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fixfoxnox · 1 year

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My soul for more of the Anima drabble

I will accept your soul and offer more of the Anima idea in return

A Need To See - Soap/Roach/Ghost Anima Au

A quick rundown of this au before we start so you guys can understand a bit better:

Essentially in this world certain people are born with an Anima which is essentially like a soulmate kinda? Like they grow together and have a natural bond where the Anima can feel everything that their person feels and always knows where they are.

Their bonded (so the regular person) can feel the connection, but not in the same way. They can't feel their Anima's emotions, but they can call to them, summon them, and have a natural sort of locator for them.

The Anima are essentially protectors for their bonded and its not exactly known why some people are born with an Anima, but the population of those who are is fairly small.

The Anima have several different abilities that kinda depend on who they are. All Anima can't get hurt/feel pain, they're all extremely fast, and can essentially become visible to only their bonded. When Anima are visible to only their bonded, they essentially become a ghost and only their bonded can see/hear/feel them (hence Roach being able to touch Soap without him realizing). Outside of that, they usually have some other ability/abilities that are unique to them.

The Anima are born with their bonded and grow with them and only die if their bonded die. Because of this, the military loves to recruit people with Anima's since they essentially get an unkillable soldier out of it.

It isn't uncommon for Anima and their Bonded to have romantic relationships with one another and, since Anima look exactly like humans, most people can't tell when they're looking at an Anima/Bonded pair.

So in this AU, Roach is Ghost's Anima! They're together (naturally) and Ghost has been placed on the 141 and he and Roach have fallen for Soap. Roach, being Ghost's Anima and being mischievous, has kept himself hidden from the rest of the 141. So he often struts around in his state where only Ghost can see him just because he likes messing with him.

The 141 have never seen Roach, but they know that Ghost has an Anima and they know little bits about Roach from missions that they've run as well as Ghost telling them things.

Essentially in this AU, Roach is an actual mischievous seductive cryptid guy who is about to get himself two boyfriends 😏

Okay, now for another drabble:

Soap is panicking. His hands are shaking. He's trying very hard not to lose his shit as he drags Ghost into the first house that he can find, gunfire following them the entire way. He boards the door up behind them, leaning Ghost against a nearby wall as he throws anything he can find up against the wood.

He returns to Ghost quickly, his hands pressing tightly against the gunshot wound in the man's abdomen, it pulls a groan from his lips. "C'mon, LT, you're alright," he mutters. It's more for himself than Ghost, but he's not going to say that.

He's already radioed in for help. There are men on their way, evac coming to get them out. He didn't know if they would make it in time as banging began at the door, men trying to break it down to get inside and finish the job. Soap grits his teeth at the thought and grabs his gun, preparing himself for a final stand to protect himself and Ghost as the door starts giving way.

The banging continues. The wood is splintering. Suddenly, there is a scream. The banging stops. More screaming starts.

Soap has no idea what is happening, all that he knows is that the men are no longer focused on trying to get to him and Ghost, they're focused on something outside the door. He can't help himself, curiosity bubbles up, and he leaves Ghost's side for only a moment. He needs to check.

He shuffles over to one of the windows, pushing the curtain open just enough that he can see what is going on outside without giving him away. There is someone, a person, a mask covering the bottom half of their face as they slam through waves of enemies with ease. It's easy for Soap to see the rage that burns within whoever this man is.

Soap watches him tear through enemies like a rabid animal, awe in his chest as he eventually drops his gun, out of ammo likely, and pulls a knife from the body of one of the men on the ground. He's walking toward the gunfire. Bullets hit him. He isn't affected in the slightest. Soap realizes then who this is.

He'd never seen Ghost's anima. He'd never seen Roach. He'd heard plenty. He'd heard his lieutenant groan in annoyance at something his invisible companion was doing. He'd heard his lieutenant break into laughs at something the anima had said. Hell, he'd even heard the Anima's voice, high and needy with want when he'd been unfortunate (fortunate in his mind) enough to walk past Ghost's room while the two were together.

But he'd never seen him.

He moved away from the window, Roach no longer in his sight. He came back to Ghost's side, pressing his hands into his wound, much calmer now as he tried to help his friend/crush. The lines had been blurred for him lately. All that he knew was that that fluttering feeling in his chest didn't happen when he was talking to just anyone.

His mind is stuck though. Stuck to that one glimpse. His one look at Ghost's anima. He wanted to see more. He needed to see more.

Since that day, he'd been trying and failing to get another glimpse at his friends other half. He'd tried practically everything outside of just straight out asking the man. He'd burst into Ghosts room unannounced, he'd pretended to sleep while on missions hoping to get a glimpse, he'd even gone so far as to try to crappy and very fake YouTube tutorials on how to get a picture of an Anima.

All of his attempts had failed terribly and it was starting to grate on his nerves. There was a part in his mind that demanded to see Ghost's Anima again, one that one seemed to grow louder the more he noticed Ghost looking at him over the past few weeks. Looking at him and holding a quiet conversation with a creature Soap couldn't see, hear, or touch despite his desperate want to.

Like now, as he and the team are sitting in a conference room trying to finish up their paperwork. Ghost had accidentally spoken too loud to Roach, all he'd really managed to catch was "after this" meaning that Ghost and his Anima had something planned to do together. That fact, along with Price shutting down his attempts to ask Ghost any more questions, had left him frustrated, desperate, and, as he spotted Ghost stealing glances at him for the rest of their "meeting time," way more flustered than he wanted to be. He really didn't like not knowing things and he really didn't like that he hadn't gotten to steal another look at Roach.

When their "meeting" ended, or when everyone had finally finished their paperwork, they were finally released. Soap had expected Ghost to be the first out of the room, he usually rushed out for one reason or another, most of the time some muttered excuse about Roach following. Now though, now he stood from his seat and waited. He didn't move. Instead, his eyes tracked Soap's movements, watching carefully through his mask like a predator watching its prey. Occasionally, his eyes would shift away for a moment, tracking some other sort of movement that Soap couldn't see.

Soap was never one to back down from a challenge, and thats exactly what he saw this as: a challenge. "Everything alright, LT?" He asked as Price and Gaz finally slipped through the door. He hadn't moved from his seat, hadn't even stood up. It allowed him to lean back fully to look up at Ghost, his eyes able to track all of his movements quite easily.

Whatever he'd expected Ghost to say, it certainly hadn't been, "Come back to my room with me for a minute? Got something I want to show you."

"What is it?"

"Does it matter?" Ghost leaned forward against the table, "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I didn't say that," Soap pushed himself up from his seat with a grin and a quick stretch above his head. He didn't miss the way that Ghost's eyes tracked the little bit of skin on his stomach that was revealed with the movement. "C'mon then, lead the way. But this better be worth my while!" He joked with a grin.

Ghost led him out of the conference room and down the hallways of the base, his eyes set dead ahead. It was almost like he was nervous about something. Soap shrugged that thought off fairly quickly though, there was something else burning at the front of his mind. "I hope I didn't cross any boundaries earlier," he said to the air. He didn't have to look to know he'd caught Ghost's attention, "About Roach," he clarified, "While I still would like to see him, I understand its not my place and all."

"I don't control who see's him," Ghost said simply as they approached his door, "You'd have to ask Roach to show himself." He unlocked and pushed the door open for them, guiding Soap inside and shutting the door behind him.

Soap gave a little huff at his words, his back turned to him as he curiously took in Ghosts room. He'd never seen it before, "Well," he started, "I would ask him, but I can't see him. Can't exactly talk to the air and hope for the best now can I?"

Suddenly, there were arms around him, wrapping him in a hug from behind as a face nuzzled against the back of his neck. He thought, for a brief moment, that it was Ghost. That was quickly thrown out when he realized that this person was too short for that.

He only connected who'd wrapped around him when they began to speak, their voice nothing more than a purr as they rubbed their cheek against his back like a cat, "You could ask me now if you wanted, but," Roach's hands trailed over his chest softly, his voice taking on a singing tone, "I get to ask you something in return."

Soap went red.

#gary roach sanderson #you asked luke #ghost x roach #ghostroach #ghost x soap #soap x roach #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #soaproach #soapghostroach #ghostroachsoap

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panharmonium · 3 years

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this is legitimately one of my top five favorite kakashi scenes.

i love seeing kakashi break the rules in the name of doing the right thing, and this scene especially is particularly satisfying to me, because his moment of defiance here is, to my mind, long overdue.

one of my eternal frustrations in early naruto is how the leaf village administration gives kakashi the job of caring for a group of super high-needs children and then continually makes that job as difficult for him as possible. they task him with being solely responsible for the development and well-being of three twelve year-olds - a group that includes naruto (a walking disaster with a god’s power trapped inside his body) and sasuke (a genocide survivor fixated on killing his own brother), BOTH of whom are being hunted by different groups of supercriminals - and then the village keeps getting in kakashi’s way or dropping the ball or actively ordering him to prioritize other things.

so much of what goes wrong with the kids in this period is the result of other people interfering with kakashi’s work or being negligent or endangering the kids/putting kakashi in impossible positions. team 7’s first big mission sets the tone for everything that comes after, with someone else’s lie putting kakashi in a situation where he has to single-handedly protect not just the client who deceived him, but the three children who were supposed to be the clients’ other protectors. and after that, the list just multiplies:

ten anbu operatives can’t manage to protect sasuke’s hospital room from orochimaru’s minions, so kakashi has to do it himself and then whisk sasuke out of the village for a month, leaving naruto in the hands of a substitute and sakura with her parents

genma orders sasuke to chase after gaara when the chunin exams blow up, saying “you’re at chunin level already,” which forces kakashi to immediately dispatch more kids to bring him back, because “ffs NO i do NOT want him out there doing that why the fuck would you tell him to do that?!”

aoba runs his mouth off about itachi when sasuke is standing RIGHT THERE, instantly undoing all the work kakashi just did to prevent itachi and sasuke from coming anywhere near each other (and thus sending sasuke to that disastrous first encounter, the outcome of which ultimately leads to sasuke’s defection)

jiraiya decides he should let sasuke try to fight itachi himself, “out of respect for the boy’s feelings,” leading to sasuke ending up in a tsukuyomi coma

tsunade orders kakashi to drop his teaching work and leave the village on a mission even though a) he’s just gotten out of his own torture-induced coma and b) sasuke is having a crisis that kakashi is trying to manage

and then when kakashi gets back from that mission and finds out that surprise, all of this meddling has led to a disaster, tsunade tries to order him away AGAIN

but this time - he just says no.

he walks right out of her office. he turns his back on her. and there is NOTHING i love more than seeing kakashi embody the philosophy that he’s chosen to adopt as his guiding light: those who break the rules are scum. but those who abandon their friends are worse than scum.

it’s not that he doesn’t understand where tsunade is coming from here. but he knows she’s wrong. she’s making her decisions based solely on concerns about the Leaf Village being in a tight spot - feeling like they can’t turn down missions because they’ll appear weak and thus become vulnerable to attack when they’re already operating at half strength. she sends a group of twelve year-olds to bring sasuke back because supposedly the village can’t spare anyone else, “even if it means letting the sharingan fall into orochimaru’s hands” - but like. it’s not the sharingan. it’s a child. sasuke isn’t just a repository for his hereditary jutsu; he’s not a pair of eyes to be passed around from one wielder to the next. he’s a human child.

tsunade doesn’t know sasuke. she’s new to the situation and doesn’t know enough about it to understand how serious it is. i don’t even think she was still in the village when the uchiha massacre occurred; the timeline makes it sound like she left long before that. she doesn’t really understand who sasuke is or how much trouble he’s in - she makes her decision because she feels like her first priority has to be the well-being of the Leaf as a whole, not the individual people who comprise it. kakashi, though, who a) lives his life by a very different philosophy and b) does understand sasuke’s situation, would not have dealt with the issue like this, and if the village had let him do his job from the beginning, things wouldn’t have gotten to this point in the first place.

kakashi is horrified that tsunade sent a bunch of twelve year-olds out to fight orochimaru’s ninja, and i think he’s also probably angry and/or frustrated about having been ordered out of the village in the first place. he was dealing with the situation before tsunade sent him away. he interrupted the fight between sasuke and naruto even though he himself had literally just gotten out of the hospital, and then he continued addressing the issue with sasuke privately (unlike jiraiya’s non-attempt to address it with naruto, when he said he was going to give naruto a talking-to but actually flaked out). kakashi knew sasuke was struggling, and he was doing all the things a teacher is supposed to do to address it, but then he was ordered away, and even though it was just for two days, it was enough time for everything to go to hell.

if people would just let him do his job - if the administration would let him focus on the task they themselves assigned to him - things would be different. but everybody wants him to do everything. they want him to be everywhere. they want him to protect the nine-tails jinchuriki (who is also kakashi’s dead teacher’s son), and train the last surviving uchiha (which is a task only kakashi and his sharingan can perform), and give equal attention to a third kid, for good measure, and they want him to do it without stepping away from any of his other burdens, all while other people around him constantly frustrate the progress he makes.

so this time, when tsunade tries to send him away, he refuses. he disobeys her orders and walks out of the room. he doesn’t care about the rules or what he’s “legally” obligated to do. he knows what the RIGHT thing to do is, and so he rejects his new mission in favor of rescuing the kids.

i love these moments. i love when we’re shown so clearly the person kakashi has chosen to be - someone who does what’s right, not just what he’s told. he made an active choice many years ago to adopt that philosophy, and he’s been living by those new rules ever since. he's wiser now than he was when he was a child - sometimes you have to break ranks to do the right thing. sometimes you have to buck the system, even if it means you might face severe personal consequences.

he had one of two choices: either save the mission or his comrades. of course, according to the law of the village, you cannot abandon a mission. but to save the life of his comrades, he put the mission on hold.

kakashi may have spent a good chunk of his childhood trying to reject everything the subject of that story stood for, but none of his attempts to harden his heart ever stuck. he is, in the end, his father’s son.

#naruto #pan watches naruto #meta #i got lost on the path of life #*#anyway i just LOVE seeing kakashi break the rules #gives me so much satisfaction #he's worked so hard to become who he is today #and he's grown so much #on the other hand...#i HATE seeing kakashi take all of his frustration with how the village has mishandled things #and immediately turn it around upon himself #'i was too naive'#'i'm too late'#'it was my cowardice that drove the three of you apart'#'i'm sorry you have such a careless sensei'#none of that is even REMOTELY true #literally the last thing kakashi ever was with these kids was 'careless' or 'cowardly'#the deck was stacked against him from the beginning and he still did EVERYTHING he could #but he blames himself for all the things that went wrong #even when they were completely out of his control #and that's why i maintain that the last hurdle kakashi is going to surmount in this story is guilt #that's the natural progression of his character arc #the one thing he has never been able to do -#despite all his other achievements and hard-won personal growth -#is let go of his guilt and shame #that's why his character design looks the way it looks #the way he wears that headband isn't a fashion choice. it's a symbolic representation of how he hasn't cleared this obstacle yet #he has never released himself from blame or forgiven himself for anything #maybe someday...but i guess i'll just have to wait and see

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cerastes · 2 years

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What I love is, back in "I, Namely I" Specter said she couldn't go back to her old way of fighting because her body felt too heavy. Well, having a spine made out of rocks probably does weigh you down. So what does she do but figure out how to use Saw 2.0 to spindash up walls? Absolutely iconic next-level strats from the executioner of the second company.

All jokes aside, it's precisely that.

In "I, Namely I" (Specter's 2nd Operator Records), Laurentina tells Closure all about how she wishes she could form an adventuring trio with Skadi and Gladiia and take to wandering, offering their services to whoever needed them, just three supersoldiers doing the right thing, finally getting to live a little.

Closure says that's a great idea, and then Specter immediately calls it a great dream: This cannot happen. No matter how much Laurentina wishes for it, it cannot happen, because she's ill, she'll inevitably go back to being Specter. Even if she wasn't, her body was ravaged by years of deteriorating from Originium and regenerating from her own regen factor. Her body felt too heavy, too slow, too weak, or, in other words, she simply couldn't fight and move as she did before, and she understood she'd likely never be as strong as she used to be. In her own words, Laurentina would be a burden to Skadi and Gladiia, and she would never allow herself to be that.

The decision to stick to the buzzsaw rather than going back to her original weapon is based on the fact that she likely cannot use her old weapon anymore. Not in the way she used to, not in the way she knows. Laurentina is the guitarist that lost use of her dominant right hand. The decision to stick to the buzzsaw perfectly reflects one of the big decisions she makes in I, Namely I, and the request she makes to Doctor directly in her last moments of sanity: "Make more use of me. Put me in more dangerous situations. Let me have a weapon in my hands and enemies in front of me. Only that way I truly am."

Because Laurentina is defined by being a warrior and a shield. She was the infamous and feared Shark, Executioner Of The Second Company, the soldier that survived what would kill other Abyssal Hunters ten times over. The only fate worse than death to her is to be forever confined to a hospital room, withering away while others concern herself over her. No, she requested from Doctor to specifically be put in even more dangerous missions, to be sent to more fights, because only while fighting and protecting and struggling, she truly is anything of worth in her own eyes. No matter what, she has to fulfill her existential duty as a warrior and protector, that way, even when she's Specter, she's Laurentina and Shark.

So, after that and into whatever causes the sequel to Under Tides, Laurentina/Specter leaned twice over into the buzzsaw. As a guitarist without the use of her dominant right hand, she learned to play the guitar with her left hand, and it was as simple as that: A warrior is not defined by her weapon, but by her gumption and her guts, and if there's anyone with gumption and guts, who is really good at spilling and tearing through guts, that's the Executioner Of The Second Company.

It immediately tells you everything you need to know about how experienced and seasoned a warrior Laurentina is when she actually starts freaking spindashing up walls by using a weapon as weird as a buzzsaw tied to the end of a stick and converting into full meter air combos from there. Makes you wonder how lethal she was with the weapon she actually was experienced with.

The decision for Unchained to retain the buzzsaw as a weapon is the perfect and beautiful conclusion to I, Namely I, in which Laurentina acknowledges that Specter, too, is her.

#onwardmotley #specter #laurentina #specter the unchained

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artzee-bee · 3 years

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End of all things [1] | Chat Noir x witch!reader

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug (Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir)

Summary: Y/N had been Chat Noir’s friend and moral support for a long time now. Even though she had magical powers too, she never liked getting involved with akuma attacks, but now, as Hawkmoth’s gotten control of the miraculous of creation, she couldn’t stay indiferent anymore. She had to save her friend and Paris!

Genre: Mostly angst? A little fluff

Warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of death/dying

A/N: This was requested, but as I was writting it, it got very long and I’ve decided to post it in 2 parts. I’m not gonna post the request just now, so as to not spoil the rest of the story but Part 2 will be coming out on friday!!!

Part 2

~~~

Chat was pacing around the room, waiting for you to be done with your potion. You had heard from your parents that there had been a new akuma attack today, but as the news reported, the two parisian heros took care of the problem in no time. For this reason, Chat’s presence at your house felt unusual. Normally he would stop by when he needed to rant, when he was in need of comfort and reassurance but the fight today went well, so what could possibly be bothering him?

“Ok, I’m done” you said, screwing the cap on the little bottle and placing it on your shelf “Wanna talk?” you asked, to which Chat gave you a shy smile

“Yeah, a little”

You made your way to your bed, motioning for him to follow you. You got under your covers and passed him his favorite plushie, a cat to no one’s surprise

“So what’s up? Is it about the fight today?”

“Well no it’s more like a...personal problem?”

“Oh…”

“Claws out” in a rush of light and electricity, the infamous hero vanished before you, transforming into Adrien Agrest

“Well, what is it?”

Adrien revealed his identity to you months ago. You first met him as Chat, but when you really got to know each other, he decided you needed to know all of him. Well, he needed you to know all of him.

You listened to him rant until way past midnight. Until you were both too tired to stand up straight, so you laid down in your bed, covers up to your necks, muffled stories told in between yawns. You listened carefully, giving him your full attention. He fidgeted with the collar of the stuffed toy and you used your magic to make 2 hot chocolates. Eventually, everything that needed to be said, was said. You offered Adrien to watch a movie, since that always cheered him up, but he refused

“It’s late and I have a photoshoot early in the morning. My makeup team will be angry with my dark circles anyways, better not make it worse” he joked

Adrien transformed back into Chat and you cast a safety spell on him, which you did every time he left your house late at night. He always teased you about being ‘too protective’, but deep down he found it sweet how much you cared and wanted to know that he would get home in one piece.

“Night Chat” you said, wrapping your arms around the hero

“Good night Y/N!”

The next few days went by quietly. You hadn’t run into Adrien at all, but you texted a bit back and forth. Sunday evening however, things took a toll for the worst. You turned on your tv, ready to catch up with your show when you heard Nadja Chamack’s voice doing the news report

“It seems as though Rena Rouge and Chat Noir are struggling to stay on their feet! They have taken shelter under a fallen bus, leaving Ladybug alone to defeat Hawkmoth'' your pulse skyrocketed. As you watched the screen you could see Chat and Rena off to the side, struggling to catch their breath. Rena seemed to be in pain while Chat was trying to help. Ladybug was using her yoyo the best she could in order to protect herself from the supervillain, who was wielding his cane like a sword over her head. The fight was clearly going in Hawkmoth's favour! You grabbed your jacket and ran out the front door and onto the empty streets of Paris, towards the Eiffel Tower, where the fight was taking place.

People screamed at you from their balconies to go home, warning you about the fight and the danger you were putting your life in but you didn’t care. All you could think about was how they needed you. Chat needed you! Every late night talk and every inside joke shared between you two replaid in your head like a broken record. Behind Chat’s tough mask, his alter ego of hero and protector, was the fragile figure of Adrien Agreste. The young blonde boy who cried during romantic comedies, who liked to have his hair braided and forgot how to speak when someone complimented him. If you didn’t help, the heros would loose and he would most likely die! Alongside Ladybug and Rena who, even though you didn’t know their real identities, were still young girls. As you ran down the street, you heard kids crying inside one of the homes. You ran past but at the last second you heard Nadia’s voice coming from their tv

“Ladybug was akumatized”

You approached the Eiffel tower from the side, where you could see everything going on. In front of the tower, right next to Hawkmoth, stood Marinette Dupain-Cheng, dressed in a tight, dark red suit, darker than Ladybug’s. Black butterflies replaced the dots of the heroine's suit and the purple butterfly mask of Hawkmoth’s control was shining over her face. Marinette was Ladybug! She did, in fact, get akumatized. On the other side, you saw Rena and Chat, struggling to stay up right. They were obviously in a lot of pain and extremely tired, but Hawkmoth was merely mocking them.

“After all this time” Chat spoke up, but his breaths were shallow and rapid “I thought you’d know one thing about us! We don’t give up without a fight. Never will. Especially not against you” and with that, the two ran at each other.

“It doesn’t have to end like this, you know?” he said “We don’t have to fight to death. I wouldn’t want to have that on my conscience. All you have to do is give me your miraculouses willingly. The town will be safe, you will be safe! It’s the most heroic option you’ve got. You won’t be any good to Paris if you are dead”

You knew this was not just another fight between them. This was it. Either the heros won or everything they’ve worked for would be lost. Hawkmoth would win and get his hands on both miraculous and god knows what kind of destruction that would bring not only upon Paris, but the world. You focused all your energy in one spot in the air, right between where Chat and Hawkmoth were supposed to clash but before they could reach each other, you sent a wave of energy that blew both of them apart, like a bomb. Hawkmoth flew back into the Eiffel tower while Chat hit the pavement with a thud. Confused and certainly disturbed, both of them began looking around for an answer as to what happened when, finally, Hawkmoth’s eyes landed on yours.

“Aha, miss Y/L/N. What a spectacular honor to finally meet you!” you didn’t reply, instead you stood tall, maintaining eye contact

“I know a lot about you. Seen a lot. Felt a lot of your emotions. None of them can compare to the powers I’ll have with the two miraculouses. With Ladybug’s earrings and the guardian under my control, I’d say my mission here is almost over’’

“Y/N get back!’’ Chat screamed but you were too involved now to run. This was your fight too.

“It is time you give up Hawkmoth. Paris is not yours, neither are the miraculouses. We will destroy you, no matter what it takes!”

“Listen to yourself, kid! <<Destroy me>>? The most you can do is pull a rabbit out of your hat…” before he could finish his sentence, you snapped your fingers in his direction and instantly, the ground around beneath Hawkmoth and akumatized Marinette, fractured. From within the cracks, many tangled plants came out, encapsulating the 2 villains. You sprinted towards Chat and Rena, ignoring the signs of struggle coming from the prison of weeds.

Alongside the two superheros, you hid inside a corner coffee shop, which was now empty.

“Y/N, you need to leave!! You are putting yourself in too much danger!” Rena told you, as she collapsed to the ground from exhaustion

“Stop with that already! I am here and I’m not going anywhere!”

“Yes you are!” Chat looked at you. His voice was calm and yet, his eyes were filled with disappointment “You are not a superhero. This is our job!”

“You need help”

“No we don’t!” Chat had never, in all your years of friendship, raised his voice at you, let alone yell “ You need to stay safe! You could die! Hawkmoth doesn’t care about anything if it helps him get what he wants! I am ready to take that risk. Rena is too” you both turned to the red headed hero, only to see her slowly nod “But I can’t allow you to take it”

“You can’t tell me what to do”

“I don’t want you to die!” he screamed again “I love you and I will never forgive myself if you don’t come out of this alive!”

Before you could say anything, you saw Hawkmoth and his minion, through the cafe window, cutting through the last of the plants and escaping your trap. You grabbed Chat’s arm and pulled him to the floor, from where you could not be seen

“We’re in this together now” you said in a stern voice, looking the blonde kid right in his eyes “Whether you like it or not '' this time, he simply nodded.

You stuffed your hands into the pocket of your jacket and pulled out 3 little bottles, containing a mate, green liquid. You had prepared one for each of the heros, now you’d only need two.

“Here, drink this!” You handed each of them one “Regeneration potion. Should put you back on your feet.” as soon as they finished drinking the brew, you could see color coming back to their faces

“Where’s Marinette’s akuma??”

“Her necklace” replied Rena “It’s a gift from her kwami”

“Got it. You deal with Hawkmoth. I’ll bring Marinette back!”

Chat and Rena exited through the front door, grabbing Hawkmoth’s attention. He called out to Marinette to attack, but before she could take a single step in your direction, you had snuck up behind her. Using a simple invisibility spell, you managed to exit unnoticed behind the two heros. It finally felt like the fight had truly begun. From the corner of your eye you could see Chat and Rena doging Hawkmoth’s attacks while you, were doing your best to get your hands on the stupid necklace! Even though she couldn’t see you, Marinette seemed to almost always know what your next move was. She would expertly block all your attack and would keep you an arm’s length away at all times. Finally, you had enough and in one swift motion, you pinned her back to your chest, ripping the necklace away. A wave of black and purple took over the both of you and when it vanished, all you were left with was a half unconscious Marinette in your arms. You dropped her to the ground slowly as she was coming back to her senses. You wanted to talk to her but your thoughts were driven away as you heard Chat scream bloody murder.

On the opposite side of the platza, you saw Hawkmoth rip Chat’s ring off his finger, forcing him to detransform. The exhausted figure of Adrien Agreste fell to the ground with a thud. Hawkmoth had, indeed, gotten his hand on both the miraculouses.

#miraculous ladybug #mlb #mlb x reader #adrien agreste #adrien agreste x reader #adrien agreste fluff #adrien agreste imagine #adrien agreste angst #chat noir #chat noir x reader #chat noir fluff #chat noir imagine #chat noir angst #rena rogue #marinette dupain cheng #ml ladybug

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bookishofalder · 3 years

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The Captain’s Error

Summary: Steve Rogers is protective over his bookworm friend, until an attack makes him realize he failed his one objective. The question is, will she forgive him?

Warnings; Fluff, angst, and then a bunch of great smut. Wrote this for a friend. WC: 7,144

You had your head in a book again. It was one of the more endearing things about you, had been what captured Steve’s attention when you started working for Stark. If you weren’t working, you lost yourself in whatever novel you were reading at the time, full stop. He was sure he had never seen you reading the same book twice, now that he thought about it. And he did think about you a lot.

And while as much as he loved the sight of you strolling the hallways of the compound with your brows slightly pinched, hips swaying, entirely focused as you consumed every genre imaginable, it also drove him a little crazy. Or a lot crazy, depending on the day.

Because Steve Rogers was first and always a protector, whether he carried the Captain America shield or not, and you were giving him a run for his money when it came to near accidents. Ranging in potential severity, it was like you were programmed clumsy. He wasn’t sure he could handle the burst of fiercely protective and equally jarring adoration that sprung up each time you walked into a wall or door, tripped, or hissed in pain from banging your hip off of a corner. He’d seen you tumble down the stairs once, though thankfully Clint happened to be coming up them at the time and managed to catch you before anything bad happened, before Steve could get to you and demand you just sit in a chair to read.

He wanted to beg you to quit the habit, at this point. He may be super due to the serum, but he was certain you would be the one thing that could kill him, the stress surely too great on his heart. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, though, not just because he didn’t want to overstep. He’d overheard you tell Nat, a few months prior, that you needed to stretch your legs a few times a day when you could get out of Tony’s lab and away from your work. Nat had joked that you needed a protector, in that case, because you were surely a liability Tony can’t have had coverage for.

And it was Nat’s simple statement, her joke, that gave Steve the great idea to be just that. Your protector. Whenever he reasonably could, he’d be there for you, organizing his days around your clockwork-like schedule so that when you took those walking while reading breaks, he was around. He convinced himself it was simply his duty-you were an important member of the team, and it was the least he could do. But then, the knowing looks his fellow Avenger’s would throw him, or the way his heart would threaten to beat out of his chest when you would stop to chat with him, kind of gave away that there was a selfish aspect to the self-designed arrangement.

He liked you. And after months of getting to know you better and better, with daily conversations that would lead to movie nights or walks around the compound, he eventually started to love you. It was easy as apple pie to fall in love with you, the resident hacker, hardworking and brilliant and funny as you were.

You’d recently developed a habit of bringing along the copy of the book you’d previously finished, tucked under your arm, and offering it to Steve to read. And while his preferred hobby was sketching-actually, Bucky was the reader of the two of them, he found himself eager to consume the ones you deemed good enough to pass along. Though he didn’t get through them anywhere near as quickly as you did, he found himself in his room alone most nights, flipping through pages that smelled faintly of you.

If you had ever caught on to the reason for his sudden consistent appearances during your lunch and afternoon breaks, you never commented. Sometimes, you had a pinch in your brow that told Steve you were focused on the story, and he would give you space, though the one time he’d tried to back away completely you’d caught his arm, sending electricity shooting through his body, and wordlessly beckoned him to walk with you. He liked those days as much as the ones where you would hold your book open, but rather than read hold long conversations with him, sometimes to discuss the books he’d borrowed, often to just talk about anything and everything.

Steve had learned so much about you. He knew you liked to paint, that you were a fan of the beach but only if you could go into the water, not fritter away on the beach hiding from the sun (because skin cancer, of course), that Autumn was your favourite season and you wanted a dog one day. Your favourite book was The Hobbit but you were a sucker for a good steamy romance. The more he learned, the more he fell if he was honest.

And it wasn’t onesided-as much as he preferred to talk about you, you asked your fair share of questions with a stunning abundance of delicacy, mindful of his history, his life, his differences. And while you sometimes teased him (like when he’d tell Tony to watch his language in front of ladies and he’d see you shoot him a little smirk for it) you never made fun of him, never made him feel like the old man he technically was. And it was like...like you could empathize better than others, maybe because of all the worlds and minds you lost yourself to in the pages of the books, you were better equipped to consider his perspective. To understand why he became self-critical when the world was counting on him, and then gently coaxing him out of his dark thoughts to offer him a different point of view or a reminder that he couldn’t carry the weight of the world alone.

But Steve didn’t feel alone when he was with you.

It was coming up on a year since his new daily routine with you had begun. He tried not to miss both of your breaks in the same day if he could help it, but sometimes duty called and as much as he missed you during missions, he knew he couldn’t skip on them just to follow you around. You would probably lose it if he did.

Though it was tempting to ask F.R.I.D.A.Y to keep an eye on you, he hadn’t, but it was tempting. It was early fall, the weather still warm but a slightly crisp edge to the breeze that seemed to act as a siren call to you, your feet always pattering away and out of the building to wander the compound’s property. But there were more obstacles outside, more hazards that had him imagining you upside down in the fountain or covered in poison ivy from a tumble near the thicket on the east side of the property.

He’d been quick to have Tony call in special landscapers when he’d thought of this, just to remove all dangerous plants. It was a service to everyone there, really.

Today, he couldn’t spend time with you, because Nat needed him for a mission to nab a Hydra agent that you had managed to uncover the whereabouts of. It was a few hours, tops, but he was boarding the Quinjet when he glanced around and watched you wander out the front doors, head in your book. The smirk on Nat’s face was enough to prevent him from running back down the ramp and instead turn to hit the ramp recall button. He was being over cautious-it was a bright day and there were plenty of others on the compound property who would notice if you had an extended absence from your lunch.

When he entered the cockpit, his friend opened her mouth to tease and Steve cut her off by raising his hand in a wordless request for silence on the subject. She merely laughed and made no further comment. It wasn't like he hadn’t already heard her opinion on the subject.

The HYDRA agent in question was one known to Nat, so Steve let her take the lead on capturing him while thoughts of you fluttered in the back of his mind. He did give her a look when she punched him an extra time, the broken-nosed agent's hands bound behind him as he was strapped into the Quinjet. She rolled her eyes but relented. Once back in the cockpit, however, she started on Steve- ‘Just tell her how you feel...ask her on a date...you really think she’d say no to Captain America?’

Ah, but that was the question, wasn’t it? Because whether one saw him as Steve Rogers or Captain America, the reality was that he was forever both, each at the same time, which meant that dating him came with a lot of baggage. He knew you well enough to know that you saw him first and foremost as your friend, Steve, but all the same, you were as aware as anyone of what his title meant to the world, the duty he had to fulfil and the dangers that came with that territory.

And if he was protective over you simply tripping over your own feet, it was nothing compared to the fierceness of his need to safeguard you from any and all threats. You were already a valuable target-no combat training or powers to speak of, but a big brain that did some seriously complicated and involved work for Tony Stark and the Avengers-throw dating one of them into the mix and you would be priority one. Whoever took you would own the team.

You lived on the compound for this very reason. At the initial insistence of Tony himself once he’d found you (you were skilled enough to cover your tracks in your underground hacking over the years, but eventually Stark caught up with you and begged you to join the team). You’d told Steve you’d resisted at first, believing you could work for Stark without needing to remove yourself from your studio apartment and the routine you had in your quiet life, but then Loki’s attack on New York had happened and you happily moved, keen to avoid being stomped on by aliens.

A call came through the Quinjet then, a screen appearing over the centre console and revealing Bucky’s face over the caller ID. Nat answered as Steve focused on bringing the jet into the air, punching in the coordinates home.

“Hey Buckaroo,” Nat quipped as Bucky came into view with a tense expression on his face. Seeing as he often looked like this, Steve paid no attention and simply called his greeting as he put the auto-pilot on. “What’s with the long face? And where are you?”

“First of all, you can call me Barnes, I don’t like you enough for nicknames,” He began, and Steve smiled at the banter as his eyes took in the unfamiliar background just insight over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Aww, and here I thought we were besties,”

Steve interjected, “Bucky, are you in a bookstore?” It wasn’t that it was odd to think of Bucky in such a place, it was just the combination of him calling and the fact that the shop was empty of patrons that caught his notice.

With a sigh, Bucky nodded, “Listen, Steve, she’s alright,” Bucky replied, and Steve narrowed his eyes as his mind started reeling over what exactly that meant. You were okay, but...?

“What happened?” His voice was harsh, and he saw Nat flinch out of the corner of his eye. Bucky knew him too well to not expect his response.

“Well she came out to this bookstore an hour ago, and I guess someone has been watching her when she leaves the compound. Knew she liked to come here,” Steve’s fists clenched as Bucky spoke, “They tried to grab her today but she hit the panic button on her phone and one of our operatives happened to be outside and saw the struggle. He interceded until Sam and I arrived.”

“Was she hurt?” He demanded, willing the Quinjet to move faster. They were only minutes from the compound, but every one felt extended and torturous now because even as Bucky assured him you were more shaken up than anything, Steve wouldn’t believe you were alright until he could see you.

He realized his greatest error, then. In his efforts to ensure he didn't overstep when it came to you, he allowed himself to ignore the instinct that you should, at the very least, be assigned a guard when leaving the compound. And now you’d nearly been taken because you thought it was safe to drive to a bookstore. After all, you weren’t (and really, he loved this about you) programmed to see danger at every corner. He was, and he’d allowed his feelings to cloud his judgement.

“Stop brooding, Steve, Bucky said she’s alright. Sam’s with her back home right now.”

He bristled immediately, “Doesn’t make it any less concerning though, Nat. Clearly, she’s on people’s radars now, we should already have implemented safety protocols for her! She isn’t trained to protect herself, she doesn’t even carry a weapon.”

He could see the compound now and relaxed marginally, running a hand over his face in an attempt to steady and ease his racing mind. After a long pause, Nat spoke up.

“I’ll train her, to defend herself and to use a weapon,” Nat suggested, and he glanced at her in surprise, “Yeah, I don’t mind, I like her, care about her. And we’ll talk to Tony, see what we can do about ensuring she has protection outside of the compound. I’m right in thinking she’s good while in the compound, eh Steve?”

He let out a broken laugh, shaking his head as Nat wiggled her brows suggestively at him. He had to give his friend credit, she did a good job of pulling him from his darker thoughts and refocusing him on the issue at hand. He needed to think of a way to thank her one of these days.

It had been a week since the attack and Nat had stayed true to her promise to train you. Now your lunch breaks were spent sparring with the redhead, who was teaching you the basics of hand to hand. Steve had been surprised at your excitement over the suggestion. Now he was pretty impressed with your willingness to learn.

When he’d found you upon returning to the compound, you were wrapped in a thick blanket on the couch of the main living room. Sam was handing you a cup of tea and Tony was on the phone from wherever he was, yelling his assurances that they’d find out who the culprit-currently locked in the compounds jail-worked for and nail them all to the wall. Steve had walked in just as Tony swore and interrupted Stark to remind him to watch his mouth.

You’d turned at the sound of his voice and given him a look so blatantly relieved that he simply pulled you into his chest and hugged you. When he heard your heart rate pick up in response, he told himself it was due to leftover adrenaline and not because of him.

Steve liked to come down to the gym and watch your sessions from a distance, though today there was an additional person in the room-Bucky. You and Bucky had always been close, happy to talk about books for hours on end, to banter and tease to the point where Steve had almost wanted to be jealous, only his best friend had pulled him aside a long time ago to tell him you reminded him of one of his younger sisters.

Now though, Bucky was there for a reason. He was dressed in gym clothes, his long hair tied back off of his face, and was currently waiting patiently as you repeated Nat’s instructions aloud while indicating where on Bucky you would be aiming for each maneuver. Steve realized Nat wanted you to learn to take on an attacker much stronger and bigger than you and internally agreed with the idea.

He smiled as he watched you, eager and almost hyper with focus and determination. Bucky was giving you a bemused sort of look as you repeatedly poked him in his flesh shoulder to illustrate a point. When Nat asked you if you were ready for Bucky to ‘attack’ you, your response was to fall into the relaxed stance with your back to him and give a vigorous nod.

This is where it became...complicated. Probably, it would have been best for Steve to sit this session out, or at least to have been warned of what was going to happen. And the thing was, he trusted Buck with his life. With your life, for that matter. But the moment his super-soldier best friend set his jaw and pressed up behind you, going into attack mode, Steve snapped.

He was moving forward before you’d even got past the first step in your offensive plan.

Being that Bucky was the only other super soldier in the room, he was the only one who knew Steve was watching. You and Nat were focused, Nat calling instructions to you, your head facing in the opposite direction he was storming over from. He grinned at Steve, immediately relaxing his stance and taking a half step back from you. While you turned around to question what Bucky was doing, Nat’s eyes found Steve.

“Well, shit.” She murmured, quiet enough that you probably hadn’t heard.

Bucky’s eyes were still on Steve, and he raised his hands in mock surrender while a knowing smirk tugged his lips up. You spun on your heel to see what he was looking at, just as Steve stepped onto the sparring mat. You had to tilt your head back to gaze up at him, a curious frown replacing your confusion when you saw the look on his face.

“Steve?”

He forced himself to smile, though he’d been tempted to give Buck a shove away from you. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” He replied, pulling his gaze from his friend to meet yours, “I was hoping to speak with you if you don’t mind?” He kept his tone light, actively working to relax because you hadn’t been in any real danger and he didn’t want to offend or upset you.

You hesitated, giving Steve a once over that told him you didn’t buy his friendly demeanour, before nodding, “Sure, excuse us, Bucky, Nat.” You said, sparing them barely a glance and missing the twin smirks they were both sporting.

“Thank you,” He gestured toward the exit and let you lead the way out of the room. He shot his friends each a glare over his shoulder, though they merely grinned at him, before returning his attention to you. Once in the hall, he wondered if he could have this conversation with you here, and hesitated.

Sensing his unease, you spoke up, “Can we go to your room?”

“Oh, yes,” He blinked, following you in the direction of the elevator. Once the doors closed, he asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to take you to the living quarters' floor and then fell silent, unsure of what to say now that he was calming down. He could sense you were mulling over a question and was proven right when you looked up at him.

“You’re upset with me.”

He glanced down at you in surprise, his heart stuttering at the sad look on your face. “No,” He said truthfully, and although he stayed rooted to the spot, he brought his hand up to rest on your lower back gently, “Not even a little bit, darling. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”

He took a deep breath as you nodded, and had to focus his mind. Being a super-soldier increased his senses, and those abilities didn’t just come into play in the field. His taste, sight, sense of smell, hearing, were always advanced, on, and in moments like this, it could be difficult to focus on just one. He could smell you, the fading scent of your shampoo, the sweat on your skin, and a sweet scent he couldn’t quite place. He could also hear your heart beating, and didn’t miss the way it stuttered when he placed his hand on your back, nor did he fail to hear the slight intake of breath you had taken.

It could be too much, at times. It had taken some time to learn how to focus himself. To find grounding tricks that helped keep him from being overstimulated. But around you, it was another story and he hadn’t quite figured out how to relax around you yet.

And it didn’t help matters that you were reacting to Steve more and more in the close confines of the elevator; your pupils were dilating, your heart rate was increasing, and fuck, that sweet smell was increasing and it was driving him...a little feral.

It was a relief when the doors opened, pulling in a wave of fresh air that cleared his head enough to remember to move forward. He walked to his room with you in silence, clearing his throat at the door, which opened at his command, then followed you in. He remained next to the door, though you continued into the living room that separated open space from his bedroom. You looked around, eyes widening in surprise when you saw him so far away.

“You better not be about to give me really bad news, Steve,” You quipped, arching a brow at him and crossing your arms. “Seriously, who’s dying?” And here he had hoped that by giving you space, he would be easing any discomfort you might have with the situation.

He laughed at your words, grateful as ever that you seemed to understand him and knew how to diffuse the thick tension better than he ever could. Moving further into the room, Steve made a point of keeping his distance from you, almost edging around the space to give you a clear path to the door. You frowned as you noticed this gesture, your eyes narrowing, but did not comment.

“Can I be honest with you about something?” He finally asked, hands on his hips. You nodded and he continued. “I’m very...I care about you, a lot, darling. And I’m protective of you, and seeing you sparring with Bucky just-well, I didn’t like it.”

Your brows rose in surprise as he spoke, nearly disappearing into your hairline, and he worried he was doing a poor job of this. He faltered, unsure of how to properly explain without overstepping.

“You don’t trust Bucky?” You said, knowing the answer but pulling Steve from his silence all the same.

“Of course I do, and I know you can handle yourself. I’ve been watching all week.”

You held his gaze, your arms crossing over your chest, “Good, because once I’m done with Bucky I know Sam wanted to join in, and I’m pretty sure Tony could take a turn with the suit, see if I can handle taking punches from Iron Man-“

“Okay, enough, please,” He pleaded, each image in his mind of you fighting against men who could snap your neck in the blink of an eye now causing him great distress, “I promise it’s not about...about...”

You tilted your head, and even from across the room he could hear your heartbeat pick up a little as you took in his reaction. “Come on, Stevie, be honest with me here.” You finally said, worry flashing over your pretty face.

“I can’t-that is, I don’t like seeing you have to train like this because of my failings. You shouldn’t have to be spending your spare time-“

“You agreed to this from the start, Steve. Nat offered basic training because of MY mistake, not because of you!” You were stepping closer now, eyes never leaving his.

Steve nodded, swallowing heavily, “I did agree, yes, but you didn’t make any mistakes, darling. Everything that happened, that could have happened to you, that’s on me. I should be keeping you safe and I,” He closed most of the gap, now standing just inches from you as you gazed up at him with wide eyes, “I failed you, before, I let my...my feelings get in the way of my better judgement. You should have already had a security detail, then you’d never had been assaulted in the first place. I’m so sorry I let you down, darling. I’ll never forgive myself.”

You gaped up at him and Steve didn’t even blink, eager to watch every expression cross your face as you absorbed his words. His heart was about to jump out of his chest, but somehow he already felt a little lighter for what he’d confessed.

“Steve,” You finally broke the silence, speaking slowly, “You could never let me down. But I...you need to tell me what you mean, w-what feelings?”

Perhaps, had he not been keenly aware of your racing heart, your shallow breathing, he might have faltered, edged the conversation to more neutral grounds. Because admitting how he felt about you was terrifying, even as you looked at him softly.

“I love you,” He replied, the words bursting out of him and he saw the delight flash across your face before he even finished, “I’m in love with you, and I should have told you sooner. You were attacked the other day because I thought I was overreacting by thinking you should have security. I didn’t want you to be unhappy, either, so I made a bad call. Please tell me you’ll forgive me.”

“Did you just say...shit, Steve, of course, I forgive you-there’s nothing to forgive, really,” You were speaking quickly, your cheeks flushing. “I probably would have resisted having security before being attacked, if I’m being honest. Also-“ You suddenly cut yourself off, reached up and grabbed the back of Steve’s neck, drawing him down and crashing your lips to his.

You caught him off guard, but he barely fumbled, immediately kissing you back, one hand gripping your waist, sliding the other to cup your jaw. You pressed your whole body to Steve’s like you’d been wanting to do it for a long time and now that you didn’t have to hold back, you weren’t going to. He couldn’t help it then, he gathered you close in his arms and simply lost himself in you in those moments, the way you tasted, the softness of your lips, the sound of your heart thrumming like a hummingbird. The underlying sweet scent he was becoming more and more aware of.

Steve would have been content to remain like this, exactly here; holding you in his arms while his tongue traced over your lips and you parted them for him to lick into your mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders hard enough that were he not a super soldier, you might have left some bruises. He was a man from a time when it would take a few dates before a kiss even close to resembling this intensity could occur. He hadn't forgotten that part of himself. The part which demanded a sense of propriety, to treat you like the lady you were. To bring you flowers and write you letters and hope you’d say yes to another date, and then another, never lingering on the doorstep too long at the end of the night, and certainly not coming in for drinks.

But you weren’t from that era, and maybe that was one of the reasons he loved you; you were strong-willed and quick-witted, a woman more than capable of handling herself and making her own decisions. Even though you walked into walls and tripped over your own feet, Steve saw your strength and the depths of which you held empathy and kindness for others.

He thought he had an idea of who you were, now, after all this time as close friends.

However, when you traced a hand along his jaw and then let slip a quiet, needy moan, Steve Rogers quite literally came undone at your fingertips.

The kiss morphed then, a little more rough, teeth clashing as you struggled to pull in air but refused to pull away, your fingers sinking into his hair and gripping. He growled, a low rumble because the shift of your body let loose another wave of the scent of your sweet arousal and it assaulted his hyper-senses, his length straining painfully in his shorts, pressed between your bodies.

“St-Steve, I love you too” He grinned as happiness filled him. You sighed heavily when he pulled away only to move his lips down your neck, sucking the skin gently as he went. He moved slowly despite the desperation he felt to have more of you, to give you all of himself, and you seemed to read his mind and understand exactly what he needed to hear-your permission if you so wished. “More, Steve, please. I want you.”

“Fuck,” He groaned, because he knew you meant it and hearing it out loud was almost too much, he couldn’t be this lucky, this trusted. How could he have earned the right to touch you so? As if sensing his turmoil, you suddenly tugged at Steve’s shirt and he let you guide him...straight past his couch and through the open door to his bedroom.

If that wasn’t clear enough permission, Steve didn’t know what would be. With renewed passion, he picked you up and deposited you onto his bed, climbing over top your body and simply drinking in the sight of you, still clothed; sweaty and needy and beautiful, your hair fanned to one side across his duvet, and your hips-

Shit, your hips were rutting up into his, desperately seeking friction.

“Am I-I neglecting you, darling?” He breathed, face just next to yours. You shuddered as his warm breath brushed over your ear, then let out a moan when he placed a hand on your hip, stilling you.

“Stevie, please,” You whispered, and he loved the way you bit your lip, how your pupils were blown wide in desire. And as much as he wanted...everything, with you, he also kind of enjoyed teasing you. He saw no reason to rush, and he was going to take good care of you now.

“Something that doesn’t get spoken of,” He began, leaning his weight onto one elbow so that he could trace his free hand across your body. Skipping the most sensitive bits and making a point of touching only your thin gym clothing, “Is how the enhanced abilities of super-soldiers like me don’t just apply to battle.”

He let that sit between you, watching your face as you trembled under his touch before your eyes snapped up to meet his in surprise. “Like, you can hear my heart beating?” You asked, your face flushing even more than it already had been, heat rolling off of you in waves.

Steve nodded, lips tugged into a confident smirk, “Exactly. Among other things,” He brought both hands to the top of your leggings, hooking his thumbs in. He started to drag them down, “I can smell you, darling, how worked up you are. You smell amazing, you know.” The leggings came off and your hips moved again as you let out the filthiest little moan at his words.

“Fuck,” You were trying to push down your panties. Steve gripped them in his hand, bunching the fabric and, with no real effort, tore them off of you. He’d buy you more. You giggled then, as he tossed the torn remains behind him and then brought his lips back to yours, meeting you in another passionate kiss.

Once he had you distracted with his lips, he quickly slid his hand over your thigh and down your now very wet pussy, moving between your folds to dip two fingers inside of you. Groaning, Steve instinctively rutted his hips into the bed, his erection impossibly hard now. You whimpered, clenching around him as he teased you with slow, come-hither motions with his fingers. He moved his thumb to your clit and experimented gently, seeking out the right way to...yes, there it was.

“Steve!” You cried out, hips bucking as he brought you to the edge. Steve was enraptured by every expression, every sound you made. You were more than beautiful, you were everything.

“That’s it, darling,” He whispered into your ear, panting from arousal, “You feel so good, don’t you? I’ll take care of you. You can let go.”

You whined a little, eyes rolling and your hands now gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly, and he felt the first wave of your orgasm as your body stiffened before your head fell back and you let out a loud yell of his name as you came. He slowed his movements but didn’t stop, drawing the bliss out for as long as he could as you trembled and jerked in his arms. Even when you collapsed back into the bed, he kept going, until a stutter in your heart rate gave way to your overstimulation and he eased back with a grin.

“S-shit,” You gasped, your eyes opening and seeking his, “How the fuck did you do that?”

Steve chuckled, his brows knitting together in confusion, “Do what?”

You seemed to grapple for words, then gestured vaguely at your lower half, “Steve you made me cum with just-just your fingers! I can’t even do that!”

“Then how do you...”

“My vibrator, but after what you just did I don’t think I’ll be able to look at it the same now.”

Steve laughed loudly, then sat up and pulled his shirt off, eager to feel your skin against his. You watched him, eyes wide in anticipation. “You feel alright, darling? We can stop, just say the word.” He reached down and stroked your cheek affectionately. Focusing on your comfort helped Steve keep from becoming overwhelmed by you, your smell, your heartbeat, the fucking look in your eyes.

Your hand covered the back of his, holding it against your cheek firmly, “I never want to stop, Steve,” And then, before he could process the want in your tone, “Can I touch you?”

He groaned, jumping off the bed to tear off his shorts and briefs, baring himself completely to you. Automatically, his hand fell to grip his length, and then he tuned back into you on the bed. Your breath had caught, and Steve looked toward you in time to see your jaw drop, eyes on his body. “You didn’t say please.” He joked, and your eyes flicked up to meet his, a smirk tugging your lips up.

You sat up then, shucking off your shirt and bra before his eyes, “Please?” You said softly, tossing your clothes aside. Now it was Steve’s turn to gape as he drank in your every curve, “Please, Stevie, can I touch you?” You licked your lips. Fuck.

“Yeah,” He breathed, struck momentarily dumb, but when you giggled he realized he stood frozen at the edge of the bed. Clearing his throat, Steve sank to his knees on the bed next to you and pulled you against him, dipping his head down, “Touch me.” He whispered, then pressed his lips to yours.

You moaned into his mouth, swallowing his when your hand found his length and gripped him, stroking slowly. His hips bucked in response and Steve quickly brought his hands to your hips, holding you tight against him as he lowered you back onto the bed. Laying over you, Steve eased your legs apart and settled between them, his cock resting against your thigh. He broke the kiss and met your gaze again.

“I want you. I trust you.” You promised, your hand tilting him toward your core, “Please Steve, I want you so badly.”

“Fuck. Darling, you gotta tell me if anything is too much, alright?” You nodded, your hips now wriggling desperately. He drove his hips forward then, slowly parting your folds and sinking into you in one motion. “Oh, darling...” He sighed, eyes on your face.

“Steve!” You whimpered, and he could feel you clenching around him even as he stilled, waiting for you to adjust to him. You wrapped your legs around him, signalling he could move, and Steve started a slow pace, dragging in and out of you.

Dropping his head into the crook of your neck, Steve closed his eyes and focused-first, on the feel of you around him, of your curves pressed into his body, then onto the sound of your heart beating, the way the air puffed out of your lungs in little half gasps. He moved without thought, using you as a guide to decide his pace, happy to draw as many moans from you for as long as possible. He felt you rolling your hips slowly, the movement sinking him into you deep on each downward thrust, and he grunted at the perfection of the sensation.

“How do you feel?” His voice was a breath in your ear. He had propped himself up with one arm and now ran the other down the length of your torso, pausing at every curve to grip your soft flesh. You moaned out each time he did, your walls clenching him tighter. “Because I’ve never felt so good in my entire life, darling. You’re perfect.”

Whimpering again, your hands sliding over the muscles of his broad chest before coming to hold his shoulders. “S-so good, Stevie, I can’t fucking stand it, you feel so good,” Your back arched slightly and Steve dropped his mouth to your breasts, taking turns between them to lick over your nipples. You sunk one of your hands into his hair, pulling his face against your body, and then cried out and the same moment he heard your heartbeat swell, “I’m going t-to, oh shit, shit!”

“That’s right, come for me, let go again beautiful,” Steve sighed in content in the brief moment before you toppled over the edge, your barely open eyes meeting his before snapping shut.

Your entire body went rigid as you came, your cunt clenching viciously around Steve, begging him to follow you but he resisted, pulling his head from your chest to watch your face. The expressions that flashed over you, the way your lips parted to let out a continuous stream of moans and curses, were enough to drive him beyond wild. The resulting increase in wetness made it fractionally easier for him to move within you.

You were panting heavily, your body relaxing back into the bed and Steve pinned you there with his slowly thrusting hips. You sounded wrecked when you spoke moments later. “Need to take care of you, let me please,” You begged him, pushing at him.

Steve met your eyes, unsure of what you meant, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

He felt you trying to rotate your hips to no avail, pinned by his strength, “I know y-you’re holding back, I can take it. Please, Stevie, fuck me, I can take-“

Steve almost came at your desperate plea and stopped moving, taking a moment to gaze at you in wonder, before pulling back. With quick, careful movements he lifted you off the mattress. Walking on his knees, he held you in his arms, still buried inside of you, until he had your back pressed against the wall at the head of his bed.

He growled then, dropping his hands to roughly hold the flesh of your hips and then beginning a ruthless pace, pounding into you over and over as you cried out for more and he was fairly certain he’d never known pleasure such as this. You were trembling, letting his strength hold you against the wall, your hands now both clinging to his hair, drawing his face to yours to kiss, tongues fighting each other for dominance.

It was the hottest fucking thing. You were the sexiest, most beautiful fucking woman and it only took a minute more to find his release, pleasure rippling up his back before he slammed you into the wall-one hand cradling your head protectively, and roared your name as he filled you. He came long and hard, easily the best orgasm of his life. “Fuck, fuck,” He gasped, kissing along your jaw before nibbling down your neck, his thrusts sloppy and slow now as he floated down to reality.

It was already easier for Steve to focus on you, his sense reaching out to ensure you were alright before he managed to lift his head and look at you. His serum-infused body was fairly unaffected by the physical aspects, he wasn’t sweating, hadn’t tired. But he was panting a little from the overwhelming intensity of his orgasm. You on the other hand were like Jell-O now, limp in his arms, body quivering and breathing erratic. When he finally looked up, his cock twitched at the blissed-out expression on your face, earning him another little moan as you felt him still hard inside of you.

“Good girl,” He breathed out, holding you steady. He eased out of you slowly, watching as your tight heat leaked out a mixture of fluids. You smelled heavenly, even with the layer of sweat, and he was tempted to lower you onto the bed and taste you. The small whimper you gave, however, warned Steve that you needed to be taken care of.

And so he took care of you, carrying you into his bathroom and helping you to the toilet, leaving you alone for a minute to run to his mini-fridge and pull out a cold glass bottle of water. You were attempting to stand when he walked back in, and Steve quickly put his arms around you, pressing the bottle into your hand, all while whispering sweet nothings to you. Words of praise, of love, comfort, encouraging you to drink the water and then, once he was satisfied with the decent amount you gulped back, he took you to his overlarge bathtub.

It was there that he spent the next hour, holding you in his arms in the warm water, his hands tracing over every curve and dip of your perfect body. You lay content and sleepy in his arms, your slow and steady heart rate enough to tell him you were relaxed until eventually, he thought you were about to fall asleep when you seemed to catch yourself, head raising from his chest.

“Stevie?” You whispered, your voice a little scratchy from overuse.

He brushed his hand over your face gently, smiling down at you, “Yes, darling?”

“Does this mean you’ll be training me from here on out? Because I have some ideas of scenarios and maneuvers I’d like to try...”

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider leaving a comment or reblogging to ease my inner turmoil as a writer 🤍

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meirathinks · 3 years

Text

you can tell something that sounds like it

Suguru Geto x reader.

warnings: it’s angst :(( maybe some grammar mistakes?

geto has never lied to you. You tell yourself that he does.

(based off the song happy news for sadness)

╬╬═════════════╬╬

He can never tell the truth.

He can never—

At least, that’s what you told yourself. You'd repeat it over and over, the sick mantra failing to provide any sort of comfort. The dread had slithered from the end of your tongue to the base of your throat and finally cemented itself behind your ribcage: snuggly against your heart.

At first, Geto's presence was warm. His fingertips would dance along your jawline after particularly draining missions, butterfly kisses and the soft flutter of your pulse would follow shortly after. You would look at him with so much endearment. Doe eyes casting a hazy look in his direction while he continued to exchange soft touches for attention.

It was springtime; the nights were supposed to be frosted over. But, as your eyesight shifted from the condensation on the window accentuated by the soft glow of the lamp in Suguru's dorm, you noticed that you'd trade anything to forever feel the way you're feeling now. Geto held himself in a unique way, he was strong, but it differed from Gojo's arrogance. Geto was one of the strongest but he hardly paraded that fact; he instead used that fact to make you feel safe.

You hummed against his throat at the thought, Geto is your protector.

He breathed into your forehead pressing phantom kisses into your skin while sitting on his bed with you. You leaned into his chest while recovering from the latest mission, civilians were injured but none were killed. Still, Geto was ashamed that non-sorcerers had to be involved in such dangerous affairs in the first place.

You can never tell the truth,

but you can tell something that sounds like it

He moved to tug tightly at your hair, urging you to look up at him. His slightly swollen lips parted and shut as if looking for the appropriate thing to say. Geto relented, choosing to ignore the seeds of doubt threatening to be sown.

"You know, I won't let anyone hurt you." His calloused hand moved to squeeze your arm, the condensation dripped down the window.

Suguru is strong. He is your protector.

II.

Geto left. And all that replaced him was the wide-eyed gaze only piteous adults knew. Gentle squeezes on your shoulder and whispering that followed wherever you went.

You were ashamed. His promises that had once left you satisfied had proven to be hollow. His righteousness never wavered.

A voice had tugged at the corner of your mind the day you heard of what had happened in the village. Geto was good, he wanted to see people safe; if you had the chance to confront him you knew he wouldn’t change.

The drip, drip, drip, of your bathroom faucet, prompted you to focus on your reflection above the sink. Hot tears made their way down your cheeks, laboured breaths reverberated in the small space.

Geto would hug you, he'd tell you everything was okay.

Then he'd say he'd protect you.

You smiled at the thought of his domesticity, imagining his hand holding yours, missing the way his thumb would draw circles on the back of your hand.

The faucet continued to drip as you met your own gaze once again.

Dread filled your lungs

Geto killed 100s of people.

Geto always lies.

III.

There was a sharp pound at your door; hollow and calculated. Confusion invaded your senses, today was your day off, no one came to visit you anymore.

Nostalgia racked your body. Back in high school, your dorm was always unlocked, a sort of safe space for your classmates to come and go. Jujutsu tech was a warzone plagued with hopeless violence and your room seemed to be representative of the humanity of your colleagues. Neutral, kind, loving.

Gojo never knocked.

Shoko knocked three times.

And Geto was always four.

Another knock could be heard at your door.

You laughed at yourself for the little piece of hope you had felt. At the fact that you longed to see a murderer again. Maybe it would be Gojo instead? Willfully eating a candy bar while he waited impatiently outside the door of your home.

But Gojo never knocks.

A pounding could be heard at your door once more.

Your spirits lifted— Shoko had come to visit! You had missed her presence and humour, in a way, her spiral was worse than Geto’s. Everyone was convinced that the dark circles under her eyes were going to become a long-term predicament. But, when confronted about her exhaustiveness, a half-drunk Ieiri would always comment on how she was too busy to rest. Nonetheless, Shoko was the only other sorcerer who knew your address.

But no one ever visits.

One more knock.

Your blood ran cold, leaving an icy residue in your veins, your heart was beating in your throat. The absence of the knock hung in the air, your anxiety, your insecurity, your deep-rooted hope that he'd come back to explain had buzzed in its place.

You got up to walk to your door, as your hand lifted to unlock it, you waited.

Just one more. I need to prove it.

Suguru knocked one final time, you opened it as quickly as he expected you would. You wanted him to see the shame that ran deep in your eyes. Though, you hadn't felt the way that you were required to feel as a jujutsu sorcerer.

He met your gaze. You felt your heartbeat hiccup. Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt some sort of emotion bubble up at the base of your chest. Fear, disgust, hope.

"It's been 4 years, Geto."

Suguru grinned softly, a shiny film had covered his eyes. He took a gentle breath.

"Have I mentioned how I've thought about you every day for four years?"

IV.

In his final days at Jujutsu Tech, Geto was a shell of himself. Though he'd always eat the food you presented him in an attempt to curb your worries, you knew his appetite ran thin when he was left to his own devices.

Now, as he stood in your home's kitchen expertly cooking dinner for the both of you for what seemed the umpteenth time, you noticed how much he looked like himself. His hair was as gorgeous as ever (though admittedly longer), he still closed his eyes when he smiled, he still ran his thumb against the back of your hand when he held it.

Yet, he seemed so much happier.

At first, this had prompted anger. Someone like him didn't deserve to feel the joy he displayed.

Geto was a criminal, after all.

The hands of a criminal would cup your cheek and run up and down your back. His criminal voice would hum soft tunes to you in between philosophical conversations in the later hours of the night. His criminal eyes would cast the softest, most loving gaze in your direction. Geto's criminal, cold-blooded, self would whisper I love you over and over again into the crook of your neck until he fell asleep.

And you allowed him to.

You allowed him to look at the civilians with a horrifying disgust, one that sharply contrasted with his previous drive to protect everyone. You watched as his endearing expression would turn to a scowl whenever he talked about them. He'd use a distasteful nickname for non-sorcerers.

"Dirty Monkeys."

You had made sure your voice had matched the iciness of his own as you responded, "Don't use that phrase near me again."

He made a clear effort to exclude all ideological rhetoric from your conversations soon after.

The same voice that pestered you that there was still hope for Suguru had turned against him. It was ironic more than anything, the both of you could never win this sick and twisted game.

The slam of a knife against a chopping board had woken you up from your daydream. You looked up. Eyes scanning the figure of the criminal you had come to love. It was an illicit romance, one between a Jujutsu sorcerer and a cursed user. A romance between two people with differing beliefs.

You took a deep breath, the knife on the chopping board slowed as Getou turned to look at you. His brows were furrowed.

"Is everything okay?"

Your lips formed a tight-lipped smile, tears brimmed your eyes as you looked up to his face from your spot on the kitchen counter.

"Suguru," you swallowed, "we were never supposed to last this long, you know."

You watched his throat bob.

"I'm well aware."

You smiled up at him, a genuine one, twinged with melancholy, "Then you'll understand why I'm asking you to leave."

He nodded silently inching closer to your sitting figure. His hot breath tickled your face, testing the waters. You didn't know what to expect out of the kiss at this moment Maybe rough? Like the late nights you'd spend together after he practically barrelled through the front door, fuming about the day he had just had. Or passionate? You imagined a kiss with sloppy whispers and late apologies said in between the moments you took to catch your breath.

He grabbed your chin in his pointer finger and thumb, he urged your teary eyes to look into his. His lips met yours and he was not passionate, nor was he rough. You didn't see stars, you only felt him.

Geto was soft.

He pulled away, his eyes avoided your own as he breathed softly while taking in your figure one last time.

A sigh could be heard while he moved to the coat rack near your front door. You continued to sit stupidly on the kitchen counter, watching the abandoned knife and vegetables lay limp against the wood of the chopping board.

You heard the shifting of fabric as Geto maneuvered his coat on, "Call me if you need anything."

Suguru's eyes were downcast as he continued, "I love you."

You felt your throat go dry as it bobbed; Suguru closed the door as softly as he could on his way out.

You can never tell the truth,

but you can tell something that sounds like it

You never called him.

Gojo leaned against the wall of the hallways in Jujutsu tech, as he awaited your response.

He quickly grew impatient.

"I said I killed him." You hummed in response, you'd like to imagine that you looked indifferent. You wouldn't let yourself cry, not in front of Gojo, not because of Suguru.

"He had it coming." You willed yourself to say.

As you turned to continue your journey down the hallway, Gojo beckoned you to turn around with a scoff.

"One more thing," He lifted his blindfold to meet your eyes.

"He told me he loved you."

You let out a dry laugh, your fingernails were digging crescents into your palms, "Of course he did."

You walked down the empty hallway, leaving Gojo to his own thoughts. Heavy breaths could be heard as you attempted to calm yourself down. Why would Geto say that?

Then you remembered.

He can never tell the truth.

He can never—

#geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #getou suguru x reader #gojo satoru #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #shoko ieiri #yuji itadori #fushiguro megumi #self indulgent #getou suguru

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demonslayedher · 3 years

Text

Love Breathing Not Fully Bloomed: A Kanroji Mitsuri Meta

Some thoughts that have been brewing since we got a deeper look at the birth of the Breath of Love in the Rengoku Gaiden, boiling down to that Mitsuri had not yet reached her full potential.

SPOILERS AHEAD~!

While we don't have any reliable timeline for this series, we know that Mitsuri has been practicing swordsmanship for only about two years, likely less. The "two years ago" stated in her flashback to her failed engagement was back when she was 17, so let's be generous and say that was 2.5 years ago. But, we must also keep in mind that she's been a Pillar for at least several months by the time Swordsmith Village arc takes place. The Pillar meeting Tanjiro met her at was possibly her first of the twice-a-year meetings, but I wouldn't put it anywhere beyond her second. After the failed marriage discussion she would have spent some unknown period of time dying her hair and starving herself, before deciding to join the Demon Slayers. She accomplished her Flame Breathing training under Rengoku in six months, roughly half the time most Breath users train under their cultivators. Tokito is noted for becoming a Pillar in two months after taking up the sword, but Mitsuri probably stumbled her way into Pillarhood within months of passing the Final Selection; making the Kamaboko squad's quick ascension up the ranks look like nothing as she blows away the usual five years it takes someone to become a Pillar (or if they are especially skilled, more like two years, as stated by Gotouge in Taisho Secrets). While the way of swordsmanship and battle became Mitsuri’s everyday way of life, thereby leading to huge improvements, that's a really short time to develop actual battlefield experience. Among the Pillars, she is the least seasoned or naturally inclined for battle, it really is by accident of her bizarre strength that she’s gotten so far. That's hardly surprising, given her background and motives. For context, her interests are very domestic what with all the pet-keeping (four cats, a rabbit, and a whole hive of bees, by my count) and sweets and recipes, and her stated hometown would have been in the heart of developing city culture, with shopping and restaurants and movie theaters. There would have been no exposure to swords and the culture that goes with them, making her justifiably embarrassed of how monstrously her strength makes her stick out. Her inability to fit into a normal family life makes her feel worthless, even if she does have a base of love and support. (*Put a pin in these things, I'll be drawing a comparison to another character later.*) However it was that she was introduced to the Corp, it must have taken a huge leap of hope and/or desperation to leave the otherwise comfortable lifestyle for a life of battle. While Rengoku's home is not terribly far from hers, it still would have been a total break from the life she knew before, so she must had been betting everything on both her ultimate wishes; living in accordance with who she is, and finding a husband. Let's refer to these respectively as Wish A and Wish B. Note that "becoming a strong swordsman" and "elimating demons" are not among these goals; they are merely means to her goals. Now if we try to to follow her path as a swordsman chronologically, six months since taking up the sword under Rengoku, she's passed the Final Selection. On a mission with Rengoku, who now treats her as a peer, she's nonetheless filled with shame that she hasn't really picked up much skill and just waves her sword around with brute strength.

I love this bit of characterization because that is so, so easy a trap to fall into with martial arts. Even if you understand things in theory and do your best on proper form when taking things slowly, all of that very easily goes out the window when you're using them in the heat of the moment. The less experience you have, the far more likely one is to do this. Falling back on just throwing a punch as hard as you can instead of throwing a good punch makes Mitsuri so, so, so relatable. She is a normal girl with abnormal strength, not a battle genius. Like us normal people, and even like Tanjiro, she can only improve her battle sense with experience. This puts her in a very different situation than the other Pillars, who she meets either when they are very experienced, or when they are outright geniuses. This gives her a different sense of shame, which we'll come back to. While feeling ashamed that she can't live up to Rengoku's teaching, her fighting suffers with this lack of self-confidence (which, again, makes her very relatable because this is applicable to just about all of us normal people), and she only realizes the Breath technique when applying it through her own unique emotion-driven fighting style. While she goes on to name this Breath after Wish B (given that this is a romantic version of "Love"), it's powered more by a philanthropic love, realized only when she is protecting other people. This becomes a newly discovered third wish, as well as a source of confidence.

In the side story novels, Mitsuri later on suffers another blow to her confidence which compromises her fighting and makes her fall back into wanting to hide herself, for she is ashamed of how her motives compare to Shinobu's. Besides Shinobu's encouragement and giving Mitsuri a venue in which to openly express her love and appreciation for other people, another child whom Mitsuri has rescued looks up to her and says a few things to restore her confidence. Getting that feedback and being able to express herself openly (Wish A) is the cycle that powers Mitsuri's confidence and keeps her ultimate weakness, shame, at bay. This, combined with words of encouragement from Ubuyashiki and Rengoku, is what really empowers her to embrace her unusual constitution and develop the Breath of Love. While it's said that this is an offshoot of the Flame Breathing she's formally trained in, it's more of a stretch than the relationship between something like Snake Breathing stemming from Water Breathing, and more like she's hit at the basis of Breathing itself to create a technique suited to her, like Inosuke did with his entirely self-taught Beast Breathing. (*Put a pin in this self-created Breath style thing, we're going to come back to this too.*) So, Mitsuri went on to become the Love Pillar. With the rate at which Pillars cycle in and out (based on how many the Upper Moons claim to have killed), I have to wonder how fast the Lower Moons getting cycled in and out too. Even though these are her peers and we never see any other Pillars looking down on her, she sees herself in a lower position than the rest of them. Case in point, one thing I love that the anime did is that when Tokito chips the rock at Tanjiro and tells him off, Mitsuri is silently fangirling, and then when Tokito orders the Kakushi to draw back/leave, Mitsuri silently and automatically obeys and shrinks back. That wasn’t directed at you, silly!

Though her Breath requires confidence, she still has a ways to go. When we see her again later, she's in a position of being a protector to everyone around her; the swordsmiths and her juniors, and she's treated with the awe and respect and acceptance of a Pillar; in this kind of setting she is fully in accord with Wish A (reinforced by her less formal third wish) and, thanks to Shinobu's encouragement, not ashamed of Wish B, thereby eliminating a big part of her shame-based weakness. She's added all this power and just as importantly, experience to her preexisting raw strength and flexibility.

The experience is key here; she's gained a lot of battle sense since her first mission. She's not as taken off guard by demon abilities, and with her risen confidence, she's also gained more flexible thinking and can make quick adjustments in battle as needed.

Not entirely, though. At her core, she still relies on that brute strength.

Ultimately, though toward the end she thinks she might be overpowered after all, it's that boost of confidence and cycle of philanthropic love from her juniors and desire to protect them than she recovers and makes use of her mark. (I'm glad no one's told her that this means she's doomed to a short marriage, should she ever even get one.)

Following this historic feat; acting in a way that is natural to her and to her Breath to unlock a mark she didn't even know existed, she still feels a little shamed among the other Pillars for being so shamefully inarticulate about battle technique; despite this being what she's dedicated her life to. Again, it was never her natural desire to be a fighter, so it’s unsurprising that this part doesn’t come as naturally to her as it does to all those geniuses in the room.

Moving on to the battle with Nakime, this is mostly played for laughs because Mitsuri's lack of battle sense compared to other characters is put on full display. She's emotional from the get-go and easily overwhelmed and this affects her concentration drastically, leading to stupid mistakes and ultimately having to fall back on her brute strength to break through pieces of the fortress instead of survive and fight through observation. Getting called out on this is meant to help her, and she absolutely does her best to summon back her battle sense, but it's all downhill for Mitsuri and her Love Breathing technique from here.

As the battle with Muzan starts, that third wish is thrown back in her face as so many of her juniors die protecting her. Since he's powered by philanthropic love and confidence, she cannot recover any battle sense, and quickly falters so much that she must be removed from the battle rather than weigh everyone down. The difference between her and the other Pillars here is stark; her inexperience and lack of natural fighting inclination is, again, painfully obvious and relatable to a lot of readers. She has natural strength, but not natural talent. When she does return to battle, she only has that core strength to rely on again--no room for peace of mind, only brute emotional strength resulting in a panel that made me throw my fist in the air and cheer out loud because damn, that is hardcore, girl.

But, in the end, Mitsuri succumbs to her injuries, and only right before death does she get closer to Wish B. Even with Iguro's promise, it's too late.

This is super frustrating for a number of reasons, but if we're focused solely on the actualization of Love Breathing, it's because Iguro could have said something much, much, much sooner if he wasn't so ashamed of his own blood tainting her in this lifetime (not that she would have cared). Words from other people have such a huge influence on Mitsuri that if she had actualized Wish B, for which her Breath is named, she could have made humongous gains in confidence before being romantically loved, and having someone to openly shower in love. Imagine what she could have unlocked, if that shame she still carried for being too monstrous to be married could have been eliminated. But that's not all. What if the timeline had been different? What if she had not two, but five years’ experience? Or even more than that? What if, for a long duration of her experience as a swordsman, she was also experiencing a happy marriage? I invite you to consider the implications of a Mrs. Iguro Mitsuri who has the comfort and confidence of being herself with a husband, in addition to being in a leadership role in the Corp? A Mrs. Iguro who, with a little honesty from her husband who feels bothered that she’s embarrassed, stands up to Maeda-san and says that as a married woman she needs a more modest uniform?* A Mrs. Iguro who gained a level-headed battle sense that can only be refined through experience, not based in brute strength alone? She'd be such a happy badass. *(Not looking for a modern-era Western culture based debate on this; this is defined based on Mitsuri's desire for a proper Taisho Era marriage.) Now, remember those pins I put in place? Consider someone else who realized a natural Breath technique all on their own, who attained a mark without any intention to, who felt like a monster due to super human abilities that made them shamefully unable to fit into the ideal family life, despite only wanting a peaceful, happy wedded life? Someone who valued bonds with other people, a kind person who lived to protect others? Now, I'm not saying that Love Breathing is as powerful as the Breath of the Sun, or that Mitsuri is as innately powerful as Yoriichi (their natural skills were of different types entirely). But, as all Breath techniques stem from the same natural Sun Breathing source, Love Breathing might have found its way back a little closer to that source, in some way or another. Which is all to say, never look down on Love Breathing or on Mitsuri just because she didn't play as big of a role as the others in the final showdown. After all, that Breath was not yet all it could have been, and as a swordsman, she was not yet in full bloom.

#KnY fandom theories and meta #Kanroji Mitsuri #Kimetsu no Yaiba #Demon Slayer

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rose-colored-amy · 3 years

Text

So, this is a continuation to my extremely short one-shot Last Moments, Last Regrets, but it can be read as a stand-alone. Regardless, I'll leave the link of that one in here:

Also, thanks to @coeurhh for suggesting I write a second part. You're a sweetheart 🥰

She made a lovely fanart/gif, which I'm also sharing, of course:

Prompt: AU. Sakura's death goes unnoticed to everyone but the squad she protected with her life and Tsunade. Team Kakashi doesn't find out until the very end, when Naruto and Sasuke have already had their fight, and there's nothing to do about it but mourn the absence.

Warning: Mild Sasusaku and lots of angst. Team 7 sort-of-fluff (?)

—Blue Bird, Let Go—

"Hey, bastard... I know they really let us down, the village, I mean."

"Aa... "

"But I really think it's not all that bad. When we were I team, I knew you understood. It felt like having a brother, believe it."

They were watching their lives go by, shadows of unknown faces passing by them, not noticing their pain, or not caring whatsoever. Their backs were touching, but it was all cold and bleak; a bad memory. A clan slaughtered, a demon sealed. Two lonely boys wallowing in their own sadness.

"Well, even if I don't make it, I'm glad it was you, bastard—"

"Shut up, idiot." His voice sounded strained, even for his standards, but Sasuke was so tired he couldn't even bring himself to care.

"We're really dying, ah? Wanna say something? I do have things to say, 'cause there's no way I'm dying—"

"In silence?" Sasuke interrupted, but Naruto payed him no mind.

"Without telling you how much of an asshole you've been! I couldn't even keep my promise to Sakura-chan! She's gonna be so damn mad when she finds out, I'm sure she'll drag me back to life just to cave my face in—" He was rambling at that point, but it was just so comforting and normal to Sasuke that he didn't even acknowledge it anymore.

"Hn. Sakura... She..."

"She still loves you, asshole. I don't have any idea how it can be possible but—"

"I'm sorry..." It sounded rushed, but Naruto heard it perfectly, and in the darkness of their shared consciousness, Sasuke heard a resigned sigh.

"Well, it's not that bad. I cannot imagine dying beside anyone but you, bastard."

"Idiot..." He made a pause. "Me neither."

"You're both a pair of idiots!"

Suddenly, the unreadable mass of unrecognizable faces around them cleared, and one figure stood in front of them, pink eyebrows frowned in annoyance. Though this version of Sakura looked familiar, it was one none of the boys had seen in a long time. Genin, long-haired, Sakura was glaring at them, arms crossed.

"Sakura-chan! What are you doing in here?!"

Her eyes softened. "What, so I'm supposed to let you two die, after everything? No way in hell!"

"Sakura..."

"You!" She pointed at Sasuke, who flinched slightly at her rudeness. "I don't know what the hell happened, but I don't care. Lighten up and start being your moody self. We love you just like that! Don't act so repented and shit! If you're sorry stop looking like a lost puppy and start doing something about it, you asshole!" Her voice was raising with madness and it was slightly off putting to see what used to be a stuttering lovestruck preteen talking to him like that.

Naruto snorted at that, obviously delighted for not being at the receiving end of her wrath for once. It was short-lived, however.

"And you!" She pointed at the blonde; then crossed her arms. He jumped back in fright. "What is this? How dare you even consider dying after you promised to be the best goddamned Hokage in history?! Here I am, rooting for you, while you lay around like a lazy pig with your edgy bro there. You should be ashamed of yourself!" She scoffed.

Naruto's mouth was so wide open he could have caught a fly. "Lazy pig? Are you kidding?!"

Sasuke raised an eyebrow, half amused, half annoyed. "Edgy?"

Suddenly, the edges of their vision began to blurr, like a genjutsu being unravelled. "Ah, someone came to help you at last." Sakura seemed relieved. Strangely so.

"Hey, Sakura-chan! You know what? You're right. I'll be the best damn Hokage ever, believe it! Just you watch!" He threw a punch to the air.

Seemingly placated and pleased with his answer, she nodded. "I know so." Then, she turned to her other teammate, who was concentrating solely on her face, mismatched eyes softened as they'll ever be. "And you'll make sure he doesn't mess up, right?"

They shared a long silence. There was something strange about Sakura aside her appearance. He could tell. "Hn. I will..."

"Hey! I don't need him watching over—"

"Sure you don't." He countered sarcastically.

"Also..." They turned to her again. "I'm sorry."

"Wha—" Naruto stuttered. "What the hell would you be sorry for, Sakura-chan?! If anything, it's the bastard here who should be apologizing to you!"

"Sakura..." Sasuke seemed to be searching for the right words, but she couldn't let them go without them listening to her. To what she needed them to know. There wasn't much time left after all.

"I'm sorry, because I wasn't what you needed..." She closed her eyes, her pretty minty orbs. Her appearance suddenly shifted, before then now standing her true self, still dressed in the standard shinobi uniform of the alliance. Her forehead protector lost to whoever knows where. "And thank you. You both made me stronger. You made me appreciate what I had. And I'll always, always love you. Our moments together like team seven... I'll treasure them for all eternity."

"Sakura-chan..."

"I know Konoha wasn't the best to you both, but don't forget the good... The wholesome moments. It's all that matters in the end... Our bonds, the bonds you managed to forge with sweat and blood... The world we live in, the world that gave me the chance to meet you. To me, that's to be cherished. Forever."

The white light started overwhelming the rest. Even Sakura's features started dissapearing.

"Live. Just live." For that, she specifically stared at Sasuke, a soft smile playing on her lips. "And thank you."

Sasuke started racing towards her, hand stretched, a forebonding understanding shaking his bones. "Sakura!"

And then, they both lost consciousness.

When they woke up, aside from feeling like shit, the first thing that crossed their minds what the finality of Sakura's words. Tsunade was beside them, patching them up, with Kakashi beside her, silently watching over them.

"About time, brats! What were you think—"

"Baa-san." Naruto interrupted her, his voice the most serious she had heard him until then.

"Where's Sakura?" Sasuke finished for him, his eyes icy and detached, trying to keep his worry at bay.

But she didn't need to answer. Her chakra flow hesitated, spiking with sorrow. Her eyes glistening with unbearable loss. Kakashi, at her side, stared, eyes widened in comprehension.

She was gone by a long shot.

And they were just finding out.

...

Everybody had different ways of dealing with loss. Naruto helped rebuild the village along with everyone else, but he skipped his usual meals, his ramen left forgotten in his kitchen counter. His movements when sparring were sloppy at best, not just because of the new prosthetic limb, but also because his mind was clearly somewhere else. Usually, Shikamaru would drag him out his makeship house, like he had done when Jiraija was gone for good. Sometimes, he would bring Ino with him, who was suspiciously skinny and messier than normal. No makeup covering the dark circles under her eyes.

Kakashi spent more than usual at the memorial stone every day, tracing the newly marked name of the girl who once remained him of Rin but that had come to claim a place for herself in his heart. Also, he took more missions than it was allowed in a month, going so far as to pick up his ANBU mask again, which caused an altercation with Tsunade, who hadn't been sober in a long time and had been hoping to hand the Hokage seat to him.

Sai avoided the color pink for a long time.

Sasuke... Well, he dealed with loss the same as everyone else... Longing for the missing person to be there, itching to have the opportunity to say what he couldn't at the time. Wanting to be alone whenever they would reach for him... And he built a tomb for her in hopes to find some closure. Not that official, because there wasn't a body to bury, and it had no name, but it was enough for him. He would bring with him camellias every day, buying them at the Yamanaka's, where Ino would always glance at him in silent understanding.

One morning, on his way to her tomb, he spotted a young shinobi leaving a white lilly for her. When he came by, the child spoke without a care, like they were acquaintances. "This is Sakura-san's, right?"

"Hn." It wasn't really an answer, but the child seemed to understand anyway.

"You know? Mama and big sister are also buried in these grounds... I always talk to them and tell them about my day and stuff I want them to know!" He turned to the Uchiha, a smirk on his cherubic face. "I'm sure she would appreciate it as well." And just like that, he left without another word.

Sasuke sat on the ground, just in front of the stone, mismatched eyes half lidded. Sensing no one in the vicinity, he exaled a shaky breath, and his dam opened up, the words longing to be said broke the silence he had been wrapping around himself since he knew of her death:

"I miss you... I've been missing you since I first left."

#naruto #sasusaku #team 7 #naruto uzumaki #kakashi hatake #sakura haruno #sasuke uchiha #tsunade senju #post war #fanfiction #sai #ino yamanaka #angst

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tennessoui · 3 years

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#18 Prompt: Ohio in Pre-Slash,16/17 year old Anakin has had a crush on his Master for awhile but knows/thinks Obi-Wan would never return his feels. He's almost completely given up and is think about maybe finding a substitute outlet. Then Obi-Wan gets amnesia while they are stranded on an uninhibited planet. Their Locator Beacon only giving off a general area. Obi-Wans amnesia leaves out the Code, and that he's Anakins teacher so the Boy calls him Master so he MUST be Obi-Wans pet/slave.

ahh so i could easily see this going dubcon and smutty and if i were better i might have gone that way too but instead i made some pining fluff but i hope you still like it!!

18. Waking Up With Amnesia (Hurt!Obi-Wan, underage!pining!Anakin, misunderstandings)

Anakin does his level best to land the ship gently, he really does. But he can’t work miracles here, and the locals had damaged their hull quite effectively when they had shot at them as they descended from atmo.

Friendly negotiations, yeah right. When Anakin gets his hands on these guys, he’s gonna show them exactly how friendly Anakin can be. But first he has to make the landing. And then he has to make sure his master is okay. Failure on either of these fronts is not an option.

His master had just gotten up to go to the back to grab their identification. They had been talking, seriously for once and without anger or impatience laced through their words--he’d said he was proud to have him as his padawan, that Anakin had grown into a young man anyone would be fortunate to know.

Anakin had turned to watch his master leave, his shields raised high but his eyes stripped bare. He’d be eighteen in two months. Somehow he’d made it through most of his time as a Padawan already. With his impending adulthood comes the realization that he has no more time for words of anger or scorn, not directed to his master at least. In a few years at most, Obi-Wan would be free of him by all Jedi rules and obligations.

Now more than ever he has to convince his master to want to keep him around. It’s a grueling task, made more difficult by how terribly difficult Anakin had been in the last, say, nine years. What with his pod-racing, his temper, his pride, his stubbornness--his huge and achingly obvious hero worship turned crush on the older Jedi.

But he can’t lose Obi-Wan, can’t even stand the idea of his master leaving him. The idea of missions alone while his master cavorts around the galaxy without hm--with another Padawan?--is absolutely intolerable. No. He has to convince the Jedi to want him as more than a Padawan. To want him as a friend, as a partner.

(In his wildest fantasies, as more than that, too.)

But now, as if the Force has heard his thoughts and is punishing him, the ship is crashing and his master has been hurt somewhere behind him but he can’t check without losing control of the vessel completely. He just has to--land--on this wide stretch--of karking sand.

It’s not his best landing, but they’re on the ground at least. The first thing he does is, of course, throw off his own landing protector and rush to Obi-Wan’s side, pulling his body out of the mangled remains of their ship and into the light and heat of outside. His master is unconscious, but he doesn’t seem to be bleeding terribly nor fatally. Now, and only now, he thanks the Force.

That’s when he notices the startling wet and spreading red across his master’s usually pristine robes.

Never mind, he tells the Force, fumbling with Obi-Wan’s belt in a panic. He needs to treat the wound, which means he needs to see it, which means he needs to get these outer robes off, as well as his master’s inner tunic.

“If I’m ever undressing you again, I swear to the Force you better be cognizant,” he mutters to himself as he rips at the fabric of the thin undershirt. “So many layers and not one of them protects you from debris, how is that fair?” He continues as he pushes Obi-Wan to the side far enough so he can see the man’s bare shoulder and the cut itself. It doesn’t look deep, at least, but it is long, spanning at least Anakin’s entire hand.

How much bacta do they have? Is their distress beacon working? Does Anakin want it to be working? Half of him thinks no, because what if the locals show up to finish them off? Half of him thinks yes, because he’d love to get his hands on the creatures responsible for Obi-Wan’s current state now.

It’s a very un-Jedi thought, but Anakin can’t even feel bad for it. He goes back into the wreckage of their ship--and he knows already he’s going to hear about this from the Council, as if anyone else could have done better--and grabs their first aid kit.

There’s bandages and bacta and that’s the important thing, he reminds himself. He’ll fix up the wound and then worry about why Obi-Wan hasn’t woken up yet.

But. Well. There’s not a great way to patch it up. The only thing he can think of is to give Obi-Wan’s form a solid thing to lean his head against while keeping his lower back pressed against the durasteel. It’s an awkward angle, but any other would result in Obi-Wan getting a face full of sand, and Anakin wouldn’t do that to his worst enemy, let alone his master.

Look. There’s no delicate way to put it. He straddles his lap and brings his head so it can rest on his chest as he works.

Of course this is when Obi-Wan begins to stir. Anakin tightens his hold on him and tries to send feelings of relief and calm through the Force. He needs Obi-Wan to not startle away from him until he finishes putting on the bacta. They can be embarrassed about this later. They’ll laugh about this later.

“You’re fine, Master,” Anakin murmurs at what he decides to take as a garbled word of confusion. “I crashed the ship, you can punish me later.”

Anakin can feel Obi-Wan’s signature spike around him, but he’s too intent on his task to figure out what specifically his master is feeling.

“What--” Obi-Wan mumbles, hand coming up to brace his head.

Anakin leans back as he finishes, tapping gently on Obi-Wan’s cheek until the man lifts his eyes to look at him. They’re dazed and confused.

“Master?” Anakin asks.

Obi-Wan’s brow furrows. “Master?”

Now Anakin’s getting very worried. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he demands.

Obi-Wan blinks. “You’re...not holding up any fingers,” he says, words becoming clearer the longer he talks. “I’m sorry

“Master,” he says slowly. “How are you feeling?” “Confused,” Obi-Wan says. “And...worried. And sick. Why are you calling me that?” “Calling you what, Master?”

“That. Master,” Obi-Wan looks sick just saying the word. Anakin scrambles up off his lap and kneels in the sand in front of him.

Panic clogs at his throat, making it even harder to force words out. “This isn’t a funny joke, Master.”

Now Obi-Wan looks distressed. “I’m not joking!” He looks wildly around and then clutches at his head in pain. “I don’t know who you are. Who I am. And I need you to stop calling me master because it’s making me feel sick to my stomach knowing that apparently I’m the kind of person who owns slaves because I know it’s wrong.”

Anakin blinks. It’s a lot to process. “You don’t remember?” is the first thing he says. He wants to say anything or anyone or perhaps the Jedi Order you’ve been a part of since you were a baby, but instead what comes out is, “Me?”

“I don’t remember myself, how am I supposed to remember you? Did you expect me to?”

Anakin stays quiet because well. Yeah. He hadn’t thought anything could really truly make his master forget him. Not time, not distance, not anything. Looking at Obi-Wan looking at him now without any sort of familiarity feels like all of his worst nightmares coming true.

His master glances down at his half-dressed state and then back to Anakin suspiciously.

It’s a harsh expression without the fond exasperation that usually hovers in the back of Obi-Wan’s eyes when he sees Anakin.

“What were you doing?” Obi-Wan asks him. “Why were you...touching me?”

“Nothing!” Anakin yelps, knowing that is the worst response he could have given. “I mean. I was tending to you, Master.”

He winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Ah, kark.

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps, looking furious. Anakin wants to explain that he can’t not, that Master is as much as Obi-Wan’s name to him as Padawan is Anakin’s. “You mean to say I’m such a terrible person that I don’t just own a slave but a pleasure slave?”

Anakin thinks he must be blushing to the roots of his hair. “No!” he yells, much louder than he intends. “No, you don’t own me, M--Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan mouths his name as if it’s a new word. Anakin is about to break into hysterical laughter.

“I’m your apprentice,” Anakin forges ahead. “We use Master as a term of respect for our teachers.” He adds, “I was tending to your wound,” just so Obi-Wan doesn’t next think that Anakin was trying to take advantage of him or something. There’s only so many misconceptions he can deal with in one sitting, especially with the amount of panic that’s raging through his brain.

Obi-Wan looks achingly hopeful. Anakin supposes that without the memory of years of emotional suppression training, he’ll be able to see what his master is feeling more easily. He wonders if he could get Obi-Wan to laugh or smile. He’d kill for one unbridled grin from the other man, although there’s nothing joyful about the situation they’re in right now.

“You’re the best man I know, Obi-Wan,” Anakin tells him softly. “I know you don’t remember right now, but I promise you’d never do that to someone. You’re good. And honest and brave and kind and…” he trails off and looks away, crossing his arms over his chest as he’s hit with the reminder of everything he stands to lose if Obi-Wan’s memory loss can’t be undone. “We’ll get this fixed. It’s just temporary. I won’t let it be permanent.” He says the last part fiercely and mostly to himself. “I won’t.”

Obi-Wan smiles, just slightly and reaches out a hand. Perhaps his need to comfort a distressed Anakin is simply instinctive. “I believe you,” he whispers back. “I trust you.”

Anakin beams. And then he thinks of something else. For a second, he wonders about whether or not he should ask the question that’s burning up his mind, but he needs to know now that he’s asked himself. “Ma--Obi-Wan, why did you think that I was. Um. A pleasure slave?”

Obi-Wan’s blush is a thing of wonder. It could single-handedly keep them both warm on Hoth itself.

“Because of how we were positioned when we woke up,” Obi-Wan mumbles, burying his face in his hands. “And because you look like that.” The last part is said from behind his fingers.

Some sort of unfamiliar fire lights itself in Anakin’s stomach. “I look like what?” he prompts, barely daring to breathe.

But this Obi-Wan must not remember why he shouldn’t always be straightforward with the truth, especially to Anakin who he’s said he trusts.

(Obi-Wan trusts him!)

“Beautiful,” Obi-Wan says, so hushed and embarrassed that Anakin almost can’t hear it over the sound of his heart beating.

Inappropriately for their current situation, Anakin wants to crow in victory as the flame inside him grows larger.

Obi-Wan trusts him. At least on some level. Instinctively. And a part of him, stripped of his Jedi code and teachings and lifestyle, thinks that Anakin is beautiful.

He puts a name to the burning in his chest. It’s hope.

#ah no not rereading this to even in proofread #its nap time #asks #my fics #obikin #(preslash obikin)#prompt fill

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