Thanks For The Tag Lotus ! So Sorry Im Late

how to (properly) make tomato soup | gojo satoru

.. it’s three pm, you’re sick, and satoru takes it upon himself to take care of you (except there’s one problem: he does not possess any shred of culinary ability whatsoever).

content: 1.7k words, no explicit gender mention but pet names like angel and baby are used, gojo being silly while geto is absolutely done w his bullshit, reader has a migraine, mainly a self indulgent comfort/crack fic

when you feel the pounding in your ears again, tears start to form in your eyes. fuck, you just can’t help it.

you’re tired. so tired of the constant headaches–the migraines that plague your days and make staying awake completely unbearable.

the familiar ache settles in, but you can tell that this time, it’s much worse than usual. the nauseating pressure that can be described as thousands of needles pricking the back of your eyes, the blinding light in the room that’s assaulting your vision, the overwhelming sounds around you that are so intense to the point where you want to do nothing but cry.

so… that’s exactly what you do.

you succumb to the pain, letting out a choked sob that arguably just makes everything worse. tears slowly make their way down your cheeks, and you put your head in your hands to simultaneously muffle your cries and shield yourself from the light around you. you want to turn off the light. your head screams at you to turn off the light, but you’re so dizzy that you can barely even move.

“y/n?”

-

the first call of your name barely registers amidst the ringing in your ears. you hear it when your name is said a second time, though, and you feel yourself coming back to your surroundings.

he’s… here.

your boyfriend, satoru. yeah, he’s here.

head still buried in your hands, you carefully move one of your fingers to peek at him. he’s crouched down in front of you, a look of concern on his face. he’s saying something…

“where does it hurt, baby?” you’re still so stunned that you can’t find the strength in you to speak. so you close your eyes and point to the area where it hurts the most, sniffling. “is it okay if i massage that area, angel?”

throughout the midst of all your pain and tears, your heart manages to swell. it swells for satoru, because he’s here–he’s present, and he cares about you.

you manage out a small nod, eyes still shut. you let out a shaky breath—a breath that you just found out you were holding, since everything hurt so much that you forgot to breathe.

satoru massages your temples gently, even making an effort to softly wipe the tears off of your face. he feels your forehead with the back of his hand and frowns at your temperature. you’re starting to burn up. “s more than a headache, baby. i’m gonna take you to the bed, okay?”

this was going to be a long afternoon.

he carries you bridal style to your bedroom and gently places you on the mattress. he turns off the lights and draws the blinds shut, providing a welcome respite from the sensory assault just moments ago. you exhale a sigh of relief, slowly opening your eyes as you wipe the dried tears off your face. he climbs into the bed with you, and you instinctively cling to him for support as you wrap your arms around his neck. it hurts. everything hurts, but satoru’s presence makes it slightly more bearable. “my poor angel. have you been overworking yourself lately?”

you bury your face in his neck, finding comfort in being close to your boyfriend. he presses a feather-light kiss on your forehead, and it makes you want to cry again. “maybe. the headaches are getting worse.”

“you should take it easier on yourself. i can’t have you cryin’ like this. not on my watch,” he remarks, making sure to keep his voice low as not to overwhelm you. “y’know, if your migraines were a person, i’d make sure to hollow purple ‘em. no hesitation.”

a soft laugh escapes you, but you regret it almost immediately as it just intensifies the pain. he lets out an apology, but you just huff.

you close your eyes again, exhaustion taking over as your eyelids grow heavier. satoru slowly releases himself from your vice grip, much to your chagrin. you try and weakly protest, but he just shushes you gently. “just go to sleep, baby. i’ll be right back, okay? when was the last time you ate?”

“hm… i remember having a little bit of breakfast when i woke up-”

“alright.” he says, making a mental note that he should make food. “i’m going to go make you something, okay? i promise i’ll be back soon.”

“...don’t burn down the kitchen, please.”

“i can’t promise that, though.”

-

“you found the soup packet? okay, finally. now you just turn on the stove…”

satoru’s a little embarrassed to say that he doesn’t know how to cook.

growing up, he’s had practically everything served to him on a silver platter, so he never had to worry about making his own food. and frankly, despite your statement earlier being a joke, he is genuinely afraid to burn the house down. so, he has his best friend suguru on a video call right now, teaching him–gojo satoru, a twenty-eight-year-old man–how to make instant soup.

“the stove?”

“yeah…? don’t tell me you don’t know-”

“-no, no. i know how to turn the stove on. of course i do.” it feels like he’s trying to convince himself more than suguru. the camera shows satoru in his kitchen, sweating profusely and glaring at the stove like it’s his biggest enemy. satoru has fought countless curses in his life, has had near-death experiences multiple times, and even faced the king of curses himself, but he thinks that everything pales in comparison to this task. he tries to turn the knob, but it won’t budge. “what the hell?-“

“satoru-” it seems like the azure-eyed man doesn’t hear him as he keeps trying to turn on the stove (suguru swears he hears him muttering the phrase “with this treasure i summon”, but that’s not even his technique). he can’t help but facepalm for the hundredth time during the duration of this call. “satoru!”

he finally gets his attention, and satoru looks at his phone and sees geto with a look that screams “are you fucking kidding me?”—or really, just a look of utter disappointment. “you’re turning the stove the wrong way.”

“...”

he turns the knob the opposite way, and the burner sets ablaze instantly.

“oh, yeah… um, i definitely knew that.”

“satoru, how do you survive whenever you’re not on a mission?”

“sometimes i think about that too, really. i think it’s because y/n is the one who always cooks.”

“you think i can’t tell already?”

-

much to both of their surprise, satoru managed to make a pot of tomato soup. it only took him approximately forty-five minutes. satoru seems so proud of himself, meanwhile suguru looks so ready to block his number and never talk to him again.

he pours some of the soup into a bowl, and places it on a tray. he also takes a few painkillers from the medicine cabinet–along with a bottle of water. he thanks suguru for helping him, and is about to hang up but stops short when his best friend freezes. “wait, hold on. did you turn off the stove?”

and after making suguru swear on his life to never speak of this event to you and airing out the house to get rid of the smell of smoke, gojo satoru, “the strongest”, thinks he’s the first ever man to somehow burn a pot full of soup.

“it’s an impressive feat, really.” he claims.

suguru just says that he should never be allowed near a kitchen ever again, and satoru actually finds it in himself to silently agree.

-

an hour has passed, and he sets the tray on the nightstand, relieved that the past hour of his life is finally over, never wanting to do that ever again. you’re sleeping soundly on the bed, and he almost doesn’t have the heart to wake you up, but he knows that you have to eat something. he turns the nightlight on and gently taps you on the shoulder as you wake up with a stir. “toru? s’that you?”

“it’s me. can you wake up for me, baby? i promise you can sleep again after, but you need to eat.” when you slowly sit up from your sleeping position, he places the tray on your lap and softly coaxes you to eat. you take a spoonful of soup into your mouth, relishing in the flavor as you’re just now realizing how hungry you are.

“this is good,” you say, letting out a smile. the nap helped you come back to your senses a little, and you can finally breathe a little easy now that the pounding in your head has eased. “didn’t know you could make this.”

“yeah, well, you better savor it.” cause i’m never making that again.

when you finish the soup, you swallow a few painkillers while taking a greedy gulp of water from the bottle on the tray.

just in case the pain comes back, you think. though you really, really wish that it wouldn’t.

satoru sets the tray on the nightstand, and you settle back into the covers, wanting to just sleep the rest of the day away. satoru follows not long after, turning off the nightlight and letting out a yawn.

you bury your face in his neck once more, kissing him on the cheek. “thank you, for um—for all of this.”

“s nothing. just promise that you won’t overwork yourself again, okay?” he says, carefully caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“i’ll try not to.”

“hey, you can’t say just that. you have to say, ‘i promise not to overwork myself again, toru. i love you, and thank you for the tomato soup.’” he says while poorly imitating your voice, and you can’t help but laugh.

“okay, okay. i promise not to overwork myself again, love. i love you so, so much.” you say while peppering kisses all over his face, and he’s so glad that the lights are off so that you’re unable to see how his cheeks are beet red. “thank you for taking care of me… and for the soup. it was good.”

and as your eyelids begin to grow heavy once more, satoru thinks that his efforts aren’t in vain after all. because the sight of you, finding comfort in his presence, stirs a little bit of determination from within him. and maybe, just maybe, he’d take it upon himself to learn how to properly cook, not just (partially burnt) instant soup, but a real meal for the next time that you’re feeling like this.

and as he watches your chest rise up and down as you sleep, he can’t help but whisper, “yeah. next time, i’ll make you more than just soup. i’ll cook something special, just for you. ‘nd i won’t burn the pot again, either.”

because for you, satoru would do anything as long as he gets to see you happy. and part of that includes learning how to (properly) make tomato soup… and more.

[papamin au 🐅] waiting room 🏥

𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

୧ ‧₊˚ arguing with your boyfriend, miles, was always your least favorite thing. but when he accidentally raises his voice at you, accusing you of something you’re not, he'll do anything to make it up to you. so, he decides to come to your work. pairings & aus. earth42!miles morales x fem!black!reader warnings. angst | established relationship | fluff at the end | arguing | slight toxicity | arguing | reader owns a cafe author's note. changed the aesthetic of my posts!

"MAMI, PLEASE, IAN MEAN IT LIKE THAT."

The way your glossy eyes roll to the back of your head only further induce your oncoming headache, but you don’t care. Something about your boyfriend elevating his tone at you made you crumble, brown irises boring into his own as he pleaded for you to listen.

You hear him breathe softly, and then he picks at the calloused skin of his thumb as his mouth contorts into an almost-pout. It’s apologetic, you think— by the way his eyebrows are furrowed and his face somberly melts into a softer expression, contrasted to his normal stoic one. But his look isn’t enough. You want something verbal, something pleading, something so desperate for your forgiveness that it’ll be inevitable for your answer to be ‘Yes, Miles, you didn’t do anything wrong and I would love for us to be back to normal.’

But that’s not what you were getting.

Instead, he had yelled at you, and not just a normal yell, one that he would normally let out if you were pestering him or were about to run into an unknown danger. No— this yell was authentic and real, raw, on purpose. And his lips still couldn’t find themselves to say that he were sorry.

The argument wasn’t even your fault, and Miles had told you so, therefore it was verified that you weren’t in the wrong and that it was just some huge misunderstanding. Your phone had been left unlocked on the kitchen counter, and Miles being Miles, he picked the device up and snapped a couple of stupid pictures when he saw a notification pop up.

malachi: Yo u still wit yo man? I was thinking we go get sum to eat. Lmk!

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that the message wasn’t from another girl, it was from a man. So he angrily swiped the device up and waltzed up to you, waving the florescent screen back in forth in your face, accusing you of cheating.

“YN, what the fuck? Why you tryna go out with this nigga, huh? He hittin’ it or sum’? Shoulda known you had me buyin’ them lil’ dresses for other reasons.”

Your shoulders dropped at him, tears clouding your unfocused vision as Miles’ words circulated in your head, swarming your conscience with emotions that you were unable to decipher yourself.

“Mami—“

“Don’t call me that.” You seethed, “It’s not what you called me when you was accusin’ me of lyin’ and cheatin’, right?”

“Ay, Dios Mío.” Miles mumbled, his footsteps filling your ears as he drew closer to you. He wanted to reach out to you, to pull you close and kiss your cheeks, but he just stood idly in front of you as he watched you cry.

It was almost like he was stuck. Guilt, maybe?

But either way, the effort was still vacant. His actions weren’t just mundane, he was shaking your phone at you angrily, spit flying and hands snapping as he tried to grab ahold of the messy situation. And what he realized what he had done, his mouth ran dry, eyes fluttering closed as he cursed underneath his breath.

What he didn’t know was that you were speaking to your friend’s boyfriend, and when he said ‘we’— he meant the four of you, Miles included. He was trying to set up a double date at a restaurant and wanted to confirm if you were with Miles to insure that you guys were on.

A stupid mistake.

A mistake so ignorant that it drove you to raise your hand at him, withdrawing it before slapping him on the cheek, hard. The sting that blossomed throughout your hand spoke of triumph, that he truly got what deserved, and your lips nearly curled into a smile when you heard him wince in pain.

You didn’t want him hurt, you just wanted him to understand what happens when you assume stupid shit. He turned around slowly to look at you, left hand massaging the flesh of his cheek as he gave you apologetic eyes.

It all feels like an emotional whiplash now.

“Get out.”

You finally spoke, lips trembling and hands balling at your sides so tight you were sure your fingers would snap.

“Baby, please, can we just talk about this?”

“Get the fuck out, Miles!” You shouted at him, body forcefully colliding with his as your hands met his shoulders, pushing him into the woodwork of your front door. He opens it without hesitation, fingers curling around the doorknob shakily as he walked through the doorway.

You hold the door and shove him, your boyfriend stumbling down the porch steps as you cock your head to the side,

“And don’t come back.”

With that, you slam the door.

It’s been three days since you’ve seen your boyfriend.

Which is extremely out of the ordinary.

He’s texted you numerous times, your phone nearly exploding from how often it rang with new texts or phone calls. You didn’t answer, you couldn’t, Miles’ words still prodding at your heart strings as you tried to go on about your morning.

Your bright pink polo slides it’s way over your head, thick curls bouncing against your shoulders as you smoothed out a tiny wrinkle at the collar, eyes picking apart your outfit in the mirror.

A flick of your wrist tells you that you’re nearly late for work, so you swipe up your phone and purse and make your way outside, strutting to your car as you drove to your shop.

You opened your own pink themed, healthy cafe a couple months before you and Miles started dating. It was a real hotspot— business booming more than ever in the hot, humid summer of Brooklyn. People mostly ordered juice or açaí bowls, which you didn’t mind because it was your personal favorite on the menu and you recommended it to anyone who waltzed into your shop.

Pulling up, you stepped out of your vehicle and opened the door, greeting your employees with a flutter of your fingers and a superficial smile painted on your face. You were broken on the inside and it was a fact that even you couldn’t deny, and no amount of concealer and fake grins could conceal that.

“Everything OK, girl?” One of your employees chirped at you over the loud sound of a blender. And you just shrugged at her, faux smile still possessive over your lips, persuasion eventually casting her spell on your favorite girls as you covered your sadness up with ‘I’m just tired.’

Opening was running smoothly, and you were calming working register when you heard the sweet bells above your front door chime.

“Welcome i-“

Your sentence fades, dying off as you see your boyfriend walk through the door, walking up to the counter that you were standing behind.

“Can I get a matcha and that toast with the green shit on it?”

You grit your teeth at him, “Miles, what the hell are you doing here?”

He didn’t say anything, he just grabbed your hands and squeezed them, “Baby, I know you don’t really wanna see me here, but I need to say sum’, and it’s that I’m sorry. Ian mean what I said, I was dumb, jumpin’ to conclusions and shit. That’s not okay. You my girl and there’s no reason why I was treatin’ you like that. I’m…mami, I’m sorry.”

Miles stares at you, waiting for your rebuttal to his formal apology. No matter how much you wanted to be mad at him in this moment and hold out, you couldn’t by the way his eyes flickered at you, licking his lips as he shot you an apologetic smile.

“Miles….” You started, “What you said really hurt me, I can’t lie to you. But…despite all of that, I forgive you. And y’know, I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have put my hands on you or nun’ like that. I was just…angry.”

“Understand.” Miles told you, kissing your hand as he gave you a cheeky grin, “I love you, pretty girl.”

“I love you too, asshole.” You giggled as your boyfriend leaned over the counter to deliver a kiss to your cheek, a couple of your coworkers giggling behind the counters, but you didn’t care. You were just ecstatic that you had made up, a laugh tumbling from your throat.

“Y’know, Miles…” You started, earning a hum from your lover.

“I just want you to know, although you be actin’ hard…you’re actually soft as shit.”

tags!: @queenesther996 // @wydney // @rinnyisnothere // @brieryann // @starhrtz // @daisydark // @randomhoex // @solanawrld // @whore4hobie // @tanakaslastbraincell // @simp4miguell // @nyrovi3 // @aziulsworld // @enchantingfoxsparkles // @mancerseedu // @cafehyunji // @personofyou // @mcdvsr // @calliarlerte // @pr0wlerpunk // @tzuyuzzs // @clearskiiiess // @vienreina // @pixqlsin // @stvrgrl // @zerosinterweb // @mookiebut // @urmotherswhor3 // @cumbermovels // @asmobeuses // @yanghees // @popeheywardssecretgf // @mxspiderman2099 // @scryarchives // @rksses // @mmst4rz // @ilyless // @milesmolasses // @laylasbunbunny // @all444miles // @thecoloredpages // @bl00dsuccker // @adoremvney // @anikaluv // @qtdenks // @art-598

Far From Home

Spiderman Across the Spiderverse

Obsessive!Prowler!Miles Morales x Spidergirl!Reader

Warning(s): slight violence, nothing too crazy

The adrenaline pumped through your veins profosley. As you and Miles traveled through the multiverse, your hands intertwined, somewhere sling the line, a rift shook the two of you apart. And once separated you screamed for Miles to him.

“Bug! Bug! Miles!” you yelped being thrown into the room. Miles’ room. But he wasn’t here! He must have been sent to the wrong dimension! Your panting breaths filled the silent room as you looked around. What could you do? Your hands trembled as you tapped the watch, whispering your thanks to Hobie as you located where you were.

“Earth…42…” your eyes widened. Miles was home….but where were you. 

From the cracked door you could hear the front door open and see the flicker of light. Ms.Morales’ voice mumbled spanish into the empty apartment and her footsteps grew close to the door. Quickly you latched onto the ceiling, pressing yourself as close as possible. Thankfully she neglected to cut the lights on. 

“Ay, this boy…” she huffed, shaking her head grabbing the unclean clothes scattered across the floor. And with every turn she made around the room you did your best to follow behind. She stopped for a moment, she reached for a picture on his mess of a desk. In the dark you watched a tear fall down.

“Ahh, I wish you were here sometimes…he’s closed off since you’ve gone” she shook her head letting the picture go. She adjusted the basket on her hip to use her free arm to rub at her eyes, once she was gone you quickly shot a web at the door, pulling the door closed as quietly as possible. 

Slowly you settled back down on the ground and walked to the desk, and with shaking hands you held a picture of…you? But it wasn’t. You must’ve been in freshman year. A bright pink strawberry patterned cardigan with a cami white dress. And you were wrapped up in the arms of Miles. Two large smiles were on both of your faces.  

“Aaron! You shouldn’t have…”

“No..” you pressed your body to the door slowly cracking the door open and looked through. Your eyes widened and you could feel your heart pick up at the sight of his uncle. He was alive? But if he was alive, that meant the prowler was rampant in Brooklyn. 

You quickly ran to the window. And shook your head as you stepped out onto the fire escape. The streets were darker, more empty. And any one who was out looked like someone you would have put away in your universe.

“No…no..no!” you shot a web to the top of the building pulling yourself up to pace on the buildings ledge. “Miles, where are you! Come on, think!...”

That spider was meant for you and earth 42’s Miles. You were destined to be Spider-girl….He was a mistake. Now there’s an earth without a spiderman and a spider-girl. 

You pushed your hood back slowly, shaking your head. There was no hero here. No spider man OR spider girl. Why would the universe kill you then if you were needed? Slowly your head turned and your eyes widened beneath the mask. Your unmasked face plastered on a brick wall, next to, “Mr.Morales….” your breathing picked up. 

Your head turned like a swivel till it landed on a spray painted billboard. Your mask and colors spray painted stood out high amongst the chaos. Like a SOS to the universe. Like you….were dead. You were killed in this universe. 

“I need to find Miles! Where ... .where would he be…The academy right?” you paced back and forth pulling your hood up to shield yourself from the rain that begins to pour. Yet just when you were about to send yourself into the night sky when that voice stopped you.

“Mi vida?” Your eyes widened and slowly you turned. You were faced with the prowler and on instinct you crouched low. 

“What have you done! You killed him didn’t you!” Even if he wasn’t your Mr.Morlaes, even if you were still living. This Prowler was enough to make your blood boil. 

“Amor no ... .listen” you quickly throw one of your orbs down, setting off a large explosion of  thick bright pink smoke and shooting a web into his chest pulling him to you to knock him onto his knees and fight his gauntlets off of him. Only, he didn’t fight back as hard. He only deflected every punch and twist that you sent him. 

Every punch and kick filled with an unexplainable rage as you knocked him around the building.

“Where is Miles! What have you done to his father!!!” your webs secured his arms and legs as you held him to your masked eyes. 

“Amor….” you shook your head and pressed the side of his mask. And when it dissipated to reveal…him.

“Miles…” 

A sharp pain shot your head and you swayed, your hands released him. Your body lurched to the side. It was dark and quiet now, Aaron, oh…why is he looking at you like that? What’s he saying to…Miles, but he’s not your Miles.

Your body was wrapped in something soft and warm, the pitter of rain and echoes of thunder would have lulled you back to sleep. But when your body pixelated and glitchy throwing your body out of your comfort you were wide awake grasping at the discarded blanket. 

You coughed into the silence.Your vision cleared as you took in where you were. Aaron’s old apartment. Only it was like some comic book villain, with plans and papers scattered and pinned to the wall, 

The punching bag dangled in front of you from the couch you were laid on. You pressed your back to the couch, closing your eyes. Miles was the prowler, you're dead here along with Miles’ dad and Uncle Aaron was alive. You held your wrists out cursing, no web shooters and they took the watch. That’s why you're glitching.

“How’s your head?” You flinched as the shadow in the kitchen shifted to Aaron who slowly walked to you, a glass of water in his hands as you eyes your crumpled form. 

“I ain’t mean to go so hard. If I knew it was you.” he leaned forward holding the water for you. You hold it, but you keep Aaron’s gaze. For a moment it felt like when you first met Miles’ uncle. How he psyched you out before smirking and questioning if you were the girl that got his nephews heads in the clouds. 

And he does, he smirks like Aaron once did. “Nothing in it. I wouldn’t do anything to my niece.”

“I’m not though” your voice is hoarse. 

“Your not” his smile slowly drops as he leaned back. 

 “I'm not her. She’s dead. And you…” you shook your head looking down into the water.

“He’s what? Mi vida.” He steps from the inky blackness of the shadows while his uncle disappears. All thats left is the silence as he stares down at you, and you take in how different Miles is here. It all makes sense.

Uncle Aaron and Mr.Morales were like Miles’ yin and yang. And Miles was that shred of goodness, of hope for Uncle Aaron. But without his father the balance tipped. Kingpin was surely alive and roped in this Miles. He was the Prowler. 

“Miles…” and his eyes soften. You must have been gone a while in this universe. “ I have to…I need to get back. I’m not her. I don-”

“Back to him?” His brow raises and that cold look settles back in his eyes. You’d never seen such distaste in them before it struck a nerve. It sent ice into your veins as he stepped forward. Your skin prickled in unease as he used the knuckle of his pointer to gentle cradle your chin and dirnk in your eyes.

“The one who took it all from me. He’s got it good, don’t he?” And your eyes lower. Because you can’t deny the hurt you feel for him. This Miles should be the one keeping things safe on this earth. Should have a mother. Should have a spider-girl by his side. But you need to explain it. How the Spot is the one to blame, not your Miles.

“Miles it isn’t his fault I promise. It was someone else. I can help you, we can please just let me find a way home” you plead, trying to keep your voice steady as his gentle caresses halt. His head tilts. A beat passes before he’s pinching your cheeks and leaning forward just a breath away. His eyes pierce your soul and your heart begins to pound against your ribs.

The glass cup slips out your hand shattering into a million pieces just like your resolve.

And his fury is quiet, but you hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes. “He stole my father, my life. He stole you from me. I don’t give a damn bout that fraud. Long as I got you back in my life, he’s safe.”

The threat lingers in the air and your heart drops to your stomach. Miles was smart. A genius. And for all you know he’d begun picking at the watch. If he could find a way to get to your Miles, he would have. And something tells you that if he does, you wouldn’t be seeing him again. So you swallow what feels like cotton down your throat and try to stand firm.

But a tear is dripping down your cheek that he catches. He’s gentle in cradling your cheek as his thumb catches the stream of tears.

“Things will be different. Better. I’ll be better for you mi corazon. I’ll keep you safe this time.”

thanks for tag cinny <33

current fave songs

— yes or no - jungkook

— attention - newjeans

— akari - soushi sakiyama

— smitten - leanna firestone

— would that i - hozier

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thank you for the tag @sweetl4mb <3

current fav songs.

1. if you think im pretty - artemas 2. work - iggy azalea 3. kryptonite - 3 doors down 4. two of hearts - stacey q 5. high by the beach - lana del rey

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𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 - 𝐣𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏𝟏

zara tlatilpa goes mama bear mode, but jaime figures that it's for the best.

masterlist | previous , next !

– pairings: jaime reyes x oc

– warning: fluff, canon divergent, blue beetle movie spoilers

– author’s note: honestly, mama bear zara has my heart <3 disclaimer: i’m not of Hispanic or Aztec descent and used a translator for certain terms, so do correct me if im wrong!

translations: muy bien entonces, criatura terca - alright then, strange creature mijo, ¿a dónde vas? - darling, where are you going? èl se fue a verla de nuevo, ¡le gusta! - he's going to see her again, he likes her! No es nada, nana - it's nothing, nana ¡deberías llevarla a una cita y mostrarle el amuleto de Reyes! - you should take her on a date and show her the Reyes charm! ¿Lo entiendes? - do you understand? y recuerda, compórtate bien - and remember, behave yourself ¡sin travesuras! - no shenanigans! todavía soy demasiado joven para ser abuela - i'm too young to be a grandmother ese es un buen chico - that's a good kid

A thump rang throughout his chest as Jaime did a double take at the message, his face heating up.

“Hey, Khaji, just to make sure, I’m not seeing things, right?” He muttered, pushing the hair out of his squinted eyes, re-reading the message repeatedly.

“Jaime, your vision is excellent. Alejandra has invited you to her place since her pet wants to meet you.”

“Why do you call her Alejandra? I’m pretty sure she’d be okay with you using her nickname,” Jaime shrugged, pushing himself out of bed as he suddenly felt conscious of what he was wearing.

“If her name is Alejandra, I shall address her as so, I have no emotional attachment to her,” Khaji-Da responded plainly, Jaime rolling his eyes.

“Could you at least try? It’s so weird not hearing her being called by her nickname.”

“Not likely.”

“Muy bien entonces, criatura terca,” Jaime muttered under his breath, pocketing his phone as he pushed his room door open, now wearing a baggy set of jeans, his navy blue shirt beneath a light blue and white, short-sleeved flannel.

“Jaime,” Bianca Reyes beamed, looking up from the paper in her hands as she spotted her son emerge from his room, glad to see him going places instead of being cooped up in his little room, despite him only coming out for breakfast this morning.

Noticing her son dressed up to go out, her brow furrowed, placing her pen down for the shortest moment as Jaime hummed back at her, leaning his weight against the back of a nearby chair.

“Mijo, ¿a dónde vas? I thought you didn’t have anything planned?” She tilted her head to look up at her son, Jaime walking closer to her to place a little peck on the top of his mother’s head.

“I won’t be far, Mamá. I’m heading over to Drea’s, she’s invited me over.”

“Él se fue a verla de nuevo, ¡le gusta!” Nana called out from the living room’s couch, Jaime’s eyes rolling lightheartedly.

“No es nada, Nana,” Jaime sighed with a smile, used to the teasing. “She’s just a good friend, I guess.”

“She’s got a point, Cabrón,” Rudy smirked, the front door of the single-storey house thudding closed behind him.

“You have been hanging around her quite a bit. ¡Deberías llevarla a una cita y mostrarle el amuleto de Reyes!”

Hearing that caused Jaime to flush a bright red, Rudy letting out a boisterous laugh at his nephew’s reaction, walking over to the young man and landing a heavy back slap on Jaime, the young Mexican hero wincing slightly.

“Okay, okay,” Bianca sighed with a smile. “Let’s leave him be, go on your little hang out. Dinner’s at six-thirty, no negotiations. ¿Lo entiendes?” 

“Sí, Mamá,” He sighed, letting his mother affectionately pat his cheek.

She smiled up at him softly, before her forefinger and thumb pinched Jaime’s cheek tugging gently as her son complained at the discomfort despite being twenty-two.

“Y recuerda, compórtate bien. ¡Sin travesuras! Todavía soy demasiado joven para ser abuela,” She lectured, Jaime’s hand wrapped around hers to try and pull her hand away, the rest of the Mexican family laughing at their antics.

With a final tug, Bianca released her son’s cheek, Jaime sighing as he put on his sneakers, and walked right out of the door with a warm smile, realising that he could never find it in himself to dislike their affectionate teasing.

Sauntering over to his neighbour’s house, he glanced behind him, feeling eyes trained on the back of his head. Turning the slightest, Jaime noticed the way the curtains of his kitchen’s windows shifted ever so slightly, and a chuckle escaped his lips, realising his family’s gaze wouldn’t leave him anytime soon.

Finally, his feet halted, realising that he stood in front of his neighbour’s lawn, and for some reason, he suddenly felt nervous. Shoving his hands back into his pockets, his fingers fiddled with the threads. A new nervous habit, he noted, taking in a final deep breath as he marched on to her front door.

Deep in his mind he could hear Rudy’s slight sigh of disappointment, muttering something along the lines of, “Ay, ay, ay…"

Now face-to-face with the mahogany door of the Tlatilpas, Jaime lifted his fist, knuckles hovering over the dark wood before leaning his head back, mustering up all of his courage to knock on the door. 

The knocks echoed throughout the area, and for a brief moment, everything stilled. And then the door jolted open, revealing a woman who towered over him behind a patterned, iron grill gate.

Her short, dyed hair was parted at the right of her scalp, a tattoo visible on her upper right arm – it’s pattern almost resembling one of Drea’s golden arm cuffs of her hero costume. 

The red spaghetti top she wore exposed her lean physique and a baggy pair of white shorts wrapped around her hips, but her muscles were still visible as she tilted her head, and Jaime just felt the slightest bit intimidated. 

That was until she let out a large smile, hands rushing to unlock the extra form of protection before finally opening it successfully. She tugged at the gate - with an almost unnecessary amount of force, Jaime might add - before opening her arms wide.

“And you must be Jaime Reyes! Milagro’s brother, right?” She asked eagerly, her voice rich and warm. Jaime could suddenly tell which parent Drea got her constant stream of energy from.

“Sí, Mrs Tlatilpa,” He smiled nervously, eyes snapping open as she pulled him into a deep, bear hug. 

“Ah, I have so much to thank you and your sister for! My little Spark doesn’t make friends easily, and it’s so good to hear that she trusts you both with her life! It’s so nice seeing her happy again.”

“O-Oh?” Jaime wheezed slightly with a wince before being released from her constrictive grip. “I, uh, I’m honoured, Ma’am.”

“Please, Tiá Zara would do just fine,” She beamed. “I’ll go call Drea, you go make yourself comfortable!”

She scooted slightly, letting Jaime through, and he could hear the thud of iron from behind him as she locked the gate again, but as he glanced around, Jaime looked in awe at the cosy little living room around him.

Pictures of the family of three were present on almost every wall, a few black and white pictures framed up alongside them, but not as meticulously kept, as dust gathered on the glass frame protecting the almost faded image.

The green of the potted plants stood out against the vermilion-painted walls, a comfy-looking beige couch resting against the wall as a plush and fuzzy persian carpet rested underneath the glass and teak-framed coffee-table, the television across it reflecting his image in the darkness. A pile of hard-cover books rested above it, for anyone who was interested to take a peak.

Walking around the room, Jaime took a little peak at everything, though his intuitive eye lingered longer on any image he assumed was Drea’s a little longer than expected. A smile was soon plastered on his face at the sight of an energetic little girl standing on a chair, her wide smile missing two-front teeth as a large cake was placed before her.

Her dark brown strands were barely tamed, giving the young girl a wild look, but the tiny crown that sat on her head and her upright posture made her almost seem regal at a glance.

Quickly, he pulled his phone out, snapping a shot of the image before his phone disappeared into the darkness of his pocket. Once in a while, a few embarrassing photos would be nice as ‘blackmail’.

“I see you found her fifth birthday picture,” Zara grinned, watching Jaime with crossed arms. “Yeah, that one was too cute not to hang up. She still insists I take it down, but we both know that it’s never going to happen.”

Zara then approached the younger male, seating herself on the coach as Jaime turned to look at more of the pictures. He brushed over the faded family photos, almost recognising one of the younger girls as Aunt Anika before moving onto the next one, deciding not to pry.

“Jaime, I’d like a word with you,” Zara began, her warm tone turning strict and reserved. “It’s regarding Drea.”

Instantly, he turned around, a furrow in his brow. He watched as the older woman stood up on her feet, walking closer to the male as her hands heavily landed on his shoulders.

“Now, I know that my daughter has trusted you with information that wasn’t your right to know, but she trusted it with you anyways. And she’s had a tough time finding the people to choose to be her friends, you’re lucky to be one of them,” She spoke, looking Jaime dead in the eye.

“However, though I may like you for keeping silent so far, if a word ever slips past your lips, and it ever puts her at risk? I can’t guarantee that you will be friends for much longer,” The look in her eyes turned almost sad, almost guilty for threatening her daughter’s friendships.

“You must understand, I do this because I love her, and I won’t stand idly aside if anything bad ever happens to her. Do you get me?”

He watched as she practically begged him with her eyes, his throat going dry as he nodded, knowing that if his own family’s safety was compromised, he’d do anything to make sure they’d be safe. And with the look Drea’s mother gave him, he felt the urge to protect Drea with the same amount of care too. 

‘I do, Tiá, more than you know,” A determined look rested on his face as Zara let out a smile of relief, her hand patting his shoulders in a proud manner.

“Ese es un buen chico.”

And so she turned around, ready to continue with whatever she was doing before he had arrived, her fingers lightly brushing on the walls before she came to a halt, turning her head to face Jaime one last time before she took her leave.

“Oh, and one last piece of advice, from one hero to another, maybe find a better spot to transform behind the garbage skips. It’s more visible than you think.”

And so she left, Jaime’s jaw slacking before he shook his head, hand darting to scratch the scalp of his head in embarrassment at the advice. Part of him wanted to beg Zara not to tell anyone, to keep his secret to herself, but realising that there was no malice in her tone, just the pure willingness to help the boy, he relaxed.

But only the slightest.

However, a smile broke out on his face once more as he spotted a familiar friend come into view, rushing after a little brown blur of fur.

“Oh, hey, Jaime!”

gif by @rob-pattinson

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𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 - 𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲

age-old traditions were to be continued for generations, but when it finally comes down to the toruk makto's son, he's not so willing to comply...

– pairings: neteyam x oc

– warning: fluff, canon divergent, cross-posted on wattpad

– author's note: this oneshot takes place after the events of avatar 2 because i refuse to believe that neteyam is gone.

translations:

– ma tìrol [my son] – zamunge fko [strong one]

Being given an arranged mate was something like a toss of a coin. It was sheer luck if you ended up loving the one you were destined to be with.

Despite the arrangements of suitors being highly disliked, Neytiri turned back to the tradition of her forefathers, a part of her following the custom in memory of the late Olo’eyktan, Eytukan. As much as he didn’t like it, Jake followed his wife’s wishes, knowing how much her culture and her father meant to her.

And so, with the consultation of the current tsahik, Neytiri and Mo’at had decided who her firstborn would be promised to, both looking at the candidates for the next tsahik. It was decided that the matched pair would be introduced when Neytiri’s son, Neteyam, the next in line for Olo’eyktan, was of age to be part of the People.

Unfortunately, the young man hated it. Neteyam hated the notion of not being able to experience falling in love, and he had hoped that he would be able to understand the look his parents shared when they looked at one another, and share it with someone who would be his equal.

Sure, he would try his best to get along with whoever was planned to be by his side as his mate. But for all he could know, they would’ve already been in love with someone else, and it was just another unlucky draw.

He dreaded the way his parents spoke of his arranged mate. His mother passed him a slightly pitiful look, and his father only gave his wife a guilty one, knowing what happened previously between her and her chosen mate.

So far, he had turned down nine of the women his mother and grandmother had introduced to him, and he had turned them all down. They just didn't click to him, especially after most of them had passed him thoughtless grins with wandering eyes. 

His mother was at the end of her rope, praying to the Great Mother that this time, her son would consider her current option to be the next tsahik. Besides, all she wanted was for her son to be happy and loved, just as she was. And she was starting to lose hope.

“Nete,” Neytiri frowned, trying to convince her son. “If you’re lucky, she would love you, and you could grow to love her.”

“But mother, I want to be a mate to someone I’m already in love with!” The firstborn protested, his frown deepening at his mother’s suggestion.

“And are you already in love with someone?”

Neteyam looked away, knowing that he indeed hadn’t found that special someone. Yet. He grumbled with crossed arms, Neytiri sighing as she hugged her son’s head close to her.

“Ay… Ma tìrol…” Neytiri muttered as Neteyam hugged his mother slightly tighter. “Give her a chance. She could be the one, only Eywa knows.”

Neteyam closed his eyes slowly, knowing that he couldn’t argue with his mother anymore. He let out a slow breath as he pulled away, nodding slowly. Seeing this, Neytiri’s smile returned, and the mother placed her palm lovingly on her son’s cheek, the boy leaning into her touch.

“But if I feel like things won’t turn out right for us, I want to choose who I am mated with,” Neteyam spoke up again, looking his mother in the eye, determination set in his features.

Neytiri pursed her lips, her turn to nod slowly as the two came to an agreement. If he agreed to follow her terms, she would agree to follow his.

The day of the meeting had eventually crawled by, Neteyam inwardly groaning before keeping his mind open to the one he was supposed to meet.

He did his best to realise that whoever he was meant to meet was promised to him as he was to her, so they were both stuck in the same boat.

Neteyam watched the way his mother smiled, and from it he knew that she was confident that things would work out. He was partially ready to prove her wrong.

"Nete, remember to keep an open mind," Neytiri smiled, pushing her closer to the little healing hut where Mo'at usually worked.

"Mother, why are we at grandmother's healing hut?" Neteyam raised his browline in confusion.

"She works under the tsahik to learn to heal. Her name is Näytle te Ìviu Oa'ite. Find out more about her, maybe you could both share common interests," Neytiri grinned, nudging her son closer. 

But just as Neteyam was within the radius of the hut, Neytiri grabbed her firstborn son's shoulder, whispering in his ear as the young man listened to her every word.

"Her mother has decided that the two of you shall meet each other first. She does not know that you will be arriving to meet her," Neytiri nodded. "I will not be following you in, but I can only trust you to make a good impression."

"Mother!" Neteyam frowned back as he glanced at Neytiri in annoyance at her meddling.

"Ma tìrol, she's keeping an open mind you must do the same," Neytiri gently kissed her son's cheek before pushing him towards the hut.

"Now go!"

Neteyam muttered curses under his breath, walking towards the hut with his browline furrowed.

Neytiri watched from afar as her son stormed off, placing her hand gently on her chest as she glanced up at the sky.

"May Eywa guide them towards a path of happiness."

“Hello?” Neteyam called out to the fairly empty hut. 

He walked around, trying to find the woman he was meant to meet. He peered around the pillars of the hut as he decided to try calling her out by her name, walking deeper into the wooden-built structure.

“Näytle?” 

He called the woman's name out as he passed by other Omaticayan healers who simply pointed him in the direction of where the mentioned healer would be.

From within a far corner of the shelter, Mo’at’s ears perked up at her student’s name, recognising her grandson’s voice. A small grin grew on her face as the tsahik gently tapped her protégés back.

“Näytle,” She turned to the young woman who was tending to a small Omaticayan boy’s minor wounds.

“Yes, tsahik?” The doe-eyed Na'vi woman turned to face her with a small smile.

Her eyes were filled with eagerness to learn from her mentor, her soft smile showing glimpses of kindness and hospitality that was very much needed in the medicinal part of the Omaticaya.

"My child," Mo'at placed her hand on the young woman's shoulder tenderly. "I am going to go gather with Olo'eyktan Sully and his wife. I need you and the other healers to make sure that whoever needs healing gets it as soon as possible." 

"Of course," Näytle nodded eagerly. "I'm glad you have entrusted me with this, tsahik."

The younger female turned her attention back to the child before her, wiping her hands free of the healing salve before wrapping his wounds up with some long leaves.

"Of course, my child," Mo'at smiled before stepping towards the back exit. "Oh, and I think you should be expecting a visit from someone."

"Who should I be expecting?" Näytle asked the older woman, but as she turned around, the tsahik was gone.

Näytle frowned in confusion as she gently turned to the young boy in front of her, patting his head as she softly spoke to him. She saw the way the boy grew a frown at the sight of his tended wound.

"Don't worry, zamunge fko," Näytle ruffled the boy's hair. "The pain will pass with time, as all things do."

She turned around, kneeling while holding a small piece of traditional candy, or something similar to it, the boy's frown disappearing.

"For your bravery."

The boy took the sweet, running off as the healer smiled warmly at child's burst of energy, unaware of the figure that watched her actions from afar.

"Näytle?"

The girl turned around, now face to face with a taller Na'vi. He appeared to be her height. She was surprised, especially when she couldn't hear the person's footsteps. Perhaps he was a hunter in aid of wounds he gained from the hunting group earlier. 

"Yes, that would be me," The healer responded, standing up from her kneeled position. 

Näytle watched the young man in front of her, taking in his appearance as she glanced him up and down for any wounds that needed tending.

He was attractive, she wouldn't deny that. The energy and wonder in his eyes about the world around him wasn't easy to miss. They hid in specks of ocre and gold that flickered brightly in the light of the hut.

His stature was built, one of a proud warrior. His beaded hair moved with the slightest movement of his head, little clinking noises of the beads knocking against one another caught her attention as she thought the braids framed his face perfectly.

If she could say, she would tell him that he looked as though Eywa herself handcrafted him to fit her image of perfection.

"Oel ngati kameie."

I see you.

Näytle nodded respectfully, repeating his action, without realising how his heart jumped in his throat when he said the phrase.

He couldn't tell if it was the way she interacted with the child, the way that she was filled with so much love and kindness for the life around her, but there was something special about her. Something just beautiful. Something that the other women lacked when he met them.

Her physical beauty in his eyes just emphasised that something special. He didn't know what it was, but there was something about her eyes that just made him want to discover more about her.

"Do I know you?" The woman before him, Näytle, spoke. 

Her gentle voice bounced around in his head, and he treasured the way it sounded for a few minutes longer.

"Neteyam," He placed his hand on his chest. "My name's Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan."

He watched the way her eyes widened in realisation, embarrassment flooding through her cheeks as they flushed.

He adored the way she looked so cute and flustered.

"My apologies!" She nervously tucked a strand of braided hair behind her ear. "I hadn't realised that you were coming to visit!"

The guilt of not recognising the Toruk Makto's son had lingered in her stomach, but it vanished when she heard him chuckle.

"No, it's alright! You have never seen me before?" Neteyam tilted his head slightly, amusement filling him.

"Ah, unfortunately not. From where I stand in the crowd, it's always too far to get a good look."

The young woman picked up the bowl of salve, walking towards a nearby table to keep the balm away. Her tail flicked mischievously as she formed her next words jokingly

"I have heard stories that he is undeniably handsome, though."

"Have you now?" Neteyam perked up, a small grin unknowingly growing on his face.

"Yes," The woman smiled, taking some leaves from nearby and taking them towards another table where a Na'vi equivalent of motar and pestle lay.

"What else might you have heard?"

Neteyam prodded on, leaning on the counter next to the female Na'vi. 

"I heard that he was a skilled hunter, a hunter that was much sought after by other women."

"Well, that's a pity," Neteyam shrugged. "They would have to do without me."

"And why would they have to?" Näytle gave him a questioning glance, tilting her head towards him slightly, as the circular motion of her hands slowed.

Neteyam's eyes glanced down at the wooden counter beneath his hands, feeling suddenly nervous.

Because perhaps, he was falling in love.

"Because I have been matched. And I wouldn't mind getting to know the woman I have been matched with."

Näytle smiled softly, her smile growing. She placed the pestle on the table.

The young woman held her hand out to the young hunter before her.

"Let's get to know each other then. It was nice to meet you, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan."

"Please," The Olo'eyktan's son took her softer, smaller hand into his, holding it gently.

"Neteyam is just fine."

He bent down, gently kissing the back of her hand, something he had seen his father do as a sign of affection towards his mother.

He saw the way her cheeks flushed, his smile growing wider at her suddenly shy state.

"And it's a pleasure to meet you too, Näytle."

His mother had proved him wrong, and for once, he didn't mind. Maybe this time, being arranged together didn't sound too bad.

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༊*·˚ ƧΛM !

🫧 .ೃ࿐ pronouns are: she/her, they/them, or he/him works too!

💿 .ೃ࿐ SEA, 18, canon and oc centred blog!

🖇️ .ೃ࿐ currently into jujutsu kaisen, metal family, mcu, toh, avatar, blue beetle, sherlock + more

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I've been keeping up with new girl on the block and boy howdy I'm am screaming it's so good ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️😭😭😭😍😍😍😍

OKAY WAIT I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BB THANK YOUUU 🫶🫶🫶🫶 im so glad to hear that you enjoy it that much ohmygoshhh!! honestly jaime was so fine and i couldnt help myself teehee 🤭🤭

but thank you so so much for dropping by and showing your appreciation i love you so so much!!

The Innocence of Brutality Pt.1 [Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: I’ve been working a lot on FATE (my long fic…you should check it out) so I haven’t been posting many one-shots. BUT FINALLY….here you go! It’s a bit different from my usual one-shots but hey I figured I may as well give it a go. This will have many parts depending on how much traction it gets  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: The Reader is Rámaitë Mahtar, a warrior spirit race, and she meets the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring. 

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the Rámaitë Mahtar is not canon as I made up Rámaitë Mahtar. Also, all elvish was translated from a translator site—it may not be accurate.

Word count: ~8k (yes I went overboard)

Warnings: nudity (not sex), mentions of war, mentions of torture, violence, fluff

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The Innocence of Brutality Masterlist — PART 2

The sky had been getting darker and darker as the hours went by, the sun slipping into a restless dream as a storm brewed. Clouds hung deep and gray high above the fellowship while claps of thunder neared them. It was a grumbling and crackling battle of light and dark. With every booming sound, the menacing void loomed closer and closer, electrifying the air with anxiety. It was casting above them at a rapid rate—a rate at which they could not outrun.

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