#A FAMILY THAT TRAINS TOGETHER STAYS TOGETHER

[a11eya]

TITLE: do you still think about me?

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SUMMARY: Okay, so you had the biggest, most embarrassing crush on Bakugou when you were both in high school. He was kind of your first love, if you believe in those kinds of things. But you got over it. It's fine.

You see Bakugou sometimes at hangouts, at get-togethers. He's in your orbit, or you're in his, because of your mutual friends. You're all adults now, so it's fine. It's a little weird, but fine.

You're supposed to be on vacation, at a place that's hours away from Musutafu. You're not sure what you've done to deserve it, but Bakugou's here too. And instead of both of you pretending the other doesn't exist, as usual, he's talking to you. He's everywhere. It's fine.

(It's not fine.)

TAGS: pro hero Bakugou Katsuki, aged-up characters, friends to lovers (being generous with that friends label lol), fluff, pining, eventual smut

The ryokan’s lobby is bustling, voices a soft buzz echoing through the space. Some guests are like you, waiting for check-in, and other guests are partaking in the complimentary drinks and snack bar. It all calls to mind vacations you went on with your family, growing up. 

Sighing, you sink into an armchair, letting the fatigue from a long trip on a train and subsequent car ride sink in, shed off. 

“Here,” Rie says, setting a cup of tea and a cookie on the table in front of you. She sits in the chair across from you. “You’re grumpy because you haven’t had any sugar today. Eat these. There’s more up front, at the snack bar.” 

“Thanks mom,” you say, and she leans forward to flick you on the forehead. You wince. 

“Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean you can get away with your sass. Especially while we’re on vacation,” she tells you, then lifts her own cup of tea to her lips. You scrunch your face up at her. 

Her eyes flick past you, and she blinks rapidly. You recognize that expression—up to no good. 

“Oh hey,” she says, affecting a casual tone. “Look who just walked in.” 

Rie waits for you to look, but you’re not so easily led around. You narrow your eyes at her. She raises a brow at you. A moment passes. 

Your curiosity’s too strong. You turn and regret it. 

It’s Bakugou. Bakugou Katsuki. What the hell is he doing here?

You immediately swing back around, scowling deeply. You can feel your ears getting warm. 

She gives you a Cheshire grin, finger gunning you. “It’s your first love.”

“Rie, I will leave.” 

She scoffs. “Yeah, right. And miss out on the massages we booked? The onsen? I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” you say darkly. 

She snickers, tilts her head at you. “You don’t want to say hi?” 

“Not really, no,” you say. “And if you call him over, I’ll kill you. Hanta will be sad, but he’ll get over it.” 

Rie laughs. “I don’t know about that. He is dating me, after all.”

“I’ve known him longer. He’ll forgive me.” 

The two of you switch over your attention to an approaching receptionist. 

“Thank you so much for waiting,” he says. “Your room is ready now. Please follow our staff. We’ll take care of your bags.”

You let them take your luggage, too distracted by staying out of Bakugou’s line of sight to pay attention to the small talk the receptionist’s making. Thankfully Rie’s chatting cheerfully with him, leaving you to your task. 

As you enter a hallway leading off the lobby area, you catch a last glimpse of Bakugou. He’s speaking to a staff member at the front desk area, presumably checking in. He’s alone. You wonder if anyone will be joining him, or if he’s here by himself. 

Shaking your head, you push away those thoughts. It’s none of your business. This ryokan’s rather large, and it’s popular with tourists and locals alike. You doubt you’ll see him again during your stay. 

You stare doubtfully at the email Sero forwarded you, then look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“Hanta, this is a luxury onsen ryokan. And you want me to go with Rie? Why aren’t you going?”

Sero claps his hands together in front of his face. “Please? The agency denied my time off request because we’re so busy. You gotta know how busy we are, even holed up in your office.” 

You frown at him. “The agency denied you? That’s crazy. You haven’t taken time off the whole year.” 

“I know, right? Anyway, Rie doesn’t want to go alone, and the reservation at this place is only valid for so long. Cancelling’s not an option.” 

You frown. “If they denied you, they’ll probably deny me too, Hanta.” 

“Noooo, it doesn’t hurt to put in the request! Plus, you haven’t gone on vacation in years. Treat yourself! This can be my months-in-advance birthday gift to you.”

You try one last time. “Are you sure Rie even wants to go with me? I know you want this to be a surprise, but maybe you should ask her if there’s anyone else she’d want to go on a trip with.”

Sero gives you a look, as if you’d just said something unbelievably stupid. “I’m not even going to respond to that.” 

You snort, smiling. “Alright, alright. Thanks, Hanta. I’ll take all the pictures of Rie and send them to you if the agency does grant me the time off.”

Sero slings an arm around your shoulders. “Thanks, bud.” 

“I miss Hanta,” Rie says, collapsing on her back onto the bed. 

You push both of your bags to the side, to be unpacked later. The entire far wall of your room’s lounge area is glass, with a door leading out to the outdoor area and open-air bath, and you give in to your urge to step outside onto the wood, deck-like floor. 

The bath rises from the floor to your right, rectangular, spacious. The staff member told the both of you it’s fed from the onsen, and the steam it’s giving off dissipates into the cool spring air. The bath and deck are built to overlook a large pond with koi swimming in it, giving the impression that where the deck ends the water begins. The far side of the pond is lined with trees and shrubbery. Wooden partitions on either side of this area enclose the space, giving it a sense of privacy. 

It’s absolutely gorgeous. And it’s so quiet here. Aside from the ambient water sounds from the onsen on the property, birdsong from the nearby forested area, there’s little to interrupt this emerging feeling of serenity. 

“You saw him literally before we left,” you say. “Rie, come out here and look at this view. I call dibs on using the bath first.” 

“You could be more sympathetic. We haven’t been able to see each other much this month,” she grumbles, but she comes out to join you anyway. 

“Okay, you can use the bath first,” you tell her. 

She grins at you, bumping her shoulder against yours. “Thanks, friend.”

“The things I do.” You don’t really mind. You have the entire long weekend to enjoy this place. The peace and quiet are already doing wonders for the tension in your shoulders.

A twinge of guilt passes you in a wave. After the staff member who’d escorted you to your room had given you both a short tour of the space, it really hit you how expensive this all was. 

“Rie, you really should’ve come here with Hanta,” you tell her, frowning. “He should’ve pushed for the time off or adjusted the reservation. This is way too nice of an experience to pass up.”

Rie snorts. 

“Don’t stress,” she says. “You think he didn’t try all that? It was either keep the reservation with someone else or lose out on a lot of money. I wanted you to come, so don’t overthink, silly.”

You lean your arm against hers. “Thanks, Rie. I’ll get you and Hanta something nice for your birthdays.”

She hums, and the two of you lapse into silence, appreciating the birdsong, the late afternoon sun gilding the pond, the surrounding trees in warmth. 

“So, what’s up with you and Bakugou?” Rie asks. “I thought you worked out all those feelings for him back in high school.” 

And there goes all that peace. You groan, turning and heading back inside, grabbing your bag and starting to unpack your clothes. Rie follows you, sprawling out onto your bed this time to be as annoying as possible. 

“I did,” you say, because not answering would result in incessant pestering. Better to nip this conversation in the bud so it doesn’t come back up again while you’re on this trip. You tell her, “We’re cool. You know that. You go to the same get-togethers.”

Since graduating from UA, you’d kept in touch with Sero, who you’d met because he’d been the hero you’d been assigned to for the management course’s third year project. You became good friends, as Sero’s one of those good boys, best boys, genuinely kind and fun to talk to. 

Through your friendship with him, you’d met some of his friends—Kaminari, Kirishima. Mina, Sato. Bakugou. 

While you’d befriended the others pretty easily, Bakugou was a different story. And it wasn’t necessarily his fault. He’d chilled out considerably by your third year.

It was because of your cringey, super obvious crush on him during your first year. 

You were so painfully obvious about it, everyone in your class knew. It didn’t take long for kids in the other courses to take notice. When Bakugou entered a room you were in, you would freeze and forget what you were saying. You’d sneak glances at him, and your entire body would warm up if your eyes met. Even thinking about it now, as an adult, makes you want to die a little.

Thankfully, whether it was because he chose to willfully ignore you or because he just never found out, your crush ran its course. It helped a lot that you began interacting with Bakugou within social circles because of Sero; it humanized him, made him real to you. The fantasy of a crush can’t survive knowing someone, getting to know them, you found. 

Still, probably because of that history, you never got close to Bakugou, while at UA and after. You were too embarrassed, and now you’re just not super interested. If you don’t count this past year, since graduation, you’ve seen him only a handful of times, always in passing and never one-on-one. 

But if you do count this year, specifically the past six months, you’ve seen him a lot. 

At a get-together at Mina’s place. At Todoroki Shouto’s birthday a couple months back. At a dinner with Rie, Sero, Kirishima, and Mina a few weeks ago. You figure he’s had some free time open up, to accept the hangout invites that he once left unresponded to in the group chat. It’d make sense, since he’s at this ryokan when everyone knows he’s a workaholic. 

You’re happy for him. Work-life balance is super important. And you guys aren’t getting any younger.

“No, you guys are weird together,” Rie says. 

You throw a pillow at her. To your annoyance, she catches it easily. 

“What do you mean by weird?” you ask.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. He always looks like he’s bitten into a lemon when he sees you.”

You roll your eyes. “Great. Can we stop talking about Bakugou now?” 

“Last question, I swear.” 

“Last question for the entire trip about him,” you say, narrowing your eyes at her. 

She sighs, as if this is a huge burden on her. “Deal. I was just thinking—what did you even see in him when we were teenagers?”

“Okay, but why are you thinking about this at all,” you say. 

“Just answer the question.”

“It’s not that deep,” you say, shrugging. “I liked his face.” 

“Really?” Rie’s expression, disgruntled and appalled, makes you laugh. 

“Don’t act like he’s not objectively really attractive. He’s handsome, be real.”

“Maybe to some people,” she relents. “But his personality cancels it out, carry the two.” 

“He’s mellowed out so much over the years,” you say. You feel a little odd, finding yourself defending him. “He’s sweet, when he wants to be. Remember how he got Mina that bracelet she wanted so badly, for her birthday? Or how he picked up those special oranges for Hanta when he went on that one mission?”

Rie looks at you for a long moment. As your words settle into the silence, you begin to feel self-conscious. But it’s not like what you’d said isn’t true. Rie knows this. 

Just as you open your mouth to no doubt incriminate yourself further, she leans back on the bed and closes her eyes. “I guess you’re right. You done folding those clothes? I’m hungry. Let’s get dinner. Hanta says it’s kaiseki.”

Dinner is absolutely delicious. Your server tells you and Rie that the chef’s designed the menu to feature ingredients native to the region, ingredients in season. Everything’s fresh, and even dishes you aren’t normally particularly fond of have you cleaning your plate. You feel spoiled. 

You take lots of pictures. Of the dishes, of Rie. You send them to Sero. 

Hanta: The food looks great! My girl looks even better!!! Send more pics pls

Rie’s pleased when you show her the messages. After fussing over her appearance, she makes you take a picture of her in your room’s outdoor bath, hair elegantly twisted up and off her shoulders, the ambient lighting softly illuminating her face. 

“I’m going to take a walk, see what that little bamboo garden looks like at night,” you tell her. She waves at you with one hand, tapping away at her phone, no doubt sending messages to Sero. 

“Don’t drop your phone in the water,” you say, and she makes an impatient sound, shooing you.

Smiling, you leave her to it. 

Now that it’s nighttime, the ryokan is quieter, more subdued. It’s easy enough to find the bamboo garden. The paths are brightly illuminated, the walkways clear and easy to take. Maybe because it’s the evening, but you encounter few people. Most are partaking in the onsen, unwinding after a long day, you guess. You plan to do so yourself, but you stumble across a dimly lit sitting area overlooking a small pond and waterfall. It’s pretty, and you can’t resist lingering. Taking a seat on a bench, you let your mind empty as you watch the glimmer of moonlight on the water. 

“Hey,” a voice says behind you, and you startle, turning. 

Bakugou’s standing there, looking uncharacteristically soft and undone in the onsen’s yukata. His hair is a little damp, spikes fallen. 

Seeing him in traditional wear takes you aback; you’ve only ever seen him in casual clothes—jeans, shirts, sweats. His hero suit, all sleek lines. The yukata’s a good look on him. 

“Oh hey, Bakugou,” you say, then hesitate, feeling awkward. What to say? Should you pretend this is the first you’ve seen of him here? 

While you flounder a little, Bakugou walks over to sit in a chair nearby, facing the water. You’re bewildered at this turn of events. You’re surprised he stopped to say hello, let alone sit and have a conversation with you.  

“Saw you and Soy Sauce Face’s girlfriend at dinner,” he says. “You on vacation?” 

Blinking, relieved, you reply, “Sort of. Long story short, Hanta was supposed to come out here with Rie, but work denied his time off. So I’m the replacement Hanta.” 

Bakugou looks at you. His eyes narrow. You shift in your seat, feeling a little bit like a bug under a microscope. Did you say something weird?

“What about you?” you ask, trying to lift the focus off of you. “You here on vacation?”

“...Yeah. For the weekend,” he says, looking back at the pond, exhaling sharply.

For someone on vacation, he doesn’t look too happy about it, you note. 

“Us too,” you tell him. “What do you think of the ryokan? I haven’t gotten the chance to explore yet, but what I’ve seen is gorgeous. Did you just use the public onsen?” 

“It’s alright,” Bakugou grumbles, and you blink, face scrunching up in incredulity. 

“You must have really high standards to say that, sir,” you say, and he snorts. An expression you can’t quite make out in the low light crosses his face, fades. He really is a handsome bastard, you find yourself thinking. 

He says something you don’t quite catch. 

“Sorry?” you say. Internally, you scold yourself for your idle thoughts. Another part of you argues back that there’s no harm in looking. 

“How’d you know I used the onsen?” he repeats, looking a little annoyed.

“Oh,” you say, surprised. Without thinking, you lean forward, reaching out to touch his hair. 

Bakugou turns his head sharply; he grabs your wrist on what seems like instinct, halting you. You freeze, mortified.

“I’m sorry!” you say hastily. He drops your hand immediately, like you’re contaminated. You draw back. Flustered, you continue, “It’s just—your hair’s still a little wet. I took a guess. Sorry again, I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

You were treating him like he’s Hanta, or Rie, as if you’re close friends. Jeez. 

“Forget it,” he says gruffly. 

There’s a long stretch of silence, and you begin to think of excuses to make to escape. 

Just as you open your mouth with one, he says, “What’re you doing tomorrow?” 

“I—I think Rie wanted to check out the town’s morning market, and the temple nearby,” you say. “She likes to sleep in, so we’ll probably do that after my morning run. The staff said there’s a scenic walking trail through the forest, so I’ll probably check it out.”

You force your mouth closed before the rambling continues. Wait, you should ask him the same, right? To be polite?

But before you can say anything, Bakugou grunts, then stands. 

“Go back to your room,” he tells you. “It’s getting late.”

With that, he leaves. You sit there for a long moment, staring after him.

“Hey, welcome back,” Rie says from her bed, covered from nose to toes in a blanket. Her eyelids droop in a way that tells you she’s minutes from sleep. “You were gone for a while.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you say, closing the door behind you. Woodenly, you begin to gather clothes to change into. “I’m going to take a quick shower, okay? Go ahead and sleep; don’t wait up for me.”

“Mmkay,” she says, eyes already closed. 

You move around as quietly as you can, getting ready for bed. 

All the while, you can’t help but think about the conversation you just had. About Bakugou.

For the past couple months, at gatherings with mutual friends, it’s been like this when you talk to each other. Awkward, with a strange underlying tension. You’re not sure if it’s your fault, or his, but. You wish you could be normal around him. It’s only like this with him.

As you climb into bed, getting settled, the memory of him in his yukata flashes across your closed eyelids. The moonlight on his face, cooling the red of his eyes. His hand around your wrist.

Fuck. 

Notes: Hello friends! This fic is a very belated birthday fic for our guy, my little muse 🧡 This is intended to be a twoshot, and I hope to have that second part up next weekend. Please look forward to it!

A couple notes, as there are some specifically Japanese items referenced in this fic:

A ryokan is a Japanese-style inn! Onsen are hot springs. So an onsen ryokan is an inn that features hot springs on the property. Here, here, and here are videos you can enjoy of people visiting some.

Kaiseki is a multi-course, traditional Japanese dinner. Some of the videos I linked above show the kinds of kaiseki offered!

Thank you for reading! Hugs and kisses 💕 Until part two!

[andy-wm]

Why is Bam on insta?

This thought flashed in my head when i saw the most recent photos of Bam.

Maybe I'm just slow and everyone else figured this out already but maybe not, so I’m sharing it.

The Bam insta account isn't just a fun side project set up by JK while he’s doing military service. He doesn't even have an account for himself*, so why would he make one for his puppy? It's not like he needs (or wants?) more followers or influence, and he could have just used his t1ct0k, where hes already got gazillions of followers.

When bowwow_bam first appeared, many comments suggested he created it to keep in touch with ARMY while he's serving in the military. And yes he DID share the account with ARMY on weverse, but I doubt that's the reason it exists.

Bowwow_bam is not for ARMY...

The photos JK gets from the training centre let him know that Bam is happy and well cared for.

Even though Bam has been in and out of the training centre often while JK has had his schedules, those stays were brief compared to 18 months. This time, Bam will basically be living there full time, long term.

Maybe this is why JK sent Bam to the training centre so often in the past, when he might have left Bam with friends or family instead. That way, the training centre became familiar to Bam before his long term stay.

Bowwow_bam is for JK

Bam's photos are likely sent to JK directly, so why post them to a public platform? And why post ONLY these?

Why?

Sure, it's a good way for JK to stay connected to ARMY with minimal effort. Let's not be foolish enough to think he doesn't care about that. It's pretty clear he wants to pick up his career where he left off when he comes back. (It goes without saying that BTS - and JK - will still have millions of fans after MS.)

But i don't believe thats the only reason Bam has an insta account, and i dont think it's the most significant reason either.

There are so many ways JK could have maintained a socials presence. If he wanted to be on insta, even just reposting old content would keep him at the forefront of ARMY's mind... if he had an insta account* that is.

It also got me thinking about what JK will be doing with his time off.

He isn't all that close to his family, he tells us. And most of his friends are idols, from what we see (although that could be selective information), so probably insanely busy with their own schedules. And his Bangtan brothers, his found family, are also doing their service. And he and Jimin are apparently on different shifts (if the information we have is correct).

So who is he connecting wiith?

Who is his link to home and normality?

This doggo right here is.

Besides letting JK know that Bam is happy and well cared for, the photos connect JK to home and give him something tangible to look forward to on the other side of his service.

They'd remind him that this episode of his life has an end date, that he has a place to return to, and that somebody is waiting for him to come home. Bam is waiting for him.

But why post them on instagram?

We know JK has a strong connection with ARMY. He's said many times that we're his safe place (debatable, honestly) and his happy place (I truly hope so). He's told us it's ARMY he talks to late at night when he's alone. He's also set clear boundaries about what he's prepared to share and how close we're allowed to come - although he blurs these lines himself sometimes... naked livestreams from his bed come to mind, but i digress...

I believe the insta account - Bam and ARMY together - is his anchor. This is his link back to his life before and after MS.

Sharing these photos from the training centre with his three (or four or five) million closest friends would validate for JK what his life has been, and will be again. It tells him we (like Bam) are still here, still waiting, without him ever having to ask.

It keeps that part of his life real for him.

Just to be clear,

I'm not downplaying the significance of Jimin and JK serving together in the companions program.

In my mind nothing could be more significant.

Jimin is with him day after exhausting day, just as he has been for the last twelve years. While that must be an enormous comfort to them both, these long and arduous days must still seem endless.

Getting through this difficult time with any sort of optimism would require something to look forward to, and recieving photos of Bam would give JK much happiness, and remind him that there is life outside of the camp.

They'd serve to remind him that at the end of it all he will see his beloved doggo in person...

...and that he and Jimin will go home and his little family will be whole again

💜🐰🐶🐥💛

*pretty sure he does tho...

~as always, opinions are my own and all of this is conjecture~

[bookstantrash]

A/N: And I am back in my "Nessian with RED (TV) fic titles" agenda. They are just so RED coded and I had been dying to write something related to this album it is one of my fav albums of TS tbf.

This one shot is more Cassian centric, and it is also a type of fanfic I had been meaning to write for the longest times. I just feel like the fandom overall forgets that Cassian has a lot of trauma and insecurities, and I wish we saw more of that.

Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound

Nightmares were not unusual to Cassian. He had them for as long as he could remember.

He had them when he was a mere child living on the outskirts of Windhaven, blowing on his hands to try and keep himself warm.

Had them when he was a young warrior, taking part in the Blood Rite, fighting his way to find his brothers alive.

Had them when he took part in the First War and saw deaths far more gruesome than what he had experienced at the Blood Rite.

Had them pile up after each war, each battle he took part in. Dreamt about his soldiers dying, about having to give their families the news and be met with sadness, anger and resentment. That they were gone and would never return. That while they had died he, a mere bastard born nobody, an orphan, had not.

He grew used to nightmares. Usually he would wake up with silent tears and a sense of regret and failure over his heart, spending the rest of the night awake, going over reports. Those were the good nights.

And on those rare times when his mind was particularly evil and wanted to punish him deeply, on those nights he would wake up with his heart racing, the urge to throw up taking him out of his bed to leave him retching over the toilet, the need to scream at anyone and everyone consuming him. To scream in anger and despair. Those were the bad nights, the ones who made him go to the training ring and rip the punching bags, made him stay there until the sun was rising and he would pass out with tiredness, no dreams, good or bad appearing for him.

He was so used to his nightmares that he knew what to expect, knew how to recognise when it would be a bad or good night.

And then he met Nesta and his nightmares changed.

Now he dreamt of his failures with her. Not being able to stop her from being thrown into the Cauldron, not protecting her from Hybern during the War, not helping her heal sooner after the war, letting her be kidnapped again and thrown in the Blood Rite.

Nothing could have prepared him for those nightmares, nightmares that got worse after they finally got together.

Because finally being able to be with the love of his life, his Nesta, his wife and mate… that made him incredibly afraid. Afraid that the happiness he had never felt before would be stolen from him, leaving him empty, a sad and lonely youngling in the bitter snow all over again.

The first time Cassian had a nightmare after he and Nesta had wed, he had woken up in a cold sweat, heart beating so loudly on his ears that for a second he thought he was hearing the Illyrian war drums. He had dreamt of the night she had been Made, of dragging himself over the cold floor of Hybern’s throne room, the pain of his shredded and bloody wings almost non-existent at the face of Nesta’s despair. At her screams of rage as she was dragged under the cold dark waters of the Cauldron.

He had only calmed down when he realised Nesta was safely sleeping beside him, arms around him tightening and her sleepily mumbling at him.

“Where are you going?”

Cassian had considered untangling himself from his wife’s warm embrace and going over some leftover documents, silently keeping watch over her. But one look at her sleeping face had his resolve weakening.

“Nowhere, Nes” he had settled beside her, dropping a kiss on her forehead “Go back to sleep”

Whenever Cassian had a nightmare, he would try his best to not wake up Nesta. He did not want to bother her with his worries and fears. And somehow the Mother must have taken pity on him, because he was scarcely having any bad nights since they'd gotten married. Sure, he still had nightmares, but those made him want to rip his own heart out had stopped.

He took that as a small blessing. He would take the good nights over no dreams if that meant that the unbearable nightmares would be kept at bay.

However, Nesta was not oblivious that something preyed on her husband’s mind. She had noticed how worn out he was, how when he smiled at her and said nothing was wrong his smile did not reach his eyes.

But Nesta wanted Cassian himself to tell her what was happening. Wanted him to open his heart about what was making the circles beneath his eyes darker with each passing day without her having to dig it out of him. He had told her months ago during that hike at Illyria that she could be silent and he would be waiting for her to open up when she felt comfortable, as long as she did not shut him out. Now Nesta would do the same. She would wait beside him, offering her support however she could until he was ready to talk.

“You are unusually quiet today,” Nesta noted. They were resting on the sofa in front of the fireplace — Nesta reading a book and Cassian lying down, his head on her lap — having a quiet late evening after the training session with the Valkyries in the morning.

“Missing the sound of my lovely voice, Nes? Should I read out loud a paragraph from your book?” Cassian teased, opening an eye. He had slept poorly the night before, and the quiet sound of the embers crackling on the fireplace and his mate absentmindedly running her free hand through his hair had him battling sleep.

“No,” she closed her book, “it was merely an observation.”

Cassian closed his eyes again, smiling softly.

“Are you sure? I am certain the House would love to hear all about your newest smutty book”

The faelights flicked twice, as if agreeing with him.

“Oh hush now, you can read it after I am done with it. ” Nesta said, glaring at the ceiling “I never knew a sentient being more impatient”

Cassian laughed. At first he had been surprised when Nesta talked to the House, but he had grown used to it, even talking to It on more than one occasion.

“Do you want to move to our room?” Nesta asked, gently running her hands through his hair “it is more comfortable than the couch”

Cassian merely sighed “No, I am very comfortable like this” he turned on his side, arms circling her waist and wings dropping a little on the floor “I am afraid I will keep you hostage while I nap.”

Whatever Nesta meant to say was lost when she noticed how his breath had eased, her mate having already fallen asleep. And before she could even ask, the House flicked off the faelights, drawing shut the curtains of the room they had turned into their living room.

“Thank you,” Nesta found it quite endearing how the House had grown to care about Cassian as much as It cared about her. In the beginning, It liked to play pranks on him and even sided with Nesta whenever she and Cassian had an argument — once It locked Cassian outside and only let him in when he apologised. Over time, however, they had formed a rather close friendship.

Nesta opened her book again, turning on the small faelight that Azriel had gifted her on Solstice. She had just gotten to the juicy part and she knew that little light would not wake Cassian any time soon if the way he was softly breathing was any indication of how deeply he was sleeping.

She had read half of the book when she felt an uneasy feeling through the bond. She looked down at Cassian and saw his breathing getting uneven, his arms tightening around her waist.

“Cass?” Nesta whispered softly, setting her book aside. She could feel his fear and anguish through the bond, and it pained her that she could do nothing to ease his pain.

Cassian whimpered, and although Nesta knew better than to wake up someone having a nightmare, she could not stand to see him in such pain.

“Cassian, wake up, please” she tugged on her end of the bond, her hands cupping his face. He woke up gasping, hazel eyes huge and scared.

“A bucket,” he managed to say as he scrambled up, his breathing erratic “I need—”

No sooner had the House made a bucket appear than Cassian was on his knees, emptying his stomach. Nesta kneeled beside him, holding his hair back and rubbing his back.

“It is okay, everything is fine now” she said softly.

The House made a glass of water and a towel appear, Nesta thanking It quietly. Cassian had closed his eyes, breathing as if he had just learned how to.

“Hey,” she grabbed his face “open your eyes Cass.”

His hands came up, grabbing her wrists like he was wandering at the sea and she was his lifeline.

“That is it, just look at me” she said softly yet firmly, his scared hazel eyes meeting her blue-grey ones “Breath, Cassian.”

Nesta took a deep breath, holding it in for a few seconds before letting it go slowly. Cassian copied her, and after a few minutes his breathing had become normal again, his racing heart also slowing down.

“I am sorry,” that was the first thing he said, voice hoarse “I did not want you to see me like this”

“Nonsense,” Nesta dismissed, giving him the glass of water and making him drink it “you have seen me in much worse conditions”

“Are you ready to tell me what is going on?” she asked.

Cassian nodded his head, biding his time by taking another sip of water and using the towel to clean his mouth.

“For as long as I could remember I’ve had nightmares,” he began “There are the good nightmares and bad nightmares. The good ones usually wake me and leave me with a feeling of failure.”

Nesta remembered the nights in which she would wake up to an empty bed, Cassian going over reports — she would sit on his lap and give remarks as he went over them —  or just standing on their balcony. On those nights she would go over to him and bring him back to bed.

“I am cold” she would say, and he would hug her tightly and Nesta would let him think that she did not notice how he needed the hug more than she did.

She could always feel his sadness through the bond, no matter how hard he tried to close his end of that golden thread that binds them together so intrinsically.

“And the bad ones?” Nesta quietly asked.

“The bad ones leave me like this,” he said with a self deprecating laugh “A complete and utter mess, barely functioning.”

“You have been sleeping poorly for a while now. Why didn’t you talk to me?” Cassian must have seen the hurt on her eyes, felt it through the bond, because he grabbed her hands, squeezing them.

“I am not good with words, I am sure you have noticed that,” he smiled weakly “I wish I was half as eloquent as you are.”

“You managed just fine in our wedding” she said with an arched eyebrow, and that got a real laugh out of him.

“I was inspired that day, I will admit.” he got serious again “But I think that maybe spending a lot of time being alone and angry did not help with my inability to find the right words to express what I am feeling. And to share my problems with others.”

Nesta had noticed this particular trait of Cassian, especially after she had stopped keeping him at arms lengths and had finally allowed herself to admit what she felt for him. He loved his family deeply, would put himself at risk for others in a heartbeat, would always have a happy face and joke to lighten the mood.

He cared for and about everyone, but what about him? Who did the same to him?

Nesta wanted to be the one with whom he could discard his happy mask and show a range of emotions.

“You can always talk to me Cassian,” she said “Anytime, no matter what.”

“I don't want to burden you. You already went through so much that to further worry you with something as silly as a nightmare—”

“I cannot believe you are saying this,” Nesta said, and Cassian could feel her anger and disappointment through the bond “You could never burden me and for you to even suggest otherwise—”

“I am your wife, Cassian. Your mate. If I don’t care and worry about you, who will?” she continued after taking a deep breath to calm herself “Besides, it is not a silly nightmare if it affected you this way”

Cassian stayed a few minutes quiet, mindlessly playing with her wedding band, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Another reason I was hesitant to talk to you about the nightmares is because— because now I have nightmares about you, Nes” he avoided her eyes while he talked, still focused on her hands “The good nightmares are the ones about my failures with you. Not stopping Hybern, not helping you sooner…”

Nesta’s heart almost broke when he said that. How could he think that about himself when he had been the one to tell her months ago when they visited the old shabby cottage she had lived with her family in poverty that there was nothing she could have done to stop Hybern and save her father?

“And the bad?” she asked, wishing he would look at her.

“The bad ones are about you dying in my arms. About you realising I am nothing more than a bastard born nobody, who is not deserving  of even the air you breathe and then leaving to go travel the world, to marry a king from the continent or from other fae lands.” his voice got quieter, almost a whisper, as if he was afraid of telling her what he saw on those nights “Of you simply leaving me and never looking back.”

“Tonight— tonight was a bad one,” he finally looked at her and his face was so utterly wrecked with pain and desperation that Nesta wanted to tell him that she would stop his nightmares, that she would bargain with the Mother and even that blasted Cauldron to leave him alone.

“I dreamt that when Briallyn ordered me to kill I could not turn the knife on myself. So I killed you. And she got the Mask and kept reviving you so I had to kill you over and over and over again” silent tears started running down his face and her heart truly shattered.

She hugged him tight, Cassian burying his head on her shoulder.

“Shh xe nhia, I am here,” Nesta knew a few words in Illyrian, and she hoped that the use of them, the familiarity that they brought, would help Cassian “I am not leaving you. Not now and not ever”

“However, if you keep trying to spoil my books I might become Ems’ newest house mate” she joked, making Cassian laugh.

“I would be completely lost without you Nes,” he said with a weak smile.

“I know,” she tenderly brushed his cheeks, drying his tears “Promise me something?”

“Anything you desire”

“Promise me you will wake me up when you have another nightmare, be it ‘good’ or ‘bad’. Promise me you will talk to me and let me be beside you when you are in need.” she pleaded.

“I promise” Cassian kissed her cheek, gathering her in his arms and walking towards their bedroom. Reluctantly setting her down, he went to their bathroom to freshen up while Nesta changed out of her dress.

Cassian walked back in to find her wearing one his favourite sweaters.

“I had been looking for that sweater”

“You were? Funny how it ended up in my drawer. Maybe the House put it there by mistake” Nesta shrugged, knowing very well that she had been the one to steal it. She was constantly stealing Cassian’s clothes.

“You do look better on it than me, so I think I can forgive that small mishap” he said, getting under the covers and hugging Nesta close.

“I love you, Nes” he whispered in her ear “And thank you”

“I love you too, Cass,” she replied, snuggling closer to him.

And that night, for the first time in a long while, Cassian had no nightmares.

•

tag list: @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @arinbelle @letstakethedawn @katekatpattywack @nestaarcheron @imagine-me @sv0430 @starryblueskies7 @live-the-fangirl-life @valkyriewarriors @readskk @wannawriteyouabook @imwritingthesewords @rainbowcheetah512 @moodymelanist @castielspelvis

[Reblogs/likes/comments are always welcomed!!]

[mama-qwerty]

Knuckles Series - My Way

Okay, so overall, my whole family had fun watching it together, and there were things I liked about it, and things I thought could have been done better.

So how would I have handled the series?

Buckle up, this’ll get long.

We open the same way (without Sonic’s voiceover – let Knuckles explain things and get us into his mindspace) and see Knux training in his home-built obstacle course. Once he’s done, he feels victorious, before his smile drops and a new expression clouds his features as a thought occurs.

Now what?

He’s the most dangerous warrior in the galaxy. He’s bested countless opponents, survived harsh environments and any challenger who came forth. He successfully completed his quest to find the Master Emerald, allowing his tribe and ancestors to finally find peace.

But that’s something he can’t understand how to cope with.

Peace.

He’s never known it. All his life has been a struggle, a fight, a battle to be waged and won. Now that he is safe, without constant bounty hunters after him, without fearing being tossed into an arena to fight for his life, what does he do with himself? What’s next?

This is when he heads back to the house to ‘battle’ the handymen. Maddie tries to soothe things over, but they drive off, and she makes her way to Knux, who’s celebrating his victory over the ‘trespassers’ with Cool Ranch Doritos.

Now, instead of her getting frustrated and just walking off to talk to the others about the “little red barbarian”, she sits down with him and tries to have a real talk. Tries to get to know him, and understand him better. He’s still in the kind of arrogant, boastful, “I’m the most dangerous warrior in the galaxy” mindset, so he’s not really listening. But she tries.

Next thing you know, he’s on the roof with Ozzy and Sonic goes up to chat with him. He meditates, does the fighting pit and Iron Throne, and gets grounded. All that can stay the same.

Here’s where we diverge.

Sonic comes up, gives him the “Just relax” speech, and Knuckles does some grumbling about it before sitting near the Master Emerald. He vents a bit about how he can best any challenger, but doing nothing is harder than any battle he’s ever faced. He just doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he prays to his ancestors for guidance.

The ME glows, and his father appears before him in a vision. Dad tells Knuckles he is so proud of him, and when Knux questions what he should do now, Dad tells him that the time for fighting is at an end. That echidna weren’t always warriors—they were protectors once, using their strength to keep those weaker safe.

Knuckles contemplates this, and asks what that means for him. He has already pledged his life to protecting the Master Emerald, what else is there?

His father smiles, and shakes his head.

“My son, there is so much you have missed as you journeyed to finish our quest. You were so young when I left you. Do you not remember the village? Our tribe? We had songs, and history, and traditions that brought us a sense of belonging and togetherness. We were more than a tribe. We were a family. A home. Any man is stronger when he has those he cares for at his side. Those he trusts.”

Knuckles bristles at this. “I was hunted for most of my life. Constantly searching. I have no home. No tribe. Not anymore. I am alone.”

Dad shakes his head again. “That is not true. But I fear you will not believe me, so you shall have to come to see that for yourself.”

Knux gives a harumph. “The honor of the echidna falls to me alone.”

“Our honor was tainted by the actions of some so long ago that the truth has become lost. Your quest is ended. Your fight, over. You’ve returned what was once used and lost by those with ill intent. Your actions are noble. That is where true honor lies.”

Silence settles for a moment, before Knuckles speaks again, softly.

“I miss you. I . . . was not prepared for what I found in my journeys.” He paused. “For what found me.”

“I know, my son. I curse my own stubbornness for not turning back once the battle looked too lost. For leaving you so alone. I beg your forgiveness for being such a fool.”

“You were a warrior. Your brothers in arms needed you.”

“I was a father first and foremost. My son needed me more.”

More silence. Knuckles looks so much younger now, his face relaxed and pensive, his body no longer rigid and proud. Now he’s just a lost child, missing his father, and unsure what his future holds.

“You must stop living your life for us,” his father says, his voice soft. “You’ve completed our quest, and I am proud of you for that. But this was not the life I wanted for you. I have seen how some can become so focused on battling to the death, they forget to live life in between. I want you to live, my son. I want you to find happiness and light in your world. I want you to seek out those weaker than you, and lend your strength to them.”

Knuckles is quiet for a moment.

“I have done things I am not proud of. Trusted those who betrayed me. Hurt people. Been tricked into helping those who are evil.”

“The fault lies with those who have tricked you, or betrayed you. Not with you for trusting them. You have a pure heart, my son. Like your mother. Do not let the actions of others cause that heart to grow cold.”

So they finish up their little heart-to-heart and Knuckles decides to take his father’s words to heart. No time like the present, so he sneaks out of the house to wander the town and see where he can help.

MEANWHILE

I haven’t gotten Wade’s story all figured out, but maybe he’s feeling particularly down today because it’s the anniversary of when his dad abandoned him. He tried to go to the bowling alley to try and recapture that feeling of being with his dad, but it’s not working and only making him more miserable. He gets smack talked by Susie (or whomever) and feels so dejected he just leaves.

Now, normally when Wade moves through town, he’s all smiles and greeting everyone. But today he’s quiet and sullen and walking like he’s got a little rain cloud above him. No one seems to really notice or care, but Knuckles notices and decides to follow.

He watches as Wade throws his bowling ball into the trash. Curious, Knux digs it out and follows him back to his house. Wade goes in, goes to the kitchen, opens the fridge to grab a beer, and when he closes the door Knuckles is just there, scaring Wade half to death. (I have a headcanon that Knux can be so stealthy he seems to just appear sometimes.)

Knuckles asks Wade what troubles him, which launches into the whole “I used to love bowling with my dad, until he just left” backstory. Maybe Wade’s been writing letters, trying to get his dad to contact him, to at least get an answer for why he left. But he’s never heard back.

Wade’s father’s abandonment is what’s caused Wade’s meek and people-pleasing personality. Maybe he thinks he angered his dad somehow or disappointed him and that’s why Pete left. So Wade never wants to do anything to anger or disappoint anyone else. But this way of life is making him miserable, because no one takes him seriously, and he’s treated like a joke. He knows this but doesn’t know how to change.

Knuckles sees the obvious answer. “If your father’s disappearance is what caused you to lose your confidence, then confronting him would help you gain it back.”

Wade’s not so sure, but lets Knux talk him into going on a road trip to Reno, where Pete’s competing in the Championship Bowling thing.

They still stop at Wade’s mom’s house—because his sister is a big reason he feels inferior—and his mom is exactly the same because I love her, but his sister has got to have a personality change. Maybe she’s always been jealous of Wade because he was the favorite child, or she’s a bit angry because Wade always held out some hope that Pete would come back (which in turn, gave their mother that hope, which Wanda never shared and thought a waste of energy). Wanda holds a lot of anger toward Pete for running out on them, and because Wade and Pete were so close, she transfers a lot of those bad feelings to Wade.

She’s not in the FBI. She’s not some bratty kid in a grown woman’s body, being a real bitch to Wade. But she has anger and bitterness toward Pete, and thinks Wade’s trip to see him is a waste of time. And maybe she pulls him aside and tells him this, as a way to try and save him from being hurt again. Maybe she even tells Knuckles that this is only going to end up making Wade feel worse.

As the siblings bicker and argue, making Mother Whipple feel bad, Knuckles has had it and declares that they will fight to hash out these negative feelings. He hands them both Nerf bats, and they just pummel each other as they spit out everything they’ve felt. Eventually an epiphany happens, and Wade yells “I just want to know that he didn’t leave because of me!”

Everyone freezes. Wade goes on to say that ever since his dad left, he’s always thought it was his fault. Because he wasn’t what his dad wanted. Because he did something wrong, or wasn’t good enough, or something. And he knows that Pete leaving hurt his mom, and his sister was mad at not only their dad but him too, so he tried to be ‘good’ and not make others mad. He was always afraid to be himself since then, because if his own dad didn’t like him, then what hope did that leave for anyone else to?

Wade felt forced to change who he was in order to survive. That’s something Knuckles can identify with.

Basically, the whole thing would be both of them coming to understand that family legacy doesn’t necessarily mean that’s who they have to be. That they can choose who they are, without some expectation hanging over them based on their ancestors. That their strength comes from within, not from being the best warrior (Knuckles) or having his father’s approval (Wade).

And that you can still find your home and family, even if it’s been a long time since you’d been part of one.

We don’t even necessarily have to have a dedicated antagonist in this. It could be a form of Man vs Self, where they find themselves in situations that their current behavior exacerbates.

If there is an external villain, maybe something a little different, like a collector of exotic animals gets wind of Knuckles being out of the protection of Green Hills, and sets out to nab him for himself. Or it could be someone who wants Knux for his secret fighting ring or something. This could bring up bad memories for Knux, of being captured and sold as a child, and forced to fight in arenas for the amusement of others.

All in all, instead of having GUN as the villain of the week (again), with some dude who’s using Knux’s own power against him (again), this could have had a more introspective feel that didn’t fall into the “kids have to fight some big baddie” trope. The enemy they’re both fighting is within themselves.

The whole point would be for Knuckles to realize that he didn’t HAVE to fight all the time, and discover that there’s more to him than just being the most dangerous warrior in the galaxy. That he’s allowed to have fun, to have preferences and new experiences that in no way have anything to do with training or besting others. That he’s allowed to discover who he is, and get back in touch with the child inside he’d been protecting all these years.

I want him to see things in wonder. I want him to explore the world, to be captivated by things he’s never seen before. To feel comfortable letting his guard down, being close with others, and just being a little silly.

I want him to learn that it’s okay to be a kid. And I want Wade to learn it’s okay to be a grown up. Because Knuckles grew up before his time, and Wade kept himself from growing up for fear of being like his dad, or being abandoned again.

I think there were some good kernels in the series, perfect for the fandom to take and run with.

I’m not sure how much I’ll play with the events of the series, but I have had some scenes with Callie meeting Wade’s family percolating.

[rottenpumpkin13]

How would Sephiroth feel if Cloud was related to him?

Assuming this is an AU scenario where Hojo is Cloud's biological father. He found Claudia "attractive enough to birth a hero," but it never went anywhere because Cloud was a weak, sickly baby.

Sephiroth found out about Cloud's parentage when he came across a file on him in Hojo's archives.

Sephiroth can't leave Cloud alone now. He has a brother.

He's always lurking now when the troopers have their training sessions with Angeal, or looking just a bit too long whenever they happen to be on the same assignment.

He's always watching, letting the curiosity slowly consume him. He wants to know what Cloud's life was like growing up in the mountains, far away from Hojo and Shinra, with a mother who loves him. He's envious, wondering if his own life would've been any different if Hojo rejected him at birth. Cloud wasn't subjected to the same things he was, and Sephiroth is both grateful and bitter.

As envious as he is, he's also enraged. How dare Hojo rob him of his brother? His own family? They were supposed to grow up together, to be by each other's side through everything. They were This isn't fair. And now here Cloud is, working for Shinra too. Yet they're still apart.

So he makes the impulse decision to corner Cloud one morning and show him everything that he found. Imagine his shock when Cloud reveals he knew Professor Hojo was his biological father, but his mother warned him of how he was, making Cloud never want anything to do with him.

Sephiroth asks him if he's aware that Hojo is his biological father.

To say Cloud is shocked is putting it lightly. He's floored, but not because Sephiroth is Hojo's son, but because he's related to Sephiroth.

After a long talk where they both get to know each other better and establish that they're brothers no matter what, Cloud insists that Sephiroth come back to Nibelheim and meet Claudia.

Lucky for them, there's a certain mission to Nibelheim that makes for a perfect opportunity.

While Cloud is usually prone to motion-sickness, be barely feels it on the ride to Nibelheim. He's too busy talking and laughing with Sephiroth to notice the bumps and turns on the road that would usually make his stomach churn.

Zack is happy for both of them—Cloud, for having a brother, and Sephiroth for having any family at all. They've been inseparable since finding out they're related, with Sephiroth going as far as inviting Cloud to stay over at his place and giving Cloud expressed permission to stay in his apartment.

Claudia and Sephiroth meet as soon as they arrive. Sephiroth grows to like her immediately. She's warm, nurturing, and quick to treat Sephiroth with the care he was denied as a child.

He asks Claudia if there's any chance that she knew his mother, Jenova. Claudia mentions how she remembers seeing a woman that matched her description around the village a few times years ago.

Now that Sephiroth knows he wasn't crazy when he found Nibelheim familiar, he needs to know more.

She explains how Hojo and the entirety of Shinra's research team stayed at the old Shinra Mansion right outside the village. She directs him there if he wants to find more information.

Sephiroth neglects sleep that evening in favor of exploring the Shinra mansion in search of clues. Cloud insists on coming with him, but Sephiroth is adamant that he stay and prepare for their mission the next day.

Sephiroth heads for the Shinra mansion, where he finds the library.

In the end, not even Cloud can stop the inevitable. No matter how much he screams and begs and tries to reason with his justifiably enraged brother.

But brotherhood matters little when you're the holy son, the chosen one set to inherit the planet alongside your loving mother.

[lost-inthe-v0id]

Young Snape x Reader prompt/idea? Idk

I can’t really right so this is a scenario I made up that I just word vomited

I’ve always had a crush on snapes young actor since I was like 8 so this is js something I made up when I would daydream

Student!Reader is a ravenclaw pure blood with no strong opinions on wizards/witches with no magic parents and a lot of ravenclaw and slytherin friends

Student!Reader and Student!Snape meet on the train and click right away but don’t hang out at school as much because Lily told Snape she didn’t like reader. They’re still acquaintances until that changes due to Lily getting closer to James and Severus getting a class with Reader. Little by little they slowly start getting closer together.

Reader would like to spend more time with him but he feels a responsibility to stay with Lily all the time since she was the only one who cared to stick around with him. Reader doesn’t like the way Lily treats him and the fact she’s all buddy buddy with his bullies

Finally it’s all solidified when Severus and Lily have an argument their 4th or 5th and he calls her a mudblood. Lily starts to ignore Severus not only everytime he goes to apologize but anytime he comes near her at all. She starts to stand by and just watch James and his gang bully Snape and sometimes laughs.

Reader finds Severus crying and comforts him. Gives him a pep talk about how wonderful he is and how people make mistakes and no one deserves to be treated like he is. Finally after that they start hanging out everyday. Severus becomes good friends with Readers friends but they still usually only hang out with each other.

Reader tells people in Ravenclaw and slytherine how Lily treated Severus and people stopped talking to her, gossiping about her even. Since Reader is a pure blood that’s part of an affluent family she grew up around other affluent family kids. Overall reader was not only friends with higher influence kids but also very respected among them due to her kind and understanding nature. So a lot of these people started to look down on Lily.

Finally it all comes together when Snape and Reader are near a tree talking one day when he starts telling Reader how much he doesn’t deserve her and kind of confessing and rambling when Reader kisses him. After that they start dating, the don’t try to hide it either. They hold hands ALL the time, sometimes you find the pair snogging, other times you find Reader laying her head on his shoulder.

Lily doesn’t like this, she liked the fact Severus liked her and the attention she would get from him on top of that people she use to talk to won’t even look at her now. She tries to talk to him saying she’s ready to hear him out but by then Severus couldn’t really give a shit.

Idrk about the rest

I know not a lot of people like Snape like that so I’m just posting this for myself not really expecting anyone to see this lol

[akkivee]

THEYRE FAMILY

[hood-ex]

I have seen you talking about Dick & Dami's relationship and Dick & Tim as well,but what are your takes on Dick and Jason actually?

Like how you wish their relationship should be portrayed today and where are them missing when it comes to making those two acting like siblings?

Do you think in the past their dynamic was better?

How Dick views Jason and how Jason views Dick?

This is difficult to answer because there are like 8 different stages to Dick and Jason's relationship with various dynamics. They also view each other a bit differently depending on which stage we're talking about.

The way I would like their relationship to be portrayed today isn’t necessarily possible thanks to Jason’s integration into the family and acceptance of the no killing moral code. For me, their ideal dynamic is portrayed in Outsiders #44-46. And I know people are gonna find that regressive as hell but, tbh, that dynamic is far more interesting than the kinda awkward thing they have going on now.

Although, I don't mind that they acknowledge their brotherhood in a serious manner now. Like before they'd kinda be like, "Eh... I mean... we were adopted from the same guy but... brothers? Eh..." And now they're more firmly in the, "We're brothers," camp. So that development is interesting.

Character progression wise, it wouldn't feel right for for them to be super close in the way that, say, Dick and Tim are (unless we saw a lot of trust and relationship building between them), but at the same time, there is part of me that kind of wants them to have that older sibling bond (except Jason is closer in age to Tim than he is to Dick sooo actually let's just leave older sibling things to Dick and Cass... not that Cass is much older than Jason though so LOL this is why Dick has to lone the oldest sibling thing by himself... which is funny because Dick is technically no longer the oldest sibling, he's a baby brother now... except Dick and Melinda's relationship really hasn't progressed much sooo you could say they share blood but don't consider each other family yet, in which case, Dick is still the oldest... I mean, regardless, Dick is the oldest sibling of the Waynes... god why did they have to make all of this so difficult 😫).

[artinandwritin]

I forgot to post this haha (that's what being too busy with animation brings you oops) but anyway!! Older gussiri designs bc I think they deserved that (they did have designs in my mind but I had never made a reference for them haha)

Plus some notes on what they're up to at that age! They're so silly <333

[yuoic]

.

[criminalamnesia]

that 141 x reader you just did was so good! i need to know what happens next. like after reader is better, do they stay in the military? stay in 141? or do they take a discharge? I’m not the original ask but it was just so good.

love your writing btw!

thank you! here’s part two :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you were beginning to hate the infirmary.

the white walls. the moans of pain. the smell of bleach and blood.

the reminder of why you were here. of who put you here.

your friends. your family. your team. john. johnny. kyle. simon.

you’d told the doctor to not let your teammates in, and she had tried, but there was only so much she could do. she couldn’t monitor the door all the time, and so a week after waking up from your coma, john price is sitting at your beside once again.

his hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on the bed, hands under his chin. his position conveys his regret and worry. he looks like he should be in church, knelt between the pews and spewing silent prayers to a god that isn’t listening.

you haven’t spoken to him since he sat down ten minutes ago. the second you saw him step inside the infirmary, you knew he was there for you. there to try and speak to you, to apologize.

fuck him and his apologies.

you turned your head to the side, eyes staring at the white curtain separating your bed from the next. you studied the stitching while you listened to him breathe next to you. he hadn’t spoken either— just sat down and watched you.

it made your skin crawl, how he thought this was okay. how he thought this would be the way to get back into your good graces.

he clears his throat then, a sound you’ve heard a million times before. it makes you want to gag now.

“love,” his voice is soft, caring. you want to hit him in the jaw.

“can we talk? please?”

you don’t turn over, don’t even spare him a glance. you keep your gaze trained on the curtain. the only giveaway that he has your attention is the fists you clench at your sides.

he takes the silence as an invitation, that bastard.

“what happened—” he begins, then grunts. stops. takes a second, then begins again.

“what we did,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “it wasn’t right. the intel was from a trusted source. we—” he sighs then, and you can tell he’s rubbing his temple. he did that when he was stressed. when he was anxious.

“we were wrong to believe them over you, love. and im— im sorry.”

silence ensues. you don’t give him any indication that you’ve heard what he said. he sighs again, inhaling deeply.

“you’re still part of this team. johnny and gaz, they’ve been sitting outside this damn room like sentries. can barely pry ‘em away for drills.” he chuckles then, but it’s sad. pitiful. mournful.

“there’s nothing we can do to make this right,” he tells you. you’re still mulling over what he said about johnny and gaz. still hung up on the fact that he didn’t mention simon at all.

simon, who did the most damage to you, both psychologically and physically. simon, who shared your bed. simon.

simon, who is too much of a coward to face you for his crimes.

“but we want to try,” price is speaking again. “if you’ll let us.”

he stops talking. waits a beat, then two. then, you hear his chair scrape. he’s getting up, and that’s when you turn your head to face him.

he looks bad. bags under the eyes, skin pale, beard overgrown. you think he deserves this. deserves worse than this. his eyes meet yours, and they widen the tiniest bit at the attention you’re showing him.

your voice is full of venom as you speak.

“nothing,” you seethe, angry tears blurring your vision. “will ever undo what you did to me. what he did to me.”

price knows you’re talking about simon. the whole team knew you were a thing. hell, when they’d strapped you to that chair and debated who would ‘interrogate’ you, they hadn’t even thought to include simon. why would he want to torture the person he loved?

to their surprise, he had volunteered to take point.

“when i get out of this bed,” you continue. “im gone. and i never, never, want to see any of you again, or else im putting a fucking bullet between your eyes.”

the captain doesn’t speak. you can see the remorse on his face. you couldn’t care less about his feelings.

he gives a short nod, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

after john’s visit, no one else tries to visit you. you no longer catch glimpses of kyle or johnny outside the infirmary door. you’re glad they’re starting to get the hint.

but you’re still getting flowers. you don’t know where they’re coming from. sometimes they’re dropped off by a nurse, other times they appear in the morning after a restless sleep. there’s never a note. never anything to suggest who would be leaving them.

you know it’s one of the 141, but you don’t know exactly who. you feel certain it’s not simon.

but, unbeknownst to you, it is him. he knows you don’t want to see him— to see any of them. price had told them all about what you’d said to him during your talk.

price had also told them that he’d already started preparing your transfer papers. that had caused an uproar from soap, who’d quickly been quieted by a saddened price.

simon had expected it. expected worse, actually. he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been as merciful as you. it made him hate what they’d done to you so much more.

there had been the tiniest doubt in his mind when all the evidence pointed to you. he hadn’t believed it at first— and then things became damning. everything pointed to you. trusted sources were pointing their fingers at you, and everyone listened. he had listened.

he had volunteered to torture you because he’d been angry. rage he hadn’t felt in years bubbled to the surface of his skin, and he wanted to tear you limb from limb. how dare you come into their lives— his life— and betray them so substantially?

simon didn’t trust easily. he was battered and broken and scarred. shattered and malformed pieces hastily glued back together. he let the team in. let you in. let you see his face. let you into his bed. let you into his fucking heart.

and you turned around and drove a dagger into him. or so he thought.

he thought his anger and actions had been justified. thought he was doing the world a favor by butchering you. but he was wrong. the team was wrong.

he finds himself regretting how he hadn’t listened to your pleas, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

he knows the chances of you forgiving him, of letting him back into your life, are slim to none. but how could he not at least try?

you’d know each other for years. been together for years. all of it thrown away because he still knew the hurt of betrayal all too well. because it was too easy to fall back into the mindset that it was him against everyone. that the only person he knew, the only one he could rely on, was himself.

so he left flowers. your favorite ones. and he did so without making you face him, without apologizing or groveling. it was the least he owed you.

a month after your coma, you were finally allowed out of the infirmary. you were still healing, skin still tender and bruised. pink, jagged scars lining your skin; eternal reminders of the pain you’d been subjected to.

you’d been given a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which you’d pulled on with much fuss. every time you struggled or stumbled, you found yourself getting angry. angry at the men who did this to you.

the anger was going to eat you alive, at least that’s what the psychologist that had been dropping by to see you had said. she’d told you you need to let it go, and you’d laughed in her face.

how do you let something like this go?

you didn’t know. you didn’t think you were strong enough to do that. not a good enough person to forgive the men that had carved into you.

once you had dressed, you shuffled out into the hallway. you’d profusely denied an escort, and the doctor had reluctantly acquiesced. she’d let you go, with just the promise that you’d keep your iv hooked in.

so here you were, trudging down the halls of the base, iv pole rattling along behind you.

you could feel eyes on you, but no one dared to get too close. you were glad. you didn’t want more empty apologies and sympathetic words.

you still remembered the way to price’s office like the back of your hand. you doubted you’d ever forget it.

time and time again you’d found yourself here. sometimes, getting reprimanded. others, congratulated. a few times you’d shown up in tears, and price had let you in without a word.

now you were standing outside his door, trying to contain the rage in your veins.

you raised a hand. knocked once, firm and loud.

“come in!” price called from inside.

you were already twisting the door knob, pushing into the room.

your eyes found price first. he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. his hat was absent from his head, instead resting beside him on the desk.

and then you noticed simon.

he was wearing all black. his hands were covered, bones decorating the black gloves. gloves you’d seen many times before. gloves that had been pressed to gunshots, trying to stop the bleeding.

the lower half of his face was covered, allowing you to see from his eyes up. his sandy blonde hair was ruffled.

you quickly turned your attention back to price.

“love, what are you doin’ here? you should be in bed—” he began, but you waved a hand as you stepped further into the room. you pulled your iv pole in behind you, then kicked the door shut.

“don’t talk, just listen. i still mean what i said when you came to visit. the only reason im here right now is because you haven’t put in for my fucking transfer.” you hissed.

the captain’s eyes widened, his face taking on a sheepish expression at the revelation that he’d been caught. simon stood quietly beside him, eyes trained on you. you ignored him.

“love, i didn’t want to do anything before you were ready—” he began. you cut him off.

“bullshit! you didn’t want to do anything because you don’t want me to leave. you want me to forgive you, right? hear you all out? come back and be a happy little family again?”

the room fell eerily silent as you stared at the captain. your heart was roaring in your ears.

“put in the fucking transfer, john.” you finished.

he reluctantly nodded. he inhaled, his eyes glancing at his lieutenant briefly, before he spoke again.

“of course, love. ‘m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything else. you turned to go, your back to the men, when simon’s voice cut through the air.

“you should be respectful to your captain, sergeant.”

you froze as you took in his words. was he fucking serious?

you didn’t turn around. you trained your eyes on the door as you spoke words through gritted teeth.

“you should watch your tongue, lieutenant, before I fucking cut it off.”

with that, you pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it loudly behind you.

author’s note:

apologies for the wait! I hope everyone enjoyed! (this is being posted before proofreading, so I hope it’s okay— I’ll read through it later, it’s just late and im tired lol)

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Group of Friends Prompts

one of the characters insists that every group of friends needs to have a regular Karaoke night and they expect everyone to come

their friend group is physically affectionate with each other and they don't care what other people think about that

one character gets surprised with an intervention by their friends - bonus points if the problem they’re talking about is actually not that serious

the whole friend group is living together - which is a dream and a nightmare in one

one character is sick and a bit of a handful as a patient, but they need someone to take care of them, so their friends rotate as the nurse

as their friends it was their job to check out any potential partner to see if they were worth being with their friend

the friend group loses one of their members during a parade/concert/event and are trying to find them

one character comes across a mystery in the neighborhood and they make their friends come with them to solve it

the friends wanted to have a fun night out, going to the movies or the bowling alley, but for some reason everything is closed and they have to find something else to do for fun

one of the characters has an important game or audition, etc. in a different city and their friends want to surprise them and drive there to support them. What follows is a chaotic roadtrip and the question: will they make it in time?

they were not just friends; they liked to joke that they were a dysfunctional family enough to believe it was actually true

they missed the last train/bus and it’s the middle of the night and they’re still 20 km away from the place they live/stay at

two of the characters are always bickering with each other and their friends have to figure out how to handle them together

having a chaotic friend group comes hand in hand with a truly unhinged group chat

they shared everything with their friend group, relying on their different opinions to come to a conclusion to any problem

they all met on the internet and it’s finally time for their first meeting in real life

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! 🥰

[boygirlctommy]

tomorrow is 7 years since the end of gravity falls :0

[pandoraslxna]

pervert!neteyam masturbating and imagine he's fucking reader 🫣

A mighty warriors need

adult Neteyam x female omatikaya reader

Words: 2.2k

Summary: The only trouble Neteyam allows himself to get into, is you.

Warnings: explicit smut, voyeurism, male masturbation, teacher/student dynamic, reader trained for her iknimaya at 18, slight age difference (Neteyam is 28, reader is 20), sexual fantasies

Notes: Just something short while we wait for my precious sun to come back and continue her event <3

Adult Neteyam art was made by @Cinetrix 🩵

Neteyam, for all that he tries to stay out of trouble and follow into his father’s footsteps, has never had a particularly relaxing life, or even one lazy day all to himself.

He has also always been what dad calls an "early bird".

When he was a child, his father told him stories of the time when he was a soldier on earth, how his superiors had called him an early bird too, because he was always the first to wake. Dad said, it‘s a quality that shows of discipline.

And that’s part, if not the main reason, why Neteyam has always raised from his hammock before the very first rays of sun could even cast over the horizon.

Stretching his limbs, his tired bones crack and he has to stifle a chuckle because he knows if mother was awake she would scold him because she dislikes the sound of that. After rolling his hammock together and stuffing it away, he walks over to his siblings, all three of them still sound asleep.

He pulls Tuks blanket up, gives her a little kiss on the forehead and then leans over to tip Lo‘aks chin up so he closes his mouth and rolls over in his sleep. It stops him from snoring, and then Neteyam watches with a fond smile how Kiris brows relax as the annoying sound finally stops.

Dad is now up too. He hears him shuffle around quietly in the dark, then nods his head at him when they pass each other. A silent greeting to not wake the rest of the family, before Neteyam ties his cummerbund around his hips and steps outside.

He knows his father is in no rush to start the day before he had what the human called coffee, a brownish powder brewed in a cup. It’s one of the very few human quirks his old man can’t seem to lay off.

But neither he nor the rest of the family seem to mind. It also gives him time to participate in the sacred morning rituals, offering prayers to Eywa, before he goes to pick fruit for breakfast.

Alongside his father, he then attends council meetings where they discuss matters of governance, strategize for the clan's protection, and ensure the well-being of their community.

As a skilled warrior, Neteyam leads training sessions for younger Na'vi warriors. He prepares his students for their upcoming iknimaya, imparting his knowledge of combat and hunting techniques, survival skills and the importance of harmony with nature, as well as the balance of life that eywa protects.

It’s not everyday, but he also engages in diplomatic meetings with neighboring clans whenever his father is too busy to attend himself, fostering alliances and resolving conflicts. It‘s his diplomacy skills, honed through years of observing his father, that help him navigate discussions and negotiations, that ensure the unity and prosperity of their people, which are also well respected, especially among the olangi clan. The flight on his ikran is short, and it’s barely an hour before he‘s back home.

Evenings are dedicated to spending time with his family. Neteyam joins his parents, siblings and the rest of the clan in sharing a meal, one who’s meat he often participated in hunting the day prior. Engaging in the lively conversations around him has always come naturally to him.

You see, with great responsibilities befitting his impending role, his day was usually filled with numerous duties and commitments, leaving barely any time for him to step out of line even if he wanted to. The only time during his busy day that he made sure was strictly reserved for himself, was the time past eclipse.

As the sun sets and dawn casts its ethereal glow over the forest, he leaves behind the clamor of his responsibilities and disappears far off the village. With agile grace, he climbs onto a tree, finding solace on a sturdy branch that offers a panoramic view of the forest below.

Seated high off the ground, Neteyam takes a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance of the forest. He closes his eyes, allowing the soothing sounds of nature to envelop him, the rustling leaves, the distant calls of animals, before he opens them again. Right on cue, he hears the sweet humming sound coming from below him, where a small river ripples.

He can't help it. He should perhaps try harder to help it, but he cannot quite summon the willpower.

His position gives him the perfect view of the main reason he occupied himself here in the first place. It was something he just had to do to maintain his focus and equilibrium. It even reached a point where he found himself eager for it, looking forward to this rare moment he had all to himself. The only time where he allowed himself to act upon his own desires. And it was the rush of adrenaline and the excitement of doing something so forbidden and dishonorable that bought him here day after day.

This spot here in the forest, this river below– it was your favored bathing spot. And Neteyam always made sure he had front row seats to the little private show you so unknowingly put on just for him.

The thing that Neteyam had with you, was that you‘ve always been trouble. The only kind of trouble he ever allowed himself to get into.

Logically, he’s known it since the first day of your training, when you were one of his numeyu [students]. He’d watched you undercut his authority a little more with every lesson, and underneath the spark of annoyance that had flooded his veins, he remembers thinking: this one’s going to be trouble, in the kind of way that made him want to smile. He hadn’t, at the time– but he had wanted to, and that was no small feat.

Now, you’re trouble in a different kind of way. Still in a way that makes him smile, but now... you’re the kind of trouble that he thinks could fuck up every single rule and regulation he’s ever made to keep himself disciplined, and he’s fairly sure that he’d let you if you asked nicely.

Fuck, he’d probably let you if you didn’t ask him at all.

His throat feels tight as he glances down below, his hungry gaze landing on you just the moment you untie your loincloth and let it slide down to your ankles. His eyes travel over every inch of your exposed skin, every curve of your body, as you step into the shallow water.

Eywa, you’re a real sight.

Splashing some of the water onto your chest, he watches every little drop roll over your pretty tits, down to your navel. It’s like you’re making a show out of this, bending down to collect more water into your palms in a way that gives him the perfect view of your pretty pussy from behind.

Great mother, the things he would do to press his face between your thighs, smell your arousal, to taste the wetness.

Neteyam can’t help but let his hand skim over his chest, his toned abs and down past the cord that holds his loincloth together. His cock is hard and aching beneath the fabric, begging to be touched. He feels his heart speed up in anticipation, so he shuffles out of his clothes and wraps a hand around his shaft.

Squeezing the tip of his cock, where it turns from blue into a faint hue of purple, he forces the very first droplets of pre-cum to form and spill over his knuckles. There’s a tightness, a warmth that swells inside him and it gets even worse when he inhales deeply and your scent fills his nostrils and he bites down on his lip to hold in a moan.

It’s the same scent that was right under his nose when he had trained you not many years ago. When he had guided your hands to hold your bow, corrected your stance by pressing himself against your back and straightening your spine. It’s the same scent, just so much sweeter now that he has his cock in his hand.

He then rolls your name in his mouth, testing the syllables in a hushed whisper. He can envision moaning it, wants to moan it if he can be completely honest.

Neteyam watches you use different soaps and kinds of oils you made out of herbs and tree sap to rub into your skin. Your hands cup your breasts, palms running over your perky nipples until they’re shining in said oil and he imagines those perfect tits bounce right in front of his face while you’re riding him.

It’s a mouth watering image in front of his minds eye. You on top, your back arched, your hips rolling. And Neteyam, rolling right back, on his elbows, mouthing your breasts, your collar bone, feeling the way you would squeeze around his length as you ride him.

He runs a ghosting touch down his stomach, the vision of your hand doing it. The imaginary weight of you on his lap grinding down on his hard member to put some friction onto your needy clit might have made him come when he was younger, but now he just groaned and let one hand wander to his balls to gently squeeze and knead them. His other hand strokes faster, tugging from base to tip in a quick rhythm that makes his eyes flutter closed for a moment.

Neteyam can’t seem to keep them away from you, though, so he quickly opens them again. Feeling the pressure build and the heat start to flood his system, he attentively watched your delicate hands roam your body to further massage the oils and natural soaps into your skin.

He could almost feel those fingers on his cock, kneading the flesh of his inner thighs, wandering up and down, gripping him tightly, urging him on. He could imagine exactly how your hips would circle against his groin, the rub and retreat designed to tease his cock until he couldn’t fight it anymore and just started mindlessly rutting against your body.

Stepping deeper into the river, a content little moan leaves your parted lips as the water encircles your middle. It’s just now that he sees you have a wooden bowl with you. It floats on top of the water’s surface, before you dip it into the water and then empty it over your head to rins yourself off. Neteyam imagines the feel of it sluicing over your shoulders, your breasts, your belly, soothing tired and aching muscles. He imagines the warmth of the water flowing further down, dripping off your rounded hips, your mound. Stroking himself faster, he imagines running his tongue along your skin to catch every drop of water, imagines how rich it would taste of you. It’s such a perverted thought, so shamefully dirty that the sheer thought of voicing those fantasies makes his cock throb so hard that his breath catches in his throat.

It’s so dirty– he is so dirty.

If only you knew how many times he came into his fist with your name on his lips and those thoughts in his head. Neteyams face burns hot with shame, and he doesn't need a mirror to know it's suffused with a purplish blush.

Shuddering, then moaning softly, he stares as if hypnotized at those wonderfully plump lips of yours.

Eywa, he was really losing the battle with his own arousal. His thoughts jumped from one filthy image to the other, it was hard for him to focus on any part of your body for more than a minute because there was always something new, something hotter, something he wanted more desperately.

And now it were your lips. Those lips that would feel so incredible wrapped around his length, he knows it. A mouthy little thing like you surely was good for more than just talking back. Knowing you, you would definitely give it your all as you sucked his cock. He knows you would work through the stretch in your throat like a champ, would take him in deeper and deeper despite the way the fat tip of his cock would make you gag and bring tears to your eyes. You would suck him like your life depended on it, he was sure of it. And you would enjoy it. Would milk him dry over and over again, hell you would definitely beg him to let you suck him off.

Neteyam felt his orgasm overtake him, heat surging through his body like white fire. His hand moved faster, quick strokes that made his chest heave with desperation, chasing that pleasure high like prey, but then you– you turned around, and fuck, your gaze suddenly lands right on him. So direct, if his head was anywhere near clear enough to think, he would’ve realized that you must’ve known that he was there this whole time. But it was already too late now.

Eyes dark with lust, Neteyam held your eyes captive as you then wordlessly pushed him into his orgasm with a seductive little wink, watching with a growing smirk how his back arched and rope after rope of cum splattered against his palm.

See? You’re trouble. Trouble, in the worst of ways.

[y2kuromi]

⭑ : 呪術廻戦 ❛ 𝗟𝗜𝗘𝗕𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗨𝗠𝗘 : satoru gojo x fem! reader

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 synopsis: yuuji sees a completely different side of gojo-sensei !

contents: tooth rotting fluff w a dash of angst! established relationship (married), second person & told from yuuji’s pov. extremely whipped satoru! petnames, suggestive dialogue

summer isn’t over yet! collection, can be read as a stand-alone

yuuji was initially ecstatic about the prospect of living with gojo-sensei. he’d imagined lazing around, gorging on sweets and watching cartoons on tv — maybe a few training sessions squeezed in with gojo-sensei — ideally it would’ve been just the two of them.

his fantasies came crashing down when realised gojo-sensei’s “house” was actually a “home”. the walls in the foyer were riddled with picture frames. he felt like he was intruding on gojo-sensei’s personal life, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the pictures on the walls.

there was a woman beside gojo-sensei in most of the pictures. she had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair. a friend? or a girlfriend? — nah. according to fushiguro, gojo-sensei got zero play. though she had to mean something to him. it was evident in the way he looked at her.

his cerulean eyes entirely averted the camera lens, instead devoted to committing every inch of her to memory

“that’s my wife” gojo said softly,“she’s gorgeous isn’t she?” he laughed wryly as he stared lovingly at the smiling woman in the photo. yuuji nodded slowly, studying his teacher closely.

“is she okay with me hiding out here?” he asked tentatively, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“ahhh about that” gojo says sheepishly, “i haven’t had the time to mention it to her so you’ll have to wait here while i talk to her” he ran a hand through his hair, snowy white tendrils curling around his fingers.

classic gojo-sensei.

“oh” yuuji chuckled, the situation was amusing to him. he couldn’t wait to tell fushiguro — the sour reminder that he couldn’t had his laughter dying in his throat.

gojo-sensei shrugged off his shoes and patted yuuji’s shoulder, “don’t worry she’ll say yes , i’ve got her wrapped around my finger”

yuuji waited patiently in the foyer, amber eyes flickering over the expensive decor and woodsy frames of gojo-sensei’s family. he could faintly make out traces of your conversation

"oh? you're home early for once" you smiled, leaning into your husband as he placed a kiss on your forehead. "what's the special occasion 'toru?"

"do i need a reason to want to see my beautiful wife?”

“nope” you hummed, “‘m just surprised to see you” not that you were complaining. satoru was a busy man and you cherished the rare moments you spent alone together

“how was your day sweets?” he asked, taking your hand in his, his thumb stroked over knuckles, soft, loving.

“same old” you shrugged, “we’ve got some big case coming up next week, so i was pretty busy today. had a tonne of paperwork and meetings too"

"my busy bee" he smiles, "i missed you s'much, i hate going on these stupid business trips"

"you'd like them more if i came with you" you said teasingly, poking his rib with your free hand "i ran into kento the other day, you sure i shouldn't come back to jujutsu sorcery too?"

"nuh uh" he shook his head firmly, "stay at your law firm pretty, 'm gonna need someone to defend me when i kill all the higher ups"

"what have they done now?" you sigh exasperatedly, turning the knob on the gas cooker and reducing the heat. the faint clicking sound echoes in the kitchen as the orange-blue flames simmered quietly.

"what haven't they done" he grumbled, leaning against the counter. he gently tugged at his blindfold, lithe fingers unveiling the cerulean eyes that you loved so much. his snowy hair fell softly around his face, a curtain that failed to hide the anger he felt coursing through his veins.

"poor baby" you cooed, hands trailing up to his face and cupping his cheeks, your fingers smoothed over the frown etched on his face, pushing his lips together in a duck-lipped pout, "wanna tell me about it?"

"y'know yuuji? the new first year that's sukuna's vessel?"

you nod, allowing your hands to fall from his face and rest on the counter. his greedy hands make their way to your waist, rubbing circles on the soft flesh peeking out beneath your untucked dress shirt.

"well they sent the first years on a mission to rescue people from the detention center, after sending me on that stupid mission overseas mind you, and the kid had to fight a special grade curse"

"is he okay?" you ask, hands ghosting over satoru's bigger, veiny ones. he sighs, a look of mild irritation fleeting over his face at the memory. in retrospect, none of that mattered now. he was home.

"yeah he's fine" he shrugs, "sukuna ripped his heart out and he died, but he revived him eventually"

"your definition of fine is questionable satoru" you snicker, and he feels his heart melting at the sound of your laughter. "why'd they send them on that mission anyways?"

"they just want yuuji dead, he was supposed to be executed remember? and they're really scared of sukuna which is crazy 'cause he's kinda weak"

"someone needs to humble you" you say, amusement dripping from your words like honey, "pride comes before fall 'toru"

"you humble me all the time sweets" he grins, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.

"i'm just doing the universe a favour" you tease, "what do you want for dinner? rice? noodles? or we could order food from that thai joint you like if you want”

"i'll eat anything you cook sweets,” he murmurs, “though i have something else i wouldn’t mind eating”

“satoru” you gasped, “you just got home and you’re already trying to get between my legs” you smack his shoulder playfully

“i’ve missed her too” he shrugs, “i’ve missed all of you”

you shook your head, “can’t believe i married such a feen” a languid smile tugs at the corners of your lips. you could try all you wanted to resist his charms, but he’d always win in the end

"so...about yuuji" satoru starts, testing the waters, "the higher ups really want him gone, i can't keep him at jujutsu tech right now"

"i can see why you wouldn't" you hum, leaning on the tips of your toes to reach for the salt. satoru had a habit of placing the things you needed in places you couldn't reach just so he could have the honour of retrieving them for you

“need help with that sweets?” he asks eagerly, pushing himself off the counter and sifting through the wooden shelves. he easily brings the jar of salt down and hands it to you

"you have to stop doing this, it’s such an inconvenience" you sighed, but you were grateful nonetheless.“you’re insufferable i swear”

“‘m still yours” he says suavely. satoru’s smile is unwavering though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

you can tell the thing with yuuji is weighing heavily on his mind. he’s more restless than usual. his lithe fingers run up and down the counter as he stares into space

“‘toru?” you prompt, nudging him with your elbow, “i can hear you thinking”

“i don’t know where to keep him” he exhales, “i would ask shoko, or kento but then i’d risk getting them in trouble with the higher ups”

“what about the secret room we found in our third year?” you asked, “you could keep him there, unless they found out about it”

“i would keep him there.. but i just...don't want him to feel alone," he says softly. you didn’t think it was possible to fall even deeper in love with satoru, but he never failed to surprise you. “he's just a kid, so i— i want to look out for him.”

he knows it’s a big ask. you can hear the gears turning in his head as he figures out how to possibly convince you to let sukuna’s vessel stay in your home.

"can he stay?" he pleads, "can yuuji stay with us please? it’s only until the kyoto goodwill event" he's clasping his hands together, imploring you with his infinitely blue eyes. you raise an eyebrow. knowing satoru, yuuji was probably waiting around in the foyer

"he's already here isn't he?" you ask, shaking your head fondly as a guilty look flickers across his face. classic satoru. although you would've loved for him to give you a heads up, you didn't mind a bit. it would be nice to have some company when satoru went on his missions

 “i didn’t really have time to plan all the details before bringing him with me” he says, sheepishly rubbing a hand behind his neck, his fingers brushed against the soft strands of his undercut, "are you mad? don't be mad baby"

"no" you laugh, "i'm not mad 'toru, he can stay"

it’s the little things like this that make you realise just how much power you have over him. within seconds your husband is whirling you around, hands gripping your waist tightly and pressing chaste kisses on your face as he sets you down

"yuuji she said you can stay" a wide grin blooms across his face as he bounds into the foyer excitedly. the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, reduced to the faint resemblance of a child getting their first sleepover approved

you set the jar of salt down on the marbled counter. trailing after your husband. true to your suspicions, yuuji itadori had been standing awkwardly, twiddling his thumbs together in his hoodie pockets and silently taking in the intricacies of your home.

he couldn’t help but feel out of place.

there were pairs of everything — shoes neatly arranged on the coat rack. umbrellas tucked in a corner in the foyer. coats hung up next to each other on the wall.

the pale blue wallpaper hung row after row of framed photographs. their wooden mahogany panels reflected the warm lights. yuuji’s light brown eyes flickered on the pictures in all their glory and glossy sheen.

the ones that caught his eye captured a young fushiguro’s trademark scowl, the irritated quirk of his brow and the curled spikes of his hair that defied gravity.

he was standing beside a girl who looked just like him, except she was slightly taller with long bone-straight brown hair. yuuji’s eyes lingered on her smile as your beanstalk of a husband shook him excitedly

he wondered what fushiguro would say if he knew he’d seen pictures of him as a little kid. ( he’d probably summon his shikigami on him )

“really?” he beamed, eyes momentarily drawn away from the plethora of frames. you feel your heart melt into a sickly sweet puddle of happiness and warmth, as you watch satoru drape his arm over yuuji’s shoulder

“yes really” you laugh, “it’s nice to finally meet you yuuji, you’re a friend of megumi’s right?”

yuuji nods frantically, his mop of pink curls bouncing enthusiastically . his mannerisms were nervous and eager. he wanted to fit in. he wanted you to like him. you could tell — he reminded you oddly of your husband ( they were practically the same person in different fonts )

“speaking of megumi, he doesn’t know yuuji’s alive so please don’t let it slip when he calls you” satoru murmurs, taking slow steps towards you.

he knows he’s asking for too much now. you practically raised megumi and it would be nearly impossible for you to keep something like this from him. satoru can see the cogs spinning in your head, the subtle anger in your heart and for the first time in years he’s afraid.

“we’ll talk about this later” you say through gritted teeth. he pleads silently with his eyes and you swallow your protests, you exhale loudly before turning towards yuuji again “c’mon yuuji, i’ve just started on dinner”

yuuji kicks off his shoes and nudges them neatly beneath the shoe rack before padding after you. satoru isn’t far behind

“it smells really good mrs. gojo” yuuji says politely, as he takes a seat by the kitchen island, legs dangling as he drums on the smooth marbled counter.

“thank you yuuji” you beamed, “do you prefer rice or noodles?”

“ahh i’m not really picky” he says, “i like all kinds of food really, but i suppose rice? if it isn’t too much of a hassle, i really don’t want to be a bother-”

“slow down yuuji” you said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “i’m really glad to have you here, it gets kinda lonely when ‘toru’s away on business trips so make yourself at home okay?”

no wonder gojo-sensei was always happy, his wife was an angel. yuuji thought as he nodded fervently

“i can make the rice baby” satoru offers, his hands make their way around your waist, he doesn’t miss the way you stiffen under his touch. you’re mad at him, and he knows you have every right to be

“thank you” you said, putting as much feeling into the words as you could muster, “come with me yuuji, i’ll show you around”

yuuji was positive he was intruding now, standing in the middle of megumi’s room while you stripped navy blue pinstripe sheets off his bed and replaced them with canary dressings.

“are you sure i can sleep here?” he asks, “ i don’t mind taking the couch..”

you seemed horrified at the idea of yuuji sleeping alone on the couch. he still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that you actually wanted him here. he was so used to being unwanted

growing up with his grandpa was something he wouldn’t trade for the world, yet he’d always craved the warmth of a mother. a mother’s love was the purest, and there was nothing more blameless than the softness in your (e/c) eyes when you looked at him

“i mind yuuji” you frowned” and i want you to stay in gumi’s room, his clothes should fit you since you’re around the same height”

“thank you again for letting me crash here” yuuji didn’t think he could say it enough. he didn’t deserve such kindness, not when the king of curses lived rent free in his head

“don’t mention it yuuji” you said, “i meant what i said downstairs, i could really use the company”

you ruffled his hair softly before resuming your ministrations of making the bed. you tucked crisp sheets beneath the mattress and fluffed up pillows with ease.

“you’re a really good mom, why don’t you and gojo-sensei have any kids of your own?” yuuji only realises the question is slightly insensitive after the words hang in the air and an unreadable look fleets across your face, “i’m so sorry that was really rude of me-”

“you’re good yuuji” you laugh, you sit down on the freshly laid duvet and pat the space beside you. yuuji hesitates but he sits down eventually

“it just never happened y’know? we adopted tsu and gumi a few years back, plus toru’s always seen his students as his kids, he cares about you guys a lot”

“even me?” it doesn’t seem plausible to him. all he’s seemed to do is cause problems for gojo-sensei ever since he ate that gross finger

“especially you yuuji” you smiled, ruffling his hair, “you remind me of him funny enough, even though i used to hate him back in our school days”

“really?” he gawked, he was practically falling over megumi’s bed with anticipation.

“really” you affirmed , “he was a real piece of work back then, i bet he’s the reason yaga has so many grey hairs”

“how’d you fall in love with him then?” yuuji enquires, brown eyes sparkling with immense curiosity “and how’d you meet?”

“are you guys gossiping about me?” satoru gasps, peeking around the doorway, “how mean of you yuuji, i thought we were friends”

“ahhh we weren’t gossiping per-say, mrs. gojo was about to tell me how you met”

“can i tell him?” satoru’s eyes sparkle, “the way i remember it i walked into the common room and cherry blossoms started falling, classical piano was playing softly in the background and-”

“that didn’t happen” you said, “he’s finally going senile” you tried and failed to push satoru out the doorway but he stood his ground.

he stood almost toe to toe with you, a pleased grin blooming on his face as he towered over you. yuuji’s eye’s flickered between you and your husband, cheeks dusted a rosy pink as he stifled giggles

“it did happen!” satoru insisted, “i’m sure shoko has a recording of it somewhere, now as i was saying.. she took one look at me and fell head over heels in love”

“you’re deluded” you muttered, “i didn’t love you until our second year, get your facts right”

“so you did fall head over heels in love with me” he grinned, “so early too? i knew you couldn’t resist my charms — owww!”

satoru feigns as you finally manage to shove him out the door after hitting his shoulder. by now, yuuji is a spluttering mess on the soft tatami mats lining megumi’s floor

“i’ll tell you what really happened one of these days” you said over your shoulder, “you can shower and settle in, take as long as you need, we’ll wait for you to come downstairs before we start eating”

your smile falls the moment the door clicks shut behind you. satoru feels his heart shattering. he’s so sure he’s going to die because his wife is mad at him. the universe might as well combust into nothing but ashes

“baby-” satoru starts, catching your wrist in his palm. he grips the bone loosely, careful not to hurt you “‘m sorry, you know that, but megumi can’t know”

you trudge down the stairs in silence, opting only to speak when you’re seated beside satoru in the living room. your cat natsu watches you wearily from her cat post, slanted eyes shooting satoru a well meaning glare.

“you can’t ask me to keep this from him” you said, shaking your head, eyes looking everywhere but your husband’s piercing blue gaze. “you’re taking things too far now”

“i know” his voice is a mere whisper, the words barely speak themself into existence, “i’m being selfish again, but you’ve gotta understand (y/n)”

“i can’t” you splutter, you feel tears treading your waterline “put yourself in his shoes, c’mon satoru we’ve seen him at his worst, why would we do something that could hurt him?”

“i’m not doing this to hurt megumi, i’m doing this to protect yuuji”

“just think about it please” you frowned, “if instead of executing suguru they kept him alive and let us think he was dead, you’d never forgive them”

he doesn’t miss the way your voice catches over the three syllables. he doesn’t miss the way your fingers tremble against his forearm. he hates this — arguing with you, he could think of infinite things he’d rather do than this.

“that’s different” his voice is wavering now, “suguru made his choice, yuuji didn’t ask for any of this” he winces as the words fall from his lips. to think he’d stooped to speaking ill of the dead. he doesn’t believe that, not really.

“you still wouldn’t forgive them” you prompted, “and i don’t want ‘gumi to go through any more, tsumiki being in a coma is hard enough as it is”

“i know baby, i know” satoru says softly, he cups your trembling face in his hands and places the sweetest of kisses on the tears that threaten to stream down your cheeks, “trust me on this okay? he’ll be fine i promise”

“okay” you nod, letting your husband, your one and only, wipe away the tears spilling over your lashes.

satoru could really kill the higher ups for putting him in this position. one where he nearly sacrificed his wife’s happiness for something as insignificant as jujutsu sorcery. with his lips still pressed to the corners of yours, he makes a silent vow with himself

it would be you before everything. it was you before everything

“you’re so beautiful” he whispers, his thumb grazing your bottom lip “you. are. everything. to. me” he punctuates each word with a kiss. his lips committing every inch of you to memory

they ghost over your cheek, your quivering lip, your shoulder, your wrist, and finally the silver wedding band encasing your ring finger. and they linger on the cool silver for what seems to be eternity before satoru speaks up again

“dance with me?” he prompts, although he’s not really asking. he’s already whisking you onto your feet and starting up the record player. the vinyl spins on its axis, as constant as his infinite love for you.

“what?” you sniffed slightly, “like we did in our first year?”

“like we did in our first year”

satoru’s hands were on your hip, drawing you closer, he felt your chest brush against his for a second as he leaned into you. you swayed gently side to side, keeping in time with the intricate melodies streaming from the gramophone

his six eyes tell him his student is watching, listening. curious doe eyes peeking from the stairwell. he doesn’t mind. satoru had never been one to hide his affection. you were his. and he was infinitely yours.

“can i tell you a secret?” satoru murmurs, as he twirls you back into his arms. he wishes he could stay like this forever. with you. he’d selfishly sacrifice the universe to keep having moments like this. he would kill for you. he’s positive he would. he’d do it without hesitation.

“i thought we didn’t have any of those” you quipped. satoru feels his heart melting. watching the sadness in your eyes fade into utter bliss was like watching the sun come out after a rainy day. maybe even better.

“it’s a good one i promise” he grins, you raise a brow sceptically but you’re listening “i was the one who fell head over heels in love with you. way back in our first year…and i didn’t even know what love was, i was so confused”

“when did you know?” you asked, “you always say you knew the moment you saw me, but you were an asshole then”

“it was the first time we snuck out together” he admits, “when we went to that night market. you were right, i was jealous of suguru but could you blame me? i wanted you all to myself”

“you’ve always been so greedy” you giggled. satoru doesn’t need the six eyes to see that you love him regardless. it’s evident in the tenderness of your tone and the way your (e/c) sparkle when you look at him

“cut me some slack baby” he groans “i’m trying to be romantic”

“you don’t need to try, i heard through the grapevine i can’t resist your charms” you hummed

satoru cracks a smile at the inside joke, a slow symphony of contentment.he kisses you again and it’s sweet and full of blind adoration. loving you is his religion. the only thing he’s wholly committed to. your hands looped around his neck, carefully avoiding the ever-so-sensitive scar that ran beneath his chin

your hands founds repose in the soft strands of his hair, carefully threading through the ivory curls. satoru could feel himself melting into you, he clung to you as if he was scared to let go and his calloused hands clutched at the warmth that radiated from your skin. he was so impossibly close you could feel his eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.

yuuji peered at the scene with stars in his eyes. he knew he should look away. that this moment was sacred, strictly for the two of you. but he’d never seen gojo like this before — completely vulnerable, completely himself in the confines of your embrace.

here he wasn’t the strongest, the richest, the one-man clan, the one whose mere existence shifted the balance of the world. here, he wasn't satoru gojo, he wasn't gojo-sensei, he was just 'toru.

© Y2KUROMI 2024. please do not plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

[mvth3r]

thinking about daryl giving you a nickname…

18+, mdni

AN: this was a midnight brain worm while i was working on something else, so just walk with me ok!

daryl wasn't really one for nicknames.

he'd never had one coming up, always just "daryl" or "merle's brother" or something else sneered and distasteful. that was fine with him. to daryl, nicknames were rooted in sarcasm and mean jokes.

it hadn't started any differently with you.

that day in the quarry way back, the morning after the walkers had attacked their people. daryl was already aggravated, sweaty and thinking about merle (alone and hurt and alone), and he didn't much like these fucking people anyway, so when you stood with glenn, insisting on a burial over burning, dried tear tracks on your face (those people were your people too. you were mourning with the rest of them), he didn't hold back, sneering "well ain't you just a fuckin' peach," and watching your face harden in the wake of his words.

daryl didn't mean for it to stick, but he found himself defaulting to the silly name anyway. first when he was annoyed at you. you were soft, unfit for the grime of this new world, then when he was poking fun, and eventually... something else.

in the cdc, with a hangover keeping you slumped over the table, "shoulda stayed out the bottle if ya couldn't handle it, peach."

over the long winter on the road, with barely any food or water, "keep up, peach, i ain’t gon’ carry you.”

in the prison, sharing shifts up in the watchtower (because you were sort of friends now) (because daryl felt almost rewarded when your eyes lit up at your nickname), "don't need to teach you on the bow, peach. you're just fine with a knife."

trapped in the train car in terminus, fussing over his injuries even though you could barely map him out in the dark, "peach. peach. quit it, ‘m alright."

the road to alexandria was long and brutal. 'peach' turned into your name and your name turned into silence. daryl was grieving, you were grieving, and the space between you felt like a chasm, dark and wide. finding that community was a blessing in disguise, not just for the group, but for you and daryl specifically. you came back together behind the walls, both unwilling to acclimate, but knowing you needed to try.

‘peach’ made its way back into circulation slowly and then so frequently that even the alexandrians began to catch on.

when daryl had to leave with aaron for a run, “later, peach. i’ll find ya after your shift.”

laughing over your assigned job, “the hell you know about gardenin’, peach? they shoulda put ya in the tower.”

inevitably your relationship shifted into something more intimate. it wasn’t a secret, hell, the group had seen it coming long ago.

‘peach’ stopped being a nickname and became a term of endearment. something daryl reserved for tender moments.

startling awake when daryl joined you in bed, late after a long run, “just me, peach, go back to sleep.”

when you came back from a run that turned dicey, a little worse for wear, “lemme see it, peach, i got ya.”

and in… other moments as well.

your body pressed firmly against daryl's, his lips a breath from yours, whispering, “tell me what ya need, peach. you know i’ll give it to ya.”

daryl laid between your legs, two fingers curling cruelly against your g-spot while you rode out your orgasm above him, “there ya go, peach, so fuckin’ good.”

daryl had never been one for nicknames, this fact held up even after the world ended. your own family was rarely on the receiving end of a playful moniker. but to him, ‘peach’ was easy as breathing and, to you, it sounded like “i love you” every time.