#and the thing is. HES IN DENIAL ABOUT IT TOO

[loomingspector]

Dick didnt mean to

He hadn’t meant to throw it that hard

Or throw it at the wall at all

But the moment he hears that all too recognizable breaking of wood, he knew it had happened.

The news of Bruce's death was just too much.

Becoming Bruce in every sense of the word was just too much

Having to become The Batman, was too much of a reminder of what was never coming back.

Sure, Nightwing was a strong hero, standing tall by Batman's side. He even had his own Gotham, Blüdhaven was his turf, and it had been becoming better with him there to help. But Gotham was just too much, the city truly never gave back.

The people still sometimes looked at Dick like he was a monster.

And the idea that they weren't even directing it at Dick, but at Bruce, who lived for this city, hurt for this city and suffered for this city. Died for this city. Only to be met with the cruel eyes of it's inhabitant.

It was too much.

They had relocated to the penthouse, the manor was simply too empty like this. The air was a little too stale, a little too cold.

It had lost it's soul along with it's owner.

Damian still went back sometimes, sometimes only to wander the halls, talking about 'having a look at what was about to become his'.

But Dick knew, he knew it was to help ease his heart. He knew he silently hoped that one of the doors would open, and the silent steps of the 'larger than life' man would reappear.

Dick was hoping so too.

When Tim was starting to say he didn't believe Bruce was truly dead, the first feeling was sadness. The boy was clearly in denial.

Maybe Dick was too.

But it was breaking up the family, Damian was being too avoidant and angry, dealing with this grief. Tim was getting angry that no one was listening to his reasonings for why he thought Bruce was alive.

It was taking a toll, Jason was his somewhat calming force, but it was clearly changing for the worst. When Bruce's will came out he had flipped and become even more aggressive, it implied that there is a deep, dark secret that Jason is hiding from his childhood. Bruce apologized for not getting Jason the help he needed, saying that he still has a chance. It seemed to have set something off in Jason and he would lash out at anyone, even mentioning Bruce.

Dick wandered the halls of the manor, Alfred had been keeping it clean and tidy, but it was eerily silent now.

It was supposed to be a quick visit to the cave, just grabbing a couple things, and stocking up on some others.

But out of habit and maybe nostalgia he walked up the stairs, his feet taking him to the room.

His room

The only room he knew was 100% his own.

The memorabilia room, his personal confessional.

The door opened with a creak, a testament to it's use. He was expecting the be met with the same posters, drawings, figurines as before.

But what had become the centrepiece of the room was now an easel. Standing directly below the top light, like a museum exhibit. Elegantly.

The Wayne family photo

Made when a family dinner time actually contained all of the family. Jason had come back the family, Duke had just become comfortable enough that he didn't feel like he was intruding, Cass was back from HongKong, and Barbara was visiting the manor too. Everyone was there. It was nearing Christmas, and the mood was amicable at least.

Alfred took the chance to take a photo of them all.

It turned out nice, the warmth being felt even through the photo.

But in this room it too had turned cold

This funeral room.

It had clearly been Alfred and Damian's idea. To add to the collection, and maybe bring Dick some sort of consolidation when he was returning to this room.

But anger was all he felt.

Anger at the city

Anger at the situation

Anger at Bruce's death

Anger that the family was falling apart, despite Dick's best efforts.

He hadn't noticed when he had grabbed the frame, felt the mahogany wood under his palms.

He didn't mean to.

His blood was rushing, all he heard in his ears was his heart thudding a mile a minute. He really didn't mean to.

Until the easel hit his foot, having fallen over when the frame was yanked away from it.

He hadn't even notice his own tears until silence was once again upon him.

He fell to the floor, reaching for the photo, it was slightly torn at one of the sides, but the happy faces were still staring back at him.

Bruce's eyes had a certain light to it, like nothing was wrong in the world. Like they were perfectly normal. And like he wasn't going to be ripped from them only a little time later.

"dad... please, help me"

"please, dad"

~~~~~~

I don't know how to finish it, but have some more sadness. Bruce's Will, is something mentioned in 'The Battle of the Cowl', but I didn't wanna go the same way as the Jason in that story, cause it makes me sad. (The information of the will is a direct qoute from here)

@ahsokatroi and @batsandbirdbrains I hope you both cry now hahaha

the photo in question is this one from BWFA

I wonder if, when Dick became part of the household and was in his “I’ll kill anything that looks at me wrong” phase.

Bruce would 100% go out of his way to see if he could hunt down each and every one of the recordings of the Flying Graysons he could.

He would pay collectors for self recorded videos, (since they were a famous performance family even before the tragedy) and buy photos that people took of them while they were around the world, collecting every advertisement poster he could of them.

Just so Dick would have something to remind him of them, of the good days. So he could remind him that they would want him to be smart about this, and not let the rage and resentment take over completely.

[kenzdolls]

JAX RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS .

⌗ pairing: (tadc) jax x gn! reader

⌗ warnings: lowercase intended, has spoilers of ep 5

⌗ a/n: idk i did this since I’m trying to reach out to other fandoms (yes i’m doing all the characters i have free will)..also since my inbox is dry, i’m asking…PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS MY BRAIN IS FRYING FROM WRITERS BLOCK

FIRST TIME MEETING:

▹ jax literally does NOT care when you first arrive because he's seen too many newbies lose their minds within the first week (he's learned not to get attached too quickly after what happened with ribbit)

▹ probably pranks you on your literal first day because "welcome to hell, might as well get used to it now" but then feels weirdly guilty about it later??? like he'll leave a small apology gift outside your room (probably stolen from someone else's room tbh)

▹ gets annoyed when you don't immediately break down or start crying like most new people do - where's the entertainment in that??? you're just… adapting??? (this bothers him more than it should)

▹ starts paying attention to you when you either: 1) successfully prank him back, 2) don't rat him out when caine asks who put glitter in ragatha's hair, or 3) laugh at his jokes even when everyone else is giving him death glares

▹ definitely steals your room key within the first week just to see what you're hiding but then gets genuinely curious about your little personal space and the weird way you've arranged everything

▹ makes fun of whatever coping mechanism you've developed but secretly takes notes because holy shit you're actually handling this better than he did

▹ starts doing that thing where he "accidentally" bumps into you during adventures or walks just a little too close when caine isn't looking (personal space who???)

▹ probably gives you a stupid nickname based on either: something embarrassing that happened to you, your appearance, or just to annoy you (spoiler alert: he keeps using it even when you start dating)

▹ gets genuinely confused when you start talking to him like he's a actual person and not just the "funny mean rabbit" because??? people don't usually do that??? ribbit was the last person who really saw him as jax and not just comic relief

HIM CRUSHING ON YOU:

▹ this man is in DENIAL with a capital D - like he'll literally tell himself "i don't like them, i just think they're less annoying than the others" while actively going out of his way to spend time with you

▹ starts hoarding little things that remind him of you (a button that fell off your outfit, a drawing you doodled during a boring caine explanation, etc.) but will DIE before admitting it

▹ gets weirdly protective but tries to play it off as "you're MY entertainment, nobody else gets to mess with you" but really he's terrified of losing another person he cares about

▹ begins pranking you more but they're like… softer pranks??? like putting fake spiders in your bed (but making sure they're not the kind that actually scare you) or rearranging your room (but not actually breaking anything important)

▹ starts having those moments where he'll say something genuinely sweet/supportive but then IMMEDIATELY follow it up with an insult to maintain his image ("you're not completely terrible at this… for an idiot")

▹ catches himself staring at you during adventures and gets MAD about it - like why are you so distracting??? he has chaos to cause and you're just… existing??? attractively??? rude.

▹ probably has a minor crisis about his feelings because the last person he really cared about was ribbit and we all know how that ended (he's absolutely terrified of caring about someone again)

▹ gets jealous when other circus members get your attention but won't admit it - instead he'll just insert himself into conversations or create distractions to get focus back on him

▹ starts doing that thing where he remembers really specific details about you (your favorite corner to sit in, how you fidget when you're anxious, what makes you laugh) but acts like he doesn't pay attention to anyone

▹ has definitely had at least one dream about you and woke up SO MAD about it because feelings are WEAKNESS and he doesn't DO weakness

▹ begins testing the waters with more physical contact - "accidentally" grabbing your hand during adventures, leaning against you when he's "tired," finding excuses to be in your personal space

▹ gets genuinely upset when you're having a bad day but doesn't know how to help without compromising his reputation, so he'll just… be less mean to everyone that day (the others notice and are confused)

YOU DATING HIM:

▹ asking you out was probably the most awkward thing he's ever done because he had to drop the act for like 0.5 seconds to be genuine and he HATED every second of it (but your reaction made it worth it)

▹ your relationship is 70% banter and 30% genuine sweet moments when he thinks nobody is looking and 100% him being terrified you'll abstract and leave him like ribbit did

▹ still pranks you but now it's "couple pranks" - like putting fake love letters in your room signed from other circus members just to see you get flustered, or rearranging your stuff to spell out "I LOVE YOU" (but then denying he did it)

▹ gets SUPER jealous but tries to play it off as possessiveness - "that's MY idiot you're talking to" (he's not fooling anyone, he's just insecure)

▹ shows affection through: stealing things for you, letting you win at games sometimes, sharing his food, and most importantly - telling you his real thoughts instead of just sarcastic quips

▹ absolutely MELTS when you play with his ears but will threaten anyone who points it out (his ears do that little twitch thing when he's happy and you're the only one who gets to see it)

▹ has nightmares about you abstracting and will sometimes wake up and just… need to see you to make sure you're okay (he'll make up some excuse about being bored or wanting to prank someone)

▹ starts including you in his pranks as a partner rather than a target - you two become the WORST duo and everyone else suffers for it (but secretly they think it's cute that jax is happy)

▹ gets genuinely soft when you're upset about the whole "being trapped forever" thing because he KNOWS that feeling and doesn't want you to go through it alone like he did

▹ probably has a secret stash of things he's made/found for you that he's too embarrassed to give you directly, so he just leaves them places you'll find them

▹ learns your triggers and genuinely tries to avoid them in his pranks/jokes because making you laugh is good, making you hurt is NOT (growth!!!)

▹ gets scared when you're too quiet or seem distant because what if you're starting to abstract what if he's losing you what if what if what if so he'll just hover around you until you're acting normal again

▹ your first kiss was probably during a really dangerous adventure when he thought one of you might not make it out, and he just couldn't leave things unsaid (very dramatic, very him)

▹ now he's stuck between his fear of losing you and his genuine happiness at having you, so he's like… aggressively affectionate but also constantly worried (someone get this rabbit some therapy)

▹ starts planning little dates within the circus - like setting up movie nights in the common area or finding ways to get you both out of adventures so you can just hang out

▹ definitely practices saying "i love you" in his room before he actually says it to you (and when he finally does, it's probably during an argument where he just blurts it out and then gets embarrassed)

⌗ taglist: @idexmids @siriuslyginnychase @eleteo125 @st4r-dustx @corpsebridenightamare @boreaswrites [OPEN]

✦ REQUESTS ARE OPEN! ✦

© KENZDOLLS 2025 . do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work in anyway including the use of ai onto any other social media platforms or it will permit an instant block on all platforms.

[twilightofthesandwiches]

Okay so…

Most the TV-Tastic Prizes Tenna lists during the intro of his show are directly related to the Dreemurrs and their interests/personalities. It’s pretty understandable when you think about it, as their household TV, Tenna only has the Dreemurrs as reference to what kind of prizes people would be most interested in.

The Floral Cowboy Bath Curtains obviously references Asgore, it’s a domestic item that combines his well-known love of flowers and his literally-just-now-established fondness for Woody’s Roundup. (From Tenna's perspective, this is just as important, if not more so, than flowers, because he mainly experiences his family through the shows they watch on him.)

The Brand New Family Car might reference the fact that Toriel’s car is getting a bit old, or maybe even it’s slashed tires (if Tenna doesn’t know enough about cars to understand which problems are very easily fixed). But mostly it’s just a generic prize for a family, demonstrating that this is still how Tenna sees the Dreemurrs, as one big happy family. In reality, with only Toriel and Kris living at home, even the car they have now might be a tad oversized, but Tenna is obviously in denial about that.

(The Ice-E decals might be a reference to Asriel’s Ice-E Brand Deodorant, or just the general fact that Ice-E seems to be a popular brand with the children of Hometown, and Tenna’s mental image of Kris and Asriel is still based on how they were as kids.)

The Big Bro’s Talker-Backer, as a goofy tech toy with the words ‘big bro’ right in its name, is based on the kinds of toys Asriel liked when he was young. Again, in Tenna’s (metaphorical) eyes, he and Kris are still the children who watched cartoons and played games on him. He hasn’t fully processed the idea that Asriel is basically an adult now.

The Kitchen Sink Fur-Guard is, well, that’s obviously something the Dreemurrs need.

Since it’s for the Kitchen Sink specifically, it’s probably meant to be a Toriel Prize, since she's the one who loves cooking the most.

… or maybe it's just because that’s the sink closest to Tenna. The bathroom sink is too far away from the living room for Tenna to be aware of it most of the time.

And the Chocolate Chewy Roll-Um’s are obviously for Notorious Sweet-Tooth Kris Dreemurr. Flavored after their second favorite food!

Now… the thing is that this prize roll-call ends with…

Originally, I just wrote off the Genuine Ralsei Plush as a silly meta-joke. Or, like, part of the ongoing thematic thread about Darkner Personhood in this Chapter. Where Tenna and Ralsei, as the two lead Darkners of the Chapter, keep alternating between treating the other as a Person and as an Object.

And like, it is that, but also, there is an in-universe explanation for why Tenna decided to make it one of the main prizes he uses to sell the show. Because Tenna first heard of Ralsei’s existence…

…During Susie and Kris’ little chat on the sofa.

The Ralsei Plush is supposed to be a prize for Susie because the Literally Only Two Things Tenna knew about Susie at the time is “likes Giant Monster Movies” and “has two Darkner friends named Ralsei and Lancer”. The Susiezilla Minigame is Tenna’s attempt to appeal to the former, the Ralsei Plushie is his attempt to appeal to the latter.

Obviously that still loops back to Tenna’s tendency to kinda see Ralsei as an object (the same way Ralsei did to him at the end). He has a much better understanding of the appeal of Kaiju Movies, why Susie loves them and how to replicate that appeal for her in the Dark World.

But then he’s like, well, Susie really likes that Darkner friend of hers… obviously I understand why.... it's because he'd be great as a Marketable Plushie! Obviously the next best thing if she can’t take him to the festival! (I assume he went with Ralsei Plushies cause they seemed much more conventionally marketable to Tenna's Normie Mass-Entertainment Taste.... also from a Doylist perspective this thread of Darkner Personhood isn't as much as a big deal for Lancer's character at the moment)

[untilwefind]

what would the reaction be if leno walked in on willmack fucking

Thank You, Ryan Leonard (But Not Really)

I’m having way too much fun with this🫢

They’ve been so careful.

Will locked the door this time. He swears he did. Mack even asked him twice, all narrowed eyes and cautious paranoia. Will had kissed the suspicion off his mouth with a laugh and a “Baby, I got it, relax.”

Which is how they end up like this.

Mack on his back, hands gripping the headboard, knees spread as Will grinds into him with the kind of heat that makes Mack whimper, slick and flushed and stretched full and perfect. It’s mid-day. Everyone’s supposed to be out. Will’s teeth are at Mack’s throat. His voice is all low praise and soft curses. He’s calling Mack baby and saying things like fuck, I missed this, and Mack’s dizzy with it, wrung out and throbbing and embarrassingly close.

And then—

“Yo SMITTY!”

The door slams open like a puck to the teeth.

Will freezes. Mack lets out an honest-to-God scream.

“Leonard?!” Mack yells, trying to throw a blanket over his knees and push Will off all at once. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Leno, completely unphased, grins from the doorway like he just walked in on a frat keg stand. “Dude. No way. You’re still going at it?! Let’s fucking go!”

Will’s entire face contorts with frustrated disbelief. “Leno, I swear to Christ, if you don’t get out right now—”

“I told Voter you were laying pipe in here,” Leno says proudly, slapping the doorframe. “Dude. Legendary.”

“I am literally about to nut,” Will snarls. “Get the fuck out before I smash your face in with my skate, I am not fucking around—”

Mack groans and hides his face in his arm. “This is a nightmare. Why does this keep happening to me—”

But Will isn’t pulling out this time. He’s too close. He’s red-faced and sweating, braced over Mack with one hand on the headboard and the other still gripping Mack’s thigh like he might actually snap.

“Dude, I’m rooting for you,” Leno calls, already backing out with both thumbs up. “Finish strong, Smitty!”

“Leno!”

“Gone, gone, I’m gone,” Leno says, laughing as he slams the door shut behind him.

And just like that, silence.

Will takes one deep breath, still poised above Mack. “Okay. Where were we.”

Mack glares up at him. “You just threatened to curb stomp your best friend.”

Will hums. “And you liked it.”

Mack makes a wounded sound that’s not quite a denial.

Then Will surges forward and starts moving again and whatever edge had been dulled by Leno’s entrance comes back twice as hard. Will’s frustrated now, hips snapping sharper, and it makes Mack gasp, arching up into him, clinging to his shoulders.

“Fuck,” Will grits, pace unrelenting. “That motherfucker’s lucky I didn’t actually hit him. I was so fucking close.”

“Same,” Mack gasps.

Will growls and flips him onto his side, hauling one leg over his hip, grinding in deep until Mack whimpers like a broken thing.

“Let’s finish then,” Will mutters, “before someone else tries to join the fucking party.”

⸻

Ten minutes later, Mack’s a sweaty, boneless heap on Will’s pillow, blinking up at the ceiling like it might hold answers to the universe.

Will’s sprawled beside him, hair damp, chest still rising and falling.

After a long beat of silence, Mack murmurs, “Can’t believe I owe Ryan Leonard a thank you for that.”

Will turns his head, scowling. “Shut the fuck up. That was me. Don’t thank him.”

Mack grins, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m gonna send him a fruit basket.”

Will reaches over to face wash Mack as he howls with laughter.

[bijoumikhawal]

Thoughts, in order:

Ford— if it's Bill's he's nottttt keeping it. He's interested in science but doesn't seem like he usually experiments *on* himself. The stuff with letting Bill possess him wasn't framed as an experiment to see what would happen so much as a novel way to gather information. Therefore I do not think he'd keep a pregnancy just for research. That said, he might keep it for other reasons.

Garak— campaigned hard for him but there's a strong chance he would. It depends on who the other parent is and where he's at in life. However, even if he did he'd feel upset about it while denying he could be upset because he doesn't think he's allowed to be. If it's Julian's hes going to feel very divided over it at minimum.

Julian— might keep a pregnancy but if not he's aborting that thing like it's nbd and not even gonna blink about it. If it's Garak’s and its unplanned... well. He's gonna be somewhat conflicted

Quark— yeeting that baby unless it's gonna bring him money. He already has a nephew he dotes on and he's a business man, his ass is too busy for a baby (+ Quark tries really hard to meet Ferengi cultural norms and I doubt theory society is currently accept of men being pregnant)

Dean— at first goes into denial, then acceptance and plans from there. Something adjacent happened in canon- Dean had a monstrous daughter. If this one is also a monster it would match some similar emotional beats. May start a fight hoping getting his shit rocked will make him miscarry.

Oddy— fuck if I know.

Eggman— see previous

Doppler— he popped out 4 at once. He's either going to decide he's had enough after that or hes one of Those Guys.

Kirk— bye bye! He's too married to being a captain. It stifles his ability to form other long term relationships and he admits it himself in Amok Time. Starship is no place for a baby, either.

Bilbo— FIIK

Hawkeye— no ♡

Batman— FIIK

TL;DR: of the guys I have an opinion on, Quark or Kirk are most likely to Abort That Thang. Second place is Ford or Dean.

NEED👏THAT👏MAN👏PREGNANT BONUS POLL #3 - 'ABORTION'

From suggestions here and here.

Out of our Top Twelve Contestants...

*Bonus polls do not have any standing in the official competition or its 'canon' and are purely for fan amusement!

[mysteria157]

Title: What We Leave Behind

A contribution for the Nanami Week prompt 'Papamin'.

Rating/CW: Post-Shibuya Nanami, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Papamin, Mentions of Character Death, References to Past Violence.

WC: ~6.2K

Summary: When a mission goes wrong, old grief surfaces alongside new understanding, and a single word spoken in vulnerability reshapes a bond forever.

A/n: Maybe it's the fact that we have an entire week dedicated to my pookie that my fingers have allowed me to create once more. Here is a little oneshot dedicated to Day 1 of Nanami Week: Papamin! I am not well-versed in the intricacies of cursed techniques and cursed energy. Please go easy on me.

JJK Masterlist | Ao3 | Divider: @strangergraphics

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate my work to other accounts and platforms. Thank you for understanding!

“Do you believe in reincarnation, Nanami?”

Unwanted and uninvited, the whisper of the memory hits Nanami like a physical blow, pain so sharp in his stomach that he almost bows over. His hand grips his cane harshly, scarred fingers white at the knuckle, and frustration rising up his chest like a tidal wave. In the depths of his mind, he chastises his psyche because how dare that memory sift through the dirt in his mind, brimming to the surface unapologetically. 

Despite his best efforts, the dull hallway lighting does nothing to help his vision as he blinks quickly, willing the memories to fade just for today. Just for right now.

In this vast school haunted by too many ghosts, this hallway carries an uneasy intimacy—dark and silent, holding the voices of the dead who fought until there was nothing left in them. Only one set of doors line the corridor, steel and tall, and the last time he was here and held any semblance of joy in his budding life of misfortune, he was a teenager with fringe. 

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I want to know! Don’t tell me you’re boring even in philosophical discussion?”

Nanami sighs, tucking a stray lock of blonde behind his ear as he throws the black paneling of the basement walls a pensive look. 

“It’s a comforting thought, but there is no evidence for it. When we die, we die. That’s it.”

Looking back through that foggy lens, Nanami remembers just how fiercely he believed that at the time. In their world, when they sacrifice every ounce of their being for the people who know nothing about them, there is no comforting notion of the afterlife. Their world is too grim to believe that something is brighter on the other side. The same cycle of rinse and repeat, generation after generation, only reaffirmed this belief he held. 

In the cruel grand scheme of things, he wishes more than anything that the memory could be mundane, irrelevant in the face of now. Perhaps it’s what followed that is responsible for why Nanami is forced to feel things with an unrelenting ferocity. Perhaps it was the look of mild disappointment on Haibara’s face, a sight so very rare, those large brown eyes shadowed with apprehension rather than enthusiasm. 

Perhaps it was the feeling that flooded Nanami right after, a sense of shame for upsetting his friend, a fear of a conversation he would probably have to have. Or perhaps it was the fact that he promised himself to apologize later that day at their usual friendly dinners.

A dinner that was cancelled because they were called on a mission. A mission that was too intense to warrant a serious conversation because Haibara was trying to focus. A level of focus that resulted in Nanami in this very hallway, angry with burning tears in his eyes that he shrouded beneath a washcloth while his dear friend lay dead on a slab.

After many years of denial that molded into careful management, he’s gotten better, turning his grief into something tangible, taking the bad and creating something good. The frequent nightmare that was that mission that jolts him awake in a cold sweat, converted into an intentionally peaceful day. A lightning strike of sadness during his morning read turned into a decompressing walk to stretch his burned muscles. 

But it’s that last conversation that he never got to fix, that “I could never be mad at you Nanami!” that he never got to hear.

Just as it had years ago, that guilt manifests in the shake of his hands, the precarious gallop of his heart, the trickle of sweat sliding down his neck when he overheard Panda whispering to Nobara about how Yuta’s mission had gone wrong. 

It settled heavy in his gut like he’d indulged too much, that same sensation of dread weighed him down as he walked as fast as his tired left side would allow, pushing through the familiar but still unpleasant ache between his joints as he rushed down the steps to the very corridor that’s wrapped around him like an awful embrace.

So maybe that is why this memory surfaces now, reminding him of that paralyzing fear that held him down as a teenager, now rendering his fingers stiff as they space over the ‘Infirmary’ sign on the steel doors.

His heart hammers, a quiet, almost desperate ‘please’ slipping past his lips as he begs to anyone, anything that will listen before he pushes the doors open.

The smell of antiseptic burns the back of his throat, mixing with something heavier—the metallic tang of blood and exhaustion. The hair on the back of his neck rises, collecting dew drops of cold sweat, his body tense and poised, ready for the inevitable sadness and madness that grief brings. 

Thankfully, the sight brings a rush of relief so overpowering that he almost falls to his knees.

Shoko is hard at work once again, her chestnut hair falling over her shoulders in shining waves, healthier than years before when their lives were nothing but grief and misery, the thought of self-care a distant dream. One of her hands rests against a tanned chest, her fingers glowing a luminescent purple that ebbs and flows over the sweaty skin. Her other hand moves in practiced ease, weaving with two fingers that are pinched around surgical needle and thread.

It’s second nature to her, the ability to heal. A gift weaved into her bones like cursed silk the very moment she took a breath, and harnessed as she grew to only provide for others while her own existence went unnoticed. Like Nanami and his journey with undoing the bad, Shoko is better now. Still weathered in the eyes, still smoking, but better.

Now she teaches other young students how to hone their RCT, mindful to show them they are more than just their power. Now she sleeps. Now she smokes one pack a day instead of three. Now, those tired eyes are filled with determination rather than the resignation that comes with an autopsy on someone she once shared a class with, and for Nanami, that sight kills what remaining dread he had sitting like an anvil on his chest.

“Looks like your cover’s blown,” Shoko mumbles, a hint of amusement coloring her otherwise monotone cadence.

Across the sterile slab table, Yuta stands, looking as uneasy as ever. His posture is stiff, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders drawn up tight to his ears as a means to protect himself from his own criticism.

“Nanami-san,” he croaks in acknowledgement, offering a shaky bow before looking back to the patient on the table.

Against everything Nanami feared, Yuji lies there—equally as quiet, equally as uneasy, but flushed with fever-warm color, albeit sweaty, his chest rising steadily, and Nanami can breathe. Because he’s alive, and that memory can sift back into the recesses of his mind, forgotten until the next time Haibara decides to show his presence.

In the cold, heavy silence that follows, that usual “Nanamin!” is absent, the owner of those words staring up at the ceiling with glossy eyes. A laceration decorates Yuji’s side, deep and flaring an angry red, the skin around it slightly tinted cherry with blood that was hastily wiped away. 

From years of experience, Nanami knows the application of Shoko’s technique allows the wound to heal slowly, and he can see the jagged edges shrinking while she seals the wound shut. 

Despite the inhuman level of strength that he possessed even before Sukuna’s demise, Yuji isn’t resilient. Five years of calculated observation—from that pink-haired fifteen-year-old to the young man sitting before him now—Nanami has always been able to see through that invincible veneer.

The way Yuji would flash a jovial smile even with scratched cheeks and bandaged limbs, trying to convince everyone he was fine when he clearly wasn’t; trying to show his sensei that he valued life transactionally like the rest of the sorcery world, so he could get the job done. 

But in this moment, there’s no curve to his lips now, his jaw set in stone, eyes fixed stubbornly above, shame sitting leaden on his shoulders. 

It’s with this quick assessment that Nanami decides on his next course of action.

With a modest hitch in his step from years of arduous physical therapy, he strides calmly across the room, resting his cane against the mahogany counters before opening the cabinets above. 

“What happened?” He maintains a steady voice even though his heart is thrashing in his chest, the expectation of a deep conversation hanging just beyond the horizon.

A brief silence, long enough to pick up the steady hum of Shoko’s RCT, the drip of a faucet, the thick pierce of Yuji’s skin as she stitches.

“A rogue curse,” Yuta finally squeaks. “W-we…we had already cleared out the entire church, and I was about to break the veil when one snuck up behind me. I’m not sure how I missed it. I’m not…Yuji, of course, pushed me out of the way. I didn’t sense it in time….I’m so sorry Nanami-sensei.”

Internally, Nanami blanches at the formality. Yuta was more of Gojo’s student than Nanami’s and quickly stepped into the role of teacher not long after his death. There’s a weight of respect to the title that Nanami still has not gotten used to, the weight of expectation that those younger than him hold for him. He’s held in such high regard in this big school filled with few people.

He thinks of Ino's unwavering faith in him, the way the younger sorcerer hangs on his every word during training sessions like they're gospel, seeking approval that Nanami isn't sure he deserves to give. It feels odd to be seen as someone to look up to when he feels like he’s barely getting through each day, stumbling through his early thirties, but still learning. 

“There’s no need for an apology,” Nanami supplies simply, pushing aside a few plastic boxes to wrap his hands around a small tin.

It’s no bigger than his palm, rusted along the seam but shining back the fluorescent lights and his blurred reflection. He does not need a smooth surface to know what reflects back at him—the black eyepatch that cuts across the left side of his face, blonde hair that is now shorter on that same side, growing slower, with flecks of grey at his temples, the lattice of now pale scars that trail down his neck and disappear beneath the collar of his navy button up. 

“A sorcerer of your calibre was unable to sense the curse—”

“I know, and that’s why—”

“That only shows there was something we did not anticipate upon our initial assessment before you and Yuji were sent out. There will always be a level of error, no matter how powerful you are.” 

Nanami won’t allow Yuta’s usual self-depreciation to show in this moment. Not when he’s pulled off the impossible in this life they cradle—coming back from a mission alive. Mentally devoured, scratched up, and emotionally drained, but alive.

How quickly Nanami has learned to clutch that term with such care since being given a second chance.

Nanami grips his cane with measured pressure as he makes his way back to the table where Yuji rests, the young man still willfully ambivalent to the atmosphere around him. 

“What did you learn, Yuta-kun? Could you sense something vaguely? Vestiges in cursed energy?”

“A little, right before it…” he trails off, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Then that means you know that feeling. Focus on grasping it during your training. Creating a better awareness of it will allow you to recognize it quickly in battle.”

Yuta’s eyes widen in recognition before he nods incessantly, wrapping his hand around Rika’s ring that rests on his collarbone

“Yes, Nanami-sensei.”

Nanami uses Yuta’s self-reflection to peer down at Yuji. Without his usual cheerful chatter, Yuji looks impossibly young. His eyelashes slightly dewy and dark against tan cheeks, the planes of his face soft and vulnerable. But it’s the look in his eyes that makes Nanami’s heart thump pitifully in his chest.

That same tortured fear he’d probably felt in Shibuya’s wreckage, when Sukuna had relinquished control and left Yuji to stare at the devastation he’d caused. To finally meet Nanami’s eyes in the bowels of that subway, riddled with rotting curses, could he see his past and present so clearly. 

The fear of what he’d done, of so many of his friends wounded and dead. The fear of not knowing how to fix it. The fear of not being in control.

Is this how he truly feels right now? That he should have been in control of every aspect of the mission? That he should know everything all at once, just like Gojo had the unfortunate talent of having?

In the aftermath of Shibuya’s devastation, Yuji has thrown himself into becoming better with a willpower that has both impressed and worried Nanami.

More vigilant in training, refusing to stop until he understands every technique, every counterattack, every strategy. Always asking questions, always pushing himself harder with a jovial disposition that a younger Nanami would have envied. That a younger Nanami had seen so much before in Haibara—that same eager devotion, that same need to protect everyone around him, and still love life at the end of the day.

“Shoko, once you’re done, would you and Yuta mind giving us a moment alone?”

“Yep. Just about done.”

Nanami gives Yuji his space, retreating his gaze to focus on opening the tin in his hands with the limited dexterity he has. It’s a slight struggle, the way his marred fingers grip the seam, the weakened sensation along his fingertips as the lid gives and finally twists open. From his peripheral he notices Shoko straighten, the glow of her hand ebbing away, the clatter of utensils echoing in the room as she finishes up her stitching.

“You know the deal,” she recites, tossing the used utensils into a sharps container that rests on the wall. “Take it easy for the next few days.”

She offers a light hum to Yuji’s mumbled thanks, snapping off her gloves before digging into her white lab coat. She fishes out a pack of cigarettes, throwing one between her lips before catching Nanami’s eye. For a beat, something passes between them—the recognized weight of what they carry, watching the youth hurt themselves for a world that will never notice. The fear that one day, the outcome won’t be so favorable. But that beat passes, and with a familiar nod in his direction, she brushes out of the room, Yuta following close behind.

The double doors drift shut behind them, their pace slowing with each lingering second until they settle together with a muted thud, leaving only the hum of the fluorescent lights, the distant tick of a wall clock, and the evasive roar of Yuji’s thoughts.

Nanami waits, hoping dimly that the silence will be enough of an awkward push for Yuji to begin some sort of conversation. But the seconds drag into a full minute with no result, Yuji’s eyes remain fixed on the ceiling, cheeks slowly taking on a ruddy complexion from rising embarrassment.

Nanami ambles closer, resting his cane against the lip of the table Yuji rests on, throwing the tin lid on the steel side table next to him.

It’s a salve, a greasy concoction of oils and herbs his mother had pressed into his hands the night before he left for Jujutsu Tech, her worried and shaky fingers smoothing over his arm as she instructed him how to use it. 

“For the small injuries,” she had whispered, as if she already knew the larger ones would be well beyond her reach. 

It soothes the smallest of cuts in ways that have nothing to do with cursed ability and everything to do with a mother’s love distilled into something tangible. It’s practically useless, but to Nanami, it’s a step in a routine he’s repeated for years, a bridge between who he was and who he has become. A soothing reminder that care doesn’t have to be specific to be profound. And it's remained untouched in the infirmary cabinets unless it’s his hands reaching for it.

He dips his fingertips into the salve—cool and slightly gritty between his fingers as he rubs them together, smelling faintly of eucalyptus and something medicinal. When he glides a generous amount along the edge of Yuji’s wound, the boy flinches slightly, muscles twitching from the cool temperature, a hiss escaping his lips.

But still he says nothing.

Still, he says nothing as Nanami rubs the salve along the top of his wound, careful to avoid the sutures.

Still, he says nothing as calloused fingers brush along the raised sides, the skin already blooming red with inflammation.

Still, Nanami waits patiently, the silence like pressure on his eardrums, until Yuji’s throat clicks when he opens his mouth.

“It was careless.”

Sharp as Nanami’s dull knife, Yuji’s words slice through the tension in the air, his voice layered with so much admonishment that Nanami can practically taste acidity.

“I was so careless.”

“You made a mistake.”

Yuji doesn’t offer a retort, his gaze narrowing, the whites of his eyes glossing over with unshed tears. The unspoken response is clear: there is no room for mistakes in their job. A mistake is a guarantee of death, no matter how small. For Yuji, that mistake doesn’t threaten his own life—it threatens everyone he’s sworn to protect.

Nanami recognizes it so clearly, and watching Yuji embody the same fatal nobility that once consumed him is nauseating, bile rising, burning, and sour in the back of his throat.

“There are days when I feel helpless because I’m unable to be on missions like you.” Nanami swallows the horrid taste, the desire to mold this trait into something palpable that he has no choice but to continue. “I can…but I have grown to value my life and the things I would leave behind if I held onto that weight as I did before.”

Yuji huffs a watery laugh of disbelief, blinking away the haziness in his vision but still refusing to look in Nanami’s direction.

“That sense of duty. The need to protect the youth at all costs and accepting that my life was expendable as long as I fulfilled that purpose. That came with the understanding that any mistake I made was unforgivable but clouded my real conviction, the real reason I was actually fighting.”

Nanami’s fingers pause in their gentle ministrations as he sighs, resting his hand on the table. “While it is commendable to have the same idealism as I once had, that kind of thinking will not make you a better sorcerer, Yuji. It will make you carry burdens that aren’t yours to carry.”

Yuji finally flickers his gaze to rest on Nanami, a wave of that fear he calculated earlier washing over him with the force of a tsunami. He sits up, wincing through the pain and cupping his stitched side gingerly as he throws his legs over the side of the table.

“But you told me to take it from here,” Yuji’s voice cracks slightly, honeyed emotion sloshing inside of him and seeping through the cracks of formidable walls. “That duty you gave me. I want to carry it. I want to be worthy of it.”

And oh, does Nanami’s chest constrict to a painful degree at the raw honesty in his voice, at the way he’s looking at him like he’s afraid of disappointing him. 

The recollection of that day is as clear as any memory he’s ever had, no matter how much he tries to suppress it. The ache in his bones as he sliced through curse after curse with his dull knife, voice shaking with fury and desperation. The persistent thoughts that threatened to obliterate his focus. 

“Will Ijichi be okay?”

Keep fighting. Keep slicing. Calculate the chances of survival for Shibuya’s innocent if you allow a curse to escape the subway—

“Gojo is sealed, but where is he?”

Push through the pain. Push through the blackened vision on your left side. Push through the despair of your dreams that may never come to fruition.

“Is Megumi-kun okay against his father?” 

Megumi doesn’t know about Toji. He should have known the part Gojo played. But he’s just a boy—

“Please, please let Nobara-kun not act in bravery without thinking it through.”

But loudest of them all, repeating like a broken tape over and over, louder and louder until he could hardly tell his own thoughts from hallucination to compensate for the blinding pain or reality—

“Yuji. Where is Yuji?”

And Nanami remembers all too vividly that look of hopelessness on Yuji’s face when he finally saw him. When he hallucinated Haibara, he accepted the task of saying what he hoped to have a little more time for.

“You take it from here.”

How proud he had been, even in that moment, on the brink of death, to entrust something so important but burdensome to someone he believed in so completely.

Now, slightly incapacitated but alive, watching Yuji carry that weight with honor but the same self-destructive determination Nanami once had, he realizes application of this measure requires more than just responsibility.

“I should have sensed it,” Yuji whispers, shame lacing his words with an intensity that doesn’t shock Nanami. “I should have been faster. Should have been better prepared. I train every day until I have nothing else left to give, and I study every technique because I can’t—I won’t let anyone else get hurt because I was not good enough.”

Nanami can sense the spiral, can practically see its vines wrapping around Yuji’s neck, thorned and digging as he struggles to get out every word in his tirade of untethered emotion. 

“Itadori-kun—”

“You trusted me with something important. This life, these missions, the ideals I have. And I can’t mess it up. I can’t be the reason someone else dies. I can’t be the reason you or Yuta or anyone else gets hurt because I was too slow to see what was coming.”

“Itadori-kun—”

It’s not enough to stop him, because still Yuji persists. 

“You’ve given me so much responsibility…taught me so much and believed in me when no one else did, and I just…I need to be better. I need to be worthy of what you’ve given me.”

His cheeks red from exertion, his eyes welling with tears, his knuckles bleach bone-white as he grips the edge of the table. His shoulders are tense, drawn up to his ears as if a child being scolded, his body shaking with a vibrating anxiety Nanami once had after his very first mission as a first-year. 

The sight of it all kicks some instinct, some dormant feeling in Nanami’s gut that makes him want to reach out, to rest his hand on his shoulder, to tell him everything he needs to hear that he probably never received as a child.

So he does.

Nanami grabs a rough-textured rag from the side table and wipes the remaining salve from his fingers before casting it aside. He wastes no time with his next action, resting his hand on Yuji’s shoulder, warm and sweaty, absorbing the impact of his flinch from the touch. He watches those shoulders relax slightly, feels the shakes in his body subside with every breath he takes. As if the touch is soothing.

“You have taken on this task in ways I never could have imagined. But I want you to do better in ways I lacked. I want you to carry that duty while still thinking about yourself. While still valuing your own life. Because Yuji…” 

The next words curl up his throat, the pressure enough to make the corners of his eyes sting with their severity. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, more vulnerable in ways he hardly allows than outside the privacy of his own home and those he renders important to him. 

“I would rather see you sitting here with stitches, frustrated and alive, than dead on a slab.”

Yuji’s breath hitches, and for one devastating moment, he looks so young, childlike and cherub, but so overwhelmed by the burden he’s been carrying.

“And furthermore...if you have ever carried an ounce of doubt about my pride in you, please know those feelings are false.” 

Yuji furrows his brows, the skin between his eyebrows pinching slightly as he takes in his sensei’s words, disbelief painting his features minutely.

Nanami sighs, the weight of what he wants to say sitting on his chest, gripping him in a fear that once they leave, they’ll turn into another self-imposed curse he carried from keeping Haibara so close.

He pats the side of Yuji’s neck affectionately, the corners of his lips curling just so. 

“I am proud. Of who you were when we first met. Of the strong sorcerer and man that you are now. My pride in you knows no bounds. Please never think otherwise.”

Once the words finally slip past his lips, he feels lighter than he’s ever been. The anxiety of the possibility of that pride taking root into a curse still lingers, resting on his shoulders like a phantom weight, but for the first time in a long time, he takes comfort in knowing he had the strength to still act despite it all.

As for Yuji, the tears that have been budding on his lower lashes finally spill over, rushing like rivulets down his cheeks, and suddenly he’s moving—launching himself forward and into Nanami’s arms with the kind of desperate need that bypasses all thought.

He’s heavier than he looks, and it takes Nanami aback, a grunt of surprise leaving him as he wobbles precariously on his weakened side, his arms flailing as he tries to regain his balance.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Unexpected. That’s the only way he can describe how the words hit him. Their weight substantial enough to force him to the floor if he allowed it. Their connotation equally as devastating. His breath catches in his throat, his arms now freezing mid-air as the words continue to echo in the sterile room. In his ears like a persistent ringing.

Dad.

A myriad of emotions flood through him. 

Surprise, because this is a term of endearment Yuji has never expelled into the air, even if a Freudian slip. Nanami has long ago forgone the insistence to correct Yuji when he calls him ‘Nanamin’, choosing instead to look the other way with a faux air of dismissal, even as something akin to fondness swells within him every time he hears it.

While unpleasant given the moment, dread wiggles like a maggot in his stomach, threatening to devour the good inside of him. Dread from that unspoken role Nanami has taken on with his students. Protector, advisor, confidant in battle, someone to look up to. Someone to strive to be. He’s come a long way in accepting that the sensation he feels will always be present, but never strong enough to overpower him. The unexpectedness of life carries some degree of dread, and he applies that mentality to the sorcery world as well.

But there is something deeper. Something more visceral in magnitude, a fierce protectiveness, a warmth that spreads from his belly up to the cavity in his chest. A warmth that floods him at the thought of knowing there is a sorcerer like Yuji in this world. Someone who, beneath the bloodshed and misery of the life they live, has a heart filled with so much hope and love for the world that there is nothing that could blacken it. Not even the grips of mangled fingers of Sukuna’s soul could deter him.

His mind slows from its frantic pace, thoughts finally finding their rhythm, and his arms settle around Yuji’s shoulders, one hand coming up to rest against the back of peach pink hair. The embrace is tentative at first, almost awkward, then firmer as he allows himself to accept what Yuji has just offered him.

Dad.

Before his second chance at life, Nanami had never given too much thought to having a family. But lately, he’s begun to ponder. To wonder what it feels like to be paternal. To hope that every day is filled with happiness and joy. But perhaps that’s not all it is.

Perhaps it is that festering wrongness that filled him when he first met Yuji, to see someone so young cursed with a strong entity like Sukuna and forced to prove to those older and more ignorant that his life had value. 

Perhaps it is that shock when he first saw Yuji’s conviction, his drive to be better. 

Perhaps it is the fright that rushed through his veins like ice water when Yuji fainted after intruding on Mahito’s domain. 

Or the profuse feeling of desperation of wanting Yuji to just stay away when Mahito placed those puppet-stitched hands on Nanami’s chest in the subway, ready to wipe him from existence.

It is the way Nanami wishes he could have been that person for Yuji growing up, instead of alone, without a mother and father, and left under the care of a grandfather who was still grieving the loss of his son. 

It is the way he brims with barely restrained excitement at the realization that he has someone to teach, to watch grow and smile, to watch laugh and love the world when it only shows its evil underbelly.

If Yuji realizes his own slip of words, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Nanami can feel the pool of moisture on his shoulder, can feel the slight hiccup where his hand rests on Yuji’s trembling back.

He realizes quickly, with a damning sense of clarity, that he would rather experience the pain of being burned again than to correct Yuji.

There’s nothing more to say.

He can feel the trust and appreciation in the air around him that bloomed to life from that single word. He understands something he’d never been able to name.

This boy—this young man—has become precious to him in ways that transcend duty or mentorship. Manifesting instead in the satisfaction that if the word were to slip again, Nanami would never say a thing unless Yuji looked to him for acknowledgement.

But he knows how awkward Yuji is going to feel once this delicate moment ends, so Nanami does it for him. He pulls away softly, patting his shoulder once more to drive the moment home to a gentle conclusion that doesn’t require more conversation.

“Reapply once more.” Nanami presses the sealed tin into Yuji’s open palms, tapping the lid three times. “I prefer applications twice a day, once in the morning and once before bed. An additional application is also best after training.”

Yuji’s hands curl slowly over the tin, trapping it inside his large hands, cradling it as if it were something fragile. He snorts quietly, shaking his head. “You got it. I’ll bring it back once Shoko gives me the all clear.”

Nanami hums in dismissal, already turning his attention to cleaning off the side table with a distracted efficiency. “You need it far more than I. Salve and RCTs will do nothing for my wounds.”

There’s an unspoken agreement in the air, resting on the heaviness of the gravity of Nanami’s wounds. But Nanami peers at him quickly as he tosses the threadbare rag into the trash, taking in the way Yuji’s smile grows slowly, his grip tightening on the can. He’s not sure what he’s thinking, but Nanami feels nothing but pride regardless. Perhaps when Yuji has taken on the role of sensei in the future, there will be that one student who excels in a way he deems worthy to dedicate the care of this salve.

Nanami hopes he’s still around to see who that student may be.

The infirmary doors burst open, steel metal swaying rhythmically as a shorter man with platinum blonde hair walks through. Inumaki, his mouth free of the protection of his high collar, his cursed markings glowing with importance in the bright lights. His purple eyes dart between Nanami and Yuji, taking in the situation in that quiet way he’s had to learn growing up.

“Mustard Leaf?”

Nanami has never been able to discern what Inumaki says in his clipped vernacular. Truthfully, he feels as if the students make up their own dialogue, and Inumaki crafts his words given the situation. It brings a faint sense of fondness to his chest, their behavior echoing many inside jokes he had with Ijichi and Gojo in their youth.

Yuji hops down from the table, eyes dry and slightly red, smile bright as always. “I’m good! Shoko and Nanami cleaned me up.”

“Tuna,” Inumaki parrots in response, flashing his phone in a question that Nanami quickly gives up on trying to decode.

“No way? You got the tickets!” Yuji rushes over to his friend, snatching his discarded shirt from the bottom of the table and slowly sliding it on.

“Salmon Roe.”

“The bad special effects are the best part!” Yuji laughs, a bit watery but still genuine, the sound finally painting the room in something other than discomfort and death. “Nanami, you should come watch Human Earthworm 7 with us.”

Nanami huffs a slightly affronted noise, blinking rapidly at the invitation. “Thank you for the offer, but I think I will pass.” 

He watches as Yuji bustles around the room, wiping down the table with sanitation wipes, closing the cabinets before automatically reaching for Nanami’s cane that rests on the table. He offers it to him with the same unconscious care he always shows in everything he does.

“Here you go.”

Nanami collects it with a simple nod, his throat tight as he finds that groove in the wooden head he’s grown comfortable with.

They make their way out of the infirmary together, Yuji chatting excitedly in between Inumaki’s one-worded responses. There’s pitched laughter and a rush of words about movie monsters and plot holes, their voices echoing down the hallway. Nanami follows silently behind them, refusing to correct the way they automatically adjust their pace to ensure he is not left behind. 

He watches with a newfound fascination and profound grief. These students have managed to form bonds with each other even though their lives are constantly on the brink of death. But Yuji, once a pariah, now flourishes with every relationship he makes, every handshake he creates, every grimace Megumi throws his way that holds no heat, every bag of Nobara’s that he carries with fake complaint.

It’s almost like a flash into the past. No longer Inumaki and Yuji, but now himself and Haibara, and that conversation comes back once more.

“Do you believe in reincarnation, Nanami?”

His previous assessment of the question remains the same.

“It’s a comforting thought, but there is no evidence for it.”

But his sentiments feel shaky as he watches Yuji now—the way he gestures animately with his hands, the bright curiosity in his voice that pulls laughter from Inumaki, the unconscious kindness in everything he does—Nanami feels something knot harshly in his chest. 

It’s not reincarnation, he tries to reaffirm. Souls don’t return in new bodies with the same generous hearts.

And yet.

And yet Yuji carries that same unshakeable optimism, that same fierce determination to protect everyone around him. The same way of finding joy in small things—awful movies, shared meals, quiet moments between battles. The same ability to make those around him want to be better, to hope for something beyond the darkness of their world.

Just like Haibara.

“When we die, we die. That’s it.”

But maybe there are other ways for them to live on. In the lessons they leave behind, in the love they instill, in the way their spirit finds new homes in unexpected places. In this school, constantly floating around a good-natured young man with peach-pink hair and a tenacity for never giving up. 

In a way, Haibara has never left. Nanami simply feels his presence so much more.

It’s not reincarnation. But it is in the way he sees vestiges of Haibara in the glow of Yuji’s smile, in the way that long-ago conversation about hope and second chances has led him to here, to this hallway, following two young men who have become something he never thought he’d have.

A family. Or more specifically, a son who shares no blood with him, but trusts him enough to call him ‘Dad.’ It’s a weight of responsibility—not a burden of mentorship or duty he once held, but a privilege of being someone Yuji looks to for guidance, for comfort, for protection—and that settles in his chest like something warm and permanent, rooting on his veins that lead to the thankful thrum of his heart that has given him life again. 

It’s a challenge Nanami is more than happy to accept, a role he never expected to fill, but he cannot possibly imagine living without. 

Thanks for reading!

[legendary-69420]

Caught in 4K

Chapter 19

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 3 )

racing hearts

______________________________________________________________

Click. Click.

Somewhere in the distance, far enough that neither Mark nor Charles noticed in the heat of that long-awaited confession, a camera lens caught it all. The raw, rain-drenched kiss. The forehead touches. The soft, breathless smiles exchanged under the stormy Monaco sky. The photographer — whoever they were — knew they’d just caught something intimate, something that wasn’t meant for the world to see. But for now, Mark and Charles were too lost in each other to notice.

The Morning After

Charles woke to the faint glow of early sunlight filtering through his bedroom curtains. His head ached faintly — not from alcohol, but from the sheer intensity of the night before. The club. The fight. The rain. The kiss.

He shifted, feeling the weight on his chest.

His heart nearly stopped.

There, half-buried against him, was Mark Spencer. His face relaxed in sleep, hair a beautiful mess, lips parted slightly, mumbling soft, incoherent things into Charles’ chest like he belonged there.

Is this a dream? Charles thought, his breath catching in his throat.

And then it hit him — this wasn’t some figment of his sleep-deprived mind. It was real. The fight. The argument in the rain. The confession. The kiss. The way they’d driven home together in silence, barely exchanging words because their hands said enough.

The moment they stepped into Charles’ apartment, Mark had practically tackled him to the couch, kissing him with a desperation that could only come from years of denial breaking loose. Charles kissed him back like his life depended on it. Somewhere in the haze of it all, they’d both ended up lying tangled together, damp clothes discarded, limbs intertwined, exhausted and happy for the first time in what felt like forever.

Mark had been so clingy, refusing to even let Charles get up for water. Every time Charles shifted, Mark would mumble a sleepy, possessive, “Stay,” and press another lazy kiss against his jaw. They’d eventually fallen asleep like that, Mark half sprawled on top of Charles, warm and solid and perfect.

Charles was still processing all this when Mark stirred against him, letting out a soft, adorable little hum.

“Mmm… morning, sunshine,” Mark mumbled, a sleepy grin spreading across his lips without even opening his eyes.

Charles’ lips curled up instantly, warmth blooming in his chest. “Morning, mon amour.”

Mark blinked up at him with those hazel eyes, the sunlight making them glow gold for a second.

Charles spoke quietly, brushing Mark’s hair out of his face. “I can’t believe this is real. I’ve waited so long for this.”

“Me too,” Mark whispered, leaning up to kiss him softly. “Leclerc… me too.”

Breakfast

To anyone else, breakfast would’ve looked normal. Coffee brewing. Eggs sizzling in a pan. Toast popping up. But for Charles, everything about this felt extraordinary.

Mark sat at the table in one of Charles’ hoodies — far too big on him, the sleeves covering half his hands — hair still messy from sleep, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. He talked animatedly about something idiotic Carlos texted him last night, and Charles just… stared.

“What?” Mark asked, catching him.

Charles flushed, grinning like an idiot as he looked down at his plate. “Nothing.”

Mark gave him a knowing, amused smile and went back to eating.

The Shower Incident

After breakfast, Mark stretched. “Alright, I’m gonna shower.”

Charles blinked. “Here?”

Mark squinted at him. “Uh… yeah? Why are you acting like it’s my first time in your house?”

Charles flustered, remembering Mark’s shower habits from past sleepovers, drunken nights after parties, and random days after training. But this time it felt… different. More loaded.

Mark peeled off his hoodie and t-shirt as he headed toward the bathroom, and Charles’ brain short-circuited. The man was a literal sculpture. Perfect lines, abs, broad shoulders. He was pretty sure angels wept somewhere in the distance.

“You’re staring,” Mark teased.

Charles grinned, unabashed. “Can you blame me?”

Mark rolled his eyes, but the smirk on his face betrayed how much he loved the attention.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I might think you wanna join me in there.”

Charles opened his mouth to answer — but the doorbell rang.

Mark snickered. “Saved by the bell.”

Lorenzo’s Arrival

Charles cursed under his breath and headed downstairs, his heart still pounding.

Opening the door, he was met by none other than his smug, too-wise-for-his-own-good older brother.

“Lorenzo,” Charles greeted warily.

“Hey, maman said you’d be home,” Lorenzo stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “So… did you bring someone home?”

Charles froze. His face flushed immediately. Of course Lorenzo would bring this up.

“Yeah… just Mark,” Charles tried to sound casual.

“Ohh, just Mark, huh?” Lorenzo grinned, all smugness.

“Drop it, bro. He’s just a friend.”

“Oh? Just a friend?” Lorenzo pulled out his phone with a dramatic flourish and opened a photo. There it was — the photo. Mark and Charles in the rain, kissing like the world was ending, forehead to forehead, hearts practically on their sleeves.

Charles’ jaw dropped. “HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET THAT?!”

Lorenzo burst out laughing. “Bro… it’s Monaco. People talk. And also, I may have… been there.”

“DELETE IT.”

“Nope. Prime blackmail material.”

Charles lunged for the phone. They wrestled like children in the middle of the living room, pillows flying.

“Shut your mouth about this.”

Lorenzo paused, raised a brow. “Say ‘please.’”

Charles groaned. “Please.”

Lorenzo smirked. “Attaboy.”

He tucked his phone away. “He’s different, huh? Than your previous… situations.”

Charles dropped onto the couch, still catching his breath from their ridiculous scuffle. He looked down at his hands, then at the photo still burned in his memory.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “He’s… special to me.”

And for once, Lorenzo didn’t tease. He just smiled.

Mark’s Exit

A little while later, Mark came downstairs, freshly showered, hair damp, wearing one of Charles’ shirts. He greeted Lorenzo like usual, the two exchanging playful jabs.

Lorenzo, sensing the shift in the air, made his excuses. “I’m gonna go crash for a bit. You two… do whatever you’re doing.”

Once Lorenzo left, Mark turned to Charles. “Hey, I should head out. Gotta handle some stuff.”

Charles’ face fell just a fraction. “Yeah… see you later?”

Mark snorted. “Don’t act sad, idiot. I’m coming back in like three hours.”

Charles smiled. “Alright.”

He expected Mark to just leave like he usually did, tossing a wave over his shoulder and vanishing. But this time — Mark kissed him. A quick, soft thing that still made Charles’ stomach flip.

And then he left.

Charles stood there, dazed and grinning like an idiot, turning around only to find Lorenzo leaning against the wall, phone in hand, grinning.

“Caught in 4K… literally.”

“DELETE THAT!” Charles yelled, chasing after him again.

______________________________________________________________

[shewhowillrise]

dead on main fic summary I got in the works, lmk if this interests anyone:

Durante knows the body that the police gave them is a fake. Knows that isn't his little brother laying on the exam table in the morgue. His parents are too distraught to think its a fake, and Jazz thinks he's in denial. Ellie hasn't spoken to anyone since the body was found. But he knows something is off about the body. He didn't suspect Axion Labs had anything to do with his brother's death. That is until his girlfriend Valerie finds Danny's missing dog, Cujo, on the facility's property during a Bring Your Kid to Work Day event.

Bruce tries his best to be there of his other sons, and soon to be daughter, but there will always be a chair empty at the dinner table. It’s been months since he’s been in contact with the Justice League. Clark checks in on him but he hasn’t been Batman outside of Gotham’s outer limits since Ethiopia. It’s a call about Justice League Dark members dropping like flies that pulls him back to his other team.

Danny wishes he never climbed that stupid fence. Should have turned around after realizing his favorite star gazing spot was barricaded from him. But Cujo didn’t understand private property laws and continued to their usual spot. Now he’s suiting up in a bland white version of his parent’s hazmat suits, and forced to find out what’s wrong inside the portal Axion Labs has built.

Knight only remembers a few things before his missions. He remembers waking up in a box, darkness, and wet dirt in his mouth. Now his life is filled with the same motions. Orders. Mission. Eliminate. Wipe. Repeat. Orders. Mission. Eliminate. Wipe. Repeat. Orders. Mission. Eliminate. Wipe. Repeat. Danny.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Dark Ford idea-30 years after Weirdmageddon begins, the kids and their friends have joined the resistance (picture the cipher wheel minus the three oldest plus candy grenda etc) and have heard of the demon Sixers weakness. A small golden bauble that he never lets out of his sight. Long fight later, the kids have a gold orb with a fish engraved on it, and a desperate Sixer in front of them. They nearly drop it, and he freaks- b/c that's Stanland's bubble after too many escape attempts.

OOOH! I see :)

I'm guessing this is a 'Weirdmaggedon started in 1980's au.

Fords helped Bill end the world, but he does love his planet (in his own way), doesn't want Bill to end it. Ford has fond memories there, and his ego means he likes it when the masses bow to him. Bill goes off to ravage the rest of the dimension, Ford gets to keep the Earth as 'his playground' Still goes out and parties with Bill, then goes home to 'play' (recreate society in his image). Fiddlefords his friend and helped him end the world, so even if he let himself go mad Ford will take care of him and his family :). And Stan's always right where Ford wants him, happy and safe by his side :). Earth is still a horror world of monsters and mayham (More interesting!), but there are certain 'protected areas' where humans can live as long as they understand Sixer's in charge of them while Bill's out (can't be praised for being a genius if there's no one to praise you, and Ford likes showing off, likes having space for Emma-May to do her work (he barely pays her attention, shes just an extension of Fiddleford to him, and her husband is still very much insane))

The twins have no idea they're related to the most hated demon left on earth. Shermie never told his son (Denial, then shame), all they know is that they need to take down Sixer to free their planet, and hopefully find a way to repeal Bill and protect the planet/dimension.

Whats better than killing a demon? Making it use its power for your own ends. Sixer always has a golden orb, some bauble he's obsessed with, and they have intel that says he was once bumped while holding it, nearly dropped it, and the person who dared bump him doesn't exist as a person anymore. Whatever it is, its important. All they have to do is get it, and Sixer will do whatever they want.

Long fight, scheming, turns out Emma-May is not the spy as everyone thought, its Fiddleford who was only pretending to be super crazy after Ford took his memory machine away. Then finally! they have the orb!

Ford freezes. Stan's in there, in the perfect world Ford crafted for him, so he'd always be happy and safe. Immediately caves to any and all demands, anything to make sure his precious baby brother doesn't get hurt or his dream land damaged in any way.

Which of course happens at some point, probably when Bill gets wise to whats happening. More fighting, people using the orb as leverage, using all the anti Bill things they forced Ford into telling them about, and Bill, in a rage that Ford is so easily manipulated, breaks the orb himself.

And there's Stan, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, maybe hungover, tan, still tan? Looks around in confusion, as everyone but Bill and Ford looks on in horror/confusion back at him. Ford immediately tries to put Stan back in a bubble, or at least keep him away from the suddenly hostile Bill (Trying to get rid of Stan so Ford can stop obsessing) and still insignificant but still a threat humans (who is that old guy who looks like the demon?), except Stan is not having it.

Stan takes one look around, sees Ford, and lunges. The last thirty years he's been trapped in a world that gave him everything he wanted, and the last thing he wanted was to see Ford. Fords trying to scoop Stan up/protect him while Stan's snarling and biting him.

More fighting, Stan runs off with the kids, because why would he go with Ford? and then introduces himself as Stanley Pines! Former twin to the demon running around with his brothers face. Hey! That old guy looks like Shermie! Anyway his former brother kidnapped him and kept him as a pet until Stan tried to get away one too many times and got trapped in 'paradise'. It wasn't totally awful, but the idea of Ford, out there and probably watching him like a creep, made it really, really hard to actually relax and feel any kind of happy. He's been living life in a drunken haze trying to forget he was living in a demon's pocket or something. Anyway whats up! Other none demon people! Its been ages since he's talked to someone not evil! This is great!

[effierosier]

pull my strings - ShigarakixReader fic

~~••~~••~~••~~••~~~~••~~••~~••~~••~~~~••~~••~~••~~••~~~~••~~••'-Synopsis: The gang goes to the beach for the first (and last?) time.

-Pining, denial of feelings, terrible, awful flirting and a slightly OOC Tomura

(Ao3)

~~••~~••~~••~~••~~~~••~~••~~••~~••~~~~••~~••~~••~~••~~~~••~~••

Tomura didn't regret recruiting you most of the time. You were smart, resourceful and your insights had helped pull together most of his plans since you had joined him. Hell, even the League seemed more united with you in their midst, fighting less over stupid shit and actually focusing on their end goal of bringing hero society to its knees. You had a good track record and pulled your weight, so there was no reason to deny you anything you asked for as far as Tomura was concerned.

That was why when you suggested that the League deserved a rest day, he had easily agreed. Not because of the way your eyes sparkled at the idea or how you tilted your head and looked at him as if he was gifting you the world, your smile getting bigger as he gave his approval. That wasn't it. This was just a reasonable way to keep up team morale, something a good leader would do. He had promised to keep his allies wishes in mind after all.

"Why are we here? Toga and Twice are the only ones enjoying this shit" grumbled Dabi, fanning himself with a rolled up magazine as he swayed in the only hammock the group had brought to the beach.

"Not only them," said Compress, pointing at you chasing Toga with a water gun while she squealed. Unlike Dabi, he seemed content as he unmarbeled some snacks and drinks and laid them over his towel. Spinner was sleeping at his side, dead to the world since they had arrived.

Tomura narrowed his eyes at the sight. He had never gone to the beach before. He had vague memories of begging his mom along with Hana to take them to Okinawa as kids and being shut down by their father. Then the rest of his childhood and teenage years, he was too busy being groomed into the perfect Symbol of Terror to even think of it. So yeah, this was his first time. And he hated it.

It was scorching hot, his clothes clinging to his body and making him feel so sticky and disgusting that he had caved and took off his shirt after five minutes into this hell. He was also bored out of his mind, standing in the shade watching Twice and Toga jump around with you in the seashore. The three of you had already swam, built sandcastles and played a very uneven game of beach volleyball. What else there was to do?

This was all your fault. If he wasn't such a good leader he could be back in the base already, playing video games in his cool dark room where there was no risk of overheating or crabs pinching his toes. Just seeing the way the sand clung to your wet skin made him itch, that stuff got everywhere and was going to be a pain to get rid of later. He could already picture the sandbox the hideout was going to become for the next few weeks.

You dusted it off the best you could as you got out of the sea, palms trailing over your arms, then stomach and just before your hands could wander lower in dangerous territory, Tomura tore his gaze away, focusing on more important matters.

"Get up," he said, pushing the hammock.

"Really? You want me in the sand?" said Dabi, looking at him over his sunglasses. "The stapled guy?"

"You are hogging the damn thing. Get. Up." he insisted.

Dabi looked him right in the eye, unrolled the magazine, put it over his face and kept swinging. Why did he even fucking bother to be civil.

Just as he was about to shove the ungrateful bastard off anyways, he felt a tap in his shoulder. It was you, frowning with your hands on your hips, way closer than he expected.

"What," he snapped, taking a step back.

"Did you apply sunscreen?"

He squinted at you like you were stupid. "Why would I?"

You clucked your tongue at him, already rummaging through your bag as you spouted some nonsense about UV ratings and Japan's rising rates of skin cancer. He was about to tell you where you could shove your advice when you turned triumphant to him, bottle of sunscreen in hand. Tomura narrowed his eyes and took another step back, sensing your intentions. You stepped forward, keeping up this dance until his feet hit the edge of your towel.

"Dont you dare," he warned as you closed in, not giving a damn about his personal space

"Sorry boss, but you are way too pale to be thinking like that," you said, giving him a push that had him falling on his ass and, a blink later, pinned with your legs bracketing his hips and a satisfied smirk on your face. It was the same dumb expression you made every time you managed to restrain him while sparring, with the small difference that usually there were more layers of clothing involved which was why Tomura needed you to get off right now, before he made a fool of himself.

"See? Your face is so red already."

"Shut u—"

His breath hitched when your calloused hands settled over his chest, the cold cream warming up as you rubbed it all over him; kneading his shoulders, brushing along his neck—careful of the scars—and had barely grazed his jaw when he grabbed your wrists, pinky up.

"I think thats enough," he said, hating how ragged he sounded.

You stared at him with a raised brow, that defiant glint in your eyes he usually liked so much daring him to stop you. Both of you knew that if he truly wanted to, he could easily push you off. Its what he should do instead of just laying there, letting you pet him like he was your dog, but all logical thought left his brain as you ignored him and leaned down.

"People always forget to put sunscreen over here, you know?" you whispered, lips brushing his ear. "Just let me help you, Tomu."

His grip on your wrist slackened but you didnt touch him again right away, just sat back and looked at him. You were stubborn with your affections, prodding at everyone in the League until they got used to your touch—himself included. But this? The warm pressure of your body on top of him? The way his name sounded just now as it left your lips? It crossed a line into a territory Tomura didnt dare to name, didnt even want to think about most days.

He grimaced, the tips of his ears burning hotter the longer you stared at him.

"Get to it then," he muttered, averting his eyes, "and stop squirming so much."

Satisfied, you gave him a mock salute and went to work on his face, humming to yourself as you dabbed the lotion over his face. It was ridiculous. He had spent the whole day under an umbrella. He didnt need this but resisting was a losing battle so might as well get it over with.

Just as he was starting to relax, you declared you were finished and slid off him. He hated that he inmediately missed your touch, but was also relieved that it ended before he did something stupid like sighing your name or gripping your hips to pull you even closer.

He thought you were going to ran off to the sea again, pleased with your good deed of the day and that would be it. Instead you got cozy in the space between his legs and pushed the bottle into his hands. "My turn now!"

No. Not happening,

"Ask Toga," he said, tempted to just decay the damn thing.

"Cmon boss, Im already here," you whined. "Dont make me beg."

He scooted back, trying to put some distance betwen you two but his eyes kept drifting towards your bare skin, wondering if it would feel as soft as it looked, if his touch would affect you as much as yours did to him. Would you sigh? Gasp? You never shut up after all. He had already made it this far, it wouldnt be that weird if he returned the favor…

"Could you two stop being disgusting for five seconds?" drawled Dabi, giving them the stink eye. "Dont even know why you are doing all that when Kurogiri is coming for us anytime now. "

"What? I thought we were waiting for the sunset!" you said, looking upset even tho Tomura didn't remember promising that.

Dabi shrugged. "Boss said so."

Tomura hadn't said that shit either, but felt almost grateful to Dabi for the distraction until you turned to him with a disappointed pout. "Is that true?"

He opened his mouth, closed it. Fuck.

While yes, he could call for Kurogiri right now if he wanted to— phone signal weak but stable—he just couldn't bring himself to do it now. It would bring an end to this hellish day in less than a second—they wouldn't even have to pack, just warp everything back to base and let everyone deal with their own shit later. It would be that easy and yet…

"The second the sun dips, we are out," he grumbled, trying to ignore the way your face instantly brightened at his words. You had been a thorn on his side the whole day, tormenting him with your mere presence, but if staying in this dump a few more hours was all that it took to keep you looking at him like that then so be it.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

hii!! hope u doing well

if this aint too freaky can u plz write smth where like reader is begging a lot for 00s dave take her out to shopping but hes denying, she goes under his skin with begging for him to take her to the mall and he just decides punishing her putting a vibrator inside her and taking her out for the damn mall, obliging her to act normal when she just cant 🥴

btw i love ur writing 💗

Warnings: Smut, public sex, oral (m receiving), use of toys (in public), orgasm denial, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

After begging for weeks on end for Dave to take you shopping he finally agreed, on the condition that he gets to pick your outfit.

"Seriously?" You asked, peeking over his shoulder to look at him as he sat at his desk in his studio. "That's it, you want to pick my outfit? You're not gonna make me go in, like, a pig costume or something, are you?"

Dave chuckled and shook his head, pushing his chair away from the table as he got up. "No, nothing like that, I'll pick out your outfit and you wear every last detail." He wrapped an arm around you, sweetly kissing your forehead as he made it way out of the studio.

You followed him back to your shared room, a hop to your step as you went, finally getting what you wanted. He had you sit on the edge of the bed with your back turned to the closet while he picked out an outfit for you.

Dave had good taste and a good sense of fashion so you weren't too worried in that aspect, it was the 'every last detail' that had your attention. You heard him flipping through hangers and setting down clothes on the bed behind you, you tried to sneak a peak but he just turned your head back.

A drawer opened and closed, your first thought was a watch because Dave had a good collection of those, but he never let you wear them so it didn't make any sense. "Alright, get ready." He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your eyes widened at the sight, not because of the outfit he'd gotten for you -a short skirt and a band shirt of his, an older one from the eighties that fit you much better than it would him now- but at the toy he'd set on top. Vibrating panties; thin black lace panties with a toy attached inside, a two inch nub to make things worse.

"Every last detail, darling." Dave mused, a devilish grin spread across his face as he caught you eyeing the outfit.

"Dave, you can't be serious." You said, arms dropping to your sides.

"We don't have to go if you don't want." You were about to protest but he cut you off. "Don't worry, I'm not going to humiliate you in public, I just want a little fun." You supposed that was something, but you were still wary of his wording. You really wanted to go shopping, if this was the price to pay... Maybe it could be fun, at least you hoped it would be fun.

You took the clothes, including the panties, and went to the bathroom to get ready. Returning a moment later Dave was waiting on the bed, changed into jeans and a shirt of his own, having already tied his shoes even -he wanted this to go fast, he wasn't much for shopping. "You've got it on?" He asked, to which you nodded. "No you don't." He sat up, patting the spot in front of him.

"I do too!" You said, even lifting up your skirt to show him.

Dave nodded. "Yeah, I see you're wearing them, but I'm not calling you a good girl for cheating, you didn't turn them on."

You scoffed, fixing your skirt. "I did too."

"You didn't."

"I did!"

Dave flashed you a remote, thumb pressed down on the button with no reaction whatsoever from you. Your face flushed a deep shade of red at being caught.

Dave stood and got to you in a few short strides, grabbing you roughly by the shoulders and bending you over the bed. You didn’t argue, only sighing and looking back at him over your shoulder. He stood behind you, hands roughly grabbing your hips and holding you still. He leaned down, lips going right by your ear. “You’re really gonna behave through this?” He asked, massaging the flesh of your ass. You gave a small nod, a pout tugging at your bottom lip. He gave you a quick smack before standing up and letting you get up as well. “Alright, come on, then.” He said, heading for the door.

You huffed and followed him, barely making it out the door before he turned it on. Your knees buckled and a moan slipped from you, your hand gripping the doorframe to keep you standing. Dave laughed and walked back to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Better to get that out of the way now instead of at the mall, huh?” He asked, giving your hip a light squeeze.

He led you out of the house and to his sleek black car. Living outside of town was beautiful and scenic, but it also gave Dave a long chance to torture you. Almost an hour long drive into the city to get to the mall, he’d keep the toy going, getting right close to the edge -your chest heaving, heavy breaths leaving you, loud moans filling the car, your hips rolling on the brown leather seats. Then it all stopped, he took his thumb off that button and you were left whining and holding back tears, couldn’t risk ruining your makeup.

He found a spot further from the doors, it would be easier to park there. He wrapped an arm around you and led you up to the doors, so far not touching the button. You had a few stores you wanted to go to, the first three were easy, you found some shoes you liked, a few shirts. Dave was supportive as usual, complementing your choices and picking out a few of his own.

After the third store Dave spotted one he wanted to check out. “We’ll be quick.” He assured, tugging you along.

You pouted. “Davie, we’re supposed to be here for me.” You whined, tugging back on him to get him to stop.

Dave shot you a look, a brow raised. “Oh, are we? You didn’t make that clear.” He said, a little meaner. You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest, leaving him to make a decision. “How about I go in my store and you go in your store?” He suggested, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear. You smiled widely and nodded, already waving.

You made it barely five feet before stumbling, a jolt going through your body. You looked back at Dave who was grinning from ear to ear. “Problem?” He asked, pressing harder on the button to increase the vibrations. You bit your lip and shook your head, leaning against a nearby wall for support. Dave came over to you and held you to his side. “So, my store?” He asked, you reluctantly nodded and followed him into the store after he stopped the toy.

He let you sit down while he looked around, he’d come over to you every few minutes with something new to show you, acting as if nothing was wrong or awry. Then you were off again to another store, and the next which was farther away.

You were talking about something else, going on and on. Dave was listening but he was also looking around, when he spotted a lingerie store. He smirked again and squeezed your hip to get your attention. “What about that, huh?” He asked, knowing you weren’t allowed to say no. You shot him a look and nodded, heading in with him.

They had some nice things, a few things you liked, some things Dave liked. You got five or so things to try on before slipping into a dressing room while Dave was still looking through a few other things, checking the prices and internally crying for his wallet.

“Sweetheart?” He called in the dressing room area, unable to find you. He didn’t say it loud so as to not call attention to himself, but you didn’t hear him. He waited a minute, feeling weird standing in such a store by the dressing rooms with a few sets all by himself. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and pressed down all the way on the button. There was definitely noise behind one of the doors, Dave walked over and knocked.

The toy had a lot more power than you thought it would, it brought you to your knees in the stall. With a hand clasped over your mouth you reached up for the door and unlocked it. Dave pushed it open and slipped in, locking it behind himself.

He smiled widely down at you. “What? Having a hard time?” He asked, holding the remote out, his thumb still on the button. You nodded, desperate for some relief of some kind. Dave wasn’t that nice, he reached down to undo his belt and fly, pushing his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his semi-hard cock. “Be a good girl.” He purred, tapping the tip on your cheek.

You did your best to not make any noise as you opened your mouth, taking the tip in to muffle any other noises you wanted to make. You let him do the work, rolling his hips into you, his cock quickly hitting the back of your throat. Your own hips were desperately bucking against nothing, the toy doing its job well. You were basically riding the air. Dave smirked, struggling to hide his own groans.

He pushed his boot under you, pressing it right up against your clit. Your eyes shot wide open, tears that had been threatening to fall freely gliding down your cheeks now. Drool was starting to slip past the corners of your mouth, dribbling down your chin. Dave grabbed a fistful of your hair and began thrusting into you faster. You knew you’d be caught if there was too much sound, so you grabbed his balls.

Now it was his turn to cover his mouth. He gave a nod, looking down at you with dark eyes, letting out a heavy breath. His hips rocked into you more aggressively, chasing his high while still torturing you, making you ride his boot with that stupid fucking toy making you lose your mind. Massaging his balls was working, making him throw his head back sooner.

“Mmph, fuck…” He groaned, doing his best to keep himself quiet. You were getting far too close to begging him to fuck you right here in the stall. He was pulsing down your throat, balls tightening in your hand. Dave bit down on the meat of his thumb, his hips sputtering as he shot his load down your throat.

All of a sudden the vibrations stopped. Dave’s head fell back in ecstasy, holding your nose in his bush until he came down from his high. He pulled away from you, tucking himself back into his jeans before helping you up. He took the chance, with his arms around you and his lips right close to your ear, to speak. “Crazy you thought it would be that easy.” He teased. “Don’t worry, the ride home will be much more fun.” He assured, patting your ass before leaving the dressing room, leaving you to finish trying on the sets.

[all-pacas]

reasons why chase is good for cameron!!:

he's actually so supportive of her? he always has her back, from s1-2 when he acts as a romantic sounding board, to making sure to tell house when she has a good idea/backing her up in differentials, to later on when they actually are together: he is very patient of her issues, he gives her space but also pushes her when she needs to be pushed. chase is often the only member of the team to do this: most notably in hunting, he is the only one to check up on her and offer to take her out/work overtime for her sake.

before they dated, he had no ulterior motives for this. he wasn't trying to get in her pants; he really was just being a friend. while you absolutely can make a case he's always had a bit of a thing for her, after she shoots him down in "occam's razor" he doesn't push it or pine or do anything weird about it.

for all his emotional labor, chase actually has pretty firm boundaries and lets cameron know when she's hit them. he has his flaws too, for sure (insecurity/jealousy), but by and large he doesn't let her walk all over him; when she is cruel or unkind or picking a fight, he calls her on it. he's one of the more perceptive characters in house, and he shows repeatedly he has cameron down pat; he is both understanding of her issues and willing to advocate for himself. cameron can be, to put it nicely, a coward. she is afraid of emotional vulnerability; she will run and push people away and always seeks control. chase in turn is good at cutting through that.

cameron is drawn to brilliant, charismatic, genius types. chase is much more laid-back than what she seems to think is her type (house and dr. charles), but... not for nothing has he solved the most cases of all the fellows. he is brilliant. he can even be charismatic. he's not caustic and outgoing the way house is, but he's kind of the type of person cameron admires.

and let's be real. he's incredibly good-looking. it is a meme in universe how hot he is. we know that, all their other issues and problems aside, the one absolute fact about cameron and chase is that they have a fantastic sex life and find one another incredibly attractive. this shouldn't be the only reason to be with someone (and it isn't), but attraction does matter.

he's funny! he likes to gossip! the two of them are always joking around together, they're constantly gossiping and exchanging little "can u believe this" looks, they like to hang out, he is someone cameron has always liked talking to and joking/commiserating with.

he is, to quote house, "not all that broken." for all that cameron is said by house to like broken people, we actually see on the show that it keeps breaking her, she feels compelled to wreck herself taking care of others and doesn't get any satisfaction or enjoyment out of it; even her lauded Dead Husband is more often talked about as a source of pain and not love (has she ever said a single positive thing about him or the relationship that was not tinged with denial or regret?). we know in s6 that cameron regards herself as broken and screwed up and unfixable (something house himself implies about her twice in s1). chase is not someone she has to "redeem" herself by fixing, not someone who needs her to defend him. he is usually the one supporting her, not the other way around. and for all that this arguably doomed them... in the short term, cameron seems much happier for it.

[blackwaves]

#real and true #but honestly i'm not sure either of them would even make it to the altar #ayatsuji would get nauseous at the mere thought of discussing any sort of commitments with tsujimura eve r #and tsujimura would be too deep in denial about her own feelings to ever think of a committed relationship of any kind either #she'd be like 'i have to keep this professional. i am sensei's supervisor. and his partner in uh...not in that way' #'we are partners for life but purely in like a work way. maybe we're even friends or something. yeah...yeah...' #meanwhile ayatsuji has been choking on his attachments for years but WILL NOT open his mouth and let them out #maybe one day he'll be drunk and say 'tsujimura...you're the closest thing to a friend i've ever had' in a strained voice #tsujimura assumes that means he thinks of her as an acquaintance but accepts it because that means he doesn't hate her #in reality ayatsuji meant it as an acknowledgement of his lifelong loneliness and the terrible void tsujimura has filled #they are never going to discuss whatever's going on between them. but they will be with each other forever and ever #they've individually and unknowingly woven their red string of fate into a tear-resistant tapestry #sorry for the ramble i'm insane. we're all insane. hallelujah ( @soutsuji )

#prev true but i will make this work. i’m imagining. a fake dating-esque scenario but it’s secretly not fake #maybe tsujimura gets injured and sent to the hospital and ayatsuji has to lie and say they’re #related for the nurse to let him in. he’s like ew gross. but also #holy shit my partner is a spy the division could bury her in an unmarked grave tomorrow and those assholes have no obligation to tell me #but of course he could never admit he wants some kind of legal recognition of their partnership #so he’s like tsujimura this is only to piss off your boss and make it harder for them to execute me. don’t get any silly ideas #and tsujimura is like hmm. makes sense???? i mean if sensei thinks so then it must be true #(and i guess this is the only opportunity i’ll ever have to get married with my job…….. even if it’s platonic……) #her male loneliness kicks in and she agrees #they have no big ceremony because they have no friends #they have an officiator and a random stranger witness + murakoso because she found out by accident and thinks it’s the funniest thing ever #kyougoku doesn’t count because nobody can see him but he’s also there having the time of his life #this is all to say the concept of getting married before even confessing (if they ever do) is hilarious. and themcore #i mean he’s effectively proposed already so i think ayatsuji would be okay with the commitment as long as he can convince everyone #that there’s nothing romantic and therefore vulnerable about it. it’s purely logical of course!! nothing has to change!!! (he’s delusional) ( @spliqi )

tsujitsuji first base is betraying the government for each other second base is lifelong partnership third base is admitting you care and well. let’s just say they’ve never reached third base

[theloredsys]

do not miss waking up and it’s so obvious someone else was dreaming. im now having to deal with residue feelings of this guy being so jealous and possessive of his partner

[daysofnights]

when sirius and james accidentally find out about regulus’ crush on james, sirius makes the mistake of assuming him and james are on the same page and tells him he trusts him to do the right thing (ie., let regulus down easy) james misinterprets this as sirius trusting him to never do anything that could hurt regulus and starts planning the wedding

[boarloved-art]

ghost girl no longer wip...they did it...they made it out of wip-dom.....