#the others are much harder because i have SUCH imagery in my head... and exactly ZERO skills to make it lol

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

i made a mistake of thinking about animatics and rapidly had like 6 songs/scenarios stuck in my head for these two

naturally instead of actually making any animatic i poured all efforts into making mock covers lol

songs/youtube links (for anyone interested):

Jack

Neoni - Loser

Phineas & Ferb (Carl) - I'm evil for extra credit

Imagine Dragons - Enemy (But also for Jack I kinda prefer Annapantsu cover if only for the 'rap' part xD it fits him better imho)

Wuya

K/DA (Evelynn) - Villain

Wander Over Yonder (Dominator) - I'm the bad guy

Devon Cole - W.I.T.C.H.

#xiaolin showdown #jack spicer #wuya #xs wuya #ngl the ones from cartoon are the easiest to do because the og template is already there so i might end up doing them because #i keep giggling when i imagine scenarios and its just very funny #the others are much harder because i have SUCH imagery in my head... and exactly ZERO skills to make it lol #i dont know how to do video effects TT_TT #ive been drawin these for a month!i wish i could pour even half the effort i gave for mock covers into actually making those animatics #noticing the pattern of having angsty songs for jack and underlining lesbian energy songs for wuya

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 62 – The Ballad of Perilous Graves by Alex Jennings

This is the latest book I never would have heard of if it wasn’t for an award nomination (WFA for Best Novel, in this case). Overall, I was left dearly wishing I had liked it more than I did – it was so thoroughly soaked in imagery and references to a whole milieu I only barely know enough about to catch all the references flying over my head. Unfortunately by the final act the whole thing just collapses into a mess of spectacle without much in the way of connective tissue or context.

The story follows Perilous “Perry” Graves, his kid sister, and his best friend/crush Peaches (who is clearly an ersatz Pippy Longstocking but for some reason this is almost literally the only reference the book doesn’t explicitly acknowledge). They live in Nola, a fantastical alternate New Orleans full of zombies, animate graffiti, sky trolleys, and music that is indistinguishable from magic. After the magical songs that sustain the city escape/are stolen, it’s up to the three of them to get them back before Stagger Lee (the song) hunts down and kills the others for his mysterious partner. There’s also an extended subplot with Casey, a recently returned Katrina refugee in what seems to be our world, discovering that his and his cousin’s graffiti and other art is very literally magic and can come alive when he isn’t looking. Things just generally get messier and harder to explain from there.

Above everything else, the book’s a love letter to New Orleans. The sheer fascination and affection Jenning’s has for the place just about oozes out of every page. The geography and the culture and especially and overwhelmingly the art. Now I know barely anything about modern pop music and even less about classic jazz, but Jennings is either a massive fan or an incredibly confident bullshitter, and either way it’s an absolutely loadbearing part of the book – famous jazz musicians appear as magicians and ghosts, snatches and stanzas of different songs are quoted liberally, and of course the songs themselves are the driving engine of the plot. I, at least, just kind of let all the references wash over me and try to figure them out from context, and also started listening to the namedropped songs as I read. But even without really knowing the subject, the sheer love for the culture that just suffuses the book is really incredible endearing. Which is good, because it’s absolutely the main actual draw here.

The dialogue also deserves a shoutout – both because there’s a fun line you can draw between the characters that talk like actual people and the ones that intentionally present themselves like cartoon characters, and also because it’s the first book I can recall reading this year where people speak in AAVE. Plus, as a matter of style, when songs or certain ghosts were speaking telepathically the book used a different font for what they were saying, which is the sort of flourish that I always like when it’s not too overused.

While the surreal, exaggerated sort of magical absurdism works very well for the setting of Nola, the plot is...just kind of a mess. You almost get the sense the book was written in one sprint and then never revised – the protagonists are constantly getting help out of nowhere exactly as they need it to solve their latest problem, and revelations of plot critical information exactly when it’s needed to keep things moving abound, whether there’s any setup or justification for it or not. The metaphysics that underpin Nola are all vague and confused, which really wouldn’t be an issue if the entire third act didn’t turn on on the villain being wrong about them. The end result is a finale that feels like a bunch of big set piece scene the author had been looking forward to writing without any real connective tissue linking or supporting them.

Also, like – it is a major part of Perry’s arc that a year before the events of the book he had a run in with a monstrous caricature of a Jim Crow era hanging judge, and it has traumatized him sufficiently that he had steadfastly refused to try and do any magic since. The judge is later revealed to be an escaped bit of living graffiti, with absolutely zero relevance or deeper significance, and never appears on-screen again. Which just feels like some sort of narrative malpractice, honestly.

I’m also just left a bit disappointed with the villain – or, specifically, the wasted potential. Like, the idea of The Storm as this primeval elemental force that wants nothing more than to drown the world is a pretty great villain for a magical New Orleans, honestly. And there was something there of graffiti and music and just art being this engine of joyous hubris letting the city exist in defiance of its inevitable doom – but you really have to dig to get at it, and most of the other personal plots and heroes journey stuff burying it was far less compelling to me.

Anyway yeah, in the end this very much felt like it was style over substance, but on the other hand the style was excellent. In the end I kind of feel like this was ill-served as a book? Not that it’s necessarily impossible to write a novel that’s mostly about music, but this was really begging for a medium that could include a soundtrack.

#book review #the ballad of perilous graves #alex jennings #sff #urban fantasy

[blondebibliophiliac]

I've been reading the novels by Sarah J. Maas since I was 12. Throne of Glass was brought into the class library and after hearing the teacher read the summary, I beat the other kids in raising my hand for first dibs on reading it. And I am beyond thankful for it.

Throne of Glass was my first series obsession. I loved the world, the plot, the sheer imagery that came to me when reading. I've always been able to read and play the book in my head like a movie. But these books became something else entirely. It's a world I wanted to live in, to witness. I wanted to BE in these books.

Scanning the local library for new books, I happened to find A Court of Thrones and Roses. I was so excited to see that my favorite author was the creator and checked out the first two that were available and spent an illegal amount of lost sleep reading the new series.

So, for years, I've been getting her books. For birthdays and Christmas (exactly 6 months apart, which is perfect because Maas usually announces a book release or releases a book in that time frame) I got the next book available, and I think my family is happy that there's something actually ON my Christmas list.

After A Court of Silver Flames, I didn't know what to do with myself. I've been pining for a novel that centers around Elaine and Azriel and their respective journeys on finding themselves (much like acosf was for Nesta). Then Sarah drops Crescent City. I had put off buying the book because I didn't know what to think. Reading the summaries, I knew I wanted it but not as desperately as the others. But, after the release of House of Sky and Breath (cc2) I decided it was finally time to dive back into books. Again, so thankful I did.

Crescent City is, much like her other novels, a masterpiece. And it's now making me want a crossover novel of the three series. But, I have some thoughts.

SPOILERS AND THEORIES AHEAD

1. If Rhysand and the gang help Bryce in Midgard, it would be an easy win. The hardest part would be Bryce figuring out a way to teleport back to Midgard from Prythian with the entire crew to help. And, obviously, she can't at the moment. There would also be the adjustment of being on a planet where no one but two people (that we know so far) speak her language. AND there's the adjustment of basically going back in time (no tech, no modern novelties, zip).

IM THINKING, the reason why the book will be the longest Maas has written is because Bryce will find out more about where the citizens of Midgard come from and the truth of the Asteri. That would require her to read, and also might end up searching in the Dusk Court (Dusk's Truth, remember?) for some answers.

2. IF Aelin and her people do make an appearance, wouldn't that make it harder? Another planet where there's the possibility they moved on from the Old Language and even differs from the language of Prythian. Language barrier, on top of technology barriers. Midgard is leagues ahead, with phones, laptops, and modern technology. Even Terrasen didn't have that. So, what then?

3. If any of the main characters from any of these novels die, I will die with them.

Sarah is an amazing author, and, clearly from the amount of fans she's amassed (haha, get it?), we've all grown extremely attached to the characters that she's created. ToG and ACOTAR has reached peace, but Crescent City is dragging them back in. If anyone dies, a part of my soul will never heal.

In conclusion, I love Sarah J. Maas and her books that break my heart then reassembles it.

#crescent city #throne of glass #a court of thorns and roses #hoeab #bryce quinlan #hunt athalar #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #feyre archeron #rhysand #nesta archeron #cassian #elaine archeron #azriel #ruhn danaan

[jaythelay]

Y'know what OOT through WW did best?

Leaving alot up to creative interpretation. I love art where memories of Young Link's adventures are aside with Link's adult adventure. It's not something explored that heavily in-game, but these characters and situations are similar to toys. I mean, does anyone think Link back-hopped everywhere? He probably took a nap at some point.

But that doesn't need represented, that's apart of the Player's creative interpretation. It doesn't need fleshed out in-game because it can't beat the imagery in my head, much like with horror. Link sleeping at a firepit isn't as interesting as the DnD campaign going on in my head at Lon Lon Ranch with me sleeping outside getting bit by bats after failing to sleep inside the barn.

Then Majora's Mask adds onto that creative interpretation, the playing with toys aspect becomes a bit more serious allowing deeper introspection. If you think about it, Link went through some fucked existential shit in OOT. MM could be his bad dream in someone's interpretation.

Bare in mind, I don't mean interpretation as like, headcannon or anything canon. Like in DnD ya gotta sleep eventually, but not everyone does and it's just interpretation that at some point the adventure takes a break. Regardless, a Video Game isn't great to have a "Roll for Sleep" mechanic and thus, it comes down to interpretation.

Not whether Link is a bottom or Malon's dad Mario makes his own Booble Miluk.

Idunno how to put it, very few games really give me the same feeling as Loz, Kingdom Hearts is a near second, but it's smaller world design makes it harder to interpret much in-game, though world travel is cool.

I guess it's also because, Link don't speak, Gordan Freeman will elicit the same creative spirit of creative interpretation, and I think it's because you yourself are never shoved out of the way for the writer to tell you what to feel, but instead, that it's time to feel.

I think alot of that magic was lost in Twilight Princess for me, because so much player agency is thrown to the wayside for plot so often. Interpretation can still happen, but it's more plot driven than character controlled at times. I also found it out of character for Link to say the Fuck word and that be his only line but that'a a whole other conversation. I think OOT did something few games have with time travel and a voiceless MC that allows the player to fill in gaps for themselves that don't need filled by the developer most of the time. What does Link feel after going into the future and being an adult now? That's rather existentially alot.

Idunno, that generation of games is difficult to describe. The low poly models give a toyification effect, the kind where it didn't matter if your wrestler toy was always screaming, he wasn't in your mind. With all the high polies and what not, we know exactly every possible detail and are no longer along for a journey but on a highly orchestrated disney ride.

OOT/MM have some deep flaws, but the creative energy it bleeds can't be killed until the generation from it moves on. Idunno if the same feelings can be had today as to then, and with flatscreens furthering away from retro titles, these game's visuals continue to lose alot of the toyification effect in place of "bad grafix!" despite 4k being more than able to emulate CRTs if handled well.

It's Insane that technology makes old tech look worse when on it, but not in comparison. If ya haven't seen CRT comparisons, please do, your entire perspective of retro game visuals will flip and an entire generation will be understood better. Fill your humanity with the knowledge of others or some shit.

Anyways, Link was definitely not a bottom in OOT because he was too young to know what that means and I don't think Sex Ed was great in Hyrule at the time. Especially when you're sleeping for 7 years. Ludicrous. All of it.

#the legend of zelda: ocarina of time

[i-like-sparkly-things]

Right in front of you

A Halstead!sister

Jay held a strong grip on your upper arm as he led you out to the school hall. "What the hell was that Y/N? Are you happy now? God.... I can't believe you cheated!" he sneered, "EYES UP HERE Y/N!! "

"I'm sorry" you sighed, locking eyes with Jay, silently praying that he would let this go. It was only one time anyway. It wasn't a big deal.

But he let out a hollow laugh, "Thirty percent, Y/N, THIRTY PERCENT. You're going to have to do better than a half-ass apology. What exactly are you sorry for? Huh? For cheating? Or being caught?"

Requested : Yes by @study-coffee-chicago : They found out she cheated on a test in high school...and Jay's the one who has to pick her up.

Warnings : angry!Jay (lots of it), alcohol, swearing, anxiety attacks

Note : I am so so so sorry this so longg 😭 I ended up so far away from the actual request kayela please don't block mee 😭 butt I've learned alot in writing abt active and passive voices and using more imagery Yayy!! I'm so glad that yall are ok with my grammar thank uu🥺

MASTERLIST HERE

The piles of homework and flashcards you needed to memorize had no end in sight, and now that Will was taking nightshifts along with his usual double shifts, and intelligence was tracking down an underground drug cartel, you spent most days alone, allowing your mind to engulf you.

Every time you sat down to study, you felt a striking pain in your chest. In mere seconds the air was sucked out of your lungs and you found yourself panting, desperate to get oxygen back into your body.

You would be surrounded by books and worksheets and you could swear the walls of your room were closing in towards you, trapping you in a sea of incomplete work.

You failed to follow the schedules and to do lists you had made for yourself. Staring at them, hoping the essays would write themselves.

All you needed, was a break. A moment to relax from anything and everything.

So when your best friend mentioned that her brother used to drink a little before he appeared for an exam, your mind was quick to catch on.

Last night you had borrowed a little bit of beer from Jay's stash of alcohol and took a few sips of it as you studied.

The more you drank, the less bitter it became. It was a weird, new sensation, but it worked nonetheless.

Except now, you were sitting in the girls bathroom at school, ramaging through your notes, trying to recollect what you had learned yesterday.

You saw what you had underlined and highlighted— names in pink and important dates in yellow—but your mind came up blank.

Flipping the pages you saw people in wigs, and castles burning to the ground —None of which you recognized.

A wave of anxiety rippled through you unable to comprehend your next thought —you were going to fail.

Your head was throbbing as you ran a hand down face, massaging your temples trying to calm yourself down.

You took out your water bottle that you had filled with beer and swallowed a few gulps, hoping that it would help you think straight.

You groaned, feeling the sting of alcohol at the back of your throat, popping some mints into your mouth, you ran towards the exam hall.

***

Your foot bounced on the polished wood floors as sweat pooled on your forehead.

You thought you were careful —only taking a peek from your friends answer sheet when Mrs.Ling's back was facing you.

Everything would have worked out if it wasn't for that kid sitting behind you. In a split second your teacher turned around, when he dropped his pen, to see you peering over your partner's desk.

Now you were sitting in the principles office praying that Jay wouldn't be the one picking you up.

You could already imagine his anger at you for pulling him away from his case, only to find you cheated.

Unfortunately luck was not on your side today.

You dare not look at Jay as he entered the office, letting out a huff as he sat down. You could feel the rage emitting him, tension filling the room, as he burned holes looking at you.

"I'll get straight to the point" Your principal started.

"Please" Jay growled, struggling to contain himself. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, when he got the call saying that you had cheated on your midterms.

You and Will were alike,at least he thought so, both good at science and math but weak at geography and history. Nonetheless you continued to secure good grades for the most part.

"Y/n here, was caught cheating from a classmates answer sheet. Our teacher caught her red handed. I truly did not expect this from you. These midterms cost thirty percent of your grade..... "

Pretty soon his voice was muffled like he was getting farther and farther away from you. His figure swayed in front of you as you squinted your eyes to keep him in the center of your vision.

" You are suspended, Mrs halstead"

Your eyes widened , your body choosing the perfect time to bring out what little beer you had taken when you heard those words, letting the alcohol mix with the adrenaline.

"WHAT??!! " Damn, alcohol really bought out your courage as Jay stared at you in shock at your audacity.

"Y/n, your lucky I'm letting you retake the exam. That's only because you've had a clean record so far. I strongly suggest you start preparing early Ms. halstead" your principal said in a firm but monotone voice that left you speechless.

Jay held a strong grip on your upper arm as he led you out to the school hall. "What the hell was that Y/N? Are you happy now? God.... I can't believe you cheated!" he sneered, "EYES UP HERE Y/N!! "

Oh god. Every now and then, the ground would sway beneath you, tiles shifting in your vision. But you counted your steps, carefully putting one foot in front of the other, not wanting Jay to find out what else you had done........ until now.

You tilted your head, only to be met with your brother's piercing stare but little did he know, now it made it infinitely harder to concentrate on your walking.

"I'm sorry" you sighed, locking eyes with Jay, silently praying that he would let this go. It was only one time anyway. It wasn't a big deal.

But he let out a hollow laugh, "Thirty percent, Y/N, THIRTY PERCENT. You're going to have to do better than a half-ass apology. What exactly are you sorry for? Huh? For cheating? *Or being caught?*"

***

You rested your head on the seat as Jay entered the truck, flinching, when he slammed the door shut. Your pounding headache was getting worse by the minute, as your ears started to ring.

You blinked a few times squinting to focus on the road ahead of you but the fast-moving cars and the loud horns made you feel like your head was going to explode.

"Y/n," he addressed you, much calmer now.

You forced yourself to turn to your brother, who wore a confused expression.

But the moment he saw your deshelfed hair and your cracked lips, a wave of worry crashed over him. What the hell?

The truck came to a stop at a red light and Jay immediately scanned you over "Y/n?" he grabbed your chin, his jaw dropping, as he came face to face with reality.

"Are you drunk!!?" he barked , steam basically pouring out of his ears.

But your pleading eyes and empty silence gave him the answer he needed. "Are you kidding me??" he snarled as he slammed the steering wheel.

Oh God no. A blinding pain ripped through your head when Jay's palms made contact with the hard plastic. You winched turning your head away from your furious brother, letting out a whimper.

Jay's eyes widened at the sound, his heart breaking, realizing the pain you were in.

If he was going to be mad at you or at least punish you, you needed to be sober.

He stepped on the pedal as the light turned green taking a few breaths, trying to calm himself down.

With the vice lords reclaiming their territory and selling uncut fentanyl, bodies were dropping all over the city most of them being kids.

Kids..... your age.

Every kid at the morgue, just reminded him of you. He saw parents sobbing, begging for their kids to come back but Jay new better. They were never going to come home. Ever.

So he made it a priority to catch these ruthless creatures. He made it a priority over his sleep, over nine hours shifts and unknown to him, over spending time with you.

"Hey , hey" he whispered, not wanting to hurt you again, "We'll talk about this later ok? for now...... just..... it's ok..... I've got you" here reached out his hand, the other still on the steering wheel, to slowly rub your back as you tried to breath through the pain.

" I got you"

***

Jay wrapped a hand around you allowing you to hold onto him for support.

Silently, he deposited you on the couch, laying you down. He knew that he wasn't in any state to talk to you. He needed to clear his mind from his racing thoughts and rueful images of dying teenagers.

His phone rang, indicating that the district was awaiting him. "Here" he reluctantly shook your shoulders "Y/n, I need to go ok? Will will be here soon"

***

Almost half an hour had passed and you were waiting for Will to get out of the shower. You'd heard Jay explain everything to him over the phone.

You thought about how disappointed he would be.

Will —being the nerd he was— always helped you with your projects and gave you pop quizzes during breakfast, before your exams. He taught you how to organize flashcards just like he did in med school.

Even through your blurry thoughts, the image of Will's betrayed face and embarrassed eyes, knowing you cheated, lingered on your mind.

Your body was all over the place. Tiny noises echoing through your ear. Your muscles simultaneously aching and loose.

You were shivering as you tried to curl up into a ball. Your body trying to hold what little heat it had within itself.

But nothing stopped your tears.

You felt water drops make their way down your cheeks forming small splotches of water on the cushion you laid your head on.

And you didn't bother to wipe them away.

Will more or less was in the same state you were in. There was a multi-vehicle accident on the highway and victims were piling in the ED. He was running from one treatment room to the other, waiting to get back home and crash.

Will walked over to you with a huge glass of water and an advil, gently  nudging you to sit up.

Your head still pounded, your eyes zoning in and out of the figure in front of you "Y/n, here drink the whole glass and take this" Will soothed, placing the glass and the pill in your hand "I—I'm sorry" You whispered, distracting yourself from Will's eyes.

Will knew he should be angry. Just like Jay was but he couldn't bring himself to blaming you, not until he had the full story anyway.

You looked so petite on the enormous couch, your legs folded on top of each other, arms shaking as you drowned the glass of water along with the Advil.

Your red puffy eyes and tear strained cheeks,were a contrast from your usual self. or he thinks. He's been pretty busy lately, so he's not too sure. " We'll talk about it later. I'm not angry. I promise"

He assured and was about to head to bed himself when you grabbed his wrist.

If he wasn't angry at you then maybe— just maybe—he would help you.

"Stay" You pleaded , the word falling from your lips just as easily as it had, many, many times before.

And just like before, you were met with Will's soft brown eyes filled with sympathy, ready to help. Ready—to be by your side.

He's slowly nodded climbing onto the couch, next to you. He wrapped an arm around you and you nestled into him, laying your head on his chest.

You found some comfort as he embraced you, talking you under his arm and encompassing you in his warmth.

Holding on to him, you hoped that he would take your pain away, just like he did when you were little.

***

Will woke up to an uncomfortable feeling of something —or someone—   tugging at his shirt.

He slowly opened his eyes allowing them to adjust to the light as he felt another a tug at his side. He looked over to you, but your eyes were shut, brimming with tears, your arm laid across his chest.

You were holding on to Will , using him as a lifeline, grounding you from the pain.

You felt a hand squeezing your own, stopping you from gripping the fabric "Y/n?" You opened your eyes to look up at will who had tears of his own, staring at the state you were in "it's okay, I'm here, I'm right here"

He encircles you, tighter than before, whispering soothing assurances into your hair.

***

With Will's help, the pain slowly subsides, allowing you access to your thoughts again.

You step out of the shower, into the living room and your eyes widen seeing Jay and Will sitting at the kitchen counter.

You didn't even hear Jay come in, but right now taking in his hardened glare, you didn't dare ask.

You knew what was coming and you didn't fight. You couldn't.

"So apparently we're cheating on our midterms now, huh?" Jay's calm voice made shivers run down your spine, starting to take rapid breaths.

"And apparently, someone thinks it's ok to steal alcohol from my stash" He gritted, never breaking I contact with you. "Do you think that's how the world works Y/n? DO YOU? BECAUSE LAST TIME I CHECKED YOU'RE STILL A FUCKING TEENAGER!!" He spat, his thoughts fuming towards your trembling body.

It was every dieing body flashing before his eyes, as the past months' agony slipped off his tongue.

"Jay" Will's voice was stern, giving a knowing look towards his younger brother and didn't bother to give Jay time to argue with him.

"Y/n, we need to know what's going on"

"With school, with tests with....... everything" he stated giving you a solemn look meaning every word he said, promising himself that he would do whatever it takes to figure out what had been going on.

You sucked in a breath weighing all your options. You didn't want them to think that you needed a babysitter or  that you couldn't take care of yourself.

You knew that they had their own problems to worry about but you couldn't take it anymore.

You hated it.

The feeling of your lungs collapsing, struggling to find air for your body, your stress skyrocketing anytime you sat down to study, never getting any thing done.

All day long you would constantly tell yourself to do your work. Every spare second is spent in making a list of things you want to do but when it was time to actually do those things, your mind wandered and emptied.

You took another deep breath, looking up from your feet, your eyes meeting your brothers.

You spilled the past months events from how alone you were all the time and not being able to concentrate to how you ended up drunk at school and cheating on your midterms.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you your hands trembled. You stood crying in the middle of the room until you felt a pair of arms around you.

Will placed his hand at the nape of your neck as he stroked your back with the other "Breathe Y/n, just Breathe" He slowly pulled away leading you to the couch.

God, how he wished he could turn back time. Then he'd been more vigilant to notice the changes that had come over you.

You felt the couch dip on both sides but you intently studied your fingers, fumbling with the hem of your shirt and wiped the tears off your face. They were mad. No, they were furious. You knew it.

But for some reason, they weren't showing it. Maybe they were waiting-

"We're not mad"

You without your head around to look at Jay, furrowing your eyebrows in disbelief. Jay? Not mad? HA.

"but I am disappointed though, but that's only because you didn't tell us......

but stealing alcohol was bad too" he added, earning him a glare from Will.

"Y/n, what Jay means is— we could've helped with school . Homework . Tests . Anything, you name it. We will help" he assured, "But how do we know you need help, if you don't tell us?"

You sighed, taking in the weird turn of events that had happened before you. You had wasted all this time, trying to figure out all your problems out, when the answer was right in front of you.

A mountain of guilt now sat on Jay's shoulders, weighing down on him, pushing him deeper into a wormhole of 'if's'.

Maybe if he'd just been a little more careful, this wouldn't have happened.

Maybe if he'd stop and listen to you once in a while, this wouldn't have happened.

While trying to save kids out on the street, he forgot to care for the kid at home. You were his sister, and yet, here you are in front of him, barely keeping yourself together.

But that would change. Right here. *Right now.*

"Y/n," Jay started "If you would have told us how alone and stressed you were feeling.....I would've taken some time off... Maybe we'd watch a movie or something. All you had to do was ask...... And we'll get you the help you need, y/n. You good with that?" he questioned, his anger and frustration dissipating.

You saw your brother, the workaholic detective, wanting to put his job aside, for you .

You were more important to him, than his job—You realized.

" Yea... Yeah, I am"

Will stood up and got another advil with another glass of water. "and maybe you wouldn't end up drunk and cheating on your test" he smirked, crouching in front of you.

"God, I didn't think it would hurt this bad. I am never drinking again!" you smiled , as you drowned the pill.

"See now that's what I like to hear!!" Jay exclaimed, wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you into his chest. You squirmed, trying to get out of his grip, laughing, when you were joined by Will.

You know what? Maybe, things are going to be okay? Ya know?

__________________________

Read more of my fics here!!

Tagging : @girlandthemoon @herecomesthewriterwitch @megaliciab @meyocoko @alkadri-layal

#jay halstead #will halstead #chicago pd #chicago med #jay halstead x sister!reader #halstead sister #halstead sister imagine #jay halstead one shot #will halstead oneshot #halstead brothers

[onceupona-chaos]

Cassian and Azriel's reactions to the Archeron sisters

Everything will be supported by the text. English is not my first language, so sorry for any possible mistakes. Be kind and respectful!

I will begin this post with the scene that was the starting point of my thoughts.

The two Illyrians paused their inspection of me long enough to note my sisters finishing up breakfast, Nesta in a pale gray gown that brought out the steel in her eyes, Elain in dusty pink.

Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow—while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta’s shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket.

Very often Azriel and Cassian show the same reaction to the sisters (in this case, they go still). The scene above is a perfect example of that and of how SJM is always very faithful to the differences between the couples: there's a difference of personality, which will be the one I'll focus here, and of "romantic status". Differently from Nessian, Elain and Azriel were in love with different people when they met each other. We don't know what was their first impression of each other yet, but with this in mind and considering their personalities, makes sense that they needed to get close first, trust each other, and then develop feelings (SJM writes slow burns after all).

Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.

“I can imagine,” Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare. But Azriel’s attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.

In their very first meet, the males were paying attention to each Archeron, but the way they were focusing on them is different. Look at the wording:

sizing up, warrior, opponent;

attention, polite smile;

While Cassian and Nesta "size each other up like opponents" and are loud/rough in terms of personality, Azriel and Elain are both quieter and acting like peacemakers. Here, please remember Feyre noticing how their personalities are similar:

Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.

Basically while Cassian is always provoking Nesta, Azriel puts Elain at ease, because there's a difference of personality. It makes perfect sense that one of them is "enemies-to-lovers" and the other is "friends-to-lovers". Let's go back to the first scene:

“I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand. Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went. Cassian finished the muffin, licking his fingers. I could have sworn Nesta watched the entire thing with a sidelong glance. He grinned at her as if he knew it, too. “Ready for some flying, Nes?” “Don’t call me that.” The wrong thing to say, from the way Cassian’s eyes lit up.

Even though Cassian and Azriel's first instinct is the same (they go still), how they proceed is again different (Azriel extends his hand like a gentleman and Cassian is all cocky grins).

Cassian pressed one of his knives into Nesta’s hand. “Ash can kill you now,” he said with lethal quiet as she stared down at the blade. (...) “I told you to come to training,” Cassian said with a cocky grin, and strode off.

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.” (...) “It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.”

Just like Cassian, Azriel offered a blade to an Archeron sister so she could defend herself. Again, let's look at the wording:

Cassian pressed the one of his knives;

Azriel pressed the hilt of the legendary blade;

And again, Cassian: cocky, provokes Nesta; Azriel: softly, gently, puts Elain at ease. Of course, in the TT scene there's much more imagery (Light and Dark/ Death and the Fawn/ the fact that TT is not just one of Azriel's blades), but still both males have the same reaction when Nesta and Elain are about to face danger: they need to be able to defend themselves, so the males provide a blade.

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

They were speaking, Azriel with some urgency, but Cassian didn’t hear him, heard nothing but the roaring in his head before he said to no one in particular, “I’m going after them.”

They also have the same reaction when the sisters are in danger. As I said before: their first reaction is very similar or even the same in some cases. The major difference here is that we have Cassian's PoV and not Azriel's, but the similarities are so clear:

Unspoken debate = said to no one in particular

I'm getting her back = I'm going after them

Firstly it seems the males are lost in thoughts, so concern about the females, and then they declare they're going to rescue them.

“Do you know,” Cassian drawled to her, “that the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?” Nesta’s burning gaze slid to him, still outraged—but hinted with incredulity.

“What did you see,” Azriel said, and I tried not to flinch as I found him at my other side, not having seen him move. Again. Elain paused halfway up the stairs. Slowly, she turned to look back at him.

It is also very interesting to notice how Cassian and Azriel are the ones that can intervene when the females are "experiencing" their powers. It's like Nesta and Elain use them as some kind of anchor - they both are "lost" in their powers, but can focus on Cassian and Azriel. If Cassian can help Nesta do a scrying, it's Azriel who listen and gets that Elain is a Seer.

Now one of my favorite parallels:

“Are you … happy?” Shadows darkened his hazel eyes. “I’m getting there.” A halfhearted answer. (Cassian, ACOFAS)

Shadows darkened his eyes, full of enough pain that she couldn’t stop herself from touching his shoulder. (Azriel, ACOSF)

Exact same wording. In ACOFAS, Cassian was struggling with his situation with Nesta, and in ACSF it's Azriel who is suffering because of his situation with Elain.

Speaking of ACOFAS, let me highlight this moment:

Nightmares about the moment when Cassian was near death and Nesta was sprawled over him, shielding him from that killing blow, and Elain—Elain—had taken up Azriel’s dagger and killed the King of Hybern instead.

I just find very interesting how the two biggest moments between the couples are brought up here. SJM could had just said Elain killed the king with TT, but she chose to associate that moment with Azriel (she does that very often). Anyway, moving on...

Amren drained her wine and said to Cassian, “Nesta has a week. One more week to find the Trove with her own methods. Then we seek out other routes.” She threw a nod toward Azriel. “Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

Cassian and Azriel looked to Rhys, who merely sipped from his own wine.

Here, we have the males reacting to the females getting involve with the Trove (Azriel stiffened/ Cassian growled); then Amren speaks with Cassian about Nesta, and with Azriel about Elain; then both males look to Rhysand

And of course (I'll be brief because there are lots of posts about these lines):

Stupid, stupid, stupid— He didn’t care. Didn’t give a shit as she rose up on her toes, her mouth nearing his—

It was so wrong. He didn't care. He needed to know what her skin tasted like (...) Rhys's voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain's sweet mouth.

In both bonus chapters, Cassian and Azriel "don't care" about the possible problems and struggles, all they care about is the female before them. Not only the wording is the same, but in both cases the couples almost kiss.

That's the formula right there.

(Her scent) It hit him in the gut so hard he could barely focus, and it took five centuries of training to make himself meet her eyes rather than let his own roll back into his head.

Her arousal drifted up to him and his eyes nearly roll back into his head at sweet scent.

Basically the way these two are affected by the Archeron sisters is practically the same in both bonus chapters. Speaking of that:

I assumed seeing Nesta went about as poorly as could be imagined, because my lesson the following morning was longer and harder than it’d been in previous days. I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business, and that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females.

Three days passed with no word from Cassian. He’d been replaced in training by a stone-faced Azriel, who was more aloof than usual and wouldn’t even give her a smile.

Cassian in the next morning was still affected by what happened in Wings & Embers, and Azriel - three days later - was still affected by what happened in his bonus chapter. Not only that: these are the only direct references to the bonus chapters in the actual books. The major difference here is that SJM wrote Elain as Azriel's secret, so only the readers that have access to the bonus chapter know why he couldn't even smile (very similar to "Cassian only snarled"). Naturally there's a difference of personality, too: Cassian snarling, totally pissed off/ Azriel more aloof, stone-faced.

It's very clear the direction SJM is going.

#elriel #pro elriel #elriel meta #the shadowsinger and the fawn #pro elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger

[epic-sorcerer]

Queer imagery in BBC Merlin

Content warning: kink/fetish, fisting in particular but I show I big image containing a long list of different kinks, homophobia, dom/sub dynamics, sex

Merlin is shown wearing a purple tunic in s4, despite the fact he is a servant and purple(especially with such saturation) was extremely expensive bc purple dye was so hard to make. Gwen also has a light purple dress(or maybe 2? It’s hard to tell). Even though it’s definitely lighter than Merlins tunic, it’s still expensive.

it was illegal for peasants to wear expensive fabrics because of the Sumptuary Law. Basically it makes sure that lower class people are not fashionable. However, BBC Merlin doesn’t seam to care about that law, considering Merlins other bright clothing so take this was a grain of salt.

Basically what I’m trying to say is that there’s no way they could have gotten their hands on these clothes without the help of nobles. Gwen might have, because she works with clothing and could have easily mixed blue and red dye together. Merlin probably not have because he’s never shown to be particularly materialistic or interested much in fashion, despite his bright clothes. Bright Purple would have been much, much harder to get.

It makes the most sense for Merlin and possibly Gwen too to have been gifted such expensive clothing by a noble for being a good servant. I’d imagine Arthur would be the one to give Merlin the tunic and morgana the dresses.

Why does this matter? Lavender(and also purple in general) was considered a queer color starting in the 19th century. Queer men especially were said to possess a “streak of lavender” and a serge of homophobia at the time was often referred to as the “Lavender Scare.” Purple and lavender is still used now to symbolize queerness.

Since Merlin is a modern interpretation of Arthurian myths, it would be perfectly plausible that this symbol was on purpose. Merlin/Arthur and Gwen/Morgana are both extremely popular ships and they are both shown to have a very deep form of trust(Gwen/Morgana being at the beginning of the show). Arthur and Morgana gifting Merlin and Gwen purple clothing could be show them they accept their queerness and/or signaling their own queer attraction to them.

Now, this next symbolism concerns only Merlin/Arthur.

Merlin is shown to have three neckerchiefs.

Navy blue, red, and light grey. Why does this matter? Well, let’s take a look at something called the handkerchief code, also known as the hanky code or “flagging.”

This code has its origins all the way back in time during the Wild West in the USA, but got more popular during the late 20th century in USA and UK gay bars. This code was used mainly by queer men and some nonbinary people to signal to other queers what they wanted sexually. While typically worn in people’s back pockets, a handkerchief could also be worn around one’s neck to show they are a versatile and experienced.

According to this code, Merlin is into;

Red: fisting and getting fisted. This color was hard to get an exact shade from, but the second best option was dark red for double fisting which is honestly so similar I’m not sure if it really matters much.

Light grey: stone topping and getting fucked by a stone top

Navy blue: fucking and being fucked anally

For any one wanting to make their own interpretations of Merlins neckerchief colors(the lighting makes it hard to tell the exact ones) have a look at this handy chart

Not only that, but Arthur is seen wearing a favour on his left arm in s3 ep 4.

What’s a favour? It’s a fabric strip of affection commonly given by maidens to knights before a tournament as a symbol of good luck. It’s often a very important scarf, hankcerchlif , towel, really any bit of cloth that can be tied around someone’s arm. This is also a popular trope in historical media for a female love interest to give a favour to a male one to show chemistry between them.

Regardless of your stance on Merlins gender identity, you have to admit how commonly Merlin is shown to be gender nonconforming(GNC) or otherwise be associated with “womanly” qualities. Especially in a society so heteronormative, the only “pure” option for a knight receiving a romantic gesture would have it be from a woman. If the token was from a queer man, it would also out the noble and cause lots of horrific chaos and destroy both of their reputations.

Even if it was common for women to give knights favours, queer men still existed and with that came romantic gestures—this time hopefully more secret.

Even though the favour on Arthur’s arm doesn’t look exactly like Merlin’s neckerchief, Merlin was the only person to speak with him while preparing for the tournament. Also, the original theorist who I linked in my sources also pointed out that Merlins neckerchief looks lopsided. Almost like Merlin tore off a bit of it and hastily tied it back on.

Although this theory is definitely flawed, it doesn’t matter. Arthur is still wearing a red handkerchief on his left arm. But what does that tell us exactly?

Regardless of wether or not it was Merlin’s, the red is the same shade and also implies Arthur is also into fisting. What about the placement? Sicne it’s on his left, it shows that he is a top/dom, meaning that he prefers to be the one fisting. Since it is worn around his upper arm, it shows that he is simply into the fetish, compared to what other placements mean. In another source, it shows taht upper arm means switch, but because Arthur is wearing it on his left it wouldn’t really make sense for him to signal being a “top-switch” compared to being a top and having the fetish in general.

If you look closely, you can see a different colored stripe on the favour. It’s hard to tell exactly what the color is, it could be yellow, gold, orange, etc. because the color is so dubious, I’ll just leave y’all with a list of color meanings that may apply to Arthur’s favour.

YELLOW: pisser/watersports kink

YELLOW, Pale: spitter/spit kink

MUSTARD: Has 8+ inch dick

GOLD: two looking for one

ORANGE: anything anytime

Also, it’s important to bring up what many in thsi fandom refer to as the “fisting scene.” Where Arthur threatens Merlin by showing him his gloved fist and pulling a bit at the glove.

In the blooper, you can see Merlin’s actor(Colin Morgan) breaking character and giggling as Arthur shows him his fist. Many in the fandom agree that this was a clear innuendo for fisting, and it is very well possible.

Merlin is shown hitting Arthur and saying he was just doing some horse play, but still indirectly convincing Arthur that he needs to teach Merlin a lesson. This is actually a common act in BDSM sex, where the submissive person purposely angers the dominant into punishing them in a way that somehow involves sex or fetish play.

If you look closely, you can see Merlin is wearing at kinky red fisting handkerchief, showing Merlin is perfectly capable of being a submissive fistee. Also, the hanky code also includes other symbols such as latex or rubber gloves that, surprise surprise, also mean fisting. Although it’s more likely Arthur’s gloves where made of leather, it can still further be interpreted as a fisting symbol if you want. Either way, Arthur’s favour still holds water as he is undoubtedly the dom in this situation.

Also, Merlin is very impulsive and a madlad. Tell me he wouldn’t wear his secret fetish symbols infrount of stuck up, Roman Catholics who are none the wiser. He’d probably think it’s hilarious which is probably why he wears them almost everyday. Merlin loves playfully misbehaving(and is also a brat sometimes) so it makes sense for him to have some dangerous fun.

Now, you may be asking. Why does this matter? At the end of the day, it probably wasn’t intentional. Well, there is alwyas room for doupt BUT I do have some ferther proof. One of the co writers of BBC Merlin—Johnny Capps—actually won a Stone Wall Award. You know, an award named after a core part of queer culture?

The award’s website and Wikipedia page say they give the award for art that describes the LGBT experience well. While I am unsure why or what Capps made to be nominated, it still shows he is very much in touch with queer culture. Capp himself even said at an interview about Merlin, “... in the end, deep, deep down it’s about sexuality and things you just can’t tackle head-on.”

Well, what says more about sexuality than the main characters fist fucking each other? That’s a lot of sexuality. While I am unsure of Capp’s age, he does look to be about middle age and it would make sense for him to know about a code popularized in a 70s to 90s. Especially for someone who has made multiple queer oriented stories in his life time.

Sources:

Why is purple considered the color of royalty?

Sumptuary law

How lavender became a symbol of LGBTQ resistance

How Lavender Became a Symbol of LGBTQ Resistance(part 2)

flagging opinicus rampant

Handkerchief code

DO YOU KNOW THE HANKY CODE?

Picspam: The Red Favour (Proof of Arthur Wearing Merlin's Favour in 3x04)

Five medieval love tokens

The Lady's Favour

Hanky codes

Nominees for Stonewall Awards announced

Merlin series 5 spoiler-free launch report

Pls reblog I spent hours on this /np 😭👊

#tw kink mention #tw sex talk #tw eye strain #tw homophobia #tw queerphobia #research essay #long post #Merlin #bbc Merlin #Merlin bbc #merthur #merlin/arthur #gwen/morgana #morgwen

[honeypiehotchner]

delicate -- Hotch x Reader one-shot

Here’s that one-shot I’ve been holding for a while! Named her delicate after Taylor Swift’s song, purely because of the whole “dive bar on the east side/where you at?” imagery. I listened to the Spotify Singles (acoustic) version of the song while writing this, if you wanna listen while you read! Enjoy!! xx.

Summary: Hotch doesn’t go to bars very often. Until he meets you at one.

Warnings: age gap (reader is somewhere around 24-25), mentioning of being safe at a bar (so alluding to date rape drugs), harassment from one drunk dickhead

Hotch Masterlist

Hotch doesn’t go to bars.

When he’s not on a case, working on paperwork for a case, or caring for his son, he’s normally asleep.

Not at a bar.

But some nights, the memories are too much. Some nights, the cases take a toll on him — especially the children that never made it back home to their parents.

He doesn’t know why he’s in a bar. The only time he comes is when the team goes out and wants to drag him with. It’s normally Dave who manages to get him to agree to a beer or two.

But Aaron is alone this time.

You, on the other hand, know exactly why you’re in a bar.

You’re bored, you’ve just finished your masters degree, you need a drink and some time to yourself to people-watch.

It’s fun, really. Observing people while they’re drunk. You usually have one drink and switch over to water, wanting to remember the things you see while also staying safe.

But occasionally— or, well, more than occasionally by the sheer unfortunate fact of you being a woman alone in a bar, you get the typical man sliding into the seat next to you before he’s even all the way through his rehearsed, “Is this seat taken?”

You never answer. There is no point in trying because their ass already hits the chair before you can say, “Yes, it’s taken, by my foot, now move before I kick it up your ass.”

You never say that, not often. Sometimes the guys can be pretty big assholes, but the bartender, Vanessa, knows you well, so she usually threatens security before you get yourself in trouble.

Unfortunately, tonight looks like it’s going to be one of those nights.

The bar is packed for a reason you aren’t privy too until you see (and hear) the random band start a new song. Great. Performance.

Still, you snag the last seat at the bar, waving to the bartender when she sees you. You barely get the seat warm before she’s sliding your usual in front of you.

“It’s on the house tonight,” she yells.

“What?” You shake your head. “No the fuck it’s not.”

She leans closer so she doesn’t have to yell as loud. “You are my saving grace in this sea of assholes, so yes it is. We can fight about it later.”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. You dip your hands underneath the bar to switch your diamond ring from your right to left hand.

Tonight, you’re married.

You got this ring when your last relationship ended so badly. It was a long time coming, and once you were finally able to see the other side, you went out and bought yourself an engagement ring. Just for you. A promise to yourself to start loving yourself harder, and going out with dickheads less.

So far, it’s been wonderful. You’re loving being alone. It was exhausting going on so many first dates, trying to love someone else instead of letting yourself heal.

It’s been two years of singleness for you now, and you’ve loved almost every day.

The “wedding” ring usually makes most of the guys turn the other way. A few that are oblivious will try talking to you, but once they glance at your hand, they excuse themselves.

It’s hysterical, if you’re honest.

But some, unfortunately, don’t give a damn.

Like the guy who has just squeezed his way into the seat next to you.

You roll your eyes and prepare yourself for the shallow conversations because, for some ungodly reason, the band decided now was a good time for a break.

“You come here often?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Nope.”

“It’s a pretty good place,” the guy says, waving down the other bartender, his name is Nick. “You should come here more often.”

“Should I, now?”

“Yeah,” the guy grins. “You’ll see me.”

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts.

“Wanna dance?”

“Not in the mood.”

“Can I buy you another drink?”

“No thanks.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Why, do you work here?”

“Look, I’m just trying to be nice.” Ah, there it is. The “nice guy” line.

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow. “Good for you. I’m not interested.”

“Ooh,” he feigns hurt, holding an open hand to his chest. “Ouch.”

You shrug. “You’ll get over it.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

“You sure you don’t wanna dance?”

“I’m married,” you say easily, picking your glass up with your left hand to show off your ring. You don’t drink from your glass because you made the mistake of looking away for only a moment, so now you’re paranoid that he might’ve slipped something in it.

The guy looks around, then back to you. “I don’t see a husband.” Oh, he sounds so smug. Like he’s pulled one over on you. Moron.

“He’s on a work trip.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

“You don’t want to get on his bad side, dude.”

“Oh really? What’s he do for a living?”

“He works for the FBI.” The lie slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and you almost laugh.

It’s something you’ve pulled from the countless guys that have said they work for the FBI, but have no badge to show for it. It’s always cracked you up. You’re aware there’s an FBI office around here, but you doubt a greasy, blackout drunk works for them. Let alone more than five greasy, blackout drunks in one night.

“The FBI, huh?” The guy says, just taking it in stride. “What’s his name?”

Right as you’re about to make one up until Vanessa can get back over here to threaten security, two arms slip around your waist.

You’re ready to throw caution to the wind along with your fists, but the owner of the arms says, “Just go with it, I’m Aaron.”

You turn your head to see a very handsome older man peering down at you, a smile on his lips that you can’t help but mirror. Something about his face has your gut screaming that you can trust him, so you play along.

“Honey! I thought you were in Texas!” You throw your arms around his neck for good measure, and also for a moment to casually get a good whiff of his cologne. Goddamn. You’ll gladly be his fake-wife. Any day. Forever.

“I was,” Aaron says, squeezing you before letting you go. He moves to stand next to you, his arm around your waist in a protective manner. “We landed early, wanted to surprise you.” He kisses your knuckles to keep up the act, and then settles his eyes on the man who was bothering you.

“You must be the husband,” the guy mutters bitterly. “You really work for the FBI?”

Oh, fuck, you think. This guy just doesn’t give up. A few future scenarios flash before your eyes, but the one most alarming is a fight erupting, which isn’t all that far-fetched. You’d never be able to come back if you caused something like that.

But before you can stumble through some excuse, Aaron is pulling out a badge. An actual badge.

“Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. I’m the unit chief of the BAU,” he says easily, holding his badge out for as long as it takes the guy to inspect it. You have no clue what BAU stands for, but you’re just thanking whatever Gods might be real that this is happening.

The idiot is scowling by the time Aaron puts his badge away. He leaves without a word.

Your jaw nearly drops as you watch the guy go, and literally leave the bar. You had hopes that he’d leave you alone, but leaving the bar entirely is even better.

Aaron’s arm slips from around your waist as he moves to take the now empty seat next to you. All the while you’re gawking at him like you’re in some fever dream.

When he catches your eyes, he says, “What?”

“Am I dreaming?” You blurt. “Do you really work for the FBI?”

He chuckles and pulls out his badge again, holding it out to you where you can read it. And sure as shit, he’s an actual FBI agent. What the fuck.

You look up as he pulls his badge away. “Did you hear me tell the guy my husband worked for the FBI?”

Aaron shakes his head. “That was pure luck. By the way,” he holds his hand out to you. “I’m Aaron.”

“Y/N,” you shake his hand, smiling at the fact that Aaron wanted to go through the official pleasantries and that you got to feel how soft his hand is again. “Thank you for that. I thought he’d never leave.”

“No worries. And it’s best he did, I really didn’t feel like arresting anyone tonight.”

“Arresting him? For what?”

“Well for starters, harassment. But since that usually doesn’t hold up very well, I’d have to say it was for his cocaine addiction.”

Your eyes widen. “He was doing coke?”

“Well, not out in the open, of course, but there were traces of it on his nose and his eyes had that look to them. Addicts are easy to spot when you run into them enough.”

Who the hell is this guy?

“Oh, and forgive me, what’s your husband’s name?” Aaron gestures down at your left hand. “I might know him, but I can’t say that I recognize you.”

“Oh,” you move the ring back to your right hand, much to Aaron’s surprise. “I’m not married. I only put it on the left hand to try to avoid assholes like that.”

“I see,” Aaron nods, and if you’re not mistaken, he almost looks pleased.

Vanessa returns to get Aaron’s drink, and then gives you a look.

You want to scream, yes, I’m well aware he is dangerously attractive and that he’s talking to me but don’t you dare say a word to embarrass me.

Instead, you say, “Can you make me another?”

She nods in understanding and pours out your drink, setting off to make a second after sliding Aaron his beer.

“So,” you turn your body and prop your head in your palm. “What’s got an FBI agent in a bar on a Tuesday night?”

He takes a long swig of his beer before answering. “What’s the real story behind that ring on your hand?”

“Answer for an answer,” you sing, smiling at Vanessa when she brings you your drink. She leaves without a word, raising her eyebrows at you.

“The cases can be rough,” Aaron says vaguely, bringing your attention back to him. “You?”

“Got it as a promise to myself to never date another prick ever again,” you chuckle, gazing down at the ring. “It’s worked its magic, so far.”

“So far?”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

He smiles through his next swig of beer.

+++

It becomes a routine, you and Aaron sharing a drink at the bar.

To your surprise, he has the same views as you about alcohol. It’s fun to have one drink, but getting wasted and blacking out isn’t.

It’s refreshing, if you’re honest. Everyone your age wants to get absolutely shitfaced every time they go out, and that’s just never been for you.

It helps that Aaron is older. Well— You’re not sure if it helps or not. Because he is significantly older, the farthest you two have gone is sharing a drink at the bar. He usually leaves first, needing to get home to his son, to do more case work, or there was one time when he actually got a call about a case mid-drink. He was gone for two weeks after that.

But he always comes back, and he always finds you here, at this bar.  

You mostly come every night to keep Vanessa company for an hour or two. To give yourself a break from the chaos of reality and to give her a familiar face in the sea of drunken customers.

Every night that Aaron isn’t here, Vanessa asks you where he is. Like you would know (you only do if he tells you of a possible up and coming case). Like you have his number (you don’t). Like you care (you don’t want to admit that you do).

“No Daddy tonight?” Vanessa teases, sliding you your drink.

“If you don’t stop calling him Daddy, I swear to God.”

“Oh, don’t swear to Him. He doesn’t need to get involved.”

You send a glare her way, but you’re holding back a laugh.

“Is he still on a case?” She asks, trying to be serious again.

You shrug. “Who knows. They can last pretty long. He was gone two weeks for the last one.”

“Keeping track, are we?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you two are killing me here, sharing drinks and not saying how you feel. It’s torture to watch you every week, you know.”

“He’s like...twenty years older than me. Or something.”

“And?” She scoffs. “Age is but a number. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. It’s fine.”

You shrug. “He probably just sees me as a friend. He would’ve given me his number or something by now, right?”

“I dunno, men are weird. But he’s older, he’s probably scared to make a move, scared he’ll make you uncomfortable.”

You shrug again. You appreciate her trying to show you the possibilities, the logical reasons for why the two of you haven’t gone any further from the bar, but you aren’t sure what to believe. Plus, it’s been a week since you’ve seen him. The last time you two shared a drink, he didn’t say anything about a case.

So, he’s either on a case again, or has stopped coming.

The latter thought has you debating getting shitfaced wasted for the first time in years. Being blackout drunk would probably hurt you less than if it’s true that he’s just suddenly ditched you.

But what stops you is when Vanessa runs back over, eyes wide. “Just spotted your hottie.”

Oh, now he’s my hottie? “What?” You inwardly scold yourself for sounding a little too giddy at the prospect of him being here. 

But if he’s here, why isn’t he sitting next to you?

Vanessa answers that one for you. “At a table in the back. He’s with friends I think.”

Friends? Never mind then on sharing a drink with him. “Oh, cool.”

Vanessa looks like she wants to say something, but is called away to another customer.

You don’t want to butt in with Aaron’s time with friends, so you stay at the bar, facing forward, nursing your one drink. Your mind conjures a plan in two seconds flat: finish your drink, head out for the night and discreetly look in Aaron’s direction, hopefully catch his eye, but if not, just go home and...shower and go to sleep.

Because if he wants to see you, he will. If he doesn’t, then he won’t.

Good plan.

Or at least, it is, until Aaron is sliding up beside you.

Your heart launches itself into your throat. You don’t say anything because you have no idea what to say. You were too busy assuming he’d rather be with his friends (which is...fine because it’s not like the two of you are...dating) to notice him walking up.

He says something for you, though. “Hey.”

Well, he might as well have stayed silent. What are you supposed to do with that?

“Hey,” you return casually, then offer a small smile. “Thought you’d be gone longer.” You operate on the assumption that he was on a case.

And he was. “This one actually worked in our favor.” He leans his elbows onto the bar, and naturally your eyes follow the movement. He’s not in a stuffy suit like the last few times, but he’s still in a dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Arms. You’re a complete sucker for arms, and he’s practically teasing you like this.

“That’s good,” you comment, taking a sip from your drink. “Here to celebrate?”

“Yeah, we are.”

Nick brings Aaron his beer, thankfully, because you know Vanessa would’ve made some not-so-vague comment about Aaron being up here -- and maybe let an “accidental” Daddy comment slip.

To your surprise, Aaron sits down.

Your eyebrows furrow. “I thought you’re here with friends?”

Aaron looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “Just my team, yeah. I imagine they’re tired of me, though.”

You doubt that’s the case, but you know that if you say that, he’ll just brush it off.

“Not even gonna introduce me?” You tease instead, but you honestly want to smack yourself. You need to get a better hold on your word vomit. Inviting yourself is insanely rude.

Aaron’s eyebrows raise slightly, clearly not expecting you to say that — or to even want to be introduced to his team. “They’re a lot,” he says. “They’ll make a big deal out of this.”

“This?” You question, gesturing shortly between the two of you. “What is this?”

“What do you want it to be?” He asks carefully, averting his eyes shyly.

“Well,” you exhale dramatically, swirling your drink. “I think when you’ve shared a drink with a woman more than...twenty times, it should at least be considered dating.” You cut your eyes in his direction, your chest swelling as you see a grin breaking out on his face.

“I think I’m a bad date,” he says, confusing you. He chuckles, adding, “You don’t even have my number!”

“I’ll get it at the end of tonight,” you say, touching his arm gently for reassurance. “Come on, I think the back of my head is burning from how hard they’re staring.”

He looks through the corner of his eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry in advance for them.”

“No need to apologize,” you shrug. “Friends can be the worst. Vanessa has already started asking questions about you.” You nod toward the bartender that is feigning interest in clearing a space behind the bar.

“I figured,” Aaron murmurs. “Okay.” He slides off the stool, grabbing his beer in one hand, and holding his other one out to you.

Your heart jumps harshly when you take his hand. It’s warm and soft and secure, everything you want and need. You grab your drink in your free hand, giving Aaron’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

As soon as you and Aaron approach the table, the older gentleman is punching the one with tattoos. “Pay up.”

Aaron witnesses the cash exchange and stares at them tiredly. “Seriously, guys?”

Meanwhile, you’re holding back a giggle.

“Well, hello,” the woman with the colorful fashion sense says. “Introduce us!”

Aaron looks ready to pretend like he doesn’t know any of them, so you step up and say, “He told me you guys would be like this.”

That gets him laughing, and he finally says, “Y/N, this is Penelope, Emily, JJ, Spencer, Derek, and Dave.” Each person nods, waves, or smiles when their name is called.

“I’ll try to remember,” you joke. “But no promises.”

You squeeze Aaron’s hand in yours, trying to get him to loosen up. He does, barely, so when he tugs on your hand, silently asking you to step closer to him so his arm can fit around your waist, you oblige.

“What was the bet about?” You ask, nodding toward the men who exchanged cash a bit ago. It was Dave and Derek if you’re remembering names correctly.

“Rossi thought Hotch was going to bring you back over here, but I didn’t agree,” Derek says, nudging Dave’s arm. “I didn’t think you’d go for him.”

“Well, that’d be embarrassing if I went for someone else, considering we’re dating,” you chuckle, leaning your head back to look up at Aaron.

“Dating? So it’s official?” Emily asks, looking a little more excited than you thought any of them would.

“I think it was official the first time we met,” you snicker. “He pretended to be my husband so some dickhead would leave me alone.”

Aaron’s arm tightens around your waist at the memory.

“Okay,” Penelope grabs her drink, then moves over next to you, linking your arm with hers. “Hotch, we’re stealing her. We need details.”

Aaron doesn’t look like he wants to let go at all, but you press a kiss to his cheek. “Told you it’d be fine,” you whisper to him.

He surprises you by pressing a kiss on your lips. Midway through, your brain reminds you that this is technically your first kiss with him. And it’s in front of his friends. Swoon.

After so many dates with guys who were ashamed to be showing any sort of affection toward a woman, it’s nice to find a man who doesn’t care who sees his affection.

What can you say? After dating so many boys, it’s nice to finally find a man.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #hotch x reader #hotch x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch fluff #fluff #cm #delicate songfic #because i can't NOT think of taylor swift when i write

[thehomothings]

Analysis of Kite's conflicting moralities, relationship with death, and the toll reincarnation may take on one's psyche

So, today I decided to compile all the thoughts I have had about Kite's interesting worldview since the first time I saw him into one post, mostly for my own sake, really. If you're familiar with the few posts I've made, you know it's gonna be a mess, but hopefully a comprehensible mess.

A heads up, this is going to be spoiler-heavy, and very much deal with subjects of death and dying as a whole. Also, some of these conclusions are drawn from my own experiences and close brushes with death, I'm not going to go into much detail but it might get personal and definitely dark. I'm not even sure if I can call this a meta-analysis, and I'm obviously no expert, so mayhaps take all of this with a grain of salt.

Been getting into drawing lately, and during the more simple and mindless part of the painstaking process of dotting every single star in this, I let my thoughts wander through the latest part of the fic I'm writing, and I got a better grasp on what exactly made Kite such an elusive character to me.

I'm not quite sure why I got so attached to Kite. Perhaps it was the air of tragedy surrounding him, how despite his sordid past he remained still open and gentle even if outlined by a healthy dose of cynicism.

But sometimes, I think it's the fact that he is so paradoxical. He's brave, yet fears death to such a degree that creates a whole Nen ability around it, is a pacifist yet will not hesitate to spill blood for his own sake or someone else's. Despite the many ultimatums and warnings of 'I will not protect you', he gave his arm and then his life to save Gon and Killua. He approaches each hunt and battle with a clear plan of action in mind, but his Hatsu takes the form of a roulette that gives him random weapons which are never what he wants, but what he seems to need for that exact situation, which he cannot dispel without using. When he draws a weapon, the decision is locked in and his or his opponent's fate is sealed. That's why each time he dubbs his weapon a bad roll. Every time he has to gamble, he sees himself as having run out of luck. When it comes to having to choose between himself and somebody else...well, there had never been a choice. In fact his aversion to using it may feed into its sheer power that we, unfortunately, saw too little of.

Let's go over his very first appearance when he saves Gon from the mother Foxbear.

It's not hard to see the strain searching for Ging has put on him; he's rash, prone to anger and punching a child for daring to get into trouble. In his mind, he's failing at his most important task, has not yet earned the right to call himself a hunter despite being in possession of his very own hunter license.

After killing the mother Foxbear and raging about having done so, he says this interesting line:

So yes, he finds killing for any reason rather irksome as most would do, yet I think something deeper caused him to absolutely lose it in this scene:

He had not been aware of Gon's identity, and despite being an animal lover and a naturalist, he made a choice to save the human instead of allowing nature to run its course. In fact, he says: 'No beast that harms a human must be allowed to live.'

How does one weight one life against another? How is the worth of it determined? The value of life... an impossible choice he's faced with and a choice which he seems to regret to some degree.

The Foxbear cub.

Here, he's speaking from experience, a tangible loss he has felt himself, and a hard and bitter life he does not want to impose on the cub.

His backstory is exclusive to the 2011 anime adaptation but there are hints alluding to it in the manga, for example, the fact that he does not seem to know his birthplace, or:

The choice of words is chilling.

Reading between the lines, one could draw the conclusion that he is an orphan. Something supporting this hypothesis is how he visibly deflates after Gon tells him his parents have (presumably) died.

So we see he is willing to go against his own moral code of not killing as to not doom another living being to the life he led, a lonely, hopeless existence that could barely be called one. He saw it best to put down the cub rather than leave it to die a painful, slow death.

The reason Kite himself isn't as cynical and cold-hearted as one would be after witnessing cruelty in its rawest form is those small crumbs of human kindness which he may have found in Ging.

It was not only a chance at an honorable life being Ging's apprentice gave him, but it also 'saved' him from being broken and twisted into what he hated and worst of all, death.

If we take that one minute of backstory as canon to his character-which I find myself inclined to do- these quirks of his make much more sense. He lived on the run. He lived on the knife's edge between giving up or pushing forwards. He lived as so a wrong move could be the difference between survival and the end.

Between rock and a hard place creates a mentality of black and white, absolute good or extreme evil, this or that. Except in reality, it's much harder than that. Deciding who to save and who to strike down is a heavy burden to bear.

It's almost easy to see how struggling to keep surviving could lend itself to a crippling fear of death and subsequently developing a Nen ability which once more goes against his own moral code in order to give himself a second chance...yet something about it strikes me as unlikely when I look at it this way.

Living life knowing it could end at any moment has the opposite effect, at least for me it did. One comes to accept that it is fleeting and while not eager to let it go, when death eventually and inevitably does come, there is no fighting it.

Especially when there is no hope that tomorrow will be a better day than this one.

Frequent near-death experiences numb one's fear in a way, even if it drives them to take precautions that render it unlikely to happen again and results in c-PTSD, but still, it does. It sparks a certain nihilistic view of 'if it all can end so easily, then what's the point of it all?'

Unless there are things to live for, a sure promise of a better future, and Ging gave Kite that. When he faced the threat of losing his second chance at life:

Really, what else could lead someone to develop the ability of 'the hell I'm going to die like this'?

I think a separate event, an even more brutal near-death experience that almost cost him his life as the hunter he so strived to be set him off to develop the secret roll of Crazy Slots, what I call Roll No.0, Ars moriendi. Unlike other weapons, it cannot come up in random and is directly summoned by him, or better said, summon by his overwhelming will to keep going and hopelessness of fighting a losing battle. I don't believe roll No.3 was the weapon that allowed him to reincarnate. I've named that one Wand of Fortune, a sort of armor instead of an offensive weapon since I find it hard to believe Kite, a Conjurer, would not focus on defences as well, and I will go into both mechanisms of these weapons hopefully in his backstory.

Despite knowing this battle to be a pointless one and being acutely aware of his soon to be demise, he did not immediately draw Ars moriendi, no, he stayed back and fought for the sake of the boys, kept Neferpitou occupied until they could reach safety. We can see evidence of this in the aftermath of the battle that seemed to have gone on until dawn, a torn apart landscape only signaling a fraction of the devastation that was Kite's power unleashed. It still wasn't enough.

In the anime sub I watched, when Gon apologizes to Ging about Kite's death, Ging said a sentence that infuriated me, because it belittled the utter suffering of the NGL trio.

"He would not die in your place." (No screenshot, sorry)

And I remember practically shouting at the screen, screaming 'how could you possibly say that? Of course he did. He absolutely did die in their place. How could you not know your own apprentice? Why-'

It was only last night that it hit me why Ging would say that.

Once upon a time, maybe Kite would not have given his life for anybody under any circumstances, even if he had a way out of it all. He would still need to die to come back to life.

His Thanatophobia could be attributed to the (possibly untreated) PTSD of the near-death experience in his later life, being so certain of dying that finding himself alive afterwards drove him to never want to go through that again. He quieted his fear by creating a sort of a loophole, that even if he lost the battle he would remain. Ging remembered that, but as evidence shows, something changed. Maybe he healed a bit, perhaps growing up dulled his fear to a certain degree, but eventually when it came down to his life or another's, he didn't choose himself.

Now, I can hear you saying 'but he didn't die, so what are you going on about??' And so I reply: Yes, he is alive, but he did die. He experienced that painful, horrible moment of staring death in the eyes and thinking 'This is it, this is the end', went through the actual process of having his soul removed from his body. And that moment stretches into infinity, ten lifetimes condensed into the mere seconds before oblivion.

Dying isn't so hard if one stays dead.

It's not so easy to open one's eyes and find oneself alive again after that, no matter how much that is the heart's desire. It's difficult, nigh-impossible to reconcile with life and walk amongst the living when everything had been so final, when death had been accepted to its fullest.

So Kite awakens, the twin of Meruem and back from the dead, his mind and identity both intact and fractured. In that he is Kite is no mistaking, yet he is not the same gentle pacifist whose first reaction upon sensing a monster's aura was to shield two kids from it at the cost of his arm.

I don't think many of you are familiar with Zoroastrian ideology, but Togashi is known for loving his religious imagery, and it's not only Christianism he derives inspiration from (evidence of which can be seen all over Kite's character and resurrection).

In Zurvanism-a branch of Zoroastrianism- there is talk of the twin spirits: Ahura Mazda -epitome of all that is good- and Ahriman -epitome of all that is evil-, the parent god Zurvin decides that the firstborn may rule in order to bring "heaven, hell, and everything in between."

Upon becoming aware of this fact, Ahriman forcibly tears through the womb to emerge first. Sounding familiar yet?

Zurvan relents to this turn of events only on one condition: Ahriman is given kingship for 9000 years, and then Ahura Mazda may rule for eternity.

Meruem ruled for 40 days, his death leaving the throne vacant for ant Kite, wearing a dead girl's face and seeming to be brewing some nefarious plan. No more is there any sign of that unrelenting pacifism and the sanctity of life he held so high, losing his own may have only served to show him how meaningless the pain and suffering he went through had been, dying only to be reborn as a member of the species that killed him. It may be that he has no desire to rule over the remaining Chimera ants or create an army of his own-

Yet I dread to think what a broken mind possessing limitless power might do to the world.

And that's it. If you made it this far, thank you for reading! If you found it interesting, stay tuned, as I think a lot and I will make it your problem.

#Cw: talks of death and PTSD #When I say I unknowingly projected onto him #I can't tell if writing this was cathartic or torturous #and I gave myself heart palpitations so this is enough for today #And yes I refer to ant Kite by he/him pronouns because misgendering him on the account of his body being afab is just ignorant #even if I think skrunkly's genderqueer af and actually wouldn't mind she/her #still i wanna push the trans ant kite agenda #So yes this is how I unknowingly picked up Kite as a coping mechanism even if out attitudes towards death are practically opposites #don't mind your grandpa trauma dumping #What I'm saying is get ant Kite therapy before he sinks the world #I love reimagining Kite as a villain and I don't know why #Kite hxh #hxh kite #kite hunter x hunter #kaito hxh #hxh #hunter x hunter #meta analysis #theories #fic rambles #Icarus waffles #Kitkat #gon freccs #Ging freecss

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

Not The Forgiving Type

[Name] was a kind kid. He was poised to be number one until shit hit the fan. But he wasn't gonna let his dream die no matter who got in the way.

Or

The one where All Might neglects his son a little. The son eventually goes apeshit and hurts the people that wronged him on his journey to becoming the Number One Hero

Warnings: Major Character Death, Vengeance, Murder, Blood Mentions, Religious Themes/Imagery, Christianity is not portrayed in a good light, All Might is compared to God, There is no good guy, sad ending.

The thing that [Name] hates most is his smile.

Christians believe that every human was born with sin. As such, you spend every day of your life abstaining from further sins as you try to erase the red from your ledger. You’re encouraged to do acts of service, not to win the favor of God but from the kindness of your heart. Because you care about people. Yet not doing those acts of service puts you years behind if you aim to present God with a clean ledger.

[Name] was kind. It wasn’t something that came natural to him nor was it particularly easy all of the time but he made the effort. Be kind to others, the family motto. His father was like God to the people he saved. Keeping a smile on his face as if at the shine of his teeth all life’s problems would flash away. And he’d give grand speeches for no other reason than he could.

“Power” his father would say grandstanding “is for the strong to be able to protect the week” [Name]’s father had the kind of power that made the weak feel untouchable. All might would save them. They were sure of it. [Name] was sure of it too.

‘Daddy’s so strong’ [Name] thought ‘I’m gonna be strong too.’ It was a shared thought between the two actually. He was the son of the number one. The son of God. Destined to bear the weight of everyones sins. The reincarnation, who stretches himself thin for the sake of saving others. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Strong should his resolve be, lest that head roll off of his shoulders.

[Name] was four when he got his quirk. Yagi was ecstatic. There was a slim chance that the boy would be born quirkless like Yagi himself and [Name]’s mother wasn’t in the picture. A one night stand who was paid off after she showed up on his doorstep with a baby. There was no way to be completely certain what would happen, but he believed. Hoping for all hope his little boy would be strong. At the proud look on his dad’s face, [Name] smiled. He would continue to make his father proud.

At the age of nine [Name] had all but mastered said quirk. He was a prodigy who’d trained with heroes like Nighteye, and Eraserhead practicing both combat and battles of quirk. Within the next year All Might finally thought [Name] was ready. And sometime after [Name]’s 10th birthday Yagi sat him down to talk about the possibility of him being the next person to wield One For All. [Name] was more than shocked to hear that his dad had been quirkless and possessed a rare, powerful quirk. In his nervousness all he could manage was a smile, a wide confident smile that masked all his hesitation and surprise.

“I’ll be the next number one hero dad” [Name] said “And i’ll make you proud”

Yagi gave his son a matching smile “You already have. And I can’t wait to see what you will do in the future my boy”

At age 13 [Name] took down his first villain. It was illegal of course, but things are easily swept under the rug when you’re the child of God. But why should he have been punished? He was doing good for the sake of good. Saving others with a smile on his face. That was the family motto. It mattered not that the streets were stained with the villain’s blood. No, he was a hero. Heroes saved the day by defeating the villain and giving hope to the people. His actions should please God.

“He’s not ready”

“He’s my son”

“And that’s why you can’t be impartial. Take a break, spend some time with [name] and teach him how to be a hero”

[Name] creeped closer to his bedroom door at the sound of the furious whispers trying to figure out who was talking about him and why. He leaned his head against the door not risking the chance that if he opened it to take a peak he could be seen or heard.

“He’s a great kid, with a powerful quirk. He cares about stopping injustice, and he gives people hope. Like I did. He’s primed to be my successor”

“All might you know I think of you as a great hero. But he’s too much like you”

‘Nighteye’ [Name] realized

“I think he spends too much time trying to be like you that he doesn’t know the true meaning of heroics. You’re right he’s a great kid but I don’t think he’s ready for the kind of responsibility that comes with One For All.”

“Who else if not him?”

Nighteye paused, and answered cautiously “I met a kid. Resembles you in looks, a little more than [Name] does. He has a strong work ethic and made his debut into class 1B at UA. His quirk isn’t exactly strong but he’s made it so. Give him a chance”

Toshinori gave a hesitant “maybe” and the conversation ended there.

Betrayal felt like a sharp stabbing sensation. Nighteye, his precious mentor doesn’t think he’s ready enough. Doesn’t want him to succeed. Wants his father to mentor another kid because he doesn’t believe in [Name]. Ouch.

The next morning, [name] is quieter. More unsure of himself as he asks his dad to stop training with Nighteye. The relationship between All Might and Nighteye is frayed and [Name] knows that. He’s the glue keeping them together so to get back at Nighteye, [Name] will sever the connection between idol and fan. He doesn’t need Nighteye, he just needs to please his dad. He’ll train on his own and become number one. Praise be to God.

Hands gliding through the air, [Name] played with a bright red colored mist that flowed through his fingers and gathered in the palms of his hands. He would flex them, some fingers pointing down, others curled inward as if he were grabbing something with that finger only. Depending on the weight of the object he moved, his arms would flex too.

In a fight his stance became wider, more sturdy almost as if actually shouldering the weight of the object. His knees bent when he planted himself into the ground, resisting the push and pull of gravity as he lifted things with a thought and a flick of his hands. He was powerful. The kind of powerful that makes you smirk at your opponent, not because you underestimate them but just because you know you’ll win. It’s a long hard road to becoming that powerful and [Name] was damned if he wasn’t going to show it. The perfect venue was coming up too. The UA Entrance Exams.

[Name] unconsciously used his quirk to stop something from landing in the koi pond he’d been walking past. “Poor fishies” [Name] thought as he grabbed the floating book. It read ‘Hero Analysis For the Future’  He casually flipped through it, silently asking for forgiveness. He’s not a snooper; he just needed a little guidance if he was going to be the best. It was a little burnt but thorough. He heard the noise of a bunch of boys walking by and he looked up. At the sight of Bakugou [Name]’s eyes flashed red. Bakugou looked away and scowled knowing he couldn’t beat the son of the Number One hero. Not yet.

“Oh [Name]-senpai you found my book”

“Izuku-kun. I came to you for advice. But also just because I wanted to see you.”

“Of course! We’re friends you can ask me anything”

“I’ve been training a lot on my own recently because I wanted to surprise my dad with my progress but pretty soon I think I’m gonna ask him to personally train me. The UA entrance exams are pretty soon. And I want to make him proud”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine! You’re a great hero already with an amazing quirk. I think he’ll be proud of you no matter what you do”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive”

“Thanks. I’ve gotta go train, my exams are way sooner than yours. You’ve still got about 10 months right?”

“You honestly think I can make it senpai?”

“I don’t know. But I like you and you’ve got the right attitude so I want to support you. Who knows maybe you’ll make history as a quirkless hero.”

[Name] smiled and bid Izuku farewell as he headed off in the opposite direction intending to train even harder to become the number one. Everything in his life was primed so he would be the best. He was Icarus chasing after the sun on his man-made wings. But he was determined not to fall, not to drown and he refused to fail even if the sun burned him up upon first contact.

[Name] passed his entrance exams and was ranked number one in the incoming first year class. His first number one. The sports festival being his next goal, and once he finally had One For All, there’d be no one to stop him. He was sure of it. And that’s what he wanted to tell his father the day Yagi came home and excitedly told him he’d met and befriended a young boy from Mustafu called Izuku Midoriya. [Name] smiled brightly happy that the two of them had met and instead promised himself to bring the topic up the next morning.

The opportunity never came considering All Might had gone missing from the house every morning before [Name] woke up and he’d come home deflated and exhausted. [Name] would just smile at the exhausted Yagi and make the two of them dinner or tuck Yagi into the bed when he’d fall asleep on the couch. It was pretty easy for a telekinetic to tuck their dad into bed without waking him. Sometimes [Name]’s eyes and hands would glow and he’d flutter his fingers near Yagi’s temple sending him sweet dreams. After about two months of this [Name] decided to confront Yagi, and he camped out on the couch that faced the front door. When Yagi tried to sneak out [Name] spoke up

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got some work to do early this morning”

“Everyday for two months?”

Yagi’s eyes widened, not knowing [Name] noticed his habits. And that was a part of the problem. [Name] paid attention to everything, he was a strategist who had a degree in All Might. It was how he and Midoriya became friends in the first place and why they continued to get along so well

“I’ve been training”

“For what” [Name] asked and at the slight downturn of his father’s smile he realized he’d been asking the wrong questions. “Where?” He received silence

“Who are you training dad? And don’t lie to a mind reader”

“I’ve been training Young Midoriya”

“For his entrance exams? Why not invite me? The two of us are friends and I can teach him how to spar”

“It’s just between the two of us, no need to wear yourself thin. Focus on training for the sports festival”

“I’ve been trying to ask you to train me. This is the perfect opportunity”

“Perhaps later my boy”

The disappointment barely got a chance to sit on [Name]’s face before he smiled “Have fun dad. Tell him good luck for me, yeah?” Yagi nodded and headed out the door, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. [Name] was a good kid.

[Name] returned to training alone, and cleaning up after his dad, and going to school, and listening to his dad lie, and smiling. But the feeling that he was missing something took over him and set him on edge. So he went for a walk. And who better to find than Izuku Midoriya and his dad training on a beach. [Name] reached up a hand to wave at them before realizing this is what was setting him on edge. His dad was paying more attention to his quirkless kohai than his own son. He felt another stabbing sensation similar to when Nighteye had betrayed him but this time the pain was in his chest and didn’t go away. It was accompanied by the desire to cry. And so [Name] stood there hysterical with a smile on his face and tears streaming down his cheeks. The taste of snot reaching his tongue through his teeth.

[Name] waited for them to finish training before he followed Izuku pretending to just casually bump into the boy. “Oh wow Izuku you’re shaping up. My dad says you’ve been training lately” [Name] knew the boy was horrible at lying and would probably nervously blurt out the truth between the two, and if he didn’t there was always the option of reading his mind.

“Hehe, yeah” Izuku chuckled nervously

“So what’re you training for exactly? I know you’re aiming for UA but what’s your strategy for passing the exams? Just regular old strength training?”

“Actually All Might’s been training me for something else entirely. I’ve got to go but I’ll talk about it more with you later okay?” Midoriya screamed behind him as he put some distance between the two. He was smart, smart enough not to look in [Name]’s direction anytime he lied, a strategy that kept him safe for months. All good things must come to an end.

[Name] showed up on the beach one afternoon and demanded to know what was happening. His expression was serious and his eyes glowed the moment they tried to placate him.

“I’ve been training Young Midoriya to be a hero” All Might started

“Yes I know that”  

“More accurately his successor” Midoriya finished

“Wait what” [Name] frowned

“I knew you approved of Young Midoriya becoming a hero and when I saw him save Young Bakugou from the attack I saw myself in him”

“I’M supposed to be your successor. You don’t see yourself in me? Your son?”

“Bubs-”

“Don’t Bubs me. And You!” [Name] whipped around furious, hurt in his eyes as he faced Midoriya “I told you all I ever wanted was to be like my father and make him proud. I befriended you and protected you when I could. On the day of the attack I told you I wanted to train with him and you stole him. You took him right from under me.”

“I’m sorry” Midoriya stuttered out “But you have a quirk. You don’t know what it’s like being powerless and picked on. He gave me a way out”

[Name] looked at Midoriya sympathetically, simultaneously wanting to reach out and hug the boy but also wanting to make him suffer. At [Name]’s conflicted silence Midoriya continued “Senpai, please. Can’t you just be happy for me? I’m finally getting to live my dream”

[Name] looked at him apathetically “Why would I be happy you sacrificed my dream for yours?”

“Please” they begged and oddly enough, they begged in harmony “Don’t go. Forgive us, we didn’t mean to hurt you” Their eyes were pleading almost as if they knew the second he turned his back on them, it would be the end of their relationship. [Name] got a high off of their suffering. It was the first time in months he’d truly felt happy. They got a taste of what he’d been feeling.

‘This is karma’ [Name] thought ‘God’s in his heaven and all's right with the world’ He looked at the two of them and smiled. A reassuring smile. They let out breaths they didn’t know they were holding in as he laid a hand on the side of each of their heads. “I’m sorry” he said sickeningly sweet “I’m not the forgiving type”

Neither All Might nor Midoriya had time to react before [Name]’s eyes glowed and he sent them into a nightmare where they were abandoned and lonely calling out for help only to be betrayed. [Name] walked home with his head feeling more clear than it had in weeks. He’d always thought of his father as God. And if he were God that would make [Name] Jesus.

God made Judas, and All Might made a hero out of Midoriya.

Things were awkward in [Name]’s house after that. Yagi and Izuku were still training, and so Yagi would come home to a dark house and no son to greet him. If [Name] was around when Yagi got home, he’d pretend not to notice or leave the room immediately and have his things float up to his room. Yagi knocked on his son’s door one day and though he got no response he knew [Name] was listening.

“You can still be a great hero my boy. I know you’ll do great things”

“There’s no room for me to be Number One while One For All exists”

Yagi was disheartened and walked away leaving it at that. The day of the entrance exams was coming up and Izuku would finally receive One For All. He hoped they could take it one day at a time from there, considering they’d all be attending the same school for the next few years. Midoriya went on to pass the entrance exams and earned a spot in class 1A. Yagi was ecstatic and Midoriya got a taste of what it felt like to be a hero.

The UA Sports Festival made for a grand spectacle where Izuku Midoriya had called out to the world and said “I Am Here”. He showcased an amazing power but also his poor control over said power. About a week after the festival, Izuku was attacked by villains who believed the key to his strength was in his DNA. They knew he wouldn’t sit still and let them pluck hairs, so the easiest way was to make him bleed. They ambushed him, subdued him and took him to a second location where he was bled and beaten to death. His body was found a week after his disappearance. Broken arms, legs and lacerations all over his body. The police suspected most of his injuries came from him trying to escape.

The villains couldn’t remember why they took him. The harder they tried to remember the worse their heads hurt and their eyes would glow red. Even Naomasa with his lie detector couldn’t pick up the truth. All the villains knew was that his blood was supposed to give them a boost, like some of the other illegal quirk boosters on the market. The suspects were released on bail and disappeared several hours later.

All might of course felt responsible and was weighed down with guilt. He had killed Young Midoriya through his own negligence. Heavy is the head that wore the crown. Yagi was strong enough to keep his head on his shoulders but he could not move from the position he was in.

He recalled a conversation between himself and [Name] a day or two after Midoriya’s disappearance. The boy who hadn’t smiled once since their fight on the beach gave a twisted smile as he asked “How’s your successor doing? Have they found his body yet?

Yes, All Might had done this to Young Midoriya himself. He played the part of instigator and now he was the secret keeper. He was to bear the sins of his son and himself as he prayed that unlike [Name], Young Midoriya up in heaven was of the forgiving type.

#male reader #x male reader #male reader insert #bnha x male reader #bnha x reader #mha x male reader #mha x reader #all might #that-bi-bitch-writes

[retrogalwrites]

Aizawa Shouta x Yandere!fReader

Title: “Kiss me as if you are punching me” / view on ao3

summary: Aizawa is kidnapped by a villain obsessed with him, who hopes to finally make the hero hers.

Warnings: dubcon, coercion, unhealthy relationships, drugging, kidnapping, yandere reader, hate fucking from Aizawa's side, delusions, masochism 

Other contents: creampie, orgasm denial, dom/sub dynamic, spanking, rough sex, fingering, masturbation, name calling, a twist because i like twists

Words: 2917

When Aizawa opened his eyes, he was not surprised by the tight rope around his body that kept him viciously tied to a bulky chair. He had been held hostage before, more than once even, it just came with the job, you know?

However, typically, he'd expect some decaying dirty room, some dark, gloomy basement that smelled like shit, just the usual imagery you expect from situations like these.

Instead, his surprise—utter shock if you will—came from the smell of roses and cinnamon that filled his nostrils, the vibrant color red of opulent velvet wallpaper around him and fluffy carpet under his feet of matching color. The room was dimly lit by a varied array of candles carefully placed on expensive-looking furniture, even a fancy bed, it was a very girly and sensual atmosphere that completely crushed his usual expectations of being kidnapped by an enemy. It was one of those rare times that Aizawa felt at loss of words.

"Guess who~?"

Suddenly a saccharine voice, suggestive and obscene, called from behind as a pair of hands playfully covered his eyes. Aizawa froze, of course he knew that voice very well, he groaned at the feeling of round, soft breasts pressing against the back of his head, it gave him annoying goosebumps.

Of course he recognized that voice, even the feeling of your body. For months you had roamed the streets committing mostly petty crime with the sole purpose of getting the hero Eraserhead to chase after you, like some obsessed psycho. Like a little pest, you'd pop up to cause trouble while he was on his nightly rounds without fail, always dolled up, flaunting your assets like a harlot and provoking him shamelessly. Always boldly declaring your insane love for him before managing to slip away into the shadows...

It was such a bizarre case that other heroes had started to tease him about it, laughing about the femme fatale villain that had a crush on him. He despised it, your existence did nothing but to bring yet another thing for him to be tired and annoyed about.

At least, you were a low tier threat, basically harmless really, or so he thought. Being kidnapped by you was the last thing he had expected, and that only annoyed him more, the thought that he had underestimated the situation and how unhinged you really had been.

Aizawa uttered your name under his breath like a cursed word, and you giggled delighted against his ear.

"Yes, it's me~! As expected from my darling."

"Don't call me that." He refuted your pet-names as always, mustering his most stern voice to mask the fact he was still trying to process his own shortcomings that had lead him there. "What the hell is this?"

Removing your hands from his eyes, you remained behind him, placing them instead on his broad shoulders, reminding him of the lack of his scarf-his only offensive weapon- on them.

"Well, what does it look like? I abducted you, silly." You hummed amused, tone far too casual for his liking. But with your fingers digging into the muscle, massaging his soreness, he almost gave in and sighed in relief. "You've been playing so hard to get all this time, and trust me I do love the chase but...I just can't bear with it anymore."

"Then leave me alone." He managed to say instead, as he struggled on his seat, testing the tightness of the binding around him.

"No, can't do." You replied, fingers digging into his shoulders with a more vicious grip that made him wince. "How many times do I have to repeat myself? I love you so much, I need you so bad, I may just die."

"Then die." With a deep, angry tone, he growled. " I don't have time for none of this bullshit."

Of course, you only gushed excitedly, throwing your arms around his neck and embracing him from behind so lovingly, he could feel the heat of your body. "Oh baby, I love it when you are mean!"

"You're delusional." He said.

"Well, yes." You replied. "But I'm still going to get what I want."

As you pulled back, Aizawa felt the sharp tip of a blade pressed against the back of his neck, threatening to cut through if he didn't stay put. He broke into cold sweat.

"Open your mouth."

"..."

"Open your mouth or I'll cut your head off, I really don't want to do that, dear."

You had never threatened him like that before, he hesitated for a second before spitting back, expertly to not let his tumultuous feelings show.

"I'll bite your hand off."

"You know, I wouldn't mind if you did that." You giggled again. Aizawa  sighed deeply, feeling powerless against what was someone who clearly couldn't be reasoned with.

You took advantage of that to bring your fingers to his mouth, slipping inside two white pills before forcing his jaw shut with your hand so he'd have to swallow them. Aizawa tried to spit them out, but you weren't having none of it, in the end he had to swallow the dissolving drug into his system.

"What the hell...did you give me?!"

He demanded as soon as you let go of him, drool dribbling down his scruffy chin.

"Relax, it will make you feel good. I would never poison you, baby."

But it was a little too hard to believe you, of course. His silence said as much.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you...it's an aphrodisiac."

It was like you had actually stabbed him with that knife, the severity of your words weighing on him, an understanding of what you were planning to do with him filling the hero with dread that was almost as big as his self-hatred for having stupidly refused to take you as a bigger threat sooner.

With a soft, feminine laugh, twirling gracefully, you quickly moved around to stand in front of him.

Finally getting to properly look at you, Aizawa jaw almost dropped.

Dressed in a black nightie babydoll, all lace and ribbons, showing off the perfect curves of your body, supple skin of your breasts and nipples behind see-through fabric. The edges fluttered delicately just above your upper thighs, giving him full view of the crotchless panties you wore, your slit shamelessly displayed for him to see.

His body felt as though it was on fire, eyes glued to the glistening wetness already smeared over the pink skin of your folds, even more stickiness clinging to the skin of your inner thighs showing just how fucking wet you had to be.

It was work of the aphrodisiac, he realized, how his heart began racing madly in his chest with pumping blood, a dryness in his mouth and a heat in his abdomen that was making it hard to breath properly.

Aizawa's entire willpower worked harder it ever had just to try to look uninterested at the lewd sight of you. "Well, it sure is a shame you went through all this trouble for nothing."

You pouted at his comment almost childishly, something that gave him a sense of satisfaction despite his situation still being far from improving. But Aizawa had to remain calm, because knowing his colleagues, they would be out to look for him soon enough, all he had to do was to endure ...to endure...to endure what exactly? He still wasn't completely sure, and yet that only made him shiver with unwanted thrill.

"So you say, but you seem to be a little excited already."

Drawling your words, your eyes fixated on his crotch. He looked down as well and cringed, a bulge straining against the fabric of his pants, his cock swelling up simply by looking at your own depraved arousal. He reminded himself it wasn't his fault, it was the drug, he still could fight off the effects.

"You are pathetic, forcing yourself on someone like this." He said with a groan, because his hardening cock was starting to feel uncomfortably tight inside his pants. You rolled your eyes, and laughed.

"Oh no, I'm not going to do that."

Your answer, simple and honest, took him by surprise that Aizawa couldn't conceal.

"I'll simply stand here and enjoy myself, give you a little show. I won't touch you unless you ask me to, my darling."

Before he could respond, you were soon taking one step back from him. Standing on a pair of impractical high heels and stockings, Aizawa watched as you began to sway your hips side to side with hypnotic rhythm, the fluttering edges of the lacy babydoll bringing attention to the ripe shape of your plump thighs, he could even imagine grabbing them with his large hands...fuck, dealing with you would've been far easier from the very start if you weren't so infuriatingly gorgeous.

Aizawa groaned, lips tightly shut, refusing to give you any sort of satisfaction from this.

But as if you could read his mind, you turned around playfully to give him a full view of your backside. The roundness of your fat ass, perfect to grab and force against his aching cock and rut against until he was shooting his seed all over your asscheeks, fuck...his dirty thoughts kept pulling up.

Aizawa's throbbing erection twitched with need, and he tried to rub his thighs together for just a little bit of friction. You didn't notice it in that exact moment, because you were too busy leaning forward to show off your pussy at his hungry gaze, your fingers moving to the crotchless area of your panties to spread your folds with your fingers, giving him a perfect view of your pussy's tight hole.

Even with his dry eyes, he was having a hard time blinking, unable to part away from that obscene view. Your needy little hole so wet for him right there in full display, only a whore would have such little shame and modesty, a crazy whore like you.

Aizawa didn't realize his lip had started to bleed slightly from bitting it too hard.

"God, knowing you are looking at me makes me so excited, baby." You moaned softly, voice full of adoration, looking at him over your shoulder. "Like a dream come true."

Aizawa turned his head away just to try spite you, using his messy long hair to shield his vision, an attempt to dominate this bizarre game of yours, but uncaring to his resistance, you simply continued enjoying yourself for him to witness. Slowly, you slid one finger into your dripping cunt, your legs trembling as you moaned Aizawa's name outloud.

The fire in his blood was reaching a fever pitch, the sound so obscene of his name on your tongue, accompanied to the squelching noises of your finger pumping in and out your tight walls quickly had him looking back at your depraved little show.

As soon as you felt his gaze back on you, another finger was inserted, making yourself mewl dramatically with your back arching like a cat's, then a third finger testing the stretch of your hole around them. You were taking them so well, his breath hitched. Watching how you were fucking yourself like that ignited that primal urge in him to tackle you to the floor and replace those fingers with the thickness of his cock...

"Oh, Shouta...aahhh I love you so much...!!" You started mumbling, like begging, and it made him pitifully buck his hips into the air before he could stop himself.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Aizawa was losing his mind with the drugs maximizing his lust. His cock was so swollen and hard that it was painful, his balls begging to be emptied, just any sort of relief.

Another loud, slutty moan from you that turned into a cry, as your wobbly legs gave out and you slid onto the floor slowly, still fingering yourself you switched positions. Facing him with your legs spread as you sat on the floor, you continued fingering yourself. Now your free hand massaging your own breast, punching the nipple over the fabric of the top.

"I'm so close...ahh...." you panted, looking directly at him, your little pink tongue poking out your gaping mouth. "I'll let you go once I cum, promise."

That was what broke his control, the power of the aphrodisiac too strong to fight. In that moment Aizawa knew he had lost his sense of reason. He struggled violently against the binding rope, a gutural growl erupting from deep in his chest.

"Don't you dare finishing without my permission, you damn bitch."

The commanding tone, the brutality of his voice, you froze in place as you stared at him with wide eyes. He spoke again, glaring at you with unfiltered lust and anger he hadn't felt before. "Untie me now, I'm going to fuck you. That's what you want isn't it? Then bring your pussy over here."

The look on your face was of absolute delight, almost childish in excitement. Before he knew it, you had severed the ropes tying him to the chair with the knife you had kept tucked by the elastic of your stocking.

The sequence that followed happened so fast he barely registered it, when he roughly grabbed you by the arms with his freed hands, forcing you to drop the knife as he pushed you down onto the floor. Crawling on top, Aizawa crashed his mouth against yours, lips violently molding against yours in a desperate, almost animilastic imitation of a kiss, sloppily inserting his tongue into your eager mouth, and you returned the gesture in kind. By the time he realized what had happened, he was already rutting his erection against the gash of your pussy, groaning and whining at the delicious friction.

Breaking the kiss, leaving you with bruised lips, he plopped himself onto his knees and started unbuckling his pants, pulling out his cock that was red and raw, drooling precum like it was about to burst.

"Don't get it wrong, this is only because of your damn aphrodisiac..." He hissed above you, boring his smoldering gaze into yours, stroking his member in one hand.

Then, to his still surprise, you blurted out a hearty laugh. Deviously looking at him like the cat who got the cream.

"Oh, baby...that wasn't an aphrodisiac. It was just regular aspirin."

You admitted so honestly, and Aizawa couldn't do more than stare at you completely dumbstruck for a second. But only a second.

Immediately, you helped loudly as Aizawa unceremoniously turned you over, pulling your hips up so your perky ass was up in the air, and impaled you with his thick, hard cock in one brutal thrust. You cried again, face forced flush against the carpet floor by Aizawa's hand. His hips ruthlessly starting a furious peace, drilling himself into your tight walls without mercy.

"You...damn bitch...are you trying to make a fool of me?!"

Aizawa panted, hissing each syllable with every thrust, his heavy balls slapping against your pussy mound over and over, the dry sound mixing with the wet squelching of your sex being abused.

"Apologize. Apologize for all the trouble you've caused me."

His other hand came down on your ass so hard, the stinging pain making you scream, leaving an raw imprint of his palm on your skin. And he hit you again, and again, as he fucked you relenthlessly.

"Yessss....I'm sorrryyy!!! I'm sorrryyy!!"

You moaned and cried, pain and pleasure too much to bear, words barely making sense. Tears streamed down your cheeks and yet the expression on your face couldn't be anything but pure happiness and adoration for Aizawa. "I love you so much darlin'...aaahh!!! I couldn't help myself!!"

You were so tight and snug inside, your slippery walks tightly squeezing his cock like you didn't want to ever let go of it, he could barely keep himself from cumming too soon with how fucking good you felt.

"You don't deserve to cum." He pushed himself against your back, her larger muscular frame easily pressing your entire body against the floor as he kept fucking you.

"Say it!"

"I...don't deserve to cum!!"

"I'm going to pump you full of my seed and you are going to be grateful for even that."

"Yesssss....!!!!"

Aizawa was soon shooting a heavy load into you, all that accumulated lust from all your teasing, all your annoying chase, all the undying love you proclaimed for him and he had no idea what to do with. He responded to your feelings the only way he knew how, and thick jets of white cum shoot into your womb, painting your walls with his semen until his balls stopped throbbing.

You were full of his cum, a babbling mess looking like you had seen heaven.

Aizawa wasn't sure himself, if he was in heaven or hell.

————

"Hey! Just got a call from the police, guess which wacky villainess is causing trouble downtown today?" The voice of Mic rang into the teacher lounge, peaking his head through he door.

"I don't want to guess." Aizawa muttered softly, quickly getting up on his feet and adjusting his googles, ready to head out. "I'll take care of it."

"Why, Shouta! If I didn't know better, I'd think ya rush to go see her quite a lot these days." A teasing smile, Mic tilted his head curiously. "Did something happen between you two?"

A pause, and the hero turned around to leave.

"Don't be ridiculous."

#aizawa thirst #aizawa x reader #tw dubcon #tw kidnapping #tw drugging #tw yandere

[sukiglycerin]

birds (not) of a feather || keigo takami.

* pairing: hawks x fem pro-hero!reader

* genre: canonverse(???), terribly indulgent smut, pwp, enemies w benefits

* words: 3,111

* warnings: i just packed a shitload of kinks into this, dom!hawks, sub!reader, daddy kink, dirty talk, semi-public sex (a bathroom), quirk play aka feather play (not tickling), reader is kiNda a brat, fingering, orgasm denial, cum eating, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (pls.,., wrap it before you tap it irl), degradation, breeding kink, humiliation, dumbification, creampie, aftercare (duh), i’m so sorry for this i’ll finish my sfw angst thing now

* a/n: inspired by this text post... oh god, this is filthy. apologies for the slightly late update, but here it finally is!! @toishi is an absolute angel for proofreading this at like 1 in the morning. i hope you enjoy this! if you liked this, feel free to request anything you’d like to see from me <3

there was something about hawks that was infuriating. you couldn't tell exactly what was the breaking point; his messy hair, his plush smirk, or his eyes. his eyes, typically glazed over with a mixture of cockiness and devil-may-care hawtiness, were perhaps the most charming part to him, if you asked any fangirl. the markings around them only made him prettier, but infuriatingly so; and when you put together the entire package of 'hawks,' you got an extremely punchable person. 

yet sometimes, during extremely rare instances - perhaps when the light hits him just right or when one of his feathers is placed just perfectly - the word 'punchable' is replaced with 'fuckable.' and when you say fuckable, you mean him fucking you. it only aggravates you more.

you can't recall exactly when you started hating him or exactly when you became fuckbuddies (well, more like fuckenemies), but what you can recall is that the closets at hawks' agency are unreasonably large. not that they can't be used to your advantage, on multiple occasions (especially when hawks ruts). you're sitting next to hawks as some entrepreneur attempts to sell his ideas to market heroes and gain more profit. none of the pro-heroes sitting in the room seem particularly engaged. you're practically falling asleep; hawks' doodles on your notepad keeping you awake. you can't exactly complain, though the doodles take up space on an otherwise blank page, it's entertaining. you're far past gone being alert, however; your eyelids droop one last time before you see an oddly phallic shaped doodle behind your eyelashes. goddamn hawks.

"really?" you hiss at him, pushing his hand away.

he shrugged, lazily smiling. "you like it."

"like what? lewd imagery in my work notepad?"

"no." his voice drops an octave, fatally gravelly, "my cock."

you flush at his obscene language. "don't-" you whisper, but you're cut off by hawks' muffled giggles as he points to another one of his doodles. a rooster. you purse your lips. ever-so immature, hawks.

"yeah, but i bet you like the first one a lot more, don'tcha, chickadee?" his pet name has your brain stuttering. "you like my cock so much, hm?"

"fuck you, hawks," you breathe.

"you can try, feather." his voice is dripping with cockiness. "i bet, even in professional times like these, you think about my cock. in business meetings, you look so professional, so serious, but little does everyone know - you're dreaming about my cock stretching your tight little cunt out, making you scream my goddamn name. i bet you salivate just thinking about my cock fucking you good, hm? isn't that right, chickadee?"

you huff, not meeting his eyes as you search for a witty comeback. your silence gives hawks' ego a boost; he smirks wider.

"you know it's true, huh?" he purrs. "you think of me wherever you go. in public, filing paperwork, when you touch yourself in bed... you just like it so much, you're my slut. who knew the nation's favorite pro-hero would drop to her knees to the sight of anyone's cock?"

"yeah, i touch myself whenever i think of you," you mutter saltily under your breath. you ignore the growing arousal in your panties at his provocative words. hawks goes quiet, eyes wide.

"more specifically, i rub my temples because i get a headache because you're so damn awful."

"well fuck, dove," he chuckles. he leans in close to your ear. "maybe i'll give you something to think about."

a shiver curls itself down your spine. "hawks-"

he hushes you, jotting something in your notepad. he excuses himself from the room, leaving a feather laying on his seat in place of him. you read the note. "women's bathroom, down the hall to the left. no one uses it."

a pump of adrenaline fills you; your heart skips a beat.

once you slip out, your heart plays a game of jump rope, the rhythm filling your ears. down the hall, to the left... you wonder what hawks has in store for you. your brain recreates images of past escapades you engaged in with the man; a quickie in his office, another in an alley, and once, him fucking you just before a meeting. your panties grow damper, unable to mask the anticipation you feel within yourself.

"hi, sweetpea," hawks cooes as soon as you enter the restroom. "fancy seeing you here."

"you invited-"

"hush, i didn't give you permission to speak, did i?" he snaps. "good girls who behave are rewarded."

a whimper slips out of you, and you nod.

"safeword, birdie?"

"sunflower."

"good girl." he hums. "so obedient, once disciplined... maybe i should do this more. i bet you'd like that... being such a slut when anyone could walk in." "hawks..." you start, but he doesn't have it.

the hero stalks toward you. if eyes could kill, you'd be murdered within seconds; his irises are dark, pupils blown, and a shadow has fallen over his face. he looks predatory like this - truly living up to his name. it's graceful, the self-control he assumes whence walking toward you. 

said self-control is completely abandoned as soon as your bodies meet. you're completely enraptured in his shadow as the man loomed over you, his wings contributing greatly to the effect. he's the predator, and you're the prey. 

his arm separates your neck from the wall, his hand clutching the back of your head. the free hand moves itself to caress your jaw in a strangely gentle manner, while his knee pushes its way in between your legs, making your upper thighs into a home. his hand nudges your head forward towards his, and then you're kissing him with such ferocity it's animalistic. tongues clash and you're no longer sure whose spit is whose; it dribbles down your chin the way blood drips from the thirsty lips of a vampire.

hawks growls - he actually growls - while he hastily unbuttons your top and slips his tongue into your mouth. you shamelessly grind down against his clothed pant leg, careless that your wetness will leave a stain. 

he pulls away, a string of saliva snapping between you and leaving you two gasping for breath. 

"fuck, fuck, baby bird," hawks wipes his mouth with his sleeve. his lips are swollen, their colour resembling a cherry lollipop with a sheen of gloss. damn, he's pretty. you never realized how good-looking a guy in a suit could be. his eyes are darker than a raven's, and it looks as though he'll devour you whole. 

"come." hawks gestures for you, walking towards the sinks and large mirror above them. as soon as you near a foot from hawks, he grabs you, one hand on your waist and the other on your throat. 

"look at you..." he tsks, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. you're completely disheveled, hair a mess and eyes blown dark. your top is wrinkled slightly, your breasts peaking out through the unbuttoned gap and your skirt pushed up.

"so messy already..." the hand on your waist moves up and squeezes your breast, tweaking a nipple through your bra.

"you just fucking melt for me, like a good whore," he says.

oh, how you hate how easily hawks can win you over.

"fuck you," you scoff half-heartedly. "are you gonna fuck me, or not? we don't have all day."

"won't be a problem, lovebird," he says breezily. "judging by how much you fucking soaked my pant leg, i could have you coming undone without my cock even touching your dirty cunt.

you glance at his thigh, which has a blatant dark spot on it, and feel your heart race in humiliation. you can only stay silent, knowing he's right. the sensation in your core is painfully obvious to you, as if taunting you more.

"obeying now?" he teases, a wicked smile gracing his face. "bend over the counter, sweetpea."

you huff, obliging. hawks deftly moves his fingers, unbuttoning your shirt. you shiver, your hot skin colliding with the cold, unforgiving marble. 

"spread your legs - good, good, like that..." his breath tickles your ear, "you like how the air touches your sopping pussy? how exposed you fucking feel, all spread out for me when anyone could walk in? me, the number 2 pro-hero..." god, he was so cocky it was infuriating.

"shut up," you grumble.

"what?" his voice is sharp, cutting clean through the air. "is that anyway to treat your daddy?"

you fucking hate the title. you hate how hawks harnesses it as his own, how he so personifies the word - how good it fits him, sounding like sugar off his lips.

two of his fingers meet your clothed folds. "answer me, birdie."

"n-no," you squeak out. 

"no, who?" he spits.

"no, daddy." 

you inch your head up to look in the mirror, and hawks is smiling. 

"what to do with you, what to do with you..." he sounds gleeful, sadistic undertones tinting his words with a faded rose red. so pretty, yet so painful. your head goes back down onto the counter, your cheek pressed against it.

"naughty birds deserve punishment, don'tcha think?" 

you can't find it in yourself to form a coherent word; instead, a clumsy moan falls from your lips. hawks' fingers press harder against your cunt; you're sure they've gotten at least a little damp.

compromised in such a position, your senses make you suddenly aware of your surroundings; the way the counter digs into your hips, how the coolness is starting to fade under your body. you're aware of your every breath, the fluttering in your stomach every time hawks presses your clit. you're aware of the inherent eroticism of your acts, and how you don't really hate hawks; no, no, no - how he just infuriates you.

he's the ideal hero, in your eyes - laidback, charming, and yet so skilled at his work. it amazes you. one can only strive to be so multifaceted, and it explains his status as number 2 hero. you work so hard, yet he can achieve all the things you dream in half a heartbeat.

"let's get these out of the way." hawks, hooking a digit into the band of your panties, forces them down in an instant. you instinctively clench at the air which meets your nether lips, your juices leaking out of them like a honeyed nectar.

"so messy," hawks comments. "can't even control yourself without your panties. you like being such a slut for daddy, huh?"

you grumble in protest.

"huh?" his index and ring finger plunge into your pussy, making a loud squelching sound.

"d-daddy," you blurt a moan out, falling apart on his fingers.

"that's more like it, feather." hawks sets a moderate pace on your pussy, curling to hit your sweet spot. the noises from your cunt and mouth fail to cease, and you throw a hand over the latter to muffle your whimpers.

you start to feel a burning sensation rise in your stomach; a toe-curling, warm feeling like sunlight shining in the morning.

"daddy, daddy, hngg- i'm so close."

you're so close to the sunlight, to being showered in the blissful heat. just one more stroke and-

you're suddenly empty, and the light starts to slowly recede.

"daddy!" you complain, shifting your legs and rubbing your thighs together. "bad birds get punishment," he shrugs. "though i must say... you like it when i bend you over the counter, huh? your little pussy is dripping all over it for me, and i've barely touched you... i bet you're getting off to this right now; when anyone could walk in, huh? filthy slut. you're already begging for more... hm, maybe i should make you lick up the mess you've made..."

"d-addy, no, i've taken my punishment, please let me cum..."

hawks sounded indifferent, as if he were merely studying his nails. "beg for it."

"wh-" you clench your hands in your skirt. you do not particularly enjoy begging - for anything or anyone. despite the pulsing in your cunt, and how hard it is not to give in, you don't want to give hawks the satisfaction of winning. "p-psh, didn't really need your cock anyway..." you grumble. you exhale quietly, calming the adrenaline pumping in your blood from the loss of your orgasm.

something in him changes, and a scarlet feather tickles your lips. you're confused; what does hawks want you to do?

"suck."

you exhale in confusion, blowing the feather away. "suck?"

you crane your neck up at the mirror to catch a glimpse of hawks. he looks deadly - there's no other way to put it. his eyes are sharply trained on you, his wings buff and towering over him. you think you see a bulge in his pants, straining for freedom.

"well?" the feather dusts your lips once again, teasing you to trap it in between your lips. your head drops, falling against the counter. you open your mouth, and the tip of the feather rests on your tongue. your lips close around it, and you hesitantly suck. you're not sure what you were expecting; it's a feather, soft and flimsy in your mouth.

you jolt at an indistinct tickling feeling against your clit. you look back, feather hanging out of your mouth, to see hawks leaning back on a stall. he's not within reach to touch you, so...

"hng!" the foreign object presses your clit. the pressure strengthens against your tight bundle of nerves, and you can feel your slick drip out of you even more. a feather; though hawks made the consistency a bit more solid. the feather pushes against your pussy like a seesaw, making you reach for your high. you shut your eyes tight, lost in the feeling and desperate for release. the feather drags up and down your cunt, eliciting lewd noises, while your lips are clamped shut around the feather in your mouth. saliva pools in your mouth the more the feather teases your wet sex, and the familiar build of tension starts in your stomach. you yearn for the heat returned in full, to be so fulfilled in pleasure, and you rut against the feather in an attempt to reach your climax faster. the stimulation is suddenly gone, leaving you crying out.

"look at this," hawks sneers. a single, wet feather, dripping in a substance far thicker than water hovers in front of you. "open your mouth."

the feather slips out, and is replaced with a salty tasting one.

the taste of your arousal fills your tongue, and before you're given time to dwell on it, you feel warmth pressing against the back of your thighs. there's a clanking of metal, a shuffle of fabric, and you feel the tip of hawks' cock pressing against you.

"look at you, baby, so desperate for a fuckin' feather," he rasps in your ear. "should i show you how much better my cock is? hmm?"

you nod dumbly, the feather bobbing with you. 

"fuck," he groans, pushing himself into your depths. "so wet, so- slick- goddamn baby bird, you like it when i stuff you full of this cock?"

you hum a noise against the feather in your mouth, agreeing. he slipped into your pussy smoothly, lubricated by the abundance of your slick. once in, snuggled in deep, something in the man's composure snaps; he thrusts mercilessly, pounding deep in you. his fingers hold your hips, bruising them, you're sure - and the pain is sweet, a sick lolly against your tongue. 

"fuck, fuck, daddy's gonna fuck his babies into you, betcha'd like that, huh?"  you can't articulate your words properly with the feather in your mouth, but you attempt to agree. he doesn't care, continuing with his degradation.

"you're gonna give me my chicks, huh? be my bitch," he pants heavily. god, you can just imagine how he looks; hair falling onto his sweat-matted forehead, his eyes completely lascivious. a wanton moan spills from your mouth, and the feather falls, but hawks doesn't make notice of this. he continues to slam into you, pace unforgiving, burying himself to the hilt inside of you. squelching noises fill the bathroom, echoing off the walls.

you can only moan and clench around him unintelligently. 

"look at you... all fuckin' stupid and obedient, all for daddy, hm? so willing to let daddy use you as a cumdump, daddy's personal- fucking- cumslut- but you like that, huh? your pretty pussy's clenching around me. you like being talked down to, don'tcha? such a dirty slut. look at that, you're drooling."

two of hawks' fingers shove themselves into your mouth, and you salivate around them. it's messy, you know, and spit trails down your chin.

"look at me, chickadee," he commands. you crane your neck to look at him, eyes wide. "fuck, so slutty," he grunts. "you really like this, don't you? fuck- exposing your fucking cunt to every guy, huh? being used as nothing but a filthy fucktoy?"

you shake your head rapidly in disagreement, cheeks heating up. 

"no?" he chuckles darkly. "just my fucktoy, then?"

you reluctantly nod. 

"my stupid lil baby... so pretty with daddy's fingers shoved in her mouth..." he coos, and a surprising, fuzzy feeling emerges from the praise.

his unoccupied hand reaches down in between your thighs to stimulate your clit, rubbing fast circles against the bud. warmth pools and ties a knot in your stomach. the sugared indulgence of release that you'd so craved comes into view; the knot tightening and tightening and you feel fit to burst.

"c-cum for me, baby bird, cum for me, y/n," he stutters, making a guttural sound in the back of his throat. the fingers in your mouth pull out, falling onto your hips. the tight knot bursts into violent fireworks of ecstasy; your cunt gushes around hawks' cock, convulsing madly. the pleasure shatters you, and everything becomes a haze. you go limp against the counter, thighs shaking. you're not sure how much time has passed - hawks had been fucking you through orgasm, and, at one point, came as well.

"hey, feather," he whispers gently to you. "you did so well for me..." he strokes your back, making a plethora of calming coos and humming sounds

"did so well," you mumble. 

"don't worry about anything, dove, i've got it all handled."

your thoughts are all fog, and you allow yourself to lean into hawks. this is one of the rare times you're vulnerable completely to him; at his mercy, after a particularly hard session. rather, it's one of the rare moments that your true feelings are revealed; how your hatred is baseless, built on jealousy and attraction you deny.

not that you'll admit it.

#hawks x reader #keigo takami smut #hawks smut #keigo takami x reader #bnha smut #bnha x reader #hawks #keigo takami #hawks headcanons #luna's writing #bnha headcanons #hawks imagines #keigo takami headcanons #keigo takami imagines #bnha drabble #pro-hero au #bnha oneshot #oneshots #hawks oneshot #hawks drabble #hawks fluff #bnha x female reader

[thebigqueer]

Omg would love to read something about plague!will going apeshit in battle after Nico gets hurt or something

ooooh yes!!! thank you for the prompt!!

i hope you like this! 

i’m literally gonna do minimum editing lmao

okay literally whoops i made it a lot longer and the prompt starts later my bad asljkfskljfd sorry anon

tw for descriptive imagery & blood

It’s a normal night at Camp Half-Blood, with demigods in their respective cabins, sleeping either fitfully or dreamlessly. After all, there is no in-between for demigods.

And that is no different for Will, who tosses and turns in his bed, sweat prickling his forehead.

Visions of Tartarus flicker across his dreams, memories of monsters and heat and pure agony. The aches and pains from previous injuries return in their full heat, with no mercy for Will.

The dreams consume him, taking away any consciousness and tying him to the memories. Sometimes it takes fifteen minutes to wake Will up at all, even if he’s being shaken. And when he is shaken awake, he merely stares at the ceiling, a blank, glassy look in his eyes. Sometimes he stays there until afternoon. Sometimes he’s in his cabin until the evening.

He’s in there until he can convince himself that nothing’s going to risk his life the moment he steps outside. 

Tonight is one of those lucky moments where Will doesn’t have to be literally thrown around the bed in order to wake him up. A tug creeps on his shoulder, pulling harder and harder, until he jolts awake. Darkness consumes his cabin, spilling all across the room. For a moment, he swears a shadow moves near the bathroom, and he screams and pushes his back against the wall, heart racing.

And then a voice, deep and calming, melts in his ears. “It’s okay,” the voice murmurs. “You’re okay. It’s just me.”

Will’s head whips to the voice, blood roaring in his ears. Monster, some part of him thinks. Monster is trying to sound like my friends.

A demigod stands before him, dressed in black, melting with the darkness. Anxiety creeps over his neck, an icy cold grip on his body. Monster, he thinks again. What if it’s a monster that can shape-shift?

Will pushes himself further, his breathing ragged. The demigod lookalike leans back a little, as if to give him space. They turn their head to the side and mutter something to someone else, but with the utter panic bursting through his body, he can barely hear them.

Then another figure appears before him, this one shorter and more feminine. A part of Will thinks it’s just another monster, but his vision’s clearing now; the panic that gripped him just seconds before eases back a little. He recognizes them. He knows he does. 

“Will,” the feminine figure murmurs, leaning in. “Hey, listen. I’m not a monster. Your favorite song when you were younger was ‘Barbie Girl.’“

Suspicion still crawls over Will, but he’s more stable now. The feminine figure is... Kayla. His sister. Right. 

And the one standing next to her is... Nico? What are they doing here?

Will sits up a little straighter, feeling a little surer in himself. He looks between the two, confused. He opens his mouth to speak, but his throat is dry from the panic that enveloped him just moments ago. Will clears his throat. His voice comes out scratchy as he asks, “What’s wrong? Why are you guys awake?”

Nico nods to Kayla, who turns around and flicks on the light. Brightness consumes the cabin, burning Will’s eyes. The son of Apollo groans and shoves his head in his hands. Another bout of uneasiness creeps through his skin. Why are they awake at such a late time?

“Listen,” Nico says, taking Will’s hand in theirs. “I don’t want to freak you out-” 

“Just by saying that, you’re pretty much guaranteeing that I’m going to freak out.” 

“I know,” Nico mutters. “But you need to be awake. And we need to get out of the cabin.” 

Will blinks. Nico’s words are blending together, slurring through Will’s brain. What are they even saying? He looks around the room, seeing if any of the others are awake. A jolt of unease wakes Will right up as he realizes that, in fact, all of his siblings are awake. “What’s going on?”

Nico rises, hand pulling on Will’s. “There’s a chimera loose on the camp grounds. It snuck in somehow." Their arm tugs, and Will rises immediately, almost as if just by Nico’s strength he’s found the will to stand up.

Dread settles over Will like a blanket. The cabin may be covered in light now, but he feels as though only darkness consumes him. Monster, his mind screams. 

Nico appears to notice Will’s nervousness, because their eyes soften and they whisper, “You can just stay in the infirmary, Will. I don’t know if you’re in any mental condition to fight.” 

Will wants to argue, say that of course he’s going to fight. He more than proved to Nico that he’s not weak when they were in Tartarus, and Nico knows that Will can be more than just a healer.

But Will also knows why Nico’s suggesting that to him. It isn’t because he’s unimportant or useless; it’s because he’s exhausted. He hasn’t had a good sleep in weeks. And he’s just now awoken with dreams about monsters. Battling a monster would do nothing good for him, or for the camp.

Swallowing, Will nods. He looks over at his siblings, who he’s suddenly realized have all been watching him and Nico. After a slight hesitation, he announces: “I’ll help in the ways I can.”

~~~

It’s chilly in the infirmary, the cold air whispering against Will’s bare hands, but he doesn’t mind. It wakes him up, makes him feel a little more alive. 

Austin and Kayla are in the infirmary with him, waiting to patch up any demigods who’ve been hurt by the chimera. Will will admit, even though he hates being thought of as just a healer, he doesn’t mind the sense of calm bandaging cuts gives him. It’s not about helping people; it’s about the fact that at least he feels helpful.

A part of him yearns to be outside and help the other demigods attack the chimera at the hill, but he knows he can’t. Every time the chimera roars, ice drips over Will’s back; terror paralyzes him. He only thinks of Tartarus, of all the monsters who had tried sneaking on him and Nico so many times. 

For the moment, things seem manageable here in the infirmary. There haven’t been many lethal or super serious injuries; only cuts, bruises, and the occasional poisonous gashes. Nothing he and his siblings can’t handle.

And yet, uneasiness still grips him, the sense that something terrible is about to happen. He tries to shake it off. It’s only a chimera, he reminds himself. And there are literally fifty demigods going after it. It’ll be fine.

His worse fears come true when the doors of the infirmary burst open and a demigod comes through, holding a pale, limp figure in his arms.

It takes a moment for the image to register in Will’s brain. At first, the only thought to run through his mind is: Wow, that half-dead demigod looks familiar. 

When he realizes why the demigod looks so familiar, Will gasps. It’s Nico, he thinks with horror. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Fear glues him to his spot by the sink, his knees shaking. The cynical, depressing part of Will already assumes the worst: that he’s dead.

And then, all at once, he zips towards Nico, tears threatening to spill over. He pushes the other demigod aside and circles his arms around Nico, lowering them to their knees.

“Nico,” he whispers urgently, shaking their shoulders. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Nico mutters something incomprehensible, their words slurring together. Their head slumps against Will’s shoulder, body limp. Will takes his hand and places it over Nico’s forehead, almost crying out loud when he realizes how warm the child of Hades is.

Kayla and Austin rush over with a stretcher, their young faces betraying anxiety. Will gently lays Nico over it, his throat aching with the repression of frustrated tears. “Nico, can you say something? What happened?”

This time, Nico’s voice is a little more comprehensible, albeit still slurred. “Chim’ra,” they mutter. “Ven’m. Tried t’ fight it with sword.” They attempt to move their body and immediately give up, grimacing and hissing. Nico’s face turns gray, the color of ashes. 

Will notices the slash on their black T-shirt and the blood oozing out. He quickly lifts the shirt up, discovering a wide gash over Nico’s rib cage. The skin at the edge of the injury is tinged to a slightly green color.

For a second, Will almost loses it. He starts assuming the worst of it, thinking that Nico’s lost it all. But then he remembers: it’s only a gash. The cut may be deep and wide, but there’s no reason he shouldn’t be able to fix it. Nico seems worse off than other demigods who came in with the same poison, but if they can get to work quickly, then there’s no reason as to why he should start assuming the worst.

White hot anger erupts in Will’s system, blaring in his stomach and chest. The Chimera did this. It hurt Nico. 

Will has had enough of monsters. They chased him and Nico throughout Tartarus, making sure to haunt both their dreams. They’ve taunted him, making sure to ensure doubt and insecurities in himself all his life. They almost killed him and his mother when he first arrived at camp. He’s had friends and siblings die because of monsters who never gave a fuck about demigods and their lives. 

And now they’ve decided to mess with Will again, trying to hurt one of the people he loves most. 

Well, Will’s done.

He turns his eyes away from Nico momentarily, staring at his hands. He knows exactly what he needs to do.

“It’s okay,” he promises Nico, who’s skin sags even more under the pressure of pain. “It’s not too bad. Kayla and Austin will be able to fix you up.”

Nico doesn’t answer, too exhausted to do so. Kayla and Austin fix Will with the same confused expression. “Aren’t you helping?” Kayla asks, bending over to take one end of the stretcher. Austin holds the other side.

Will shakes his head, standing. He grits his teeth, staring in the direction of the door. “I have something else to take care of.” 

Austin’s eyes widen in concern. “Will, no. There is no way you’re going out there to fight that thing.”

Kayla opens her mouth to agree, but Will snaps his head back to them. “I’m going,” he states. He glares his eyes at them, mouth set into a thin line. Will almost relishes the sudden look of fear in their faces. “I’m head counselor, guys. I’m supposed to protect you guys.” Turning his face back to the infirmary doors, he announces, “That’s what I’m going to do.”

With that, he storms out of the infirmary. No one follows.

~~~

The winter air snaps at his skin, sinking its teeth into his hands. Will flexes his fingers, anger still seething, pulsing, gushing from every inch of his body. No one hurts his loved ones like that.

He follows the cries of battle and screeches of the monster to Half-Blood Hill, calling on his rage. If the monster wants a battle, then Will will give him one.

It’s been a while since Will’s used his plague powers. The last time was in Tartarus, and when he used them there, he almost passed out. He hasn’t trained with it at all, afraid of how much damage it could cause. What if he accidentally hurts a demigod?

But tonight, as the wind whips across his face and the image of Nico flashes across his brain, he lets the powers pulse, strengthen. His powers hum, resonating through every cell in his body.

His palms burst with a feverish warmth, turning a pale green. He feels the weight of thousands of sicknesses swirling through him, the power they hold. He’s finds the feeling of the plague powers quite strange; it’s like having a sickness, but only inverted. As if he can’t quite feel the symptoms, but he can feel the strength of the problems they can cause. Instead of wearing him down, they only empower him. He controls the sicknesses, can lash them out to whoever he wants.

Heads turn to Will as he steps over the summit of the hill, eyes widening at his sudden change of appearance. Now the heat reaches his face, hot and wild and etching to let loose. He’s a ball of energy, only existing to unleash chaos.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the shield of one of the demigods, and almost screams. He can barely recognize himself. His face has turned a pale, ugly shade of green, his freckles barely visible. The sky blue of his eyes have turned a sickly, glowy yellow, the only vibrancy on his face. The blond of his hair has turned as gray as ashes, limp against his forehead. 

He looks sick and terrible. But really, Will only feels the buzz of power underneath his fingertips. He almost laughs; this feels great. Why would he want to repress this so much? Imagine all the monsters he could kill. Imagine the glory he could get. He would never be looked as weak ever again. 

Demigods eyes trace over him, but as soon as he makes eye contact, they jump and scramble away. Will wants to laugh at that. For so long, he’s felt like some kind of scared, useless wimp; now he’s making others feel like that. 

No, a quiet part of him says. That’s not right. Stop thinking like that.

Guilt starts building up in Will’s chest, but when a roar echoes throughout the camp, anger once against consumes the demigod. He bares his teeth towards the Chimera, whose lion head growls at him, ready to pounce. Its goat, snake, and lion heads all stare at Will daringly, as if taunting him. What are you going to do, Sunny Boy? Going to kill me with silly little poems?

Will just laughs. “What’s the matter, kitty? Are we scaring you?”

This time the goat answers, bleating angrily. Will almost wants to laugh again, but then the goat breathes a blazing hot fire in the son of Apollo’s direction, almost searing off his clothes. 

Will scowls. He speaks again, and just barely registers the change in his voice; it’s raspier, the sound of something brushing against sandpaper. “So you want to play it hard, Kitty? We’ll play it hard.”

The snake tail hisses and spits venom in Will’s direction, but he simply steps back and lets it sizzle on the ground. That was just a test, Will knows. It’s simply measuring how much hell Will is ready to give him. 

Well, he thinks, if you want hell, I’ll give you it.

He lets the plague’s strength build up in his palms, locating the power in one place. Will concentrates on just the sicknesses, the energy buzzing through him. His body buzzes with electricity and excitement. Will’s skin turns an even worse shade of green, practically glowing in the night. Mucus builds up in his nose, and he steps towards the Chimera, extending his right arm.

He waits for it to go first. 

The lion head roars again, and the monster leaps at Will. But he’s ready for it. Just as it lands towards Will, the blond opens his palm to it.

For a moment, it seems as if nothing is happening. The demigods see nothing, no waves or signals to indicate that Will’s doing something. He looks almost ridiculous, really, and some demigods may have laughed if they weren’t so terrified of the way Will’s appearance has changed. 

Will, however, knows a lot is happening. His body surges with power, strength, the urge to only provide sickness. He wants to see the monster fall, weak with illness and begging for death. He wants to see it asking for mercy, and Will will respond only with more torture, more pain. 

He wants to make it beg for Tartarus.

The monster seems confused for a moment, surprised by the strange demigod. What does he even think he’s doing, standing there with his arm outstretched so uselessly and lamely? 

And then it hits the Chimera. Its body grows heavy, weak, wanting only to sit and lie down for a while. It sways on its feet and thumps to the ground, feeling dizzy and confused. Its vision gets blurry; it can barely tell where the demigods are. Only the glow of the strange demigod is clear to the monster, and for a moment it forgets what it’s even supposed to be doing. 

Its mind gets fuzzy. The itch of a sneeze consumes its nose, and then the scratch of its throat makes it wheeze. The Chimera wants to eat this demigod - but, wait. Suddenly the thought of food doesn’t seem too appetizing. 

It just wants to sleep for a while. Its body grows weary, tired, hot from fever. It shivers in the night, its fur doing nothing to protect it in the coolness of the night. The Chimera tries to blow a fire, if only to heat itself, but finds itself too weak to do such a thing. 

And then a strange tickle bursts in its leg. The snake head looks at the limb, and a delayed shock shudders through the Chimera’s body. It’s disintegrating! Not into sand, as all monsters go. Instead, it’s as if the sickness is breaking down all its cells, ripping apart each molecule in the body until there’s nothing left.

Will feels the power ripple through him, and suddenly he can’t help the laughter that bubbles through him. He’s made the monster weak; he’s made the monster helpless. It whimpers, begging for mercy, just as Will wanted.

Will doesn’t relent. He pushes further, extending his powers, breaking the monster down further and further, until it’s left with only the lion head. 

The lion’s eyes peer at Will, glazed over with sickness. Its face is green, which Will didn’t know could happen. Or maybe I made it happen, Will thinks with both elation and terror. 

Will glares, anger once against taking over him. “You hurt Nico. Now I hurt you.” 

And with that, the monster’s head disintegrates. The remnants turn into sand. The monster is gone.

Will wants to smile, to laugh, to say that he did that all by himself. But his vision goes blurry, then foggy. The world tilts violently.

Will collapses.

#BRUH LMAO I SPENT A LITERAL TWO HOURS ON THIS???? #just know that i didn't edit anything so it's not that great #but i was tired #anyway #yuh #plague!will solace #plague!will #will solace #plague will #plague will solace #nico di angelo #fic prompts #solangelo fanfic #solangelo fic #rick riordan #riordanverse #solangelo #will x nico #nico x will #tw blood #tw sickness #anon tag #asks

[illfoandillfie]

Don’t Talk To Me About Love

Day number 4 of the Platonically themed event! This is another idea thats sort of been bouncing around my head since I posted Platonically. In the months since then I’ve started and stopped this blurb about 60 times - at one point I intended it as a sequel but then ended up absorbing part of the plot into PNDDAOF. But here we are. It is somewhat complete and I’m much happier with it now then I was before. 

Yet again, this blurb is inspired by a song - Don’t Talk To Me About Love by Altered Images (less the lyrics and more just the title but it’s a bop so like check it out anyway lmao) 

Words: 2,150

Warnings: It’s about the Communication. There’s talk of an argument but nothing specific and honestly this is mostly just about the two of them Dealing with something out of the ordinary. 

Every morning with Ben follows the same pattern. No matter who wakes first, no matter how long it takes you to get out of bed, Ben will greet you with a kiss on the cheek. It’s a litmus test of your disposition and a lesson hard learnt. Most days you’ll lean into him, wrap your arms around him, press your lips to his, snuggle back into his embrace, and he knows that it means you’ll be okay with the actions that convince others you’re boyfriend and girlfriend. But every so often it’s different. Those days, what he has come to call your no romo days, his cheek kiss will be returned but you’ll pull back before he can sweep you into something deeper, a sign that you don’t have the patience or energy or whatever it usually takes, to deal with romance. Those days are few and far between, mostly occurring months apart, seemingly at random. But because of that it took quite some time before you got the hang of dealing with them as partners. On your own it had been easier to avoid romantic expressions, but with Ben it was harder to manage.  

The first time it happened after you’d started the QPR, you tried to push through, tried to ignore the tension you felt as he unexpectedly kissed you, his hands pulling you into him. There was a sudden urge to run away, your blood running cold, and Ben must have sensed that something was off. He was always observant where you were concerned. When he asked if something was wrong you pretended there wasn’t but he kept badgering you until you told him what was up. Unfortunately you sort of bit his head off, frustrated by the constant questions. You immediately regretted your tone and choice of words but the damage was done, Ben’s expression one of hurt and confusion. Before you could try to explain better he’d left the room. He gave you space for the rest of the day, barely crossing your path at all, but it was too much space, an overcorrection. And that made you mad more than anything else. After all you’d warned him that this happened sometimes, that you had days where you were repulsed by the thought of anything romantic, completely turned off by actions that could be read as such. How dare he be hurt by it, as if you were an inconvenience he had to endure. He was the one who suggested you do the QPR thing in the first place, why did he suddenly think it only included the times you were acting closest to a regular girlfriend. At that point you hadn’t yet moved into his house so you left and slept in your own bed that night, sick with worry that you’d ruined everything with Ben, that you’d wake up in the morning to find not only your QPR broken but that your best friend wouldn’t want anything more to do with you at all. You felt stupid to have thought that a QPR could work, that you could ever fit anywhere. Clearly you were meant to be alone.  

But the next morning brought rational thought and rational conversation as well as a higher tolerance for romance. Ben called to make sure you were okay, confessing to a fairly sleepless night spent worrying if you'd got home safe and feeling bad about how you’d left. But you could hear his smile when you invited him over to talk about it, could practically see it in your mind’s eye. And then you saw it for real, a proper grin, when you’d opened the door and dove into his arms, burying your face in his shirt. He’d squeezed you tight, relieved that things between you were still good. It took a serious conversation to sort out what had gone wrong. You tried to better explain what it was you felt - the queasy feeling at the idea of being involved in any sort of romantic act and the discomfort when confronted with romantic imagery or depictions of romance and romantic couples – reassuring Ben that it wasn’t anything he’d done, and he apologised for giving you the cold shoulder, admitting his distance had been because he wasn’t sure how to act around you. Talking it out helped and when you were done, both feeling like you better understood what would help the situation, you curled up in bed together to catch up on the sleep you’d missed.  

The next time, nearly six months later, you’d been better prepared and, though it was still a little rocky, it had gone smoother. Ben didn’t try to avoid you, so you didn’t feel as abandoned as you had the last time, but you made sure to maintain some distance from him, knowing his feelings were different to yours and not wanting to put him in any awkward situations. There were moments when neither of you knew what to do or say, moments when it felt like you were both treading on eggshells to try and avoid a repeat of the last time. But when you asked to take a break from the TV series you were halfway through because the romance plotline didn’t hold the same enjoyment it usually did, he seemed to understand and agreed to what you needed. The time after that had been barely a month later, far sooner than you were expecting. You supposed that your relationship with Ben was having an impact. After all it had been a while since you’d last been in a romantic relationship and though what you and Ben had wasn’t that, it did cross some of the same lines. Surely it was natural that your mind would try to balance things out by making you feel unequipped to deal with romantic subplots and sentimental love songs more often than before. Or at least that’s how to tried to explain it to Ben when he made a huffy comment about the increasing frequency of your romance repulsed days. If it hadn’t been for an interrupting phone call from his mum, you might have fallen into another fight. Instead, you spent the time he was on the phone thinking about why things felt so hard, trying to come up with possible solutions. You went over some activities in your head, comparing how you usually felt about them and what you felt when you were romance repulsed. Cheek kisses still felt okay because they were generally a way you showed affection to everyone you knew, but being kissed on the lips seemed to cross a line, no matter how it was done. Cuddling too could be okay depending on the context but you’d probably prefer not to just to be safe. Sex on the other hand was a big question mark You’d never tried having sex on a no romo day before, but you assumed if emphasis was put on the physical pleasure it could work, though maybe positions that didn’t force eye contact would be more enjoyable. But perhaps that was better left to be explored when you were both more comfortable with the situation. Even dinners out together and datey things like that could be doable if you didn’t have to deal with candlelight and intimate seating.  

As soon as Ben was finished on the phone you tried to explain your thought process to him.   “The way I think about it is like...regularly I have a mental picture of what actions I feel are platonic and what actions cross into romance. Sometimes those lines aren’t super clear like with kissing, but I know which it is when I see it or experience it.” “Right, like how you don’t mind spooning in bed and getting really close but on the couch you prefer to rest your head on my lap or whatever.” “Yes, exactly. It might all be considered variations on cuddling but to me there's a big difference in how they feel. Well a no romo day is like if you took all of those distinct lines and moved them over a little. The lines are still there but the image is distorted and not quite what I’m used to seeing.” “Okay,” he stretched the word out thoughtfully, “so...it’s not that everything feels romantic it’s just that your tolerance levels have changed?” “Yeah, I think so. It’s not easy for me to understand either. Especially since sometimes things change more than others. But yeah, that’s pretty much it. But my big question is what do you need? I don’t want this to become a big problem or cause fights every time it happens so, what’s going to help make it feel more normal for you?” Ben thought for a moment, “Physical contact. I don’t mean that in a sexual way either, just physical contact. I mean you know how touchy I can be. It grounds me. Even just a hug or, y’know, rubbing my back as you walk past me, things like that. A high five even. If we’re out with the others it’s not so bad cause they all know what I’m like too and none of them will mind if I lean on their shoulder or sit on their lap or whatever. But when it’s just us...I need that physical contact to feel settled and I guess it’s been harder to feel okay about it when you flinch away from me. Makes me feel wrong just because I want to be close to you.” You were a little stunned by the honest and carefully considered way he responded to your question, and felt a little bad about trying to force space between you, “I knew you liked that sort of thing but I guess I didn’t realise how important it is for you.” Ben shrugged, “Normally it’s something I don’t even think about. But with you lately it’s like I just haven’t known what to do.”He paused, biting the corner of his thumb nail as he thought, “I don’t think the way I love you is entirely platonic anymore. I mean it hasn’t been entirely platonic for a while now but those feelings aren’t going away. And I’m not saying that to make you feel bad or anything, it’s just how it is, and I think it’s part of why I’ve been so weird or whatever about this whole romance repulsion thing.” “Yeah it must be kinda hard to understand what I mean,” “I’m trying to understand it and I’m trying to be respectful. But you gotta give me a little more. And you have to be more understanding of where I’m coming from too.”

After that, you both made adjustments to accommodate the other and talked through what solutions worked and what didn’t. Ben spent some time consulting google for ideas and found you a playlist of songs that had aromantic vibes or at least could be reinterpreted so the romantic meaning was more relatable for you. And you made more of an effort to keep up a physical closeness with him – sitting shoulder to shoulder as you watched TV and shared a bag of microwave popcorn, rubbing your hand over his back as you stepped behind him in the kitchen, surprising him by placing a cold hand to his face or stomach when he wasn’t expecting it – even on regular days when you didn’t hate the way it felt to be held by him. You figured that emphasising those sorts of small physical gestures would help both of you in the long run. Every so often something would arise that needed a little extra discussion but you both took them in your stride and did your best to be accommodating and patient.  

And by the next time a no romo day occurred, things were as close to perfect as you could hope for. You wriggled out from under Ben’s arm when you woke, better able to recognise the sick feeling  creeping up on you. Stepping out of bed you switched Ben’s oversized sweatshirt for one of your own and tiptoed down to the kitchen putting your anti-romantic playlist on softly as you made coffee and toast. When Ben eventually surfaced he pressed his lips to your cheek but he already felt you wouldn’t want anything more than that, putting together the pieces and proved right as you gave a small shake of your head. He gave your waist a brief squeeze in acknowledgement before turning toward the fridge to begin his own morning routine. And just like that you knew things would be okay. You couldn’t say you knew what he felt or that you entirely understood it but, yet again, Ben had shown that his love for you was less about Love and more about you. And you hoped he could see that you cared for him just as strongly, even if you felt it differently.

#my writing #my blurbs #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #platonically event #(lowkey thinking about a follow up smut for tomorrow's post kdhkajhsdhs) #also!! i mention reader having a no romo playlist and i actually do have one of those! #it's a work in progress and I just add to it whenever I find something that fits #but if anyone is interested I can post the link to it as well! #theres like 6 queen songs on it akdshdhjskajkas and 1 from the cross lmao #that might actually be part of why i was so drawn to queen tho #cause like yeah they have Love Songs but they also have songs that are about other sorts of love too #Anyway #that was a tangent and a half

[juniorgman187]

Lamaze (Spencer Reid Drabble)

Summary: When Spencer walks into Reader’s Lamaze class, things heat up for a moment, just before the cool down at the true intentions of Spencer’s presence.

A/N: *MY OWN GIF AND YES IT LITERALLY BROKE MY HEART WATCHING THIS REPLAY OVER AND OVER AS I MADE IT LIKE THERE IS SO MUCH HAPPENING AND SO MANY MEANINGS AND TAKEAWAYS FROM THIS SINGLE GIF* Category: Drabble, One Shot, Fluff Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Word Count: 2k Content Warning: pregnancy, unrequited love, a lil bit of shade to miss Jennifer Jareau 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

There was never a boring day working as a LCCE - Lamaze Certified Childbirth Educator. Every week, I prepared pregnant women and their families for childbirth. When I’d tell people what I did for a living, they often didn’t know how to react, but that’s expected. The job is so unique and is one that people don’t realize exists until I tell them it’s my job. It was also one of the most rewarding jobs. Childbirth fascinated me. All the small and crucial elements that went into making a life was amazing. There was so much happening within a woman’s body to create a baby and for that reason, there wasn’t a lot I didn’t see. Not much could really surprise me after how long I’ve been working as an LCCE. Except today proved me wrong. 

I was in the middle of teaching one of my classes when I heard the door open behind me. When I turned around, a tall, handsome, very much not pregnant man stood in front of me. This wasn’t the shocking part, because husbands are always encouraged to come to Lamaze classes. The shocking part was that this man was missing his pregnant counterpart. 

“How may I help you?” I asked, stepping away from the couple I was assisting. 

He played with his fingers nervously and looked down at his feet before he finally answered me. 

“I, um, I have a friend. Her name’s Jennifer. And we work together and I just wanted to come to these classes to prepare for . . . for the birth.” He stumbled through his words, but I got the jist of it. 

“Oh that’s wonderful. Is she waiting outside now?” My question seemed to agitate him. He went back to twirling his fingers. 

“Actually, I came alone. I - I thought I could audit the class? AmImakinganysense?Sorry.” His words seemed to mesh into one at the end because of his anxiousness. I thought his choice of words was funny too. It was like I was a professor and he was a student just eager to learn. It was quite endearing to say the least.

To settle his nerves, I reached my hand out to gently squeeze his upper arm. His eyes darted to my hand and then to me. This allowed me to finally meet his eyes. They were this beautiful mess of brown, maybe even hazel, and a little green, possibly gold, too?

“Jennifer’s lucky to have you as a friend. Not many people are willing to go to these lengths for their pregnant loved ones. I admire what you’re doing -” I paused to allow him an opportunity to give his name.

“Spencer.” 

“I admire what you’re doing greatly, Spencer. Please, come join us.” 

As I led him to a free yoga mat, I helped him adjust to his surroundings. He ungracefully stumbled into a criss-cross applesauce position, which made me smile. His long legs stopped him from sitting comfortably. 

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” I told him, before getting back into the center of the room to instruct the whole class. 

People always told me that I had a quality about me that was calm and peaceful. They’d say that if all else failed with being an LCCE, I should be one of those people that work with crystals and spirits and burn sage. They would say my voice was soothing and serene. My friends even had this running joke that I had a “hippie soul.” Someone that radiated tranquility. I didn’t see what everyone else saw, but for the first time, I could actually see my effect on people in action. 

While I led the class, I couldn’t help but peer over at Spencer. I could see he felt out of place, so I simply smiled at him, to let him know that he was very much welcome here, and that smile did wonders. Throughout the duration of the class, Spencer became much less anxious and started immersing himself into the experience. 

At the time that Spencer walked in, we’d already completed two steps: 1. Discussing emotional and physical changes. 2. Preparing for childbirth with affirmations, progressive relaxation, and positive imagery. So now we were on the third step: Breathing and pushing techniques. 

When I announced this to the class, I could feel Spencer shift back to his high-strung behavior. 

“Everyone - I’d like you to turn your eyes to me and my friend Spencer here,” I chimed in. This made his eyes widen in confusion. “He and I will be demonstrating this first breathing technique.” I joined Spencer on the yoga mat, gesturing for him to open his legs to let me sit between them. He did so without any question or resistance. 

“First, get into any position that both you and your partner find comfortable,” I waited patiently for each couple to situate themselves. Once I saw everyone was ready, I spoke again. “Now, Mommies, I want you to lean into your partner.” I illustrated this to everyone by leaning back against Spencer. With my back on his chest, I swore I could feel his heart beating rapidly. The gap between us was no longer existent, and we were so close that I heard his breath hitch as he tensed up behind me. The back of my head was perched on the space between the crook of his neck and his shoulder, situated somewhere along his collarbone. I could feel his long curly hair brushing past mine. I could tell he was nervous so I lovingly put my hand on his knee. My touch must’ve been magic because Spencer relaxed instantaneously. 

“Now if the partners would please put their hands onto the mommy’s stomach. Mommy’s after your partner does this, you’ll put your hands on your tummy, too.” 

I looked a little behind me to address Spencer. “I have a fake pregnant belly that I can put on if you want to simulate a more realistic experience, or if you’re okay with it, we can just pretend I have it on.” I offered. He shook his head no. I nodded and returned to my position of leaning on him. 

“Alright, Spencer. Feel free to put your hands wherever you’re comfortable.” 

His left hand hesitantly snaked around me. He hovered his hand over my tummy, shaking with uncertainty. 

“Um,” He gulped. “Is this okay?” He placed his gentle touch on my upper obliques. I nodded, while helping guide his right hand. 

Before his hand was touching my tummy, I hadn’t realized just how big his hands were. This left us in sort of a predicament. When his left hand found a spot, I realized there wasn’t much room for his other hand, let alone both of ours. So I improvised. I placed his right hand just under his left. It rested comfortably on the rest of my abdominals that his left hand didn’t cover. To reiterate, I hadn’t known just how big his hands were, so I wasn’t anticipating that his ring and pinky finger would extend past my stomach and ghost over that small space just above my heat. Sincerely, it felt like butterflies fluttered in my core when I felt his touch. I shuddered and quickly sat up in shock. 

“I’msorrywhatdidIdo?” He rushed through his words again. 

“Nothing, nothing! You’re doing great.” I assured him, while settling back into my previous position. Spencer’s hands returned to my stomach and luckily, his finger didn’t graze over my center this time. 

Seeing as my own hands had nowhere else to go, I simply put my small hands on top of his. I could just feel Spencer smile at this. His energy felt different once i did this, like he was actually starting to enjoy himself. 

“Okay, so with the teeniest, tiniest amount of pressure, you’re gonna push down on my tummy, Spencer.” I instructed, pressing my palms harder into the back of his hands so he would know to follow suit. At first, he was being too gentle, so I told him to put a little more pressure, and once he got the right idea,  continued my instruction. 

“Okay, now we’re gonna try a breathing technique. So I’ll start - and you follow.” 

I inhaled, held it, and exhaled. The next time, I listened for his inhale, hold, and his exhale. He must’ve been a quick learner because after just hearing it once, he got the hang of it. 

“Yeah. That’s it there you go.” I encouraged him, taking another deep breath and then exhaling it. “Good job, Spencer!” I cheered, balling my hands into fists with his hands still in mine. My palm was on the back of his hand, whilst my fingers intertwined between the gaps of his own. 

It was a more intimate gesture than I intended it to be, but it surprisingly didn’t scare him. 

As I released myself from Spencer’s grasp, I decided it was time to conclude the class. “You all did wonderful today and I’m so glad we got through the first three steps together. I will look forward to seeing you all next session.” I trumpeted to the attendees. 

Something I always did was wait around by the door to say goodbye to all of the people in the class and answer any last minute questions they had before leaving. 

Just as the last person exited the class, I made a mental note that I hadn’t remembered saying goodbye to Spencer, but he couldn’t have left yet since there was no other exit besides the one I was standing by. Instinctively, I poked my head back into the room and saw Spencer sitting exactly where I left him. “Whatcha still doing here?” I walked back over to him. 

“I don’t know actually.” He seemed lost in his own thoughts, like he was a million miles away.

I silently took a seat in front of him. “So I know earlier you told me that you’re just Jennifer’s friend, but that doesn’t mean that her pregnancy hasn’t impacted you in some sort of way. Maybe we could do the first step you missed - discussing the emotional changes of her pregnancy.” 

He wordlessly nodded, refusing to meet my eyes. 

“So how has her pregnancy changed you emotionally?” 

No response. 

“Would you say Jennifer’s pregnancy has been easy?” After a while, he shook his head no. 

“And why is that?” My question wasn’t answered for a small period of time, but I didn’t mind waiting. I had the patience of a saint, or as people liked to say.

“I thought maybe if I knew how to help her or how to care for her, she’d,” He laughed at himself mirthlessly. “She might . . . fall in love with me,” He finally looked up to meet my eyes. “I’m still holding out hope that we’ll have a future together.” He sniffled.

“Oh, Spencer,” I sighed, pulling him into a hug. He gladly accepted, melting into my embrace. He nuzzled his head into the crook of my neck. “Waiting is a sign of true love because anyone can say I love you, but not everyone can wait and prove it . . . but I also think . . . sometimes we may love the wrong person. Wait for the wrong person. But the one thing I know for sure, our mistakes will help us find the right person. Just be patient and don’t rush things. Anything worth having is worth waiting for.” I meant every word I say. 

I wanted Spencer to have someone that wasn’t just proud to have him, but would also take every risk to be with him. (And maybe in that way, I was a better friend to him than Jennifer).

I just wish he believed that he deserved that, because truly, honestly, and wholeheartedly, he does.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid imagine

[seanfalco]

Want | Priest!Kay x Reader {Part II}

Fandom: Season of the Witch Modern!AU Word Count: 2k Warnings: Catholicism, Religious imagery, Angst, Infidelity  (I’m also not Catholic, so hopefully I haven’t made any glaring errors.)

masterlist

He thought it would get easier as the weeks wore on, but Kay grimaced as he stepped behind the pulpit to face the congregation, his gaze instantly seeking out [y/n], her fiance’s arm resting across her shoulders, and he had to admit to himself that it was quite the opposite -- it was only getting harder to see her with him.   To keep his thoughts pure.

Their first lesson together had been… awkward to say the least, but by the second one they’d almost fallen back into the easy friendship of their teen days, which was both a relief and a worry to Kay.

If they kept getting more comfortable around each other, who knew what would happen then?

It was already going to be hard enough for him to watch her marry someone else when not so long ago that was what he’d wanted.  Growing close to her again would only make it that much harder.

When he’d broken up with her and left for seminary school like his father had wanted he thought he’d never see her again -- that even though it wasn’t what he’d wanted, that time would heal all wounds and that throwing himself into his studies would distract him enough to forget his feelings for her, and for a time it had, but it didn’t last.

He still sometimes woke in a cold sweat, their breakup haunting his dreams, the hurt look on her face as he’d turned away wrenching at his heart.  

They’d been so young and it had all happened so fast, their feelings too great, too overwhelming, too soon.

And he’d ran.

Only to find regret waiting for him, but by then it was too late and now… now he’d have to live with that regret.

He’d never have [y/n], and he’d never be a good priest.  How could he give all of himself to God if someone else still held his heart?

——

“So, how was your week?” Kay asked, hanging up his robe as [y/n] took her usual seat across from his desk, the little notebook she’d been scribbling notes in during their lessons resting in her lap.

He knew that she’d never been religious before, not outright atheist, but definitely agnostic.  However, during their lessons she was attentive and diligent -- always asking questions and taking notes.  He just wasn’t sure how much of that was from a true willingness to learn or merely out of respect for him.

“It wasn’t bad,” she answered with a small shrug.  “Nothing much happened.  This is honestly the highlight of my week,” she admitted, her eyes flicking up to his meaningfully.

Somehow Kay doubted it was because of church, but he’d be lying if he said that this wasn’t the highlight of his week as well…

“I’m glad our lessons mean that much to you,” he murmured, fighting the urge to loosen his collar.  “Uhm, before we get started,” he continued quickly, forcing his hands to still in front of him on his desk.  He’d definitely caught [y/n]’s little smirk at his words, and was trying to ignore it.  

“Why don’t you tell me a little about Matthew.  How you two met,” Kay suggested, trying to keep his voice neutral, but [y/n] looked up at him sharply, suspicion in her calculating gaze.

It was purely in his interest as their Reverend, he told himself.  He wasn’t asking for any other reason.

Frowning for a moment, [y/n] cleared her throat.  “We met through our parents,” she explained slowly, her expression not exactly what one would expect a newly engaged woman to wear as she spoke of her betrothed, and Kay’s heart constricted.

She doesn’t look happy, he observed as she told him how their parents had thought it would be a good match.

Don’t be ridiculous, Kay told himself firmly, ignoring that first thought.  That’s just wishful thinking because part of you doesn't want her to get married, to lay with anyone else, to look at them with love in her eyes, when it should be you.

Shaking loose his thoughts, Kay realized he’d missed much of what she’d said, but what he had caught hadn’t exactly sounded romantic, and he fought against losing himself once more to memories of their time together before it had all come crashing down.

Of late night phone calls that neither wanted to end, leading to Kay listening to [y/n] sleep over the phone, wishing she were next to him instead of her own bed.  Of handwritten love letters passed discreetly through lockers and left in textbooks, clandestine make out sessions during cut classes, and holding hands as he walked her home every day.  Of their awkward, if sweet, first time that had led to a second time shortly after, full of laughter and affirmations of love.

Did she love Matthew like she’d loved him?

“Kay…?”

“Hmm, I’m sorry, I lost my thoughts for a moment there,” he admitted sheepishly, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious where his thoughts had slipped to.

“That’s alright, it’s not exactly the most riveting story,” [y/n] murmured with a wry twist of her lips.  “Let’s, uhm, let’s get on with the lesson, shall we?” she asked and Kay was only too relieved to agree, not exactly keen to dwell any more on the topic of [y/n]’s fiance.

——

In order to speed things along to keep on schedule for your swiftly approaching wedding, Kay had suggested meeting twice a week for your lessons, and you’d only been all too happy to agree.

However, it was getting harder and harder to keep him off your mind, finding yourself thinking of him during every spare moment, even on the rare occasions Matthew wanted to have sex.  The night before, you’d nearly cried out the wrong name, Kay’s name practically springing to your lips, and disappointment twisted like a knife when you’d opened your eyes to find it wasn’t him hovering over you.

So it was to your great dismay that today’s lesson was about confession.

“We went over all this in principle last time, but this time we’ll do a practice run,” Kay was saying as he led you down to the sanctuary, blessedly empty save for the two of you.  Stopping in front of the confessional, your stomach in your throat, you hesitated, Kay noticing your reluctance.

“Are you nervous, [y/n]?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” you murmured, your nerves at an all time high.

“I promise it’s not as daunting as it seems,” Kay murmured, resting his hand on the small of your back, ushering you toward the door, a reassuring smile on his face.

As you took your seat atop the hard wooden bench inside you fidgeted as you waited for Kay to join you on the other side of the latticed partition.

This would be so much easier if you didn’t know the priest.

“Okay, [y/n],” Kay said as he took his seat, his voice soothing.  “Remember, the Sacrament of Confession is between you, me, and God.  I cannot disclose anything you tell me in here, to anyone,” he reminded you and you nodded, though it didn’t exactly make you feel any better.  He would still know about it.

“Alright my child, you may begin,” Kay prompted and you bit your lip, taking a steadying breath.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you began, reciting the words he’d taught you.  “I uhm, I’ve sinned, well… a lot, and uhh, recently, in fact,” you muttered, looking down at your hands.  

With the partition between you, you couldn’t really see Kay, just his outline, but you could feel his gaze on you.

“Well, I’ve… masterbated… and I use birth control regularly, which is a big no-no, I guess,” you said, giving a nervous laugh before continuing.   “I’ve had premarital sex, which… I mean, you know about that,” you added, clearing your throat, reluctant to admit more.

“Go on, you’re doing well,” Kay urged gently and you nodded, continuing.

“I… I’ve coveted, and lied, I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain and I’ve…” your voice faltered and failed.  “I’ve--” you tried again, taking another breath and swallowing, your throat suddenly very dry.

“I’ve had thoughts of an impure nature about someone other than my fiance,” you admitted.  “--About someone I should not be.  Someone I thought I’d never see again.”

Pausing, it was obvious who you meant, and your eyes flicked up to the partition where you felt Kay’s were and you wondered just what sort of expression he was wearing.

“And now that I have… seen him again, I can’t seem to get him off my mind,” you murmured.

For a long moment silence stretched and you wished you could take it all back.

“[y/n].” Kay’s voice wavered before strengthening.  “That is… highly inappropriate,” he said hesitantly, his words like a slap to the face, though you knew he was right.

“Don’t you think I know that?” you exclaimed.  “I’ve tried to stop, believe me!  But I fucking can’t and I--I don’t know if I want to,” you cried, frantically blinking back tears, your stomach churning.  “I miss you, Kay, and every moment we’re together feels like torture.  I… I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”

“[y/n]--”

Before he could say more, you pushed off the bench and threw open the door, suddenly feeling lightheaded and needing air, Kay right on your heels.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about me too,” you exclaimed, turning to him, frustration and anger lacing your words.  Kay watched you with an unreadable expression.  “I’ve seen it in your eyes, Kay.  You always had the worst poker face.  Don’t tell me there’s nothing there,”you insisted, almost pleading and he looked away, blinking rapidly.

“[y/n], don’t…” he said, unable to quite look at you.  “You know we can’t happen.”

“You didn’t answer me,” you pressed, taking a step toward him, desperation filling your voice now, your stomach twisting til you felt you were going to be sick.  

“It… it doesn’t matter,” Kay replied sadly, shaking his head.  “I’m a man of the cloth now.  I’m committed to the Church and you -- you’re engaged to be married, [y/n]!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking as he lifted his arms only to let them fall helplessly to his sides again, his hands curling into fists.

“What we had was a long time ago.  We’ve both moved on, and I won’t be the one to break up your marriage.  I don’t want to be the reason,” he insisted, though it looked like it pained him to say it.

“Yeah well, I never wanted this!” you cried, your voice clearly shaking now and you couldn’t keep the tears from your eyes any longer, feeling them fall down your cheeks.  “You were the one that pushed me away and then… then you ran away where I couldn’t follow!”

Taking a shaky breath, you scrubbed at the dampness streaking your face.  “You want my confession, Father?  I still have feelings for you, they never went away,” you admitted, breathing heavily, your chest constricting with panic.

When Kay didn’t speak, his emerald eyes pained, you continued, grasping at straws.

“Is this truly what you want?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

“It is,” he said softly, carefully not meeting your gaze.  “Even if I… harboured feelings for you, I cannot act on them, so please don’t put me in that position, [y/n].”

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes rising to yours once more, he shook his head sadly, his long curls shivering.

“Besides, you don’t want me,” he murmured.  “I can’t give you the life you deserve.”

Deafening silence filled the church and you stood there in disbelief.

If only you’d kept your mouth shut, you thought angrily -- angry at yourself, because you knew, you knew deep down you couldn’t have just kept going that way, lying to yourself, to him.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to lift your chin.

“You’re wrong.”

When you turned, Kay took a panicked step toward you, reaching out before you pulled away.

“Where are you going?  [y/n]?” he called after you, but you didn’t stop, heading for the doors.

“I’m sorry, Kay.  I can’t do this.”

Without another word you yanked open the handle and slipped out of the church before he could convince you to stay.

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