#to push them forward enough to do the truly selfless thing!!!!!

[gay-dorito-dust]

How these guys would react to having their face held…

Dick smiles out of habit and pushes his face even further into your hands, humming in content.

He loves it when you held him, however that may be, as it was the one thing he looked forward to the most when coming home.

He’s prone to frequent bouts of fatigue with patrols and the like, but it was moments like these where he could truly appreciate your touch and the healing properties they have on him.

‘I could spend forever here in your hands.’ He’d sigh as he allowed himself to relax within your touch.

‘Oh really? Is that so?’ You raised your brows, watching as the features within his face relaxed into a one that showed you just how exhausted Dick looked. You could see the toll his job his job took but you knew that Dick was too devoted, too attached to what he does to ever give it up, no matter how constantly drained and tired it made him.

You respect his decision to keep doing what he was doing but there came times where you’d just wish he would take a breather from it all, even if it was just for a second, you just wanted to take the weight off of Dick’s shoulders and put it aside for a moment while you work the tension out of his aching muscles.

‘Yeah.’ He responded, feeling himself sink further into sleep. Dick loved what he does but some times he resents it for leaving him with little to no time to spend with you, at least not without him falling asleep five minutes within the interaction. Time with you was sparse and all Dick wanted to do was spend as much of it as he could to make up for the fact that he was barely home at all during the day.

He knew that he prioritised being a hero over your relationship too often and he couldn’t help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt over it during your relationship. You didn’t deserve to wait up for him every night to make sure he was okay, not while developing heavy eye bags of your own and a lack of a sleeping schedule.

He just hopes that one day you too will realise that you better then what he’s giving you and put yourself first, but you were too selfless to ever do that and he could feel that through the way you trace his features with your fingers with featherlight caresses.

Jason stiffens beneath your touch and goes unresponsive for such a long time that you were worried that you had accidentally crossed a boundary.

So just as you were about to remove your hands from his face, Jason quickly reaches out to grasp your hands and pull them back to cupping his cheeks as he then proceeded to nuzzle his cheek against your palm.

‘Stay.’ He whispered. ‘Please.’

Your heart broke at his plea but obeyed as you began to stroke his cheeks with either of your thumbs, feeling him gradually relax under your touch until he was practically a puddle in your hands.

‘I’m sorry.’ He whimpered, burying his face into your hands so that you didn’t see his tear stricken red face. ‘I don’t deserve this. None of it.’ He adds, cursing himself for being so pathetic but your touch practically broke him in the best way.

In your hands Jason felt as though all his broken prices were being put back together again through love, warmth and patience and that was enough to make him breakdown into tears.

Physical affection is a foreign concern to this poor man, and in due to that Jason is naturally going to be skeptical and on edge the moment the pads of your fingertips explore his jawline, before slowly coming up to cup his cheeks. ‘I’m right here Jaybridie.’ You utter softly as you felt his grip on your wrists slack a little. ‘I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere because nowhere is more important than staying here with you. Just take your time.’ And stay with him you did.

Damian is another one who’s not use to soft touches and sweet affection.

So he’ll initially be on guard when he saw you coming his way with your hands outstretched to cup his cheeks, but will huff and reluctantly rest his face in your palms, he’s extremely stiff while doing so and looking away from you out of initial embarrassment.

‘Get on with it.’ He’d mutter, acting as though such acts or moments of tenderness and vulnerability were beneath him, when in actuality Damian loved the feeling of you hold his face as though it were porcelain. He loved the fact that despite knowing his upbringing you still treat him with a love, kindness and warmth that he has never been shown before.

To Damian it was clear that you didn’t care if he was the son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul, grandson of Ra’s al Ghul. You only cared about him, Damian Wayne and he could feel that care through your touch as he vowed to cut through anything and everything that intended to harm you.

Your touch brings him a sense of calm, serenity and peace that brought him back from the brink a plethora of times, especially in moments when his arrogance and brashness would resurface. Damian was thankful for you being in his life, a true guiding light in his darkest moments, and he couldn’t think of any possible way to thank you for everything you’ve done for him but he’ll surly try.

Bruce feels the tension behind his eyes and in his jaw sooth themselves under your touch.

His eyes would slowly close as he brought his calloused hands up to gently stroke the inside of your wrists. Bruce needs no words to describe how he felt because he feels as though his expressions and the noises of content made it clear how much he appreciated you being here with him.

‘You look tired.’ You commented, tracing the weary lines on his hard face with your eyes as he observed your face and the way it showed most of your innermost emotions whether you were aware of this fact or not.

Bruce knew that you worry and that you worry a lot about him in particular when it came to whether he was sleeping enough, eating enough and keeping himself safe whilst fighting on the streets of Gotham. Bruce knew he was as stubborn as mule when it came to his life choices and that you were only just worried about him because you cared for him, but sometimes he wished you would redirect all this effort towards yourself because he oftentimes didn’t think he was worth of your worry, nor your care.

Bruce felt as though he should be the one taking care of you rather than you taking care of him. It’s not as though he hates it, it’s just you’ve shown him on countless occasions of your care towards him, and on even more occasions you have shown him of your unwavering dedication towards him. Bruce also feels like he should be the one paying you back for all the hard times where you stood by his side, watching him practically work himself to the bone and almost into a comatose if you didn’t step in and deal him away from the computers.

For you’ve proven time and time again that you weren’t so easily swayed into leaving, and that was made more true when he felt comfortable enough telling you that he was Batman and the dangers that would come with knowing such knowledge. You however only shrugged and told him that by his side, you were the safest you’ve ever been or will ever be.

‘More so than usual?’ He asked in a way that it might as well have came out as an indignant huff.

‘And by more so than usual you mean constantly, then yes, yes you are more tired than usual.’ You replied as you ran your thumbs under his eyes and across his eye bags as if to emphasise your point. Bruce only huffs as he watched you take in all of him with nothing but love and affection in your eyes and your touch.

John would most likely bite your hand out of an inherent need to be a teasing little shit.

Will boast about the fact that you just wanted to touch up his stubble. He wasn’t lying but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that and instead say; ‘in your dreams John.’

‘Oh I’m sure I am in yours.’ He reply with confidence as he winked, causing you to lightly pinch his cheek as punishment for his cockiness. ‘I hate you.’ You’d say as you push your fingertips through his stubbly beard, enjoying the way it deliciously tickles your skin, almost as though they were little prickly kisses.

‘No you don’t sweetheart, try as you might but you and me both know that for definite that you love me.’ John would state in a matter of fact tone. Once again you hated how right he was, but kept your lips sealed shut as not to give him any more ammunition to tease and contradict you at any given opportunity than you’ve already have.

The air between you is playful and light in comparison to how cynical, sharp witted and sarcastic he usually is on a daily basis. It was a welcomed change as you allowed the blonde to pretend to bite your hand, only allowing for his teeth to barely graze your skin before pulling away with a sly smirk as you scratch at his stubble.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc comics x reader #dc fanfiction #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson x reader #nightwing imagines #nightwing imagine #nightwing x reader #dick grayson fluff #nightwing fluff #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagines #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff #john constantine imagine #john constantine x reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fluff #John Constantine imagines

[xaracosmia]

ꕥ — WELCOME TO CATA COSMIA, LENNOX RAM. 🌕

ꕥ  — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: Nell Age: 29 Pronouns: she/they ooc contact: talestoldbytime other characters in xc: Ozpin, Anya Forger

ꕥ  — IC INFORMATION;

Name: Lennox Ram Age: ~400 Pronouns: he/they Series: MahoYaku/ Wizard’s promise canon point: Post-main story 2 app triggers: child endangerment, implied extreme child labor/servitude, war, violence, death/execution

personality:

Known for being unable to smile if prompted, Lennox’s normally stoic expressions betray how personable the wizard can be. Despite all the strife, violence, and atrocities he’s witnessed, Lennox is extremely kind. He has a great deal of patience and can more or less get along with all types of people and wizards. This is what he strives to choose for himself; he does not want to be cruel or harm any allies or innocents. As physically strong and tall as he is, and for all the combat he has known, Lennox can be incredibly gentle, befitting of a shepherd of the south.

Lennox also has a great amount of willpower and loyalty. Even after centuries of searching, he persisted in traveling and looking for his former master. He doesn’t regret doing so, and he never will. He truly does enjoy doing things for others for their sake and witnessing their happiness, which makes him very selfless but to an eventual fault. Considering his own personal wants and expressing them is a weakness of his. That also extends into acknowledging some of his own emotions, especially hurt and anger from both the past and the present.

Unfortunately, Lennox has the tendency to twist much of what happened in the revolution into his own faults and inadequacies. He does not think he did enough to prevent what happened, regardless of where the true blame lies. If he could’ve been a more trustworthy friend, been more observant, took action sooner, all of this he takes on himself. In turn, he’s driven to try to do all he can to prevent such a tragedy and betrayal  from happening again. Because, in his own words, he does not think he can withstand it. He would lose to his long buried anger and bitterness, and ‘loathe humans’.

It concerns him enough to make a promise- a very ill-advised thing for wizards- at the very least.

something your muse struggles with: letting go of the past, acknowledging his anger, putting himself first

your muse’s greatest strength: Loyalty and Dedication, Willpower, Kindness

history / background:

Born in a mining town on the border of the south and central countries, the world in which Lennox grew up in was anything but peaceful and idyllic. The local lord forced many in the town to labor and toil in the local coal mine, including Lennox’s family and Lennox himself from a young age. His status as a wizard was kept a secret for his safety, at least from the higher ups. Often he used his magic to help people from the dangers of the job, clean the air and manage dangerous falling rock, but it was not enough. People died daily in the mines, worked to the point of exhaustion and treated as less valuable as the coal they mined. Fear tied them all together… as did anger.

Word of a growing uprising against the current king and aristocracy reached the town and laborers. An army composed of both humans and wizards sought more comrades to defeat the dictatorship many lived under. It sparked a fire in the hearts of the miners there, and led to a great upheaval and riot. They suffered many losses, including Lennox’s father, but this only pushed them forward to finish pushing back and free themselves- though with heavy losses. For the first time he witnessed hope in the eyes of the people around him, a determination and pride he took on as he and many of his surviving comrades moved to find movement that inspired them in the first place.

That is where he met the Future King Alec and Sir Faust, the generals of the human and wizard armies respectively. He pledged himself as Faust’s personal attendant and servant, admiring how he led them and remaining loyal through the revolution and beyond to even now. This is also when he met Figaro, after Faust sought to be his pupil. It was a bloody war full of upheaval and uncertainty and its own share of losses. But eventually victory stood within reach-

Only for Alec and the human army to turn brutally on the wizards, persecuting them and imprisoning Faust for public execution. Lennox obtained the key to his master’s cell, having every intention of saving him, but Faust refused to leave- wanting to prove himself and his innocence to his once brother in arms. It didn’t work. During the execution, Lennox rescued Faust from the stake, stealing him away to a hidden cabin to recover. But Faust quickly vanished after arriving there, leaving Lennox alone.

Lennox traveled, at first where he could to try and save other wizard comrades from a similar fate, but normally only getting there in time to witness their demise. His determination remained, in spite of all this loss, and he decided to search for Faust across the world. So he did. He traveled far and wide, alone, looking for them for hundreds of years. Eventually he stumbled across Figaro in the Southern country while searching there, and then later decided to rest there a while. Though he became a shepherd, he still never gave up on finding the person he yearned to serve once more.

Then just a few years later, he, Figaro and the brothers Rutile and Mitile were summoned to be the Sage’s wizards- and help stave off the great calamity year after year. At the sage’s tower, he found who he was looking for, and something else to protect.

powers / abilities:

Magic: As a wizard Lennox is capable of using magic. It comes from the spirit and heart and can be used to do all manners of things though Lennox himself oftens finds himself forgetting to use it in several mundane cases. His speciality is suppression and weakening magic, and also supplements his hand to hand combat with magic to make him a more potent fighter. He does not consider his magic to be very powerful, but it’s likely that his instincts to fight without magic and his own heart get in the way. His magic is stronger when channeled through his magical item, and his spell is “Forsettao Meiuvat”.

inherent abilities:

Wizard Physiology: Being a wizard means Lennox is harder to harm and kill on a baseline; he withstands magic and physical threats much more than a normal human would. After a certain point, when their magic reaches a certain peak, a wizard stops physically aging as well. They live long lives but turn to stone when they’re killed, and their magic can be lost if a wizard makes a promise and breaks it/is unable to keep it. They can also apparently grow stronger by eating other fallen wizard’s mana stones, but I don’t think Lennox’s done this. It’s more of a northern wizard vibe.

He has made one promise, to the sage, that only they know about. He never intends to break it.

Martial arts/Combat training: Lennox is extremely adept at melee combat especially hand to hand. He wasn’t formally trained in being a knight but in the period of time he grew up there was a lot of violence and upheaval so he adapted and trained as he went during the revolution to better protect his lord and his comrades. It’s implied he knows how to fight with a spear or mace as well, though this may just be what his stance defaults to. His kicks and punches are obscenely strong, and he uses magic to increase the power and agility behind his movements.

items / weapons:

Magic Item; Jail Key: Most wizards have an item that helps them channel and focus their magic to make the effects stronger. It usually holds a lot of personal meaning. Lennox’s magical item is an extremely old jail cell key. It was the one he meant to use to free Faust the eve of the execution. He couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it and over time his emotions sunk into it until it became magical. He’s used it ever since.

Amulet: An amulet allows a wizard to rest and revitalize themselves without the wizard having to be at their mana spot. Lennox’s amulet is a simple vase that holds white flowers and buds. It is from a plateau near his birthplace which serves as his mana spot.

Sheepys + supplies: Lennox may be a Sage’s wizard now but that does not stop him from tending his sheep! He has a bag full of shrunk down items for Shepherding, along with several shrunk down sheeps as well. They are adorable and sometimes mischievous, and can be returned to regular size with magic.

starting ability: Magic

starting item: His Magical item, the cell key.

extra:

He once had a dog to help with shepherding, but after outliving him Lennox uses his magic instead. He’s too sentimental to get another one right now.

He likes to fish and craft things and basically work with his hands.

While he has several personal regrets, he does not regret serving under Faust at all or anything about the revolution up until the betrayal, nor his promise to the sage.

The gay wizard allegations are absolutely true

He dislikes ‘insults and contempt’. In his own words: “I don't like it when people insult me, and I don't like insulting others; I also don't like seeing it happen.” the more you know!

I hc that putting basically any melee weapon in his hands makes him 10x more of a threat, as a treat.

Petting sheepys is proven to make wizards feel better. It’s just the truth.

discord id: ForsettaoMeiuvat#4984

passcode: noticed a pattern of wizards being told not to make promises but still anyway because they are afflicted with the curse of caring-too-much

#xc application #cata cosmia #mun: nell

[arvinsescape]

Can I request a Tom x reader where they have been dating for a while and Tom wants to take a break and get away a from all the fans and paparazzi so they go off to a private cabin with no one around and it’s surrounded by trees and they have a hot tub in the backyard and they decide to go into the hot tub at night then Tom starts to massage her shoulders and starts to take off her bikini and turns the jets on and pushes y/n up against the jet while fingering her and overstimulating her

Hot Tub Antics.

A/N: I was too excited to write this and I just couldn't hold off any longer!! Thank you so much for sending this in, I love it and I hope you enjoy!! 💕💕

Warnings: Language, smut (fingering, overstimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it up, stay safe)). Minors do not engage.

Tom was so incredibly tired, he needed a break, he hadn't seen you properly in what felt like months. He'd seen you but not in the way he'd like, the hype surrounding his latest films coming out was just draining. He didn't want to sound ungrateful, he really didn't but honestly? He just wanted time, alone, with you.

You'd always been supportive, in the two years you'd been dating him you'd never complained about the time away he had to spend. Never complained when he'd had to disappear for an interview, even if it meant ruining your cuddling session on the couch or interrupted dinner if he had a last minute call. He loved you truly and right now, all he wanted was you, his ache to just be with you uninterrupted was strong, almost painful.

The fans and the paparazzi where tiring him, he couldn't go anywhere at the moment without someone approaching him. He just needed to get away, before it all became too much, before he started snapping at them unfairly. He didn't want to come across as a dick but he needed a break.

That's what brought you both here, he'd found a secluded cabin, one no one would find. It was alone, not a single other cabin around, almost like it was meant for the exact purpose he needed it. It was beautiful, scenic, the trees surrounding it where peaceful.

"You brought me out here to kill me?" You joked as you admired your surroundings.

"Caught me." He teased back and you laughed loudly at that.

"I'd like to see you try Holland." You said and he looked down at you with a playful glint in his eye. He loved this aspect of your relationship, playful, free. Made him feel young when the world made him feel older at times.

"I'll give you a five second head start." He smirked and he watched as you bit your lip and took off into the cabin. It wasn't long before he had you pinned on the floor, tickling you as his tiredness towards the world washed away. He laughed at your giggles, it'd been a while since you'd done anything fun like this.

"Tom?" You said after a while, laughing calming as you placed your hand on his cheek.

"Yeah?" He asked from his position above you.

"I've missed you." You said and he knew what you meant by that, you'd missed him in the same way he'd missed you. He'd seen you but not properly.

It had always been in between other things when he did, too tired to do much. Too stressed to play fight, something the two of you did regularly. It was nice.

"I've missed you too." He answered easily.

**

It had been a chilled out day, neither really expecting much from the other as they just enjoyed each other's company. It was night time, a cool breeze to the air as darkness settled in, it was peaceful, quiet. A stark contrast to the screaming and flashing lights he'd been enduring for the last few months.

"You getting in?" He asked as he looked up at you, you'd been admiring the view for a while, it wasn't often you both got to feel so encased in nature, cities taking up most of your lives.

"Yeah." You said as you slipped into the hot tub next to him, sighing as your body made contact with the warm water. You sat across from him as you chattered away about something or another but you weren't close enough.

"Come here." He mumbled as he reached for your hand which you happily took, a light scream leaving your lips as he pulled you easily into him. "Love you." He said into your hair as you settled against his chest, returning the affectionate words.

You stayed like that for a while, enjoying each other's company. Tom had his arm slung over the back of the hot tub as you sat next to him, he watched as you took a sip out of your wine glass before placing it back on the side.

He moved his hand down to your shoulder after he watched you roll them. You leaned up and kissed his cheek, Tom smiling as he returned the gesture. He moved you so you were between his legs, placing his hands on your shoulders.

"Tom, what are you doing?" You asked and he lent forward, placing a quick kiss to your shoulder blade.

"Just relax." He said and you did, instantly as his hands massaged your shoulders, your head rolling back at the sensation. No matter how many times Tom did this, you could never get enough.

Tom watched as you responded to his touch, getting lost in the soft sighs of pleasure leaving your lips. It wasn't long before his thoughts went elsewhere, especially when you practically moaned as he dug his thumb into a knot and loosened it.

"That's nice." You sighed and Tom moved to place a kiss to your neck. Chin resting on your shoulder as he snaked his arms around your waist pulling you flush against him. Back pressed firmly into his chest.

"Yeah?" Tom asked as he watched you nod, head falling back onto his shoulder. It'd been a while since you'd been able to do this, take your time over sex, it had been quick fucks in between interviews or filming. Getting each other off as quick as possible because you were both so tired, that was if either of you even felt up to it. Tom wasn't gonna let this opportunity pass.

"You look so pretty." He said into your ear as he placed his hands on your stomach, hands splayed out on the exposed flesh. He hadn't missed how hot you looked in your bikini.

"So do you." You responded as you rolled your head to kiss his cheek. However, he swiftly moved his head, capturing your lips in his own. You hummed into the kiss, hand moving to run through his hair. You scratched at his head in the way he loved, he found it comforting and a turn on all at the same time.

It was completely full of passion, Tom's hands roaming as the slid up your body, cupping your bikini clad breasts. He felt as your nipples hardened under the touch and licked your bottom lip, asking for entrance which you granted.

He moved a hand up your back, finding the ties that kept your bikini top on, making swift work of undoing them, the top floating away as your exposed breasts fell back into his greedy hands. He rolled a nipple between his fingers and heard as you moaned quietly against his lips.

His hand snaked down to your bikini bottoms, playing with the hem for a moment before he slid his hand in, he didn't miss the way your breathing picked up. The way your body responded to his touch, it was like you both could feel it, it had been a while since you'd taken your time and it was clear you were both going to enjoy this.

Not that you didn't always enjoy sex, you truly did, he always made sure you got off but sometimes it came quicker than both of you liked. Tom was a very selfless man in bed, he liked to make sure you orgasmed multiple times and wasn't satisfied with the lack of orgasms you'd had recently.

"Tom." You panted into his ear and he groaned, yeah you were gonna come multiple times tonight. That much he would make sure of.

His finger ran through your slit, teasing your entrance as he placed an arm around your waist, tightening it to keep you still and flush against him.

"I've missed you." He said as he sucked at your neck, his finger finding your clit as he rubbed it in soft circles. The rise and fall of your chest becoming harder as you panted into his ear, the occasional moan slipping past your lips.

"You can be as loud as you want, no one's gonna hear you out here." He said, encouraging your moans, lips attaching to the skin below your earlobe, sucking at the spot he knew would have you moaning.

"Tom, please." You moaned, hand fisting his hair. He applied more pressure to your clit, rubbing faster circles, your moans becoming the only sound in the otherwise silent environment. Tom loved it, it'd been a while since these kind of moans had graced his ears and he couldn't wait to bring you to your next few orgasms, knowing they'd only get better.

Your back arched from his chest as your climax approached, Tom holding you closer against him as he brought you to your first high.

"Come for me Y/N, come on." He said as he bit down on your lobe, groaning as your hand fisted tighter in his hair, his cock was hard, incredibly so. Your head rolled on his shoulder as your orgasm took over, the first one of the night as Tom rubbed your clit through it.

Your hand relaxed in his hair as you turned your head and captured his lips, biting his bottom lip as he continued to rub your clit. You were sensitive now, your first orgasm having been one of the best you'd had for a while.

"I'm not finished with you princess." Tom said as he kissed your temple, a shiver running down your spine at his words.

You were left confused for a second before he moved you, turning you so you were now facing the edge of the hot tub, you wondered what he was doing when his hands left you for a moment, he took your bikini bottoms off and re-joined you. He took both your hands in his and placed them on the side of the hot tub.

You wondered what he was playing at when he moved his hand again. You gasped as you felt it, the jets had now been turned on and Tom's hands were back on your waist. He moved you slightly before your sensitive clit came in contact with one of the jets and you moaned. Your sensitive clit feeling everything.

"There we go." Tom said as he kept you in place, your body filling with nothing but euphoria. The pleasure heightened as your clit felt everything. You felt as Tom's fingers teased your entrance, carefully sliding in and you moaned. "Take my fingers so well don't you?" Tom said, lips back at your ear as you felt his chest against your back again.

He continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, you were a moaning mess, Tom's free hand moving to lace with one of yours as he held it down at the side of the tub. The pleasure was incredible, completely consuming as you felt your second orgasm approach.

"Tom, I'm." You couldn't even finish your sentence as you pleasure built up through your veins, consuming every part of your brain. Your vision becoming slightly blurred. You closed them and threw your head back.

"Give me another, come on. Come for me baby, make a mess of my fingers." He said as he fucked his fingers quicker, brushing your spot as you orgasmed again. You screamed his name as the pleasure took over, completely consuming you and you were glad no one could hear the obscene sounds you made as Tom fucked you through your high.

You came down and instantly tried to move your clit away from the jet, the pleasure becoming too much. Tom let you shift slightly, clit no longer feeling the blast of the jet.

"Did so well for me princess, what do you want?" He asked as he kissed your temple, bringing you into an upright position as he held you against him and your head rolled to the side on his chest. Breathing still uneven as you continued to calm down.

"Your dick." You said simply and he smiled, kissing your temple again as he moved to the seat in the tub, sitting, bringing you with him. He encouraged you to turn around, stroking his thumb across your cheek as he looked into your eyes.

"So beautiful." He mumbled as he captured your lips in his own. "Come on, hop on." He smirked as he pulled you into him, you weren't sure when he'd taken his swim shorts off but he had. He guided himself into you, giving you a moment to adjust.

You gasped as he entered you, two orgasms meant you could feel every single inch of him as he entered you. You grasped his shoulders as you gave yourself a minute, everything felt like it was on fire, burning through your veins.

"Fuck, so fucking tight." He said as he placed his hands on your hips, you nodded at him, signalling you were ready to move and Tom wasted no time in slowly drawing your hips back before slamming them back down on him. Both moaning at the feeling.

"Fuck, shit." Tom said as he continued. You took over, fucking into him as he met your thrusts. His hands running everywhere, almost like he couldn't decide where he wanted to feel so he felt all of it. Your body was shaking slightly from the pleasure.

Tom finally placed his hands on your shaking thighs, taking over as your third orgasm approached. You blacked out slightly, your orgasm hitting you as soon as Tom touched your over sensitive bundle of nerves.

"I've got you baby, that's it, that's right, come for me. How many is that? Three? So good, taking everything I'm giving you." Tom whispered into your ear as everyone of your senses blurred, he came shortly after. Your senses came back to normal, you smiled down at him as you did.

"Fucking hell." You breathed out, he was still inside you, still hard and you wondered if you'd imagined him finishing. "Did you not?" You asked in confusion and Tom smirked as he captured your lips in a swift kiss.

"Oh I did, but watching you orgasm like that? Fuck." He said as he stroked your hair, standing with you as he carried you out of the hot tub. "I'm not finished with you yet babygirl." His lustful voice filled your ears and you moaned. You were in for a night of pure pleasure, you knew that much.

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #tom holland smt #tom holland one shot #tom holland fic

[karlswrites]

A Grimm Trip

This is part two of the Devildom boys carrying you around. From here on out, this little series shall be affectionally named the Devildom Taxi Service. This week's boy is Mams the Man.

I hope y'all enjoy a protective Mammon!

Warnings: Some violence? Like, there's no blood. Also, you have a twisted ankle, so... sorry. There's that good fluff, though...

Word Count: 1,694

When arriving at the Devildom- even though it was a shock- you didn’t expect most demons to be friendly with you. You expected some cursing and the classic life endangerment, but you didn’t expect high-school-level bullying. You were in college, for Pete’s sake. Needless to say, the demon foot sticking out by your classroom’s door was an unpleasant surprise. So was the faceplant that followed right after.

You attempted to stand back up, pulling yourself up by your elbows and knees. Within one second, a disheveled Mammon (Let’s be honest, he would sprint to you) was kneeling at your side. His hands made swift movements, one landing at the small of your back and the other grabbing at one of your wrists. He pulled you up and into him.

His heartbeat drummed against your ears. It was beating fast. Whether it was from worrying about you or embarrassment, you didn’t know. Still, the sound fluttered around you, engulfing you in warmth. Expected to see a miffed Mammon, as he was typically vexed by you getting in trouble, you looked up. Mammon had apparently decided to look at you then, too. A furious blush washed over his cheeks and ears when he noticed how close you were. The expression was surprising, and the shock of it made you grow a similar shade in return. Again, you felt his pulse rate increase. That somehow calmed you, and you began to relish in everything that was Mammon. He was always so selfless as to embarrass himself in your stead. Stepping in right after you suffered a measly trip, caring not for his tarnished reputation. His brothers always called him selfish, but, boy howdy, were they wrong.

Mammy released your wrist but kept his hand on your back, ensuring that you wouldn’t fall back down. The two of you began to stand together when a sharp pain shot through your ankle. Mammon immediately lowered you back to the floor, sitting you back against the wall.

“Whoa, hey! Are you okay?” he asked, words tumbling out of his mouth about a mile a minute.

You almost couldn’t understand him, though his urgency to treat you was sweet. Futilely, you tried to ensure him that you were fine, but that same pain returned when you attempted to move again. Turning your foot felt like a death sentence; you were in rough shape.

Before you could muster any soothing words, Mammon was at his feet again. Never taking his eyes off you, he approached the other student still laughing at his desk. The boy fell silent when he noticed the Avatar of Greed was standing before him. The cocky grin he wore turned panicked.

“You think it’s funny? You think hurting my human is funny?” Mammon’s voice lowered an octave as he spoke. Some semblance of a growl echoed from his throat.

Those shrill screams and whines you had once associated him with melted away from your memory and were replaced by, if you thought you had heard correctly, his snarl. He was clearly pissed off. Being the only demon who never laid a hand on you, it was a bit scary to see him behave like this. Anger was beginning to physically manifest around him; the lights dimmed and the surrounding air started to cumulate into black fog.

Being the fourth (I’m putting Barbatos at #2) most powerful demon, Mammon was capable of things beyond your imagination. Fear took the reigns in your brain as you began to imagine a series of scenarios, each pumping more and more cortisol into your veins. One image showed the greedy demon decimating your classmate, claws ripping into their uniform, fangs plunging into any extremity he could reach, horns threatening to pierce through the top of his head. It was quite the contrast to how he typically acted when terrorized by Lucifer or any of his other brothers. He’d allow them to hang him from the ceiling, but God forbid anyone to do anything like that to you. You were his emotional support human, and he wanted to protect you as your first. Anyone who hurt you was begging for whatever they got.

You were pulled from your thoughts when the unnamed demon yelped. Mammon had lifted him, fists curling into his jacket’s collar. The black fog had begun to swirl around the two, gradually rising from Mammon’s feet into the air. With each curse and threat escaping his lips, the fog rose higher and higher. If things continued like this, the two would be swallowed whole by the essence.

Knowing that there was no other way to stop Mammon from making a mistake, you called out him. The golden glow from Mammon’s sigil emitted from your back and through the thick material of your jacket. A wave of strength coursed through you as you stretched a hand out towards the two.

“Stop.” Your voice rang louder than you intended, but you were surprised by how clear it was. Your body was still shaking, but it definitely didn’t sound like it.

Mammon froze. His hands stilled as if frozen in time. The black fog dissipated completely a second after your command reached him.

“Let him go, Mammon. Come back to me.” Mammon eased at your soft voice and followed your orders without a thought.

When he looked back at you, his eyes gleamed with something: a mixture of gratitude and shame. There was rarely a cause for you to command him, and he hated every single time he brought you to control him. It wasn’t relinquishing himself to you that upset him. No, it was that he had let you down. To him, he had done something grave. Anything that he did that wasn’t right with you was like a cardinal sin in his eyes. His perception was a tad melodramatic, but after how you fixed the broken remnants of his family, you were truly an angel to him. Disappointing you had become his biggest fear and grievance.

“It’s okay,” you called to him, your voice beginning to waver as the sigil’s magic wore off. “You’re okay.”

You silently prayed that your words anchored themselves to him, and you made a note to yourself to praise him for his kindness later once you saw the light returning to his golden orbs- the same gold that brightened when he let the student go and raced back to your side. Mammon was still undoubtedly angry at the other demon, baring teeth as he glared at him over his shoulder. Getting the hint, he and your other classmates hurried out of the room.

Mammon asked again if you were okay. You said yes. His eyes traveled from yours to your ankle (When writing this, I almost said, “His eyes traveled down south for the winter. Not even kidding), and he removed your shoe. He wrapped his hand around your ankle and gently poked it with his thumb, eliciting a quiet whimper. The pout he gave after almost made you laugh despite the pain.

“Yeah, I ain’t lettin’ ya walk like that,” he murmured. His eyes met yours again and his pout spread into a white smile. “Guess it’s my duty to help ya back to your room.”

As you recalled one past life-threatening instance, you understood Mammy loved playing the hero, so you agreed.

Mammon turned on his knees, facing his back towards you. Carefully, he trudged backward to you, keeping his eyes trained to yours. He was subconsciously looking for any sign of discomfort- another testament to how caring he was, even if he didn’t recognize it. He gripped the backside of your knees firmly and dipped his head. That gave you enough room to pull yourself forward, wrapping your arms over his shoulders, mindful not to put too much pressure around his neck. You didn’t want to accidentally choke your knight in messy uniform.

“I hope I’m not too heavy,” you breathed against his neck. He shook off the shiver you caused with a hearty laugh.

“There’s no way you’re too heavy for the Great Mammon!” he protested, pulling you closer to him by your knees.

In one fluid motion, he hoisted you up and stood. He was pretty graceful for a “scumbag,” and you hugged yourself closer. Your chin found a home on his shoulder, slipping past the undone collar of his shirt, clinging to the warmth of his skin. Additionally, your arms were pushing his jacket further past his shoulders to his elbows, but there was no way he was going to complain. On the contrary, the pink gracing his cheeks proposed he liked the closeness. Well, that wasn’t very tsundere of him. Before you could catch it, a giggle slipped past your lips as he stepped out of the classroom.

“What’s so funny, human?” Mammon asked, nudging your cheek with his. You wondered if he could feel how he made your face hotter than hell. He must have because his step faltered.

“Nothing. Just thinking about how selfless you are.” That was sorta true.

Unlike the cheerfulness that rang from him before, his laugh was dull. He removed his cheek from yours and looked straight ahead.

“I ain’t selfless!” His hollow laugh died down, and he turned serious. “If anything, I’m selfish and greedy. I wanted to be the hero, I wanted to save you, and nobody else ain’t gonna get the chance to when I’m around!” His voice picked up when he finished, and his eyes were renewed with vibrancy as he looked to you. He cheered himself up with his own words, and his “greed” flowed from him like sweetness.

“Still, you’re sweet to help me. Thank you,” you cooed, connecting your cheeks once again.

This time, it was Mammy’s turn to erupt into a flustered state. He almost tripped over his own two feet, though he was careful to keep himself up. He was carrying precious cargo after all.

Upon delivering you to your dorm, the two of you spent the rest of the day watching your favorite shows and movies, eating your favorite snacks. Of course, Mammon argued he only allowed such thing ‘cause he liked them too.’

Lucifer's (Part 1): Pride In Arms

#obey me! #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me boys #obey me fluff #obey me mammon fluff #obey me fanfic #mammon fluff #fluff #mammon angst #like super light angst though #mammon avatar of greed #mammon x reader #mammon x you #Mammon carries you #pact marks #order that boi around (lovingly) #Soft Mammon #give him a hug

[shihalyfie]

The 02 cast has, for lack of a better way to put it, a lot going on with them, and there’s a lot of layers to their characters to the point where figuring out one single main core behind their respective character arcs can require a lot of tricky reading between the lines, especially since official profiles don’t often tend to summarize it for you all that neatly. If you were to summarize what each kid’s most prominent individual hangup is, and what they had to overcome over the course of the series:

Daisuke: Inability to act proactively -- Although Daisuke had always been someone with the motivation to “protect others”, he starts off 02 somewhat lacking in a spine and constantly deferential to others, in want of validation and overflowing with insecurity, and easily backing down just by others being assertive enough and calling him out. Starting in episode 20, he slowly becomes someone who can put his foot down when things become important, even in the face of dissent, and eventually grows into someone who gains focus and drive to push forward when he knows something is important.

Ken: Difficulty with moving on from one’s past -- The entire Kaiser persona had been formed out of Ken clinging onto the image of Osamu. After tossing away the persona, Ken understood right away that he had to take responsibility for his actions and was very willing to do so; the problem wasn’t him drowning in sorrow over it as much as he was also conflating this with self-hatred and unwillingness to forgive oneself. What he comes to gain over the course of the series is an understanding of how to truly move forward instead of drowning in regret, and to accept the support his newfound friends are offering him.

Miyako: Self-hatred -- Miyako constantly criticizes her own behavior, is massively self-conscious, negatively compares herself to others, and indicates a complex over her messy personality causing trouble for those around her. Throughout the course of the series, her proactive and warm-hearted personality ends up having an important role in reaching out to others and supporting the group, in a way that’s more properly true to herself.

Hikari: Inability to act for her own sake -- Continuing on from Adventure, Hikari has a problem with self-destructive selflessness, meaning she has difficulty voicing her own feelings or asking for help when she’s having problems. This leads to a nasty passiveness problem in which she ends up all too easily resigning herself to her fate, until the events of the series allow her to better see others as people she can rely on.

Iori: Overly inflexible view of the world -- Iori’s desire to do the right thing constantly clashes with his narrow-minded understanding of the world and his inflexible way of seeing it, and the events of 02 constantly pose challenges to the internal rules he’d built for himself as a young, precocious child. Iori eventually comes to understand that things aren’t as cut-and-dry as they may initially seem, and that he needs to be more open-minded and understand things with their full level of complexity.

Takeru: Difficulty in being honest about his feelings -- Also carried on from Adventure, Takeru has a nasty habit of covering up his problems with smiles, which results in him coping with his problems badly and having explosive emotional outbursts at inopportune times. The events of the series involve him coming better to terms with what had happened and what’s happening, and to be more straightforward and communicative.

#digimon #digimon adventure 02 #shihameta

[juniorgman187]

Spoiled Rotten (Reid Fic)

Summary: After Spencer went radio silent on Reader while he was in prison, their pride and stubbornness threatens to tear them apart forever. Reader’s forced to mourn the death of who they were and experience the inner turmoil of navigating who they are.

A/N: Y’all are gonna kill me for the ending, but it’s one hell of a way to go.  Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst Content Warning: Imprisonment, humiliation, abandonment, anger, frustration, angst, yelling, fighting Word Count: 5.3k Playlist: Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo

Time jumps are indicated by “. . .” or “_ _ _”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

A rather unfortunate predicament we’ve found ourselves in tonight. I can’t say I’ve ever been quite this uncomfortable in my life, yet I’m careful not to speak too soon. Because I know the second Spencer opens his mouth to break the silence we’re currently sitting in, I’ll stand corrected. 

“You’re breathing really hard,” He tells me out of nowhere. 

See, I stand corrected. 

Now that I’ve become hyper aware of my own inhale and exhale, my respiration is just that much more restricted. I’m practically holding my breath at this moment - both from the anticipation of catching this unsub in the act and giving Spencer one less thing to scrutinize about me. 

“I didn’t say you had to stop breathing,” He tacks on as if it would put me any more at ease. Not that if he had explicitly said such a thing, I would’ve. 

Unlike other people, I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to throw myself at his feet so he’d like me. But to use that as grounds for his disdain would be foolish. Our rancor went deeper than the basic lack of synergy between us. 

And in the spirit of getting to the bottom of that abyssal pit, I finally asked the question with words that always seemed to hang above but never would form. 

“Why was I the only one denied visitation while you were in prison?” 

It may surprise you to know that it wasn’t always like this between us; we were actually close once, although it is hard to imagine that version of us ever really existing. However, if I think about it hard enough, I can remember with perfect clarity who we used to be. 

. . .

“Jeez, you really don’t like these things do you?” I nudged him playfully before feeling instantly guilty once I witnessed the result of my shove that must’ve been a little too much for all 120 (at most) pounds of him. I’d neglected to remember the strength I held over the lanky Doctor as well as neglected to notice where the trajectory of my push would land him - in the direct line of a circus clown walking the opposite direction as us. This, of course, brought him face to face with the character. Unfortunately, I managed to catch a glimpse of the lens of Spencer’s glasses grazing the white face paint of the caricature. 

After a shudder of mortification and a very brave shriek, Spencer ran to my other side to be as far away from the clown as possible and apparently, as close to me as possible. From a distance, you’d think we were conjoined simply by the way he was glued to me - shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. 

While removing his glasses to clean them off with the hem of his blazer, he answered, “Carnivals? I mean, what’s not to like? What with the loud noises, the heart-attack-inducing food that’s more grease than actual food, or the sheer amount of bacteria harboring on each and every handle, hoop, ball, or button of these ridiculous game booths.” 

“Wow, you really don’t like carnivals.” I should’ve figured. 

“Nope. Never have and probably never will.” 

As someone who looked forward to the fair every summer of her childhood, any aversion to carnivals broke my heart. I had a fondness for them borne in adolescence that I couldn’t quite justify now in my adulthood. 

“But they’re fun!” was the best argument I could muster. The whine in my voice being provoked by the possibility that the higher the shrill of my pitch, the easier he’d be to sway. Turns out, Dr. Reid was not nearly as susceptible to my auditory persuasion as I might’ve thought he was. Just a stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. 

“I’m sorry. I know you brought me here because you love these things, but I just can’t get past the ...” He surveyed the fair, ostensibly against his will, in search of the perfect word to describe our surroundings. “Filth.”

I would’ve argued in the defense of the carnival, mentioning how it’s endearing that the only bathrooms for miles were porta potties, and that the screaming, crying, sticky children galore just added to the attraction, and that there was a hidden charm to the way the roller coasters creaked beyond their means with every ride. 

But to an extent, I agreed. It was rather filthy, and I wasn’t much of a germaphobe myself so to someone like him, this would be hell on earth. 

“Well, you get what you put into it. If you’re willing to overlook some minor imperfections, I really think you’d enjoy this place.” 

Spencer by now had his hands in his pockets and his walking pace had slowed to a complete halt. There was a moment of skepticism, followed by a partially open smile to make way for the laughter that escaped from the disbelief that he felt for letting me break his resolve so easily. 

“Alright then. What do you want to do first, Brat?” 

The nickname I’d earned could be seen as meanspirited, but truly, it was affectionately diminutive. Like all good nicknames are. And like the proclaimed Brat I was, I’d taken him to all my favorite parts of the fair. 

First came the bumper cars to ease him into the experience - as ironic as that sounds. He was reluctant to submerge his gangly body into a mini vehicle, much less one that’d been inhabited by God knows how many people before us, but he pushed his reservations aside when he realized he’d get to slam into my car (safely, of course). 

Secondly, we went on the Carousel, but this was only in preparation for the real ride that I wanted to take him on next - the Swinging Chairs. He’d gotten a little nauseous, from both the repetitive circling and the galvanized chains he had to hold that were definitely held by several others. 

He had no interest in going on the Gravitron - super lame, I know - so we opted for the Ferris Wheel instead. I didn’t mind making this compromise so much after recognizing all that he’d done for my benefit that night. And for his generosity and selflessness, I thought it only fitting to end the night going somewhere so tame he couldn’t possibly have any opposition to it.

The photo booth.

The booth in particular we’d gone to was smaller than an airplane bathroom, if you can imagine that. The bench seat was barely wide enough to fit Spencer, let alone seat the both of us. While he didn’t explicitly make the offer to let me sit on his lap, it was kind of a give in that I’d have some part of my body intertwined around him like stubborn ivy. 

. . .

I still laugh thinking about the tangled mess of limbs we were below what the camera couldn’t capture. It was arguably the furthest extent of contortionist work I wanted to do in my lifetime, and henceforth exceedingly uncomfortable, and yet, I’d never felt more at home than when I was in his arms. 

That night he would tear off the top three photos to keep for himself while I kept the bottom three photos. 

To this day, I have never seen the pictures that he kept, and I’m left to wonder if he had them at all.

Because I still have mine. And they were virtually the only thing keeping me sane throughout his trial and subsequent imprisonment. 

Six Months Ago ...

My eyes were locked on the loose thread of my cardigan that I was rolling between my fingers anxiously. 

“Would you stop that?” Penelope swatted my hand away from my sweater. “You’re making me nervous just looking at you.” She grumbled. 

“Sorry,” I apologized bleakly.

A few seconds later she groaned again, making me think I was still doing something bothersome, but it turned out to be just the opposite. “Ugh, I know that sounded mean, and I hate when I sound mean, but I can feel my forehead creasing from the stress, and watching you fidget is going to give me an ulcer.”

“I wish I could help it. I’m just really worried about him.”

“Well I am, too, but that’s not gonna do us any good right now. All we can do is hope for the best.”

Sometimes Penelope’s overly optimistic view on life was futile and unwelcome, and truthfully, this was one of those times. 

“Penny?” 

As she turned her head, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the lenses of her dark green glasses. I could see my own mournful expression as I asked, “What if he’s found guilty?” 

She started to say something but stopped herself. “Right now, all we need to focus on is his bail. We can worry about a verdict later.” She put her hand on top of mine and shook it briefly to remind me that we were in this together. 

Moments later recess was over and the team came trudging back into the courtroom. 

The sound of the judge clearing her throat and our footsteps on the floor made this feel all too normal. 

How could Spencer’s life be hanging in the balance in such a place as non-intimate as this? 

It frustrated me how casual things felt today and how everyone was acting normally. Prentiss had yet to bat an eye, Rossi’s stoic expression never changed, and Penelope was telling me not to worry. Everyone was acting so aloof. 

My eyes darted to Spencer, who was looking back at us woefully. I couldn’t bear to see him like that any longer, so I kept my head down and stared at my feet after I took my seat. 

Even when I closed my eyes, I was haunted by the vision of him in a suit, just like one he’d wear to work. But instead, he was wearing it for this - this vastly different situation. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him the same in one anymore. I’ll probably just remember this particular look on his face, in this god awful courtroom, during this horribly nauseating circumstance. 

If one thing was for certain, it was that this would all come back to me if I ever laid eyes on him in a suit, and that thought fucking terrified me. 

Because that one thought spiraled into the next: Everything was bound to change after this. Every little thing would change in every little way. 

Spencer’s lawyer, the judge, and the prosecutor were going back and forth for a while, but I tuned it all out because I knew if I had tuned in, I wouldn’t have been able to hold back my arguments. Eventually, though, I heard something I could no longer ignore. 

“If past behavior is the best indicator of future conduct, and I do believe it is, then your client presents a flight risk.”

I stood up immediately, getting a head rush from the speed. I knew what was to follow, so I needed to be on my feet the second I heard it. Maybe so I could run and escape before I had to.

“Bail is denied. The defendant will remain in federal custody pending trial.” 

“Spencer!” I shouted, losing all the composure I’d been trying to maintain. I reached for him as if he was at any capacity to reach back and hold me. God, I needed him to hold me. Hold me like how he did at the carnival. 

Hold me.

Luke held me back as I fought to be near him.

“Let me go!” I screamed, trying to break free of his tight grip. Spencer could only stand and stare, mirroring my own wistful glance. He mouthed something to me that I couldn’t quite make out, but if I knew him at all, he probably said something about not wanting me to worry about him. 

“(Y/n), (y/n) it’s gonna be alright.” JJ reasoned, pulling me into a hug. 

“How long before this case goes to trial?” I heard Prentiss whisper to Spencer’s lawyer. 

“It’s a complicated case. I’d say three months maybe?” 

Immediately, I worked myself out of JJ’s arms and pushed my way through the team, running up to the barrier between us.

“Spence!” I cried out in anguish. 

To the sound of my voice, he glanced over his shoulder sadly. He wasn’t even shocked I’d been able to get so close to him - he seemed to expect it, and for that, he was sad. Because he knew if I was going to be as stubborn as to fight to get to him at this hearing, then I was going to be stubborn enough to reach him in prison, too. And should he find himself behind bars, he knew that I’d get to him one way or another. 

That is if he’d let me. 

“Be strong,” He weakly smiled. ‘For me’ his sad eyes begged in addition. He held my gaze for as long as he possibly could before disappearing into another room. 

As I watched him walk away, I could feel my heart shattering and crumbling into the pit of my stomach. Perhaps that was a premonition, a true gut feeling, telling me something I at the time couldn’t have known and wouldn’t have accepted. 

That was the last time I would see Spencer. 

People always say when something unbelievable happens, it doesn’t feel real, but this? Nothing felt more real and more intense than this. 

There was no other way for me to see this situation but as the first defeat in an endless line of them.

If Spencer was denied bail, what else could happen to him? Could he be found guilty too? Because prior to this, the denial of his bail seemed impossible. He posed no flight risk, but according to the judge, he did. So if what I once thought to be impossible happened, then it could and would happen again.

I knew Spencer was going to be found guilty.

What I didn’t know, though, was how I was going to live with myself from then on.

I didn’t go that day. 

I knew myself too well. So did the others, which is why they didn’t object to my decision not to come to Spencer’s trial. They knew I was better off staying home. Especially, if there was the chance that I might react hysterically again.

I didn’t stay home, though. That part the team never found out about. 

I went to visit Diana instead. A much wiser choice, in my opinion. 

“You know, we’ve been talking so much about Spencer today, but we haven’t talked about you yet,” said Diana. 

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” I feigned a polite smile. 

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” She tilted her chin downward and gave me that sly grin of hers. 

“No, no, of course not. I know better than to underestimate the Diana Reid.” I quipped, making her smile widen. “I just figured you’d wanna spend your time talking about someone much more interesting.” 

“Oh please, Spencer and I talk about you all the time.”

I perked up from the checker piece I was fiddling with. “You do?”

“Mhm,” She nodded over and over again. “I always knew there was something between you two because you could always talk about each other to me, but for some reason, you could never actually talk to each other.”

For the first time in months, I genuinely laughed and I couldn’t help it. “He makes me nervous! I always feel like he might correct something I say, or tell me that there’s food in my teeth.” 

“You know, now that you mention it, I do remember him saying something about seeing a really big piece of lettuce in your teeth one time.” 

“Diana!” I squealed, pushing the checkerboard at her, pretending to take offense. 

“I really don’t know what you’re so nervous about! I think it would be good if you just talked to him.” 

“It’s, um, it’s not that simple. Not right now, at least.” 

My energy quickly nose-dived and I tried to do my best to hide it from Diana, but it permeated through the rest of the visit. I couldn’t fully enjoy myself after it. 

The team and I all agreed not to let Diana know, especially not with the uncertainty of the case. There was no point riling her up if there was nothing to be worried about. And I could only imagine how I reacted - Diana would be reacting 10 times more hysterically. 

But as much as I hated to say it, I almost would’ve rather been in her position. 

I would give anything to un-know Spencer’s circumstance.

Present Time ...

In this car, there was nowhere for him to run or hide, not like before.

Anytime I so much as entered his gravity by being in the same room, he’d flee the space in the next breath. Granted, he couldn’t really avoid me entirely. We did have to be on the same flight for an extended period of time, but he made that work by letting me choose my spot first, then choosing a spot directly on the opposite side of the jet. 

What a gentleman, huh?

“Kudos to you, by the way. For managing to avoid me for this long. I imagine it’s been as not-easy as it has been incredibly-cowardly.” My words stung as they flowed from my lips as badly as I imagine they seared his already cracked skin. I couldn’t believe that now that I finally had the opportunity to talk to him, I was using it to be petty and passively aggressive. But then again, I could. 

Because after what he put me through, he deserved to feel the full severity of my indignation.

My only wish was that he knew exactly how I had felt when I found out. 

. . .

Icarus. 

He died tragically while using artificial wings, invented by his father, to escape from the Labyrinth. When Icarus flew too close to the sun, it melted the wax that held the wings together, and he fell into the sea.

‘Don’t fly too close to the sun.’ That’s the moral of the story. That’s what Reid was trying to tell me. But I didn’t listen. 

I flew too close. 

I had approached the window with more zeal than this predicament warranted. 

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here to see Spencer Reid, R-E-I-D,” I eagerly spelt his last name with ease as though it were my own last name. 

She’d flipped back and forth between pages, running her index finger up and down the sheet for far too long that it made me worry. Turns out, I had every right to be worried. 

“I don’t see you on the list, ma’am.” 

I was so mindnumbingly dumb that I couldn’t even see how dumb I was being. “Oh no no no, I’m with the FBI. I called earlier and left a message, remember?” 

“Yeah, I remember you,” She smiled politely, giving me the tiniest fragment of hope. “But you’re not on his list.” Only for it to be shattered in an instant. 

I had yet to process or accept this information. “So what does that mean?”

“It means he doesn't wanna see you right now. And frankly, neither do I. Next!” 

“Wait, could you just please check with him? My name is (y/n) -” 

“Ma’am, you are holding up a whole line of people that wanna see their loved ones too, so I suggest you see yourself out before I call security to help see you out.” 

I knew by her tone of the word ‘help’ that meant a prison guard would most likely forcibly remove me from the premises, and the last thing I needed was to feel even more humiliated. 

I got plenty of that when I had to come back to the BAU. 

“You’re not on the list?” Luke seemed genuinely shocked. More so than I was. Above all, I just felt really stupid. 

“I’m sure it was just a mistake.” Stephen reasoned. He was so good at being level-headed. Which normally, I would’ve loved. But right now, it only fueled the fire burning in my chest.

“That’s what I thought at first, too. But later on, she asked him herself, and he said - and I quote, ‘I don’t want to see her. Not now. Not ever.’”

. . .

Those were the words that seared my skin, and he hadn’t even spoken them directly to me to do it. 

The words that did just enough to heal me back to health were, of course, Penelope’s.

“Since you haven’t seen him yet, the rest of us will just wait until you have. It’s only fair that you have your first turn before the rest of us go back for a second time.” 

Back then, it was easy to hold out hope, but the more and more time passed, the more he kept denying my visits. Therefore, the more my hope began to fade. 

It had been weeks since anyone else had seen him before I finally surrendered. Although I had newly-brewing sourness towards Reid, it didn’t feel fair to deny him everyone else’s presence until mine was permitted. 

Luke was the one who volunteered to visit first. And to my dismay, Spencer didn’t fight against it. 

The proof was finally there. Now I could say with absolute certainty: Spencer just didn’t want to see me. 

It was both ironic and utterly frustrating to think about how I’d never gone more than two weeks without seeing him. Even when the BAU got time off after big cases, we’d always spend that time together. The longest we’d spent apart was 12 days. And right when he came back to D.C, we were attached at the hip for the next week, trying to compensate for all that time we were apart. 

Now, look at us. I haven’t said one word to him in half a year. 

If tragedy and comedy could coexist, this would be it. 

“How is he?” I asked Luke as soon as he got back. 

“He’s holding on,” Luke affirmed with confidence. What he said next lacked any of that. “He told me to tell you not to worry about him.” 

Something in me knew it was a lie. “Did he actually say that?”

His lack of an answer was one itself. 

“Did he say anything at all about me?”

“I tried telling him how much you wanted to see him, but he just brushed it off. I’m sorry, (y/n).” 

This became my routine for the months to follow. Every time someone would come back from the prison, I’d ask them if they talked about me, but the answer was always no. After a while, it had gotten to the point where I purposefully started leaving myself out of the loop. At least in that case, it was by my own volition that I was being excluded, not by a predicament being forced on me. 

Not by Spencer. 

“We’re not doing this right now,” Spencer declaration brought me back to the present, where I found him removing himself from both the conversation and the vehicle. When I heard the latch click to open, my hand reflexively flew to my auto-lock to prevent him from leaving. Naturally, he still managed to escape using his door’s button.

If I couldn’t stop him, then I could follow him. 

“Then when will we do this? Huh, Spencer? When? Because anytime I try to talk to you, you run away.” The mere fact that I was speed-walking after him was proof. While he casually strolled down the sidewalk paying me no mind, I tried to be clever and walk down the street so we’d be somewhat side to side. I was tired of staring at his back every time he walked away. I needed to see his face.

For his every stride, I had to take at least three steps. He was gliding through the world so effortlessly as I was trekking my uphill battle. It was quite fitting, though. Further exemplification that, between us, I was fighting harder to preserve the people we used to be, the relationship we used to have. Meanwhile, he couldn’t care less. A stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. Just like he always was. 

As I began to speak, I had to also be conscious of the parked cars along the curb, being careful to weave in and out. 

“For months, you have blatantly ignored me. The entire time you were in prison, you denied my visits. And it’s not like it was a one time thing. I tried to visit you over 100 times while you were in jail! 100 times I got rejected. 100 times I got turned away. 100 times my heart shattered.” 

By now, I was speaking so loudly that I could see household lights within neighboring homes turning on. I hadn’t even realized how far we’d walked down the street and away from our car, but it was the last thing on my mind. 

“Then after you were released, it’s like I never even existed. I had to find out that you were out of there a week later than everyone else because they all assumed you came to me yourself to tell me the good news,” I laughed wryly at my own stupidity. “Do you know how hard it was for me?” 

“Do you know how hard it was for me?” 

It took me a second to register that he was actually engaging with me in this conversation now. But when I looked at his expression, I could see that something within him had snapped. A little piece of me was glad, though. Now I knew for sure that there was some effect I had on him. 

“Hard for you?”

“I know you came to visit me 100 times! Want to know how I know? Because I was there, too! I was there every time a guard came to ask if I wanted to see you. I was there every time I turned you away. And while you got to walk out of those doors every time I did, I was stuck in there, rotting in that cell, thinking about how badly I wanted to see you. How badly I wanted to touch ...” His voice faltered. “To touch you. But I had to protect you!” 

“You do realize in protecting me, you were hurting me in the process.” 

“Because you just don’t know when to leave well enough alone!” His hands tugged at the root of his unruly hair like evidence of the frustration that my stubbornness caused. “You’re such a pain in the ass because you can never cooperate! It’s gotta be your way or no one else’s! ‘Spencer, it has to be this way because I said so. Spencer, you have to let me see you because I said so. Spencer, you have to talk to me because I said so. Spencer, you have to ride this stupid roller coaster because I said so,’” His imitation of my nagging voice would’ve made me laugh before. Now, it was bringing me onto the verge of tears. “Since clearly no one’s told you this before - not everything is about you! You just want it to be because you’re a whiny, little brat! You’re so spoiled rotten that you can’t even see how far down it goes. If you did, you’d know that you’re rotten to the core and that nothing will ever satisfy you. Especially me.”

His words had done more than sear me. They pierced me. They ripped me. They destroyed me. When he called me Brat, I thought it was endearing. Now, looking back, I realize - no, that’s just how little he thought of me. 

As I came to the conclusion, I stopped dead in my tracks on the pavement. 

I was done chasing Spencer.

His face had fallen from its anger, indicating he was apologetic, but I was beyond accepting his sorry excuses anymore. I couldn’t stand to look at him so I looked behind me to find our car at least a football field away. I guess in many ways, I’d gone the whole nine yards. 

“This is what you wanted right?” I turned back to him momentarily. My voice scared me how calm it was because, inside, I was boiling with rage. “Well, here you go, Spence. Have all the fucking space you want.” 

It was usually me watching his back while he walked away, and now, he was watching mine. 

“(Y/n), wait!” 

And for the briefest second, it actually felt good to be the first one to leave. 

I was free. 

_ _ _

To my dismay and relief, when I walked into work the next morning, he wasn’t there. I would’ve looked for him with more than a cursory glance except I was stuck on looking at something strange in the bullpen that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But as I walked further in, a blaring siren went off in my head. 

Spencer’s desk is completely empty. 

I instantly sorted through my purse for my phone to reach Prentiss when I noticed something more. 

I had been desperate to cling onto any notion that he still loved me, and there it was, just sitting on his desk. Proof that the man I loved was still in there somewhere.

The top three pictures from the carnival photo booth.

I laughed, as I always did, thinking about how much we had to exert ourselves to be positioned in a semi-adequate way. In the next wave, I felt profoundly empty. He had kept the pictures all these years, and now that I finally get to see them, he’s left me.

As I brought my hand to my face to clear the tears pooling at my lower lashes, I saw that my finger had an ink smear on the pad of it. There was nowhere else I could’ve obtained it except for if there was writing on the back of the photos. 

What I read when I turned it over was as follows. 

I want to be this guy for you again, (y/n). I just don’t know how. 

I just don’t know if I can.

No matter how much I’ve changed, one thing’s still the same.

I love you. 

I should’ve focused on the message, but all that I could focus on was that if I managed to smear the ink, that meant it was fresh, written just now. 

He was still here. 

I pocketed the photos and abandoned my purse, only carrying with me the phone that I forgot to use to dial Prentiss. After a moment’s indecision, I figured that taking the stairs would be faster than the elevator, and I bounded down the steps without hesitation. 

“Spencer!” I yelled into the parking structure when I reached the ground floor. The sound of me bursting through the door caught the attention of Anderson, who was getting out of his car. 

“I just saw him leave.” Anderson threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the exit. I knew, even in my state of mind, there was no feasible reality where I could reach him on foot. I had to call him. 

I pleaded to myself for him to pick up with every ring of my phone. 

“(Y/n),” He said like a statement instead of a question. Again, he’d anticipated I’d do this. He probably picked it up not even having to look at the caller ID but knowing it was me and no one else. 

“I don’t need you to be the guy you were before, Spencer. I just need you to bend a little bit. I know we’re both stubborn people, but if we can just find a halfway point-”

“(Y/n), (y/n),” He was settling me and the sentences that were coming out of my mouth at 100 mph. 

“I’ll bend if you bend.” I promised. 

The static of the call filled my ears until his voice finally did.

“For everyone else, I bend ... for you, I break.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

I don’t often reply to comments/ reblogs, so if you’d like me to respond, tell me your thoughts on this piece or any others here!

If you’re on this taglist, I strongly suggest commenting, reblogging, or liking!

CLICK HERE TO JOIN A TAGLIST

Reid Taglist: @spencerreid-mgg, @obsessedmaggiemay, @k-k0129, @aperrywilliams, @pinkisokay, @goldeng1rl8, @kreid187, @justanothetfangirl, @random-human-person, @spencerreid9, @josiemay20, @coldlilheart​, @kalamitykait, 

Complete Taglist: @ashwarren32, @spencerreid-mgg, @k-k0129, @eevee0722, @half-blood-dork, @kreid187, @jeremiah-b99, @random-human-person, @you-sunshine, @josiemay20, @coldlilheart, @spenxerslut, @dreamer-writer-fangirl, @jinxy175, @muffin-cup, @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence​, @calm-and-doctor​, @spencersmagic​, 

#juniorgman187 #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #angst #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds angst #spoiled rotten

[zeta-in-de-walls]

Tommy and the role of ‘hero’

Hey, this little essay is discussing how Tommy’s character has struggled with being called a hero and hows it’s been a significant part of his character arc for Season 2 of the SMP. It’s not a title he ever gave himself yet it’s a title he’s burdened with all the same. 

Funnily enough, I don’t recall Tommy ever being called a hero before Technoblade’s damning speech on Nov 16th, where he compared Tommy to Theseus. 

Tommy you just did a coup. You just did a hostile Government takeover and then immediately instilled yourself as President. And then you gave it to your friend but that’s still a tyrant Tommy.

But the thing about this world Tommy, is that good things don’t happen to heroes. Let me tell you a story Tommy, a story of a man called Theseus. His country, well his City-State technically, was in danger and he sent himself forward into enemy lines. He slayed the Minotaur and saved his city. You know what they did to him Tommy? (”What did they do?”) They exiled him. He died in disgrace, despised by his people. That’s what happens to heroes Tommy. The Greeks knew the score. But if you want to be a hero Tommy, that’s fine. 

Do you want to be a hero, Tommy? Then die like one!

Technoblade’s speech is a frustrating one at first. It begins by essentially calling Tommy a power hungry tyrant despite that being far from the truth - Wilbur was the one who formed the Government and Tommy rejected power. He trusted it to Wilbur who then chose Tubbo. Schlatt wasn’t even killed by Tommy, he died of a heart attack after being abandoned by every one of his allies so it wasn’t even really much of a takeover at all and it wasn’t Tommy. Yet this speech was entirely directed at Tommy.

But the latter half is different, accusing Tommy instead of trying to be a hero who thinks he’s saving the world and that he’s doomed to have a bad end. It’s interesting as never has Tommy claimed to be much of a hero. Tommy’s always just fought for the things he cared about. Indeed his response to Techno’s speech suggests the same.

“I’m not the hero. No one’s the hero! We’ve got L’Manburg for each other.”

But of course, Techno’s words stick with him all the same. Particularly the bit about a tragic end as Tommy becomes very, very aware of his own mortality in the arcs that follow. To Techno, a hero seems to be a naive figure who tries to do good but is destined for failure and tragedy. 

But there’s another path Tommy fears even more. One that he’s witnessed firsthand. Becoming the villain.

Let’s be the bad guys. Tommy, why not? Our nation’s gone. our nation’s far behind us, Tommy. Let’s blow that motherf*cker to smithereens. Tommy, I say if we can’t have Manburg, no one - no one can have Manburg! ...L’Manburg.

This is a new era! We burn the place to the f*ckin ground, I want no crops to grow there ever again.  I want f*ckin mycelium and cobblestone, it all covered, Tommy. I want it all gone! 

Tommy, let’s be villains.

Wilbur was Tommy’s hero. He loved Wilbur dearly and wanted nothing more than to be a good right-hand to him and make him proud. But when they lost L’Manburg and were banished, Tommy saw Wilbur changing, saw him giving up home and deciding he’d rather destroy the thing they’d worked for and blow it all up. After Wilbur made this speech, Tommy argued, making it clear he was entirely against his plans. Even saying that it wasn’t the moral thing to do. He said not to give up hope, that everyone wasn’t against them and that Wilbur’s ideas were reckless. But he stayed with Wilbur and continued to support him, hoping that he could convince him to change his mind. Tommy failed. And Wilbur died.

So, the Tommy at the start of S2 just wants to go back to his old life, a simpler time where he doesn’t have to worry about L’Manburg anymore as it’s in safe hands and he can focus on his personal concerns once more - like his music discs. He doesn’t want to be a hero or a villain, he merely wants to be happy again in a world without Wilbur. 

But there’s someone else watching him. Dream. 

I think it’s no coincidence that Dream wanted Tommy exiled by his own people. I think he was deliberately trying to make Techno’s speech into a reality. Dream had become rather obsessed with Tommy and treated all their interactions like a fun game where he played the villain and Tommy, the hero. It’s not a narrative Tommy himself liked but all he could do was play along. 

Dream had him exiled and this seriously pushed Tommy to his limits. On the first day, Techno briefly visited and asked him why he was still trying and he answered that he always gets back up and he would keep on fighting Dream. But as his exile progressed he slowly lost his will to fight. Slowly Tommy stopped believing that his exile would ever come to an end and that people still cared. 

In exile Tommy had a lot of time for reflection. Here’s something Tommy says days into his exile when he’s begun to lose all hope and is starting to accept that maybe Dream’s his only friend. 

Everyone always tells me I was the- the hero of this server. The one that came and f*ckin fought Dream - the only one that ever spoke back to him. But maybe I was just... maybe this was just meant to be. 

Tommy’s got complicated feelings about being a hero. To him it means standing up to Dream, never giving up - that’s what he believed people expected of him. But in his exile, he began to give in to Dream. He begins to express how no one cares and that the only reason they ever pretended to care was when he had status - when he was part of L’Manburg. There’s this implication that he felt like people only cared about him when he was being the selfless hero. When he was trying to be selfish for once, causing trouble like he used to and wanting to focus on his personal disc war rather than on L’Manburg, he got exiled. (Of course, this is Tommy’s biased perspective not how others actually viewed him.)

Tommy eventually escaped his exile, finding renewed courage to fight against Dream. Except, he’s still scared and uncertain and feels confused about Dream. He feels lost and clings onto Technoblade for support. 

With Technoblade, Tommy starts to feel more like himself - but Techno also influences Tommy, turning him more against his friends. (I think Techno’s character genuinely thought they didn’t truly care about Tommy, likely not realising how much they had also been manipulated by Dream.) Technoblade gently encourages Tommy to be more violent and wants him to help blow up L’Manburg. 

This is where Tommy’s fear about becoming more like Wilbur come into play. Tommy did not want to become a bad guy - he’d had nightmares about it even. But in his time with Technoblade, after how helpless he’d been during his exile, being given some power lead Tommy to start lashing out more violently, he began to get more aggressive - alarmingly so even. Technoblade’s path was one of revenge, dealing with his own pain by causing others to suffer (for noble goals, fighting corruption etc I don’t want to get sidetracked though this is about Tommy). Technoblade’s presence was helpful to Tommy, helping him to get over much of his fear but he still lacked in agency and still felt lonely knowing he hadn’t made up with his friends.

Tommy finally came to his senses at the festival, where he realised he was fighting his best friend and putting his personal attachments - his discs - over Tubbo. And that was wrong. He realised he was becoming just the sort of person he didn’t want to be - he had been on the path to becoming like Wilbur. And he rejected that path. He wasn’t going to be a bad guy. Just because he was hurt didn’t justify hurting others. So he reconciled and once more committed to protecting L’Manburg, having put his personal desires aside. It seemed like he’d put himself into the role of selfless hero yet again.

And he failed. Again. 

Dream tells him how it was a fun game to him. And how their story was not over. Tommy though, had become extremely tired of it. He didn’t want to play Dream’s game. 

They meet up again. And again, Dream talks to Tommy like he’s important - like he’s the key to everything. He wants Tommy to play the role of hero and has been manipulating events for a long time to keep pushing him, to keep taking things from him. Being a hero, which Dream believes Tommy wants, simply means playing along with Dream’s narrative.

Tommy, you want to be a hero, right? You want to be the hero of the server. And every hero needs an origin story, right? Batman had his parents, Spiderman had uncle Ben, you have Tubbo, right? 

In the end, Tommy refuses to play Dream’s game anymore though. He called for help and got saved by everyone else. Then he killed Dream twice and had him locked away for good.

And once more, Tommy decided to do things for himself again. He decided to live peacefully, working on a project, talking to various people on the server and trying to avoid making waves and getting into any more conflict. It’s a good end.

He rejected Wilbur’s path and he defied Technoblade’s predictions and he didn’t lose his best friend to Dream. And now Tommy’s trying to avoid playing the role of hero anymore. It’s not a title he ever gave himself but one thrust upon him. Yet it’s one he’s keenly aware of. And one that, despite everything, he can fulfil.

Tommy’s arc has been in some respects about defying the expectations of others - but he also can’t help but fight for the things he loves. He realises his troubles were not that his friends didn’t care or that he had to play a role but that his life was being controlled by Dream and now he’s free of that. No longer is he so weighed down by expectations but when there is a sufficiently threatening enemy, he has not lost his determination to challenge it. 

#tommyinnit #meta #analysis #uh feel like i didn't have a great conclusion #anyway i love tommy's character #and his arc has been great this season #i especially appreciated how the exile arc really showed another side to his character #and dream's a great antagonist #driving much of this conflict #dream smp #exile arc #i didn't really talk much about love and attachments which are also impornant to understanding his character this season #and also his grief and thoughts on death #anyway this is about tommy not techno or dream or wilbur so i'm not analysing their actions except in regards to how they affected tommy #but feel free to add or correct me on anything #cheers! #the disc war

[fanmoose12]

Yo moose! Can I request this prompt? well I'm kinda stuck between two similar ideas so it's up to you to pick: Hanji surviving 132 and giving a speech to public about the shit she personally had to go through and it gets emotional, or things are canon (sadly) and Levi's the one to give a speech about what he went through with her. IN GENERAL I JUST WANT THE WORLD TO RECOGNIZE THE FACT THAT HANJI'S THE ONE WHO SAVED THE FUCKING WORLD (or at least what was left of it oof lemme ignore extra pages)

@agoldenheartedsnkfan my beloved 💕 sorry for the delay!!! but i hope you enjoy this little thing! i missed writing your prompts <3

---

Levi wasn't going home, not quite.

Home is where the heart is, but his heart was long gone, sacrificed for the future of the humanity.

And despite being away from his motherland for almost a decade now, Levi hadn't missed the place. It was hard to miss familiar cafes and bars when the people he used to visit them with were already dead.

Still, something stirred inside him at the sight of the streets he walked through so often. Now, however, he wasn't able to walk like he had used to. Now he could only roll on his wheelchair, all the while cursing the genius who decided that a brick road was a good idea for the central street.

He certainly wasn't the same man he had been before. He wasn't a thief from the Underground, wasn't humanity's strongest soldier. Now he was an old man, broken by the years of fighting and bleeding.

Continuing to move forward, Levi passed a cafe he used to frequent, the one with the delicious pancakes and a table in the corner that could fit all members of his, Hange's and Mike's squads; a bar where they sang lewd songs and picked fights with the military police; gardens that Hangs loved visiting so much; a bookshop that Erwin loved to walk around, with Hange animatedly talking his ear off; a clothing store where Levi used to buy cravats for himself and shirts for Hange.

Each place had a special meaning for him, each one was connected with a dear memory. But without his friends, there was no reason to visit these places again. Walking through them all by himself would only make pain inside feel that much sharper.

Levi turned the corner and breath was promptly knocked out of his lungs. He didn't think he'd ever see this particular building ever again.

But there it was, Survey Corps Headquarters. It certainly changed.

The emblem was a little different and the amount of soldiers was that much bigger.

Figures there would be an influx of new recruits after everything that happened. Levi could only hope that these ones wouldn't turn out to be as bloodthirsty as the ones he and Hange had to deal with.

As Levi slowly rolled closer to the building that now seemed that much grander than before, he was noticed by a group of soldiers, who stood by the gates, sharing a cigarette.

Most of them didn't pay much attention to him, one soldier grimaced as he looked at his scared face, another scoffed and turned away. Only one of them, the one in the center, had realised who Levi truly was. His bright eyes widened swiftly and suddenly. Levi swallowed heavily. It seemed like he wouldn't be able to leave unnoticed.

"It's you!" the soldier ran up to him, already breathless. "It's you, right? Captain Levi? The hero of the Battle of Earth and Heaven?"

The hero part was a large overstatement.

"I've been here if that's what you're blabbering about. Now if you excuse me..."

"Levi Ackerman?" the rest of the soldiers joined their comrade, surrounding Levi. "One of Paradis' biggest traitors?"

Levi was going to leave. Logically, he knew that he had no other sane choice. But, goddamn it, he had enough of these fuckers back in his days. He was so not going to tolerate them and their shit.

"I am traitor?" he husked, his eye flashing. "None of you would be here if it wasn't for me and other traitors. So shut your stupid mouthes."

"You helped to kill Eren Yeager."

"And saved the rest of the world in the process."

"You killed a hero," one of the soldiers stubbornly repeated. "And saved our enemies."

"What else could you expect," the other soldier scoffed. "From the Captain who served under Commander Crazy."

Oh. Levi didn't feel that in a long time. That ugly, burning feeling that spread through his veins like a wave. He thought he had left it behind, alongside with his blades. But apparently there still existed idiots who managed to make him see red with just a couple of words.

Back in his days, Levi would have kicked the asshole in the stomach, knocking breath out of him. He'd punch him in the face, leaving him with the black eye. He'd twist his arm to make him scream and beg for mercy. He'd knock him down and step on his palm, waiting for the bastard to apologize.

Now, he wasn't as strong, wasn't as skilled. But he still had some tricks up his sleeve.

Before another stupid word left the fucker's mouth, Levi pushed his wheelchair forward, rolling on the soldier's foot. The soldier yelped and attempted to get away. Levi didn't allow him to.

"Now listen to me, you little shit," he pulled the man down by the collar of his shirt. "Commander Hange Zoe was the best person this shitty island had ever seen. She sacrificed everything for idiots like you. And if it weren't for her selflessness, if it weren't for her kindness and intellect, this island would have been fucked more times than you can count. Who do you think have designed that shiny uniform you wear? Or the weapons that all of you are so ready to wield?"

"Commander Zoe?" one of the soldiers whispered, his head lowered in shame.

"Learn some respect, you fuckers," Levi glowered, letting go of the poor idiot. "Or I'll knock it into you. You wouldn't want for others to know that you had your asses kicked by a disabled old man? If not, then get the fuck out of my sight. And if I hear the words crazy or traitor in the one sentence with the name Hange Zoe, you'll be sorry you've ever learnt to talk."

Luckily, the bastards didn't need much convincing after that. All of them scattered around, one of them visibly limping.

"What a bunch of losers," Levi sighed, willing his clenched fists to relax. The anger didn't leave him, but now another feeling appeared, the one that always visited him whenever he spoke or thought of Hange.

Fuck, a decade had passed, and that wound was still as fresh as ever. Would it ever stop hurting? Levi wasn't sure.

"Hope you've enjoyed that little spectacle," he muttered under his breath, his eyes aimed at the sky. "I bet you're ecstatic at all the compliments I just threw your way. Perhaps, I should have done it sooner," he said, his voice thick with feeling. "Repeated them more often."

But was the point of thinking about it now, when all he had left was his broken heart and a feeble hope that Hange was still watching him?

Although... all things considered, Levi hoped that Hange had missed this little trip of his. He certainly wished he wouldn't have come here.

Home is where the heart is. Levi could only hope that one day, it'd become true for him as well.

#things are canon (sadly) #yeah I FELT THAT #levihan

[happyandticklish]

Disarming Your Demons

Notes: Okay, so I’m only halfway through Jujutsu Kaisen, but I had an idea and I had to write it down. I’m not sure if I’m gonna write anything else for it until I actually finish the show, but I said that before and now this exists, so who knows really. 

Summary: Itadori discovers a new method to deal with misbehaving curses. 

Sharing a body with a thousand-year-old curse could have its downfalls, something Itadori was quickly becoming familiar with. Though he could control it most of the time, it was difficult, and took a strain on his mind and body. He put on a brave face afterwards, insisting that it was no big deal, but the truth was anything but. Sukuna’s ability to switch out with him was growing stronger, and the exhaustion was setting in faster now with each time Itadori wrestled back control over his body. In the heat of battle was one thing, edged on by desperation and the will to keep his friends alive. But it was the other times, when Itadori was tired and vulnerable and fully unprepared to battle his literal inner demons, that he regretted the lifestyle most.

Say, for instance, in his dorm room, half-asleep and dreary from a battle earlier that day.

“Hello again.”

Switching out with Sukuna was strange. He didn’t feel it in a physical sense, no pain or sensation inflicted upon him. One moment he was in his body, and the next he was trapped, a helpless bystander to the other’s will.

“You know, it’s awfully bold of those teachers of yours to leave you all alone like this at night.” Sukuna stood, stretching his arms above his head in satisfaction. “Do they really put so much stock in you to assume you’d be able to fight me, like this?”

“Sukuna.” Itadori’s voice was inaudible to anyone who might be passing by, an aimless thought floating around in his consciousness, but he knew the other could hear him nonetheless. “Give me back my body!”

“Please,” Sukuna dismissed, waving one hand as he strolled around the dorm, examining objects with a vague curiosity. “After you used me earlier? I’m growing rather tired of this dynamic, you know. Only ever summoning me when you need your friend healed, or a new big baddie rears its odious head. Then, afterwards, you hide me away without so much as a thank you.”

“I do appreciate your help,” Itadori started carefully, trying to keep his tone neutral. It was difficult though, when the other could easily read his true thoughts. “But you can’t expect me to simply hand my body over like some kind of puppet. I know what your true intentions are, and I won’t let you harm my friends or anyone else.”

“Oh, of course not, not heroic, selfless Itadori.” He placed a hand on the doorknob, twisting it and pushing the door open with one hand. “I wonder what would happen if I went to pay them a little visit now?”

“No!”

“Oh? Don’t like that, do you. Then why don’t you do something about it? Force me back, take over your body once more.” Sukuna chuckled dryly, pausing in the doorway. “If you can, that is. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the toll this is taking on you. Do you really think you have the strength to best me now, when you’re tired and weak from battle?”

Itadori tried, he really did. He knew he had to do this, but Sukuna was right. In his current state, he could hardly focus enough to remain present enough to speak to the other, let alone reclaim his physical form. With his last remaining willpower, he managed to gather enough strength to take control of one arm before he found himself blocked by the other. 

Sukuna’s eyes widened, and then he laughed, a throaty, derisive thing that made Itadori clench the fist he had. “One arm? Is that it? You truly are in for it now. I must say, I am impressed though. I didn’t think you had even that in you. Still, it’s no matter. I could end your world as you know it with both my hands tied behind my back. This pathetic defense is but a pebble in my path. I must thank you for the amusing display though—I needed a good laugh.”

Itadori watched helplessly as his body moved forward against his will, his mind racing as he tried to think of anything he could do in his position.

I needed a good laugh.

That was it!

Itadori would have smiled if he could use his mouth. An idea was formulating in his mind, crazy and nonsensical, but possibly just the thing he needed. It was a method that Gojo had employed once, to train him to focus on maintaining curse energy and resist distractions. He had no idea if the same thing would work on Sukuna, but seeing as he was in his body and therefore should be just as susceptible as Itadori had been, it just might work.

Sukuna stopped short as a jolt of sensation shot through him, and he snapped his head down to see his own hand squeezing his hip. “What the hell?”

“Ha! I didn’t think it would actually work!” Itadori’s voice rang out triumphant through the other’s mind as he squeezed again and again, quick and sudden so that Sukuna had no time to adjust to them. “Who knew that my own ticklishness would come in handy one day?”

“Tickli—what?” Sukuna started in confusion, but quickly slapped his other hand to his mouth to hold back… was that laughter?

He stumbled back against the wall, torn between shoving the other’s hands away and holding back the embarrassing noises leaking between his fingers. It was in times like these that he missed his four arms. It was hard enough to work with only two arms—one was impossible.

“W-What are you d-dohoing?” Sukuna grunted, trying to sound intimidating despite the silly grin quickly taking hold of his features.

“Tickling you, duh.” It was weird tickling his own body, and weirder still to have the sensation disconnected from him. He could feel the AC in the hallway on his arm, and the warmth of his hip under his hand, but that was all. It was disconcerting, but Itadori was grateful for it in this moment. He wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to continue if he could feel everything the other was feeling. He could only imagine how Sukuna was managing to stop himself from collapsing into an Itadori-sized puddle of laughter on the ground. “Haven’t you ever heard of tickling before?”

“I-Is that some k-kind of hihidden Jujutsu?” Sukuna snapped angrily, annoyed at the chuckle that had slipped into his words halfway through.

Laughter rang through his head, unhelpfully as Sukuna tried to hold back his own. “Dude, what? Of course not! Tickling is… well, it’s a human thing you know? When you lightly touch the human body, like this—” he scribbled his fingers up his sides suddenly—“They laugh! I’m not sure why though… science is still a bit iffy on that.”

Sukuna had stopped listening at this point. He had burst into panicked giggles the second Itadori touched his side, unprepared for the other’s change in strategy. Sukuna’s hand come down, wrapping around his wrist and pulling it up, away from his sides.

He drew in an exhausted breath, grinning in relief as he held the other firmly away from him. “There. Your… tickling, or whatever it is, is ineffectual now. Seems like you didn’t think this plan through, did you now?”

He was right. It was a temporary solution, but the truth was that Itadori was going to get nowhere with just one hand. Which was why…

Sukuna’s eyes widened as he felt a sudden pull at his person once more. His body was rebelling, and he fought back, trying to push back at Itadori’s attempt to switch back. He was getting stronger now, and Itadori was still weak, so it should be nothing to keep control from the brat. What he hadn’t expected was for Itadori to focus all his energy on reclaiming a single part of his body, leaving Sukuna unprepared for the concentrated force. He felt his fingers slipping on his wrist, his left arm losing connection just like the first one had.

“No!” Sukuna growled, but it was too late. Both arms were lost to him now, and he knew if Itadori could, he would be smirking.

“Yes,” Itadori countered. Surprisingly enough, he kept his one arm raised. He lowered the other one, poising his fingers under his arms and wiggling them in the air threateningly. “I remember this always being one of my worst spots. Unfortunately for you, I’m afraid.”

Sukuna narrowed his eyes in confusion, but before he could say anything he was stopped by the sensation of nails gently spidering under his arm. It was a slow, unhurried process, that never missed its mark. Instinct shot through him like a bullet and Sukuna attempted to bring his arm down protectively. He was stopped by the other’s remaining control of the limb, which kept it raised exposed and vulnerable over his head. It didn’t help that Itadori hadn’t worn a shirt to bed the previous night, so Itadori had full access to his bare torso.

Sukuna spluttered over a laugh, a hysterical cackling that only grew in desperation as time went on. Sparks flurried through him, his stomach erupting with what felt like millions of butterflies all taking off at the same time. It was impossible to explain how unbearable the feeling was, and Sukuna wondered how humans lived with such a weakness on their body all this time.

“A-Ahaha, stahahahap, eh, gah, stahahahap i-ihihit!” Sukuna’s head was thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut as a wild grin danced along his features. “Y-Yohohou irritahahating b-brahat!”

“Intense, right?” Itadori asked, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice. “If only you had chosen a less ticklish vessel. You’re in for it now, though. I got to be honest, it’s kind of funny seeing a bigshot curse like you writhing around like a worm on a hook.”

“Shuhuhut uhuhuhup!” Sukuna demanded, though it came out far more giggly than he would have liked. He couldn’t concentrate like this, couldn’t even begin to start to try to reclaim his arms. He needed him to move his hand, maybe back to his hips, or somewhere else, anywhere else. He wasn’t sure if the rest of this body was less ticklish, only that he needed Itadori to move away from that spot.

“Not a chance,” Itadori scoffed. “This is way too much fun! Of course, you could always stop me. Just switch back and the tickling won’t affect you anymore; it’s that easy.”

“L-Lihihike hehehell Ihihihihi wihihihill!” He was slipping now, his body sliding down the wall in an attempt to get away. Unfortunately, you can’t run away from yourself, and those wiggling fingers followed him all the way down. “Cuhuhut ihihit ohohout wihihihith thahahat sphohohot!”

“Why?” Itadori asked innocently, loving this a bit too much for his own good. But could he really help it when he was given such a perfect oppurtunity for revenge? “Does it tickle too much for the big bad curse?”

Sukuna was going to kill him. Then, once he was sure the pest was well and truly dead, he was going to bring him back to life so he could kill him all over again. Right now, however, his focus was only on those devastating nails, light, barely-there touches that had his mind reeling. When his fingers traveled a bit too high, skittering at the top of his armpits, he finally gave in. “Yehehehes, ohohokay, ihihit tihihihickles, ohohor whahahatever y-yohou cahahalled ihihit! Sohohomewhehere ehehelse!”

“Are you sure you want me to go somewhere else?” Itadori questioned teasingly, circling the area with just one finger. Sukuna ducked his chin into his chest, unable to hold back the flood of giggles that caused. “Really sure?”

“Y-Yohohou, ahaha, yohou lihihittle—”

“Okay, okay.” Itadori moved his hand away, pulling his other arm down. Sukuna exhaled in relief, an exhausted grin still dancing on his features. Unfortunately, Itadori noticed. “Hey, don’t relax just yet. I’m not done with you. After all, you still haven’t given me back my body, have you?”

“What the hell—noHOHO!” Sukuna burst into laughter anew as his arms wrapped around himself, trapping him in a tickly hug as fingers wiggled up and down his sides. “S-SHIHIHIT!”

“Regretting your words yet?”

Sukuna thrashed wildly, howling as he doubled over in a useless attempt to protect himself. The snarky remarks were gone now, so completely was he lost to his own laughter. His skin twitched and goosebumps scattered up his sides, a helpless reaction to the playful tickling.

Because it was playful. Despite everything, he could tell that Itadori was having fun with this. And maybe, just maybe, the other was too. His insides felt warm and fuzzy in a way they hadn’t in a while, his laughter peaking between desperation and silly giggles. It was strangely addicting to give in like this, allowing the tickling to consume his thoughts and blur out any remaining negativity.

It was… nice.

“I-IIHIHITADORI!” His head was thrown back, a hearty flush spreading across his cheeks and warming his skin. “I-IHIHI CAHAHAN’T!”

“You know how to stop this,” Itadori reminded him. “Just switch back and the tickling stops.”

Sukuna fell back on the floor, unable to hold himself up against the relentless tickling. He let out a frankly embarrassing squeak, the sensations breaking through the last of his revolve. And finally, at last, he caved in.

With a start, Itadori felt the other ducking back into himself, releasing his body in the process. He stopped wiggling his fingers, sitting up slowly as he regained control of himself once more. He was sweaty and exhausted, like he’d just ran a marathon, and he could feel that familiar floating sensation in the pit of his stomach that came with being tickled.

“Damn brat,” Sukuna complained from inside him, and Itadori smiled fondly. He would have to remember this method for next time.

“What the hell?”

Itadori startled as a voice shot through his thoughts, and he glanced up to see Megumi standing in the hallway. He was still in pajamas, and his hair was sticking out in several directions. The look on his face implied he’d just woken up. The two made eye contact, Megumi taking in Itadori’s flushed features and his sprawled position on the floor.

Megumi furrowed his brows in confusion. “Itadori? I heard a noise and I thought… are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” Itadori dismissed, sitting up slowly. “I was… sleep-walking. Yeah, that’s it. Just a weird dream, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

Megumi continued to stare at him for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to believe the other. Finally, he sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “Alright. If you say so. Just keep it down next time, will you? Some of us are actually trying to sleep.”

Itadori threw the other a hearty thumbs-up, grinning innocently. “Will do!”

Megumi frowned, but eventually disappeared back into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Itadori stood up fully, his legs a little shaky from the previous tickling, and decided to do the same. It was the middle of the night after all—sleep was probably in order. However, as he turned the knob to shut the door behind him, he heard a voice loud and clear in his head.

“Sleep tonight, young sorcerer, and get your rest. Because tomorrow—” a sudden pinch to his side as Sukuna wrestled control of his hand—“it’s your turn.”

Itadori regained control almost instantly, and his hand was his again as though nothing had happened. He smiled nervously, not doubting the other’s words for a minute.

And as he got into bed that night, pulling the covers tight around himself, he found he couldn’t wait.

#tickling #tickle fic #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #yuji itadori #fanfiction

[animeyanderelover]

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, obsessiveness, overprotective behavior, kidnapping, threatening

Yandere Fuyumi Todoroki Hc’s

❤️Lucid of her own feelings, Fuyumi does take a bit caution with how obvious she is exactly with her infatuation and how much she lets others know the truth. I mean, she is a very calm and nice woman to have so she wouldn’t have too much of a problem, but she wants to be sure. For her darling’s sake. More on the selfless side than many of her family, she really just wants your happiness and even if she has to be a friend to fit in that picture, she wouldn’t be affected too much. Doesn’t mean she won’t try to woo her darling.

❤️Very slightly on the obsessive side, but not enough to shine out too much. Fuyumi has patience differently from her brothers and wants everything to flow naturally. Due to her past she is on the protective side because she was neglected and had to watch how her own mother was pushed over the edge and how Shoto had to endure inhuman conditions. She feels guilty for this until this day so she takes things seriously when her darling doesn’t feel good.

❤️Probably not the type to get clingy when she is jealous or become very easily jealous in the first place. Fuyumi lets her darling happily socialize and she herself is always very excited to meet family and friends of theirs. In such aspects Fuyumi’s selflessness truly shines through because as long as her darling is happy, she is as well. And she can handle flirty friends rather well if there should be one. With that being said, Fuyumi doesn’t sit still and watches when someone chases after the s/o when they happen to be already her lover. Luckily she is polite.

❤️Together with Rei she is definitely the least messy member of the Todoroki family. Really though, she wouldn’t see the need to get violent unless someone tried to attack her darling in which case she would simply chant to defend them. It isn’t like she doesn’t get mad with bullies and lectures them, but she would never really kill. I wouldn’t say that she would ask Enji instantly for help since she still is somewhat scared of him, but in an emergency she might try to ask him for his help.

❤️She wouldn’t be someone to just abduct you either. Fuyumi is by far one of the most harmless Yandere to have and she definitely loathes the thought of trapping her darling in her house and control her. Here she would see herself too much of how her father used to be as well, even if she wouldn’t be anywhere near his cruelty level. As someone who wants things to work out normally, she doesn’t want to rush things either. All she wants is having a normal and happy life with her s/o and she will have it by not doing anything that goes against the norm.

❤️She might be the most willing person to let you near Enji, but she hesitates more than she wants to admit. Even if she is ready to move forward, the past can indeed not be erased. Her siblings accept you rather quickly just as her mother does since Fuyumi wants her family and you to be close. She somewhat nurtures you every once in a while because she likes to dote a bit on you, but she isn’t someone who would totally baby you either. Because as friendly and lovingly as she is, she won’t coddle you when you did something stupid. She will give words of encouragement and cheer you up, but she won’t reward you with sweet lies and promises when you were at fault. She tries to be optimistic, but also realistic.

#yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bnha #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #yandere fuyumi #yandere fuyumi todoroki

[witch-hazels-musings]

what is a windblume?

Thank you for everyone who shared with me your Windblume festival flower choice - I gift this to you as a thanks 💮💮💮

We shall sing into the sky and lift it with our voices, our memories and wishes of what was and is to be 

------

We shall dream of wind and flowers 

What is a flower in relation to the expression of freedom? 

Well, that is up to the Windblume Star to decide - a difficult and personal choice, which must come from a reflection of their honesty. 

No flower is incorrect, no expression better than another. The choice itself is the essence of the freedom. So, who do you choose to be, how is your freedom expressed? 

For those who chose the Dandelion - 

Their spirits ride the wind and speak kindness to the fields. 

They hold hope in their hands, delicately and earnestly as if it is the most important component of the soul. 

These people spread, far and wide, with their love, and shout bold wishes to experience the freedom of drifting on air. 

For those who chose the Windwheel Aster - 

They are the embodiment of the wind, wild and free, powerful and refreshing. 

An aster which flourishes in the places where things are gentle and nourishing, they know hardship and have learned to grow best where the wind is kind. 

They express the ever changing direction and help people know what may be drifting on the wind, a warning or a blessing. 

For those who chose the Small Lamp Grass - 

They are the leaders and guiders of lost souls, providers of a beckoning hum in the darkness, just enough to help others find their way home. 

They are subtle and lovely, never to harsh or forceful in their support.

They encourage freedom and welcome all examples of it with open, lovely arms.

For those that chose the Sweet Flower - 

They are the expression of unyielding kindness.

They spread their influence far and wide, desperately reaching to any and every speaker of freedom, and offering advice when it’s needed.

They are selfless, giving more than they take, all to bring hope and good wishes to others as their sweetness knows no bounds.

For those that chose the Wolfhook - 

They may be prickly and rough on the outside, but their insides are sweet and healing. 

You may find these hidden in more shaded places, tucked away in the brush and speckled around the base of a tired tree, and still, what secrets they hold inside, if you take the time to work through the barbs, is worth the effort 

They may look dangerous, but they are truly filled with so much potential if you dare to set them free 

So which flower is the essence of freedom? 

Which one represents the city and stands below the statue who we dedicate this festival too … it seems the answer is right in front of us, if only we tip our hat to the truth.

It is the Cecilia which rests in the heart of Mondstadt, which blows softly in the city of freedom 

A flower whose representation transcends to Celestia and basks in the everlasting glow of the Anemo Archon. 

Those who picked this flower stand where the most challenging wind blows, they walk forward in diversity, with a brightness that outshines the stars. 

They are a mystery, an enigma which cannot be captured by the most desperate of hands, they are unbound, untethered by this plane and destined for greatness. 

The Cecilia, which rests proudly at the crown of Barbados, is now displayed at his feet for all to see and remember that, sometimes, the choices we make in this life are powerful enough to shift the world.

May the wind forever push you, inspire you, lift you as you have lifted the souls of Mondstadt, and know that this decision couldn’t have been made without you.

We shall dream of wind and flowers

We shall leave our imprint on this world for we are - boundless 

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #genshin windblume #windblume festival #invitation of windblume #windblume spoilers #dandelion #windwheel aster #small lamp grass #sweet flower #wolfhook #cecilia #hazelsmusings #windblume star #genshin imagines

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Prey for You | Part 4

Genre: Smut, angst, and some fluff this time

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary:  It has come to this. After your landlord kicks you out, you’re at Chan’s mercy. Turns out, he might not be as bad as you thought he was.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, switch!reader, switch!chan, wolf!hybrid chan, fox!hybrid reader, thigh riding, really unheathly dynamics

A/N: this part is like the opposite of a tootsie roll soft on the outside hard on the inside

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Part 5, Part 6

“This is just for a short while.” You say, swallowing the bile that has risen up in your throat as you look at the smug wolf sitting in front of you on his couch.

“Sure.” He shrugs nonchalant, but the cocky arch of his brow says otherwise and you have to squash down your pride with everything you’ve got not to jump on him. Like it or not, you’re at his mercy now that your landlord has officially evicted you. Without his gracious help, you’d now be on the streets. “I’ll find another place as soon as I can.”

“You can take all the time you need.” He opens his arms wide, going for a welcoming vibe but the stupid grin on his face counteracts it.

“No. I’ll be out of here soon.” You deadpan, not wanting to owe him more than you already do. God knows he’ll hold his over your head forever.  "And I don't feel comfortable living here for free so from now on until I leave, I'll be taking care of things around the house."

“Oh, how domestic.” He chirps sweetly.

"More like a live-in maid." You mutter under your breath but he easily hears it, the stupid grin finally dropping from his face as he sits forward and looks at you sincerely. "Don't say that. I meant what I said. You’re here as a friend."

"Yeah, sure." You snort. “You’re basically high from gloating.”

A smile tickles his lips again as he leans back. “I always enjoy the chance to one-up you, but that doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

“Wow, you really are a saint.” You jeer, grabbing your bag and heading towards the room that is to be yours.  

_________________

To your great surprise, living with Chan was actually kind of nice. Aside from the obvious perk of living in such a comfortable, beautiful house that had everything you could ever need. Chan himself was proving himself to be a quiet congenial roommate. Most importantly, he left you the hell alone for the most part, staying cooped up in his studio the majority of the day so that you barely even saw him. And despite your agreement that you’d take care of things around the house, he still did most of his things himself, picking up after himself and washing his clothes before you got the chance to. He fed himself too as indicated by the boxes of takeout from every possible fast food place filling out the trash. So you were barely wasting any time on taking care of the house, and spending most of your days following up on your studies like you so sorely needed. 

All in all, this whole arrangement was working out positively in your favor. Too positively, that you have to wonder what he was getting out of this. He can’t possibly really be doing this out of the goodness of his heart, especially since no one is even aware of this kind deed for him to gain any morality points off of it. He hasn’t even made a move on you for the whole three weeks you’d been here, seeming content to just coexist with you that you were starting to feel like you were taking advantage of him somehow. Even though this whole thing was his idea. 

Maybe that, your momentary self-doubt, is what prompted you to do what you did next. 

“Hmm, something smells nice.” Chan remarks, walking into the kitchen where you were making yourself some food. He stands behind you to take a look at what you were cooking, and you feel your heart skipping a beat at the now familiar scent of him filling your nostrils and his body being so close to you. And when he speaks, his voice deep and calm next to your ear, it makes your skin tingle. “Looks tasty too.” 

And like a teenager who had the great fortune of being noticed by the popular jock, you twist your head around to look at him, dewy-eyed as the words stumble out of your mouth before you can think them over. “Would you like to have dinner with me today?”

He pauses, looking at you curiously and you turn back to the food and continue nervously, “I mean, that junk food you eat everyday can’t be good for you.” 

“Aw, are you worried about me?” He asks cheekily, and your shoulders tense. “Never mind.” 

“No, no, I’ll have dinner with you.” He rushes to say, plopping down on a seat resolutely. “No take backsies.”

“Idiot.” You mutter, finding yourself wearing an involuntary smile because of him once again.

__________________________________ 

You’re not the best cook, you’ll be the first to admit it, but Chan praises your food like you are a world class chef. 

“Fuck off, Chan. It’s not that good.” You protest awkwardly, not really used to being complimented. But he insists, mouth full of food, “It is! It’s sublime.” 

You look down at your food to avoid eye contact with him and put on your best snooty voice. “Poor thing. Your habit of eating exclusively junk food must’ve ruined your palate to the point where you think my cooking is anything but decent.” 

“You sell yourself short. These hands--” He suddenly grabs your hands suddenly, startling you as he kisses them. “They’re magic.” 

You yank them back to your lap, flustered, the adrenaline pushing your poor fluttering heart into overdrive and making you panic. You quickly grab your fork and shove some food into your mouth trying to distract yourself from the conflicting emotions clashing in your chest, and regretting it almost immediately as your nausea swells up. 

“Is that how you woo prey?” You snark, taking a big gulp of your wine to wash down the piece of food you barely chewed. “Blatantly lie to them about their cooking skills?” 

The atmosphere fully changes as Chan drops his cheery attitude.  “Can we not talk about… that? It’s just you and me here. We don’t have to let the outside world in, do we?”

You still, your sense of danger rising up exponentially at his suggestion, and once again you find yourself wondering why he was doing this. What was his endgame here? Was he just messing with you? He puts on an honorable performance but you’ve seen him slip before. It must get tiring for him. Maybe he wants to see you hurt; it’s in his nature and he’s been repressing it for so long. You’d be the perfect victim too. No one even knows you’re here, and even if they did, they’d never believe your word over his. 

Or he could be genuine. Maybe he’s as nice as he tries to be. But that just scares you more, because how do you deal with that? You’ve never had a relationship with someone that was open and trusting. You’ve always hid behind your games. They kept you safe. No one has ever truly hurt you because you’ve never allowed someone to get close enough. But if you trust Chan, if you let him in and he betrays you… you don’t know how you’d even recover from that. 

You want to believe though. Everyone always says how much of a good person he is, how loyal, how selfless, how supportive. They can’t all be blind, right? And you’ve seen it too, in the way he always strived to protect his friends from you. He wanted the best for them. Maybe he could want the best for you too.

“Okay.” You answer in a small voice, heart pounding. 

His answering smile is bright and big, but it does nothing to assuage your fears so you settle for taking another sip of your wine. That’s what it’s made for, right?

“So, what do you actually do? I never asked.” Chan makes conversation as he gets back to his food.

You clear your throat. “I’m a waitress.” 

“Oh, and… um, is that what you want to be doing?” He asks unsurely. 

You roll your eyes at him, feeling a little at ease at his naivety. “No. Nobody wants to work in the service industry. It’s basically slavery and all your costumers are either rude or crazy. I hate it.” 

He pauses, looking like he’s thinking very hard for a moment, before he asks, perplexed. “So why do you do it?”

“To eat?” 

“Oh. Right. Of course.” His ears turn red and it’s his turn to take a big gulp of his drink. “I’m, uh, apparently an idiot. Yes, people work to afford living. Of course.” 

“I guess you’ve never had to think about that.” You note, surprised that you don’t feel any bitterness as you say it. 

“No.” He stares at the food on his plate. “I’m sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for? It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah but--”

“But I don’t have money so you feel sorry having money in front of me?” You grin, tone light, and he smiles back, face flushed as he obviously chastises himself in his head. 

“So…” He starts again, and it’s a little endearing how nervous he is. “What do you really wanna do?” 

You regard him for a second, wondering if you should really cross that line and let him in. Well, here goes nothing. 

“I’m studying to be a doctor.” 

His jaw drops to the floor. “You?”

“Yeah, shocking right?” You quip, taking another sip from your glass.

“I mean, yeah.” You would take offense at his words if it weren’t for the--you begrudgingly admit--endearing confused frown on his face. “Isn’t that a traditionally prey profession? Don’t you get, like, weird looks or something?”

“Yeah.” You snort, feeling the bitterness rise to the surface. “I get more than just weird looks. People feel the need to tell me every moment of every day how I’ll never be a good doctor. How no one will trust a fox with their life. How I should just quit and get into business or law or whatever other profession that can use my no-doubt nefarious skills.”

“That sucks.” He says then immediately cringes at his lame comment.

“Yeah, no shit. And guess who says it the most? Prey hybrids.” 

A light bulb suddenly clicks above his head. “Is that why you dislike them? They’re really not all like that--”

You interrupt him sharply, already knowing where he was going with this. “They’re not like that to you because you’re powerful and rich and you could do whatever you want, but they’re ruthless to me. They’ve always been. So yeah excuse me if I don’t care too much for your prey apologism. It’s pretty infuriating actually.”

“I really think you should--”

“What about you?” You ask pointedly, clearly wanting to change the subject. “I mean, I know that you’re a producer. I suppose this is what you’ve always wanted to be doing.” 

“Ah, yes.” He coughs, straightening in his seat as he reels back from the change of topic. “I’ve loved it since I was an angsty teen listening to hip hop and pretending like I’m so cool and gangsta.” 

The thought of little rich boy Chan swearing it up and down and acting like a thug brings an involuntary and sincere laugh out of you. It doesn’t bother Chan though. If anything, he looks content to have made you laugh. 

“Did you…” He begins after your laughter dies down, fiddling with the stem of his glass as he looks at you from under his lashes, “Have you ever listened to any of my tracks?”

“No.” You scoff, the word coming out automatically. I mean, why would you? It’s not like you like the guy. 

His face falls at your flippant answer. “Ah. Of course.” He says flatly, bringing his glass to his mouth. 

You feel a pang of guilt in your chest. Logically, you know you have no reason to feel bad. You two were never on the best of terms and you have no obligation to listen to his songs. And yet, as you look at his crestfallen face, the guilt still eats at you. 

“How about you show me some after dinner?” You find yourself suggesting and his face immediately brightens up. “Yeah! I mean… you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He interjects quickly, even though he clearly wants you to. 

“I want to.” You say firmly, and he smiles. ___________________________________

“I’m a nice guy who just has a lot of money?” You wheeze, cracking up and face flushed from the intoxication. You were somehow on Chan’s lap as the night progressed from him showing you his proudest works to his most regrettable ones.

“I know. I know. What was I thinking, right?” He laughs along with you despite his obvious embarrassment. 

You lean in close to his face, humming, "I think it's endearing." You kiss him. 

"You just like embarrassing me." He protests weakly, mouth opening against your lips. 

“Guilty.” You pull away to take his shirt off. Caressing his exposed muscles, you grin, “Hmm...yummy.” 

He bursts out laughing, “You like it?”

You shrug, “It’s not what I usually go for but I can get used to it.” 

He scoffs at that, and pulls your own shirt over your head. Tugging your bra over your breasts, he cups them in his hands and murmurs against your skin, “Well, I don’t need to get used to these.” before his mouth latches onto them. He sucks marks onto the sensitive flesh while his hands grope and knead your breasts. 

Looking up at you, he pushes your breasts together and laps his tongue over the nipples. Your arousal spikes as your gaze locks with his challenging one, and you start rocking yourself over his thigh. 

"Fuck that's hot." He mumbles, lightly tugging on your nipple with his teeth as he pulls away, making you moan out and your hips swivel down to push your core harder against his thigh. 

"Wait, wait," He pulls you to your feet, and you whine, protesting the loss. 

“Hush, baby girl.” He soothes, yanking your pants down your legs along with your underwear before he slips his hand between your legs to drag a finger up your slit, hissing when he feels your wetness. "That's what I want." He groans, pulling you back down on his thigh and using his grip on your hips to make you move over his thigh again. "Want you to ruin my pants with your cum, baby girl. Show me how much you need me."

"But I don't need you." You retort, though your hips don’t slow down. 

“Are you sure about that, my little fox?” He flexes his thigh under you, pushing it up more against your core. 

“Uh-huh.” You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut and throwing your head back. He takes the opportunity to get back to sucking on your breasts, which only makes your movements more frantic. 

“Come on, baby, tell me how good I am and I’ll help you.” He gasps between kisses. You tug on his hair, almost bouncing on his thigh now. “Why don’t you beg for it, pup?”

“Unbelievable.” He growls, pulling your head down. “You’re still so prideful even as you hump my leg like bitch.” 

Whatever stinging remark you would’ve hurled at him is muffled against his lips as he pulls you into a hungry kiss. You let him push his tongue into your mouth, taking him in and caressing it with your own before you put your hands to his chest and push him back. 

“You really want it? Want me to say how good you are for me? How wet you make me?"

He nods eagerly. 

“What a sweet pup.” You praise, “Striving so hard to please me. You’re doing so well, baby. You’ll make me cum real soon.” 

“Do it, please. I wanna see what you look like cumming up close.” 

“Keep tensing your leg like that and you’ll have me cumming in no time, puppy.” You bite your lip, small but needy moans flowing out of you. “What a good boy you are, so good.” 

“Please,” He whispers, his hands helping you move faster on his thigh. “Please, please.”

“So close---ah---oh god, so close...baby!” You gasp, grabbing onto him tightly as you finally cum, the orgasm surprisingly potent. He beams up at you, soaking up every little moan and shudder you let out. “So pretty.”

Gradually, your panting breaths turn into airy giggles as you get down from your high. You give his lips a peck before your hands fall between you and starts pulling his dick out from his sweatpants. You grin against his lips, feeling giddy. "I can’t believe I’m gonna let you fuck me in your studio. How cliche.”

His answering chuckles are punctuated with little moans as you glide your hand up and down his hard dick. “If it--ahh-- makes you feel any better, t-this is the--ahh, yeah like that, baby-- the first time I fuck anyone here.” 

You giggles increase in pitch, “You’re so full of shit, Chan.”

“I’m serious.” He whines, leaning up into your touch as you swipe your palm over the leaking head of his cock. “This is kind of a... sacred place for me."

“Yeah, right.” You roll your eyes, “It can’t be that special if you’re here with me now.”

“It is.” He insists with a pout, and continues casually as if it was nothing, “Because you’re special.” 

Your hand stills on his cock, your face turning to stone as you try and make sense of what he just said.  He's messing with you. He has to be.

Fear and uncertainty makes your stomach churn and your skin loses all color, your face getting cold and sweaty as the bile rises up in your throat. You thought you could handle this but you can’t. You’re too much of a coward to risk it and your sense of self-preservation rears its deformed head once again. 

Standing up abruptly, you croak through your suddenly dry mouth,  "I think I’m gonna go. I need to lie down" 

Chan gets up too, not letting you go. "Oh, is everything okay? Are you sick?". 

"I’m fine. I’m just..." You explain weakly, wriggling yourself out of his grip as quickly as you can in your intoxicated state. "I gotta go."

“Hey, wait!” Chan calls after you, but doesn’t try to stop you. You hear him curse out just before you get out of earshot.

____________________

You wake up with a huge headache and an even bigger feeling of dread. The events of last night coming back like a bullet shot through your chest, and you’re even more confused now with the hangover shattering any hope of a coherent thought forming in your head. 

You stumble out of bed and head to the door, resolving to get some water and some painkiller so you’d maybe start to feel like your head wasn’t likely to explode at any moment. But as you slide the door open, you hear bickering voices just outside in the living room.

"Chan, what the hell are you doing man?" You hear a familiar voice ask but your brain is too scattered to pinpoint the owner of it right now. Luckily, you don’t need to as Chan speaks up in reply, "It's fine, Jisung. It’s all under control."

"No, it's not. Isn’t that what you used to tell me? That no matter how much she makes it seem like she cares, she could flip the table on me at any moment and that I shouldn’t trust her. That’s what you said!”

You quickly pick up that they’re talking about you despite how much you don’t want to believe it. But that’s the kind of language that has always been directed at you, there is no mistaking it. Yet, against all reason, you hope it’s not true. Or at least, you hope Chan would deny it. 

He doesn’t, of course. They never do.

“I know what I said!” 

“And? Do you trust her now?” Jisung asks incredulously. 

“Of course not.” Chan vehemently denies, the resoluteness in his voice piercing straight through your heart. 

Of course not. Of course he doesn’t trust you. What a ridiculous question.  

“Jisung is right, Chan.” A new voice adds and you focus on the sound of it, trying not to break down just yet. “You’re letting her sleep under your roof, man, and you didn’t even think to tell us. Has she been messing with your head?”

They are talking about you like you are some kind of monster, some wild beast that would pounce on you the second you turned your back to it. You’d find it amusing coming from anyone else, but not from Chan, because for once in your life you wanted to believe that someone could see you as something other than what the world thought you were. You blame yourself for this one. 

“My head is fine.” Chan retorts angrily, letting out a forced sigh. “I’m just.... She was in trouble and I had to help her.” 

“Oh, you had to?” The new guy interjects mockingly, “Tell me, would she have helped you if you were in her position?”

“That’s irrelevant.” Chan protests. 

“No, it’s not. She would’ve let you suffer and laughed about it. She’s bad news, man.” 

“I think you guys are being a little harsh.” Another voice speaks up, deeper than the rest. “Maybe she’s not as bad as you think. I’m sure Chan has a good reason for trusting her.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure his dick does.” Jisung scoffs, “You know, I can’t believe you’d do this after preaching to me for hours about how I need to stay away from her and how stupid I am for letting her get to me. But hey, I’m just a stupid squirrel hybrid, right?” 

You’ve heard enough. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, you plaster a smile on your face and step into the living room, the four boys’ head snapping around to look at you. 

“Chan, you didn’t tell me we had guests.” You ponder theatrically, ignoring Chan’s dismayed exclamation of your name. "Oh hey, Sungie. I knew you'd be back for more." You wink at him and he immediately ducks behind the dark-haired stranger. 

“Please go back to your room.” Chan asks, equal measure pale and tense.

“But aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” Your eyes flit over the three guys, stopping when you get to the blonde, freckled one. “Especially this one. What’s your name, pretty boy?”

The boy blushes at the unexpected flirtation but extends his hand out to you nonetheless. "I'm Felix." He greets you unexpectedly cheerily, and you’re even more surprised to find out that he’s the one with the deep voice.

But before you can take his hand, Chan steps between the two of you. 

"I need to talk to you." He grits, pulling you to your room and shutting the door behind you. “What are you doing?”

You shrug, feigning ignorance. “Saying hi to the guests?” 

“Now is not the time for your games.” Chan rakes his hand through his hair, stressed out, but you keep up your innocent facade and he sighs in defeat. “You know what? Just stay in your room until they leave and then we’ll talk.”

“No, we’ll talk now. Are you ashamed of me or something?" You wonder, cocking your head to the side. “I thought you said I was special to you? But apparently you say a lot of things.”

“Baby--”

“Why, Chan?” You finally let your facade drop, letting the full extent of your disappointment and sadness break through. “If you don’t want me here then why did you offer in the first place?”

“I do want you here. I just wasn’t planning on anyone finding out about this.”

You laugh in disdain, “How do you always know what to say, Chan?” 

“I’m sorry but you have to realize how bad this looks for me. I worked fucking hard to get to where I am today. There are so many people waiting for me to make the slightest mistake so they can watch me fall. And here you are… well, you don’t exactly have the best reputation. If people find out about us then--”

“Wow, you really are an angel, aren’t you?” You bite, venom lacing your every word.

He laughs cruelly. “Oh, yes, and the judgement comes out. You’re such a fucking hypocrite. You can judge everyone and treat them like shit, but as soon as someone does the same to you you’re suddenly the poor misunderstood victim that everyone bullies.”

You reel back at the harshness of his tone and words. He’s never spoken to you like that before, no matter how much he was upset at you. It was jarring. “Stop it.”  

“Why? It’s what you’re best at, darling.” He sneers, continuing to ruthlessly attack you. “You judged me before you even knew me and went about treating me like a feeble predator because that’s what you decided that I am. And now you want me to take responsibility for your actions and stand up for you when other people treat you the way you’ve been treating them? But here’s the thing, baby; maybe if you had actually been a decent person and treated others with respect, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. Hell if you'd been a decent person, you wouldn't be having such a hard time anywhere, not with me, not with school, not--" 

"No, fuck you, chan. Don't you dare tell me this is all my fault. You know nothing about my life! I can't believe I actually--never mind.”

“No say it. You actually what? Liked me? Cared for me? Don’t make me laugh, fox. You don't give a shit about me. Every time I try to get close to you, you pull back like I make you sick. If it weren’t for me offering you a place to stay, you wouldn’t even be talking to me right now. You only care now because I have something to give you, but the second you’re done with me, you’ll throw me in the trash like you do everyone else. And I’m not going to sacrifice all that I’ve worked for to entertain you until you’re bored.”  

“You may be right. I may be as awful as you all say I am.” You smile, tears falling down your face. “But at least I'm honest with myself. You on the other hand? Under all your pretense, you're just as fucked up as I am. And one day, everyone will see you for how ugly you really are. ” 

_______________________________

A/N: sorry guys she (me) had to do it to you. leave your feedback uwu

#bangchan smut #chan smut #stray kids smut #bangchan angst #stray kids angst

[mammons-tax-returns]

Hey! I saw that your ask box was open, so I was wondering if I could request how the brothers (if not all then just Lucifer, Beelzebub, and Leviathan) would react to the mc defending them! Like they get into a fight and their only response was "they were talking bad about you" or something! -🥀 (Also side note, do you right for GN! MC's, or just male?)

BROTHERS REACTING TO MC DEFENDING THEM

Hey anon! Thanks so much for requesting! As for your question, This is TECHNICALLY a male reader blog, however, if it isn’t necessary, I will use he/him pronouns loosely. In other words, if the prompt doesn’t specify/depend on it being a male mc, it will be gn!mc! Hope this clears up some confusion! I’ll start putting whether a post is for a gn or male mc at the very beginning of said post from now on.

✖️GENDER NEUTRAL MC✖️

fluff, some angst :).

Lucifer was more angry than anything to hear that MC had gotten in a fight. The one thing he made sure they did was to stay out of trouble. And yet, they seem to be a magnet for chaos.

He stumbled upon the fight before it got bad, and had the demon dealt with as he accompanied MC to an empty room at RAD.

Although he seemed to be sweating out of exasperation, it was easy to tell that he was simply worried about them.

Well. Kind of.

If you look past the hour-long lecture it is.

MC tries countless times to explain themself, and yet he never fails to reroute the conversation back to his lesson on running from a demon before things get bad.

It gets to a point when MC has to put a hand over his mouth to quiet him.

Only then do they explain what happened, and what caused the fight to begin with.

First, he is absolutely shocked. And he can’t really find the right thing to say.

Then, his eyes relax, and his frown seems to melt away. He truly wants to be mad still, to teach a proper lesson. But he just can’t do it.

“It is true that humans tend not to think things through, I suppose.”

He crosses his arms and continues, “Well, I appreciate it, but I don’t need the protection.”

After ruffling their hair, he smirks a little.

“I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you if you rush into situations like that. Maybe put you on a leash.”

After things are cleared up, he finds the situation a little comical. A human defending a demon.

Luckily, the wounds aren’t bad, or else Lucifer wouldn’t have hesitated giving some sort of consequence to the MC.

Mammon is, unfortunately, not around to witness or intervene into the fight.

So when the next time he sees MC there’s a dark magenta ring around their eye, he loses it.

He wastes no time taking them home from RAD. We know he never really cared for classes anyways.

Unlike Lucifer, he wants to hear them out on the way home.

Although he physically feels himself getting butterflies in his stomach from the idea of being cared for, he clears his throat and tries to push it aside.

He knows that they’re not going to be taken away from him anytime soon. At least, not with his unintentionally vice grip on their wrist they aren’t.

And yet he can’t help but constantly flick his gaze back to them and their wounds.

We were all waiting for this one: he feels horrible that they got hurt because of him, albeit indirectly.

He puts emphasis on steering clear of hotheaded demons— or, all demons that aren’t the brothers for that matter.

“I hear ya, The Great Mammon is a gem that all of devildom should be tryna’ protect! But... You’re better off ignoring that... I mean, look at ya! All beat up and stuff... N-Not that you look bad or anything. Well... Um.”

When MC laughs at him, he’s both relieved that they’re not upset enough to sulk, and embarrassed because of his wording.

So they have to reassure him that they simply find him worth protecting— for exactly this. He cares for them, and is probably willing to protect them too.

As he’s sloppily tending to their bruises, he offers to spend the day with them.

He says its his payment, and that he would defend them when Lucifer found out about today.

But it’s more so the fact that he wishes more than anything to spend every day for the rest of his demonic life with them.

Levi is another brother who is unfortunately not around at the time due to his home schooling.

That’s why he’s one of the last people to find out about it, and he feels guilt hit him like an 18-wheeler.

The injuries are a little more severe, but nothing that would keep someone from going about their daily life. Nonetheless, Levi is demanding to be the one to patch them up.

As soon as MC cuts him off before he can start rambling, they make sure to explain the situation, i.e. “I had to defend you! Or else they would have kept talking bad about you.”

He turns red and covers his mouth, undoubtedly mumbling something about how impossibly romantic the situation was.

But after that, he shakily asks that MC tries not to talk as he takes time to let everything sink in. He still can’t believe it.

So he finds himself shakily asking questions like, “So... You just heard him and decided to-... To defend me? No one asked you to?”

For every reassuring nod that he gets, he feels his head spin a little faster.

It takes him a while, but all the wounds are properly sterilized and taken care off beneath his cold fingers.

He leans back in his seat, and blows out a slow puff of air. “MC... You’re badass. Seriously. I don’t really know what I, a demon, have done to deserve you... But... Thank you.”

The conversation ends with tears, but they couldn’t have been anything but happy.

He just can’t believe someone could go as far as to fight for his sake over a simple ill-intended comment.

Satan witnesses the event. Which... May or may not be a good thing.

MC doesn’t notice him at first. They’re too busy with the demon that has her hands on their uniform collar.

But then they see the green flames licking at their peripherals, emitting from somewhere behind them.

The demon girl in front of them seems to lose all color in her face at the sight of those same flames. She instantly drops MC to their knees, and attempts to run.

As Satan steps forward to grab the female student, he spins MC around with ease so that they won’t have to witness whatever he’s about to do.

MC doesn’t know how much time has passed due to the shock of the moment. It could be seconds or minutes. But when Satan pulls them back up to their feet, he is stone faced.

MC walks stiffly to the House of Lamentation with Satan, careful not to set anything else off in him.

The entire walk to his room is silent. The first time he speaks is when he offers a seat on his bed, nudging books aside with his foot.

He takes a deep breath before he begins diligently tending to the injuries.

“Mind explaining what happened?” He doesn’t sound angry at them, but it’s hard to tell with him.

Satan notices the hesitation in answering, so he gives a small smile. “Are you scared? You shouldn’t be. I’m just a bit... Tense, is all.”

After a moment, MC tells him the reasoning for the fight.

Satan sighs once more and places a hand on theirs. Oh to be so selfless yet still be a fragile human.

“MC... Demons talk. And it’s not always nice. It’s best to just let it go, okay? Well... Give me their name first, but I can’t have you losing a limb for me. Who knows what i’d do then.”

MC can’t completely promise that they’ll simply forget about anyone that talks badly about him, but Satan only gives a helpless sigh.

“What ever will we do with you.” He is much more relaxed than before, and his tone is affectionate.

MC doesn’t know what happened to that girl, and you figure it’s best to never ask.

Asmodeus is preoccupied with a hand mirror, but a circle of gathering demons certainly catches his attention.

He hums, interested. He’s always been one for drama.

But as he peeks over the crowd, his heart sinks impossibly deep in his body.

MC isn’t bloody, but by the looks of it, they may be very soon.

While he’s ridden with shock, a punch lands on their face, and the crowd roars. The yells overtake his own, and he can’t get through the group of people pushing and shoving.

Diavolo and Barbatos were alerted of the congregation of students, and are only just now arriving. And at the sight of them, students scatter like bugs. Leaving MC on the ground and clutching their face in pain.

Diavolo and Barbatos leave MC in the care of Asmodeus while they turn to resolve the problem with the attacker.

Asmodeus is frantic, fanning his face as he helps MC to sit up. He doesn’t know what to do first, does he ask to see the wound? But what’s the point when he doesn’t really know how to treat it in any circumstance? No one has ever socked him in the face before.

So he opts to carry them off to the infirmary, bridal style. All along the way, he gives reassuring words that seem to slightly calm the injuried MC.

“Hey, beautiful! Ughh, the nerve of some demons! I can’t even begin to— Oh right... The ice pack, I’ll get that now, so sit tight, love!”

While he allows them to press the ice to their eye themself, he is massaging his frowning face. All while he seems to be worried about all the wrong things.

“Is this type of injury permanent on humans?? Your face is too good for that!” “That low-level demon... I wish I could ruin his face a hundred times worse than what he’s doing to innocent bystanders!”

MC patiently allows him to vent, because hearing him fret of the most “Asmo” things somehow brought light to the situation and distracted from the throbbing in their face.

An hour must have passed before Asmo actually takes in the situation. “Oh, but I haven’t even asked... What in devildom were you doing with such a grotesque demon? Do I have to replace Mammon in guarding you?”

Finally, MC explains.

He’s less than shocked. Instead, he holds his own arms with an almost sympathetic smile, “Oh, darling... It’s better to talk to Lucifer about things like that... If at all. As the Avatar of Lust, It’s kind of part of the program to get nasty birds twittering about you... Fan behavior.”

MC seems less than convinced, replying with a small, “But...”

Asmo grins and puts a gentle hand on their shoulder. “It’s adorable that you’d do that for me, MC, really. I wish I could just dress you up and show you to the world, show them how special you make me feel! But please. Don’t sacrifice your complexion for a-ny-thing!”

Even Asmo can feel himself get butterflies when MC does the smallest of things for him. But taking care of that face is no joke to him.

Beel is at the gym when it happens, and is the last one to hear about it. The brothers are all discreetly trying to decide whether or not to tell him. We all know how scary he can get.

MC listens to Mammon... For some reason. And that entails avoiding Beel until the scrapes and bruises on your body heal.

Bad idea. Beel now looks like a hurt puppy, and is desperately trying to figure out what he has done.

The fateful moment of realization for him comes on a Tuesday night, less than a week after the incident. MC walks into the kitchen, searching for a late night beverage to drink and also hold against their wounds.

Beel is already there, instantly looking ashamed when he sees them.

“Beel...” MC starts, forgetting that they were supposed to be avoiding him. They stop themselves before hastily pulling their sleeves down to cover the lingering bruises.

This catches Beel’s attention to detail when it comes to others.

His eyebrows furrow a bit, and MC gulps.  There was no getting out of this.

Before completely explaining everything, MC has to calm him.  Because if not, he’d be checking every inch of their body for serious injuries.  And even if there were none, he’d never let them leave bed for the next week.  At least.

They take a deep breath and start with the people poking fun at his soft personality in such an intimidating body.  And then finishing with the plan of steering clear of him to keep him from getting worried.  (you leave out mammon’s part last second)

At first, his eyes are serious as he listens intently, silently going over things more than once in his head to ensure that he was understanding the story properly.

Once MC has finished, his eyes change completely.  They’re soft, and concerned, but not overbearing.

MC felt a bit guilty seeing him like this.

Beel reaches out to hug them, but is hesitant, worried that they’d still be hurt.  So MC has to let him know that their wounds have healed for the most part.

“MC....  Firstly, thank you.” He pulls them into a soft hug.  “It makes me all happy on the inside when you do things like that.” His voice is quiet, but much too unstable.  MC knew that this was a telltale sign that he was near tears.

MC doesn’t hesitate to reach up and stroke the back of his hair, feeling him bury his head into their shoulder.

“Beel? Are you okay?”

“I should be the one asking you that.”

‘you should know better’ is what he wants to say. But maybe they don’t, he thinks. Afterall, when was the last time a human with such limited magical capability was surrounded by demons 24/7?

“I just need you to promise me.” He carefully pulls back and sucks in a breath, keeping himself from imagining MC scared and hurt without him— because of him.

“Promise me that you’ll tell me about things like that first. Before you get yourself hurt, or... Or worse.” There’s another word that he has to stop himself from saying. He doesn’t know how he could handle that thought.

There, he thinks. If they didn’t know before how serious it was, now they did. Hopefully.

The brothers notice that Beel is a bit more normal than the days before, so they assume that things have been cleared up for the two.

Although they have to pretend as if they had never heard about the incident when he mentions it.

Belphie was definitely not there when it happened.

But unlike with every other brother, MC was unable to be saved immediately after having found themselves in a brawl with a low class demon.

MC silently curses as they find themselves limping through the halls of the House of Lamentation.

They’re lucky to have only gotten out of that with an injured ankle, they remind themself. It didn’t seem... Broken. But it definitely needed more medical attention than it received now— A knee-high sock they pulled off of their foot wrapped tightly around a ruler they used as a makeshift splint.

They were sure that the majority of the brothers were at school, so they’d have at least a few hours to figure out what to do.

How would the brothers react if they saw them like this? Would they feel that this was a mere inconvenience? Afterall, this may just be a bad sprain, and now look at them. They can barely limp. Much less walk. But maybe after a bit of rest, it would magically heal.

They decide to head to the music room (?), where they knew that none of the brothers would immediately run into after school.

After finding a stool to sit on, MC hisses when they bump their ankle on the floor. The throbbing seemed to shake their whole body.

“Holy shi—“

“MC?”

A sleepy drawl from the couch behind them causes them to freeze. They wanted to slap themself. Of course Belphie would be sleeping here, why didn’t they think of that?

“What’re you doing h—....” He stops.

MC can already tell that he had noticed the poor job they had done with their ankle. “I fell down the stairs. But it’s okay, I just—“

“MC. I’m not stupid. Why are you home so early, alone? If you skipped or left early, Mammon would have sniffed you out like a dog and be here, too. Spill it.”

If Belphie was good at anything (besides sleeping), it was reading emotions. There was no lying anymore. And so MC simply explained the fight and its causes.

When they turn to look at him, he simply blinks. He doesn’t seem very concerned, but he sleepily walks over to inspect their leg.

He’s careful to support their foot as he lifts their entire leg, checking the swelling.

“... Geez. You’re stupid.” His eyebrows knit together with an unknown emotion. Worry? Irritation? A mix of both? “I don’t care about what such irrelevant demons think, and you shouldn’t either.”

MC is a little speechless, but only laughs. “Yeah. It was a little dumb looking back at it. But you should have heard them, Belphie... There was no way I’d go without a fight, okay?”

Belphie smiles back. “If you wanted to prove yourself to me... There were other ways, you know?”

“Should we get Beel to help us set up the pillow fort?”

“Well, how else are you gonna heal? You can’t get better if you don’t rest with me.”

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me gender neutral mc #gn mc #fluff #fanfic #lucifer #mammon #levi #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #belphie #beel #belphegor #beelzebub

[astriefer]

Just Let Me Breath With You

Pairing: Thomastair

Word count: 3033

Warning: CHAIN OF IRON SPOILERS, injury, blood, mentions of trauma

It all happened in a swift blink of an eye. The demon attack, the fighting, it all passed in a great swipe of Thomas's boleadoras.

The attack was surprising - not because it was an attack, but because it was close to the stronghold of London's enclave- the London institute. Demons lurked in the road, near Fleet street. A get-together at the institute was held that gray, hazy day in London. What precisely they celebrated was beyond Thomas; what mattered was that old and young Shadowhunters as one joined the battle against the horde of Achaieral demons. Their numbers were the larger he has seen ever since the Mandikhor. It didn't pass smoothly - some injured, although Thomas hadn't registered who. During the fight, Henry or Christopher threw at the demons one of their newest innovation. He noticed only a blur, a small grenade-like object, thrown close to where he was fighting one of the demons. He tried to stop the nasty-looking Achaieral demon from flying - with Thomas himself- when smoke swirled from the thrown grenade. There was a hollow thud of metal hitting something, an explosion followed afterward, and the demon disappeared.  Maybe it was better not to inhale, but he was surrendered by the weird, thick smoke. He wasn't blown up from his inside out, so he considered it safe enough. As for now, the gates of the institute were behind him, hanging open to carry wounded and hurtling carriages. 

Thomas's hands were sore and calloused as he rubbed them against his neck. He swayed slightly, an expression of a fool sprawled over his face. He surveyed his surroundings in bewilderment. Soon enough, worried and relieved faces gathered around him. His friends and family crowded him, mumbling altogether to make no sense at all. It felt utmost importance to note to himself not all of his friends and family truly were there. Matthew wasn't, and so was Cordelia. He heard the word "overwhelmed" in all the havoc. He didn't understand what they were talking about - surely they had been fine if they were running around the way they did.

He kept his eyes on them, trying his best to decipher what they were saying, but his gaze inevitably slipped away from them. He caught a brown blur of torn red jacket, grey pants, and tousled dark hair. That instant, the world turned down, and all left was him and this man in another corner of the institute. Even the voices surrounding him ceased to exist.

On the spur of the moment, he briskly departed from his family and friends and walked to him, barely restraining himself from storming toward him. A hand rested on his forearm -  an attempt to stop him - but he shook it off without glancing at whomever it was. Sensing his intensive look, Alastair stared at him with a puzzled countenance. The short man was sitting against a wall, letting another Shadowhunter draw an iratze on his left arm. Thomas remembered Alastair charging to battle, now and in other battles they fought side by side, and relief I've washed him because he didn't seem to be wounded. By the time he reached them, It didn't matter who the other person was. The moment he captured Alastair's forearm, he broke into a run, not bothering to look at anyone as they hastily evaporated from the forecourt. Bad-mannered indeed, but Thomas was sure whoever that was would've understood urgent matter to talk with Alastair if he had known.

The tall man led the other through hurrying servants and leery eyes. Thomas almost knocked over a few people, but he did not find himself to care much more than mumble a half-hearted 'sorry'. He hadn't let go of Alastair, just loosened his grip slightly so he could slip his hand into Alastair's. His hold was firm nonetheless.

"Thomas!'" Alastair called out and caused him to turn his head over his shoulder. By the look of annoyance on his face, Thomas assumed the other man called his name a few times. Or perhaps, it was a result of being publicly dragged by Thomas for no apparent reason. Then he understood. Alastair had to run in order to follow him at this pace. For the first in entirety, Thomas cursed Alastair's shorter legs; but he quickly took it back because Alastair was, of course, the most beautiful the way he is. e slowed down his pace enough for Alastair to walk beside him, still dragging him after him. He felt a jolt of surprise Alastair didn't fight him about that, that he just let him take him to wherever he had in mind. Perhaps he was too stunned to really do anything else but stare at Thomas.

Thomas hadn't stopped to ponder over his good luck and no fuss from Alastair's side. He navigated through the maze of rooms and corridors, guiding Alastair to a casual unused guest room. He thrust the door open, let Alastair and himself enter before releasing his hand and shutting it close. He couldn't quite catch his breath.

He spun around to confront Alastair. Beautiful, he thought. The man in front of him was beautiful. Alastair - with torn clothes and dirt on his face - looked as charming as ever. In the last rays of the London sun, Alastair's eyelashes cast shadows upon his face. His cheeks seemed a bit red - was it because of Thomas or because of the previous fight? - and he chewed his lower lip. Thomas had the sudden urge to raise his hand and separate his lip from his teeth, pass his thumb on the soft mouth of Alastair Carstairs. The older man clearly tried to look expressionless, but he could see he studied him with concerned eyes. Thomas saw the question in them as well. Out of self-awareness, he looked down at his own clothes; they were rumpled and he lost his waistcoat in the fight, leaving him with trousers, a jacket, and a white shirt. All stained Ichor. He peered at Alastair, his clothes, and Alastair again. He must have looked like a corpse. Alastair, however, kept his captivating eyes on him, endearing-looking with his normal composed facade slightly off. 

Alastair's stopped biting his lip and opened his mouth to talk, yet before he could voice a word, Thomas stepped closer and buried his face in the soft hair of Alastair Carstairs. He relished the feeling of Alastair close to him, of his smell and heartbeat and warmth. "You're here. You're fine."

His voice was just above a whisper, but it filled the quiet room. "I wanted to talk with you for days now." Alastair's breath hitched. He hadn't pulled away. He hadn't tried to push Thomas aside. It was Thomas who backed away from their position. Alastair tilted his head up to look at his face and gasped loudly when Thomas crushed him in a hug. He groaned in pain, and it struck him Alastair had been injured.

"You are hurt." Thomas's voice was almost offended. He loosened his grip on Alastair, whose hand came to rest protectively on his side, where his bruise must have been. Thomas recalled all of sudden he had been given an iratze. Was his wound worse than just a bruise?

"It's nothing," Alastair wheezed and took a careful breath.

Their gazes met for a long moment. Alastair didn't squirm. Thomas leaned forward leisurely, testing his boundaries. When his lips collided with Alastair's forehead, he let out a sigh against the soft skin. Alastair stood strained at first, then slowly relaxed. it had not even been a week since the sanctuary, since Belial and his schemes, since Cordelia and Matthew disappeared to Paris. Alastair was avoiding him like the plague, and Thomas couldn't blame him much. He wished he could. It hurt seeing Alastair and knowing he could not be with him the way he craved to be. He suspected Alastair would back away soon, leave him alone in this room, disappear without a second glance. Come and leave like in a dream. Like in their time in Paris. 

Then, "I am glad you are okay as well."

Thomas's heart skipped a beat. Or a few. He abruptly ducked his head into Alastair's neck, close to his pulse. His body lost its tense as he devoted all his heed to the marvelous sound of Alastair's heart, beating strong and fast, addicting to Thomas's mind. Not a minute later he felt small palms pushing against him gently. He drew away begrudgingly.

His eyes were unclear, while Alastair's were shining brightly. Too brightly. He lifted his arm to touch the side of the fair hair on Thomas's head. When he lightly caressed it, Thomas winced. Letting his arm fall to his side, Alastair said, "You are hurt too. You need treatment."

Alastair dismissed his injury because he didn't want to worry Thomas and make it about him; Thomas dismissed it because he didn't want to be away from Alastair. His head was throbbing; it didn't matter. "It's nothing." he tried to enfold the small figure in his arms once again, but Alastair didn't let him. Thomas didn't try again, just silently observed Alastair. The dark man's eyes were conflicted as to if debating over himself what to do now. He sighed. "We can't, Tom. Please."

It was like a heated knife to his heart. He swallowed tightly. "I know," he forced himself to speak. "I am - I keep remembering all you are. All I love about you. Your hair," he counted and planted a kiss on his damp hair.  Alastair looked at him, surprise written over all his face. "Your haughty smile, your dark colors, your eyes-"  sparks of gray in a pool of black that reminded him of a starry sky. "Your lips," He closed his eyes. "your heart, so wide and loving, despite how much you try to conceal it. Your stubbornness, kindness, and selflessness. Your love for mundane movies and history and art. All of it. The feeling I can twirl around you for hours without getting a tad bit tired."

"Thomas," Alastair whispered.

"You deserve to be happy. I wish you would let me show you some of it," he continued tentatively. The man in front of him stood rigid, and it made sprouts of doubt rise in Thomas's chest. 

"Thomas. No. No. We cannot. Don't act like we- as we could ever happen. Don't say those things to try and convince me we can be more than heartbreak for each other."

The knife twisted. Thomas blinked. "I am not telling this to try and win you over, Alastair," he said slowly. "I am telling you this because you deserve to know. Because I want you to know how much you mean to me," he inhaled, feeling a bit lightheaded, and went on. "With my friends, I always hide this part of me. The part you take in my life, in my heart. I can be all I am with you. You understand me so easily, that it takes my breath away. I- I am not as good at words as James is. I am not as wild or charming as Matthew. I am not as talented as Kit. I am me, and with you, I feel it's enough."    

"Tom, it always has been enough."

Thomas sucked in a breath. How could he say this and expect Thomas to keep his face straight and his heart in control? He tried to push Thomas away but didn't let him think less of himself. He didn't let himself what he deserved, what they both did, because he believed they would both end up hurt. "I know so many things are - complicated," Alastair snorted at that. "But right now, everything is lucid, with you here."

He gazed deeply into those dark eyes. They held depths inside them he wanted to learn off by heart. Depths he wished to explore but could not reach.

Alastair shook his head and stubbornly kept his gaze at his dusted shoes. "You think we have reason by our side, but all we have is the burning yearning and stolen time." He knew if he let himself fall this time, he could not stand back. He would lose himself those kind hazel eyes, his deep voice, his brave heart, in everything that is Thomas Lightwood.

"We have more than this," Thomas declared. "I trust you."

Alastair piped his head up, "What?"

"I trust you," he repeated."And I want you, Alastair. I know you do too. But I want you to trust me as well. Trust me when I say I will never say those things just to make you give in and be with me. I am saying them because they are the mere truth and because I care for you."

Alastair glanced away hastily, eluding his eyes. "You are in no condition to make this decision. You- We can't -"

"But do you want us to be? Do you wish us to be together? "

Electricity filled the room, and both couldn't take their eyes off the other. Thomas knew it wasn't fair of Alastair to ask such a question. He knew on his flesh what it is to admit- even simply to oneself - you want something and believe you would never have it. That is how Alastair seemed to perceive them - a false fantasy, a feverish dream that would never come true. Thomas knew as well that Alastair had made it clear he didn't think they had a future, and making him fumble with those pieces of broken fantasy could hurt worse than words could. Yet, a part of Thomas couldn't help but wonder what the other had been through to be so hesitant to let himself be happy.

Do not say it's not possible on my behalf, he wanted to shout. If you wish to break my heart, do it because what you want is not a future with me in it.

"Yes."

Relief came so fast he felt abashed. His heart pounded ear-piercingly through his body. "Tell me," he asked gingerly. " Will you allow me to kiss you?"

Alastair drew in a sharp breath. Color flooded his cheeks. "Thomas..."

Thomas searched his face, which for so long was emotionless when he saw him the past week. He saw the hurt -  how much it must be for Alastair?  he pondered - and the fear. The dark-eyed gentleman wouldn't believe Thomas's words. He wasn't sure he could trust him with his heart. For now, he shall have the certitude for both of them. There was a voice telling him he wouldn't have come to Alastair after the fight if he could think clearly. He pushed that part away, locked it in a cage, and threw away the key. 

He swallowed down the odd, stinging feeling of being rejected. "Will you allow me to embrace you, then? " Just let me breathe with you. Let me hold you in my arms, to reassure us both, to know you are here. "You don't have to. I swear to it." He took a step back to prove his statement.

The judicious decision was to ignore the offer. To turn away from Thomas and all the comfort he had to give. Alastair was on the verge of tears. Thomas hated those tears were because of him. Because of them. Alastair opened his eyes and hummed acquiescently, soft and low.

The shreds of resistance left Alastair's body as Thomas swooped him into a hug. His big hand passed his head on Alastair's back, between his shoulder blades, and to his lumbar. He absentmindedly caressed Alastairs's side, touching Alastair's wound lightly. The smaller man shied away from the contact but immediately calmed back into the hug. He stifled a whine, and in the back of Thomas's mind, he knew they both had to get checked on. Thomas put his cheek on the other man's forehead. He closed his eyes and let out a pleased noise. Alastair's arms slowly cloaked Thomas's waist, holding him close. 

"We should return," Alastair whispered. A few minutes had passed. They were alone, far away from anyone who might hear, but the moment was so dreamlike and tender both were afraid to break the air around them. That alternate reality they formed in this godforsaken room, for a glimpse of a moment.

"I find it so tremendously difficult to do," his breath felt heavy; so did his heart. "Because I don't want to ever let go of you."

He heard Alastair gasp, and Thomas's own breath was quivering. The pulse beating deep in Alastair's chest raced, and Thomas was sure he could listen to it forevermore. The hug felt more private than a kiss, more overwhelming and welcoming and warm and protecting and trusting. "I missed you."

"Tom," Alastair's voice was suffocated, and thick from emotion, as if he was a boat that slowly sank because it's full of water. Thomas tried to retreat, suddenly fearing he passed the line. He must have passed it long ago, and yet Alastair let him, despite his own warnings. Thomas was about to apologize when he felt Alastair's hands tightening around him, and then the blazing understanding hit Thomas that It was Alastair's way of telling it was fine. Haltingly, he returned to their previous position.    

They were hugging, nothing more. But the proximity made Thomas feel a sense of internal peace, like a calm wave hitting the sand lightly. It made his lungs protest because he was out of breath. How could he ever let go? It was better than nothing at all, better than air and staring long at the wall of his room. It was Alastair, and he was ready to take every drop given to him. Yet, because it was Alastair, he could never get enough. It was hard to capture it - the soft looks, the thumping hearts, the yearning and the hurt. Thomas's cheek was still pressed against Alastair's forehead. He shifted to hide his face in his strands, dark like the night, soft as a feather. Alastair's smell was intoxicating. The words slipped his tongue before he knew it. "I am glad I am here with you."

There was a beat of silence. The voice of the man he loved - Thomas almost startled himself by the heedless use of the word love - barely reached his ears.

"I am, too."

#alastair carstairs #the last hours #tlh #chain of gold #chain of iron #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #thomas lightwood #chog #cordelia carstairs #thomastair #thomstairs #thomastair fanfic #thomastair fics #my fics #chain of iron spoilers #choi spoilers #coi spoilers #coi #I am sad :) #PLS TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF IT I'M ANXIOUS #I feel like Thomastair will be rushed in Chot #so have this #april fool you thought they might kiss and they didn't #Thomas respecting Alastair's boundaries is my life #also I am very not sure about this one #I like writing canon compliant things so imagine them talking between choi and chot and still showing they care for each other? #I actually want them to be slow burn #BUT TO SEE THE SLOW BURN

[a-lil-perspective]

Jfjfjfhfh I really did try.

Bad Batch spoilers/rant under the cut.

I... wow. Where to begin.

For months now I have been preparing myself to bear the weight of Crosshair having an affiliation with the Empire; I think that this is a widely-accepted speculation among us, I think the occurrence is going to be inevitable.

However, never did I expect the context of his Imperial tenure to be what I read today.

Crosshair does not get enough credit, as a member of the Bad Batch, as an individual. I am a Crosshair apologist, but I am not a Crosshair justifier. His behavior and actions at times are truly terrible and disappointing to see and warrant a good ass whooping; I will never say that either his attitude or venomous words are okay. They are not. Crosshair is about as flawed as a character can get.

And yet: he is most dependable, loyal, and resilient. We very much have Dee Bradley Baker’s own words to back this; especially regarding Crosshair’s dependability. His strong fundamentals point to admirable traits right off the bat.

What I was looking forward to most was Crosshair being presented in a new, refreshing light, and for those core beliefs to be wonderfully fleshed out. With the little screen time received and the seemingly tedious effort to keep the Clones “in character” (i.e. ‘emotionally neutral’, but that’s a whole other can of worms for another post) during the CW series, Crosshair’s mannerisms have been very much stunted all throughout, stigmatizing him to being but a stiff, malicious bastard with a superiority complex. This negative presentation has greatly ostracized him from warm reception by the mass of fans. And I, in my heart, cannot accept that that is all there is to Crosshair. Y’all know how much I love character analysis. There is so much more to that man than anything Filoni and Co. could ever dole out.

Today’s spoiler is proof.

Why. I have to know who in their right mind thought that Crosshair’s “shifting loyalties” (in the context of WILLINGLY, mind you) would be a compelling and satisfying storyline. The problem with mass media today is that there is too much stigma and not enough subversion; there is not enough chance for these misunderstood and misrepresented characters to thrive and grow into themselves. They’re all fated to the same monotonous, uninspired, and disillusioned tropes, and I’m beyond sick of it. It’s so detrimental to those who seek hope and relatability in these characters; time over again we are let down in this regard. I do not understand why this continues to happen; especially in Star Wars. These particular creators and storywriters are seasoned and know better. They know. Not a cool move.

And yet here we have, the “aloof bastard joining the bad guys because he can and it looks cool”.

Newsflash: It’s not cool.

Crosshair. Of all people.

Back to my original thoughts: I suspected him having to correspond with the Empire to some degree. But the thing is: I suspected it under the (reassuring) pretense that it was an UNCONTROLLABLE (or at the very least GRUDGING) enactment. That he UNWILLINGLY contributed. Of no volition of his own. That’s the key.

Not this “shifting loyalties” garbage.

Of course, on the flip side: I fully understand how the description can be deceiving; it’s rather vague already and many interpretations can be ascertained from just that one sentence. Perhaps his “loyalties shift” due to brainwashing/the inhibitor chip and this is just a clever ploy to throw a wrench in our speculations; it has yet to be specified.

But the surrounding context is what bothers me. His loyalties shift AFTER his team “defects from Imperial service”.

It’s all so negatively and shamelessly conveyed in a way that implies Crosshair’s new allegiance was a sound, conscious decision, born from an impersonal and indifferent standpoint the creator’s seem to keep pushing us to believe about him. Any budding character development, this revelation muddles. It waters him down completely. This new information paints Crosshair to lack conviction, virtue, and selflessness, and that is just not true. We cannot seriously be made to believe that Crosshair has no care whatsoever for his brothers—at least, not enough to make him choose them over the Empire. We cannot seriously be made to believe that Crosshair is not, when conscious, loyal to his brothers and his brothers only, ready to give his life for their welfare without a moment’s hesitation.

To be given information that seemingly contradicts any interpersonal drive Crosshair has...

I am not happy with this at all.

#bad batch spoilers #bad batch rant #star wars #star wars: the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #bad batch #clone force 99 #crosshair #crosshair bad batch #clone trooper crosshair #lil rambles #it’s a lil thing

[bellmel]

Reading you, before the fall

An angsty contribution to @clarensjoy’s Hinny Ficfest 2021 (A huge thank you, by the way - seeing my feed flooded by new Hinny fics today has been truly amazing. I’m so glad you arranged this!)

Prompt #40 - “I love you.” “Why do you look like you’re confessing a sin?” “I might as well be.”

AO3

---

There were several things Ginny Weasley could do with her eyes closed. She could cruise along on her broom, guided by nothing more than instinct and her finely-tuned spatial awareness. She could navigate the staircase of the Burrow in absolute darkness. She could tell which of her brothers was walking up behind her just by the distinctive thud and pace of their footsteps. 

And with her eyes closed, she could read Harry Potter. 

Harry had always been a fairly easy study. He had never been particularly good at hiding his emotions – his temper and brazen manner left little room for uncertainty. But in these past three weeks that they had shared together, Ginny had learnt to look beyond what was plainly visible, turning her attention instead to the subtlest of his quirks and mannerisms. And when she was pressed up against him with her eyes closed, her other senses truly awoke, picking up on the unspoken and the unseen. 

The sound of his voice, steady with confidence, or stilted and hushed with an almost vulnerable uncertainty, betrayed more about him in those moments than his words ever could. The way his breath hitched just so each time she leant into his lips, as if he could never tire of kissing her. The way he sighed when their fevered kissing would ease and Ginny would tip her head, resting her forehead on his chest – it was a soft and shaky sound, a sigh born from an odd blend of contentment and something like trepidation. They were sounds that she felt as much as heard, each one filling her like a warm rush of blood that pulsed through her body, settling and expanding in her chest. 

But while the sound of him was like a well-studied soundtrack, it was her hands and fingers that had learnt to read Harry Potter with expert certainty. She could read his mood and anxieties according to the tension in his muscles and the stiffness of his limbs, the way his body responded to her touch, and the fluidity of his movements against hers. 

She would trail her fingers over his arm, his torso, his cheeks. Dancing a familiar path across his body, her feather-light touch would skim over his skin with the practiced confidence of a blind person reading braille, the twitch of his muscles and his goosebumps telling her a story of grief, longing, regret and fear. 

And like many a narrative of love and loss, her reading of Harry had been hinting at a turning point in the days since Dumbledore’s death. The signs, albeit subtle, were all there. They left a trail of crumbs that she couldn’t bring herself to follow.

It put her even more on edge, nervous anticipation having settled heavily in her stomach. She had no way of knowing if it was the next scene, the next page, the next chapter when the twist that they were so clearly moving towards would drop. And in a way, she figured it didn’t matter. What was to come had already been written, and nothing she did now would change it. She didn’t believe it was fate, more an inevitability.

But Ginny’s mind was firmly focused elsewhere on this early morning in June. Harry’s hands had that ability, an unconscious way of commanding her attention. Even the stones of the tall castle wall jutting into her back were just a distant annoyance, drowned out by the feel of Harry leaning into her, his hands gripping her hips and waist.

He was quiet this morning. Both of them had woken early, sleep proving somewhat elusive these days. They were the first ones in the common room, but they hadn’t lingered long, instead escaping out onto the castle grounds before the other students were due to start trickling into the Great Hall for breakfast.

Outside, the grounds were sleepy and calm, the early rising sun having done little to budge the thick fog that had settled over the lake. It was fitting in a way, the grounds of Hogwarts as unclear as everything else inside the castle.

With little interest in talking, Harry had led Ginny to a partially hidden alcove around the side of the castle, and immediately started kissing her. It was frenzied to begin with, Harry clearly chasing a distraction through her, but she didn’t care. They stayed there, engrossed in each other, until Harry’s lips and body became less frantic, and his kisses and touch eased to a slow and tender pace.

After several minutes, Ginny pulled away just enough to catch her breath. “Harry,” she exhaled. It was still and quiet all around them, and Harry’s heavy breaths next to her ear filled the void.

From inside came the first distant sounds of students moving about in the castle, muffled laughter and shouts as they made their way down the staircase to the Great Hall.

Harry looked down at Ginny, realisation etched on his face as if he had only just remembered where they were. “Oh, do you-” he started, straightening up. “Sorry. You probably want to go get some breakfast.”

Ginny shook her head. “No. I’m not really hungry.” She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him. “Besides, I’d rather stay here with you.”

She expected him to protest and insist she go in and eat before their classes begin. But he simply nodded in agreement, and bent down to kiss the top of her head.

She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down further to place a kiss on his nose, his lips, and his stubbly chin. He responded by cupping her face in his hands, his thumb caressing her cheek.

“Ginny,” he sighed. With eyes shut tight, he pressed his forehead to hers and let out a long shaky breath. And then, in a moment that would reverberate through both her dreams and her nightmares, came those words. “I love you, Ginny.”

It was softer than a whisper, an utterance that could be felt more than heard.

She had heard those words her whole life, sometimes said as a reassurance or as a farewell, or through the gritted teeth of a chastised sibling. But never before had she heard those words said like this. It wasn’t a declaration or a promise, it was something else entirely.

Ginny looked up at him, at his creased brow and pursed lips, and her breath caught in her throat. His face was streaked with pain and remorse.

Her voice quivered, the hint of a nervous laugh. “Why do you look like you’re confessing a sin?” she asked, silently willing him to prove her wrong.

Instead, he opened his eyes and looked regretfully into hers. “I might as well be.”

And it was this exact moment that Ginny realised the suspicion she had been pushing against so desperately these past few days was no longer simply a suspicion. Harry’s admission told her everything she needed to know.

The regret she saw in his eyes wasn’t for his words, but for all that they meant.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the knowledge from her mind, desperately trying to tamper the howling agony that was ringing in her ears. Placing her palms flat against his chest, she braced herself and exhaled slowly, forcing her heart rate to ease, attempting to take her time over every detail. Hoping against all reason that she could slow things down, delay the ending, just for a little longer.

And with the clarity of hindsight, she realised he had been doing the same. Ever since his mentor had died, Harry had been trapped in a restless cycle of indecision. He would tense under her touch, only to relent a moment later and melt into her. He was pulling away from her at the same time as he clung to her, like a drowning man grasping at the one thing that could keep him afloat.

Leaning back to look up at him, she ran her hands up his arms, her fingers skating over his shoulders, his collarbone, and coming to rest on his chest. His eyes remained fixed on hers, as if he too was trying to etch this moment into his memory, before his arms tightened around her, and he dragged her in closer. Ginny leant into it, allowing Harry to keep her braced. She should have felt nothing but safe, comfortable and certain, being here with him. But all she felt was the shudder and tremble of his still-grieving body wrapped around hers, and there was no comfort to be found in that.

Her heart ached for him. For the boy who had far too little choice afforded to him, and far too much expectation placed on him. For the boy who had experienced so much already, but wasn’t yet done. For the boy who seemed to have finally found happiness, and was now trying to find the resolve to turn his back on it. Because yet again, it was up to Harry to do what was necessary.

You do it, a voice whispered in her head. You can break it off. Her eyes shot open, mind whirling with realisation. This was the one thing she could do for him, the one responsibility she could lift from his overburdened shoulders and carry herself.

She looked up at him. His head was bent forward, eyes fixed to where her small hands were pressed against his chest. And Ginny knew she couldn’t. She would never be the one to walk away.

She couldn’t look him in the eye, a boy who had known so much rejection and such little love in his life, and tell him it was over. Even if she knew it was the right thing to do.

Even if she knew what the alternative would mean for Harry.

Because while Harry was the protagonist of his story, turning his back on Ginny would make him feel like the villain. For as noble as he was, as selfless and kind as he was, he was still a boy who was terrified of letting anyone down.

If she was honest with herself though, she would have to admit that her reluctance was driven in part by a tiny but insistent piece of her that wondered if maybe she had read this wrong. That feared acting on something that perhaps wasn’t inevitable. Even though the rational part of her knew better.

Coward, the voice in her head reproached. And she agreed.

Taking a deep breath, she drew up her shoulders and steadied her resolve. If she couldn’t be the one to ring the death knell on their relationship, she could stand aside and let him do it. She would watch him walk away from her, and she wouldn’t try to stop him.

But until then, she would be here with him, savouring him.

With steady hands, Ginny pulled Harry down towards her and captured his lips with hers. She wanted him to know that she understood. That she didn’t blame him. That she didn’t regret him.

But she had no words. She didn’t even know if the right words existed. Instead, she poured it into her kiss and her touch. Let her lips, her tongue, her mouth say the things her voice couldn’t. I’m sorry, her kiss said. I forgive you.  

I love you.