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ataraxiaspainting · 4 months

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Icarus.

Yan (Emperor) Zhongli x F Reader.

Synopsis: You were taught ever since you opened your eyes to never go against your god. So why do you wish now that you have never opened them at all?

Warnings: Yandere themes, major power imbalances, manipulation, future forced marriage, some violence/gore, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 3k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Little Dark Age by MGMT

As the World Caves In by Matt Maltese

The Other Side Of Paradise by Glass Animals

All Eyes On Me by Bo Burnham

Space Song by Beach House

Murders by Miracle Musical

Tongues & Teeth by The Crane Wives

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

A Pearl by Mitski

Isabella’s Lullaby by Takahiro Obata

*~*~*~*

“‘You know that I love you.’ And despite herself, Coraline nodded. It was true. The other mother loved her. But she loved Coraline as a miser loves money, or a dragon loves its gold. In the other mother's button eyes, Coraline knew that the other mother loved her as a possession, nothing more, a tolerated pet whose behavior was no longer amusing.” – Neil Gaiman, Coraline

*~*~*~*

There is no sin greater than to be a bird.

To be a bird is to be devoid of all burdens, soaring above all who are shackled by them, like a warden overseeing prisoners, or the sweetest and ripest peaches up on the highest of branches so no one can reach it. They can go anywhere, birds, with the winds at their call, the very embodiment of freedom itself, something your god has taught all his people to be wary of. Freedom can be a blessing, he told one of his counselors once, but it can also cause humans to be too conceited. There is no sin greater than to be a bird because all others will be envious. Envy is also a sin, one so common that even Archons are said to possess it. Sin gives birth to more sin, more suffering, and thus only the original that birthed it all shall be punished by Celestia’s fury.

There is no greater sin than to be a bird, so the gods put in place cages, made to make those trapped by gold and chains and other things entirely. Birds who are not lured into such traps are dealt with by lightning, making them fall back down to the ground below, the last thing they see is the very sky that punished them. The sky, the stars, the moon, the sun… the entire world will be against you when you are a bird.

It will be that way until you die. The world hates birds and the way they fly and soar. Birds are meant for cages, or to be struck down with their corpses made into trophies.

There is no title greater than to be a hunter.

The sin; to be a bird, freedom… the title; to be a hunter, despotism.

To shoot, to stab, to twist until the prey bursts, is the way of someone whose greatest sin is doing good for this world.

To bleed, to be trapped, to be killed and put on display for all to see, that is what a bird’s purpose truly is, in the eyes of the divine.

They are different, quite so, like different ripples in lakes of mixed blood and water.

You can almost hear them, can’t you?

Celestia favors the strong. Celestia despises the weak. It makes sense to most people, those who were born into power be it money made from blood or strength made from blood. They don’t see the way the world works. The way flies feast upon rotting meat and are soon to be eaten by something bigger. It makes sense for most people, but not for you. Despite everything you have ever been taught from word of mouth, life on the streets teaches you otherwise. For everything you have endured, you have learned that you are not weak. In any case, quite the opposite.

You don’t pray anymore with everyone else, as they keep reciting such things over and over again at the states positioned throughout Liyue as if the emperor would listen to them.

“O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all!” They would hold hands with their bodies being placed in circles around the sculptures. They close their eyes altogether, to not see the sacrifices trapped between them at the monuments, the last thing they see is the Lord of Geo’s face, looking down at them with a stone-cold glare laced with eerie delight. “O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all! O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all!”

To be praying and to be preying are two quite different things, but to the people of Liyue, there is no difference. Blood seeps into the earth all the same, regardless of who sheds it. So, as evidence that the people of Liyue do indeed bow down to Celestia’s every whim, they bring birds of all kinds and steal them of all they have. Their feathers make for excellent clothing, their bones make for stellar weaponry, and their feet make for charms of good luck. Celestia only smiles down upon the strong, after all. Celestia despises freedom because, without the divine, humans would have nothing to leash them onto rationality and laws. Perhaps that is why Mondstadt is very much in chaos now. Their god was said to have betrayed Celestia by giving his people forbidden knowledge of how nature originally ran its course, causing an uproar among the citizens.

No one knows what happened to the god of Mondstadt after that.

Was he smitten down? Did his people turn on him? No one in Liyue knows for certain, as people of Mondstadt are forbidden from entering the land said to be made up of the purest of gold.

“O Almighty Geo Archon, give us your blessings for the many moons ahead of us all!”

That is the first thing you hear when you wake up, huddled in a corner to prevent yourself from getting even more wet from the rain. You assume that maybe it will be the last thing you hear when you close your eyes for good.

*~*~*~*

You grew up in Qiaoying Village and, once you grew up, got exiled from Qiaoying Village. You stood out, which no one saw in a good light. You were a mischievous, rule-breaking child, always stealing Jadevein Tea Eggs and both tea and tea sets made of fine porcelain. Your older brother taught you lessons far too valuable and unique for the traditionalist settings of Qiaoying Village, lessons like how to pick the elderly’s door’s locks, how to properly identify which pockets had the most Mora, and how to make alleyways a labyrinth for those who chase you.

Your older brother, though, did not partake in thievery himself. You suppose that might have been the first warning sign of many more to come. He made you, a child about half his age, do his dirty work for him. He always hoarded the rewards afterward, and if you got caught or he got caught with whatever treasure you had given him, he would pretend to scold you for going against the way of the Qiaoying. He said it was just pretend, but that look in his eyes still haunts you to this very day. As you got older, though, you got dumber. You crossed a line with everyone. You decided to steal from a Fontainian duke.

It was a foolish decision. Fontainians are known for their high sense of justice, and their tunnel vision when it comes to crimes and punishments. But you were just a child, were you not?

You couldn’t help it. You were just a child. That is what you told yourself then, and it is what you tell yourself now.

No one helped you then, and no one helps you now. Hell, it would be a miracle, a blessing from Celestia, if your older brother came to Liyue Harbor to visit you. But he never loved you, did he? He never loved you, and you never hated him until you saw him for what he truly is. A petty servant of Madam Mei with a spine thinner than that of a twig. He was a coward then, and likely still a coward now. Perhaps it would have been noble of him, while you were still an infant, to use that pocket knife he always carried around. It would have been better for you, for you to not know anything you know about him now.

But he was a coward, your older brother. The person who taught you everything about thievery is also now the person who taught you how important it is to keep your cards close. Life on the streets calls for both, you suppose. Liyue Harbor may not be the friendliest for the homeless, but at the very least it had pockets to swipe into when no one was looking. Old habits die hard. You ended up relying on every memory of the past, no matter how bitter or how deceivingly sweet they were. You bore it. You bore it all. Every memory, every fragment of a lie, and every fragment of a half-truth. Life is never so simple after all, is it?

Your life was never perfect, and therefore still is not now. But you know deep in your heart that you would prefer this life over seeing your older brother’s face ever again.

But now, with eyes brighter than amber staring above you as you lay, your arm broken, you wish that your brother had taught you some fighting skills instead of everything else he taught you.

But he was a coward, and so are you.

To be fair, though, he never met the emperor and never thought that he would. So did you. No one in Qiaoying Village did, most likely. It was so far from the proclaimed harbor made of gold and trader’s blood and prayers. This was where the emperor lived, in his castle in the mountains surrounding Lingju Pass and Mount Tianheng. It was made up of the finest gold and wood and jewels. Only the best for the emperor, while people like you get mere pebbles. That is why, when you saw yet another stranger in a white cloak roaming around the alleyways, you attempted to strike. Your mistake.

Your mistake.

You were on the ground in an instant, your arm breaking so loudly an elderly man on his deathbed could hear it.

The stranger’s eyes glittered like gold.

Frozen gold, perhaps, with how he was staring down at you with such disappointment.

So, he stared down at you.

You stared down at your arm.

You should have known better. But you are just someone trying to live, are you not? It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. But that white cloak the man is wearing with the sigil of geo on the back, one of the few symbols of the emperor himself, should have made you not attempt to pickpocket him. You should have known better. You really should have known better. Should you apologize? You are already as good as dead though, aren’t you?

Does a death sentence await you?

Life? Death? Prison? Life. Death. Prison.

Escape.

You have to escape.

But the emperor seems to know what you are doing, what you are planning.

So he stops you with a simple hand raised, and pillars of geo appear out of nowhere, trapping you in the corner. Now there is nowhere to run.

He stares down at you.

You stare down at your feet, all mangled up from a life made of thievery and poverty.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you. You prefer it that way.

You are in a cage. But he is not.

Please.

Please don’t kill me.

Please.

*~*~*~*

Is it a sin to indulge? Perhaps it is, perhaps it is not. Perhaps it depends. Is the indulgence centered in reality or fantasy? This escape attempt, perhaps, is both.

Like the many that came before it, the only sounds you can hear is the rain, the water falling from the glass windows like teardrops, and sometimes you can swear you hear the sound of someone weeping. Despite everything you have gone through though, you do not weep with them, whoever they are. You only keep stepping on ahead for a brighter future, one where you sneak off to Sumeru, a land that prioritizes knowledge over riches. You’d have a better life there than here, you think. Anywhere but here you would run off to actually, even if it was Snezhnaya.

You are treated well, too well.

You still don’t know why instead of throwing you in the dungeons, Morax placed your unconscious body in one of the many, many guest rooms that were spread about in his castle.

You are treated far too well, almost to the point that it is maddening. Everything is so perfect, from the morning birds outside your window that wake you up every morning when it just so happens to be time for breakfast to the hairbrush you use to put your hair up when it is time to sleep, the design intricately laced with jade and topaz. Perfect, perfect, perfect. It’s maddening, sickening, how perfect everything is. You wish he had just put you in a cell because at least then everything would not have been so planned out for you, even the type of flowers you saw in the gardens that week.

“Damn it all…”

In your opinion, the clothes you received today were more intricate than usual. The sleeves are puffed and transition from white to a deep teal color. The dress itself showcases delicate lace patterns of glaze lilies around the waist and wrists, while the skirt is impractically long for any running. Strangely, the inside of the skirt features a constellation pattern, though it seems to be a design meant for your eyes alone. The purpose of this starry sky motif remains unclear. The dress, like everything else, appears flawless and fits you perfectly, almost as if it was tailored specifically for you. Given Morax's wealth, you can't help but entertain the possibility. However, the overwhelming perfection of it all borders on madness. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect, so damn perfect.

Today, you were not given shoes, presumably due to the rain and the consequent cancellation of your garden visit with Morax, where you typically indulge in tea and wine. As you approached the staircase leading to the dining room, however, the guards obstructed your path. Their actions were gentle, but their words were not. They formed a human barricade, preventing your descent. One guard clicked their tongue disapprovingly, while the other remained silent. Perhaps they harbored some disdain towards you. The servants in this establishment either treated you with utmost care or completely disregarded your presence, so it was not entirely surprising that the guards displayed a semblance of dislike.

The real surprise was you not being allowed to go to the dining room to eat.

“The emperor wants you to stay in your room for the time being. He shall see you shortly there.”

So, you went back, albeit muttering curses along the way. Due to your lack of shoes and the guards not even allowing you to go downstairs, this escape attempt is as short-lived as a moth flying much too close to a flame.

As you were told, Morax came in his usual attire, black and brown robes with a geo sigil on the back.

“...”

“I have been told that you have been getting a bit too curious with your wandering.”

Ah, straight to the point, it would seem.

There is no point trying to beat around the bush when it comes to Morax. “It is not like there is anything else to do here.”

He sits beside you on the bed, not too close but not too far either. A perfect balance. “I can give you other activities to do if you would like. I can also answer some questions you have since you’ll be living here from now on.”

“...This isn’t temporary…” You look down at the arm he broke, a time which feels like a millennium ago. “Am I being charged?” Your question is quietly said. “Aren’t thieves simply sent to cells for a few moons?”

His chuckle was unexpected, causing a slight surprise. Morax, who was typically expressionless, wore a smile on his face. Despite the possibly good intentions behind it, the sight and sound were unsettling and made your skin crawl.

“...You don’t tell me anything.” You whisper under your breath. That much is clear. Despite Morax's little attempts to conceal it, his secrecy is unmistakable. You can't help but feel like a naive child stating the obvious.

“You are here for multiple reasons. For instance… you remind me of someone. As such, you must have questions, if you are anything like her.” His eyes glaze over you, from the top of your head where your hair is half put up with a hairpin to the anklet just hovering over your right foot. “All humans are born with an innate sense to pry. I won’t judge, as I am an Archon.” Are his words heartfelt? “Through my veins flow gold, but yours flow with sanguine, life, and desires.”

His hand reaches forward, but he does not touch you. “You must see yourself as better than us because of this. Am I correct?”

“My feelings are not as monochrome as they seem to you. They are complex, quite so. But you are right, in some regard.”

“This is why I cannot stand the so-called divine.”

“Another reason as to why you are here. You are a sleeper of such, and I intend to help you open your eyes to the truth.”

You look at his eyes, seeing all the horrors within their depths.

The emperor known as Morax possesses eyes of pure gold, along with attractive features and pale, rosy lips that curl into a sickly sweet smile. Your body instinctively reacts, urging you to flee before your mind can fully comprehend the situation. However, your brain, awakening and analyzing the situation, is interrupted by the overpowering force of instinct, echoing the same warning as your body: the charming smile is a mere facade, reminiscent of something unsettlingly artificial. It is akin to a sculpture with painted skin and eyes or a doll with exaggerated, intricate features. This man, with his literal golden eyes, his potentially persuasive words, and his captivating yet unnerving countenance, is someone you cannot trust.

Desperate to escape, you attempt to run, only to find that arms and hands, seemingly made of stone, emerge from the walls, gripping and restraining your own. Two of these strong hands ascend, slithering towards the center of your back, forcefully pushing you down into a bow, while you remain compelled to gaze upwards. Your focus remains fixated solely on the emperor's eyes, observing the eloquent patterns of gold within them.

The caress of their touch is tender upon your cheeks, unlike solid ones that demand for you to stay.

“You shall become my consort and see the gates of Celestia for yourself. Humans are made to worship, after all. The divine are made to simply awaken those who have strayed off the path of destiny.”

*~*~*~*

To possess the gift of sight, encompassing all, is the gravest transgression one can commit. Thus, those winged creatures who lack this awareness are banished to the depths of the earth, their vision, their literal eyes stripped away until their cries reverberate to the surface, where the emperor Morax shall pronounce the ultimate verdict.

#yandere #yandere x reader #author aya #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #morax x reader #yandere morax #yandere morax x reader

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lennadanvers · 4 months

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Three times Simon wanted to hug you (and the one time he did)

I wrote this for ao3 originally. I'm working on the final part, so I thought I'd start reposting here in the meantime. I hope someone likes it. I feed on comments btw. Just leaving that there.

Ghost’d had missions go badly before… No, scratch that. He had been part of missions that had gone terribly. Some he had barely survived. A lot had failed. That just happens.

Still, he felt like shit.

He was familiar with the feeling. He didn’t understand it, though. Everyone in his team had made it out alive. Even more than that, there had been only a couple minor injuries. That was a luxury he had learned to appreciate. Yes, the target they were supposed to find and bring back to base was laying, dead, on the floor of the helicopter. It wasn’t an especially gruesome sight, either. One shot at the back, most of the blood was still wet on the floor of the enemy base. Ghost had seen people practically turned inside out; this was almost as pleasant at it could get.

He had been dragging the target. The target, because they didn’t have a name. They never did. It had been a person. A very well informed person, if he had to guess, based on the urgency to get them back. Now they were a corpse. They had made the transition in his arms. He hadn’t even realized the target had bled out until they were already flying back.

Price wasn’t going to be happy, but he knew how the job was. Casualties were expected. At least the target wasn’t in anybody else’s hands.

Ghost looked down at his own. His gloves were dirty. If he flexed his fingers, he’d feel the stickiness of the blood. He knew the feeling well enough to be certain that the burning of the cold water of the sink wouldn’t erase it.

The movement of the helicopter landing made him look up. He jumped over the body of the target and stepped out. The sun didn’t touch his skin, completely covered in military grade fabric. But he felt it nonetheless.

His eyes, used to scanning his surroundings, had found you standing at the edge of the helipad. You were right next to the medics, ready to help save the corpse he had dragged here. Suddenly, Ghost became aware of every little sore and tense spot in his body. He had always thought you were capable. Your hands were smaller than his, more delicate- everyone’s were- but still ruthless and unwavering. He took a deep breath and wondered how long it would take you to get rid of all the knots in his back.

Your neck looked pretty, too. No, not pretty. He almost shook his head. Inviting. Warm. Your blood was close to the surface there, but still hidden. Where it belonged. He tore his gloves off, struggling with the stickiness.

Ghost didn’t cry. It wasn’t a matter of pride, or toughness. He had simply forgotten how to. But he started to walk towards you and felt the heat flooding his throat. The closer he got, the smaller you looked and the more pathetic he felt. His boots dragged him across the cement; yours were steady, still. Clean. He was covered in dirt. Another step and he was almost at arms reach. His uniform was itchy. He hadn’t noticed that since he was a rookie. And his holsters were tight, Ghost made sure of that.

Would you hold him tighter?

Would you be warm? Warmer than the target? You’d feel alive.

You’d smell of your shampoo- he had grown used to its fragrance in the showers: it lingered and overpowered his unscented one, even if you had left hours ago. It reminded him of warm, cleansing water. Of the feeling of being bare.

He shook his head. The mask was getting uncomfortable. Your skin looked so soft, though. He blinked. Your collarbone against his lashes. The idea made him inhale deeply.

Another step and he was next to you. You smiled at him; not a big smile, rather a small, confused one. Ghost stared at you for a second, the tears stabbing his throat. All he could do, head ducking as if aiming to hide in your neck, was to shake his head.

Then another step and he kept walking to his barracks: back still tense, nose still burning with the smell of gunpowder, hands itching with dry blood.

Part 2

#cod #fanfiction #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost #ghost cod #ao3 #hug #simon needs a hug #poor gigantic military man is touch deprived #and emotionally constipated

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sweet-s0rr0w · 8 months

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Vintage Drarry Fics

Thought I'd put together a list of some of the old Drarry 'classics' of my teenage years, for anyone interested. All posted between 2001-2006, compiled using my (bad) memory, a lot of googling, fanlore.org and numerous different LJ rec accounts (including the incredible @capiturecs). I checked as best I could, but if anyone knows of any fics that their author doesn't want to be shared, please let me know and I will of course remove.

Please also note that these fics are of their era, when attitudes may have been different, and they may not all be grammatically perfect. I haven't reread all, as my own tastes have changed, but most importantly do note that they may not be tagged - don't blame me when, for example, Harry dies tragically on a rooftop at sunrise...

Hogwarts Era (mostly 5th-7th year)

A Thousand Beautiful Things by Duinn Fionn/geoviki (M, 105k)

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend.

All Bets Are Off by Allegra (R, 53k)

I am SICK of Good-little-innocent!Harry...Enter Playboy!Harry and his Overinflated Ego, a challenge, a bet, a couple of Really Cunning Plans - and there you have it, "Forty days and forty nights", Hogwarts style. Mayhem ensues!

Angels and Devils by beren (E, 52k)

Harry defeated Voldemort and his act of heroism is famous throughout the wizarding world. He's trying to finish his final year at Hogwarts in peace, but, thanks to the method he chose to destroy The Dark Lord, something peculiar is happening to him, something he never would have expected. It's all rather embarrassing and making his life very complicated.

Artful Facade by Sky Sorceress (T, 66k)

Sometimes you fly too close to the sun and lose your wings. With sixth year approaching, the danger Harry seeks can be found only in the form of Draco Malfoy. What follows is a twist in the line between hatred, love, and need.

Beautiful World by Cinnamon/Lissadiane (M, 70k)

Harry finds out he's going to die on his 16th birthday. He embarks on a journey of self-destructive behaviour and drags Draco along for the ride.

Beneath You by Cinnamon/Lissadiane (M, 113k)

Draco had no idea that the repercussions of stealing Potter's journal and shoving it down the back of his trousers would be so extreme.

Bond by AnnaFugazzi (M, 173k)

It seems 95% of H/D writers feel compelled to write a "Harry And Draco Are Forced To Be Together By Something Beyond Their Control And Then Unlikely Stuff Happens That Leads To Twoo Wuv" story. Count me among the 95% ;)

Checkmate by Naadi Moonfeather (T, 245k)

Draco has the perfect plan to get Harry Potter and challenges him to a game of Dare Chess. But is it love, or betrayal, he has in mind?

The Cicatrix Cycle by Ivy Blossom (NC-17, long!)

Three parts: Origins, Haven, Belong

Draco In Darkness by Plumeria (T, 41k)

Following an accident in his seventh year, Draco loses his eyesight. After Harry elbows his way into Draco's dark world, both boys find themselves in a strange new friendship, and they each learn new ways to see each other … and themselves.

Eclipse by PhoenixSong/Mijan (T, 287k)

"You're dead, Potter... I'm going to make you pay..." Draco swore his revenge on Harry for Lucius's imprisonment, and Harry all but laughed at him. But Draco is planning more than schoolyard pranks this time. The old rivalry turns deadly when Draco abducts Harry for Voldemort. It's the perfect plan, guaranteeing revenge, power, and prestige, all in one blow. But, when Draco's world turns upside down, the fight to save himself and Harry begins, and the battle will take them both through hell and back. If they come back.

Friend Like Me by Lady Vader (M, 11k)

Draco's rendition of the love story that never was.

How Harry Potter Got His Groove Back by Durendal/Eleveninches (R, 12k)

Snape tries to hang himself, Draco enters an alternate reality, and Harry Gets a Clue. Humor, SLASH, naughty language, and other Evil Things. Harry/Draco, Snape/James/Lucius.

Irresistible Poison by Rhysenn (PG-13, 124k)

Under the influence of a love potion, Draco learns that poison doesn't always bring death -- there are other ways to suffer and live. Chemical emotion runs feverish as Harry and Draco discover the intoxication of love.

Lettered by pir8fancier (M, 7.8k)

Harry has a secret penpal, whose identity is as plain as the nose on his face. Except he's not wearing his glasses.

Love Under Will by Aja (R, 116k)

In their 5th year, Harry and Draco choose to be with one another; but the story--and the battle-- is just beginning...

playing the game, living the lie by Abaddon (R, 159k)

Set in Sixth Year, both the wizarding and Muggle worlds are threatened as Voldemort plans a final revenge. Past, present and future collide as all must consider where their loyalties lie; who they are, and who they want to be. Amidst it all, Harry and Draco begin a dangerous journey of understanding. Is it possible to leave everything you thought you were behind?

Resolution by Frances Potter (R, 322k)

When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. A series of vignettes chronicling Harry's final six months at Hogwarts. Exams, friends, lovers, Quidditch, the war and Draco all conspire to make the year end seem a very long way away.

Seamus is Seamus and You are Yourself by Ari Munami (PG-13, 31k)

Harry goes through some er... changes in his Sixth Year and everyone, including Draco Malfoy, sits up and takes notice.

Snakes and Lions by GatewayGirl (M, 139k)

When Ron and Hermione get together, they notice only each other. A nightmare prompts Harry to return alone to the empty Chamber of Secrets, and leads to a new look at an old enemy. Harry enjoys the company, but with Bellatrix Lestrange actively hunting him, how far can he trust a Death Eater's son?

Something Impossible by epicylical/Cassandra Claire (PG, 6.4k)

As punishment for an act of vandalism, Draco is forced to perform three tasks to win Harry's forgiveness - only they don't turn out to be exactly the kind of tasks he'd been expecting. With wet shirtless Draco, paint-covered Harry, and Proust-reading Goyle.

Transformation by amalin (E, 98k)

In Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, he must face the consequences of the attack on the Department of Mysteries and the effects of Voldemort's return. And in doing so, he finds that even your enemies can teach you valuable lessons—about the world, and about yourself.

Walking the Line by SilentAuror (E, 179k)

Sixth year is over and Draco Malfoy is on the run. The war is on and an unwanted assignment is forced upon him by the only people he trusts - and a one-time arch-enemy just may be out to kill him.

Post-Hogwarts

Adagio in G Minor by furiosity (NC-17, 18k)

Seven years after Hogwarts and the war, life continues in the wizarding world. Draco Malfoy is rich, bored, and slightly jaded. Harry Potter is famous, busy, and somewhat disillusioned. They've not seen each other since school ended. What would happen if they were to cross paths again? What if it involved music?

Big Dick, Come Quick [PDF] by Calanthe (NC-17, 204k)

Draco’s got a theory. About sex. And after much searching for the right candidate, it appears that only Harry Potter, his life long enemy, can help him test it out.

Draco's Escort Service by Cheryl Dyson/dysonrules (15, 12k)

Draco's job is to escort travelers through the dangerous, war-torn countryside. Harry Potter is forced to hire him, but his destination isn't quite what Draco expected.

Left My Heart by Emma Grant (E, 85k)

Auror Draco Malfoy has disappeared, and Harry Potter has been sent to San Francisco to find him.

Malfoy, P.I. by Nancy (R, 60k)

"I'm Draco Malfoy, private investigator. I've seen a lot--I mean a lot, and I'm like sweet seventeen a lot. I thought I'd seen it all, until a pair of green eyes stepped into my office." A noir AU set in L.A. where passion and magic collide. Slashy and sexy.

Queen of Hearts by scoradh (E, 65k)

A spectre is haunting Harry - the responsibility of his destiny. It looms over his future and, more importantly, over the future of his friends. Harry is determined to exorcise this spectre for the greater good, but on the way, he enters into a few unholy alliances.

Tissue of Silver by fearlessdiva (R, 76k)

A love story concerning possessed furniture, black silk pyjamas, courtroom drama, premonitions of doom, assassination attempts, Death Eater yoga, absinthe, bare feet and a sensible werewolf.

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by November Snowflake (M, 58k)

When the long-missing Draco Malfoy turns up at a Ministry field hospital with amnesia, bitter Auror Harry Potter must confront the shadows of their shared past to shed light on a potentially deadly mystery.

Transfigurations by Resonant (E, 71k)

Five years after Voldemort's defeat, Harry returns to England to help re-open Hogwarts.

#drarry #fic recs #vintage drarry fics #loved putting this together #blast from the past

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your-girl-mj · 10 months

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heyy! could you do hcs where the reader is a female and is ganke's cousin and she just moved to brooklyn from korea and then she meets miles at the brooklyn visions academy and miles fell first but she fell harder?? tysm if you will do it!

that's your cousin?? [42 + 1610!Miles × f!reader]

summary: he fell first, but she fell harder. headcanons!

warning: swear words.

note: she/her for reader, he/him for miles, he/him for ganke.

created: august 20, 2023

published: august 21, 2023

earth-1610 [miles morales]

he fell first

she was the first thing miles noticed when he got into physics class.

headphone plugged in her ears, the sun from the window shining on the side of her face. her fingers twisting and turning, playing with the pen in her hand as she read a comic book.

baby deer is mesmerised.

miles was in complete awestruck

to the point their teacher told him to sit down because he's frozen in his spot, staring at her.

miles took a seat next to her.

he was awkwardly fidgeting, stealing glances at her every now and then.

he wants to talk but doesn't know how to start :(

at the cafeteria, miles is sitting down brainstorming how he will talk to her.

he didn't expect her to sit right in front of him.

she talked to his roommate in korean, though it was more like they're arguing over the food choice.

she left shortly to fetch something while ganke ate

"hey, ganke. you know the new girl?"

"[name]? yeah, she's my cousin."

"that's your cousin???"

[name] retreated back before he could ask anymore questions

the next day in physics, he sat in the same seat again.

he's writing a script about how he will talk to her and how the conversation would go if he said something like this and like that.

he heard her humming to his favourite song, sunflower; as she sat next to him.

he panicked for a second because [name] knew his favourite song was not on the script

"uh, hey. you like sunflower too?"

boy, he's sweating like crazy when he only received a side eye.

"y'know...the song? heh, i uh, like that song, too..." he's biting the inside of his cheek, wanting the floor to swallow him whole.

"i guess it's not so bad."

that simple comment made his day bright. he looked back, with a smiley smiley face, but wipe it off. like, it's cool. she's cool, he's cool, everything is cool.

"yeah, yeah uh.. it's sounds okay."

[name] hides a snort because she can clearly see how happy he is at something.

"hey, i didn't catch your —"

the teacher shushed him, and it got him embarrassed.

he was doing a good job talking with her, and now he looks like someone who doesn't listen to classes.

he's literally have a :( face.

"[name] [lastname]"

her voice echoed and he's awestruck again, and thinking; "she talks to me again! she likes me too!"

"oh uh, I'm miles. miles morales." he made sure he repeated his first name like those cool dude introduced themselves in action films.

and his uncle aaron used to do that too.

do not even get me to the shoulder touch.

she was by her locker and then closed the door and saw miles standing there, waiting for her.

the original plan in his head is he's gonna do the shoulder touch and then ask her if she wanna hang out after school.

and his prayers are not enough.

"hi?" she looked at him sceptical.

— it was so awkward, and miles made it even worse when he put a hand on her shoulder and made a ... some sort of face at her

"hey."

his one brow is rised, it's like he's smiling but also not?

[name] literally have "??????" flying over her head. and look at him weirdly.

"hey?" she repeated his word in a question matter.

miles felt sad after that because he thought she wouldn't talk to him anymore and that he look so weird in her perspective.

but [name] act like that awkward moment never happen to save miles' whole being.

and he's so grateful for her to do that.

she fell harder

how can she not fall for him? he's an absolute sweetheart!

miles invites her to all his hangouts with ganke

(ganke doesn't give a shit but it bothers him a bit that his roommate have heart eyes for his cousin)

sometimes, he brought to her different places in brooklyn. and even if there's a warning sign, it didn't stop her from going with him.

miles treated her so well it makes her heart go BOOM BOOM BOOM

he always has a hand out to help her up, like she wants to get up and his hand is out.

"let me help you up," was always his dialogue for her.

he also pays for her food.

(she and ganke fought about who's miles' favorite)

(in korean of course. no way they let miles heard it.)

he likes to leave little gifts for her.

mostly it was little notes and drawings.

sometimes it was a freshly picked sunflower, or sometimes he gave her a full-grown [fav.flower]

she doesn't know how he got it in a city but didn't question it.

the fact that miles is just expressing his feelings, [name] feel more and more appreciated.

no boy can ever top miles.

[name] is not used to his act of service.

she refuses, knowing she can handle it herself.

but only accept when he insisted or when he looks disappointed.

miles do it all the time, that it became a routine for him <33

to the point that [name] also got used to his sweet actions and unconsciously sought it T_T

(ganke was force to get use to it)

she noticed she feels more giddy with him

she knew she fell when miles stuttered a few words in her mother tongue.

in her head, she was screaming, "HE LEARN HER LANGUAGE SO SHE CAN TALK EASILY TO HIM"

while miles want to jump off the window by how stupid he thinks he sounds.

miles did so much for her. she always returned it back as well. <33

miles is too flustered to even keep his "cool" demeanour whenever she left little notes like he always do

little cousin is forced again to participate (she made ganke give miles her old art materials that still work)

of course, she finds out he's spiderman.

she wasn't allowed to go to the boy's dormitory and vice versa.

but she couldn't take it anymore when her cousin "borrowed" her comic book and hasn't given back for over 5 months and it's pissing her off because she knew ganke can be careless with her things.

she opened the door unannounced and saw something she shouldn't

miles was trying to take off his suit but is stuck, and ganke is helping by pulling it as well.

[name] awkwardly close the door.

with a flaming crimson face, before bolting to her dorm.

miles is slamming his head repeatedly on the wall.

ganke was a little worried that miles' secret is revealed to his cousin, and she might tell on them

that's not what miles is sulking for.

"she saw me without a shirt on... kill me."

he's so embarrassed, he want to stop existing.

to be honest, she doesn't give two fucks that he's spiderman, she's just angry they didn't tell her

especially miles.

they make up tho <33

their hangouts upgraded from abandoned train vandalism to watching the sunset from the top of a tower.

it was also where they had their first date.

[name] confessed. she did it first before miles for the last second.

he's a little pouty about it because it made him look like a chicken

earth-42 [miles morales]

he fell first

just because he fell first doesn't mean he notice her on her first day.

miles didn't officially meet her in school.

he met her at night. when he was prowler, patrolling.

he saw it with his night vision. a drunk guy was following a girl.

he already know it's not gonna end well.

miles was ready to tackle the guy from the top of the building, but what the girl did was unexpected.

she has a tazer in her hand, electrocute the drunk by his neck.

she watches its body tremble for a few seconds before she lets go.

the drunk's body just fell unconscious with a loud thud

the girl needs things to protect herself too, y'know, especially in a city full of crimes.

miles felt his heart do a small flip.

a smirk under his mask as she watch her walked away like nothing happened.

she's a tough one. feisty. and he's desperate for her number.

but he can't just randomly show up. he'll get knocked out as well, and he doesn't want that.

miles thought he'll never see that girl again, but to his general shock, they sat next to each other in one of his class.

he's pissed at himself for not noticing her much earlier.

miles is also pissed when he saw her and his roommate hanging out, inside and outside school.

he thought they were lovers 💀

he's pissed at himself when he finds out she's ganke's cousin.

"that's your cousin...?"

"yeah, she transferred here for over 7 months now."

"...fuck."

he get that they're not that close but still. he's still his roommate, and he could've told him about his cousin he didn't know about.

and didn't make him listen to broken-hearted songs on repeat.

he learned her name indirectly, which was [name] [lastname].

mister here finds himself searching for her whenever he's on patrol or when he's on a heist with his uncle.

his mask have a search thing where you type a person's name, and then he can detect if they're around the area. (inspired by his uncle's old mask)

it has a history bar, and aaron is shocked to see a girl's name over and over again.

one lucky morning is when they got partnered up, and they both started hanging out.

from strangers to best friend kind of one.

but one of them already have feelings for the other.

and he wishes to stay it that way unless she shows some signs she likes him too.

she fell harder.

every moment she feels herself falling, she's snapping herself out of it.

he's good-looking, of course he is.

he always thought he was scary, especially with the rumours of him being in a fight after his dad died.

he always has this frown in his face, too

her fear of miles made ganke take advantage of it by hiding in his dormitory knowing she will leave because miles will show up in any second

she's mad at him for it. (she didn't talk to him in 4 months)

but when they become friends, she feels a small, giddy feeling inside.

miles treated her differently.

but a good differently. anyone can tell he have a soft spot for her and no one knows why, even [name] herself.

yes, he still teased and was annoying as usual, but the way his eyes softened at the sight of her made her feel content with life itself.

she feels a bit special how miles treated her differently than the others.

let say she read a trope like theirs

she didn't look into it much. she hates that assuming something that will turn out to be wrong, she has false hope this entire time.

that's why she stopped herself whenever they're together.

she still acts like she did with everyone else, but she's a little more open to miles than the others.

she lost it when he suddenly grabbed hold of her shoulder, looking directly in her eyes with an unreadable expression.

"hey." was all he can say, and her face fires up like one of her cells commited arson

"oh, oh shit. uh, hi? what the fuck??" she suddenly blurbs out, jumbled on her own words. "miles, what??? what the hell??"

miles burst out laughing at her reaction, he haven't laughed like that in a long time.

[name] just stood there processing everything. she's flabbergasted.

was that a flirt?? or was she not paying attention for him to do crazy things like that???

after that, she didn't know what just happened or what he ate, but [name] feels like he's flirting.

and she's flirting back, with a little violent action as well.

she smacks him every time he smirks, that literally screams, "you want me so bad."

miles concluded her love language is physical. just physical. (she hits him too much that he feels numb but won't change a thing <3)

few weeks later, they're dating, miles did the shoulder touch, and he swear that will not work (it did) to see if she likes him too or not.

through out their relationship, [name] get easier to be flustered now than before since miles was born a flirt.

this is my first time doing headcanons, so idk if i do it right. snsbsksbei

but i hope you like it! comments and reblog are deeply appreciated. thank you for reading!

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chrisrin · 1 day

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hi so i got diagnosed with adhd like 6 months ago after continuously insistently denying i had it to everyone who swore up and down that i did have it. then a psychiatrist was "yeah you have it bro" and i've been re-evaluating everything in my life. anyways. that's context, and with that re-evaluating i've realized something about my hyperfixations and i want to know if:

a) people with adhd relate to it. b) how do you. deal with this. because i think it's somewhat ruining how i interact with media.

anyways, under the read more ->

i've come to realize a pattern with media i consume that i get fixated on. typically this happens with longer media. so stuff like homestuck, and currently with one piece. stuff that i cant binge in an evening or two. (i am on chapter 170 of one piece at the moment of writing this, i read 40 chapters yesterday)

i obviously can't be consuming the new piece of media i'm into every second of my day, in fact, that sounds exhausting.

i have other things i need to get done and, in fact, i NEED to be doing other things because even with something i'm hyperfixated on, my brain will get bored and needs to bounce off other types content. however what this does mean is that every thought i have IS still hyperfixated on the piece of media which means i will still seek out that content even if it's not me reading the original source material.

what this MEANS is that i have all these video essays recommended to me about one piece because youtube has caught on that i am liking and enjoying ONE PIECE (same with twitter. my entire twitter for you page is completely consumed by one piece. i dont know who 2/3rds of these people are please im still in alabasta what is happening) and i Want to Watch them all but i'm in the stage rn where Everything Is A Spoiler so i CANT watch the video essays so ill instead watch them RIGHT UP UNTIL im in the danger zone of being spoiled (sometimes actually risking/getting spoiled) or watching random out of context one piece clips and my one piece friends are all telling me i am just like icarus and flying too close to the sun but i also feel like i can't help the compulsion in some ways? it also means i cannot help but talk about it in every conversation i have with everyone but that seems like, minorly connected to all this.

it's crazy because in my head this is the Worst Stage of the hyperfixation, where i can Only consume the media itself and not all the fan stuff around it. but that's Insane because this should be the best time because i'm literally experiencing the cool media i like for the first time. i feel insane. does anyone else relate to this. how do you deal with it?

#chris talks #at least i have a hard rule that i NEVER read spoiler tagged messages on discord #but yeah #not the usual thing i post but im trying to figure this out and my next therapy appointment isnt for another month #so peer reviews can substitute for a little bit

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kanencrow · 1 year

Note

hey I would like to request probably fluff/comfort Gwen Stacy wherein the reader and her are close friends and that somehow reader found out gwen is spider woman and Gwen like freaks out abt it the rest can be up to you, you can remove parts of my request!

You're WHO? - Across The Spiderverse | One Shot

A/N: For sure! Happy reading!

SUMMARY: You were originally planning to have a calm night in. You didn’t expect to deal with a home invader, and you definitely didn’t expect for the culprit to be the one and only Spider-Woman.

WARNINGS: All characters are 18+. Fluff/Comfort, Swearing.

WORD COUNT: 2500+

It wasn’t often where you had the ability to stay home and relax. University was a pain, both mentally and emotionally, and quite honestly, even physically. There had been countless times where you were forced to stay up until five in the morning, just for the sake of getting yourself confidently ready for an upcoming test. Granted, your professors didn’t blatantly say that abstaining from sleep was mandatory in order to do well in your studies, but there were more times where it was implied that one needed to simply revolve their life around school if they wanted a chance at graduating with flying colors.

But luckily, it was a Friday, and all of the at home work you typically were obligated to do wasn’t assigned for the weekend. You assumed that the teachers who taught the classes you attended understood that all of their students were slowly losing their minds, and so they decided – together – to let you rest, even if only for a few days. Still though, you planned on taking full advantage of the window of relaxation you received. Responsibilities could fall off the face of the earth for all you cared. Your main focus – now – was huddling up on the couch with a bowl of your favorite snack and looking as though you belonged there.

And you did. For a good while.

Until the sound of something crashing in the other room snapped you out of your comforting stupor. It sounded as though an entire shelving unit tipped over and spilled the contents of what it displayed onto the floor. Not only that, but it sounded like it was coming from the room that you and your roommate shared. Usually, you would have shrugged it off and assumed that it was just Gwen, doing whatever it was that she typically did alone, but the only issue was the fact that she wasn’t even home. You and her came into your shared apartment after school earlier in the day, but she didn’t stay for long. Something about her dad and needing to help him with whatever it was a police officer needed help with.

You didn’t pay her any mind. You only waved her off and told her to be safe, before you resumed your mission in trying to veg out for the rest of the day. You assumed she would have been back by the evening, but then the sun faded away from the earth, and when the moon replaced it, you sent her text that questioned her whereabouts. And when she didn’t answer you, you scoffed and tossed your phone onto the coffee table in front of the couch you sat on, too lazy to worry. Only now did the thought of your phone come back to your mind, and so as you set down your bowl of half-eaten food, you tapped the screen of your device that sat right next to your dish.

It lit up, and you were greeted with an array of text messages from Gwen. All of which were franticly sent and poorly spelled, like she had been running when she tapped her thumbs against the digital keyboard. It was amusing, and an often occurrence from the woman. Though, you still felt suspicions rise the longer you scrolled down to read over the other stuff she sent you. Random emojis that she had never used before had somehow been sent to you. And then when you eventually got to the bottom of the thread she had randomly created on your phone, your eyes slightly widened.

There was a close up of a masked face you had the joy of meeting a few times. It looked like a selfie, but it also looked as though the person who took it was a mom who had no idea how to use the camera on their phone. It was blurry, the quality was pretty terrible, but you could still make out the covered face of Spider-Woman. The angular, sharp white eyes that stared down at the screen, voidless of any emotion because they weren’t even real irises. You couldn’t help but stand up to your feet and bring your phone with you, taking a closer look at it as your blanket fell from your body.

Another crashing sound and a familiar expletive of ‘shit!’ came from the room that wasn’t too far from where you were. It wasn’t difficult to tell who had – poorly – snuck inside the house at… one in the morning. You let out a sigh and shoved your phone into the pocket of your pajamas, before you stepped away from the couch and walked towards wherever the sound had originally come from. You could only assume that Gwen was the culprit of all the noise that was being made, however the closer you got to the door that the sound came from, you felt a feeling of anxiety fill your stomach when the thought of some stranger actually being the one who was creating such a disturbance filled your mind.

Even though you swore you heard Gwen’s voice just a few minutes ago, you were starting to second guess your own hearing. Still, your hesitation didn’t stop you from raising a hand up and knocking on the door. The sound was loud as your knuckles rapped against the wood, and just from the simple action, it caused another thump to reverberate from within the room. Yet another curse came from the culprit, and when you heard that familiar voice of a certain blonde again, you suddenly grew impatient, and opened up the door, not giving your friend the time to get herself collected.

And honestly, you didn’t regret your decision when you pushed the door open to reveal Gwen, who just barely managed to kick a bundle of white, black, and pink fabric under her bed. Your eyebrows immediately furrowed in skepticism, while your friend put her arms behind her back and straightened up casually at the sight of you. Her blonde hair was messy, pieces of it sticking up, as though she had rubbed a balloon on her head, and the oversized band t-shirt she had put on was actually backwards, which allowed you to see the back graphic. Your lips parted slightly in confusion as your eyes lowered down to take in the rest of her form, and you let out a breathless chuckle of amusement when you saw her mismatched socks and the inside out cotton shorts she had shuffled into.

“Um…” You didn’t even know what to say, but the sound of your voice caused Gwen to stand up straighter and send you a very suspiciously innocent grin. It showed off the gap between her white teeth, and although you wanted to cut to the chase and interrogate her on where she had gone, you couldn’t help the flutter of endearment that filled your chest and quickly took the form of a smile on your lips. Although, as much as you wanted to dwell on the natural cuteness your best friend exuded, you focused on the main reason as to why you entered her room. “So… where have you been?” you asked her, before you crossed your arms over your chest and glanced down at your feet awkwardly. “Your texts today were a little… interesting.”

“Oh, really?” Gwen let out a laugh at your statement, which caused you to lift your head and meet her blue eyes. She tapped her socked foot impatiently as she shrugged her shoulders to try and prove that she had no recollection of the weird texts she sent you throughout the day. “That’s weird. I uh… I must’ve, like… butt texted you or something.”

“Oh yeah?” you questioned, though it was entirely rhetorical, considering your eyebrows raised up to show that you didn’t believe her lie at all whatsoever. “Did, uh… Spider-Woman take your phone or something and butt text me, too?” At your words, her casual demeanor crumbled, and you almost smirked to yourself when you saw the look of panic that flashed over her features, before it vanished, and a look of faux perplexion painted her expression instead.

“I… what…?” Gwen gestured her hands up to try and play off her ignorance, but you only reached into your pocket to pull out your phone once more. As you turned it on and unlocked it, you could sense the way she quietly walked over to you to look down at the evidence you were about to show her. Of course, you didn’t need to say a single thing to try and prove your suspicions. Simply going to her contact and looking at the messages that were shared between the two of you, she immediately spotted that blurry picture of her in her suit. It was a terrible selfie, but it still didn’t make it too difficult to recognize who the culprit of the photo was. “Okay… um…”

You cut her off before she could say some other boldface lie. Shutting off your phone, you dropped it back into your pocket, before you looked up at the blonde with a furrowed expression. “So, is there anything you want to tell me, Gwen?” You already had your suspicions that the woman was doing something on the down low – something that you couldn’t know about. But the last thing you thought was that she was the one and only Spider-Woman. Sure, it was a theory that circled around your mind every once in a while, but you always thought that the girl was way too clumsy to be New York's friendly neighborhood superhero.

Maybe it was all a front. Maybe she wasn’t clumsy at all.

“Okay, look–” Gwen stepped back from you and raised her hands up in surrender, which caused your own body to turn and face her own. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a while that I’m – you know – but I never did because I knew that would have put you in danger, and I don’t want anything to happen to you, and so I just never did that because the number one thing in those secret superhero movies that people watch is to never ever tell the people you care about that you’re the superhero.” She was frantically rambling, but you still managed to catch everything that she told you. You slowly nodded your head in understanding, and just as she was about to open her mouth again, you raised your hand up, which caused her to pause.

“I get it, Gwen,” you muttered, “don’t worry.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this, Y/n,” Gwen quickly replied, as she stepped closer to you and clasped her hands down onto your shoulders. “If anyone else finds out that I’m… you know – her… then I’m screwed.” Her tone was pleading, and you could tell that she was clearly worried about your knowledge of who she was. You attempted to assure her that you weren’t going to out her, but she had spoken before you could say anything… again. “And – please delete that picture. People can’t know that you’re – that I’m… just delete the picture,” she rambled, which earned a slow nod from you, as you reached into the pocket of your PJ’s again, fishing for your phone. “You’re the only person that knows. I’d like to keep it that way, so please, please don’t say anything–”

“Gwen, hey,” you called her name, which caused the blonde to immediately close her mouth and meet your eyes. “I’m not going to say anything to anyone, okay?” you reassured her, before you lifted up the screen of your phone and deleted the blurry selfie of her as Spider-Woman right in front of her. “Your secret is safe with me, alright? My lips are sealed.”

“Okay.” Gwen breathed out a sigh of relief as she nodded her head, her hands falling away from your shoulders. “Thank you,” she said, which earned a simple shrug from you, before you put your phone back into your pocket, for the umpteenth time. “You’re not mad at me, right?” she suddenly asked, causing you to roll your eyes lightheartedly and let out a small laugh.

“No, of course not, Gwen,” you replied. “I understand why you didn’t say anything. I just kinda wish you told me a little sooner.”

Gwen brought a hand up to rub at the back of her neck and glanced down at the floor. “Yeah… I probably should have, but…” She shrugged her shoulders as she dropped her arm back to her side. “I didn’t want to risk it,” she admitted, her eyes lifting to meet yours again. “Being the face behind Spider-Woman’s mask is kind of something that I don’t want anyone to know, but…”

“Now I know,” you finished sympathetically, which earned a small nod from your friend. You breathed in at that, understanding the worry that probably instilled her. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, knowing that you’re Spider-Woman makes me feel a little safer.”

“Only a little?” Gwen questioned, which earned a scoff from you, as you turned around and started making your way out of her room.

“Don’t push it, Spider-Woman.”

You smiled to yourself when you heard Gwen let out a chuckle from behind you.

BONUS:

The light from the television was the only thing that illuminated the living room, as Gwen leaned into your side with your favorite blanket draped over her. She had stolen most of it, but the warmth of her body against your side was a valid replacement. You and her were both focused on the show the two of you religiously binged together, and although you were very intrigued by the plot of it, there was still a question that lingered in the back of your mind. Although your best friend had asked you not to see her any differently due to her being Spider-Woman, you couldn’t help the confusion that formed when you thought about how she became the superhero everybody knew and loved.

As Gwen fidgeted with your hand that hung over her shoulders, you leaned your head back against the couch and spoke up, your voice distant, since the show before the two of you still slightly hypnotized you. “Hey Gwen.” Your friend hummed in response to your call of her name, and so you continued, mindlessly. “I’ve been wondering,” you started, before you swallowed and licked your lips thoughtlessly. “How did you become Spider-Woman?” Your question earned a loud sigh from her, which caused you to furrow your eyebrows and look down at her, which didn’t really do any justice, since you could only see part of her face as she continued to stare at the TV. “What? Is that a bad question to ask?”

“No, just…” You felt her shrug against you and shuffle slightly, which caused you to raise your arm up and let her lay her upper body across your legs. “Out of all the questions you could have asked me, it’s that one?” You looked down at her and met her eyes. You couldn’t help but trace the finer details of her face for a moment, before she folded her hands together and rested them against the middle of her chest. “It’s a long story,” she told you softly. Her voice grabbed your attention again, and you showed that you were listening when you hummed. “Do you… want to hear it still?”

You sent her a small smile and nodded. “Of course I do.”

Gwen nodded her own head and pressed her lips together, before her fingers started drumming against the back of her own hands. “Okay, well…” She trailed off and let out a quiet breath. “It all started when I was bitten by a radioactive spider…”

(Insert Spider-Man theme music here)

#spider gwen x reader #gwen stacy x reader #itsv x reader #atsv x reader

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bunny-lily · 3 days

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Tether Me - Chapter 5: Part 1

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: Right in the middle of you savoring the beverage and scrolling aimlessly through your phone, a piece of paper was suddenly smacked down onto the wood in front of you. You paused mid-sip and looked at it blankly, then traced the source of its origin up to Satoru’s gleaming, boyish grin. When had he let himself in?

You raised a curious brow at the man, finishing your gulp. “What’s this?”

“That, sweet girl, is a wedding invitation,” he declared with all the vigor of a show host announcing the spoils the victor had attained, “and you’re gonna be my plus-one.”

Your other brow lifted to match the first. “Eh? Since when?”

The sun is warm today.

It coats the exposed stretches of skin on your arms and legs in a cozy, yellow glow. Shadows from the leaves dancing on the branches of the tree behind you cast across your face, splotches of blueish-gray that provide a hint of coolness on your relaxed posture.

The sky is your favorite shade of teal, with fluffy, white clouds spread across it far and wide, forming funny shapes and animals that only you can discern. There’s a bunny-looking one that you’ve been following for a while now, watching as it extends its legs while bounding lazily across the eonic, untold cyan. You’ve named it Marshmallow for its resemblance to those bird-shaped, sugar-coated treats.

Which doesn’t really make sense, but you don’t care all that much. It makes sense to you.

So far, the story you’ve created about Marshmallow is simplistic, but it’s giving you something to do. Marshmallow is frollicking in a massive meadow, running around between tall stalks of indigo grass and snowy flowers. She’s celebrating her freedom after escaping the maws of a vicious wolf, bouncing back and forth in joy as she claims the sky as her home, where no wolf can catch and eat her so long as the sun shines through the heavens.

There, she is safe to chirp and thump her little feet and fly as much as she desires, no longer fearing being trapped in the muzzle of a hungry beast.

In the far distance, you can see a smear of dark gray hugging the horizon. It’s not close enough for you to fathom how big it is, but you can tell by the streaks underneath it that it’s raining over there. The flowers will be happy, you think. Fresh water to help their roots spread and their petals bloom.

You like days like this, where it’s quiet and calm. Birds spring from the electricity cables spanning down the length of the street, a bug occasionally buzzes past you, and the air smells sweet.

Your legs swing back and forth lazily over the short cement-brick wall in front of your house. The light stone is brisk under your palms, a comfort in the burn of summer. You’ve already had a crisp icy-pop earlier, but now you’re uncertain if you should have saved it, as the temperature has gone up quite high.

It’s peaceful out here, but, confessedly, incredibly boring.

Yet, you savor it all the same. Anything is better than being in there, where your heart rarely has a chance to settle, always tapping on your veins to keep them active and roaring with blood laced too heavily with poisonous adrenaline. It’s nice to have an opportunity to rest and relax, a rare moment of serenity, even if you do feel a little lonely.

Glass shatters somewhere behind you. Skin meets skin.

You wince.

The world grows a little more dim. The bunny splits in half.

Tranquility can only last for so long under the richly fragrant blooms of the Callery pear hiding you from the sight of those within the house.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, woman!?”

You stand up slowly, your fingers already growing jittery as you brush off the dirt and prickling twigs that dug imprints into the backs of your thighs. The heat no longer bothers you.

“Can’t you do anything right!? Can’t even get me a fuckin’ beer! You’re useless!”

“I’m–”

They left the kitchen window open again, the mesh serving to let air in while keeping insects out. It does nil to block sound.

“This is the one fuckin’ time I get a goddamn break from supporting this fuckin’ family, and this is how you repay me? By droppin’ my goddamn bottle of beer?”

You’re scared. You don’t know why you are, he always gets like this. He’s always yelling.

You think you’re used to it by now, you try to tell yourself that you are, but your heart still pounds uneasily in your chest. It feels like there’s ice in your veins, prickling and spreading frostbite in tiny kitten nips. It spreads to your stomach, growing heavy and sinking lower and lower, steel through honey.

You hate being scared. It makes you feel sick. You wish you didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

“I’m out there, breakin’ my back every damned day for you and that stupid brat–” you flinch, “workin’ my hands to the bones, and all I want is a drink to wind down after a long day of work.” It’s midday on a Saturday. He woke up an hour ago. “I ask my lovely, darlin’, sweet little wife to get me a beer, and what does she do?”

You think you can hear a woman mumbling something, but it’s hard to make out over the man’s screams.

He bangs his fist on the laminated kitchen counter, by the sink. Metal utensils stored to dry clink against each other from the force. “Answer me, woman!”

“You…bumped…accident–”

“Speak up!”

“Y-You bumped into–”

“Oh, so, now you’re goin’ off and blamin’ me?”

A sob. “It was an accident.”

“It’s always a fuckin’ accident with ya, ain’t it? Always forgettin’ shit, always lazy, always so clumsy. All you women are incompetent. Can’t even get me a damn drink without wastin’ my hard earned money. The money that supports your livelihood, by the way.”

There’s a hiccuping sound, followed by another bang on the counter.

“Now you’re throwin’ hysterics! You ungrateful whore, fuckin’ manipulative bitch, usin’ crocodile tears. I’ve been so kind, so patient, so lenient with you,” you tried to count the bruises he left on her one time, but you lost track after thirteen. “But you’re just so fuckin’ spoiled, yeah? Damn hag. It’s ‘cause of me you get to sit your pretty ass at home all the time and do nothin’ all damn day while I’m out there, breakin’ myself for a useless bitch of a wife.”

Your nails dig into the tree’s bark for support. A white petal twists and ebbs as it falls from a flower above, landing on your shoulder.

She’s silent beyond short gasps of air and phlegmy sniffles. A stifled choke here and there.

“Don’t ignore me, bitch,” he hisses, then groans in defeat, as if he is choosing to surrender and indulge her. “Agh, it’s pointless, you’re too fuckin’ stupid to understand. You damn women are always so fuckin’–”

He says a word that makes you cringe horribly.

The heavy stomping of boots follows his tantrum, then there’s complete stillness. You wait outside for a long time, hesitating. You want to go to the woman, to comfort her despite your young age and inherent naivety.

You startle out of your skin when you hear the screechy garage door open and hare around the bulking trunk of the tree to hide behind it. Your back presses into the rough material, breaths barely filling your lungs before they’re pushed out again. Your skin crawls at the subdued sounds of the man’s mad ramblings, too indistinct for you to make out.

His tone tells you enough. It tells you he’s angry, and that he’s saying a lot of bad words that you’re not allowed to say.

Bad words hurt people, baby.

As hidden as you can manage to be, you peer around the calleryana, grimacing at the loud, metallic thump of his car door slamming shut. You watch as the contraption, old with time and lack of maintenance – ‘It’s vintage,’ he slurs, bragging about the red machine like a proud father that treats it better than he treats his own teeth. Better than he treats you. – coughs and rattles down the short length of the driveway.

It turns along the curb, twisting ‘til its nose faces your direction. You jolt back out of sight.

You’ve always despised the sound it makes, the horrid noise passing by you and growing quieter as the car chugs down the gray asphalt. Like a dying goat. Or, cats yowling as they tear into each other in the dead of night. Jarring and uncomfortable, instilling a sense of dread in you.

You wait for a long time like this, staring blankly at the end of the street, holding your breath. You wait for the car to reappear at the turn, to come back no sooner than it had gone. You wait for him to loop the neighborhood.

If he’s in the same mood, or worse, who knows what could happen. Maybe, he’ll have the courage to pull the trigger and end it all with a swift right hook this time.

Minutes or hours later, the street remains empty, and you exhale the breath you’ve been holding, allowing yourself to cautiously hope he won’t return for a while.

Itchy imprints are left on your palms, the backs of your arms, and upper back as you peel away from the tree and sneak across the yard to the rear of the house. Even though he’s not here anymore, you still walk on your tip-toes and avoid stepping on sticks or leaves.

The backdoor is open. It leads into the living room, with the kitchen doorway on your right. From this angle, you can see the fridge and sink. The cup holding the clean utensils has been knocked over.

You walk forward and turn left, instead. You stick to the walls, where the wooden floor doesn’t creak as loudly, and make your way to the bathroom. The light flickers on, struggling for a few seconds. Its orange illumination is dim and makes you nauseous.

You pull out the stool from the cupboard under the sink and pop it flat, then climb on top to reach the mirrored cabinet above the faucet. It’s a singular, fluid action; a habit, muscle memory honed over time.

You pry open the semi-shiny, scratched panel and dig around through the mess of products inside. You push aside aftershave, old tubes of half-used creams, rusted safety razors, and bottles of miscellaneous concoctions that intrigue and scare you in equal measure.

You collect the needed items, stacking a stocky, dark bottle of hydrogen peroxide, cotton pads, knock-off antibiotic gel, and bandages into your arms. It’s not as heavy or hard as it used to be, and you don’t forget anything after so much practice.

Hopping off the stool, you shuffle your way to the kitchen.

From the doorway, you can see the woman sitting on one of the dining chairs, partially facing you. Her face is in her hands. Her shoulders tremble with mute weeping. There’s green glass and something wet spilled across the floor.

You’re careful to mind your step and veer around it.

If she’s aware of your presence, she doesn’t react, and says nothing. She doesn’t lift her head as you wriggle your gathered spoils onto the table, diligent in making sure none fall off. She doesn’t make any noise as you pull out a chair beside her and hoist yourself onto it. She’s eidolic as you sort the items around into a neat order for easy access.

She only responds when you reach a small hand forward and curl it around her wrist. Your fingers barely reach halfway.

“Mama.”

Her movements are lethargic, tired. She lowers her hands sluggishly and looks up at you, but she has that far-away glaze over her eyes. She’s staring at your face, but her mind is a million miles away, unseeing.

You learned it was useless to try and bring her back to earth when she’s drifted so far off. So, you don’t bother attempting. Not anymore.

There are a couple cuts on her face, one stretching diagonally under her left eye, and one curving from the right side of her chin to partially underneath it. A bruise is swelling along her temple, and an old ring of claw marks adorn her throat like a necklace. Dried tear tracks mar her visage, eyelids puffy and scleras red. He was forgiving this time.

She lets you guide her palms down to rest on her lap. Her muscles don’t twitch as you dampen a pad with hydrogen peroxide and delicately begin dabbing it on the wounds to clean them. The blood, no longer beading and trickling, fizzles under the influence of the solution. You take care to not get any loose fibers caught in the new injuries.

It was nice of him to leave the ones that are still healing alone. He isn’t always this kind.

You’re too focused on your work to notice when your mother comes back to herself. The fog over her irises lifts, replaced with a glassy sheen, but no tears remain to fall.

She looks a lot like you, just older, and fatigued. Faint scars linger and taint her sullen expression. Her eyes are sunken, cheeks hollow. Your eyes are the same color, as is your hair. Your upper lip follows the same curve hers does.

The only difference is your age, what you’ve been through.

Your bruises, along your limbs, weren’t caused by him.

You stopped asking questions a long time ago, too. Around the same time she stopped physically showing any sort of pain or discomfort she might experience from you taking care of her. You smear a thin layer of the gel over the cuts, capping the tube.

As you’re reaching for the bandages, she suddenly grasps your wrists, spooking you.

“Promise me, baby,” she urges you frantically, voice low. Like she’s afraid he’ll hear her, even though he isn’t home anymore. “Promise me you’ll never let a man tie you down.”

You gaze at her – at the shallow cuts on the side of her chin and under her eye, the rapidly swelling bruise on her jaw, the spot forming on her temple – and nod once. It’s not a difficult choice. Hell, you don’t have to think about it to agree.

All you’ve ever known about love is that it does nothing but hurt those who experience it.

All you’ve ever known about love was taught to you by fists and shouts.

All you’ve ever known about love was that it would break you, like it broke her, if you let yourself fall to it.

Wordlessly, you swear you’ll never end up like your mother.

Audibly, you seal the vow.

“I promise, mama.”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

It��s cold outside.

The sun hid behind the wide expanse of ashen-gray clouds that painted the sky a new color, one of mottled Nile lily and argent. You could make out shallow waves and hills in the skyline, but not much else, the world washed in desaturated periwinkle.

It made for a great environment for pondering.

Months had already gone by since you made your vast move to this quaint little stead, all in the blink of an eye. It was nice; peaceful. The routine you'd built up kept where no other had before, and instead of boredom and mundanity, or the anxiety that came with getting too comfortable, you were enjoying yourself.

You were content.

In the mornings, you'd eat breakfast with Satoru and oftentimes Suguru, then continue the well-proceeding renovations on your house. In the afternoons you'd work at Granny’s shop, and your nights were free. Usually you'd either go to the park for a while, hang out with your friends, or go straight to either Suguru’s or Satoru's house.

Geto-mama and Geto-papa took a particular liking to you and enjoyed having you over. You learned very quickly where Suguru got his spice tolerance from, the pair of parents being worse than him in overusing various pepper seasonings.

His parents were also ridiculously tall, especially his mother, who stood toe-to-toe with Suguru himself. He was the spitting image of her.

You underestimated how much Geto-mama liked plants until she sat your pretty ass on the armchair in her living room, threw a blanket over your legs, and proceeded to whip out decades’ worth of knowledge on all kinds of husbandry.

Which, actually, was very entertaining and engaging, with plenty of hands-on activities. You were now the proud mother of a cardboard egg carton full of itty bitty forget-me-nots.

When she told you that she was a kindergarten teacher, it all added up.

She was a blast to listen to, every conversation with her energetic and fun. You had a great time everytime you hung out with each other, leading you to frequently exchange flower and vegetation pictures with her over text. She had some shockingly hilarious husbandry memes, and you’d never seen Suguru come close to pouting before he learned you texted with his mom more than you did him.

Sure, it was barely a downward twitch of his lips, but he looked so much like a wounded puppy that you had to fix the situation ASAP.

Which meant texting his mother in secret.

His father was vastly different from his mother. The silent type who didn’t speak much, spending most of his free time sitting on the couch, filling out crossword or sudoku puzzles featured in the weekly newspaper.

You chalked him up to be the type to emotionally close himself off, until you saw him embracing his wife while she cooked, face buried against the crook of her neck while she rambled his ear off about anything and everything.

You picked up on how he followed her around soon after that, always trailing after her around the house, lamb and shepherd.

They shared more similarities than you initially caught. He was a teacher, too – a professor of ethics at the nearby college, specifically. Though he wasn’t talkative, he made for fascinating and thought-provoking conversation when he was in the mood to chat.

Suguru was a lot like his dad, you concluded, based on careful examination of the way they interacted with others and the world around them. They were both the wordless protector types, speaking more in gentle touches, subtle expressions, and words of affirmation than with open, boisterous actions. They were observant and highly aware of the emotions of others, and acted well on them.

Which is to say, they could both read you like a book. They knew when you were thirsty or hungry before you did. You weren’t as close to Geto-papa, but despite his quiet nature, he made it clear to you that you could go to him for anything.

Unlike them, Satoru was nothing like his dad.

You met Gojo-sama once, and wanted to keep it at only once if you could help it.

He wasn’t necessarily rude or anything, quite the opposite. He was polite, courteous, and respectful.

Problem was, he scared the absolute bejeezus out of you.

He carried this constant aura of authority with him everywhere he went, stern and straightforward to a fault. Where Ijichi was a trembling mess in front of Satoru, he went ramrod straight when in Gojo Saichi’s presence. He turned himself into a statue, and you couldn’t discern if it was from fear or great reverence, because Gojo-sama was quite kind to him, all things considered.

You were still spooked by the man, though, and preferred to avoid him. Lucky for you, he more-or-less lived in a town a few hours away, far enough to need to take the train, as he was busy working.

The only person you’d seen him cower before was Granny, as she apparently also knew him since he was younger. Whatever that woman was built of, you wanted it.

One day, sometime in late summer, you broke the golden rule of avoiding the park on Thursday nights and very quickly found out why Aoi and her boyfriend fucked there. They went at it like rabid animals – hell, you thought they were animals at first. Then, you saw a bit more ass than you were bargaining for and bolted out of the park, swearing to avoid the bushes they had chosen to desecrate at all costs.

You had come to know most of the more commonly seen townsfolk by name now, but that was about it. You were still introverted, after all. Everyone outside your group was an acquaintance, generally. You knew some people better than others, whether by intention (Granny, Shoko, Utahime) while others not so much (Aoi's boyfriend’s ass), but that was fine.

You sighed softly as you watched lilliputian snowflakes drift past the window of Granny’s shop, your chin propped up on your palm. They stirred and danced, waltzing with one another, then came to rest on the ground.

It wasn’t cold enough for them to stick – winter in this part of Japan was fairly mild – but it was alluring nonetheless.

You couldn’t remember the last time you stopped everything to just…observe. You hardly had enough time to settle and let your lungs fully fill to admire the scenery anywhere else you went. A shame and a waste, you knew that. Some of the places you drifted to were revered for their natural beauty, or hypnotic architecture, or lively communities.

You’d be lying if you said you went to them with the first two in mind. Mainly, you drifted towards densely packed locations. The more people, the more sounds, the less you were able to hear your own thoughts. Clubs, dating apps, friend groups full of names you would never remember, nothing worked.

Being unable to think left you feeling like your sanity was being torn apart by ragged, filthy nails. It made you want to rip into your own skull to wrench out the obnoxious fucking buzzing. At first, you thought there wasn’t enough noise, that the rattling was a result of there being too much room in your cranium that let things clatter about.

Living above subs and stumbling your way into various parties, drinking your weight in liquor until you couldn’t think at all, making out with someone knowing that you wouldn’t be able to handle anything more than light petting, nothing sufficed.

It’s possible you moving to such an isolated valley wasn’t such a difficult thing to believe. Something, something, insanity.

The passage of time seemed nonexistent here. When you arrived, you were slipping into summer, battling the hellish heat under the AC at Suguru’s house blowing on full blast, prancing in the river with Satoru, and now it was snowing. It felt like only yesterday, or at most before yesterday, you had arrived.

The memory of your first night on a floor you couldn’t believe you actually slept on in hindsight was so distant, yet merely a few hours back on the clock of your mind.

Intrusive thoughts – the same that told you to stab your hand, jump off a cliff, fantasize about your worst fears and subsequently having panic attacks because of it – persisted. Hard habits to kick, but they were significantly quieter nowadays. Further spaced out, too.

The voice of the demon clinging to your cervical spine, the one that urged you to run like your feet were on hot coals, had all but gone mute. Sometimes you got the thought, but it was more reflex than anything else.

Maybe, just maybe, you found where you were supposed to be.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Granny’s calm voice roused you from your reverie, drawing your attention to her.

Like you, she peered at the slow-falling flakes, following the twirls and spirals they made when a mild breeze caught them. If you had to name the expression she wore, it would be reminiscence. You’d think that, after living here for as long as she did, one would be used to the sight of the year’s first snow. Impassive, even, or perhaps irked by the omen it brought, but the childlike wonder sparkling in her eyes told you otherwise.

You sensed you would never truly get used to it, either.

“Yeah,” you matched her tone, returning your fixation to beyond the window. “I’ve seen snow before, but never really…”

Granny easily picked up on what you didn’t voice. “It’s quite magical.”

You nodded faintly, unbothered by the countertop digging into your elbow.

The day was uneventful for the most part.

Geto-mama had stopped by earlier in the day to pass you a plate of mini lemon tarts, which you idly nibbled on while reading. She had taken to using you as a test subject for her experimental baked treats, and (to your massive relief, since you lived in constant fear of Satoru and Ijichi and their calamitous baking skills) she made amazing snacks, and taught you when she had the time to.

Everyone else was busy either completing preparations for the forecasted snowfall, promised to last the week, or they’re already bundled up at home, staving off the frost from within.

Which meant it was slow-going at the shop, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

It gave you time to catch up on the new manga series you’d picked up from the shelf of the store after becoming curious about it. It was an odd story, something about a boy whose body was doused in a fire that could never extinguish, but it kept your mind busy.

The tale under your hand was…difficult to stomach. Not for any massive horror or emotional reasons, no. Rather, it was so painfully cringy that you had to periodically stop and take a breath to steady yourself.

The plot was rather good, an interesting concept for a world that would make for a fantastic anime, but the author really enjoyed causing his readers physical pain from the dialogue. It made for fantastic taunting material, though, and Satoru and you enjoyed ripping into the characters.

It amazed you that this author apparently had a popular manga in both Japan and the States that was released only a couple years after this one, because wow. It was bad.

The dainty chime of the bell drew your attention away from your manga in time to see Suguru ducking under the door frame, giant that he was, a furoshiki-clad object in hand. A quick skim over the shop had his sights landing on you, locating his target. His eyes creased into slim lunes, the corners of his lips digging into the plush of his cheeks as he approached you.

You stepped out from behind the counter and oof-ed when his free arm encompassed you and tugged you into his hoodie-covered chest.

He placed the side of his face against the top of your head and rubbed it endearingly. You never chalked him up to be the type for physical affection when you first met, but here you were, practically getting scented by a territorial feline.

“Hey, you,” he lilted, withdrawing after far too much time passed for the embrace to be considered a normal greeting between friends. His palm stayed in contact with your figure, gliding across the curve of your waist as he was pulling back, seemingly reluctant to part. It raised goosebumps on your nape and along the lengths of your arms.

“Hey, Suguru,” you welcomed, your lips subconsciously tilting upwards. Your heart filled your chest with a warmth akin to the heat the hot chai he frequently made for you. “What brings you here?”

“Brought you lunch,” he explained as he set the object down on the register counter. A succulent scent wafted towards you, forcing you to restrain your stomach in a chokehold around its neck like a crazed mutt. Decorum and politeness were vital in the presence of royalty.

You crooned, grinning wider at him. “Aww, Sugu, you didn’t have to do that.”

He merely shook his head, tucking his hands into the center pocket of his hoodie. “It’s no problem. You mentioned you never tried somen or nikujaga, so I figured I’d make you some.”

His kindness and thoughtfulness had you swooning, so much so that you had faith even the biting chill of the world outside the temperate shop wouldn’t dare bother you.

“I’m serious, Suguru, you’re too nice to me,” you pouted playfully, to which he shook his head in disagreement.

“No such thing,” he replied, leaning back against the wall behind the counter. He jerked his chin towards the bento box. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Not needing to be told twice, you untied the cloth and pulled it away, further unveiling the mouthwatering scent. The container was still hot as you scooted it off the cloth that you folded neatly, then frowned minutely.

“You didn’t bring a box for yourself?” You asked, worry etched into your brow.

He smiled at you. “I ate earlier, don’t worry.”

“Such a good man, dear,” Granny reappeared, squeezing his arm affectionately. “Your parents raised you well.”

“Thanks, Granny,” he said, keeping an eye on you to make sure you ate. His concern was assuaged when you began feasting contentedly, his shoulders loosening. “How’s the shop?”

The old woman waved her hand loosely. “Just fine. Not many have come in today. Oh, but your mother did.”

He nodded. “She told me she wanted to stop by and drop something off before she went to work.”

“Tarts!” You covered your mouth with your palm to muffle your words and pointed at the plate of half-eaten snacks next to you. “Sho yummy.”

“Ah, her lemon tarts? Those are pretty good.” He approved. “Don’t let Satoru know she gave you those.”

“How is Yoriko doing?” Your sorta-grandmother asked, since the topic was brought up.

“Mom is alright,” Suguru answered. “She’s fussing over the snow, as if it doesn’t snow every year.”

She complained indignantly. “She’s just like her mother, that one. Always worried about the smallest things. Your father is a terrible enabler.”

He snorted. “You think he’s any better? They enable each other, it’s an echo chamber.”

She tutted disapprovingly. “Missing the forest for the trees,” she mumbled, then reached out and patted your head. “You can leave for the day after you finish eating.”

You furrowed your brow. “Really? But, it’s so early.”

“It’s alright, there won’t be much work to do today. You should go enjoy it.”

You were prepared to argue further, but were halted by the hard glare she gave you. “Okay, fine. Thank you, Granny.”

“Good girl,” she patted you one more time for good measure. “Eat up, now.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get rid of me,” you teased.

“I am,” she deadpanned.

You balked at her.

A laugh rumbled in Suguru’s chest, and you turned to him with wide eyes. “Can you believe this? She’s trying to get rid of me.”

He cocked his head towards you. “She’s just being kind enough to let me steal you away.”

You grumbled as you stuffed more food into your mouth. “Unbelievable. The absolute gall of you people, passing me back and forth like a football.”

He and Granny exchanged light conversation, talking about his folks’ plans for their farm in the coming spring, once the cold season passes, while you nibble away until the box is empty and you’re stuffed.

“Thank you for the food, Sugu,” you sighed in satisfaction and slid off your stool, stretching your arms above your head.

“You’re very welcome. I hope you liked it,” he spoke as he gathered the bento back into its furoshiki.

You chuffed. “You kidding? Your cooking is always amazing.”

The elder jabbed your ribs painfully with her elbow, making you wheeze. Unperturbed, she cupped a hand around her mouth to mutter to you. “He likes you.”

“Granny, please,” you rubbed the spot she impacted.

Your further objections were cut off when you found a scarf tossed over your shoulders, the fabric being looped around them a couple times to properly cover your neck and the lower half of your face. The culprit of the surprise attack stood in front of you, now sans his own scarf, as he was diligently securing it in place on you.

“Suguru,” you crinkled your nose at him as he tucked the ends of the fabric into the collar of your sweater. You didn’t fight him on it, but you did feel perhaps a teensy bit child-like with the way he cosseted you.

He merely smiled, cupping your cheek when he finished. “Indulge me.”

Granny gave you a knowing glance from your side.

You freed your chin to stick your tongue out at her before you were stuffed straight back into the scarf. It smelled like Suguru, like tea and spice and him, and you instinctively nuzzled further into the thick material.

“My place?” He moved a section of your hair away from your face so it wouldn’t bother you.

You acquiesced easily, offering to take the bento and furoshiki, to which he declined. You waved goodbye to the weird lady who kept looking between you and your friend while waggling her eyebrows as you stepped out of the shop. You had no idea who she was. What a strange person.

Cough.

The bite of winter nibbled anywhere your clothes didn’t cover as you met the outside world. Baby snowflakes began to gather and melt in your tresses, and you shuddered as a slight draft skittered past your legs.

His fingers easily slipped into the gaps between yours, palms pressed together as he tucked both of your hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

That was the thing about Suguru – he knew what you needed without having to exchange words. He was nothing if not perceptive and observant, a caretaker at heart. Likening him to a guardian angel would’ve been an understatement, in your opinion.

It unsettled you at first, the way he would do something for you, whether or not you said something. You were nervous he could read your mind, but extensive testing (consisting of you saying random gibberish in your head) proved he couldn’t. He was simply good at guessing what you were thinking, and was spectacular at planning ahead.

Your thumb rubbed idle circles into the back of his hand, grazing over the prominent knuckles and thick veins there.

You admired his hands a lot, everything about them. Their size, the roughness of the pads of his fingers, their strength. You liked that, regardless of the feats he was capable of pulling off with those hands, he was always attentive and dovish in the way he treated you.

You enjoyed watching him tear apart old cabinets the same way you enjoyed watching him leaf through a book. Those hands, the ones that dexterously tore out prickly weeds bare, were the same that affixed the fabric keeping your neck protected from the elements in place. Capable of destruction and creation in the same stroke.

The bones of his wrist were a particular draw to you, you couldn’t help but stare at them whenever the chance presented itself – you swear it’s not in a creepy way. Like a hand fetish, but not sexual. Was that a thing?

Ugh, this was just digging your grave deeper. You had to shift your thought process a hint to the left.

What else could he do with them? You’d bet easy money he’d be killer at knitting if he ever asked his dad to teach him. He had a good sense of textiles, knowing the texture of something before touching it, if he had to at all.

A flake dropped onto the round of your cheek and you flinched, rubbing at your face with your free hand. As much as you loved winter, you were looking forward to getting to Suguru’s place to get the sprouting wetness out of your hair. You adored snow, but you’d rather snuggle up under a blanket and relax with him.

You craned your head back, taking in the expanse of ash, stretched from mountaintop to mountaintop.

The crests were sugar dusted, fluffy powder so delicate, you could sink through it effortlessly. Icing glazed down in streaks, brooks and streams frosted by a thin layer atop them. If the town river had a thick sheet of ice over it, you could try to convince your friends to go ice skating with you.

Satoru would be the easiest to convince, Suguru would be the hardest, and Shoko and Utahime would be somewhere in the middle.

Never having experienced nature to this degree, as you hadn’t given yourself the chance to in years past, you pined for a taste of all of it. Hiking in autumn, swimming in summer, sunbathing in spring…you doubted the snow would be dense enough to ski on, and the mountains were too short and steep, but ice skating was well within the realm of possibility.

Whatever season it was, you were determined to be part of it, and to take it with you.

“What’s on that pretty mind of yours, hm?” Suguru eased you from your daydreaming.

You angled your head so you could see him and still fantasize about flying above the frigid clouds. “Suguru, are you any good at painting?”

His head tilted to the side, woefully reminiscent of a curious puppy. “Painting? I never gave it much thought. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking of turning one of the walls in my house into a simple mural.”

“What kind?”

You ran your tongue over your back teeth in consideration. “I haven’t decided yet. Nature-esque would be nice, vines and stuff. Nothing complicated.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he replied, squeezing your hand. “We can look at some inspiration together later, if you’d like.”

You grinned brightly. “Absolutely!”

He reciprocated the smile and reached for his door, making you realize you’d arrived. He hiked the furoshiki up to his forearm and curled his fingers around the knob, twisting it and pushing inwards. In seconds, you went from the crisp sting of wintertide to the protection of his home, shielded from the snow and chill.

The scent of the food he made earlier permeated the residence, undertoned by a layer of sandalwood and agarwood incense.

While you were wriggling off your shoes, Suguru was undoing your scarf, pulling it off with smooth movements to hang it over the coat rack. His hands took your face into them, large thumbs rubbing over the swaths of plushness under your eyes to thaw them out.

“I’ll make you some chai,” he said, sharp, russet irises darting across your features. “Wanna sit in the kitchen while I do that?”

You nodded, fleetingly nuzzling into his hold to warm the tip of your nose. He obliged you, only releasing you when you were satisfied with the pleasant buzz tingling over your skin. He motioned for you to go ahead while he pulled off his hoodie and put his shoes away.

The walls of his home had become calming to you over time, the path to his kitchen now one you could follow automatically. You’d even gotten your own designated spot at the breakfast table in his kitchen. Sure, it was a two-seater, so it wasn’t saying much, but it gave you that happy, fluffy feeling anyway.

You slid into your seat as he came in, his hands busy with coiling his long, obsidian locks up into a messy bun that he pinned into place with a claw clip. He was always careful with his hair, taking measures to ensure its condition remained pristine and luscious. You admired and spited him for it; the former for his dedication, and the latter for inflicting you with the constant desire to play with the silk strands like a honeymoon lover.

Suguru was structured and organized in everything he did, preparing chai not excluded. Your jaw rested on the curve of your palm, your focus placed on him as he moved around the room with practiced dexterity.

If you were honest, this was one of your favorite things to do.

Sitting in silence while observing Suguru do his thing lured you into a drowsy sort of state. Not sleepy, but definitely cushy and snug, an invisible blanket laid over your back, weighted and heated.

He taught you how to make it – rather simple, once you know – but his tasted better than anything you could ever make. You could’ve been biased, but you wholeheartedly believed he made the absolute best chai.

A mug was slid over the tabletop to you, mouthwatering steam rising from it. You peered down at the milky-brown liquid with hearts in your eyes, hands grasping the ceramic without hesitation. Suguru enjoyed drawing cute things on the surface of the drinks he made, and used a shallow bowl of milk foam and a toothpick to painstakingly doodle a pudgy bear for you to gulp down.

“Thank you, Suguwu,” you crowed happily, almost feeling too bad for the bear to drink him.

Almost.

“You’re very welcome,” his hand settled on your nape as you lifted the edge of the mug to your lips, gently blowing on the tea, then taking a sip. “How is it?”

You purred. “So good,” you praised him. “Your chai is incredible.”

He chuckled and positioned his index and thumb an inch or so above your hairline. He pressed down, and you stiffened as a sharp spike of pain went through your temple – then you were melting with a satisfied sigh, sliding back into the chair. You had no idea how he knew where to poke and prod to have you turning into putty, but it left you feeling squishy and content, thus you had no complaints.

“Very good, I’m glad,” he said, accepting your compliments, both spoken and silent. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Put the mug in the dishwasher when you’re done, please.”

You nodded and murmured in acknowledgement, relaxing with a dopey smile as you sipped at your chai.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you’d gained a sort of philosophical appreciation for things like this. Stopping to smell the roses, feeling the snow on your lashes, tasting vanilla and black tea and cinnamon under your tongue, the things you hadn’t bothered to treasure, you now made sure to.

After a few minutes of slouching and drinking lazily, you sat back up and pulled out your phone, unlocking it to occupy your mind.

Right in the middle of you savoring the beverage and scrolling aimlessly through some social media app, a piece of paper was suddenly smacked down onto the wood in front of you. You paused mid-sip and looked at it blankly, then traced the source of its origin up to Satoru’s gleaming, boyish grin. When had he let himself in?

You raised a curious brow at the man, finishing your gulp. “What’s this?”

“That, sweet girl, is a wedding invitation,” he declared with all the vigor of a show host announcing the spoils the victor had attained, “and you’re gonna be my plus-one.”

Your other brow lifted to match the first. “Eh? Since when?”

“Since now,” he sidled up to you, slipping into your space. “I need a wedding date, after all, and I’ve chosen you to be the lucky lady to accompany me.”

Unamused would be a good way to describe your mood. You weren’t very fond of weddings; they were loud, busy, and grossly romantic. Sure, the idea was nice on paper, but spending half a day (or, more often, far more) watching two people slobber over each other in a socially acceptable version of PDA always made you feel gross and invasive, like seeing something you weren’t meant to.

And envious, to some extent, but you preferred to not dwell on that.

“Take Suguru,” you suggested.

Satoru’s nose wrinkled like you waved something expired under his nostrils. “That old hag? No way, he’d kill all my game.”

You scoffed. “And I wouldn’t?”

“Not at all,” he tipped further toward you. “You are the game.”

“Very flattering,” you returned to your phone and tea. “Today I learned that I’m a game.”

He made an affronted noise and curled over you to stare into your eyes, making sure you had no choice but to stare back. “I didn’t mean it like that! Come on, bunny, it’ll be fun!”

You set your cheekbone against your knuckles. “What’s in it for me?”

The Gojo heir puffed up his chest, going full peacock. “A date with me, of course.”

A tempting offer on its own, but not enough. “And…?”

“And,” he continued, “I’ll treat you to anything you like, just name it.”

You deliberated on what sort of ridiculous thing you could ask for that could get him to back off, partially because you really didn’t want to go to a wedding, and partially because you were curious about what the great Gojo Satoru could and couldn’t achieve.

What could you ask of him? You knew money was of no concern for him, in terms of anything your brain could come up with. You weren’t about to ask him to buy you a whole ass estate, no, you were thinking more in the realm of something purposelessly expensive but practical.

You weren’t a big fan of jewelry, hardly wearing the stuff. You’d had enough of world travel as it stood, so a flight to Spain or France or whatever was out of the question.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips unbidden. Plush, pink, parted with anticipation.

A kiss.

You caught the cringe that bubbled up the column of your spine by a hair. What ugly hell did that intrusive thought crawl up from?

Mentally picturing slapping yourself with a sad, wet newspaper and calling yourself a bad pooch, you jumped on the next thing you could come up with.

“Make soap with me,” you said.

Ah, finally, a good idea. You could use some decent soap to scrub your brain wrinkles free of filth.

He frowned. “Soap?”

“Yeah, like one of those soap-making kits. I’ve wanted to try one of those since I was a kid,” you clarified.

“Done,” he agreed with a serious bob of the head. “What else?”

You blinked. What else?

As greedy as you could be at times, you already felt bad asking for the soap kit. You didn’t like people spending money on you, even if it was on Satoru’s tab. You knew his wallet ran deep, you were afraid to know how deep, but your point remained.

You gnawed the inside of your cheek.

You really didn’t want to go to the wedding, but you did kind of get his hopes up with that soap kit ask…

It’d be a good idea to know who you were up against.

“Whose wedding is it?” You queried

His reply brought you a vast amount of satisfaction. “Aoi’s and her fiancé’s.”

Ohohoho, this you had to see. The bush-sex-freaks getting married?

Alright, worth it. “Fine, I’ll go–”

“As my date,” he insisted, not letting you finish.

You half-groaned, the sound ribbing more than anything else. “I’ll go to the wedding as your date. Happy, now?”

He cheered as if he’d won the lottery and pressed a giant kiss to your cheek, rubbing his nose vigorously against it for good measure. “Yippee! I knew you’d agree!”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the up-quirk at the corners of your lips. “I swear to God, if you’re just using me to get numbers from girls–”

“I’m not,” he sneered, following you as you got up, gulped down the rest of your chai, and set the mug away into the dishwasher. “I wouldn’t dare do that, not when I already have the number of the girl I like.”

Something under your ribs twinged. The girl he…likes?

Whatever the odd pinch of discomfort was, you shoved it aside, refusing to address it. “Trying to get her attention by making her jealous of me, then?”

Duckling to mama, he continued to trail after you out of the kitchen and towards the living room. “Nope.”

You made a ‘hrm’ noise. “So, you’re the one who’s jealous and you’re trying to get back at her?”

“Nada.”

You gave up rather easily. “I got nothin’,” you declared, stepping into the living room.

“Don’t you get it? You’re– oh, hey, Suguru,” Satoru cut himself off to greet Suguru, who was reclined in the armchair, freshly showered and casually reading a book. “Didn’t know you were here.”

The nox-haired man halted mid-paragraph and slowly dragged his gaze upwards. A pair of glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, further adding to that skeptical mom look he had going on. “You didn’t know I’d be in my own house? Yet you figured she would be?” He spoke incredulously and gestured towards you.

Satoru shrugged and dropped himself onto the floor in front of the T.V., tugging open the doors of the cabinet it stood on to withdraw a game controller. “Was lookin’ for her. She wasn’t at my place, since I just left it, and wasn’t at the shop. Next logical place: here.”

“What about the park?”

“In the fuck ass middle of winter?” He jeered. “I’m a himbo, but I’m not stupid.”

“Wow, he’s self-aware,” you commented dryly, climbing onto the couch and nestling into the corner closest to Suguru, tugging at the blanket on the back of it to drape it across your lap. “He did find me here.”

“Touché,” he conceded. “What’d he want from you?”

You used the armrest as a support for your back and tapped open your phone, searching for something to read. “Oh, just an invita–”

“Suguru!” Satoru’s commanding tone clipped through your words. “Play Smash with me!”

“No.”

The cotton ball sulked. “Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty pleeeease?”

“Still no.”

“Pretty please with sugar on top?”

Suguru let out a long-suffering sigh. “Satoru, we played Smash just this morning for, like, two hours.”

Gojo’s lour deepened. “Not even if I added ghost peppers on top of the sugar?”

Geto’s upper lip curled. “Gross.”

You set one foot on the floor, keeping your other leg positioned on the couch, and used the coffee table to lean as far forward as you could to pat the absurdly fluffy mop of white Gojo called hair. “I’ll play it with you later, how’s that?”

If fireworks were a person, they’d be Satoru. Dark one moment, then lighting up the sky the next. “Okay! Wanna watch me play GTA, then?”

“Sure,” you assented, entertained by how his giddiness reminded you of a child opening presents on Christmas.

He got into the zone, navigating through the menus with a grace that told you he’d done this countless times. Watching another person play a game could be tranquilizing in its own right; you could turn your brain off and peep the horrors of him crashing a helicopter head first into a street in the middle of Los Santos.

His manic tittering as he created the most heinous looking vehicle further added to the domestic atmosphere of Geto’s home.

You retrieved your phone at some point to scroll through it, then stopped when you saw a post of a girl showing off her fairy braid. You chewed on your lip, thinking, then dropped your device once you made your choice.

“Suguwu.”

“Mm?”

“Lemme braid your hair,” you demanded, making grabby hands at him.

You couldn’t make a fairy braid as pretty as that, but you could sure as hell make a stellar normal braid.

He took one glance up from his book to you, then he was standing up from his arm chair to sit in front of you at the foot of the couch, already engaged with the words beneath his fingers again.

Satoru gaped, distracted from his game.

“Wh– you never let anyone touch your hair! Not even me!”

The noiret flipped the page as you carefully undid his bun, clasping the clip to the neck of your shirt. “That’s because you’d do unspeakable damage to my hair if I ever let you. Besides, nobody else knows how to treat hair well.”

A blue eye twitched. “Oh, yeah? And she does?”

Suguru opened his mouth to quip back, only to let out the most scandalous groan you’d ever heard when your nails scraped lightly across his scalp.

Sweet disciples of Jesus H. Christ, what was that sound?

He reclined into your touch, book promptly forgotten on his lap as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

“How long did it take you to find a routine?” You asked him, hoping to distract yourself before your imagination took off with the noise now permanently ingrained on your brain. “Your hair is so soft.”

“Trial and error,” he said with a rasp. “My mom has the same hair as me, so I learned from her. You?”

You combed your fingers through his silken locks with a delicate touch, moving slowly so as to not catch and tear any potential knots. Whenever you found one, you carefully untangled it before proceeding. “Trial and error for me, too. My life changed when I discovered leave-in.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Suguru mumbled.

You burst into giggles, your laughter fueled by Satoru’s baffled expression. In two seconds flat, he had dropped the controller and was directly in your face, brows set with determination.

“Braid my hair, too!”

You snorted horrendously and angled your face away out of embarrassment, Suguru’s chuckle making you laugh harder. “S-Satoru,” you heaved. “Your hair is too short to braid.”

“Don’t care!” He grasped your hand and planted it firmly atop his head, his demands made clear. “Do it anyway!”

“Okay– okay!” You panted, willing the rest of your chortling away. “Let me do Suguru’s hair first, then yours.”

Subdued, he sat on his knees on the couch cushion next to yours, and though he didn’t prod, he very much continued to reside in your personal space. His wide eyes were fixated on your hands as they worked sedulously to curve and twist Suguru’s hair into an elegant braid, intrigued with every shift and swoop.

You were no professional, but you were beaming with pride at the end. Using the claw you’d removed earlier, you folded the braid into itself, then pinned it into place, satisfied.

“There, all done,” you announced.

Geto peeled his droopy eyes open, but made no move to stand and go back to his seat, fully content to stay where he was. “Thank you, pretty girl.”

Satoru threw himself over your lap, face down as he shoved one arm under and the other over the thigh pillowing his head and hugged it in a hold bordering on a death grip. “My turn!”

His poor parents.

Dealing with an adult Satoru was already hassle enough, considering his impatience and penchant for pestering the living hell out of you to get what he wanted. Kid-sized Satoru was probably eons worse, if the anecdotes from others were anything to go on.

You spoiled him, anyway.

Your fingers carded through his hair, eliciting a loud purr. Given the significantly shorter length of his hair, you elected to transform isolated sections into micro braids. They held themselves together nicely, the rhythmic and repetitive motions lulling both you and Satoru into amicable quiet, disturbed only by the occasional scratch of pages sliding against each other as Suguru returned to his book.

It took you some time to figure out that Satoru had fallen asleep, his breaths deep and even, cheek squished against the plush of your thigh. He was turned towards you, allowing you to inspect his features closely.

He really was beautiful.

In gaps of time like this, where he wasn’t bouncing off the walls with energy, you could pick apart the details that made him who he was.

His brows and lashes were the same shade of gardenia as his locks. Thick petals protected those whirlpools residing beneath, hiding the blue of a moonstone’s shine. His lips formed a natural pout, a tad glossy in the middle, dark magenta lining the inside.

He had freckles, you discovered. They were faint, virtually invisible unless you were this near to him, but they were there. They dusted across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, giving him an extra boost to that boyish charm of his you had become partial to.

He really was handsome, blessed by the heavens, made in their image.

Your susutake-eyed friend gained your attention with low-toned words, pulling you away from your veneration. “I’m guessing it was about the wedding?”

You took a few seconds to recall what he was talking about, the reason Satoru was looking for you. “Oh, yeah.”

“Wanna be my plus-one?” Suguru inquisitioned.

You exhaled, drawn out and defeated as you laced your digits through the mane of the boy napping on your lap. “Satoru already coerced me into being his plus-one.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be my plus-one, too.”

Your brow knitted. “How so?”

Topaz locked onto you. “Simply by being my plus-one. We’ll all go together.”

Satoru stirred as you mulled over it, your motions pausing in fear that you woke him. But, he merely repositioned, his lanky arms moving to encase your waist so he could press his face against your stomach, then he sank back down into deep sleep.

Your heart fluttered, fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes.

A bird, downy and young, burrowed into the nest behind the defensive embrace of your ribs, and chirped shyly. A fragile thing, one that cautiously set foot into a desolate and hollow place, hoping to fill it with feathers and, perhaps, an emotion akin to devotion.

It’d need compassionate hands to hold it, to nurture it, let it rise and spread its wings wide until they could sprout from your shoulder blades to return what was once lost.

You had to allow it to do so, though. You had to be the one cradling it to where you were most vulnerable, let it seep strength from your pounding heart, but you recognized that your warmth alone wouldn’t be sufficient. You had to let others in, let their hands clasp around yours, let them share the fires of their souls with you.

In the past, such an idea was inconceivable. The nest had been empty for endless years for a reason, unsuitable for any kind of life, especially a docile and infant type.

You weren’t in the past anymore.

You were terrified to give anyone entry to the darkness that painted the walls of your ribcage, sapping all light that deigned to creep in, but…

How you longed to feel the sun on your skin, to feel the moon crowning you.

It didn’t have to be everybody, no. It could be just them, the celestial bodies you cowered from yet coveted.

Just Satoru and Suguru.

“Sure,” you decreed. “Why not?”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

You twisted side-to-side in front of the mirror, examining yourself, dissecting every part of you.

You were standing on the rug in your room – your actual room, the one in your house, rather than Satoru’s. After months upon months of hard work, you were finally able to say you’d accomplished your goal of fixing it up to be properly habitable.

And, yes, you’d stolen the rug from ‘your’ room back at his place to bring here.

One thing you didn’t consider about living alone after having so long to get used to living with Satoru was how lonely it could be, so the fluffy piece watered that feeling down.

After you’d made the move here, he insisted the room in his home was permanently yours, and that you’d always be welcome there. Well, more accurately, he begged you to stay. While you were too enticed by the idea of having your own house and being able to live in it, you frequently slept at his anyway. It was hard to beat the repose that came with the familiarity of his estate, and knowing he was close by.

But, the benefit of having a solo-abode was that he couldn’t pester the living hell out of you while you got ready for Aoi’s wedding.

Your makeup was flawless, as it should have been, given how long you’d been slaving away on it. You didn’t do your makeup often, so you were plenty chuffed with how it turned out. It only took two-and-a-half hours, too!

…You were smart to start early.

The thin chain around your throat complemented the neckline of the dress Suguru and Satoru gifted you beautifully, glimmering like the sparkling dots decorating the profile of the fabric.

Breathable fabric followed the shape of your body, powdered with microscopic, iridescent glitters that fluctuated with every movement you made, catching the light zealously. Satoru had snuck it in with the soap kit, shutting down each of your attempts to reject the gift.

Suguru had chosen the style, while Satoru selected the color. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t suit you.

It was perfectly tailored to you, flattering and enhancing in all the best ways.

You wouldn’t admit to anyone that you spent ten minutes running your hands over your tits, waist, and hips after putting it on. You looked good. Like, good good, the kind of pop and spunk and beauty that you’d swoon over in a hit music video.

You had a pair of sandals that were miraculously a match, which meant you could not only turn down Satoru’s offer to get you a new pair, but you didn’t have to worry about wearing beaten up sneakers, either. There was no way in hell you were letting that man buy another thing for you. He wouldn’t tell you how much the dress cost him, no matter how many times you banged on his chest and demanded answers, so anything more was out of the question.

He relented after bickering back and forth, giving you the relief to dress up without guilt.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

As you finished fawning over yourself, there was a knock at your front door. Your heart rate spiked and you giggled, giving yourself a second to cool off, lest you looked too eager. No man liked that, you’d been told.

You skipped across your house, pausing to admire the accent wall in the living room. Suguru had painted a fairly simple nature scene on it of tree silhouettes encasing a mountain background, and it’d become your absolute favorite thing. You knew he was good with his hands, and you were elated with the results.

Giddy, you popped open the door, where you found the men of the hour awaiting you.

Oh, hell.

They looked like kings in those tuxedos of theirs, fit for royalty. They were already striking, you wholeheartedly believed they couldn’t possibly clean up any better. Boy, were you wrong.

Suguru’s gorgeous mane was interwoven into a plait that rested over his shoulder, dotted with baby’s breath flowers in resemblance to constellations, courtesy of Geto-mama. Satoru’s tresses were swept back, looking minimally less disheveled. You really couldn’t ask much from his hair, it did what it liked, when it liked.

“Oh, my god,” you said. “I wanna see you in suits.”

Suguru laughed, deep and rumbling, orbs glinting with mischief. “Next wedding, princess.”

“Look at you!” Satoru whistled, checking you out blatantly. “Damn, you look hot as fuck. That dress is perfect on you. Who picked it out for you?” He teased, sapphires glimmering. “I wanna get a drink with him sometime.”

Suguru snorted. “You don’t even drink, Satoru.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t get a drink with the handsome fella who dressed our girl up so pretty.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics. “You look fantastic, too, Satoru. Both of you! Seriously, you’re killing it! You’re gonna steal all the attention from the groom.”

“So long as your attention is on me, I don’t care,” he winked, taking your hand to ghost a kiss over your knuckles. Heat rushed through your being, adding to the blush you applied earlier.

Suguru bent over, pressing his own to the spot right in front of your ear. “You look beautiful, angel,” he murmured. Pulling away, the two of them presented corsages – one in blue and white, the other in lilac and black.

You placed a hand to your chest, taken aback and flattered. You picked up on how their corsages matched the flowers they had respectively pinned to their breast pockets.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you snickered and offered out both arms for them to take and adorn.

They were coordinated as always, neither wrist bare for longer than the other.

“They’re gorgeous,” you doted. “Thank you.”

Suguru’s palm slid up your forearm, digits pressing so tenderly into your skin, spawning chills under his touch. “Only right for someone as ravishing as yourself.”

You blushed, relishing in the praise. It was alright to indulge sometimes, you considered it a treat for finishing your home renovation. The opportunity was there to let loose and wash away all your worries, you’d be a fool not to take it.

“Coming from you,” you blew him a jesting kiss, which he pretended to catch. “Cheesy.”

“Let’s go already!” Satoru butted in, hooking his arm with yours.

Suguru extended his for you to take, continuing to be the polite and proper of the two. “Shall we?”

“We shall!” You declared. For once, you were excited to attend a wedding.

So long as it was with them, you’d go anywhere.

banner by cafekitsune ♥

taglist: @kimi01985

#Tether Me #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #jjk x reader #satosugu x reader #chimera writes

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ineylesian · 10 months

Note

hey!!!

I was wondering, how would Ghost react to the reader scolding him?? like, something happens that disrupts the mission and it's his fault and the reader scolds him, not aggressively, but still I would like to know Ghost's reaction

Also, the idea that he and the reader have a romantic relationship but he's still a bit strict :)

(I used the translator to write all this!! sorry if there are any translation errors, English is not my native language :D)

WALK AWAY FROM THE SUN

— SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X READER

— AO3 | MASTERLIST | EVENT

— WORD COUNT | 3k

— WARNINGS | canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, mentions of weapons, arguments, mentions of trauma.

— SUMMARY | you often meet ghost at his shortcomings, but nothing serious as this has yet to happen.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | tysm for the request 🫶🫶 i wanted to expand on this just a lil but made sure to keep the original prompt, i hope you enjoy!! hope the scolding isn’t too strict :)

Ghost thinks he’s having trouble breathing.

He doesn’t know if it’s because of the worry sanctioning in his chest, or the bullet lodged in his ribs. It takes a few seconds, he breathes, and a slightly ragged puff of air crawls its way back up his esophagus. Shallow wounds never hurt him, but ones that fester in the mind nearly paint his vision black.

It was a bad mission, destined to go wrong the moment Price laid out the plan. Too many HVTs to secure in such a dangerous zone, touched down in a land similar to post scorched earth. Calls of concern were dismissed by Shepherd, this mission was too important to let go, and they were to complete it, no matter the cost.

Nevertheless, things went south, fast. Nearly an entire squad of foot soldiers dead in under one hour, and only 2 out of 4 targets eliminated. It wasn’t long before Price called in evac, the mission’s end along with it. There was always time again to try again. Until the screaming started, and Ghost was nowhere to be found.

It was capture or kill, and it was certain no one was getting captured at this rate. You’d seen it all, the look he gave Price as he was getting into contact with Shepherd, and the miniscule shake of his head as he tightened his gear. The screams were yours, are you out of your fucking mind?-- hair whipping against the wind as you watched him disappear into the flames, yelling for the pilot to touch down.

Any sane soldier would have shaken their head and waved to confirm exfil, but this was nothing near normal. The 141’s purpose isn’t sanity, it’s loyalty. Price wasn’t going to allow himself to lose more than one soldier, and it was apparent that you were leaving with or without his permission. He strapped a tracker to your vest before you jumped.

Ghost wasn’t expecting to get shot. Maybe the adrenaline kicked in too early, or maybe the opportunity was just too good. The last two HVTs right in his line of sight, running through the open, unarmed.

Or so he thought.

He sits slouched against a wall, the hand clamped over the bullet’s entryway growing progressively more damp as the minutes pass. He should’ve expected someone with a target on their back to run around with a gun, anything lethal, even, especially after watching his friend’s jugular fly from his neck. Pointed a gun and blindly shot. A rookie mistake that put him and his whole squad at risk because of some halfhearted words Shepherd hammered into his head.

He believes in no matter completely. Maybe that’s where he comes short.

Frankly, Ghost isn’t even worried about the lingering pain in his abdomen, or the fact that the last target escaped. He’s worried about the person coming to find him. Something in the back of his head grows into a throbbing pain in the frontal lobe and he closes his eyes, hoping it’s not you that’s coming.

Who could he be kidding? Of course you were going to come for him. You always did, and always will. It’s a danger that follows when you happen to love someone you run into the frontlines with. Something that was going to get one of you killed one day, purely because he knows he’d do the exact same thing.

Ghost curses under his breath. You’re just like him sometimes, blindsided and hard headed as they come.

Falling debris and the thud of boots join the rasp that serves as his breathing. You’re here, and it looks bad, worse than he expected. Your eyebrows are knit tightly together, and he can see the dribble of blood that rolls down your chin due to how hard you bite your gums. Your skin is laced with sweat, and you’re panting, hard.

He’s only been bleeding out for three minutes. With you here, it feels like an eternity, and the grasps of something much worse than death are holding time still. When he finally shifts his lips to speak, you shove a cloth against his ribcage, hard. All that comes out is a strangled grunt, and he falls silent. No one renders him as speechless as you do.

He hasn’t felt so small since his father. It’s deserving, every last bit of it. He let go of himself and you still came to save him. He should be feeling nothing short of gratitude, yet he only feels as though someone dragged him into the undertow and left him to drown there. The way you refuse to meet his eyes strikes harder than any other bullet, and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do.

All he can feel is the fear that you have instilled in him, and his consciousness slips before he can think of anything else.

—

Forgiveness is a hard thing to earn. In the 141, it seems more rational to die than seek it.

Ghost doesn’t consider death. He’s considered nothing, not since a bullet put him into a coma for a week. In that time, he dreamt of choppy waters and black riptides. The slosh of imaginary waves greeted him more times than your voice did.

He only remembers it once. You asked one of the nurses how he was doing. When she said he’d wake up, you left.

You don’t wait up on people, Ghost knows that. No part of him holds the expectation that you would’ve cared just a little more and stuck around. You knew he’d live, and that was the end of it. You walk away from the sun when it burns you.

When it comes to the battlefield, you’re cold as ice and follow rational orders to a tee. You keep your head on straight until you don’t, because taking care of others feels better than sprinkling soil over an empty grave. The way you think is profound yet humanity never fails to escape you, it’s what dragged you to him, stone-eyed and indifferent on the surface.

People around him always say it’s impossible to get attached in the military. He almost believes them, but he thinks of you and all else fades. Like a moth to a flame, he knows you’d follow his trail into hysteria. He knows it frustrates you, habits such as those are hard to shake. You’ve spent too much time by his side to quit. Couldn’t shake you even if he wanted to.

It reminds him of three years ago, with you curled up beside him in the depths of Syrian mountains. You’d offered him some bourbon for the pain– he’d been stabbed in the leg, covering up with the excuse that it’d help with the cold. You knew how to tempt him, just one drink turning into the whole bottle empty at your feet. Only you could make him succumb to something like that, listening to you ramble on about how careless he was to get stabbed, hours of it, the coziness of you and the blankets drilling static into his head.

Ghost could hold his alcohol better than you. Barely felt a buzz from the drinks in his system. But this.. your head lightly bobbing against his shoulder, haphazardly checking on his bandage before kissing the exposed skin beside it. You were right, his whole body was on fire, so enamored with you, the feeling of home creeping along his skin in short, fatigued breaths.

He vaguely remembers when you turned to your side, hands hot on his pulse and sinking underneath. Everywhere, you were everywhere. You had taken him by storm and the buzz of the bourbon heightened his senses to a point where it was nearly unbearable. It took every fiber of his willpower to listen, straining against the irrevocable hold you had placed on him, fighting to restrain himself.

Amidst the haze, you asked him if he would do something for you. In that state, Ghost thinks he would’ve tried to overthrow the entire planet if you wanted him to. Instead, you uttered something short of ten words, and he made one of the biggest mistakes of his life when he answered.

“Promise me you’ll look out for yourself, Simon.”

Your inquiry seemed small, fragile, and simple to be compliant with in the moment. He shuns himself for failing to remind you of who you were, what you were fighting for, and that looking out for yourself is a restraint only some can hope to afford. It’s a luxury that separates people who want to save the world from those who do.

“Alright, then.”

Drunk or not, he made a promise. Broke it just as easily. He resists the urge to bash his head against the wall as consciousness returns to him, opting to thank the nurse with a few words scribbled on a napkin before disappearing.

As much as he wants to scrub the sickening scent of antiseptic and illness from his skin, Ghost can’t bring himself to visit your room right now. He knows you’ll check the infirmary soon– despite what you say he knows you stop by, even if it’s for a second, yet he opts to leave base regardless if you come to find him or not. He’d rather speak to you when you’re on those terms. Guessing by the freshly washed sweatshirt that sits zipped up to his neck, you probably don’t want him dead.

He’ll cut his losses there.

—

The early hours of the morning creep along the skyline, spilling over the roads below. You walk, dismissing the dull ache in your feet from miles of dug up sidewalk and the scorching ground you had run across some days ago. It’s not long before the breeze picks up the scent of saltwater, light ripples rock calmly against marsh and you sigh.

You knew he’d be here. Always came when tragedy struck and life wasn’t fair. It reminds you of a homage after nights of terror in Urzikstan, peaceful, and nothing else. Somewhere you go when you can’t quite reach the ocean.

Ghost sits with his back to the sun, perched against a dock overlooking the water. Your legs come to a stop, and you stand still, wondering if this was all a mistake. Maybe you should just turn around while you can, run to the safety of a home that only carries a lingering scent of him. Here, the breeze makes you nauseous.

Everything here is riddled with sorrow and buried in tears. The cycle repeats, you think you deserve to cry.

You take a look to the sky and the clouds point you offshore. Saline winds pull you farther and it’s too late to reconsider leaving when your foot creaks against the dock. Ghost catches you in his peripheral, approaching slowly, the distance polarizing. It feels like glass is lodged in your feet. The gap waged feels something like No Man’s Land.

Ghost sits on the edge, one leg hanging over the water while the other sits folded at the knee. You lean against a support beam across from him, one glance and you think you might choke. Flashing rays dawn over the baclava settled over his face, drawing light to the skin bridged above his nose. Eyebags crawl and tear at paint ridden skin, blond eyelashes fluttering against smudged black, over the one part of him that feels normal. Nothing else does.

He stares ahead, umber hues washing over ripples cast by fish in waiting. You feel like you do everytime you come here, except sadness is held back by frustration, boiling underneath your skin and rising to the surface. Moments pass, the breeze dies down and beckons for you to speak.

“You broke your promise.” Pressure settles within your chest. Hurt floods the atmosphere and Ghost’s eyes leave the water. He thinks, you lie in wait, arms crossed defensively over your chest.

“You can’t rely on intoxicated words.”

It’s fair, yet completely unfair at the same time. You know it was an unreasonable thing to ask, came straight from the alcoholic worry that seethed in your mind. Normal people don’t make promises they know they won’t be able to keep. People that care too much ask of them.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

Ghost says nothing. You know he wanted to keep that promise. Held it over his heart for three years, let it slip under his sleeve as all other things do. Something that happens when war is all you know. He knew you, too, but warfare is different from anything else. You understand that.

The smell of antiseptic reeks off of him, the sun licks at black paint and chips crumble. He’s nonchalant on the surface like always, but you know him. Underneath blood stains the hole in his abdomen that put him here. He leans toward it as if pain has become him.

He’s always been like this, body hungry for violence, mind begging for reconciliation. It’s how his mind is wired, shutting doors on people makes them want to close it in another’s face. You learned to coincide with it, but there’s still a line. The fact he crossed it so easily sparks the worry within and you fight the tears that push against your sockets.

Anger resides and reels back in, lapping at the shore and bringing you to your knees. You fear you’ll lose him that way.

It’s all you think about.

“What made you think that was a good idea?” You bark, grasping his chin to face you head on. “You think putting yourself in danger is no big deal, don’t you? Worried everyone sick because of a stupid HVT.”

He sees right through you. Worried me sick, he hears it as he would an echo. It’s a profession of worry, he knows you worry because you love him.

“We all have to make sacrifices.” His response is a dull front, you hear the guilt laced within. “You know that.”

You do. Things stay strict on the battlefield and remain that way. Until it’s him. When there’s Ghost, there’s always Simon. You learned to make that exception because you understood that. Ghost is not afraid to die. Simon is.

“What good are you to anyone if you throw yourself in the line of fire?” You spit, pointer finger snapping to hover above his wound.. “There’s no guarantee that someone will always be able to save you when things go wrong. You know that.”

He knows that, and he knows you.

You know there’s a darkness that lingers within him. It’s inevitable. Something that festers, building up until it’s strong enough to lash out. It’s selfish, cares and waits for no one. A walking death sentence that hangs over his head no matter the value he places in his life. It chases him in his dreams, trails a dark shadow over his head that turns him into the person he fears he’d become. Adapted him so the only thing he feels when he pulls the trigger is recoil.

“We win together, and we fail together, Simon. It’s not your responsibility to change that.”

He hates that side of his head that made him think otherwise. Hates himself more when he makes you worry.

Old habits die hard. It’s not easy to take, the way he knows those parts of him linger. You know when it comes, the front he manages with surgical precision shatters and he breaks down into hysteria because it’s too much for one person to handle.

Regardless, he tries. You love him for that. He loves you because you walked into his life and it gained purpose.

All that’s good in his life comes from you. The first nights in his life he felt welcomed to sleep because you were in bed beside him. Days fly by and he changes. You change with him. The small room he occupies at base doesn’t seem so lifeless anymore because you’re always in it.

He damns the way you smile at him, infectious, a snapshot memory he keeps in his thoughts. Thoughts that draw a compass in his mind that routes home to you.

Every part of him feels selfish for making you feel this way. It tears through him as a knife does and his nerves flay from the heat.

“I’m sorry, lovie.” It feels like he’s suffocating, drawing on the tears that slide down your face and drip onto your hands. He takes dampened skin and holds onto it as if he’ll lose you forever if he lets go. “‘M so sorry that I made you worry. Bastardish thing to do.”

His accent is heavy, dripping with resent and pleading for composure. It’s everything and nothing all at once. Your tears stain his hands and he feels like he always does when things go wrong. Except, it’s always you who quells him in the midst of nightmares. His mind races at the stutter of your breath, hands fumbling to push stray hairs out of your eyes.

“I love you, so much. Wouldn’t ever wanna make you worry, yeah?”

Silence passes for a minute. Seagulls chirp and water sloshes against eroded rocks.

Your eyes peek out from his hands, slotting your arm between his, reaching up. You tug and his mask bunches up at the nose, fingers smoothing over the surface of his skin, warm, grasping for affection. You yearn for his touch and he gives it to you without question.

Ghost tastes of gunpowder and the bask of the sun. It reminds you of home, slightly chapped, never wanting more than what he can give. He’s gentle, canines gently poking against your lips, perfectly still. You sigh inwardly at the feeling, reveling in all that he is until you can breathe no longer.

“You’re such an idiot.”

Your chest heaves, breath leveling with a rough scoff. His eyes crinkle like they do when he notices you packed extra eye black for him. Mouth parted, a ghost of a smile curving at his lips.

“I know, can’t seem to get myself sorted.”

There’s an underlying meaning to it. Passes through like the wind that cards through your hair. Guilt rides the waves, but you don’t want to cry anymore.

You just want to heal. Ghost understands that more than anyone else.

#arqhms #🐚 arqhmssummer23 #call of duty modern warfare #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley x reader

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televised-uhhh-nerdistry · 2 months

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currently thinking about how ages ago my friend sent me a long-ass explanation about why saltburn is an adaptation of the myth involving theseus, the minotaur, and the labyrinth.

nobody asked but here’s some of the fun proof that exists of this:

first and foremost, icarus, the boy who flew too close to the sun. during the party scene, it is evident that felix symbolises this poor ill-fated youth, and the symbolism here is potent. he flew too close to finding out what oliver truly is. he discovered something he shouldn’t have, and dressing him up in icarus cosplay is the perfect showcase for his fate and his mistakes. it’s also brilliant in terms of what icarus actually did to “deserve” death. realistically, he was told not to go too high or too low, but in actuality, such cryptic instructions were difficult to follow mid-flight, and it resulted in catastrophe. felix is trying to navigate the responsibilities of being a good friend with his baggage as someone in a family of rich pricks. it’s hard, and in flying too far away from his background, he “flew too close to the sun” and discovered things he shouldn’t have. as a small nod to further the icarus imagery, felix’s body is discovered under bright and direct sunlight as he lays motionless in his winged costume.

secondly, saltburn is in the center of a labyrinth. the labyrinth lore runs deep in this movie, because not only does the labyrinth function as symbolism, it has lore that runs adjacent to the lore of the actual labyrinth. in theseus and the minotaur, the labyrinth is a construct of greek architect and inventor daedalus, who was conscripted by king minos to create the maze. in saltburn, the labyrinth is constructed upon special request from james catton, the owner of the estate, and a very wealthy man (almost like a modern day king).

the labyrinth (in the original myth) is dangerous to all characters that reside within it. it keeps all in within a chance for escape, and those that get close die tragically. in saltburn, the labyrinth functions as an ode to the ways in which riches and fame poison those that reside in the walls, keeping them locked within its dangerous talons, or in this case, cleanly trimmed hedges. it’s suburbia on a larger and more internal scale. even those that do not have riches themselves, namely farleigh and annabel, do everything they can to remain on the estate and in the good graces of those on the property with immense money. it affects how they act and how they are expected to act. farleigh, as a good example, is very stuck on the particulars of rich people’s behaviour. as mentioned above, those that try to leave the maze die tragically, and icarus is a prime example. felix, in his attempt to be better than the riches of the estate socially allow, flies too close to a possible escape from the confines of the labyrinth and is murdered as a result.

in the story of the labyrinth, it is unsolvable, unless you are clever and quick witted (manipulative), which theseus luckily is. the same is true for oliver. oliver, like theseus, gets into the heads of multiple characters, manipulating his way to the top of the food chain. the scene where oliver views the wooden counterprt of the maze through the head office in the estate, he is told that he shouldn’t be there, and a sense of ominous foreboding takes place. we feel that he has seen something that will change him. however, i believe this is simply symbolism for the fact that oliver has figured out the secret to the maze: a secret that he, an outsider and a poorer, less sociable man should not be aware of, as he is a representation of theseus, a character who has no right being king.

thirdly, oliver is juxtaposed with imagery if the minotaur during the party scene, and though this costume doubles as a reference to the changeling in a midsummer night’s dream, it is still highly important. in the original myth, people are sacrificed to the minotaur on a yearly basis. at first, felix fits the profile for the minotaur: a rich, wealthy man in a labyrinth who is regularly described as going through friends the way a young boy would go through toys. it is also true that the minotaur has often been seen as a controversial figure, one that begs the question “is a monster just a tormented creature fated to behave according to the will of the gods?”. felix’s behaviour, or namely, his attempted deviancy from the behaviour he is expected to show, is a major prt of his character arch. we expect oliver to be the victim of felix’s behaviour exactly because of this. but he isn’t. an easy explanation is that oliver is the minotaur, going through the family members as though they were victims in a maze. however, oliver is NOT the minotaur, as the myth is a lot more complex than the minotaur being the bad guy. despite what we expect, director emily fennel is leaning into the concept that the minotaur’s storyline is that of fate versus free will. the minotaur is cursed by the gods to fall into certain patterns and to be punished for its behaviour, despite it doing exactly what was expected. felix attempts to deviate from what is expected, but ultimately he fits in well with the rich and social, and his death is a punishment at the hands of a sort-of theseus who believes he is more deserving. rather, oliver is also seen to be theseus, who famously invaded the maze, manipulated its dwellers in order to navigate it, killed the minotaur, and then manipulated his way into becoming king as a result. sound familiar? it is because of this that the imagery of oliver as the changeling is particularly important. the horns can be evocative of the minotaur, offering us a red herring, where he is truly disguised as the opposite. it’s a fake out.

fourthly, king minos (owner of the labyrinth) did not die directly at the hands of theseus, he did eventually meet his downfall and was boiled to death in a bath. james catton, head of the estate, dies of a supposed suicide, also not directly by oliver’s hands, but still implicitly connected to the events of the story, much like king minos’ death.

the lore in this film is incredible, and though emily fennel has not said that the film is an adaptation of greek myth, the parallels are deliciously undeniable. saltburn is fascinating, and truly one of the best films of 2023. there is so much stuff jam packed into it, and it’s one of those films that takes a few watches to fully grasp its depth. i love it!

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

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okay okay…how would konig propose to reader?would he do it because he really loves her or he wants a wife? i keep trying to wrap my head around him being romantic, but idk if he is able to be tbh

You know, I’m reading this biography of Arnold Schwarzenegger (Total Recall… lol) and he proposed to Maria Shriver on a lake holiday ;__; Like, they were in this boat Arnold was rowing around and I thought: this is so König coded!

So yep König would take his girl on a boat ride so that she can’t escape when he pops the question. He also wants to propose in the most romantic, intimate possible setting! It doesn't hurt that it's midsummer too, the birds are singing and bees are buzzing and flowers are blooming and there’s a soft breeze playing in her hair, perhaps she’s wearing a dress again because it’s so hot.

König has a tendency of losing his shirt every now and then, but this time, he will intentionally leave it on the shore as the day is one of the hottest summer days yet, and he knows he will get sweaty when he rows that little boat. His Engel suspects nothing, the cutest girl in the world just takes in the lake view, not paying attention to how this guy is rowing a little too enthusiastically for it to be a short simple joy ride on a hot summer day…

And then he just suddenly stops, deciding this is as good a spot as any, puts the oars away and reaches for his pocket. He doesn’t even get to say the words before her hands fly on her mouth when she sees he’s pulling out a ring. König was supposed to drop on one knee and ask for her hand but Engel starts to cry from happiness and he is so excited to go to her and put the ring on her finger that he capsizes the whole thing.

Our overexcited hero then has to save his angel from drowning and the ring slips and ends up somewhere at the bottom of the lake. König spends the rest of the afternoon diving to get it back while Engel relaxes on the grass, naked, trying to dry their clothes in the sun and admiring what a great lung capacity her future husband has O_o deep diving for the ring for like 15 times before he finally finds it and brings it to her, rising from the lake like some Olympian God, muscles wet and bronzed in the sun, smiling so, so wide when he finally gets on one knee before his lady ❤️ They’re both naked like Adam & Eve in paradise, the world around them is like it was the first day when God created it... It’s not what König had planned, but in a way it’s even more romantic than his original idea!

And as for your question does he truly love reader or simply wants a wife… Well, both!? People always say it’s girls who traditionally dream about getting married but in König’s case, he was the boy who dreamed he would some day win a girl and get to take them home as a prize take care of them.

He has never been a dating kinda guy, if König gets up close and personal with you, his main goal is to propose at some point. (Imagine if you wanted a relationship but didn’t want to get married because of this reason or that, didn’t see it necessary or smth, and König would be like… "Ok…" and internally cry himself to sleep :'( )

Not relevant to this but Arnold 'The Austrian Oak' also blurted to Maria’s mom that her daughter has "a nice butt" first time he met the Kennedy family. I cackled. I think that's so autistic/awkward/cringefail König coded too.

#answered #tooth rotting fluff #könig fluff #könig headcanons #könig x reader

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thewalkingwillowtree · 1 year

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Safe Haven

Series Part Listing Found Here

Neteyam x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Seeking refuge, Xilä and her father venture to the lands of the Omatikaya clan, in the hopes that the Toruk Makto would be generous in allowing them to stay. This is her story about not only finding her strength, but finding love.

Warning: This story contains smut, violence & abuse (please don't read if these topics will affect you)

Some characters have been aged up. Neteyam in particular is 23.

Xilä is my own creation.

Part 2 - Neteyam

The cold shock of wind that fanned Xilä’s face caused her to stir. With a pained moan she awoke, instantly remembering her fall and the creature that was inches away from attacking her. Eyes still closed she burrowed closer to the warmth that surrounded her body, immediately tensing when it shifted behind her.

A strangled cry fell from her lips when she finally opened her eyes- the scenery before her causing sudden panic. There was blue everywhere! Blue skies to be exact. The blood drained from her face when she realized she was being flown high in the sky on a mountain banshee.

Glancing down to the far drop below she jerked, accidentally knocking the person behind her with her already throbbing head.

The person hissed at the contact and the thick muscled arm wrapped around her midsection, tightened its hold to keep her still.

“No no no no, let me go. I want to get down. Now please.” Xilä was frantic and scared, her breath turning laboured.

“Hey stop, calm down or you- Ow!”

She scrambled, clutching and squeezing his arm in panic as the creature beneath them sailed through the air.

One, she’d never been on a mountain banshee much less anything that could fly and two, heights. Xilä did not do heights. She screwed her eyes shut as she shook with fear.

“Shit,” muttered the male voice behind her. He shifted them, holding her closer so that her side rested flush against his chest. Xilä’s fingernails dug into his bicep as she hid her face in his shoulder.

“Sir, are you there? Anyone copy? Dammit. Stupid connection.”

Neteyam shot a worrying glance to the strange, cowering female in his arms. He had been in the middle of a hunt when he heard her screams, getting there just in time to slay the nantang before it attacked her.

He saw when she fell, he’d heard the echoing crack of her skull and knew immediately that she needed a healer- he couldn’t very well leave her there.

Where the hell did she come from though?

He’d never seen her before and he wondered what clan she was from. Definitely not the Anurai clan, not Tipani and certainly not Metkayina. He also highly doubted that she was an Avatar.

She was an odd little thing and it wasn’t until he saw her face that he realized she was Na’vi.

Her body was completely hidden in strange garb- a mangy hooded cloak swallowed her…even her feet were covered.

The skin on her face was a pale dusty blue- pale as if she hadn’t seen the sun in years, and when he’d scooped her up, he frowned in concern. She was light- too light. Even with the layers she wore she seemed to weigh nothing.

“You alright there?” He tried asking but she said nothing.

Uncomfortably seated on his ikran, he glided them to his home as she continued to cling to him. The wind knocked her hood away and her wild hair tickled his skin. It smelt sweet, like soap nuts.

Neteyam breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of the clan's boundary. Caring for wild, terrified, injured females was not his forte. He’d breathe a lot easier once he handed her off to a healer but for now, she was his responsibility. And just like everything else in his life, he did to his best- he was going to try his damn hardest to make sure he got her there in one piece.

She moaned and began to move restlessly.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay, you’re fine. Tell me what’s wrong?” He urged, squeezing her lightly, using the voice he’d usually use on his baby sister to get her to calm down.

“I want to get down, please…. it’s too high,” she said in a shaky, quiet voice.

“You don’t like heights?”

Her head shook against his shoulder in response.

“Look we're almost there and you need a healer, so…just hang in a little longer…I’m Neteyam. What’s your name?”

“Xilä.”

“Xilä,” he said, testing out the name. He noticed her accent was a bit different to the Omatikaya’s, so he asked, “Where are you from Xilä? What clan?”

“Li'ona.”

Neteyam glanced down at her with a deep frown. “The Deadlands?”

She held the back of her head with her free hand and whimpered in pain. “Neteyam,” she said anxiously, and slightly slurred. “I- I don’t feel so good.”

And then she went completely limp in his arms.

When Xilä woke again, the first thing she noticed was that something soft covered her eyes, completely blocking her vision. The second thing was that her skin prickled from the chill in the air- her body was void of her cloak.

Wiggling her toes she realized her boots were missing as well. A violent shiver rocked her body and then almost instantaneously warmth came as a thick pelt was gently draped over her, gentle hands tucking in the ends.

Hands. Hands?!

She tensed and perked up in complete alertness. Fear spiking, heart accelerating- her body began to shake, and not just from the cold this time.

Where was she?

“Shhh child. Be calm, you are safe here,” said a raspy voice, tinged with age. Those gentle hands removed the cloth from her face. Xilä blinked as her eyes adjusted, then fell on an elderly and serious faced female Na’vi.

Surveying the dimly lit area, she noticed it was a large tent of some sort. Plants, succulents, an assortment of bowls filled with pastes and powders and many other strange items littered a well-crafted table situated in the centre of the room.

There were a few other bed rolls like the soft one she was laying in currently, but they were vacant.

The space lingered heavily with the scent of medicinal herbs and spices, and the faint cries of mountain banshees and chatter could be heard from the distance.

“Here, drink.” The elder helped her sit up a little then tilted a small bowl filled with water against Xilä’s parched lips which she drank greedily, despite her uneasiness.

Sitting all the way up, she kept the pelt close and eyed the eccentrically dressed woman in mild apprehension. Movement caught her eye and her head snapped too quickly towards it, causing her to wince in pain.

Those eyes. It was the Na’vi male who had saved her. Neteyam. He was standing in the shadows, arms folded while he leaned against one of the high beams that held up the roof of the tent. He was watching her as if she were some kind of dangerous creature, his face impassive.

Xilä couldn’t help it, she felt her cheeks tinge at his attire. He was dressed in nothing but a high quality loincloth, a warrior’s belt and jewellery. She was not used to seeing so much skin, even the elder who was draped in a vibrant red, beaded shawl, seemed to be wearing very little. Xilä had to remind herself she was no longer in Li'ona.

“Don’t mind him. He says he’s keeping guard, protecting me from you. Ha! I’d be surprised if you could even lift a weapon, much less use it- judging by how weak you are.”

“Where’s my father?” Xilä asked timidly.

From her question she saw Neteyam raise his arm, he touched his strange choker and whispered to himself inaudibly, his gaze still locked on her.

“I am Tsahìk,” the elder said, ignoring her question. She then began creating some sort of concoction while she spoke. “You have a concussion. You are dehydrated and extremely underweight. Your blood circulation is poor which explains why you’re shaking like a leaf in this hot weather and I am placing you on mandatory bed rest for the next two weeks- three if necessary.”

The healer filled the cup once more, with warm water this time, adding the green coloured concoction to it then handed it to Xilä. “Sip slowly.”

Feeling overwhelmed and unsure on how to handle the present situation she kept quiet and did as told, sipping on the bitter flavoured tea- she was used to following orders…that she could do.

Xilä heard the healer’s words about her health but she didn’t think that half of what she said even registered at all.

“How long have I been here?”

“Only a couple of hours.”

The healer fussed over her some more, checking the back of her head first, then examining her eyes, ears and mouth. She had raised her eyebrows at the hand made bruises on her wrists and arms but did not comment on it, for which Xilä was grateful. She simply sliced open a succulent and rubbed its slime all over the ugly looking deep purple and blue marks.

“Mo’at,” said a deep voice. A towering male Na’vi, half dressed similarly like Neteyam, entered the space and his sharp eyes immediately fixed on her, making her shrink into herself.

“I thought Neytiri was going to do this?” Questioned the Tsahìk as she stood to face the male.

“Tuk’s got a stomach ache, she’s clingy right now, only wants her mother,” he said with a little smirk.

The healer sniffed in acknowledgement. “Fine, but don’t overwhelm her, she still needs rest and she’s a meek little thing. I’ll pop in to see Tuktirey.” And then she left the tent leaving Xilä alone with the two men.

The unnamed Na’vi crouched in front of her but she didn’t meet his eyes. Her father’s words rang in her head- she wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone, she’d already broken the rule by talking to Neteyam and the healer.

“Hi there. It’s Xilä right? I’m Jake Sully- Olo'eyktan for the Omatikaya clan.”

Her eyes flicked up to his for a second, before darting away. Here was the Toruk Makto before her- she couldn’t be rude. She quickly bowed her head and made the customary Na’vi sign of respect towards him, ‘I see you.’

He chuckled and returned the gesture. “I assume you’re familiar with my son, Neteyam?”

Eyes snapping to those gold piercing eyes once more, she swallowed nervously as he continued to eye her. Neteyam. There he still stood, looking intimidating as ever.

“Xilä…my son says that you are from the Deadlands? Li’ona?” She nodded. “Why are you here then? Has something happened?” He spoke softly, almost as if he were speaking to a child. He had kind eyes, she noticed.

Fiddling with the empty cup in her hands, asked again, “Where is my father?”

“Right. Neteyam mentioned that too. We have a team out looking for him right now. We’ll find him.” Jake sent a questioning glance at his son who shook his head with a small shrug. “Were you travelling with only your father? Just the two of you?” She nodded, mutely.

He rubbed at the bridge of his brow then asked. “Is he armed?” Her brows furrowed but she dipped her head in response anyway.

“Unit five, do you copy?” He paused, then touched the odd choker on his neck and spoke again. “I need an update on the Li'onan, stat.”

Frowning at his sanity she looked around to see who he was talking to but there was no one. He wasn’t even addressing her or his son…was he crazy too, like her grandfather Haudhk? When he was alive, he saw and spoke to people who were never there as well.

“Okay good, keep on those tracks then and just to note be cautious- he’s armed and possibly injured. There was a nantang attack.”

Xilä squinted at the spot Jake was staring at to see if she saw anything but nope. No one was there so she glanced at Neteyam instead.

He was still looking at her but mild amusement quirked at his lips this time. Her puzzlement at Jake talking to imaginary people must have been funny to him. Feeling stupid, she focused on her hands again.

“Xilä we’re gonna make sure we find your dad, alight?”

His father had been questioning the girl for almost an hour now and they still had nothing.

She hadn’t said a word aside from asking for her father, choosing to either nod, shake her head or simply shrug her responses.

Studying her for probably the hundredth time now since he stood there, he concluded that she was no actual threat. She was young- probably his sister Kiri’s age. She breathed innocence and fearfulness, nervously fidgeting with her fingers or flinching at the slightest shuffle from either him or his father. So he tried to stay as still and calm as possible.

There were a few differences between her and an Omatikaya Na’vi. Mainly her dusty blue complexion. Her long, wild and tangled hair had a slight tinge of brown to it and her ears were a bit more pointed. Her eyes though…they were what truly set them apart. They were bright. They almost looked like molten silver or the moon from where he was standing and he wished he had a closer look.

His jaw ticked when he’d first seen it, but he held his tongue from saying anything about the ugly bruises around her wrists and upper arms. They were clearly made by a large hand.

“Sir, this Tasam, over. We’ve got a problem here and you’re need- Ahh!” Both he and his father heard the message from the comm devices in their ear, simultaneously going on high alert.

Before Jake could ask what was happening, they were interrupted by a loud commotion coming from outside. An angry roar, shouting and what sounded like a scuffle echoed from the distance.

He and his father immediately sprinted out the tent, down the stone planted steps and toward the unmistakable growing crowd.

“Where is she! No no! Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am? I demand to see your leader!”

Walking towards the congregated area, they saw three males trying to push back an angry looking Na’vi.

He too was covered head to toe in a threadbare cloak and boots like Xilä when Neteyam first met her. When he broke free from their hold, showing his face, bared fangs and all, Neteyam noticed that his skin and eyes were the same as his daughter but other than that, they looked nothing alike.

“Xilä! Xilä!”

“T'shteyo.”

The Li’ona Na’vi stilled and turned in their direction, his demeanor changing instantaneously to one of composure. He sized up Jake who approached him, then seemed to reluctantly bow, showing the Na’vi sign of respect.

“Toruk Makto, JakeSully…I am honoured that you remember me after all these years.”

His father took in the crowd of clan members before choosing his response. This was an odd situation, he did not want to cause unnecessary reactions from his people. He had to lead by example.

“Twenty five years ago you answered my call in our clan’s time of need. It is my honour, brother.” He stepped forward and clasped arms with the wild looking Na’vi.

T'shteyo locked eyes in Neteyam’s direction, his face morphing into an ugly snarl. “Xilä,” he spat.

Neteyam jerked slightly when he noticed the girl standing near him. He considered himself a highly skilled warrior- nothing ever got past him, his years of training had embedded it into his being. So suffice to say it was not often that people snuck up on him and the fact that she of all people did was more than a surprise.

At the sound of her name she brushed past him and hurriedly made her way to her father, still clutching the pelt around her body. She was barefooted and walked strangely, frowning at the grass beneath her.

Neteyam shared a meaningful look with his father when T'shteyo roughly grabbed his daughter and fiercely began whispering to her. He then shoved her behind him as if she were something to be ashamed of.

“I apologize for my daughter’s intrusion, I hope she has not been a burden.”

Jake's eyes narrowed on the wild Na’vi, disliking him even more every time he opened his mouth. “Why are you here, T’shteyo?” He finally asked, having enough of beating around the bush.

“I prefer to speak with you privately.”

From the corner of his eye Neteyam saw his mother appear, weaving between the bodies of the crowd to flank her mate.

“You will speak here,” hissed Neytiri. “You enter our lands with hostility. Attack our guard,” she gestured to a male warrior who’s cheek was split open and another who had a nosebleed. Tasam’s arm looked mangled. “Spare us your excuses! Our people will hear what you have to say for yourself.”

T'shteyo clenched his jaw, struggling to control his anger towards her. He looked toward Jake and glared. “Are you not the mighty Toruk Makto? You let your woman speak for you?”

Jake turned murderous- jaw clenched tight, body gone rigid. Neteyam knew by his stance that his father was seconds away from attacking and if it wasn’t for the hand Neytiri placed on his chest he knew his father would’ve already charged at the Li’ona male.

Neteyam was ready to pounce the second he saw the ugly bastard- fingers gripped around the handle of his dagger.

He was seething now, along with many of the other onlookers. How dare he speak of his mother that way.

T'shteyo, as if realizing his mistake, quickly gave a half assed apology. “I…mean no disrespect. I forget our ways are different, is all.” Before Jake could curse him out, he rushed out, “My daughter and I seek Uturu.”

The crowd erupted into gasps and whispers, though his father and mother showed no signs that his news shocked them- both glares remaining fixed.

“My position was overthrown. The people…they wish us dead.”

“Why?” Jake hissed.

“The rivers are dry. We have not had rains in almost two decades. The lands bear nothing. No game to catch. My pe-” he shook his head, “The people grew angry, they blame me for their suffering.”

Mo’at pushed through the crowd now with determined steps and whispered something to Neytiri who nodded in response.

Prowling slowly as T'shteyo continued to ramble his case, Neytiri circled him with scrutinizing eyes. She moved closer to Xilä who was still hidden from Neteyam’s view and her ears perked up in alarm, eyes softening at whatever it was she saw.

“Neteyam!” She called immediately.

His reaction was instant and he strode over to his mother.

“Take her back. She needs rest,” Neytiri said, urging her gently towards him.

Neteyam frowned at Xilä, she looked even paler than before and she swayed unsteadily on her feet. The pelt and the ugly garment that was hanging off her frame, made her look even more fragile. Just as he reached out for her, she squeaked when she was roughly jerked back.

“No!” T'shteyo glared at him. “She stays with me. She’s fine, aren’t you girl?” He asked, shaking her.

“Yes father,” she mumbled automatically, unfocused eyes locked on the ground.

“See? Leave her be, she don’t need your fussing.”

His hold looked painfully tight around her arm and Neteyam felt fury bubbling inside of him.

Who the hell was this man?

“She is not fine,” Neteyam hissed in a low growl. “I saw her fall. She hit her head so hard I’m surprised she's even coherent. Your daughter is sick and concussed. Look at her, she’s barely standing! Xilä needs rest and fluids and proper food for Eywa sake! Would it kill you to give a shit?”

T'shteyo had a thick pulsing vein on his temple that looked as if it was about to burst. “You dare speak to me that way boy? Do you know who I-”

Neyetam marched into his space, his expression menacing. He had a good two inches on the Li’ona Na’vi who had no choice but to look up at him. “You came here. You are the one seeking refuge- our help. So give her. To. Me. Now!” Neteyam hissed through clenched teeth.

T'shteyo’s cold eyes darkened even more, nose flared before he glanced at Jake Sully to see if he would do anything to stop him but all his father did was raise an eyebrow as if saying “So what’s it going to be?”

“Take her then.” He shoved her forcefully into Neteyam’s arms, as if he were throwing out dross. She slammed into him and a dizzy spell hit her so hard she closed her eyes tightly and had no choice but to press her forehead between his pecs, trying to swallow down a wave of nausea.

Cold, thin fingers gripped him for balance, tucking into the space between his skin and the tough material of his warrior belt.

Without a second thought he scooped her up for the second time that day and strode off, not even bothering to spare her father a glance. The crowd parted easily for him and his grandmother trailed behind, muttering angrily to herself.

Xilä murmured something that didn’t reach his ears. He hoisted her up a bit higher and her check stuck flat against his shoulder blade, eyes screwed shut. “Is it your head?” He asked, concerned.

“Y-yeah, feels like it’s about to burst.”

Looking down at her, he felt a pang in his chest. He felt unsteady and uncomfortable with the emotions she was suddenly uprooting within him. This girl was a complete stranger and it irritated him how quickly she got under his skin. How quickly he seemed to care.

As soon as he placed her feet on the ground, of the healing tent but keeping an arm around her, he heard his name being called.

“Hey man, what the hell is going o-”

Both Neteyam and Spider startled at the sudden shriek from Xilä, both watching in utter confusion as she scrambled. Hands reaching up to Neteyam’s shoulders, she flung herself into his arms. Her long strange garment rode high up her thighs as her legs wrapped around his waist.

“-Ooff!” He stumbled slightly but grabbed her waist and thigh automatically to steady them, his body going into full alert, trying to spot the threat. Spider went wide eyed as well, frowning as he watched the tiny cowering female in his friend’s arms.

Xilä was shaking, her pelt had fallen to the ground, forgotten. Keeping her eyes locked on Spider, she asked in a petrified whisper, “What is it? Why does it look at me that way?”

Neteyam looked around not seeing any danger, eyes sweeping the ground for any crawlers but no- nothing, so he tracked her stare to an equally confused Spider and frowned. “You mean Spider?”

“It is a spy-der?” She asked, rubbing the back of her head with a grimace.

“Hey what’s up…I’m Spider. Nice to meet you.” Spider spoke in the Na'vi language and sent her an ‘I see you’ gesture in hopes it might calm her.

Her head snapped to Neteyam, face pale with a horrified expression upon it and instant understanding dawned on him.

“Xilä, this is Spider, that’s his name, he’s a human. You’ve never seen a human before, have you?”

“No…I thought they were weapons of mass destruction. My father said so…”

Neteyam tried putting her down but her hold tightened around him. Alright, I guess we’re doing it this way.

He walked closer to the human boy. “He’s friendly, see?”

Spider grinned through his mask and gave a wave, wigging his five strange fingers. Her ears perked up looking less terrified the more she examined him through squinted eyes. She guessed he looked harmless.

“Alright,” she whispered, slumping against Neteyam, weakly.

Mo’at walked in at that moment, passing them straight with an armful of blankets she went to collect. She seemed to be still seething in anger judging by the scowl on her face. She knelt in front of her workstation, and began tinkering with her ingredients.

“You can put my patient down now, Neteyam.”

“-and that could have ended far worse, Neteyam! What the hell were you thinking? You don’t know the capabilities of these people, did you get a good look at T'shteyo? He looks like a goddamn psychopath. Unhinged. Feral.” Jake was pacing the length of their family tent, currently laying into his son over his very public altercation with the ex Li’ona leader.

“Quick frankly I’m downright surprised at you, I would’ve expected this from your brother, not you!”

Neteyam was glad that Lo’ak was not there to hear his father’s snide remark, they were already only just back on speaking terms since their last dispute. He hated fighting with his brother.

“Sir-”

“Li'onans are ruthless, they aren't like other clans. I haven’t seen T'shteyo in almost twenty five years, and that was on a battlefield against the RDA. I don’t know what is happening there, but they have practically segregated themselves from the rest of Pandora. They’re savages alright.”

“Sir-”

“No, I’m telling you this so you understand what we're up against. He’s put me in a precarious situation here! There are people who want him dead. People who could potentially track them here, and now you’ve gone and put a big fat target on yourself!”

Neteyam stared at his father.

“Look… I get it. I saw what you saw too.” He shook his head and gave a heavy sigh. “That poor girl…I’m proud of you alright, for standing up for her. But we need to tread lightly here.”

“I know sir and I apologize but I’m not sorry about it. I’d do it again,” he said earnestly.

Jake huffed at his son’s honesty, mildly impressed. Hands on his hips, he smirked. “I keep forgetting that you’re all grown up now.”

“I’m twenty-three, dad. I think I’m way past grown up…I passed my rites since I was fifteen. Remember?” He grinned, before turning serious again. “So what's the plan here then? Are you going to let them stay?”

“For the while? Yes.” Jake scratched the back of his head. “Your grandmother would skin me if I told that girl she had to leave. Your mother too.” He squinted at his son. “And I’m guessing you’re in the same boat?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “I may not give a shit about her father but, dad…if Kiri or Tuk looked like that…”

“I know, I know. Alright, T'shteyo is my responsibility. I’ll make sure he stays in line, teach him our ways- find out what I can about his intentions and if what he has said is the truth. He only gets to stay if he passes the rites.”

Jake side eyed Neteyam. “Can I count on you to do the same with Xilä? To show her our ways?”

“Dad, I don’t know if I’m the best person for that…”

“Oh yeah? Well tough shit. You made your scene and told T'shteyo to give her to you. Well you got her now.” Jake chuckled and patted his son on his back jokingly as they walked out of the tent.

“Come on son, I’m sure it won’t be that bad. You could use a little excitement in your life.”

Yay, finally some Neteyam action!

Sorry for any errors.

Let me know what you think :)

Tags: @riatesullironalite

#neteyam #neteyam x oc #neteyam avatar #neteyam fic #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam sully

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