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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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As relentless rains pounded LA, the city’s “sponge” infrastructure helped gather 8.6 billion gallons of water—enough to sustain over 100,000 households for a year.

Earlier this month, the future fell on Los Angeles. A long band of moisture in the sky, known as an atmospheric river, dumped 9 inches of rain on the city over three days—over half of what the city typically gets in a year. It’s the kind of extreme rainfall that’ll get ever more extreme as the planet warms.

The city’s water managers, though, were ready and waiting. Like other urban areas around the world, in recent years LA has been transforming into a “sponge city,” replacing impermeable surfaces, like concrete, with permeable ones, like dirt and plants. It has also built out “spreading grounds,” where water accumulates and soaks into the earth.

With traditional dams and all that newfangled spongy infrastructure, between February 4 and 7 the metropolis captured 8.6 billion gallons of stormwater, enough to provide water to 106,000 households for a year. For the rainy season in total, LA has accumulated 14.7 billion gallons.

Long reliant on snowmelt and river water piped in from afar, LA is on a quest to produce as much water as it can locally. “There's going to be a lot more rain and a lot less snow, which is going to alter the way we capture snowmelt and the aqueduct water,” says Art Castro, manager of watershed management at the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power. “Dams and spreading grounds are the workhorses of local stormwater capture for either flood protection or water supply.”

Centuries of urban-planning dogma dictates using gutters, sewers, and other infrastructure to funnel rainwater out of a metropolis as quickly as possible to prevent flooding. Given the increasingly catastrophic urban flooding seen around the world, though, that clearly isn’t working anymore, so now planners are finding clever ways to capture stormwater, treating it as an asset instead of a liability. “The problem of urban hydrology is caused by a thousand small cuts,” says Michael Kiparsky, director of the Wheeler Water Institute at UC Berkeley. “No one driveway or roof in and of itself causes massive alteration of the hydrologic cycle. But combine millions of them in one area and it does. Maybe we can solve that problem with a thousand Band-Aids.”

Or in this case, sponges. The trick to making a city more absorbent is to add more gardens and other green spaces that allow water to percolate into underlying aquifers—porous subterranean materials that can hold water—which a city can then draw from in times of need. Engineers are also greening up medians and roadside areas to soak up the water that’d normally rush off streets, into sewers, and eventually out to sea...

To exploit all that free water falling from the sky, the LADWP has carved out big patches of brown in the concrete jungle. Stormwater is piped into these spreading grounds and accumulates in dirt basins. That allows it to slowly soak into the underlying aquifer, which acts as a sort of natural underground tank that can hold 28 billion gallons of water.

During a storm, the city is also gathering water in dams, some of which it diverts into the spreading grounds. “After the storm comes by, and it's a bright sunny day, you’ll still see water being released into a channel and diverted into the spreading grounds,” says Castro. That way, water moves from a reservoir where it’s exposed to sunlight and evaporation, into an aquifer where it’s banked safely underground.

On a smaller scale, LADWP has been experimenting with turning parks into mini spreading grounds, diverting stormwater there to soak into subterranean cisterns or chambers. It’s also deploying green spaces along roadways, which have the additional benefit of mitigating flooding in a neighborhood: The less concrete and the more dirt and plants, the more the built environment can soak up stormwater like the actual environment naturally does.

As an added benefit, deploying more of these green spaces, along with urban gardens, improves the mental health of residents. Plants here also “sweat,” cooling the area and beating back the urban heat island effect—the tendency for concrete to absorb solar energy and slowly release it at night. By reducing summer temperatures, you improve the physical health of residents. “The more trees, the more shade, the less heat island effect,” says Castro. “Sometimes when it’s 90 degrees in the middle of summer, it could get up to 110 underneath a bus stop.”

LA’s far from alone in going spongy. Pittsburgh is also deploying more rain gardens, and where they absolutely must have a hard surface—sidewalks, parking lots, etc.—they’re using special concrete bricks that allow water to seep through. And a growing number of municipalities are scrutinizing properties and charging owners fees if they have excessive impermeable surfaces like pavement, thus incentivizing the switch to permeable surfaces like plots of native plants or urban gardens for producing more food locally.

So the old way of stormwater management isn’t just increasingly dangerous and ineffective as the planet warms and storms get more intense—it stands in the way of a more beautiful, less sweltering, more sustainable urban landscape. LA, of all places, is showing the world there’s a better way.

-via Wired, February 19, 2024

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moonstruckme · 1 month ago

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Ohh now that I have permission to request, could I request newgirl au rommates!marauders with a reader who is very independent and tries to do and deal with everything on her own. I mean we know how codependent the boys are and I would love to see how they would interact with a reader who is the complete opposite

Thanks for requesting (you never need permission babe haha) !

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Sirius lets out a low whistle, crossing his arms as he leans his hip against the couch to watch you. “Training to leave us for the circus?”

“Ha ha,” you monotone. Your voice falters slightly as you wobble on the ball of your foot, standing on tiptoe atop a pile of thick books atop a chair in order to reach the uppermost shelf of the bookcase in your sitting room. “Do you guys never clean up here? It’s gross.”

“Sounds like you’ve just answered your own question,” he says. “Why are you messing with it?”

“Because,” you strain your reach, running a dusting wand along the shelf and stifling a gasp when your pile of books threatens to tip, “it’s the only empty shelf, and I have stuff to put here.”

“Shit, babe, can’t your stuff wait a while? Remus will be home soon.”

“So?”

“So,” says Sirius, “he’s a tall bloke. He could at least reach up there without so much…peril.”

You make a dismissive noise. “I’ve got it.”

You overextend your reach a tad, the books leaning precariously. The ball of your foot shuffles a few inches to the left in a semi-frantic instinct to regain your balance, but after a second you have to bail out, hopping down onto the chair and then the ground with a thunk that’s sure to win you favor from your downstairs neighbors.

“Yeah,” Sirius drawls. “Looks like it.”

You make a face at him. James comes out of his room as you’re moving the chair a couple feet to the left to climb back up.

“I can’t decide…uhh…” He watches you ascend with brows drawing together in concern.

“She won’t be deterred,” Sirius says swiftly. “What can’t you decide?”

James’ eyes stay stuck on you as you pick up the dusting wand to try again. “I, erm, can’t decide what to have for tea.”

“You said the other day that you were craving Thai,” Sirius offers. “Order takeaway?”

Though you’re turned away, you can practically hear the smile enter James’ voice. “Genius. You want in?”

“Sure. Pad see ew, please.”

“Got it. What about you?” James asks you.

“No, thanks.” The duster looks suspiciously clean for how far you’ve gotten. You attempt a little hop to see the shelf. “I’ve got leftovers.”

“Right, okay—god, please don’t do that.” James’ voice pitches when your books sway after another hop. “It’s a long way down the stairs if you break your neck and we have to call 999. Why did you say we can’t stop her?” he asks Sirius.

“I tried telling her to wait for Remus—”

“That’s a good idea. Remus is tall, love, let him do it.”

“—but she wants to do it herself.”

“Oh.” Similarly to how you could hear James’ smile before, now you can hear the lack of it. “I see. This is like the jar thing?”

“The jar thing?” Sirius asks with mild interest.

“Yeah. I found her struggling with a jar of spaghetti sauce the other night” —you roll your eyes; struggling seems a bit superior— “so I tried to help, but she wouldn’t let me. Accidentally shattered the whole thing in the sink trying to get it open.”

At this point, you can feel both James’ and Sirius’ pointed stares at your back. You keep about your business as though you can’t.

“We can’t have you breaking bones the way you broke the jar,” says James. “We don’t have liability insurance.”

You huff a laugh. “I’m not totally familiar with how insurance works around here, but I don’t think you need that if you’re not employing me.”

“Whatever.” Sirius’ voice is dispassionate. “If she wants to break her neck to prove a point, that’s her prerogative.”

James sounds about to protest, but then you hear the door open.

“What the fuck?” Remus asks under his breath, as though speaking to no one but himself. “What are you doing up there?”

“It’s fine,” you insist, though admittedly it takes some willpower to continue dusting when your quietest roommate sounds so horrified. “I’m cleaning.”

You hear the door shut and the lock click. There’s a papery shuffle as Remus sets down whatever he brought inside. “Why?” he asks, bewildered.

“Uh, because I don’t want my books on a dusty shelf?”

“Let me take care of that. Come down from there.” You start turning to give your rebuttal the same as you had to Sirius and James, but before you can Remus’ hands are at your waist. Your balance falters.

“Careful,” he tsks, his grip on you tightening momentarily. “Step down, one foot at a time.”

You find that, with his hands on you and his tone so resolute, you have a harder time refusing him. You put your foot down on the chair.

“There you are.” Remus doesn’t seem inclined to release you until you have both feet on the ground, but he turns to give James and Sirius a look. “You were just going to let her do this by herself?”

“We tried to tell her,” Sirius defends them. “She won’t have any help, she’d rather smash things.”

Now Remus turns back to you, bemused. “Smash things?”

“It was an accident,” you mumble. “I wanted to open my own jar.”

“You’ve got to let James handle jars, babe,” Sirius tells you sagely. “He needs it, it makes him feel good.”

James shrugs as though this may or may not be true.

“Please,” Remus pinches the bridge of his nose, “no smashing anything while I’m away. Jars or bones.”

“That’s what we were trying to tell her,” James says helpfully.

You cross your arms, avoiding anyone’s eyes. “Fine.”

Remus sighs. “Thank you.” He sets a fond hand on the top of your head, and the familiarity of the gesture sends a pleasant warmth all the way down to your toes. You feel a tad less aggrieved.

“Thank goodness,” says James. “Hey, does this mean I can start opening your jars for you? And you’ll have takeaway with us tonight?”

Your flatmates all look at you. “Sure,” you relent. “That would be nice, thanks. But I’m not going to start joining you for those bedtime stories you do in Remus’ room every night.”

“I’m an unwilling participant in those,” Remus protests unconvincingly.

“You should rethink that one,” Sirius advises you as he sits down on the couch, pulling out his laptop to begin ordering dinner. “We’re reading the Wrinkle in Time series right now; it’s riveting.”

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alygator77 · 2 months ago

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motherhood and matrimony

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, smut, masturbation, enemies (annoyances) to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, marriage of convenience, slow burn, fluff, little angst, mentions of death (satoru's father).

a/n. tysm for another follower milestone! as a thank you, here are some ceo! satoru headcanons for my ongoing fic motherhood and matrimony. this can kinda be considered as a teaser for those that haven't read the series. for those that have read the fic, this fleshes out the circumstances between satoru and reader a bit more, giving us a bit of insight from satoru's POV (and showing how down bad he is, hehe.)

ceo! satoru, who walks into meetings ten minutes late, just to prove he can. he never rushes—the clock bends for him, so does the room. postures straighten, laptops shift, conversations hush—eyes flicking away like they weren’t just whispering about the latest tabloid headline with his name in bold.

he doesn’t give them the satisfaction of reacting—never does. because he’s used to the attention. the scrutiny. the weight of being watched.

whatever… he never asked for this. he’s the heir of gojo corp, he just has to exist… right?

ceo! satoru, who doesn't read half the reports placed in front of him—rolling his eyes during company briefings, doodling dicks into the margins of billion-yen contracts. he slouches in a chair that cost more than most people’s rent—twirling a pen, daring someone to scold him. it’s always his father. it’s only ever his father.

“take this seriously satoru. you need to grow up. have you found a wife yet?”

the pressure of his legacy comes dressed in politeness, in tightly-wound ties and family dinners that feel more like interviews. it’s never ‘what do you want?’ only ‘what will you become?’

people think he’s lazy. arrogant. detached.

eh… maybe they aren’t wrong?

and yet, for all his mockery, he still shows up. still puts on the suit. still plays the part with a half-smile and his middle finger tucked just behind his back. because maybe, if he doesn’t take it seriously, it can’t hurt him the way it was always meant to.

ceo! satoru, who keeps people at arm's length, especially women. they whisper his name like a prize—because everyone wants something from him: money, attention, his title, a seat at the table. so? he gives them nothing—flirting without intent, touching without feeling, fucking without consequence.

love is a transaction. intimacy? a liability. and gojo satoru? he’s tired of being collateral.

so, he stays perfect on paper—sharp in the spotlight, hollow behind closed doors. if he gives them nothing, then there’s nothing to take.

untouchable, unbothered, and lonelier than he’ll ever admit.

ceo! satoru, who notices you the moment you don’t notice him. you’re new—his father’s latest hire. just another name slipped into a calendar invite he didn’t read, another title he forgot before the ink dried. nothing remarkable. not at first glance. you keep to yourself, all neutral tones and clean lines. head down, posture straight, buried in your work like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

boring, uptight.

that’s his original impression of you.

until he makes some offhand comment in a meeting—low, careless, designed to make the room laugh. but this time, you glance up, meeting his eyes with a scowl.

“...are you finished?” you mumble. cold. quiet. unamused.

the fuck?

it’s always his father. it’s only ever his father. and yet here you are—desk-bound and barely blinking—making him feel like he’s overstayed his welcome—in his own kingdom, mind you.

oh. he’s gonna give you hell.

ceo! satoru, who makes it his personal mission to get under your skin. so, he starts dropping by your office more often. for no real reason—papers he could’ve emailed, questions he already knows the answers to.

“hey miss secretary,” he drawls, dragging the words like velvet across glass. “miss me?”

he pushes. you push back. he reroutes your calendar and you reroute his meetings. he leaves three unsigned forms on your desk just to watch you chase him down the hallway with your heels clicking like gunfire.

“try doing your job sometime,” you hiss.

satoru lives for the moments you slip. he’s used to women shrinking beneath his name. you don’t shrink—you scowl. and it’s addicting. because all that politeness you wear in front of his father is paper-thin around him, and your patience is stretched tight over something sharper.

ceo! satoru, who notices you’ve been late three times this week. not by much—seven minutes, ten at most. but still, late. unusual for someone like you.

you—who normally arrives fifteen minutes early. you—who color-codes schedules and double-checks logistics like it’s second nature. you—who never lets a single thread unravel.

“this company runs on discipline, not excuses,” his father lectures you. “apologies sir… my babysitter has a habit of running late.”

and just like that, the room changes.

ceo! satoru, who said nothing at the time—just watched. you’re a single mom? he’s thinking about the way you never mentioned a child. the way you never once asked for accommodations. the way you kept your head down and your performance sharp, even when your personal life clearly wasn’t giving you much room to breathe. and for the first time, he wonders if he’s been looking at you all wrong.

because it’s easy to call someone uptight until you realize they’re holding the world together with both hands and no help.

you square your shoulders, taking his father’s lecture like you were used to it. why did it seem like you had practice with swallowing apologies you didn’t owe? that doesn’t sit well with him…

ceo! satoru, who didn’t see it coming. not really. one moment his father is mid-sentence, gesturing over untouched steak and quarterly projections. the next, there’s a tremor in his voice—a hand that doesn’t settle, a breath that doesn’t finish. silver clattering to the floor. staff rushing in. panic rising in the air like heat.

he doesn’t remember the walk to the ambulance, only the stillness of his own father’s body.

ceo! satoru, who knows the answer before the doctor speaks. it’s in the look. the way the nurse steps back. the way no one can meet his gaze.

“it was a heart attack… i’m sorry. he didn’t make it.”

he nods. once. what is he supposed to do—to feel? he doesn’t know what to mourn. the father he feared? the man he resented? the stranger who lived down the hall of his own childhood? the man who spent his entire life, trying to mold him—now undone by something even he couldn’t control.

there was no grand ending. no dramatic farewell. just silence.

and satoru—left with all the noise that came after.

ceo! satoru, who stares down at the stipulation in his father’s will like it’s a ghost. and honestly? maybe it is. maybe this is how his father haunts him—not with memories, but with demands.

to inherit full control of gojo corp and the family estate, satoru must be married. with a child. within one year.

he blinks once, then laughs—quiet, disbelieving. of course. of course the man who never trusted him in life wouldn’t trust him in death. control, even from the grave—his father’s final move, final manipulation.

ceo! satoru, who isn’t prepared when it’s you who offers a solution. no dramatics, no buildup—just a simple, “let’s get married.” it takes him a full breath to process it. a fake marriage. a clean deal. a contract that helps you both.

you—already a mother, already the picture-perfect illusion his father wanted him to build. you—who has everything the will demands, and nothing he’s ever had to pretend to want. for a moment, he’s stunned into silence. because you’re not offering him love, you’re offering him freedom.

ceo! satoru, who doesn’t trust easily, but maybe he trusts you? because you’ve never wanted anything from him, never asked for his attention. you’re practical. smart. tired in the same way he is (he’s just better at hiding it).

and sure, maybe what you’re offering isn’t customary. no emotional attachments, no strings. just terms, signatures and survival. it’s not what his father would have wanted. but fuck it, that’s the point.

ceo! satoru, who is not prepared for the way you kiss him at a public event. he tells himself it was just the heat of the moment, knowing you only kissed him to play your role. he tries to conveniently ignore the way your lips part first, slipping your tongue in, sighing against his mouth, leaning into him like you’re his—like he fucking owns you.

but… this is just a charade, marriage of convenience—nothing more. shit. then why the fuck is he rock hard remembering the taste of you?

ceo! satoru, who only meant to jerk off to you once—just to get it out of his system, okay?! clearly that’s all he needs right? he lasts maybe five minutes before he’s groaning your name, hips lifting as he’s spilling cum all over his abs, shuddering as he fucks his own fist thinking about you.

there. that’s it. out of his system—no more, right? (wrong)

ceo! satoru, who doesn’t know what’s worse—the fact that it happens again, or that it happens easier. it doesn’t take much now—just the sight of you leaning over the dining table in a robe, a bare leg bent, hair tangled from sleep. the curve of your neck when you tilt your head. the flash of skin when you reach for something too high.

what the fuck is wrong with him?!

you’re not even doing anything. not really. you’re just there—folded into his space like you belong there. moving barefoot through his estate in oversized sweaters and quiet hums, curling up on the couch without a clue what you’re doing to him.

ceo! satoru, who’s never felt this out of control. not in boardrooms. not in interviews. not even in the middle of his father’s most ruthless lectures. but with you? with you, it’s all unraveling—you’re like gravity.

and now it’s routine—fucking his hand to the thought of you, slipping into his bedroom, pants pushed down, fist tight around his twitching cock, muttering curses into his palm to keep from moaning too loud, because you’re always asleep in the room next door.

it’s just stress relief, he tells himself. a coping mechanism. a release.

taking care of a kid is harder than he expected. the pressure’s always building as ceo of gojo corp. and you—you’re always close. always soft. always there.

ceo! satoru, who imagines you on your knees, in his office, tucked under his desk like a dirty secret. he’s slapping his dick gently against your cheek, rubbing his precum all over your pretty little mouth, encouraging you to part your lips before feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

schlick. schlick. schlick.

his filthy faps echo off the bedroom walls—sprawled out on expensive sheets, cock flushed and leaking down his knuckles as his wrist works faster, panting, groaning, lost in the addicting image of you.

“s-shit—fuck—” he breathes, head tilting back, hips rocking forward. “j-just like that… so good f’me, baby… so fuckin’ good—”

your muffled moans would sound so cute, gagging around his cock, drool dripping down your chin as you blink up at him, teary and beautiful. he’d stroke your hair back, whispering praise, thrusting lazily down your throat.

“fuuuck—look at you, so pretty—s-shit…” he’s fraying at the edges, nearly breaking as his strokes grow faster, messier. “p-please—fuck, need it—need your mouth, please… just wanna—nngh…”

ceo! satoru, who fantasizes about cuming across your tongue—your eyes fluttering closed as he tells you to swallow. and you’d swallow it all, wouldn’t you? looking up at him with ruined lips, cum streaking your chin, smiling all coy with those pouty lips he dreams about every night.

“fuckfuckfuck—” his voice cracks, stomach tensing, cock jerking in his hand. “‘m gonna cum— ‘m gonna—fuck—" he gasps, hips lifting off the edge of the bed as his orgasm crashes through him like a tidal wave.

and it wrecks him.

cum spills over his fist in hot, desperate spurts, leaking between his fingers, dripping down his wrist, painting his abs, his shirt, his thighs in thick creamy streaks.

“g-god… yes… f-fuck, baby… f’you, all f’you…” he whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as your name slips from his lips, over and over again like a prayer.

ceo! satoru, who lies there afterward, sweating and spent, staring at the ceiling like it might tell him what the fuck he’s doing. you’re not actually his—you were never meant to be. sure, you’re his wife, but only on paper, nothing more. so… why do the lines keep blurring? thinning. you’re already under his skin. already in his sheets. in his head. on your fucking knees every time he closes his eyes.

and it’s not just lust anymore.

it’s the sound of your voice when you’re half-asleep. the way you talk to your daughter in that soft, maternal tone, tugging at something deep in his chest. the gojo estate used to feel like a museum. all cold marble and high ceilings, every corner echoing with the absence of something warm. he never realized how empty it felt until you started filling it. slowly. quietly. without trying.

now there’s a pink toothbrush beside his in the bathroom. a collection of tiny socks and hair ties on the entryway table. a soft giggle in the morning light and the scent of syrup in the kitchen air.

your daughter’s toys spill out across the living room rug. your coat hangs next to his in the foyer. your voice carries down the hall like it belongs here.

he wants you like a home he never thought he deserved.

and... that’s the most terrifying part of all.

love is a transaction. intimacy? a liability. if he gives you everything—his time, his trust, the bruised, aching thing in his chest he swore no one could touch—what would you do? would you break him?

a/n. awww... for those that have read the fic it was fun to go back to the start of this story to see how far this pair has come 🥹 i figured ceo deserved his own headcanon, i love my pookie. chapter 10 is in the works. if you enjoyed this teaser consider checking out this fics full masterlist here! i will also be reopening this taglist.

taglist:

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail

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pomegranatelifethis · 30 days ago

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Echoes in the Night

The Gotham rain fell in relentless sheets, blurring the city into a smear of neon and shadow. You perched on a gargoyle overlooking Crime Alley, the cold seeping through your suit. Your cape, heavy with water, clung to your shoulders, but you didn’t care. The weight felt right—matched the ache in your chest. You were Y/N Wayne, daughter of the Bat, and tonight, you were breaking every rule in his book.

Bruce had grounded you again. Another mission, another mistake. You’d gone after a lead on Black Mask’s smuggling ring, acting on a tip you hadn’t fully vetted. The intel was bad, and you’d walked into an ambush. You’d fought your way out, leaving a trail of unconscious thugs, but the shipment was gone, and Black Mask’s men had scattered. Bruce’s verdict was immediate: no patrol, no cave access, no suit. “You’re a liability, Y/N,” he’d said, his voice cutting deeper than any blade. “Until you can prove otherwise, you’re done.”

But you weren’t done. Not with Gotham. Not with yourself.

Your comm was off, your tracker disabled. If Bruce wanted to bench you, fine—but he couldn’t stop you from saving lives. You’d slipped into an old prototype suit, one Tim had tinkered with before abandoning it. It was lighter, less armored, but it was enough. You were enough.

A muffled cry echoed from the street below, and your senses snapped to attention. You dropped silently, landing in a crouch behind a dumpster. Two figures loomed over a kid, no older than fifteen, his backpack torn open on the pavement. One thug brandished a knife, the other a crowbar. Your jaw tightened. You hated bullies.

You moved like a ghost, slipping behind the one with the crowbar. A swift strike to his wrist sent the weapon clattering, and a knee to his gut dropped him gasping. The knife-wielder spun, blade slashing wildly, but you ducked, grabbing his arm and twisting until he screamed. A final kick to his chest sent him sprawling into the gutter. The kid bolted without a word, and you let him go. No need for thanks—just survival.

“Sloppy,” a voice rasped from the shadows.

You tensed, hand snapping to the batarang at your belt. Dick Grayson stepped into the dim streetlight, his Nightwing suit gleaming faintly. His escrima sticks were holstered, but his posture screamed disappointment.

“Dick,” you said, voice flat. “Here to drag me back?”

He crossed his arms, rain dripping from his hair. “Here to figure out why you’re sneaking around in a knockoff suit. Bruce benched you, Y/N. What are you doing?”

“Saving people,” you snapped, brushing past him to retrieve the thug’s knife. “Someone has to.”

Dick grabbed your arm, not hard, but enough to stop you. “This isn’t about saving people. It’s about you proving a point. And it’s gonna get you killed.”

You yanked free, glaring. “Don’t act like you care. None of you do. Tim messes up, he gets a lecture. Jason goes rogue, Bruce barely blinks. But me? I step one toe out of line, and I’m locked in the cave like some disobedient pet.”

Dick’s face softened, but before he could respond, a new shadow descended. Batman. The real one. His cape flared as he landed, silent and imposing, the cowl’s white lenses locking onto you like a predator’s stare.

“Y/N,” Bruce said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “You were ordered to stand down.”

Your heart pounded, but you held your ground. “And you were supposed to be my father, not just my drill sergeant.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and raw. Dick shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you and Bruce. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in Bruce’s eyes—guilt, maybe, or pain. But it was gone as fast as it came.

“You’re compromising the mission,” Bruce said, stepping closer. “Your actions have consequences. You could’ve been hurt. Others could’ve been hurt.”

“Like you care about me getting hurt,” you shot back, voice rising. “You don’t even see me, Bruce. I’m just the screw-up who’s never as good as Dick, or as smart as Tim, or as… whatever Jason is to you. I’m your daughter, and you treat me like I’m nothing.”

Silence fell, heavy as the rain. Dick opened his mouth, but no words came. Bruce’s face was unreadable, his fists clenched at his sides. You waited, desperate for something—an apology, an acknowledgment, anything. But he only said, “Get in the Batmobile. We’re done here.”

The words were a punch to the gut. You laughed, bitter and hollow. “Yeah. We are.”

You turned, ignoring Dick’s call after you, and fired your grappling hook. The city swallowed you as you swung away, the rain stinging your face. You didn’t look back, but you felt their eyes on you—Bruce’s judgment, Dick’s worry. It didn’t matter. You were done begging for their approval.

Hours later, you found yourself in an abandoned warehouse, the kind of place Jason used to haunt when he needed to disappear. You sat on a crate, peeling off the prototype suit’s gloves, your knuckles bruised and raw. The fight with the thugs hadn’t been clean, but you’d won. That was something.

A creak echoed behind you, and you spun, batarang raised. Jason Todd leaned against the doorframe, his Red Hood helmet tucked under one arm. His leather jacket was slick with rain, and his green eyes studied you with something like amusement.

“Rough night, princess?” he asked, strolling closer.

“Don’t call me that,” you muttered, lowering the batarang. “What do you want, Jason?”

He shrugged, tossing his helmet onto a nearby crate. “Heard you went AWOL. Figured I’d see how much trouble you’re in.”

You snorted, turning away. “Plenty. Bruce caught me. Dick too. Same old lecture—‘you’re reckless, Y/N, you’re a liability.’”

Jason let out a low whistle. “Sounds like Bats. He’s got a real talent for making you feel like crap.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the lack of mockery in his tone. “Why do you care? You don’t exactly stick around for family dinners.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I know what it’s like to be the black sheep. You’re out here, fighting his war, and he’s still got you under his boot. Pisses me off.”

You blinked, the words sinking in. Jason, the rebel, the one who’d walked away from Bruce’s rules, was taking your side. Again. It was… disarming.

“He doesn’t get it,” you said quietly, staring at the warehouse’s cracked floor. “I just want to help. To be enough. But it’s like I’m invisible.”

Jason sat beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. “You’re not invisible, kid. Not to me. And not to Gotham. You took down those punks tonight, yeah? That’s not nothing.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat tightening. “Bruce doesn’t think so.”

“Bruce is an idiot,” Jason said flatly. “He’s so busy chasing his own demons, he forgets he’s got a kid who’s bleeding for his cause. But you don’t need his approval. You’re a Wayne. You’re already enough.”

The words were rough, but they hit like a lifeline. You looked at him, searching his face for a lie, but all you saw was that crooked, defiant grin. For the first time all night, you felt a spark of warmth.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

“Don’t get sappy on me,” he said, nudging your shoulder. “Now, c’mon. Let’s grab some burgers before Bats sends the whole family after you.”

You laughed, a real one this time, and followed him into the rain. The city was still a mess, and Bruce’s shadow still loomed large, but for now, you weren’t alone. And that was enough.

#batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #bruce wayne x reader #damian wayne x reader #dc x reader #the neglected reader #batfam x neglected reader #neglected reader #yandere dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x y/n #bruce wayne x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem reader

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reengeen · 8 months ago

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I saw the response to my ask so here are the mirror pictures I drew! Please go check out @mari-lair for the au. It's so interesting and it's executed really well, I just can't recommend it enough :D

(Everyone else is smiling, did they plan this?!)

(You look so surprised! But it's nice to see everyone else happy, given the situation.)

(Also smiling now, you pocket the photo. You're glad they can still smile with you despite everything happening.)

(You see a key on the floor now, the mirror's light being reflected just right. Time to continue saving the country, Siffrin!)

[You obtained the smiling key]

(...)

(Everyone is staring at you.)

(They must be so tired of you by now, they're so strong. It feels like they could go through the whole house without you.)

(You're nothing but a liability to the team. A forgettable side character no one likes anyways.)

(You should have known that. Aren't you just so selfish? To think you mattered in this at all?)

(They look so scared. Who can blame them when you've walked into so much danger? Of course they're scared, they can't even trust you to do your own BLINDING JOB.)

(...)

(You'll prove they don't need to look at you like that ever again.)

(Smiling, you pocket the photo. At the very least, you can try and not mess anything else up)

(You see a key on the floor now, the mirror's light being reflected just right. At least you can still do this.)

[You obtained the smiling key]

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person-injury-law-news · 5 months ago

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writeriguess · 1 month ago

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Reader has a solar-powered quirk, and is weakened by rain or bad weather. Trying to push past that weakness, she trains in the pouring rain, only to push herself to collapsing, running out of energy. Katsuki finds her, thinking the worst-and takes reader to recovery girl. She explains her reason behind pushing herself and some feelings are confessed. Maybe title it Little Miss Sunshine?

Little Miss Sunshine

The rain is relentless, a constant, drumming assault against your skin as you push yourself through another round of drills. Your limbs feel heavier with each passing second, every movement sluggish, like you’re fighting against an invisible force pressing down on you. You know it’s reckless to train in weather like this—your quirk thrives on sunlight, and without it, your strength dwindles to nothing. But that’s exactly why you’re here.

Because if you ever want to stand on the same battlefield as everyone else, you need to be strong—even when the sun isn’t shining.

You grit your teeth, throwing another punch. It’s weak. Useless. You try to pivot, but your legs tremble under you. Another step. Another breath. Another—

The world tilts violently. Your body gives out, hitting the drenched pavement with a dull thud.

You hear a voice before you see him.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, dumbass?!”

You blink blearily, rainwater stinging your eyes. Katsuki stands over you, drenched to the bone, crimson eyes wild with something between fury and panic. His hands are clenched into tight fists, tiny explosions crackling between his fingers. You can’t tell if it’s from anger or the sheer force of his emotions.

You try to push yourself up. Your arms don’t cooperate.

His expression darkens, and before you can protest, he’s crouching down and grabbing you, hauling you into his arms as if you weigh nothing.

“Wait—Katsuki—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, voice strained. “Just shut the hell up.”

Your head lolls against his shoulder. He’s warm. Unfairly warm. Your eyelids flutter, but you force them open, staring at the side of his face. There’s something tight about his expression, his jaw locked in a way that makes your chest ache.

“I’m fine,” you mutter weakly.

His hold tightens. “No, you’re not.”

—

By the time you regain full awareness, you’re in Recovery Girl’s office, wrapped in a thick, scratchy blanket. The rain is still audible outside, but here, the air is warm. Safe. Katsuki stands a few feet away, arms crossed, looking about two seconds away from blowing something up.

Recovery Girl clicks her tongue. “You’re lucky Bakugo found you when he did. If you’d stayed out there much longer, you could’ve gone into shock.”

You wince, guilt curling in your stomach. “I just wanted to get stronger.”

Katsuki’s head snaps toward you. “By nearly killing yourself?” His voice is sharp, but underneath it, there’s something else. Something raw.

You swallow hard. “I—” You inhale deeply. “I know my quirk has a huge weakness. If I can’t fight when the weather’s bad, what’s the point? I don’t want to be a liability. I don’t want to hold anyone back.”

His expression twists. His hands clench. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. Rougher.

“You think that’s what we think of you?”

You freeze.

His eyes burn into yours. “You think I’d let some weakling fight beside me?”

Your breath catches.

“You’re not a liability, dumbass.” His jaw works. “You don’t have to kill yourself to prove something that’s already fucking obvious.”

Something inside you cracks. You duck your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “You don’t get it, Katsuki. You’re strong, always. Even on your worst days, you don’t—” Your voice wavers. “I just wanted to be strong, too.”

Silence.

Then, the mattress dips. A hand lands on your head, fingers threading through your damp hair. Your eyes fly open, and Katsuki is right there, close enough that you can see the way his throat bobs.

“You are.”

The words are quiet, barely above a whisper.

Your chest tightens.

His fingers twitch, then tighten in your hair. “Just—don’t do something that stupid again.” His eyes flick away, then back. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Warmth blooms under your ribs, something fragile and unbearably soft. You reach up, covering his hand with your own.

“I won’t,” you murmur.

Katsuki doesn’t move his hand. And for the first time since stepping into the rain, you finally feel warm.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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mirclealignr · 1 month ago

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self preservation | james potter [4k]

james potter x fem!reader

requested by anonymous wherein james likes everyone but y/n.

warnings: descriptions of vehicle disasters, death, gets a little dark, angst, she / her pronouns, and i think that’s it?

a/n: help IDK. anyway lemme know ur thoughts !

If James Potter could embody his hatred into a sentient being, he knew it would take the form of Y/N. Ever since their schooling days, James had held a particular disregard for her. Though she seemed the person everyone could like - a pleasing disposition, an amiable temperament - James could not help but dislike her.

No one else could see through her falsity. James vehemently protested her joining the Order, but alas, he was overruled. To James, this was merely a temporary setback, and he would still yet prove to the others what a mistake it was accepting her.

She was insufferable, inappropriate, and unsuitable for this sort of position. She would not be an asset to the Order, purely a liability. He watched her train, knowing she could never rise to the challenge of the types of operations they carried out: gathering intelligence, attacking Voldemort’s followers directly in meticulously orchestrated missions, and protecting vulnerable individuals who had, for some reason, made themselves Voldemort’s targets.

James knew it was only a matter of time before she proved herself unworthy.

“If everyone is here, I think we can start the meeting,” suggested James after a few moments of polite mingling.

“Y/N isn’t here,” Remus noted. “We should wait for her.”

“It isn’t our fault if she can’t make our meetings on time,” spat James.

“She’s not actually late yet, James,” Marlene rolled her eyes. “Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?”

James ignored the probing of Marlene and instead crossed his arms, his lips pressed in a tight line. What would it matter if she missed the start of the meeting? She was not so very important to the Order, in any regard.

As James quietly huffed, Y/N peered around the door sheepishly. “Sorry. Was hoping I wouldn’t be the last to arrive.”

“No matter,” hummed Dumbledore. “Shall we begin?” He lifted his arms, a sort of request that people took their seats and quietened down.

James could hardly pay attention to the meeting at all. He seethed at Y/N, glaring at her, thinking about all the ways in which she would inevitably fail the Order and cost them valuable information, their secrecy, and perhaps even their lives. Sirius had once asked him why he disliked her so, but he could not think of an answer beyond — “There’s just something about her.”

The truth, no one would ever know.

“Mr. Potter?”

James said nothing.

“Mr. Potter?!” Minerva said again, louder this time.

James snapped his attention toward Minerva. “Sorry! What were you saying?” his cheeks flushed.

Minerva sighed. “We have it on good authority that Voldemort is planning some sort of attack in London. However, we believe this to be a decoy for something much bigger. Now, we can't be sure, but-"

"But we think they're planning an attack on the Ministry," interrupted Moody.

"The Ministry?!" Lily seemed rather shocked. "It's one thing attacking defenceless Muggles, it's another to attack the Ministry of Magic."

"We've been aware for some time that the Ministry has been infiltrated, Miss Evans," Kinglsey Shacklebolt chimed in. "We have only been unaware as to who it is feeding information back to Voldemort."

"Why now?" Asked Sirius.

"The Ministry is...distracted. With the recurrence of attacks in the Muggle World, the Ministry's top priority is maintaining our secrecy. The Muggle Prime Minister is becoming more uncooperative." Moody explained.

"Who can blame him?" Minerva scoffed.

"So, what are we doing about it?" James asked.

"Well, Mr. Potter," Moody turned to him. "We need people stationed both in the potential attack spots in London and within the Ministry. We need a safe house, we need-"

"Numbers," James finished his sentence.

"Exactly. Which means everyone will be a part of this operation, everyone."

Although this was to be expected, it did not mean that those who were usually part of the behind the scenes aspects of the Order were not apprehensive as to their performances in the field. While everyone had received training and were more than enough prepared for such an operation, training in a controlled space was nothing to the unpredictability of real life. There would be no second chances.

James laughed humourlessly. The disaster he had predicted was about to come to fruition. Thursday next, he would be proven right.

Y/N out in the field? Though she had been desperate to be part of operations like this, James had protested her at every corner. Albus and Minerva merely agreed due to her age and inexperience, though she was not much younger than James herself. James did not care why they kept her out of the field in the end, as long as she was kept out.

But it seemed, there would be no protesting this decision.

The mingling continued post meeting, some taking small portions of food and others inching their way to the door with polite smiles on their faces. James watched the scene before him unfold—observing the awkward small talk, tuning in on the more serious chatter of the senior members.

“I’m nervous,” Y/N admitted. “Are you?” She asked Lily.

“A little, yeah. But we’ll be fine!” She assured her.

“You won’t be alone,” Remus reassured the both of them. “We’ll all be there.”

James chuckled. “Yeah but we can’t be covering your arse the whole time.”

The three of them turned to James’ direction. Remus shot him an uncomfortable look, a silent plea to drop the subject and move on.

“What? I’m just saying, we’re not here to hold your hand and risk the entire point of the operation just because you aren’t good enough for field work.”

Y/N’s countenance could not be characterised by merely one thing. It was evident in her face she felt humiliated, downcast and reproachful. Nevertheless, with a brave face, Y/N smiled gently, strategically avoiding the concerned looks of Lily and Remus.

“Best not get in my way, then,” she said through gritted teeth, sliding between her friends to bid her goodbyes to Albus and Minerva.

“Careful, James” Lily warned. “Anyone would think you don’t want her to get hurt.”

- - -

Y/N hadn’t the faintest idea as to James’ disdain for her. For a while, during their Hogwarts years, Y/N optimistically imagined it was part of a bit, that perhaps this was his way of seeking her attention. But after years of growing and maturing, this part of their relationship remained unchanged, regardless of his obvious efforts to mend his other ways.

If anything, his hatred for her only grew. His childish dislike was replaced with concrete, adult contempt, something that could not be easily shifted nor changed. For the most part, she didn’t let him get to her, for she was adamant in rebuking his success. However, upon discovering it was James who was behind keeping from really being a part of the Order, things took a drastic change.

Almost instantly, his immature jibes and snarky comments pricked at her fragile skin, pinched her nerves and seized her sensitive heart. Suddenly, it was much harder to ignore the words that came from a place of such hatred. Especially when it came from someone she truly admired.

Yes, Y/N could not deny that ever since Hogwarts, she had admired James Potter. Confident, successful, intelligent—she was in awe of him from the beginning. It was quiet admiration, a well kept secret. After joining the Order, she observed that these talents had only blossomed.

Y/N slipped quietly away from the safe house, walking through the small park lit up by extravagantly designed lampposts. She listened to the fountain, the crunch of leaves from hedgehogs coming out of their slumber, and for any sign of footsteps behind her. These were dangerous times. When it was safe, she apparated home—a small flat on the outskirts of the centre of London. From her bedroom window she could see the impressive city skyline.

She didn’t mind living in Muggle London for the most part, but she knew it wouldn’t be forever. When it was all over, she’d move far away from it all, from where it had all happened.

But for now, she was exactly where she needed to be.

- - -

It had all been decided. A safe house had been provided in South Hampton, where Dorcas would stay and monitor, charming it with spells that could not be pierced. Kingsley would remain with the Muggle Prime Minister with an extra helping hand from Minerva. Moody retained his position within the Ministry where Remus, Lily, Frank and Marlene were posted.

Albus, Y/N, James, Alice, Gideon and Fabian were stationed throughout Muggle London, paired off and waiting for some sort of attack. James and Y/N were waiting near the Thames, a coffee sitting on their table, a half eaten pastry—blending in. James hadn’t said a word.

“The Order does not function when we are divided, Mr. Potter. This is not a punishment, as you have described, it is a reconciliation.”

James could hear Dumbledore’s words reverberating through his thoughts. Mindless words, he thought. As much as he hated to admit it, however, he knew Dumbledore’s words rang with truth.

“So…what’d you order?” James asked.

Y/N snapped her eyes from the river, laughing through her nose before answering. “Err something with pistachio, I think? Not that nice. You?”

“Regular.”

Y/N knew this was simply an attempt to appear normal—to chat and act natural. But there was a small part of her that wished it was more.

“I don’t even like coffee,” James laughed.

Y/N laughed too, scrunching her brows together. “Why didn’t you get a hot chocolate or something?”

“I don’t even know,” he shook his head.

“Want to try mine?” Y/N asked.

James was taken aback. He had his reasons, but he’d never been nice to Y/N, not even polite, so it took him by surprise when she gave him the benefit of the doubt and was nice to him anyway.

“No, it’s okay.”

She shrugged, leaving her pistachio drink on the table. She wondered if she should say something now or let the silence settle around them again like a cage they seemed to never be released from.

“Have you heard anything?” Y/N asked.

“Not yet. It’s getting to that time when all the Muggles leave work. London is about to get even busier,” he sighed, concerned for the lives he couldn’t protect.

“Even if our best isn’t good enough, we still cared enough to do something,” Y/N reassured him, placing her hand on his atop the table.

James felt curiously warm from her act of kindness, something which led him into a kind of comfort he’d never felt before. And it was likely to do with the fact he’d never let her this close before.

Y/N had run out of time to fix what was broken between them, for behind James’ head, she saw it—a flare of red sparks. Someone had cast Vermillious.

“James, we need to go,” Y/N instructed, nodding her head in the direction of where she had seen it—the remnants of red hung in the air.

“Shit!”

The two of them ran to a nearby alley, Y/N ever so slightly behind. When they were sure enough to be alone, the two of them clasped hands and apparated to the nearest high rise they could remember seeing beside the red sparks. It did not take them long after arriving to realise from where the commotion had originated.

Streams of people spilled out from the stairs of the Underground, running, screaming, and terrified.

James dove into the horde of civilians, squeezing and shoving his way through the onslaught of panic. Y/N followed, slipping through behind him in the path he’d already cleared. It was a maze and understanding it certainly wasn’t helped by people running in every direction to find any sort of exit. James had only been down there once as a laugh with his mates, curious to experience how Muggles got around.

But Y/N, she had been on the tube a plethora of times. She enjoyed feeling like she was a part of something just as everyone else was. She missed the feeling of belonging—being in Muggle London made it easier for her with the Order, but she felt bitterly alone, isolated and excluded in a city that would never understand nor accept her.

“I can’t tell what’s actually going on,” James shouted over the swarm.

“I don’t-”

But Y/N was cut short by an Earth-shattering crash somewhere in the distance ahead, followed by an echo of shrieks. The citizens of London intensified their cries, panic overloading as people began to push and shove, trampling over each other to reach some kind of safety.

James began helping individuals who had tumbled to the floor while Y/N tried to deduce the direction from which they were running. It seemed as if most people were heading away from the north east side, and so that is the direction they headed.

However, they did not need to reach their destination to figure out what had caused so much horror. On their way, they saw Gideon and Fabian, crawling and stumbling in the wreckage of two Underground tubes that had evidently crashed into one another. And further on, Albus and Alice at yet another wreckage site.

This was grave. There were not enough of them.

James had lost sight of Y/N, torn between who to help and what direction to go. He ran through the Underground, searching for more trains, if there were any other damages, searching for Y/N. After many twists and turns he found her, leading civilians aboard a train to safety. It had not been crashed into by another, but James suspected, as she did, it was mostly likely a sitting duck.

James herded the swarm of people towards the nearest exit, panic setting in as he heard a train barrelling into the station from a distance through the echoing tunnel. There were still people on the train, including Y/N, forcing people up, helping children who had lost their parents in the tumult. It was nearing ever closer, blasting its horn as a siren of danger which only fueled the hysteria of helpless innocents.

Death approached, warning its potential victims, crying for lives to be spared. Y/N was determined to save as many as she could, as time would allow. And though she had been unwilling to sacrifice her own, in that moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

“Y/N, get off that train now!” James screamed.

He had never felt such fear seize him before, snatching his breath from his lungs. He was immobilised with dread, terror, a fear that had forced on him the truths he had not previously been willing to confront. If Y/N died now, those truths and his regret would be buried, unable to be dug out to make way for something new, someone new. Y/N would remain with him forever, interlaced into the very fabric of his being, unable to materialise.

Y/N looked up through the window, a child in her arms. She knew the deadly collision was imminent, she knew the child was frightened yet unaware as to why. She could see his mother was crying, held back by onlookers - those who had no attachment to the child yet could not see a mother die alongside her young.

James watched as Y/N fought to reach the open doors as he forced his way through the crowd scrambling to get away and avoid the impact. He watched the train speed closer, inching Y/N towards the end. She understood nothing but to get the child off the train and into his mother’s arms. In a desperate attempt to bring this to fruition, she threw the child off the train, for time had swiftly been exhausted. James caught the screaming child, handing it off quickly to the mother who had not time to even express her gratitude before she ran from the platform seconds before the train collided with the other, Y/N having not made it to safety.

James threw himself round a corner, diving to the floor for some sort of cover. But almost as quickly as he had gone down, he was back on his feet, searching for a sign of Y/N in the wreckage. He could not see her anywhere, he could barely see anything in the mangled train. His heart stopped. Moments later Gideon and Fabian arrived on the scene, pulling survivors from the other train, calling for aid, but James merely fell to his knees.

After years, James had come to realise that it was not Y/N that he had hated, but the possibilities she illustrated, the hypotheticals that all too often ended in tragedy, of which she symbolised. Because, in spite of it all, James was afraid that the potential of her love, that eternal promise, would vanish, taken as a victim of the war like so much else.

All the hatred he had fostered and nurtured towards her, all the loathing, was nothing more than a pathetic attempt at self preservation. At all costs James would protect his heart against what might tear it apart, the remnants of his flesh revealing the pieces of her woven into him.

“James? What is it?” Alice cried, arriving at the scene.

He couldn’t speak, only lifted his head to look at the sight of it again, wincing. Alice followed his gaze, unsure of what he meant.

“Where’s Y/N?” She asked, suddenly frantic.

James whimpered.

“Where is she?” She asked again. “James?!”

“Gone! She’s gone, alright?!” Screamed James, tears slowly beginning to fall from his eyes and pathetically flow down his cheeks.

Everything he had been protecting himself from had happened anyway, despite his efforts and regardless of what he had done to prevent it. Except, James was left with the uncertainty, the soul eroding sentiment, of ‘what if.’ In the months and years to come, instead of being able to reconcile with his grief, comforted by the fact that he had made the most of the time he had with her, James would be left a shadow of himself, shrinking into his shame and regret.

He had convinced himself to hate her, and over the years had begun to believe in his own lie. He did not hate her at all. Everything he had done to keep her out of the Order had, perhaps sometimes subconsciously, been to prevent this very fate. Though he had disguised it with disregard and disbelief in her abilities, even at times believing in his own lie, it was all deception.

His biggest fear was loving and losing her, but now he had lost her without the privilege of being able to love her.

There was no final goodbye, nothing he could say to her in her final moments to make anything worthwhile. She was simply gone.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. His tears had been few, perhaps too in shock to really hand himself over to the anguish that would inevitably consume him.

He couldn’t stay there, not while there were innocent lives at stake. So James stood and mustered the strength he had left, turning to face Alice and Dumbledore.

But James was met with a different face. Someone wholly unexpected. Y/N.

“It’s okay,” Y/N laughed. “I’m fine.”

“Wh- How?” James sniffled.

“I disapparated. I don’t know why but I thought of home and that’s where I ended up. After the shock of like…nearly dying, I came straight back,” she explained, rather nonchalantly, James thought. “Sorry if I scared you.”

He could say nothing. He felt all too much to be able to decipher each emotion which mercilessly punctured his heart. James wrapped his arms around her in a pure and driven show of his affection, overcome with the emotion he had hidden and locked away for too long. He squeezed her tightly, and thanked some greater being that she hadn’t been harmed.

He’d been given a second chance.

- - -

James didn’t see Y/N again until the next Order meeting a week later. Time and time again he found himself outside her apartment building, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, or a coffee without pistachio in it. But every time he felt the courage slip from his body, carried away in the late summer breeze.

He didn’t know how to begin to make amends, how to say what he’d felt for years in a comprehensive way. It barely made sense to him why he had chosen the path that he had. How would it make sense to her, the person he had treated so poorly for all these years?

As Dumbledore droned on, praising the members of the Order for how many lives they had saved, reassuring them over the lives that were lost, and cheering to an overall successful mission, James felt his eyes drawn to Y/N almost every second. She was her usual self, no different to how she had always been.

James had faced his torment alone.

“Y/N, could I speak to you?” James asked when the meeting had ended.

“Sure,” she shrugged, heading into an empty room, suspecting nothing. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” James shifted his feet. “I don’t really know where to start.”

James could hardly hear himself over the pounding in his ears.

Y/N only smiled.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry…for how shit I’ve treated you over the years-”

“Oh, please, James, it’s fine,” laughed Y/N. “You don’t have to feel guilty ‘cause I might have almost died or something. I’m fine, so don’t worry about it. Water under the bridge,” she smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

“No,” James said firmly, causing Y/N to remove the hand that had been placed comfortingly on his shoulder. “It’s more than that,” he hesitated a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve never felt so frightened in my entire life than when you were on that train. When I thought-” he steadied himself. “When I thought you’d gone, I’ve never felt such…despair.”

Y/N listened closely, breath hitching.

“I’ve never been able to tell you before, I’ve never wanted to because I thought that what I was doing was protecting myself. It didn’t matter if I was hurting you because in the end, I’d save us both from more heartbreak. But that day I realised, I wasn’t saving us from anything but more pain,” James took a deep breath. “Y/N, I’m in love with you. And I have been for a long time. Please, let me try to make things right between us.”

Y/N stood and analysed James in silence. His sincerity was written all over his shameful expression, desperate for her approval. He wanted nothing more than to make amends, a second chance to make up for the years he had lost to foolishness.

“James I-”

She hadn’t an idea of how to address him, or what to say. Could it work between them? The boy she had admired and the boy who hated her?

He waited anxiously, impatiently, tapping his fingers against his thighs.

“I’d like you to try,” she let out a breath as she spoke the words. “I’d like us to try,” she smiled.

James’ breath was trembling, but a wide grin spread over his lips as he took her in. Someone he had been so afraid of was so beautiful, so graceful, so forgiving. He stepped an inch closer, and could smell the hint of her perfume.

“Then, please, can I kiss you?”

He was quivering. Y/N only nodded, unable to voice her response in fear she would sound too eager. James was tentative, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand. Y/N closed her eyes before he had reached her, nervous and waiting for a moment she thought would live only in a fantasy.

When James’ lips met hers, it was gentle but passionate, conveying every unspoken word between them in one simple, human gesture that mankind had designed to mean so much more.

tags 🏷️: @foolexby @jaeviii @velvetcloxds

taglist form!

#james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter angst #james potter #james potter fluff #marauders fandom #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #marauders era #marauders era x reader #marauders era fanfiction #marauders era fic

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grandline-fics · 10 months ago

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Hello! Hope your having a good day today! Can I request mihawk, shanks and buggy with the prompt "sleeping separately after an argument" You can just do one of the characters listed if your busy! Or change them into a different character it's totally fine with me! - 🪼

DESCRIPTION: Prompt: Sleeping separately after an argument

WARNINGS: slight angst, arguing couples, ends in comfort

CHARACTERS: Mihawk, Shanks, Buggy

WORDS: 4,199

A/N: Thank you for this request! It's my first Buggy request and first time writing for him so I hope he's to your liking. I tried to keep things varied with these and are on the long side to include a happy ending.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

MIHAWK

“So what? You were never going to send word to me that you were safe?” You’d demanded glaring at your lover that you hadn’t seen in months. Ordinarily you were used to the time and distance apart but he was always in contact with you in some regard. This time however you had no idea about his whereabouts, not until that stupid poster fluttered out of your morning newspaper and you travelled across the sea to Cross Guild to see him for yourself, otherwise you doubted he’d have ever contacted you.

“Well you would have known from the poster’s existence that I was perfectly safe.” Mihawk answered coolly. He hated how he was speaking to you but in his clear view of the world, in the long run this would be best. Underneath his calm exterior, seeing you stroll into Cross Guild had both sent a mix of conflicting feelings through him. On the one hand he loved the sight of you and wanted nothing more than to close the distance between you and welcome you properly. On the other he felt unnerved. He hadn’t been expecting you, if he had known perhaps his approach would have been more thought out but you were the only person to ever rattle him.

All he knew was he needed you gone so he could clear his head and he needed you out of Cross Guild before Crocodile came sniffing around. Acting on instinct, he’d abruptly taken your arm and led you out of the room filled with people. He didn’t need them listening in on any private conversation of his. However you’d only let him get as far as the corridor before you pulled out of his grip and began to interrogate him over his actions. Mihawk refused to tell you the truth, he refused to admit his only worry. Now that he no longer had the protection of Warlord, you would have a clearer and larger target on your head if anyone knew you were romantically involved with him. As much as he knew you could look after yourself he didn’t want to bring any added hassle to your life, nor did he want you to change your life by remaining in Cross Guild just to give him the peace of mind you were safe. “You’ve wasted your journey coming here.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Dracule.” You snarled meeting his steady, impassive stare with your own burning in intensity. You knew he was being guarded for a reason but after all this time you were frustrated and hurt that he wasn’t being honest with you. After all you’d handled together and after proving you were strong enough to be considered his equal, he still wanted to push you away. “You don’t get to stand there and throw some generic one-liner at me. I know you better than that and I deserve better than that. Now talk to me properly and explain yourself.”

“Since when have I ever had to explain my movements?” Mihawk asked arching an eyebrow at you while you continued to glare daggers at him. It never ceased to amaze him that you could always meet his stare. “Cross Guild is new and needed my entire focus, you would have just been an unwelcome distraction and a possible liability.”

As much as his words hurt, they baffled you even more. Hopelessly you stared up at the man in front of you, trying to understand. None of it made sense. You both knew your lives took you in separate directions and you’d never once tried to force yourself into his business just as he respected yours. The only thing you both ensured was contacting the other if something unexpected happened so neither of you worried. Had he just done that, you wouldn’t have come looking for him. You stared at Mihawk and saw he wasn’t going to give in or tell you the truth, whatever his reasons were it was clear he didn’t respect you enough to be honest then was there any point in saying anything more.

Mihawk watched as something switched in your demeanour and the spark in your eyes seemed to snuff out. He didn’t move as you approached and reached out. When your fingers skimmed against his jaw he had to steel his nerve to not give into the temptation you always brought him. It only got worse when you leant in and pressed your lips against his. Mihawk felt his resolve begin to snap but the kiss was over just as fast as it began. You pulled back and stared at him, no longer with understanding but firm resolve and finality. “I’m glad you’re safe and I wish you the best of luck with Cross Guild.”

With nothing left to say you left Mihawk, heading for the entrance to let the stubborn man you loved get back to his new focus only to stop abruptly when Crocodile stepped around the corridor and all but blocked your exit. You stopped and looked at the man you knew mostly from newspapers and reputation. You kept your expression even as Crocodile stared down at you, his keen observation taking you in before drifting up to Mihawk who glared warningly at his business partner. “Leaving so soon?” He asked simply, returning his attention back to you. “You just got here.”

“I was never planning on staying.” You answered dryly, stepping around the broader man only to sigh when he called after you.

“It’s too late for sailing though. There’s plenty of rooms for you to stay in if Mihawk’s room isn’t to your liking.”

“Not necessary.”

“Suit yourself, just know there’re undercover Marines camped out at the only inn on this island. I use the term ‘undercover’ lightly. Still better to know now just in case…” Crocodile’s voice floated towards you and you stopped walking. You turned to watch the man light a cigar, completely at ease. Briefly you flickered your gaze towards Mihawk and you bit your tongue. Looked like you were becoming the liability Mihawk had predicted you’d be.

“Just show me to a room.” You muttered to a smug Crocodile. “I’ll be gone by morning.”

Mihawk couldn’t sleep. In the times he was apart from you he had adopted a talent for forcing his body to rest at least a little and grab naps here and there through necessity. However when you were both in the same vicinity as each other he could never sleep without your body beside his. Knowing you were just a few rooms away was like the cruellest form of torture. Now that he’d had the time to actually think about it all and his actions, he knew he was an idiot and had reacted and let his worries for you direct him when he should have just talked. Mihawk let out a low growl and rose from his bed. Crocodile was a smug, interfering bastard and had made sure to stop by and casually inform him which room you’d be staying in so he found you in no time. Knocking once he waited.

Slowly you opened the door, your eyes stinging with tiredness. After all the tossing and turning you’d done your body was exhausted and so nearly ready to give in and let you sleep. Then Mihawk had to disturb that by knocking. His golden eyes scanned yours and he frowned to see the dark circles. Another thing for him to apologise for. “The last thing I want is for you to feel forced into stopping living your life how you want to. I was worried that with my Warlord status now being gone you’d be targeted to hurt me were people to find out we’re a couple. I know you can look after yourself but I’d hate to think you ever got hurt because of me. I acted poorly and pushed you away without thinking because had I really thought about it, not having you in my life was the worst thing I could think of.”

“You should have just told me sooner. You get so much more talkative when you’re sleepy, did you know that?” You asked with a small smile. “So I’m not a liability or unwelcome distraction?”

“Never a liability.” Mihawk swore, relieved that you’d stepped away from the door and allowed him to move closer to you. “A distraction most definitely but always a welcome one.”

“So I can stay?” You asked, leaning into his touch as his hand cupped your face and lowered his head so your foreheads touched, finally getting to enjoy the reunion at last.

“For as long as you want.”

SHANKS

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Shanks demanded angrily as he stared at you, his eyes zeroed in on the large and painful looking bruise against your cheek and your bandaged leg.

“What do you mean ‘what the hell was I thinking’ Shanks?!” You snapped back viciously. Why the hell was he blaming you for something that was clearly an accident. “I was thinking about stopping one of the recruits from getting crushed, obviously.”

“You weren’t even meant to be there in the first place.”

“It’s a good fucking job I was there.” You retorted, holding your ground fiercely and unwaveringly. “If it hadn’t been for me, they could have been severely injured or killed. Why are you berating me for doing the right thing?” Shanks rarely admonished you or anyone on the crew for that matter. Usually looking out for other members was something he praised. This was just so out of character for him. All you wanted was an explanation, to just understand what it was you’d done that was so bad to deserve all of the animosity. “Had Benn or Lucky been in my place would they be getting this tirade?” From outside the room you and Shanks were arguing in, Benn and Lucky shared a nervous look. Why did they have to be brought into this? Everyone on board bustled about, trying to see to their tasks without making too much noise from fear of drawing yours or Shanks’ ire.

“That’s not the point. This is about-”

“No, it very much is the fucking point.” You interrupted, your blood boiling and patience fraying. “Answer the question. Would you be speaking to them like this had they done the exact same as me?”

“They’re my right and left hands. You’re…” Shanks stopped clumsily and stared at you. This was the crux of the matter. You were different, he cared for everyone on his crew but to see you hurt had made him realise just how much he’d loved you and never faced that feeling before. He had been terrified that afternoon when he’d heard the yells, the heavy crashes of cargo falling after the ropes securing them had snapped from the strain and their age, and came across the seen of you lying on the ground. For a moment he’d feared the absolute worst and because of that, he’d reacted badly and still he was too scared to vocally tell you why. “You’re…”

“Right…” You sniffed slightly, nodding as the pieces seemed to fall into place for you. “I’m just the Captain’s current bedwarmer.”

“What? No!” Seeing the hurt in your eyes at your misinterpretation of the relationship you had, managed to jolt him out of his anger. He took a step toward you, reaching out and watched as you flinched and stepped back. “I didn’t-”

“Don’t bother.” You uttered, continuing to the door. “I’ve had enough of this.”

For the rest of the day you stayed as far away from Shanks as you could but no matter where you were you could feel his stare on you. It felt strange to not be so close, to let your presences mix together in a balanced sense of warmth and strength but at the moment you didn’t want to be near him. You didn’t want to listen to the sound of his voice that usually reassured you and made you smile. Exhausted by the events that led to the argument and the argument itself, you retired to bed early when you’d finished your dinner. Shanks said nothing but watched as you walked away, his frown deepening when he saw you walk in the opposite direction of his quarters that had also doubled as yours since you two got involved. With a long sigh Shanks rubbed his face, as much as he wanted to go after you he wanted to respect your wish for distance.

Despite your desperate need for rest and sleep, it just wouldn’t come. You’d tossed and turned in what had been your old bed that now felt unfamiliar, simply unable to let your mind settle. With that being coupled with being unable to get comfortable in anyway you let out a long sigh and rolled over, staring at the ceiling in frustration. How did it come to the point that without Shanks your body was like a stubborn toddler, refusing the sleep it wanted and clearly needed? Absently your hand settled over your chest and you closed your eyes, trying to think about anything other than the man who you’d fallen for yet had been hurt by. Suddenly from outside your room you heard a muttered curse and dull thud. Dragging yourself out of bed you opened the door and looked down in bewilderment to see Shanks curled up in the corridor with a pillow and blanket. At the sound of the door opening he’d slowly rolled onto his back and looked up at you cautiously. “What are you doing?” You asked tiredly, leaning against the doorframe.

“I didn’t mean to wake you…”

“You didn’t.” Your tone and expression was even but underneath it all you were unsure. “Answer the question, please. What are you doing down there? You could damage your back if you’re not careful.”

“It’d be the least I deserve for speaking to you the way I did.” Shanks muttered, his shame evident. “I didn’t want to sleep in our bed, not without you. It didn’t feel right and I also wanted to give you space but…I still wanted to be near. This was the only thing I could think of.”

“Our bed?” You repeated with a tilt of your head.

“Yes our bed, in our quarters.” Shanks insisted as he sat up but remained firmly on the floor. The fact that you were even willing to speak with him and that you hadn’t slammed the door in his face was enough to give him the courage to say what he should have that morning instead of running his mouth without thinking. “You’re more to me than some ‘bedwarmer,’ you always have been and I’d been too much of a coward to admit it. When I saw you hurt I feared the worst and just panicked. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way that I had and I certainly should have told you how much I love you before now. For all of that I’m so sorry and will do what I can to make it up to you, only if you’ll let me that is.”

“Okay, three conditions and I’ll forgive you.” You conceded after a few heavy seconds and you fought to hold back your smile at the sight of Shanks’ face lighting up immediately.

“Name them.” He swore with no hesitation, watching as you knelt down beside him.

“First, I get your favourite pillow for the next month.”

“You can have it forever.” Shanks grinned, his hand sliding over your waist as you inched closer. “Next?”

“You carry me back to our room so we can sleep.” Immediately Shanks had you scooped up and was off the floor in a fluid motion that pulled a surprised yelp from your lips. In no time at all you were both back in what you now knew to be your shared quarters and not just his. Shanks settled you on the mattress, making sure your head was cushioned by the pillow you’d only jokingly wanted before he crawled under the covers and held you close. In unison you both felt peace settle over you both, the sleep that your bodies had refused was now creeping through you now but Shanks refused to fall over just yet. “What’s the third condition?”

“Tell me you love me again.” You murmured, your eyes already closed and body pressed against his chest. Shanks sleepily chuckled and held you tighter, vowing to never risk letting you go again. you were his heart after all.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

BUGGY

Everyone knew Buggy had a short fuse. They knew that a good mood could turn sour without any warning, all it would take would be the wrong thing at the wrong time and he’d implode his fury on the closest thing possible and it wouldn’t matter if it was to blame or not. Today it seemed you were the focus for his anger. You’d walked into the big top merely to tell your lover that he was needed by both Mihawk and Crocodile. “Hey Bug-”

“No!” You stopped mid-step when the clown’s head detached from his body and whirled through the air and glared down at you. Stunned, you could only stare into his angry eyes and listen to his vicious rant. “I have had it with the sheer incompetence of everyone! How hard is it to listen to simple instructions?” You were sure that Buggy didn’t have any idea that it was you that he was shouting at. When he got like this all he really saw was the person’s outline and no discernible features. Still though, you opened your mouth to try and calm him before his face got as red as his nose but he just got lost in his anger that had reached boiling point. “What did I just say?! Get the hell out of my sight before I use you for target practice!”

The idea of Buggy hurting you caused the amused smile and light laughter to appear out of the sheer absurdity of it all. You were the one Buggy loved, he’d never bring you harm. But all Buggy saw and heard was insubordination, mocking his authority and his status. Now that Mihawk and Crocodile were around the big top was the only place he still had any power. For someone to laugh at him here was only adding fuel to the fire.

His hands detached and grabbed your upper arm, hauling you off your feet so you were now eye level with him. Only now did he blink through his fury and realise who it was he was about to physically punish. But still he was angry and his lack of authority had made him shaken. If he immediately apologised now, he’d seem weak. He needed those who followed him to see he was in charge. You saw the recognition in Buggy’s eyes and thought he'd lessen his hold and set you back on your feet but instead he kept you in the air. “Why do I tolerate you and your lack of respect? Just be grateful for my mercy. Keep out of my way and out of my spotlight! Is that clear?”

Ever since the founding of Cross Guild you'd done your best to reassure Buggy that he was still important and still powerful. You’d navigated his low self-esteem and tantrums for years, knowing him longer and better than anyone. You loved him and you knew he loved you but this made your own anger begin to light. His behaviour like this towards you would not be something you'd let him get away with but you also didn’t want him to lose face in front of the crew who were watching with held breaths. “Crystal clear, Captain Buggy.” You responded in an empty monotone. “Thank you for your mercy. The spotlight is yours and yours alone. If you can let me go I’ll keep out of your way, it won’t happen again.”

“G-good.” Buggy quickly uttered and set you on your feet before releasing your arms. His mind was slowly clearing as he watched with uncertainty as you fixed your clothes and headed for the door. Absently he wondered why you’d been in here in the first place. Dread filled his stomach now, had you come in just to visit him and unintentionally been brought into the firing line? You opened the door and refused to look his way.

“I’ll let Mihawk and Crocodile know you’re busy, Captain.” Your remark made his eyes bug out and he was frozen in place. What did those two want with him now?! Panic filled him as he abruptly dismissed the crew and he hurried for the door you’d left through. When he was in the hallway he saw you were heading for one of the lounge rooms and not Cross Guild’s meeting room, Buggy sighed in relief. He made a mental note to talk to you after and hurried for the meeting.

As the day wore on, Buggy’s mood lifted significantly and the morning’s incident with you was unfortunately pushed further and further to the back of his mind. It wasn't until the evening time that he realised he hadn’t seen much of you. When he passed Alvida he asked if she’d seen where you’d gone. Alvida regarded him silently, confusion pulling at her features. “On your way to apologise?”

“What does my flashy self have to apologise for?” Buggy asked with a confident grin.

“Well this morning, remember?” Alvida asked with a smirk as realisation flickered in Buggy’s eyes. “Yelling at nothing subordinates is one thing, but your lover? You need to talk to them. Sadly I haven’t seen them since you told them to keep out of your way. Hope you find them.” Buggy watched hopelessly as the woman continued on her way, not even bothering to assist him in finding you. Grinding his teeth anxiously, Buggy continued his search. He finally found you in your shared room and with a sigh of relief, believing he didn’t need to apologise after all he flopped himself down onto the bed.

“Been looking everywhere for you. Hey, where’re you going?” He immediately sat up when you moved for the door, watching you turn to look at him with a frown.

“Keeping out of your way Captain Buggy.” You explained. “As per your orders.”

With a sigh Buggy prepared himself to finally apologise. “You know I didn’t mean it. Not with you.”

“But you don’t make mistakes, Captain.” You shook your head, not allowing him to talk him way out of his actions so soon. “Don’t worry I’ll keep out of your spotlight.”

“There’s no spotlight here-”

“Where you are, the spotlight follows that includes here.” Your eyes moved to the bed he was lying on. The last time you and Buggy had slept separately was when he was in Impel Down and it had been the worst time of your lives but you had to do something. Buggy knew that you’d have to be severely hurt by him to even consider putting yourself through that and he knew he was to blame for it. So he could only numbly let you leave to have some space from him. “Sleep well, Captain.”

For hours Buggy tried to sleep but it just refused to come. Even though he knew your body wasn’t beside him, his hands still searched across the cold mattress in the hopes of finding you and his head always turned towards your pillow, eyes desperate to find your face in the dark. With a sigh, Buggy rose, his lesson well and truly learned. Trudging down the silent hallways he moved to the lounge he’d seen you head towards after he’d yelled at you that morning. Stopping in the doorway he saw you lying on the sofa, staring at the ceiling with heavy eyes that stubbornly wouldn’t close. “Can I come in?”

“It’s your circus, Captain.” You mumbled, still looking at the ceiling and too tired to move. “You don’t need to ask me for permission for anything.”

“Yes I do.” Buggy insisted, slowly walking into the room and stopped at the foot of the sofa. “You’re not some subordinate and the second I realised it was you I was shouting at I should have stopped. I should have apologised. Any orders I have are for those morons, never you. I’m sorry you had to do this to make me see that.”

Finally you dropped your eyes from the ceiling to observe Buggy, seeing he was free from his makeup and flashy outfit. Not Captain or figurehead, just your Buggy. Slowly you moved your blanket aside to wordlessly invite Buggy to join you. Tiredly you smiled when he wasted no time in moving down to lie with you, his arms circling you and his lips pressing lovingly against your cheek. Buggy relished the way you relaxed against him but knew he still had a hell of a lot of making up to do and come the morning he’d do jus that until you were sick of his flashy apology and spoiling you.

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