretched.

“ 'Toru?” you called softly, stepping closer.

He turned to you, and for a moment, you saw something raw in his expression, something vulnerable and deeply unsettling. Then, like a mask slipping back into place, his usual cocky grin returned.

“Guess I really do have a weakness, huh?” he joked, his voice light but forced.

Your chest tightened. “Don’t do that,” you said sharply. “Don’t pretend this doesn’t bother you.”

His grin faltered, just for a second, before he brushed past you. “Let’s head back. We’ll debrief at the school.”

You stared after him, frustration bubbling in your chest. He was shutting you out again, burying whatever he was feeling beneath layers of bravado.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

And neither could he.

*-*

A week later, the air was crisp, the fading light of the sunset painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. The quiet hum of the city below served as a distant backdrop as you strolled beside Satoru.

He had insisted on this walk after a long day, claiming he needed to “stretch his legs and enjoy the view.”

But something was off.

He wasn’t talking as much as usual, his cocky banter replaced with a contemplative silence. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and though his blindfold was in place, you could feel his gaze flickering toward you more often than usual.

You slowed your steps, letting the last rays of sunlight warm your skin.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “Something on your mind?”

Gojo didn’t answer immediately. He stopped walking and turned toward the horizon, the wind tousling his snowy hair. His jaw tightened, and you felt the shift in his energy—subtle, but impossible to miss after all the time you’d spent with him.

Your stomach twisted.

“Satoru?” you pressed, your voice softer now.

He exhaled, long and slow, before finally speaking. “We can’t do this anymore.”

The words hit you like a physical blow.

“What?” you breathed, the air stolen from your lungs.

He turned to face you then, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was a tension in his posture that betrayed him. “It’s not fair to you,” he said, his voice light but carefully measured, as though he’d rehearsed this.

You stared at him, disbelief turning to anger. “Not fair to me?” you repeated. “Satoru, what are you talking about? I knew what I was getting into when—”

“That’s the problem,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “You shouldn’t have to ‘get into’ anything. You shouldn’t have to live with a target on your back because of me.”

“Is this about what the curse said?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Because if it is, I don’t care. I chose this. I chose you.”

Gojo flinched, just barely, but it was enough for you to notice.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice low, almost bitter. “I am the target. Every damn curse, every sorcerer who wants to make a name for themselves—they’re all aiming for me. And now you’re in the crossfire. I won’t let anyone hurt you because of me.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“You don’t get to make this decision for me!” you shouted, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to walk away and pretend like it’s for my sake when we both know that’s not what I want!”

Gojo’s shoulders tensed, and for a moment, he looked like he might falter. But then he straightened, his face hardening into that familiar mask of nonchalance.

“You’ll be safer without me,” he said, his tone so calm it was infuriating.

“And what about you?” you shot back. “Who’s going to keep you grounded? Who’s going to remind you that you’re more than just the strongest sorcerer?”

He didn’t answer.

You stepped closer, grabbing his arm, forcing him to look at you. “Satoru, please,” you whispered, tears spilling over now. “Don’t do this.”

For a moment, you thought he might cave. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach for you, to wipe away your tears. But then he pulled away, taking a step back.

“This is the right choice,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “You’ll understand someday.”

And then he turned and walked away.

You stood there, frozen, watching his figure retreat into the growing shadows. The ache in your chest was unbearable, a hollow, gnawing pain that threatened to consume you.

*-*

The mission had started as routine.

You’d been given a standard exorcism assignment—nothing too dangerous, just an annoying curse terrorizing a small town. The curse was relatively weak, barely enough to warrant any experienced sorcerer, let alone someone with your abilities. You’d even been assigned two younger, less experienced sorcerers to guide them through the process.

Routine.

Easy.

But something about this mission felt off from the start. The energy was wrong—too quiet, too still. And when the curse finally revealed itself, it was far more intelligent, more dangerous than anything you’d anticipated.

The students were frightened, their nerves betraying them as the curse's presence grew stronger, filling the air with a chilling malice. You quickly assessed the situation, your heart racing. You’d dealt with much worse, but this one was different. It moved too quickly, outwitting you at every turn.

"You two, get out of here!" you shouted to the students, pushing them back as the curse attacked with brutal force, sending shards of broken buildings flying toward you. "I’ll hold it off. Use the flare to call for backup."

The students hesitated, looking at you with wide eyes. They were terrified, their faces pale.

"We can’t leave you here!" one of them protested.

"I’m not asking, this is an order," you snapped, turning toward the curse. "Go. Now."

With a final, reluctant glance, the students ran, triggering the flare and signaling for backup. You stayed behind, your heart pounding in your chest as the curse advanced toward you.

Your technique was based on defense and tracking—always one step ahead of your enemy, drawing from their energy to fortify your own. You could feel the flow of cursed energy around you, stealing fragments of its power as it lashed out.

But this curse was intelligent. Instead of trying to attack directly, it hurled massive chunks of rubble at you.

Motherfucker.

You gritted your teeth, dodging, weaving, but your defensive barriers shattered under the sheer force of the blows. With every hit, your energy drained faster. You had to buy time. The students had to escape.

You activated your technique once more. Your energy siphoned from the curse, using its own force against it. The pain in your body was almost unbearable, but you could feel the balance shifting, just for a moment.

Then the curse retaliated in a different way—throwing an enormous boulder in your direction.

Well fuck.

You barely saw it coming before it crashed into your side, throwing you to the ground with a sickening crack.

Everything blurred.

Your vision darkened. You managed a final, shaky breath, but your body was already failing you. The last thing you heard before everything went black was the deafening roar of the curse, followed by the sound of your heart racing in your ears.

*-*

Gojo had returned from his mission, expecting the usual debrief. He stepped into Jujutsu High, the familiar scent of ink and wood filling his senses as his footsteps echoed through the empty halls.

It had been a long, exhausting mission, but he’d grown accustomed to the grind.

He hadn’t been expecting anything out of the ordinary, just the usual debrief and paperwork. But as he passed the infirmary, his eyes were drawn to the two students from your mission. They were lying in their beds, still bandaged, their faces pale and etched with a sort of exhaustion Gojo had seen too many times before.

His heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of them through the glass window of the infirmary. Bandages wrapped around their arms, their faces pale, eyes wide with the lingering fear of the mission’s chaos. He didn’t even need to ask what had happened.

He approached the infirmary door, but when he saw the students’ tired faces, something inside him snapped—something that told him, without a single word being spoken, that you were not there. The absence was suffocating.

There was no sign of you.

He opened the door quietly, but before he could say anything, he noticed the students’ quiet glances. Their eyes avoided his, a shared sorrow pooling in the room, thickening the air.

Gojo stood still, his breath shallow. He didn’t need to hear the words. He could already sense the unease, the guilt in their eyes.

You weren’t there.

There were no questions. No requests for answers. Gojo didn’t even need to ask about your condition, didn’t need to hear the inevitable truth.

He just knew.

He turned on his heel, his heart heavy with a burden he couldn’t shake. The weight of everything seemed to settle on him all at once, an unbearable pressure in his chest. Without another glance at the students, he walked out, his footsteps muffled by the deafening silence that followed him.

The headmaster looked up from his paperwork, his face unreadable. But Gojo knew that even without words, he could see the sorrow in the older sorcerer’s eyes.

Without hesitation, Gojo spoke, his voice low but laced with a quiet panic.

"Where is she?"

The headmaster’s eyes flickered with something almost imperceptible—regret, maybe. But he didn’t answer immediately. He pushed his glasses up and set his pen down, leaning back in his chair.

"You’re asking about Y/N, right?" the headmaster finally said, his tone measured but tense.

Gojo didn’t reply, his gaze piercing. The silence stretched between them, both men knowing what was coming but refusing to speak it aloud.

"She’s..." The headmaster paused, his voice faltering. "We couldn’t find her. No trace of cursed energy. No body. Nothing. We—"

Gojo felt the air leave his lungs, as if the words had physically struck him. His hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles turning white. The headmaster's words blurred, muffled by the rising pressure in his head.

No body.

He couldn’t process it.

Couldn’t grasp the idea that you—someone so powerful, so fierce—could vanish into nothingness. He thought maybe he’d just missed you, maybe you were injured and being treated in another room.

But no.

No trace. No energy.

No remnants of your presence anywhere.

The thought that you might really be gone—erased from existence entirely—was something his mind could not, would not, accept.

"Satoru," the headmaster said, his voice softer now. “I’m so sorry. We... we have to presume she’s gone. The mission—”

Gojo’s body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. His chest felt tight, his heart hammering in his ears.

"No." The word slipped from his lips, quiet but sharp. His voice wavered just slightly. He never let his guard down, never showed weakness—but now, there was nothing left to hide.

“Please,” Gojo’s voice cracked as he turned to the headmaster, his eyes searching. He ignored the previous statements. “Tell me you found something. Tell me you found her.”

The headmaster’s face was solemn. He shook his head, slowly.

“No,” he said simply. “Nothing.”

His legs felt weak, but he held himself up. Barely. He needed to walk. He needed to leave, but his body felt anchored to the ground, unwilling to move. Every part of him screamed for the impossible: that you were out there somewhere, just waiting to be found.

But reality was a cold, harsh thing. And in this moment, the weight of it crushed him.

He had failed you. He had chosen to leave, to protect you by walking away, and now you were... gone.

"She was the one who stayed behind," Gojo murmured, almost to himself. "She stayed behind." His voice trembled slightly, betraying him.

"She was an incredible teacher and sorcerer-"

His voice droned on. Gojo wasn't listening. The truth had settled into his chest like a stone, cold and heavy.

He turned and walked out of the room without another word. He could hear the headmaster's quiet sigh behind him, but he didn’t stop.

His heart ached in ways that words couldn’t describe. And though he told himself that he would find you, that he would search until the ends of the Earth if he had to... a deep, gnawing emptiness told him that you weren’t coming back.

*-*

The small memorial for you was a quiet affair—too quiet for someone as vibrant as you. It was simple: a few flowers, a candle, some soft words from your colleagues, and then… silence.

Gojo had stood there, watching the flickering candlelight, his blindfold concealing the turmoil behind his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. What could he possibly say?

He felt trapped in his own skin. And it was all his fault.

He couldn’t stop replaying that last conversation—the look in your eyes, the way you had begged him not to leave you, to not make the decision for you. He should have listened. He should have fought harder to keep you by his side. If he hadn’t pushed you away, if he hadn’t been so damn sure that he was protecting you by letting you go...

You wouldn’t have been alone.

You wouldn’t have had to face that curse by yourself.

The guilt ate at him, a slow, insidious poison coursing through his veins. He couldn’t escape it. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face—your smile, your fire, the way you’d always challenged him.

It haunted him.

*-*

The days blurred into each other.

He threw himself into missions with a reckless, almost manic energy, as if hoping to exhaust himself to the point of forgetting. But it didn’t work.

It never worked.

He fought like an animal, like a machine, unleashing his cursed energy with a fury that no one had ever seen before. He’d take on missions that others would hesitate to touch, pushing himself to the brink, demanding more and more of himself, as if trying to outrun the demons inside his head.

The other sorcerers at Jujutsu High began to notice the shift. His smiles were rare, almost forced. His cocky demeanor was gone, replaced with a dangerous edge that made everyone uneasy. His actions were unpredictable, reckless. In battle, he was a force of nature, but outside of it—outside of the fights—he was unraveling.

“You’re overdoing it,” Utahime had told him, her voice laced with concern as she watched him wipe blood from his hands after another gruelling mission. “You need to slow down.”

Gojo had just stared at her, his blindfolded eyes piercing her with an intensity that made her back off.

“I’m fine,” he’d muttered, the words sharp, but hollow. He wasn’t fine. But he couldn’t admit it. He wouldn’t.

*-*

Weeks passed, but it only got worse. Gojo was spiraling, and no one knew how to stop it. After the loss of Suguru Geto, Gojo had fallen into a dark place, but this... this was different. That loss had been a betrayal, a brutal cut from a man he had once called his closest friend. He had blamed himself then too, but with you, it was all his fault. He could barely look at himself in the mirror without feeling like he was drowning in his own shame.

Gojo had always been the unshakable force.

The invincible one.

But now, the cracks were spreading.

The worst part was the isolation. He would come home after long days of missions, covered in sweat and blood, but the silence in his apartment would swallow him whole. He couldn’t escape it. There was no one there to talk to, no one to help him forget.

He would lay awake, staring at the ceiling, hearing the faint sound of your voice in his memory, but it was always just out of reach. The regret twisted inside him, like a knife lodged deep in his chest.

He’d let you die alone.

The world continued to move forward.

But Gojo Satoru didn’t.

Not without you.

A/N: i hope this is even half decent, i had an idea and wanted to make smth out of it, and yesss part two will be posted very, very soon

:)

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY VII. — ROLEPLAY

cw: Fluff, Romantic Dirty Talk, Aged-Up / Pro-Hero Time-Skip, Implied Cunnilingus, Attempt at Humor, Sexual Roleplay, Fem! Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: Another fic that's tailored to one of my friends. I think Tenya's really romantic and has the potential to be one of the swaggest lovers in the whole world. Anyhow, enjoy!

word count: Approximately 1.5k words.

Today was not your motherfuckin’ day. 

Work was miserable. Villains running amok—three bank robberies, one hostage situation, and a group of loser thugs harassed a poor old lady by attempting to intimidate her into giving them her purse by doing a sad attempt of “the worm.” So many other things, too, it didn’t just stop at your duties. You don’t even want to remember the horrors of the exploding fax machine at your agency. Who even uses fax machines anymore? 

Whatever. All that mattered now was that you were home, slipping off your shoes by the door and stretching your back until it popped loudly. A satisfied grin started to spread across your lips, only growing wider whenever you stepped into your genuine home and started walking towards the living room. You’re positive your husband’s already here—he’s sent you updates throughout the day, all of them regarding dinner plans or simple texts stating how he cherishes you. It’s endearing, and you’re almost itching at the fingertips to wrap your arms around his shoulders to squeeze sweet nothings into that warm brain of his. That grin on your face was reaching your ears, so you sped up and basically slid yourself into the living room by the skin of your socks. 

Tenya was sitting on the couch, a small fire cooking in the fireplace. The room felt so cozy, like a thick sweat enveloping your body, and you immediately sighed. Oh, yeah, you’re so glad to be home. He looks so cute sitting there, an open book in his hands while he reads. You wonder what he could be reading—but, honestly, you’re currently more curious about if he could wrap those hands around your waist and draw you in for a passionate kiss to help soothe the miserable events of the day away. 

A chuckle bubbles in the back of your throat. 

“Ohh, Tenten. How’s my lovely darling boy?” 

You feel Tenya jolt a little underneath your touch, underneath the hands that slither over the round of his shoulders from behind the couch. He clears his throat, closing the book before he tilts his head far enough to meet your gaze. Those blazing red eyes make your breath hitch, but then that beautiful smile breathes wind back into your lungs. 

“Ah, hello, dearest. I didn’t realize you were home. With the messages you sent me, I figured you’d be caught up for another few hours.” 

He leans forward to place the book atop the coffee table directly in front of him, dragging your fingers along until your elbows rest against the couch. 

“Nah, one of my bros helped me out by fighting the fax machine. Turns out there was some sort of Quirk interfering? A misfire? A, um, fax machine ghost? I can’t quite remember the reason, but I didn’t have to deal with it. So I’m home now.” 

Tenya pauses, more than likely taken aback, but then hums with a small nod of his head. 

“I see! How curious. Well, regardless, it’s great to have you back here.” 

You hum as well, removing your hands from Tenya—but making sure that you slide against his smooth shirt so very slowly—and round the couch until you’re standing in front of him. 

“Back home with my dashing husband? How lucky~” 

The fire crackles whenever you let your body sink down onto the couch, a coy smile batting its lashes against your cheeks while Tenya watches you with an intrigued but earnest expression. You yawn, patting your hand against your mouth before you sigh out wistfully. 

“What a shame, though. I wish that I had someone to tend to me. You know, someone who could just help me get outta these clothes and feel good.”

It’s like lightning flashed before Tenya’s eyes because he immediately blinks, stiffens, straightens his back, and then slowly returns. He seems to flush, a shadow that falls across the bridge of his nose before he cutely glances away with a bashful tilt of his mouth. One of his hands stretches forward, finding a home atop the center of your thigh. His digits curl before they squeeze, which elicits a soft little sigh from you. 

“Yes, I think you deserve someone to tend to you. Why don’t you let me fill that position—if you think I’m worthy of it?” 

There’s a hint of nervousness coating the edges of Tenya’s question just like always, so you drop a hand to his hand and give it a little pinch. His head swivels around to face yours again. 

“Of course. How could I ever live without my dutiful butler to pamper me?” 

More and more, those red gems boring into your soul begin to kindle and spark, filling with oxygen and growing louder. Tenya moves forward, pulling you deeper into the rings of his fire, and you let yourself fall. Passion crosses his face, determined, before he begins to saddle down to his knees on the floor. 

“What kind of butler would I be if I didn’t perform to my fullest abilities for my Mistress?” 

A shiver traces down your spine, something that takes your reins and makes your legs part. Tenya glances between your knees, understanding etching into his features while he attempts to slot himself through. His hands are running up and down your legs, finding ways to let those flimsy columns find homes in his fingers before they start to breach towards the band of your bottoms. Tenya’s looking at you carefully, seemingly reading your expression to make sure he’s not overstepping any boundaries. He always does this, so tender, and you chuckle before you comb one of your hands through those midnight blue locks. 

“You never fail to impress me, dear butler. You’re always so hard at work. Surely you must be hungry?”

Tenya’s fingers finally break through the band, hooking underneath the fabric before he oh-so slowly begins to peel them down your frame. You lift your midriff a little so it’s easier for Tenya, and he nods at you. 

“Thank you. Of course, Mistress. I can’t risk slipping up on my duties. I also can’t possibly ask for you to offer me something to eat.” 

You shake your head, lowering your body again but crooking your knees so that Tenya could fully slide your bottoms off of your ankles. Those smoldering expressions crossing his face make him look so intimidating, but the fireplace brings you into reality, flickering and casting shadows throughout the room that make Tenya seem so ethereally beautiful. A thunder in your heart makes you painfully aware of the heat that’s dripping down into your groin like a broken faucet, leaking and puddling all over the couch until you can feel it in your toes. He’s so good to you, and you can feel the love in your heart clench and flip like turning tides. You want him, need him. The words leave your mouth. 

“Oh, dear butler, take what I have to offer. Enjoy yourself, lose yourself. Feast, please, pleaseee?” 

Each word becomes less cohesive, crossing the territory of being mindless pleas and begging that make you feel like a lost little kitten pawing at their mother’s swollen tummy. Tenya seems to go insane. Conflagrations, flames that could destroy the universe, consume him and he groans before he obeys. 

“As you wish, my Mistress.” 

The last syllable is nothing but a low growl, something feral and wild, and you have to toss your head back into the couch and close your eyes at the drugs that shoot through your veins. Psychedelic, addictive, so many words that can’t even begin to describe the hallucinations Tenya’s sex fills your head. Tenya just uses those large hands of his, those mitts that could engulf your whole body if you let them, to rest against the inner dips of your thighs and spread them apart. He starts to scoot closer, shoving himself in as much as he can before his knees bump the couch and he grunts. You whimper. 

“Butler, yes, I need you so bad. I want you, I want you, I love you.”

Tenya’s head finds its destiny between the swell of your thighs, his hot and misty breath fanning across the slick and juice that trickles between the slit of your cunt. He makes another sound, too low to identify, but it makes your head spin whenever he whispers out in that husky voice, 

“Mistress, I will make you feel good. I will show you how much I worship you.” 

Nothing spills from your mouth but a frothy moan before Tenya’s head is gone, buried in your cunt, that flat tongue of his finding its new owner atop your throbbing and erect clit. 

“I am forever at your service, Mistress, my love.” 

And Tenya’s lost to sea. 

[fadingdaggerr]

Hey, I have just read heaven’s gate ( Larissa weems x reader ) and absolutely loved it! Is there any chance for a part two? Thank you x

pearlescent (18+ minors, dni)

pairing: larissa weems x gn!reader

summary: part two of heaven’s gate | 4.5k

includes: lesbians too in love for their own good, fluff

warnings: kissing/making out, sexual innuendo, afab reader (no breasts described for r), smut (fingering (L/r), oral (L), thigh riding (L)) can u tell i like eating pussy

note: first non-melissa post in over a year to bring me back from hiatus. thank u for ur patience. i feel like those wattpad writers that are like “just got out of a coma here’s a fic”

The smooth paving of the highway becomes bumpy and uneven as you pass the final gas station between here and your destination. Every pothole the car jumps over is like a shot of espresso through your aching joints. After the last stop, you promised yourself to drive straight through. Another stop would mean another chance to acknowledge the numbing of your ass after five hours in the car, and with one hour left, you’re not risking it. You really weren’t kidding when you said that teleportation would be much more useful.

Cell service is quickly obsolete as you continue through the woods, scanning the road for any squirrels that may decide that today was the day. Drumming against the steering wheel, you let your mind wander. Maybe coming without telling her is a bad idea, but it also has the potential not to be. She had begged you to drive to her just two days after she left, and you would have, if only your client hadn’t walked in the door. Dueling busy schedules made two months pass like molasses, longing to drop everything and hitchhike if you had to. Would the lack of alerting her put her off? Gods, you hope not.

A sudden shift of turbulent driving to a slight jostle of cobblestone removes you from the swirling doubt in your mind, peeking towards the sign you’re approaching. Green and rusting, white lettering reads: Welcome to Jericho! The Salem of Vermont. You find yourself glad someone took the time to graffiti over the last bit.

Ignoring the anxiety climbing your spine, you keep going, and going, and going, and going, until you finally break through the treeline. Out of nowhere sits the cutest town you think you’ve ever seen, with little brick shops with murals and a gazebo with the remains of New Year’s decor still hanging on. It makes sense why people would want to come here, why she would choose to stay.

In an attempt to not draw more attention than an outsider already gets, let alone an outcast one, you don’t linger on viewing the quaint town of Jericho. There’s better views awaiting you later, at the very castle-like building you can see on the high hill. Looming in a shadow, one that doesn’t extend over the rest of the town, sits Nevermore in all its glory. The corners of your lips turn up into a small smile, the view is nostalgic, bringing back the memories of your time at Byron’s.

The memory brings a reminder to the forefront of your mind, and with cell service restored, now is the best time. Carefully, and without taking your eyes off the road, you navigate to your favorite contacts.

“Hello, my angel!”

You chuckle, “it’s just me.”

“Fuck, nevermind then,” Parker grumbles, “so you’re not there yet?”

“I’m pulling up in a second, just wanted to let you know now before I can’t.”

A characteristic cackle comes from the other end, “gonna jump her bones immediately, I see, I see. Can’t say I blame you, she makes me question things about myself.”

“This is exactly why I called you before getting here,” you chuckle, pulling through the front gates, “but I gotta go now.”

“Yes, yes, go get slutted out, harlot. Just please call me sometime, so I can talk with the love of our lives,” Parker begs.

“I’m telling Max you said that,” you deadpan, hanging up just as you hear a rushed wait!

—☽—

For a town so small minded, from what you’ve been told, you’re more than surprised to find that you are able to walk into Nevermore unnoticed. Some students stand around, talking amongst themselves, but none seem to pay you any mind, likely thinking you’re just another teacher. Using the anonymity to your advantage, you slow your pace, listening in carefully. A gorgon walks by you, the only student at this time that seems to be carrying any school supplies.

You mentally scold yourself for stereotyping her studious behavior before you focus in on her mind. Your consciousness runs through hers, searching through test anxieties and hockey tryout concerns, until you find what you need. The literature wing, I could’ve guessed that. Coming back into your own mind, you’re already speeding up the stairs before your pupils return to their normal size.

Passing another student two stories up, you pray the siren knows which office you need, yet they don’t. Neither do the werewolves or the seer. Do you guys even go to classes? You’re about to give up on the full surprise, headache seeping in from all the mindreading of anxious teenagers. Just before you exit the hallway entirely, you actually look up from your feet, and you mentally smack yourself upside the head for not just reading the plaques on the doors.

With a renewed pep in your step, you keep just shy of running as you read every door. Finally, you reach a door that has a newer plaque compared to neighboring ones, serif font unscathed by age. Professor L. Weems, Department of Literature. Your heart skips a beat at the mere sight of her name. Noticing the door being cracked open, you push it open slightly more, hoping your search ends here.

Hunched over an antique desk, red-framed glasses perched on her nose with a pen spinning between her fingers, she doesn’t seem to notice the attention on her. It’s hard to pry yourself away from watching her, when holding her is seemingly moments away. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, you knock on the doorway with shaking knuckles.

A huff passes scarlet lips as Larissa peers up, a brief, disinterested gaze passing over her features. The pen in her hand stills, falling to the desk with a small clatter. Blue eyes widen as she stares unwaveringly at you. Fidgeting under her gaze, you smile nervously, “was- uh- was looking for professor Weems? Know her, by any chance?”

In no less than a blink, Larissa is rounding her desk at top speeds, crashing into your body as her arms wrap around your neck. Nearly falling into the hall, you just barely keep the two of you up, leaning into her to walk her backwards. One hand grips her waist as the other blindly reaches for the door to shut it, quickly coming back to bury into her hair. Your face tucks into her neck, brushing your nose against her skin, breathing her in.

“You’re here,” Larissa says quietly, disbelieving.

“I’m here,” you mumble against her warm skin, “couldn’t wait any longer.”

A sigh of relief passes plush lips, “and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Surprise, it’s a noun,” you joke, pressing a soft kiss to the expanse of her neck, relishing in the way she shudders at the contact. There’s no reply except for her arms tightening around you, wordlessly telling you that this surprise is one she likes.

Pulling back from you suddenly, Larissa just stares at you, blue eyes taking in every feature, lingering on your lips before flicking back to your eyes. Your hand moves from her waist to cup her cheek, stroking soft skin that you’d been longing to touch. She takes the invitation, leaning forward to press delicate lips against your own, slow and savoring. Your tongue traces her lips, tasting earl grey and lipstick as she lets you in. No struggle or search for dominance, simply a familiar dance you’d both dearly missed. The hand in her hair stays in place, keeping her close as the other traces her cheekbone and jaw, memorizing the feeling of her skin. Every piece of you missed her, and all of those pieces felt healed the moment her lips touched yours.

Pulling away slowly, both of you keep your eyes closed, simply existing in this moment. It takes a while for either of you to move away, but you feel giddy seeing Larissa’s pink cheeks and smudged lipstick. Your thumb drifts to her lips, wiping away the mess you’ve made, ignoring that you are likely equally covered. Soft lips press into the pad of your thumb, gentle and sweet.

“I cannot believe you’re here,” she whispers into the small space between you, “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you,” you reply at the same volume.

It takes two hours for the halls of Nevermore to empty, students retreating to their rooms or to the quad, finally allowing a chance for the two of you to leave Larissa’s office. Silence seems to come over the school, however frightening it may be when dealing with teenagers, though neither of you mind as you simply exist in the spacious office. After weeks of phone calls that lasted most of the night, quiet amazingly comes easy.

Only a soft hum from the blonde breaks the silence, twisting her wrist to check her watch. Turning towards you slightly, she keeps a soft volume as she speaks, “how would you like a tour?”

“That sounds perfect, I only got to see the foyer and this hall,” you answer, nudging into her shoulder softly. “Was on a mission, I didn’t really get a chance to explore.”

“Sorry about that, but we’re not supposed to have visitors here,” she explains, “the campus has essentially been on lockdown since the nineties.”

You chuckle, reaching a hand out to draw her in. Her fingers slide across your palm before gripping, letting you tug her closer, “in that case, security might be too lax. I got in no problem.”

“You what?” Larissa stiffens, looking at you bewildered.

“I drove right through the gate, walked right in, no one even noticed me,” you chuckle, “just walked on up.”

Her lips purse as she tries to hide the laugh building in her chest, leaning in more, “you read a child’s mind to find me, didn’t you?”

It’s impossible to hide the wry grin on your face, “potentially.”

“Potentially,” she mimics, amused.

—☽—

Nevermore has officially put Byron’s Home to shame.

Every hallway is covered in paintings, Latin engravings littering every shelf, moon phases in different corners. It makes you wish you never set foot in that brick schoolhouse all those years ago. The conservatory alone almost made you weep; crawling vines and shining moonflowers, the feasting venus flytraps, and, your favorite, bleeding hearts. Larissa stands back and watches as your fingers ghost over petals, pressing lightly against the flytraps full belly, all with a deep fascination behind your eyes.

“I can’t believe you have this,” your voice echoes quietly in the room, “it- it’s incredible.”

Her silence throws you, immediately turning. The lost look in her eyes makes you falter, and where your typical instinct is to read, you instead step closer.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, reaching to run your fingers over her knuckles that stay clutching her shirt.

There have been many times where Larissa wished for different abilities, or no abilities at all. Right now, however, she wished for nothing more than your ability. She wished she could reach into your mind and see how you saw the world, how you see the flowers, how you see her. Seeing you now, how you watch her with more reverence than you grant what, in her mind, is a greater beauty, she knows she has a window into the limitless path your consciousness takes.

“Nothing at all. I just have one more place in mind,” she answers, hand lifting to stroke your cheek, lingering against your oddly cool skin. You nod wordlessly, letting your fingers intertwine with hers.

Hand held in Larissa’s, you let her lead you through the halls. She pauses to peak around every corner, terrified the two of you would be caught. Leading forward, more like tugging, she brings you towards a spiraling staircase. Letting her go first, she enters into a massive room, cool but comfortable, dark enough to rely on distanced golden lamps.

Floor to ceiling bookshelves line everywall, the familiar Latin etched into stone and wood alike. Ancient Greek, Cyrillic, and Tamil, first and second editions of texts you thought you’d only ever see inaccurate translations of. Sections of different outcast abilities, poetry from around the world, fables of the inception of different classes. Most have an unfortunate layer of dust over them, long ignored in interest of the clearly loved young adult section.

“You’re really trying to make me jealous,” you say breathily, “this place is incredible.”

“These are my favorite sections,” Larissa admits shyly, “I spend hours of my day here and never see another soul. It’s peaceful.”

“All by your lonesome?” There’s a slight mockery in your tone, “not alone now, are you though?”

Red lips curve into a smile as you step closer to her, fingers grazing up her side, slipping around her back to tug her closer. Hands rise to cup your face, eyes hooded as she takes you in. Pupils blown and lip between your teeth, she doesn’t want to deny herself the view nor the pleasure. Leaning into your space, her nose brushes yours, lips just barely ghosting.

You know she’s teasing, even with closed eyes, you can sense her smile. Tilting, you capture her lips, sighing at the contact. The moment your tongue brushes her bottom lip, a switch in Larissa flips, pushing you back into the shelving behind you. Sliding from your face, her hands grip your waist, clutching with an unnecessary urgency. Meeting her pace, your fingers weave into her updo, pulling hairs loose as you try to keep her closer than she physically can manage.

The muffled boom of a door on the other side of the shelf forces you to jump apart, wide eyes looking at each other like deer in headlights. Cheeks puff as you try not to laugh, Larissa immediately pulls you out of the library, forcing you into a jog as you run towards a different end of the building.

—☽—

Carefully, she guides you upstairs, praying that no other teachers or students are around to see her sneaking someone in. Both of you struggle to keep your giggling in, the juvenile nature of it all making you fluttery.

Coming up to a white door, you see another plaque reading Dormitory Parent. Unlocking the door with a strong wiggle, Larissa motions for you to walk in first, quickly shutting the door behind her and latching it. Leaning against it, she lets out a sigh.

Larissa doesn’t get a chance to move closer before your lips press against hers once more. This time, neither of you waste a second, no longer nerved up by the chance of someone walking in again. Timid brushing of lips is forgone as her tongue bullies its way into your mouth, stroking yours with a gentle dominance that has your knees weak.

Wanting hands grip at her waist as she pushes her backwards, leading you further into her quarters until you’re backed into a wall. Lips move from yours and trail down your chin to your neck, teeth passing over your pulse. A groan leaves your lips, hands scrambling to pull Larissa back to your lips, missing them greatly in the seconds they’ve been apart from yours. Feeling her smile against you makes your heart clench, needing more, anything she’s willing to give.

Pulling back from her lips only enough to speak, you ask, “bedroom?”

There’s no reply, only you being tugged from the wall and walked backwards further into the room. You’re so lost in her, her lips, her hands, her tongue, everything. The feeling of dropping onto the mattress is what brings you back in, eyes cracking open to see a lightly panting Larissa above you, lips parted and kiss-swollen. Lapis eyes flick over your face, expression similar to the one she wore when she first saw you, right on the cusp of relief and disbelief. She’s not unlike a goddess viewing her devotee.

Taking her moment of distraction as a tool for your benefit, you flip the two of you, happily taking in the new view of her beneath you. Hair of white gold splaying over the pillows, eyes wide, skin flushed, and entirely beautiful, Larissa Weems is a gift for your eyes only. The hand on her hip slides up, pushing the fabric of her dress with them as they climb. It’s a silent question, or more of a silent begging, hands impatient to feel her.

Larissa’s head rises off the pillow, lips pushing into yours, her hands going to yours to push them even higher, dress inching up more and more. As she wishes, you lift her dress, hands finding solace on plush thighs, laying your body between her legs. The familiarity of it makes you moan into her mouth, pure want running through your veins.

Hands close in on the lace covering her, lips moving to her neck for a chance to breathe, “can I take this off?”

“Yes,” she answers in a whiny tone, lifting herself off the mattress slightly.

You carefully, thought quickly, lower the zipper. Larissa strips the dress off her torso, letting your wanting hands take care of the rest. The world stops for a moment as you look down at her, skin luminescent against dark sheets, constellations of freckles dotted across her chest.

The blush crawling up her neck brings you back in, and you haphazardly shrug off your jacket and tear off your own shirt. Leaning back down, you forgo her lips to kiss down her neck, reveling in her skin beneath yours. Larissa moans softly as her hands wander down your back, around your torso, tugging at your belt, and you're quick to head her command. Greedy hands pull you back down on the bed, gripping at warm skin as your lips take purchase on her neck again.

Laying her back, you continue your path down, fingers taking her bra straps down with you. Eyes peek up to hers, silently asking permission. Larissa arches into you in response, and your lips wrap around a rosey nipple. Nails dig into your back as she moans beneath you, hips bucking against your. Satisfying her desire, you place a thigh between her legs as you continue to lavish her chest with affection.

An already soaked white thong becomes absolutely ruined as Larissa grinds steadily against your thigh, moaning huskily into open air. Continuing down, your thigh moves away as you near her heat. Fingers curling around the band of her panties, you pause, “may I?”

“Please, darling,” Larissa replies breathily, mouth hanging open as you toss the fabric across the room.

Mouthing at her thighs, you suck harder as you get closer, red marks painted across a white canvas. Reaching her slick pussy, your mouth nearly waters at the sight, descending on her immediately. Her hips rock just as quickly, trying to ride your face as your tongue swipes through her folds. Savory wetness covers your chin, nose just barely rubbing against her clit.

Tilting up, you allow your lips to wrap around her button, sucking gently. The gasps Larissa emits above you only egg you on further, hand moving from her thigh to her entrance. Your middle finger slowly pushes into her, pumping carefully before adding your index. Her walls grip your fingers snugly, trying to keep you there. Her hips never still, and you force them down with your free hand as you focus your attention on her.

Alternating between sucking and licking her clit, combined with your fingers increasing pace inside her, has Larissa’s voice growing horse, moans turning to pitchy whines. Long legs wrap around your body, holding you snugly against.

Heavy whimpers fall from her lips. “Please,” she begs, “more, baby, please.”

Denying her when she’s asking so nicely, so prettily? You could never. Your ring finger lines with the others, pressing into her quickly. The stretch makes Larissa cry out above you, heels digging deeper into your back as your tongue swirled around her sex. It takes little time for her breathing to grow hoarse, mouth hanging open as her eyes squeeze shut.

Her breath hitches and hips still, essence coating your fingers as you watch her chest rise and fall rapidly, eyes finally reopening. Slowing your fingers, you retract from her, but in no way are you done just yet. Letting go of her clit with a small pop, you drag your tongue down to languidly traverse her folds, taking in her full taste.

Probing inside her, you relish in the breathy whine that comes from her throat. Pulling back, you flatten your tongue, swiping across her cunt. Trailing up, passing her navel, the dip in her ribs, you take a quick pass over her nipple, swirling softly. Grabby hands pull at you, tugging you back to her lips. Moaning at her own taste, Larissa’s body arches into you, heat brushing over your thigh once again.

Hand trailing up from her thigh, you pull back from her lips, offering your fingers in place of your tongue. Fading red lips wrap around your digits, her own tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing. You can feel your eyes glazing over as you watch her greedily taste herself, gently and unknowingly grinding on your thigh.

Letting go, Larissa takes your stupor to flip you over. Staring down with cool blue eyes with a mysterious fire. Wandering lower and lower, they trace over your own underwear, slick from pleasing her. The whimper you let out only eggs her on, rubbing you over the fabric.

“Riss…” you manage out, already breathless from her touch, “baby…”

A low hum leaves her throat, hand sliding under to make contact with you. Long fingers slide through wetness as lips attach themselves to your neck. Two fingers slide into you, slowly, her thumb makes tight, firm circles over your clit, making you keen into her. The pressure building in your core, that had been steadily growing since the library, feels so overwhelming with her all over you now.

Feeling you trying to ride her slow hand, she speeds up, taking over for you as your moans quickly become airy. Under her lips, she feels your heart beating wildly. For her. All for her.

Her scent, her taste, her hands, her tongue, all of her was all over you. Her teeth scrape against your skin as her fingers curl, making you groan. The hand not in her hair splays across her back, desperate to keep her close. Feeling the want dripping from you, her fingers speed up, almost bullying gummy walls that cling to her.

Tugging her by her hair, you bring her to your lips. Open mouth and messy, you’re barely kissing, just moaning into her mouth as she presses harder to your button, bucking into her hand. You can’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed about how quickly she got you here, how quickly you’ve become putty beneath her.

Deciding she needs to taste her hard work sooner rather than later, her fingers just barely spread inside you, stretching you. The motion makes you erupt in a silent scream, clinging more to her as you feel the coil in your stomach begin to snap.

“C’mon darling,” she husks against your throat, “give it to me. I know you want to.”

Her words are your undoing, the sheer need in her voice and the feeling of her inside you was enough to snap the band. The whines from you turn into breathy pants, hands on Larissa still holding her close as her fingers slow. As she tries to remove them, you close your legs around her wrist, locking her in place. Her lips drag up your neck, capturing your own, sighing into your mouth as your fingers scratch gently at her scalp.

Lazy kisses last until the post-orgasm warmth leaves your body, shivering slightly at the cool air that you can finally feel tickling your skin. Legs unclamp her hand, allowing her to draw back. You nearly cum on the spot watching her suck your release off, moaning softly against her own fingers.

“Keep doing that and you’re not leaving this bed for a week,” you mumble beneath her.

She chuckles, rolling off to lay on the bed beside you, “I can’t say I’d be opposed.”

Just facing her, watching her chest rise and fall, rosy cheeks slowly returning to their normal color, you’re in awe. Freshly fucked and still perfect, Larissa Weems is a miracle. Laying on your side, you trace your fingers up and down her side, following the path of silver stretch marks and faint freckles. You push yourself forward, pressing yourself into her warm body, adoring how her arms immediately wrap around you.

“I missed you,” she whispers, as if she’s not sure you’d share her sentiment.

You press a kiss to her collarbone, “I missed you more.”

There’s a few minutes of silence before you feel Larissa chuckle beneath you. You hum in question. She squeezes you briefly, “would you like dinner?”

Another pause. You both giggle as you try to walk out of the room with a small waver in your steps.

—☽—

When your eyes open, you think it’s the sun cracking through the curtain that pulls you from the depths of slumber. A piercing ring breaks through the tiredness, bringing your attention to your phone. Your groan is met in tandem by Larissa’s, who shoves her head into her pillow further, arm tightening around your waist. Stretching in her grasp, you mentally prepare for what you know is coming. The little shit has a radar.

“No,” you say the moment you bring the phone to your ear.

“Oh sweet angel, I miss how nice you are,” Parker sing-songs, “did I wake you from your slutty slumber?”

“Yes, both of us. Dick,” you grumble, “you have zero consideration.”

“Give my real friend the phone, I’m done with you,” he says, though you know he’ll never leave you alone. Even when you eventually die.

“Baby, it’s for you,” you say as you pull the phone away from your ear. Larissa peeks one eye at you, clearly irritated. Parker, you mouth. You wish it wasn’t so endearing how quickly she perked up. Sitting up, she nods, motioning for you to put her on speaker.

“Hello, Parker,” she utters through a yawn.

“My love! How are you? Achy? Tired? In need of a better lover?”

“I’m great,” Larissa chuckles, “and yes, yes, and no, most definitely not.” Her eyes stay on you as she answers, peeking down at your lovingly annoyed expression.

The rest of the call is simply Parker talking at Larissa, rather than to her, while you shake your head at his antics. Curling back into her side, you let them talk as you watch her face. She seems at ease, a stark contrast from the stressed Larissa you’d seen when you first looked in her office. She’s less imposing, loose hair and smudged makeup, a smile playing on her lips as she listens to Parker’s plans for a surprise two month anniversary gift for Max.

In the walls of her bedroom. In bed with you. Breathing the same air. Perfection lies beside you.

note: if i could rewrite the entirety of part one i would. but i guess that shows growth in writing or whatever

feedback appreciated as always

[yesimwriting]

Of Angels

Part 2 of Of Angels (part 1)  

A/n we're back! also this is a friendly reminder that this isn't supposed to be exactly like the movie/book, some things will be a little different bc of practicality, my ability to remember things, or just for fun/for me bc i have more fun writing when i can change things up

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

----

The potential consequences of Coriolanus's mistake don't fully manage to force their way to the front of his mind until the door clicks shut.

He's thrown himself, locked himself, in a contained space with the most savage and aggravated group of people in the Capitol. Just in an attempt to get you to trust him.

Coriolanus turns around as casually as he can manage, "Hello."

Unwashed faces blink up at him. Their expressions start off as blank, slowly but surely hardening as they take in his clothing and presence. Someone from the Capitol that isn't a peacekeeper.

One of the larger tributes begins to walk forward. The others glare at him, watching him with a silent rage that makes the space feel like it's shrinking.

The largest of them gets so close that Coriolanus has to push his body towards the vehicle's door. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you."

"Do you have any family back home?" The voice isn't strong, but it's so steady despite its smallness that one could mistake it for certainty. Despite the threat that stands in front of him, Coriolanus's attention instinctually shifts towards you. "Or any friends? Maybe a puppy you're fond of?" Your fingers are curled around the edge of the bench you're sitting on. "They'll kill them."

Your tone is too neutral for you to be speaking from personal experience, and yet, you sound so sure. Coriolanus wonders if there's something there worth digging into. Maybe it's just a byproduct of where you're from, a district that's prone to rebellion is often warned about what disobedience can lead to.

The tribute cornering him doesn't move away, but he stills, stiff and uncertain. You look between them innocently. "Besides, he's my mentor." Your hands loosen their grip on the edge of the bench, you push yourself to stand. "I might need him."

"Men-tle?" Another voice chimes in.

"Mentor."

"How come you get a mentor?" The tribute questioning Coriolanus's presence in association to you twists their neck to glare at you.

"You all get one," he forces the sentence out quickly. The last thing he needs to do is make you a target. Getting you to live is going to be enough of an uphill battle as is.

The tribute closest to him takes another intimidating step forward. "He's lying."

"She's the girl that volunteered," the red-headed girl from four--Coral, if he's remembering correctly--sneers, angling her head to glare at you, "Of course they need to keep an eye on her." She then dips her chin downwards, staring you down with mockingly soft eyes, "Is it everything you thought it'd be, princess?"

Volunteering did mark you. He wonders how many remarks you had to put up with on the way here and whether or not they've affected your mental state. The short exchange the two of you shared made you seem together. You weren't overly emotionally or even aggressively closed off.

The determined pout of your lips draws his attention more than it should. You then tilt your head with no warning, matching her condescending expression, "Better, actually."

You draw out the sentence, not once shrinking under District 4's cold stare. Coriolanus's expression instinctively shifts to hint at a smile. Your sarcasm isn't off putting or brash, it's refreshing. It's a flash of fight, of sharp teeth ready to be barred that he hadn't thought you capable of.

The display of potential aggression also doesn't affect your charm at all. Being able to strike back while still holding onto the appearance of kindness is a skill in itself. Coriolanus has to take everything on the cheek publicly to avoid coming off like a starving dog finally snapping.

Those kinds of remarks won't do you any favors in the arena unless you're the kind of person that has the physical strength or skill to back it up. You don't. It's more than just your stature, it's in the way you carry yourself. But still, maybe you'll be entertaining enough under this new structure to score him some points towards the Plinth prize. That is, if he can get you to trust him, if he can convince you to talk about your relationship with your cousin and maybe flash that smile you gave him when you first met for the cameras.

Coral's glare intensifies. She pushes herself to stand, as if to intimidate you, but before she can fully straighten, the world shifts.

Coriolanus doesn't have time to think. He's sliding--falling--back before he knows what's happening. A few of the tributes yelp, one of the younger ones squeaks. Something warm latches itself onto his wrist.

He blinks, his body finally reattaching itself to his mind. The vehicle opened and started dumping out its contents with no warning. In the panic, you had grabbed him.

The vehicle settles, anyone managing to hold onto the metal door looses their hold. Everyone tumbles down a small slope, a mess of bodies bumping into each other when they're not busy hitting the edge of rocks until they land in a heap on the ground.

Coriolanus sits up as soon as his back hits something solid. His head snaps around, taking in his surroundings. The space is made up of jagged, tan rocks coated in dirt. Bars line the perimeter--a cage. This is a cage. Of course following the animals leads to ending up in a cage.

Self disgust and panic knot oddly in his stomach. He stands before he can think of what comes next.

"And here we have them, the tributes for the 10th annual Hunger Games."

His eyes find the people already flocking the bars, the most notable one of them someone he's familiar with. Lucky Flickerman, a usual Capitol programming personality. This, his public humilation, is being streamed on television.

"Oh, and look--" Lucky turns towards him, the cameraman instinctually moving to get him into frame. Lucky turns back to the camera, addressing his audience, "I don't think he's supposed to be in there." He laughs then, the sound jabbing at Coriolanus's side.

An aggravated heat begins to burn through is chest. There's nowhere to duck, no excuse to remedy what he's done to the Snow family name.

"Hey." He blinks, surprised he didn't immediately jump out of his skin. How you stood up so silently is beyond him.

Coriolanus can't think of a way to respond. Here he is, in a cage on display with you, like he's one of the district born, and you're the one attempting to ease him. Confidence, assurance. That's what he should be providing you so that you feel the need to--

You place your hand over his. The contact runs just as hot as the humiliation searing through him, only, this is a different kind of warmth. A much steadier, much more agonizing sort of warmth.

His eyes finally find yours. You look more tousled than before, one of your hair ribbons missing and dirt smeared against the apple of your cheek. "Own it."

You whisper the instruction so confidently it almost feels like this is natural to you. Owning it does feel better than being consumed by his embarrassment and accepting the destruction of his family name, but part of the steadiness comes from you. The realization that you're capable of that claws at him.

He nods, eyes instinctually dropping to avoid your expectant stare. The white rose is still safely held between your fingers. He stretches a hand forward, taking the flower by its stem. Your eyebrows draw together, but you let him. Coriolanus breaks off the end of the stem and carefully tucks the flower behind your ear.

You hold still, even as he takes the time to smooth your hair into place.

"Well, that's not something you see every day." Lucky's voice snaps him out of it.

Coriolanus takes you by the arm, walking you up to the camera's. He keeps his expression as casually bright as possible. "I'm Coriolanus Snow."

"And who is she?"

He expects to have to answer that, but you give him your full name without missing a beat, your voice smooth and sweet like honey. "And who are you?"

The cameraman lets out a small laugh at your confusion. "Be nice," Lucky mumbles, "Not everyone has a TV." He then turns back to you, "I'm Lucky Flickerman, Capitol weatherman, TV personality..."

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Lucky says into his microphone, "You're the girl who volunteered."

Coriolanus watches your reaction as best he can from his peripheral vision. Your lips pull downwards slightly. There's something almost sad about it, but it's done in such a respectable manner that he can't imagine anyone minding it.

You confirm with a slight nod of your head, "Yes."

Lucky takes the microphone back, "Now why would you do a thing like that?"

For the first time, a hint of cracking presents itself in your expression. It's minor, just the pull of your eyebrows, but he can't help but hold his breath as he waits for your reply. "For my cousin."

"And she's back home, right? You're from 12?"

You nod again, the motion small, "Yes. She's with my mother, her aunt."

"Well, that was a very brave thing," he commends, almost surprisingly serious, "Not many people are willing to die in someone's place." Your expression wavers, Lucky moves on before it can matter. "And you're?"

"Coriolanus Snow," he says smoothly, "I'm a student at the Academy."

"And you were...told to come here?"

Coriolanus breezes past the speculation in Lucky's tone, "I was told to present my tribute."

Lucky nods, turning on the easy, camera ready smile, "And present her you did."

"Excuse me," a tiny voice mumbles. You instinctually look down. A girl that can't be much more than maybe 7-years-old, "Who was the girl you volunteered for?"

You blink at the loaded question, "Uh--she's my cousin, and her name is Marigold, we--we call her Mari." The little girl blinks at you, watching you like you're something foreign. Which, he guesses, you technically are. "And you know what? She kinda looked like you when she was little."

The little girl beams, "I like your bows."

"Thank you," you hum brightly, like the compliment truly does mean the world to you.

You unlink your arm from his. Coriolanus watches you unsurely as you reach both hands to the side of your hair. You pull at the ribbon on one side of your head, unraveling it expertly. "Would you like one?"

The girl beams, nodding her head enthusiastically. You lean forward so that you're about eye level with the girl. You hand her the short piece of ribbon. The girl giggles before running off with her prize.

"Aw, isn't that cute?" Lucky's speaking to the camera as he starts to walk forward, "Come down, folks, and see these tributes before it's too late. And I do mean, too late."

Lucky disappears, walking as he continues to talk to his audience.

"You gave her your..." He gestures in the general direction of where the ribbon had previously sat.

You shrug, "Oh, I think the other one fell out on the way here. They're impractical, but I didn't--I didn't think I'd be in them for so long."

There's something he should say to you. Probably something comforting, assuring.

"Okay." The stern voice of a peacekeeper. Coriolanus should have known that it was only a matter of time. One of them clasps his shoulder, the other grabs his arm. "You're not supposed to be in here."

He's pushed back before he can speak to you. "Okay," he mumbles, "I'm go--"

You grab his arm before he can obey, "Bring us food." The words are hard, urging, "Please, I haven't eaten anything since before the reaping."

He nods once, pausing long enough to force the peacekeeper to push him back again. Coriolanus starts walking, flanked by the peacekeepers, his eyes trained on what's directly in front of him.

As they pass where the group had initially landed, his eyes find a bright speck of ivory white. A hint of brightness hidden by rocky dirt and grime. Your ribbon.

Coriolanus wonders if it's something you'd want back, something you'd spend your time searching for. You already gave away the other one, it can't have mattered that much. It's likely just some repurposed scrap.

He doesn't know what he's doing as he bends down under the guise of adjusting his shoelace. He's not sure what his goal is until his hand reaches forward, grabbing the ribbon.

"Okay," one of the peacekeepers hurries him, bending down to place a forceful hand on his shoulder, "Hurry up."

----

His apartment is heavy with silence. His grandma'am and Tigris have been asleep for hours now, resting the way he should be.

It's everything that's happened today. That's what's stealing sleep from him. There's a lot to do, a lot to think about if he's going to pull this off and win the Plinth prize. There's an uncertain charm about you. It's as if you have a greater understanding of what it's like to be civilized than the rest of them. That's something to work with, isn't it?

You mentioned needing to eat. Another obstacle that his financial predicaments have placed in his way. He'll have to take a risk he's taken so rarely--taking food from the Academy's lunch in order to bring you something. You'll be of no use to anyone if you faint in the arena.

There's more to think about, to plan. He could stop by tomorrow after his usual classes if Dr. Gaul doesn't orchestrate any specifics. And maybe even then. It'd be ideal to convince you that he cares about you more than any of the mentors care about their tributes. The more you think he's working for you, the more you'll work for him.

That's why he's awake. He shifts, moving from his back to resting on his side. All of this, all thoughts and analysis of you, are extremely practical.

He wipes at his eyes, forcing himself to sit up. He finds his discarded uniform, left folded neatly on his small desk. Without thinking, Coriolanus reaches deep into the uniform's pocket, digging through it until his fingers brush against something smooth and cool. He pulls out the partially stained, ivory ribbon. Truly practical.

----

Taglist (tagging people who were asking about part 2, if this is annoying, i'm so sorry pls lmk if you don't want to be tagged) : @juleshaters @cosmicsully @edb954 @h-l-vlovesvintage @darknessdevil25 @mavkaorlova @astarborntowrite @karmaswitch @daughter1of2anita3dearly @zucchinimalfoy @madislayyy @weaponb33 @darlingisntit @deamus-liv @etheriaaly @clintsupremacy @spookyconsultingcriminal @dylanstilinskiposts

[i-still-got-love-for-you]

Sparks Fly

Jason Grace x gn!reader

545 words

cw: this is literlly just fluff, im 95% sure its completely gender neutral, potential verb tense errors but those might just bother me, dont know if this is a blurb or a drabble

a/n: hello! breaking the posting schedule to bring you the first written fic i've made for any fandom other than tvd. i would love to hear some feedback! dw, i WILL post on thursday, just wanted to kick off october with some fluff!

“There you are!”

The sound of his voice startled you, making you whip your head around to see him. Jason’s shirt was off, his bare chest glistening with sweat. He was slightly out of breath and hunched over his knees with effort.

“Here I am,” you replied, a small smile overtaking your mouth. You scooted to the right, making room for him on the pier. You’d been there since lunch. You had always preferred the view of the ocean to your cabin's activities.

Sitting down, Jason took his glasses out of a pocket in his shorts and put them back on. “Percy was actually hard to fight today. I almost thought it’d end in a draw.”

His sarcasm made you giggle, and he smiled, and you wished you could take a picture. His dimples were the most adorable things in the world, and his smile was so genuine. The fact that he had glasses on did not help your crush on the boy.

“How terrible that would have been. You would have disgraced your cabin,” you teased. Jason laughed at that, and your heart almost stopped. Your cheeks were surely pink now, and you hoped he assumed you were sunburned.

“What have you been doing?” he asked.

You shrugged, “Nothing of note. Just sitting here and looking at the water.” It brought you peace to close your eyes and listen to the ambiance.

“Sounds nice.” A comfortable silence fell over you two, and you inched your hand closer to his with every passing second.

When skin met skin, a thousand volts of electricity swept through your entire body. Your head turned to him, and found he was already looking at you.

Your gaze moved from his eyes to his lips, subconsciously moving closer to him. Then, your lips touched, and you were on cloud nine.

You closed your eyes as you leaned into the kiss, blood pounding in your veins as Jason kissed you back. It was all consuming, the only thing your brain could focus on was Jason’s lips on yours.

Reluctantly, Jason broke away from the kiss, breathing heavy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know if you’d want to kiss me back-” You quickly shut him up by grabbing face and pulling towards yours.

Your hands ventured around his body, moving from his face, to his shoulders. They finally rested on his chest, relishing in the skin to skin contact. His wrapped his around the small of your back and pushed you closer to him, as if there was any room left.

The kiss broke once again, this time initiated by you to get some air. When you leaned back, you could see sparks igniting around Jason's head. He noticed them immediately, blushing and bowing his head. "I do that when I get excited, sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be sorry," you giggled, "It's kinda cute. Makes me think of a Taylor Swift song."

"What? Electric Touch? Call It What You Want?" he guessed. "Wait, maybe I'm your Superman?"

You giggled again, "No, not any of those. Sparks Fly. How do you know those other ones?"

"It might sound creepy, but I always listen to what you say." And with that, you bring him in for another kiss.

[italianpersonwithashippersheart]

Hey bestie, dropping by with a mea culpa. When Peaceful Property started, you expressed concern that GMMTV was inching toward a model of using bl pairs in shows that would avoid being explicitly gay but still draw on shipping fandom to be successful. Coming off The Trainee, which was not a bl but did have expIicitly queer characters and romance subplots, I wasn't sure the intentions were quite that dark for PP, but having now finished it and seen the way some in the production have interacted with shipper fans, I have to call it: you were right to be concerned. At no point was this show ever a bl and none of its principal characters are canonically queer, but they successfully leveraged the TayNew ship to have fans interacting with it as if it was in fact a gay love story, that idea and fan commentary was explicitly encouraged by the creators, and the show has been quite successful despite never actually delivering on all the TayNew bait. I'm definitely concerned that we might have somehow swung back around to queerbaiting being seen as acceptable and good, as long as it features popular branded pairs. I don't have any bigger thoughts to offer about how this should be addressed, but just wanted to come back and say you were valid for naming that!

Thank you. I didn't want to be correct. And I am still hoping to wrong about what this says about where GMMTV is going.

But I am not gonna lie, seeing the posts about the finale did regnite the massive fury I had at this project when it was first called a bromance. So I am going to use your ask as an opportunity to vent.

FOR THE RECORD: I am not mad at you, or at the people and mutual on my dash that have enjoyed the show and are claiming as gay out of spite. My anger is at GMMTV and at GMMTV alone.

THEY DID THIS SHIT TWICE ALREADY!!! Back to fucking back.

I know High Schoool Frenemy is being watched by like 5 people on tumblr. But it's doing well outside of tumblr. They are using bl style fanservice with the 2 main boys of that show. I have seen the shippy content and compilations along with the other bl couples. Not to mention people like Jojo saying those characters are the his new favorite ship on twitter.

AND I AM SO PISSED!!!!

I am glad you brought up TayNew because there is no doubt in my mind that they used TayNew for Peaceful Property as a test. They knew there could be backlash. They knew the bl fandom could have rioted. But they also knew that if it that rage would have been directed at TayNew not at the director, not the company but TAYNEW.

And I think TayNew knew this. Because they spend weeks on social media doing preintive damage control, I have seen the posts of them (or at least New) saying it wasn't going to be romantic. I don't think the two of them forgot how they were left to eat the shit alone over the bullshit backlash during the TayGun kiss situation with GMMTV doing fuck all for them.

And what pisses me off is that BL audience didn't even give a backlash. They eat that shit up like it was fucking icecream.

The BL audience is literally doing their job for them. They are taking a show with some gay subtext and running with it.

They are showing up for the fanservice (again broder audience outside of tumblr), and gleefully closing their eyes and ears and saying well I Think It's Gay.

What do you think Mega Corporation GMMTV is going to take from the success and no backlash? If the answear is anything but: We can produce half of the BLs as usual and make the rest Bromances, you have more faith in corporations then I do.

Because Bromances can be watched by non BL audiences as well. The BL niche is a big one, but it is still a niche.

And now they won't even have to bother inserting arguable quality gay commentary or struggles or homophobia. Or any gay kissing, no more workshops. No more worries about how effective these potential straight boys are going to be at playing gay. All they have to do is making them do fanservice, and they are great at training people for that. Or better yet, actually use one or two ships that have kissed before and done actual BLs.

Will they stop doing BL at all, obviously not, you gotta give the BL audience something to remind them they can still show boys kissing, and we have the Ex Morning and Jojo that will never actually stop making BLs and some gay shit. But if in the next line up we will more bromances, and eventually we get half BL and half bromances I wouldn't be surprised.

Of course maybe I am just pessimistic and cynical. Maybe the proto bdsm in the heart killers is enough to persuade people that I am totally wrong. I guess we will see about that.

Thanks again for the ask and the oppurtunity to vent a little. Again I don't fault anyone for enjoying this, it was design to get the BL audience watching.

I will personally be keeping with my own resolution and never watch another gmmtv show live ever again, maybe binge the few that sound interesting and that's it.

At least I can find comfort in the idea that that other companies do not have the same level of BIG cast of boys and big budget to do the same thing and follow in the bromance trend.

[empress-simps]

Close To Me

Pairing: Bodyguard! Marauders x Fem! Reader, Bodyguard! Sirius x Fem! Reader AU: Bodyguard AU / Muggle AU CW: Reader getting kidnapped. Sirius getting injured. Note: This might be the longest one shot I have written so far, this is also my first time writing an action-ish fic? So please do keep it in mind, some parts may be inaccurate.. I also published this at 12 midnight lol. Enjoy!(2.5k words)

You always thought it was a tad bit excessive.

Being the sole heir to a vast family fortune meant that you had the finest thing you could ever want in your life; it also meant that you had the finest protection. Your father handpicked every staff member that was assigned to protect and care for you- going as far as doing not just a background check on them, but also their entire family. Doing a bunch of psychology and loyalty tests were also a must so it was rest assured that they would do their job.

Having one bodyguard? Understandable. Two? Oh, alright just some precautions. Three? That sounds... very safe. Four? Now, that's where you draw the line.

Sure, being born with a golden spoon is great- wonderful, even; but you felt like you were trapped.

You wanted to live life like any other normal human being, away from assassination or kidnapping attempts that were made in your life. So, mustering up every courage you have, you stormed into your father’s study to try and persuade him to just at least assign one to watch over you.

It was expected, you failed.

Now you were stuck with four goofballs bodyguards who would protect you with their life.

James Potter- the strategist. He could sense danger from miles away and best believe that a safe escape plan for you was already formulated if ever things went south.

Remus Lupin- the mediator. He has the ability to appear calm and composed even in the face of danger. Remus saved you more than once just from his voice and words.

Peter Pettigrew- the tech wizard. He’s the one responsible for surveillance, turning any kind of technology into a means of protecting you.

And then there was Sirius Black, the jack of all trades. When your father chose the top candidate, it was him. He was an exceptionally skilled fighter, good with weapons, fast and light reflexes, can speak multiple languages (mainly French), and over all just a well-rounded protector.

Being born into a family with a long tradition and a reputation for producing some of the best security experts in the muggle world, Sirius stood out like a sore thumb. He was the black sheep who defied family expectations. His family's company, BlackGuard Security, was known for its merciless efficiency and rigid standards.

His abilities were evident. Succeeded in every training program he participated in, frequently outperforming his peers with fast thinking and adaptability. Your father noticed Sirius's unconventional approach to security and saw potential in his abilities. When he was assigned to be your bodyguard, he took it as an opportunity to show himself beyond the shadow of his family's legacy.

Sirius is your shadow. He’s never more than a few paces behind. But it wasn’t just duty that kept him so close; it’s the quiet and unspoken bond that had formed between you two throughout the years. A bond that went beyond the call of duty, beyond the formalities. Which he desperately tries to deny.

“Good morning, Remmy!”

You beamed, smiling as you opened the door of your bedroom to see the tall man standing outside, on watch.

It’s still a mystery to you how he looks so put together with his neat hair, suit, and the signature earpiece in his ear even though it’s still 7:00 in the morning.

“Good morning, Miss.” He smiles, closing the door behind you as you headed towards the grand staircase, Remus following a step behind.

“I rarely see you during mornings,” You comment, going down the stairs to grab breakfast.

“James had some matters to attend to, Miss.” He answered, offering a small and polite smile. You hummed, “It’s alright. I like your company, Remmy. Jamie can get a tad bit enthusiastic in mornings.” You laugh, as Remus looks at you.

“Don’t let him hear that or he might just throw a fit.” He chuckled.

“He’s James, it’s normal.” You grinned, seeing the familiar long black-haired guy talking quietly in his earpiece.

“Morning, Sirius!” You waved at him; his piercing grey eyes looked in your direction. “Good morning, Y/n.” he smiled, then went back to talking in his earpiece.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t a bit bummed that you don’t have his undivided attention, Remus noticed this and raised his eyebrow, smiling to himself.

Taking a seat at the rather large dining table, you couldn't help but sigh. Remus decided to tease you a bit, "Were you expecting more from Padfoot?" He smiles, chuckling at the way you desperately try to hide the blush on your cheeks.

"What?! No! I was just pre-occupied with other things!"

Remus doesn't believe it when your eyes wandered in the direction of Sirius who was still talking into the earpiece. "No prongs, she has an event she needs to attend in the evening." You heard him talking to what you can assume is James from the other line.

The scent of breakfast wafted through the air, making your stomach growl as the staff placed the dishes and arranged the silverware for you.

"Would you like some, Remmy?"

"No thank you, miss. I already ate."

As you ate a piece of your breakfast, you looked up to Remus. "Anything interesting stuff for today?"

"I'm afraid today will be quite normal, miss. Just a charity ball your family would attend hosted by the Malfoy family."

You frowned. It's not like you hate the Malfoys, you just don't like how they're trying to set you up with their son, Lucius Malfoy, when it was clear that he is infatuated with his mother's bodyguard- Narcissa Black.

"Do I really have to go?" You complained,

"Prongs already picked up your dress for later, Y/n." Sirius suddenly spoke up, and standing beside Remus. You huffed, already feeling tired.

“Maybe I’ll just sneak out again-“

“No can do, Y/n!” James appeared out of nowhere, his famous grin plastered on his face, Peter trailing behind him, tinkering with what seems to be a mini remote of some sort.

You crossed your arms, eyebrows raised. “And why would that be, Mr. Potter?”

“Because your escort would be Malfoy.” he grumbles, clearly not liking the idea and the dude.

“I beg your pardon?”

You tried not to roll your eyes, keyword, tried. Remus clears his throat, trying to mask his surprise. Sirius felt his eye twitch.

What if something happens at the ball? Sirius is the most capable one of protecting you from danger, sorrynotsorry.

“But!” James blurts, “We’d still attend the ball, not just that close to you.”

“Like that’s any better.”

James frowns, “Sorry. The Malfoys actually don’t even want us to attend and guard you. Your father insisted, telling them you won’t attend the ball without us.” He says, taking a seat beside you despite Remus’ warning glances directed at him.

“Just what do they want…?” Sirius mumbles to himself, already getting highly suspicious of Lucius and his family. (Not because of the fact that you’re about to get arranged to the Malfoy heir, no not at all.)

“They’re probably just annoyed, Lucius really can’t make a move on Y/n with us around.” James said, grabbing a handful of grapes and popping them onto his mouth, making you chuckle as you pushed the bowl closer to him.

“Alright, looking good Y/n!” James grinned, seeing you come down the grand staircase dressed in a red lavish gown with a gold accent.

Sirius felt his heart stop.

There was just something about you that makes his heart beat a little faster, time freezing, and the unusual flips his stomach did when he sees you.

Fuck— you were absolutely breathtaking.

You twirled, making your boys smile and compliment you, but Sirius just stood there, not reacting.

“Do I look presentable, Siri?”

You asked, trying to pass it off as a joke but they know damn well you were serious as you fiddled with a random lace in your dress. Not like Sirius noticed it, no, he was transfixed to your beauty.

“Beautiful.”

That was all you needed to hear.

“Mr. Malfoy, good evening.”

Lucius smiled slightly, taking your hand, and kissing it. “The night could not compare to your beauty, Y/n.”

It took every single fiber of Sirius’ being to not punch Lucius square in the face. How dare he flirt with you when he’s secretly dating his cousin?

You smiled politely, even though all you wanted to do is to stay a good couple of feet away from him. “You flatter me, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I am just stating facts, Y/n.” He offered his arm to you, “Shall we?”

Right. Might as well get over it.

Linking your arm with his, you nodded. “We shall.”

The boys instantly knew there was something off as soon as they stepped inside the venue.

James kept twisting the ring on his pinky finger, already thinking of numerous escape plans for different situations. Peter was on his phone, eyebrows furrowing as he checked and tries to figure out why he can't access some surveillance cameras in the venue. Sirius was on high alert, nothing could go unnoticed, he knows who approached you, how long you've spoken to them, the food that you consumed, and how that stupid Lucius kissed your hand, and interacted with you.

Remus also was alert, but one thing that made the alarms go off inside his head was the four suspicious men dressed in tuxedos quietly slipped inside the venue without getting noticed.

"Marauders, two o'clock. Four men, nearing darling's area quick." He told in the comms, eyes never leaving the four figures.

"Copy, Moony. Wormtail, any news?" Remus' earpiece was filled with James' voice. "Negative. Still trying to access." Out of the corner of his eye, Remus can see Sirius slowly inching to your direction. "Padfoot, do not engage. Wait it out." Remus heard James order Sirius, "I won't." he grunts.

That was when hell broke loose.

With lightning reflexes, one of the men pulled out a pistol and shot the large crystal chandelier causing it to fall and crash to the ground, breaking into thousands of tiny pieces. It was pure chaos, people were trying to rush out of the exits, chairs and tables were turned as they pushed through.

Sirius felt his blood run cold.

He was in autopilot, he dodged a panicked guest and leaped over fallen chairs, all while keeping his eyes on you. He cannot afford for the men to reach you before he does.

Luck was not on his side today.

He quickly closed the distance between both of you. He was your protector; he swore on his life he would protect you. Sirius would even sacrifice his life if it meant that you would be safe. He would do anything for you.

It was proven it wasn't enough when one of the men grabbed your arm, dragging you towards a hidden exit while Lucius Malfoy was escorted by the others.

"Fuck!" He yelled, as one of Malfoy's henchmen shot him in the shoulder to prevent him from going after you.

"Prongs! They have her!" They could all hear his anguished voice through the comms. Remus runs over to Sirius from where he was stationed, "Padfoot, you're injured-"

"I don't care!" He yells at his friend, "We need to fucking find her!"

"Wormtail, you better have the damn access already or I'll skin you alive!" Sirius barks angrily, talking to his comms as he fought the rest of the men with Remus helping him. "I'm in, but it's too late. They jammed the signals earlier and destroyed footages. Go to the exit, you'll see a motorbike on your left-" Sirius doesn't need to be told twice, he did what Peter told him and mounted the motorcycle, Remus quickly joining him.

"Can you see the black car ahead of you? That's them." Peter told him. Sirius was focusing on chasing the damn vehicle, so Remus answered on his behalf.

"Yeah, we're closing in. Prongs, what's your status?"

"Backsup are on their way, they'll be right behind you in 2 minutes."

Sirius felt the distant throb in his shoulder, the warm blood seeping through made his dress shirt clung onto him, but he paid it no mind.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Padfoot!" Remus reminds him as they narrowly missed an incoming truck. Sirius only nodded in reply as he grips the motorcycle tightly, weaving through the traffic and desperately trying to reach the speedy vehicle you're in.

"We're gaining on them!" Remus updates, seeing the familiar back up vehicles approaching, "Back up's near."

"Do not engage until the back ups arrive." James told them in a calm and commanding tone.

Of course.

Sirius will always be Sirius. When had he ever listened to Prongs' orders?

He is driven by his instinct, which is currently screaming at him to attack right then and there. As they neared an intersection, an opportunity was presented to him. He would be a fucking idiot to ignore it. With a calculated risk, he accelerated, effectively pulling alongside the car.

Remus sighs, already knowing his friend's thoughts and getting ready.

"Now, Moony!" Remus, who's on cue, leaned out and desperately tried to reach the car's door handle, and with a few tries, he managed to open it succesfully making him grapple with a man inside.

The car swerves, tires screeching but Sirius kept his pace. He can see you struggling with your captors, and he can hear the backup seconds away. He couldn't wait, every second counts, anything could happen.

"Hang on!" Sirius shouts, with a burst of speed, the backup cars sandwiched the car with you inside, forcing it to halt. Sirius and Remus dismounted the motorbike, guns drawn.

"It's either you release her, or I'll kill all of you and blondie." He growls, referring to Lucius Malfoy who is also inside the car.

The situation was tense, but the arrival of their team shifted the balance. The henchmen, overwhelmed and outgunned, let you go, their plan thwarted. Keeping the Malfoy Heir safe is their top priority.

Dust settled down, and the other staff handled the situation, wrapping it up. Sirius stormy grey eyes met yours in the midst of chaos. His shoulder stung, a reminder of the events that had happened tonight, although it paled in comparison to the concern etched in his face as he rushes to you.

"You're not hurt, are you?" His voice was barely above a whisper as he scanned your form. Your eyes found its way on his injury, "No, I'm alright. But Sirius, you're hurt."

Sirius exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and the world seems to slow down. "I'll live, darling. The important thing is that you're safe."

The sirens, flashing lights, and the buzz all seemed to fade out into the background as you stared into his eyes. Taking your hand in his, he placed it to his lips, pressing a kiss, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I was so afraid I'd lose you," he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice unlike anything you'd heard before. Sirius hugged you tightly, feeling him press a kiss against your hair as you leaned to his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

"You'll never lose me. Never in a million years, how could you when you're always close to me?"

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Yandere Kars X Pillar woman reader who survived because she was with baby Whamu and baby Santana, protecting them.

This idea makes me go monkey brain, had to write a short on this and upload at nearly 2am.

Defy nature

(Yandere Kars X Female pillar woman reader)

You frantically shushed the crying baby in your arms as you cradled him in an attempt to quell him.

“Please stop crying or they'll find us” you quietly pleaded. Not wanting to draw the attention of Kars and Esidisi. You'd already watched them mow down even the strongest of their own kind, dead set on killing everyone that opposed them. You'd been told to flee with the only two children Wammu and Saitana as everyone tried to defend against them.

You turned to the basket you were kneeling by. Saitana began to stir.

“No no no, not you too” you muttered before you heard steps approaching.

You threw your head towards the source of the sound and your blood went cold.

“(Y/n)” Kars lulled your name, covered in the blood of your own.

“you never were a fighter, always so tender my flower” he said as he took another step forward.

Tender, a word he described you with a great many times. Sickened you to think he'd been one of your paramours now that he had massacred so many.

“I won't let you kill them too!” You proclaimed as you put wammu back in the basket.

“No I don't intend to kill them, children have such impressionable minds… I shall train them to serve me” he said. Your gut churned, use children to fulfill his own sick twisted plans. You couldn't understand his thought process.

“Why? Why would you do such a thing to yourself?” You questioned.

“I wanted to carve a path for our kind, we were once revered by the humans as God. Now they are trying to kill us. Once I find a way to release our true potential we shall be the ultimate lifeforms” he explained.

“Yes that was the case before but any creature does not wish to be ruled by another, fear is a necessity for any to survive… what you intend to do is go against nature itself” you seethe, looking him straight in his eyes. He was different, frenzied with an insatiable appetite.

“What you've become now is a sick mockery of our brethren, the ones you have slayed without even a thought!” you yelled. Both babies now wailing.

“I never thought I'd see the day you'd yell” he said in an amused tone.

“I hold no manners to you, you will just kill me like everyone else” you told him.

Within the blink of an eye he was now right beside you. Holding your head in his hand.

“I couldn't,” he confessed.

“In truth I always felt a burning Jealousy towards your other partners. For so long I've wanted you to myself” he continued as his free hand delicately toyed with your horn, something he knew you'd usually take great pleasure in but not now. It felt more  perverse than before with that hungry gaze, like a boa seconds before it eats its prey whole.

“And now I do” he said.

[lxmelle]

“Best Friend” / 親友

I’ve been mulling over this for a few days, wondering if I’m overthinking things, or if there is actually something to it.

Gojo and Geto are like a pair of parents. And I think it’s deliberate. Hear me out.

See, from a non-native pov, I can pick apart this coined phrase for best friends, shinyuu “親友” or “family friend” into its individual kanji: 親 and 友

The first kanji on its own, oya “親” can be read as “parents”. The second kanji on its own is tomo “友” can be read as “friend”. How a kanji character is read changes according to context within a sentence, topic, or what it is paired with. It can be difficult to explain if you’re not used to the language, so I’ll leave it at that for the purposes of not complicating this post.

They both considered each other their 親友 - best friend. There is only one pair of people who considered each other this “best friend” terminology in the series. Gege could have used Nakama 仲間, or Brother, or even just Tomodachi 友達. TaisetsunaHito 大切な人 is definitely a step too far. No other best friend. Yuji is several people’s “brother” but not best friend. Gojo and Geto are a pair. A duo. The canon-confirmed “たった一人の親友” my one and only best friend status is mutual.

As friends, we know they split up. There is no mention of 親友 / best friend-ism at this point. But they unequivocally considered each other as such, and they never ever had another 親友 until their dying day.

The fact that there is the kanji for “parent” in the phrase for “best friend” is poetic. “Oya/親” is obviously the same word used by Gojo in the kfc breakup scene, because that’s the kanji for it, and that’s what Geto did - kill his parents.

I’ll use this to illustrate:

親 = parents (consisting of mum + dad).

親友🤍 + 親友🖤

To add to the latter, this potential theme, they both go onto adopting kids. Their different parenting styles speak for themselves ofc, but that’s by the by.

Gojo and Geto’s separation played a part in setting off this huge domino effect too. Geto also described how his parents are not his only family now. We also know he considers close non-blood-related persons to be as “family” - like how he offered Kuroi the acceptance of her feelings towards Amanai as “family”. He saw Gojo and the school as family - that is, until he saw how the system was willing to sacrifice their own kind. It isn’t a stretch to see the parallels between what Geto is sharing about severing that bond with his parents (and also with Gojo) and finding another “family” by choice.

Obviously Gege isn’t drawing the parallel by bringing parents into it just due to their best friend status. I headcanon that it was to start anew, not be a hypocrite, to spare them from the monster he’d become, and to eliminate the likelihood they’d be used against him in any way. The last 2 reasons would be to drive in the emphasis that there is a similarity with Rika (who was rumoured to have been the reason for her parents’ deaths although they occurred separately) and... that this would mean that Geto was also separating from his “family” in HI - the duo that was Gojo and Geto. Gojo ascended without him in his quest to become the strongest, and Geto descended to pursue his twisted form of meaning to make his ideal a reality.

It might just be reaching and a coincidence, but I remember that Gege loves these little itty bitty details in character and lore design - like birthdates, dates, flower language, religion, specific kanji used for names, etc - just to name a few. It helps him illustrate significance and I guess adds a touch of sophistication and layering in his storytelling. I absolutely love it. We know by design SatoSugu / Gojo and Geto are meant to be counterparts, so black & white, yin and yang, light and dark, elite and common, even their names are quite fitting, GojO SatoRU and GetO SuguRU .

The kanji / characters selected are also deliberate - Satoru 悟 being “enlightenment” and Suguru 傑 being “outstanding”. The Gojokesa 五��袈裟 was also deliberate, Geto 夏油 has the word “summer” as part of his name and his birthday is setsubun (1st day of spring) where ghosts/evil spirits are chased away. Gojo’s is the heaviest snowfall.

My examples are limited to just satosugu, but you know other characters have similar situations with how the kanji for their names were chosen - e.g. simplest that come to mind is 七海建人 Nanami : 七 = 7 and his ratio technique 7:3 and his hair style too 70%30% parting, 海 = sea, 建人 = human builder (…lol, Gojo entrusted Yuji to him after all…); utahime 歌 = song/music, etc.

My point is that there are a lot of little details like these, so I concluded that I’ll just share this thought I had. The pair of 親友 breaking up is a bit like “partners in crime” no longer being partners anymore, and went about their separate ways but fostered “families” of their own.

TLDR: scene in front of the KFC was really a breakup (◞‸◟)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, clashing personalities, exclusion, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: moody boy Curtis Everett x bubbly, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Another Monday. Is this what life is? Mourning the weekend as you try to wipe the sleep from your eyes. It's too much, you should be cuddling squishes and snoring.

You hop off the bus and head towards the building. Once you're at your desk, you can pretend you're awake. If you get the right angle, you can just doze off a bit. Just a couple minutes more.

The elevator nearly knocks you with its slow rise. You shuffle between cubicles but before you can claim your chair, you find something unexpected. A cushion. A pink and white ergonomic cushion with a matching pad clung around the back rest. Um, this isn't your chair.

You look around confused. Someone will be real mad when they realise they lost their fancy chair. People do seem territorial around here. You turn the chair as you search for its owner.

“Did I get the colour right?” A grizzly voice has you leaping in place. You face Curtis as he rests his hand on the side of your cubicle, “they had purple too.”

“You?” You gasp.

“I…” he shrugs and his eyes wander to the ceiling, “I'm tryna make it up to you. I was and asshole so–”

“Nope, nuh uh,” you turn and tear open the velcro, detaching the back pad, “keep ‘em. I don't want your charity.”

“It's not–” he steps forward, “it's an apology.”

“Apology? For stealing? Well, I can't forgive a liar.”

You shove the pad against his chest, “I think I was clear. You should be happy I was because I have a terrible habit of rambling. My mom says I could talk the dead to life.”

He reluctantly clasps onto the pad as he scowls. You grab the seat cushion and press it against the other one. He reluctantly hooks his other arm under it.

“I was gonna give it back,” he grumbles.

“So why'd you take it?” You challenge.

“I don't know,” he mutters.

“I do. You're a bully. I left those behind in school,” you put your hands on your hips, “so go away and keep your hands off my things!”

His nostrils flare as his eyes meet yours. They're the shade of blue that makes you think of storms and the ocean and butterfly wings. He'd be cute if he wasn't so mean.

“You shouldn't talk to me like that,” he warns as he squeezes the cushions.

“Take your own advice, meanie! You had your chance.”

“I've been nice,” he rasps as he looks you up and down.

You're unsettled by how the glint in his eyes changes, how his shoulders square and his jaw ticks. He meets your gaze and narrows his eyes.

“You don't know what mean is.”

You flinch as he spins on his heel. He marches past you, a gust of air tickling your cheeks as he flees. You turn and watch him go, your stomach knotting.

Maybe you were a bit rude, even pushy, but you're trying to be better about drawing lines. You don't have to be a doormat to be nice. Even if it is easier.

You put your bag on your desk and sit, squeaking at the harsh impact of your ass on the thin seat. Gosh, there may as well not be any padding. You sniff and swivel close to the desk, booting the computer as you wait and think.

He's mad but he'll get over it. He made it clear he has no interest in you before so why this sudden change. Oh well, you never really understood men or their brains.

🩷

You stare at your pen cup and frown. You miss your happy penguin pen buddy. As you ponder his absence, that suspicion nips at your ears. Maybe he took those too.

Does it matter? You're moving on. You ordered new pens on Amazon. You're starting over new!

You get up to get a fresh coffee. You really should cut back. Maybe you could do some hot chocolate but you get a bit silly when you have too much sugar.

You enter the break room and immediately want to storm out. He's there, glaring at the machine as he watches it brew. You smell the dark roast you bought him. How could you have ever been so nice to someone like him?

Curtis takes his mug and you sidle along the wall, certain to get well out of his way. He turns and stops as he sees you. You stare at the ceiling as you wait for him to go.

He snarls but makes no move to leave. You bounce on your heels with your mug in hand. You can wait.

He's not going. So you go to the machine and peruse the selection. Maple shortbread, huh, that's a curious choice.

You sense him lingering. You do your best to ignore him, the scuff of his shoes putting you on edge. You're not the best at reading people, obviously, but you can feel his anger.

As he looms closer, you take a step forward. You spin and throw an arm up as if blocking an unseen strike. Your hand flips Curtis’ mug, spilling the brown liquid down his grey shirt. He backs up and looks down at the mess.

“Why would you do that?”

“Personal space,” you wave your arm up and down, drawing the invisible wall before you.

“I'm trying to… you're crazy, you know that?”

“So what does that make you?” You pout, “I told you to leave me alone.”

He puffs, lip curling as he grips his mug tight. He scoffs and whips it past you so it smashes against the wall and the bits litter over the counter. You let out a squeal as he stomps out, leaving you in shock, standing before a puddle of coffee.

You gulp and face the remnants of his mug. You should clean that up before anyone cuts themselves. You cross to the counter and set to carefully plucking up the shards.

“What happened in here?” Melanie asks as she enters, “oh it's you.”

You ignore her as you focus on the glass. Of course she assumes it was you. Seems like everyone thinks you're a disaster.

[ronkeyroo]

A positive Update

Friends, kind folk - Hello Again 🤍

Ever since my last update post, I've been thinking about it , a lot ;; I knew I needed time to cook and reflect, and im so glad I gave myself that...

2024 started rough for me; I fell severely ill again - I was too busy cursing my life and dwelling over how betrayed I felt by things still not getting better despite my efforts that I didn't realize I was walking into a self fulfilling prophecy. Its true that the struggles I'm going through are yet to be solved, that its gotten so much to the point giving up seemed easier, and that a couple individuals haven't been making it easier on me either; I swayed and i rattled and I steered within feelings ranging from confusion to anger to dismay and all of this back and forth did nothing but remind me of yet another self-destructive loop I just don't want to allow in my life anymore. Its exactly the kinda stuff that made me ill to begin with, and I've been so lost dealing with everything in between that i forgot to tend to the actual core centering all of this...

It grew unbearable how much emotional and physical turmoil I was pushing myself into, and knowing how intertwined these two elements have been; I had to draw a line before i majorly screwed myself over, gathering any bit of inner will to discipline myself back into some sort of clarity, enough to at least look through a lens OUTSIDE my pain for once, towards the kind of life I want to lead, and the kind of life I don't; and I came to an understanding.

From my physical state to my mental, to the people and memories I've experienced, both the good and the bad - I want to prioritize the good.

Not in a shitty ass, toxic optimism kinda way but in a "I want to prioritize knowing and living the possibility that even when it hurts, even when i want to be gone, even when life doesn't align - There's still every good reason in the world to keep moving forward, to face things from a perspective of growth & compassion, and to grow to love the promise of a better tomorrow even when today was unbearable." To know that I don't end or begin in my suffering, that the infinite potential I speak so fondly of applies to me, as well...

I want to be able to wield and create and share that goodness, too, Especially when it is already in decline...And for all gods sake, to internalize that all of this STILL exists and STILL matters even when it doesn't work the first couple or dozens of times.

As for my place here in Tumblr...I know the sentiment might feel silly to some but the experiences, memories, and connections I've made here have truly been such a significant force in my life, and i don't want to give up on that ;; Not because of my own insecurities, or an inner state of hopelessness, and especially not over a bunch of emotionally immature Anons that dont know how to handle themselves; I want to forgive all of that.

I'm stubborn, and there's an unyielding force within me that no matter how many times it is struck down, it proved itself ridiculously resilient. I'm perking up with with a fiery confidence realizing just how many times it rose back up, enough to realize it is an unchangeable part of me ;_; I shouldn't underestimate that force, and I want to keep living by its side. Whatever positive change I can sprinkle onto my life and the lives of those I care for, I will! And the reason why this space in particular is so important to me, is because so much of that already exists here, alongside you folks;

THAT'S the kind of energy i want to nourish and walk into the new year with! I want to continue growing as a person, challenging my inner turmoils, undoing the self punishing dogmas that still haunt me, stop flexing my teeth over things that don't deserve my time and god DAMN, just - indulge in the stuff that makes me happy, even when I'm going through unhappy times.

So yeah...I guess that means, I'm back & I'm staying ;_;)🧡

I know i may seem like a broken record when it comes to expressing gratitude but - Thank you, thank you thank you everyone who have reached out for me, who so fondly kept me in their thoughts and kept encouraging me whenever i was hurting, both then and now...You folks mean more than whatever ailment or struggle I can go through, and while I'm unsure of how the future will look like as I'm still going through various challenges- I couldn't have asked for a cooler, sweeter audience to have by my side whenever Its time to take a rest or hype over our sexy delicious blorbos!

Speaking of which....................I have been cooking quite a lot of things in the time i was away 👀✨ I most definitely intend to serve them, eheheh