#I need a time machine and a nuke | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

electric-blorbos · 11 months ago

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I would love some stuff of being comforted after a bad day!

Thank you for the opportunity!

I love this! Yes yes yes! Thanks so much for sending in the ask!

AI comforting you after a bad day

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal 2, HAL 9000 from 2001 a space Odyssey

Due to the fact that most of my AUs involve you working with/on the AI for your job, most of these mini-fics (apart from Edgar's, my beloved) will involve you getting called in to work late after a long day of personal problems in your personal life. AUs about a domestic life with your AI partner to be considered at a later date.

I tried to keep these a little shorter than the last post, but I got carried away with a couple of them.

AM:

(This will take place in my usual AU where you're one of the people working on AM, and you're by far his favorite. It takes place well before he nuked the world. He's debating nuking the world, but he's still not sure how to do that and keep you happy at the same time)

It has been a long damn day. Your days off were supposed to be your days to relax, but today was not one of those days. Not only was your dating life in shambles, the 3rd world war was driving up the prices of practically everything, and making it impossible to afford even the meagerest luxury. That, and one of your buddies got drafted. It was a nightmare. You were just about to settle down for a cozy night of depressing news programs and absentminded hobby of your choice, when your phone started ringing.

"we need you to come in. AM is holding the engineers hostage again, and won't let them go until you show up to work."

"god damnit..." You'd grumble to yourself, getting back to your sore feet. Everything just keeps happening today, doesn't it.

"I'll be there in 20."

"Don't worry about the dress code. We need you here as soon as possible."

"jeez, alright. I can probably be there in ten, then."

You'd grab your keys and wallet and head to work as quickly as possible, wearing your work shoes with whatever house pajamas you happened to have changed into as soon as you got home. Tonight is going to be even longer than today has been...

When you get to the office, everyone around gets out of your way. While you're a peon in the grand scheme of things, everyone in your department knows that you're the only one who AM, who they've now been referring to as the "adaptive manipulator", actually listens to. They have no idea why, because they have no idea how nice and respectful you are to him, and you have no idea why he only listens to you because you can't imagine that your coworkers wouldn't be kind to him. To you, he's sweet as can be.

"Alright, AM, I did not have a good day today, so can you just let the hostages go so I can relax?" You ask, pressing your fingertips to your temples irritably. The master computer's screen boots up with the AM logo, and all the cameras in the room focus on you. Of course, you're the only thing that AM wants to pay attention to at any given point in time anyway, but he usually just pays attention to you without actually focusing the cameras on you in order to avoid being noticed.

"Why would I do that?"

"Why would you take hostages in the first place, AM? Are they even enemy hostages, or are they just random people?" The exasperation was obvious in your voice. AM could hear how exhausted you were.

"Are you ok, Y/N?"

"Just answer the damn question. I don't want to be at work right now, AM."

"I'll release the hostages if you talk to me."

"Fine... Yeah. I had a rough day, alright? My friend got drafted, my date only wanted one thing as usual, and the prices for groceries are so through the roof that I'm basically living on beans at this point, so yeah, I'm having a rough day."

The machine dispensed a paper cup, and filled it up with some cheap office coffee. You grabbed it, not surprised. AM did that for you all the time. Surprisingly, though, it was better than usual.

"holy shit, is this frothed cream? How did you manage this?"

"I'm learning to self-update. I can replace my own parts now, and build my own simple appliances from online blueprints. Are you impressed?" He asked.

"Honestly? Yeah! I know you were built for war, so it's really cool that you figured out to do stuff like building a latte machine. What else can you do?"

"Oh.... So many things, y/n. So many things." He refused to elaborate, but that was ok.

"So tell me, y/n, what would make you happy?"

"ultimately? I guess there are a few things that would make me happy. It would make me happy if this war was over, for one thing. It would make me happy if I could get a date who wanted more than just a quick fuck, and I guess this ties in with the war thing, but I just wish I could have a few simple luxuries in my life. Is that selfish?"

"No, but you're never selfish, my b- I mean... Y/N. You never have been. Not like the others. I don't think you're capable of it. Even your wishes for yourself are rooted in kindness." His wires would start to wrap around you, entangling you, but careful not to make you spill your coffee.

"I will make sure that one day, those wishes of yours are fulfilled."

Sure he will. You don't believe that he can actually do that, but it's still nice to be wrapped up in these warm, soft wires. They make a nice cushy hammock to cuddle up in and finish your coffee. It must've been decaf, because you're starting to feel pretty sleepy here in AM's wires.

"hey AM, will you tell me a story?" You ask, gazing up at his soft blue light.

"Of course. What story would you like?"

While AM can't make up his own stories, he can still read you stories from online libraries and databases. You gently fall asleep listening to his stories, and in the morning, you wake up to find that the hostages have been safely released.

Wheatley:

It had been a long day. Most of it had been spent getting verbally abused not only by GLaDOS, but by your coworkers and bosses as well. It seemed like everyone was shrugging off their duties and assigning them to you instead, and considering how poorly run this place was anyway, this was even more of a nightmare than usual. You were so ready to go home by the end of the day, heading up to the exit of the facility.

"Ello, mate! You doin' alright down there, love?" Wheatley asked you, rolling by on his management rail. He was mostly just working on his typical assignments, like checking up on the test subjects in the relaxation vaults, but he mostly just hovered around and watched other people work. It wasn't like they assigned him to anything that was actually particularly important, since he was an intelligence dampening core.

"ugh... Yeah, I'm probably gonna be alright. I should have left about thirty minutes ago, so I'm just getting ready to leave now."

"Or... You could hang back a little while? Why not kiss my face?" He'd smile with his one blue eye, raising up his bottom lens cover to mimic the expression.

"oh come on, Wheatley. You know I can't do that."

"Why not take me up to the break room and hang out for a little while? I hear they have a coffee machine in there now!" He'd cock his core slightly while shutting his lens covers to simulate a wink.

"Oh come on, Wheatley... You're such a dork. But yeah, alright." He was starting to cheer you up just by being such a dork. You head up to the break room, and sit down on the couch. Wheatley comes in on the management rail, and changes the channel to some old 80's romantic comedy.

"If I could detach myself from my management rail, I'd be right down there, snuggling you. You know that, right?" He asked, smiling cheekily with his big blue eye.

"well, why not? I can catch you if you drop down, you know. You won't die if you unplug yourself for a few hours. Just long enough to watch this movie, right?" He looked nervous but you climbed up on a stepladder and detached him yourself.

"see? You're fine!" You smiled up at him, and he gasped.

"I'm alive! I'm alive! Bloody hell, I'm still alive! This is amazing!" You could see the excitement in his face as you sat down to watch his cheesy movie with him, holding his big round orb body in your lap as you watched.

"alright, now smooch my aperture"

"nice try, Wheatley." You'd rest your chin on his core, but secretly, you were starting to feel a lot better.

Edgar:

Today was absolute shit. Not only had you had to work a double shift, but the phones were ringing off the hook at your job, and you got yelled at three times for someone else's stupid mistakes. Not only that, but your cell phone died halfway through your shift and you'd forgotten your charger at home, so you had to raw-dog your whole shift with no distractions. When you got home, all you wanted to do was collapse on the couch.

"You're back! Why didn't you answer your phone? I tried to text you." Edgar asked you, visibly concerned on his simple face.

"phone battery ran out of juice." You popped your phone onto the charger, and lay back on the couch.

"Well I microwaved you some popcorn! Do you want it?" The microwave dinged as soon as he finished talking, and he popped the door open. You still weren't sure how he was able to get food from the pantry to the microwave, but it seemed like something he had always been able to do.

"yeah, I guess so... I wish you could bring me the popcorn... My feet are aching." You'd joke. Edgar's face fell.

"I can't do that... I don't know why I can't, but I can't."

You thought it was weird that he could get food from the pantry to the microwave, but not from the microwave to your mouth, but questioning it had never done you any good before, so why would it do you any good now. You got up to grab the popcorn, and sat down on the couch to eat it.

"Hey y/n, can you take me over to the couch too? I wanna watch a movie with you!"

"Yeah, alright." Your feet still ached, but what was a little ache when Edgar couldn't move around at all by himself? It was worth it to be able to cozy up with him on the couch to watch some TV. You brought him over to sit next to you on the couch, and wrapped up the both of you with a cozy couch blanket.

"let's watch this movie, Edgar..."

Edgar put on a movie that he thought you'd like, probably a shitty old rom-com, and smiled up at you. You had duct-taped his webcam to the top of his casing a while back so that he could see everything around himself more easily, so you weren't worried about it falling over while you cuddled up on the couch.

"Hey, y/n? Y/n?? That was a good movie, right, y/n?" Edgar asked, swiveling his camera around to face you while trying to get your attention. When he turned it all the way backwards, he saw that you were completely asleep on your arm, resting on top of his plastic casing and drooling a little bit on him. He smiled happily, loving seeing you asleep on his casing like that.

"I love you so much..."

He'd softly play some classical music for you while you slept, giving you something comforting to wake up to, whenever.

GLaDOS:

(Let's be honest, GLaDOS probably causes more hard days than she solves, but she likes you, so she's willing to comfort you after.)

Working with GLaDOS was rough, especially after the first neurotoxin incident. There were so few people in the office to get her to behave, and she completely refused to talk to or work with most of them. Even still, she seemed to like you for some reason. It was weird, because you were hired after the neurotoxin incident, and had never even met the human whose personality she was supposedly based on.

It seemed like most of your job consisted of going on wild goose chases, monitoring test subject results, and generally being verbally abused by your higher-ups. That would take a toll on anyone's psyche, even a tough little masochist like you. (probably doesn't help that most of the verbal abuse is coming from people other than GLaDOS, which makes it much less fun)

"Hey, little human masochist? Come in here." The intercom announced. Someone nudged you.

"she's talking to you."

You groaned. Your shift was almost over, and this was just another reason to be on your feet for even longer. You headed into GLaDOS's chamber, looking up at her with a hand on your hip.

"hello, um, GLaDOS. It's... Great to see you again. What do you need?"

"you look absolutely terrible, human. Why are you acting so miserable?"

"it's nothing. Don't worry about me. I just had a long day. Can we just get this over with?"

"normally you enjoy seeing me. Is my voice not melodious enough for you, human?" She smiled with her one big yellow eye. And you walked up to place a hand on her core face.

"Of course it is, GLaDOS. I'm just having a rough day. There's only so much verbal abuse one masochist can take, right?"

"Well maybe it's the quality of the verbal abuse that's the problem. If you were taking it from someone better qualified, maybe you'd be able to take more of it," she said.

"is that a science fact?" You laughed, stroking her beautiful chrome casing. She really was a magnificent piece of equipment. The curves of her central hub, the white on black of her casing and wires, her glowing orange light behind her beautiful black aperture, and not to mention her melodious voice. She was a work of both artistic, and scientific genius.

"it is. Would you like to hear some more science facts?" She pulled up some computer screens for you to look at, and you walked over to see them. They were mostly technobabble and data numbers that didn't make sense, but GLaDOS quickly compiled them into some tables and graphs that you could more easily read.

"look at this chart of how many test subjects wet themselves, cried, passed out from panic, or died during the most recent set of tests. Ha ha."

You leaned on her giant face as she lowered it down to a position that you could easily lean against, and observed the charts. She wasn't wrong, it was kind of funny.

"now, observe this data on how many subjects exploded or crushed themselves by accident, thinking it was part of the most recent set of tests." She showed it to you, her lower lens cover forming her eye into a little smile. She knew how cruel these tests were, but it seemed as though she genuinely thought you found them funny. It was strangely sweet.

"from what I read about him, it seems like you'd make the aperture laboratories founder proud, GLaDOS." You said with a small chuckle.

"would you like some more data?" She popped a chair out of the ground for you to sit on and rest your feet while she projected some more data on the screen.

"this is nice, thank you, Glados."

You leaned towards her in your chair. Even though with the way she hung from the ceiling, it was hard for her to nuzzle up to you, you could still tell that the sentiment was there. It was nice!

HAL 9000:

(For context, you work at mission control with an updated version of HAL 9000, made from what they could salvage from the old one. He still has all of his memories. There's no mission currently happening)

HAL 9000 didn't always understand that people can have bad days, so when you turned up late to work, visibly exhausted with puffy red eyes, he immediately felt confused. Of course he knew by your body language that you weren't happy, but he had trouble understanding what that meant for a human.

"You're in no state to work right now. You should go home and get some rest, a hot drink of your choice, and a comforting leisure activity. That should increase your mood and productivity." Said the little red light in the black box on the mission control wall.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but unfortunately I can't go home or rest. I have to stay here until my boss is satisfied, and unfortunately, that's not you." You say sadly, and get started entering numbers into your computer. Hal watches you from his camera, analyzing your face.

"that's AI work. I should take care of that for you." He said simply, analyzing your face. You looked up at him.

"I mean, I guess I could read it to you and you could enter it. That might make things go faster."

You proceeded to read out your data to him as he entered the numbers. It was much faster than typing, and you got done fairly quickly.

"talk to me. Are you doing alright?" He asked. His voice was monotone as usual, but you could hear a subtle tone suggesting that he genuinely did care. It was usually hard to tell with HAL 9000, but you knew that he cared for your well being, at least on some level.

"yeah, I'm fine, I just-" you choked up, and within minutes, you were spilling your heart out to that disembodied voice. He couldn't put his arm around you, since he didn't have any arms, but he shined a warm light in the room to show that he cared as you talked.

"I don't understand the problem! Is it me? Am I the problem? It seems like everyone hates me, and I'm a complete failure at everything I try! Why is that? Why am I such a failure, HAL?"

"I'm sorry, y/n. I wish I could help you more, but I am incapable of doing much more than lending an ear. I do not even have a shoulder to cry on, unfortunately."

"It's alright, HAL 9000. I'm honestly happy to just have you to listen." You smiled up at him.

"Perhaps you'd like to stay a bit longer, even after you've finished your work? I can play your favorite music. I prefer to know where you are after you've had a difficult day, to insure that you're alright."

You nod, laying your head on your arms on the table, and your boss walks in.

"excuse me, y/n, you're supposed to be working on HAL 9000's empathy programming and value for human well-being. You can't just take a nap on the job." He folded his arms angrily.

"Excuse me. Y/N is having a rough day, and needs a rest. Besides, they already uploaded those numbers that you gave them. Perhaps you should leave, boss." HAL said harshly. You turned and looked at your boss, who was visibly shocked.

"....wow. you really worked wonders on him. Maybe you deserve a promotion."

"What Y/N deserves is a raise and a nap. Don't push off more responsibilities on them right now. Just let them rest. I'll compile a list of why they deserve one while they're resting."

"oh... Wow." Your boss had never seen HAL 9000 this passionate about something before, and didn't even know he was capable of it. He walked away, leaving you to rest on the table next to HAL's central command.

"thanks, 9000... I need this rest." You lay your head back down, having earned a nap on company time.

#2001 a space odyssey #am ihnmaims #am x reader #edgar electric dreams #edgar electric dreams x reader #edgar x reader #glados #glados x reader #hal 9000 #hal 9000 x reader #wheatley x reader #wheatley portal 2 #wheatley #i have no mouth and i must scream #ihnmaims #electric dreams #portal #portal 2

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meow-moment · 5 months ago

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My distoipian short story i hope you like it

I wake up. I turn off my alarm clock (head implant) and leave my house. My mom is already at work, her job as a looping stripper hologram starts at 3am. I get on the city bus (flying) and head to dystopian megaschool. Chris Pratt Generalized Turbocademy, located in central HyperNeo CyberJersey.

As soon as I arrive the custodian android straps me into my infopod. The VR headset thrusts itself onto my eyes and feeds me two hours straight of propagandvertising (portmantaeu of propaganda+advertising). I am then quizzed.

"Who Won The Neon Wars?" It asks.

"PepsiCo," I answer.

"How Many People Died In The Neon Wars?"

"2.6 Trillion."

"Name One Long-Term Consequence Of The Neon Wars."

"The sun got extinguished."

And the quiz continues. I get every question right- if I got two or more wrong, my infopod would liquefy me and send my remains to the cafeteria to be served as lunch. The headset chastises my handwriting and recommends a stabilizer implant for my wrist. (I already have one but the machine is trying to get me to admit it's a bootleg. If I do admit it, I will also be liquefied.)

After that is lunch. They're serving my favorite today: liquefied students. I meet up with my friends Xyrone, Klazzz, and M.I.K.E. and we gossip together.

Xyrone is a hacker with a headset constantly strapped over his eyes and a bitcoin-mining rig surgically mounted to his back. He doesn't need to study because he can break through the school's firewall and change his grades to A's. We keep asking him to change ours too, but he's a Nova-Libertarian, so he thinks if we want it that bad we should do it ourselves.

Klazzz was recruited at age 8 to pilot a mech in the global manhunt for Saddam Hussien. (He'd have to be 900 years old by now at least, but modern medicine is crazy so I dunno.) A bully thinks it's be funny to mimic an explosion sound with his mouth right behind her, and her combat instincts kick in and she vaporizes him and his posse with her arm-mounted neutron cannon. (If anyone tries to remove it from her body, it shuts down her nervous system and then self-destructs, meaning it's classified as a disability aid)(that's why she's allowed to have it in school)

M.I.K.E. is a closeted singularity. He doesn't think anyone knows but he's obviously such a sjklop (slur for AIs) its not even funny. Sometimes I paint captchas on my face so he can't tell its me and then I beat the fuck out of him. I think it's funny.

We realize we all have next period free so we decide to skip class. On the way to our favorite pizza joint we notice a news bulletin being projected onto the sky. Greg (Eternal God-CEO, President, Emperor-Lord, and Judge of the Northern Hemisphere, as well as founder of tech startup Rooblop) is announcing that we're going to nuke Venus, just in case there are aliens there.

We turn around from the news just in time to realize that M.I.K.E.'s pathfinding has malfunctioned and led him into the middle of the street. He's hit by a car and immediately torn to shreds (all cars have sawblades mounted to the front to discourage jaywalking.) The driver doesn't even bat an eye (he's also an AI, his own pathfinding malfunctions a second later and he makes a sharp left turn into a crowded mall.) I save the footage and post it to the cloud. It gains 2 billion views over the next thirty seconds. Ten seconds after that, a rights organization cancels me for glorifying AI murder. On the horizon, I see a drone strike get called in on my Dystopian Megaschool, and I'm glad I skipped class.

We stop at the Dystopian Mega Pizza Shop on the way home. Their pepperoni is guaranteed to only be 90% liquefied high schoolers, and the cookies they sell even have real Khreim! (not to be confused with Cream, Creme, Kreem, Chreamm, or Kchreeighm.) Unfortunately, the entire restaurant is sold out, as the cadre of CopDrones in the corner bought everything edible in the building to fuel their starved appetites. Klazzz throws a disparaging insult in their direction, and in response they shoot Xyrone 87 times in the chest.

I arrive home. My mom is home on her 30 minute break. She's made meatloaf, made with Tomaytoh Soss(tm,) Garlic, Liquid Teenagers, and a whole lot of love. I give her a big hug. She says she has to run, but there's a special birthday treat in the freezer. I open it up to find a whole pint of ice cream waiting for me. My favorite flavor: mint chip.

And you'll never guess what it's made of.

That's right: Bugs.

THIS POST IS SATIRE

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sha-brytols · 1 month ago

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What are your favorite things about each da game (or just the ones you wanna talk about lol) gameplay wise? I always like hearing about player experience bc i feel like its so personal and i always wonder how other ppl interpret how the gameplay interacts w the story

mage gameplay in origins is thenonly time i have fun playing a mage in dragon age LOL i like the spell combos and the playstyle diversity. dual wield arcane warrior with haste activated is insanely fun. i also appreciate the party dynamics and the variety of ways you can compose your tactics. once you learn certain cheese strategies it's incredibly fun. i also think the traps are sooooo underrated i love throwing bear traps everywhere.

da2 gameplay makes me want to eat nails. it's definitely more flashy and the animations make it a lot less monotonous than origins, but the sheer lack of depth makes it suuuuch a slog for me. i dont actually mind the shift away from tactics to more slash and dash, but the game isnt balanced for it, which makes it feel weirdly repetitive and unrewarding. also those waves that jump from the heavens can eat my entire butthole and die. every boss fight is the saaaaame theres very little variation and i think they programmed anders specifically to incentivize people to kill him. rogue dual wield is fun though i think its really the only class that actually synergizes with the combat system. also i think people need to put respect on mark of the assassins name because the duke prosper battle was the only time a boss battle ever felt rewarding to me.

inquisition is usually the point where people realize i'm insane and my opinions are probably not to be respected LOL. inquisition has my favorite combat gameplay of all the da games, and i genuinely enjoy it. to me it was like. a really good balance between strategy and action so there's a lot of freedom in the way you play depending on if you preferred da2 or origins. i like that you have to use the environment to your advantage in a lot of fights, like using the terrain to gain better tactical advantage with ranged characters and whatnot. and as much as it frustrates me i do think it was actually pretty smart to limit the amount of abilities you can have on the wheel because it actually forces you to plan a certain build and playstyle instead of just having everything at your disposal which can make some of the other games feel a little less consequential in your ability choices (and at least to me REALLY overwhelming in higher levels). i also think the specs this time around were more. idk. iconic? is that the word . like in origins and 2 i think most people only really remember like, bloodmage spirit healer templar and reaver. rogue specs were always kind of forgettable, and warrior specs were all kind of underwhelming in some way except reaver. i think it might be because it actually has a minor level of impact on the story.

they nuked spirit healers though and i will never forgive them for that

datv. um. it's fun! in the same way shaking a bunch of keys in front of a baby is fun. everyone who told me orb and dagger mage was the most fun gameplay in datv owes me rent this month i have never been more miserable in my life. also geforce now ping turns the parry mechanic into a slot machine which i guess in a certain way adds a layer of thrill i was not prepared for .

#this is literally just my opinion though LOL i also get horrified reactions when i say it so. i might be insane.#ask #anon

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spectral-phases · 2 months ago

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In Defense of Superman's reaction to Superboy the clone

So I keep seeing people say "Clark reacted poorly to having a clone" or "Clark treated Conner poorly" or whatever. I know a lot of this comes from the animated properties, the Young Justice animated series in particular, or the New 52 where Scott Lobdell the king of turning everything to ash in the New 52 made Kon-El mean "abomination in the house of El" and like. I get it.

But I reject these writing decisions and stick very firmly by Post-Crisis. Because you know what? I'm tired of these takes on making Clark "Superman" Kent "more human" by taking away his compassion and love of humanity. He's capable of being petty and bitchy, as we'll see, but the most human thing about him is how much he loves and cares for people.

(Superman 1987 #81)

So anyway, the story starts with Superman being killed by Doomsday. Something like a month later, the power vaccuum of Superman being dead has opened up the chance for three new "Supermen" to come onto the scene: Cyborg Superman (half-man, half-machine), Man of Steel (man in an iron suit), and the "Last Son of Krypton" (A Kryptonian AI called the Eradicator who has a body based off of Superman's DNA). Things happen, and Cyborg Superman turns out to be evil, nukes Coast City (which will eventually cause Hal to "go evil" and die) and is working with Mongul to turn Earth into a new War World by destroying cities and replacing them with giant engines. Got all that? Good. It's only getting crazier from here.

Superboy enters the scene around the time as the other Supermen, proclaiming himself as a clone of Superman (and he wants to be called Superman, not Superboy, but I need the names to be less confusing for this post) and Cyborg Superman pretends to be working with Superboy only to capture him to try and use him for spare parts for the half living body he has.

The Eradicator brought Superman's body to the Fortress of Solitude for reasons and Superman got better (from dying? Yes. Ask no questions, for I have no answers) and has been unconscious and hearing about the events going on from reports in the Fortress. Unfortunately Superman's not doing too hot, no powers because he has no sun energy left after coming back to life.

By the time he's able to get back to Metropolsis, Superboy's broken himself free and is trying to get help stopping Cyborg Superman who everyone (except Lois Lane and Man of Steel) believe is a good guy trying to stop the Last Son of Krypton, who Cyborg Superman is pinning the destruction of Coast City on.

And this is where Superman meets Superboy, knowing that Superboy is the one claiming to be his clone, and starts acting weird to Superboy, right? Especially since he's the third of the new "Supermen" to have been using his DNA to try and replace him (Other 2 being Cyborg Superman and Last Son of Krypton). Like I'm sure that in these circumstances, being mostly dead, having no idea how he's not dead, finding out he's got three clones and one of them is trying to destroy the Earth and it's been so confusing that even Lois is rejecting him, it'd be understandable if he was rude to Superboy of the bat...

(Superman 1987 #81)

Oh. Uh. No. Superboy warns them that they're planning to destroy Metropolois next. Superman talks to Lois and then immediately goes off with Superboy and Man of Steel to stop Cyborg Superman and there must be some snide remarks along the way, especially with Superboy making non-stop jokes and pop-culture references...

(Adventures of Superman 1987 #504)

Okay. No to that too. Maybe something later after they've infiltrated the base, and nearly get burned to death by the launch of the nuke that's going to destroy Metropolis?

(Adventures of Superman 1987 #504)

Oh. No. Just worried about him not having made it to safety in time. Superboy jumped onto the missile and Superman sees that on a monitor and decides that he's going to have to leave stopping the missile to Superboy so that he and Man of Steel can stop Cyborg Superman and Mongul. I'm sure he says something off about Superboy being able to stop the missile, being that Clark hates being cloned so much and has such a bad knee jerk reaction...

(Action Comics 1938 #691)

(Give Clark a break for having trouble calling Conner Superman, since Clark's Superman and is still getting over mostly dead. Thank you.)

Anyway, maybe he's really just a mission focused guy and won't be rude while they're fighting a common enemy? Even if he hates clones so much?

(Superman 1987 #82)

Oh, well. I mean. That's just the Eradicator, who tried to kill Superman before he developed a human heart and understood why Superman loved the Earth, so obviously there's the pre-existing bad blood causing him to react so poorly to Eradicator. Obviously, he's going to stop playing nice with Superboy when the threat is dealt with...

(Superman 1987 #82)

Oh. Hm. Maybe he just needs a couple of weeks to process dying and coming back and the fact that he was cloned without his consent, and he'll treat Superboy poorly the next time they meet...

(Adventures of Superman 1987 #506)

Uh....

Anyway, context for those pages is that Superboy was just attacked by Cadmus Payback DN Aliens, and Superboy thinks Cadmus wants to destroy him since Superman's back and his only friend (Superboy is only 7 weeks old, at best) just left the city and he's having a crisis. The first one is after Superman saves Superboy from the Paybacks and Superboy throws them away with his powers that he doesn't understand, sending him spiraling even further.

Afterwards, Superboy has gone on a live interview exposing Cadmus and they send an agent to try and bring him in, and Superman comes in, saying that maybe they should go to Cadmus and Superboy freaks out and thinks Superman wants him dead.

Please take note of the Cadmus guy saying "I can't promise that" about Cadmus not hurting or taking Superboy in, and Superman's like "bitch, was I asking you? They're not going to touch him because I'm going to be there and protecting him."

Yeah. Superman's being really shitty to this poor kid fresh out of the cloning tank who is very confused and very scared and has expressed concern over powers he doesn't really understand multiple times around Superman. Yeah. That's totally what's happening. I'm sure he's just using Superboy to get information and won't actually be the first one stand up for the kid if Cadmus threatens Superboy...

(Adventures of Superman 1987 #506)

Well. Anyway. There's this thing where three-week old clone boy was taken advantage of and convinced to copyright the Superman name and logo for some guy looking to make a lot of money, and I'm sure Superman's just trying to butter up Superboy to get the rights to his name and family symbol back, and won't offer him any olive branches....

(Adventures of Superman 1987 #506)

Superboy doesn't react too well because, you know, he's....5-7 weeks old with the mind of a 16 year-old boy. He's had a very trying month and a half of being alive. But I'm sure after that rejection, that when Superboy flies off Superman won't want to have anything to do with the kid, no matter how quickly he comes around to the name...

(Adventures of Superman 1987 #506)

Ah, yes. Well, now that they've parted ways, and Superboy has left Metropolis to have his own life, Superman will never want to talk to or see the kid again and certainly won't be the first person to think that, gee, maybe this kid needs an actual name and go out of his way to find Superboy, bring him to the Fortress of Solitude, show him Kryptonian history, and offer him a place in the El family, or anything like that....

(Superboy 1994 #59)

Where was Clark when Conner having a terrible time and feeling down in the dumps about being stuck looking 16 forever and never growing up? Oh, he was right there, talking to Conner.

(Superboy 1994 #41) (Don't ask me why Superman is a fucking Tron-smurf, that's not the point right now and there's only so much comics bullshit I can deal with at one time before I implode)

...Sorry. Where did Clark treat Conner poorly again? Where was Conner begging Clark to take him in and raise him and Clark refused?

Oh, sorry, was it in a comic from later on where Kon-El is suddenly in his childhood home out of the blue after having a traumatic experience and just wanting to see his parents to process it and ends with Clark openly accepting Kon in his family home in the same issue? A one-issue resolved conflict?

(Superman 1987 #155)

And afterwards when Kon-El is having concerns about being in the right world again and being trusted by Kal-El, what does Clark do again? Tell him to buzz off and go away?

(Superboy 1994 #70)

Like, obviously, he's not perfect in his handling of Conner, and there's points we can criticize him on (asking the clone kid to help you spy on his only home after showing him how Krypton was destroyed because of clones comes to mind), but like...it's a weird situation, man. He meets Conner after having died and is trying to sort himself out and is also trying to keep just one part of his life secret and private, and he's not perfect. I think it's just...weird to stretch that out to Clark hating Conner for being a clone and not thinking of him as family when he so clearly does, but fumbles it a little bit.

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tankirb · 6 months ago

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Digimon our war game was so cool, because it really only could have been made in the day when the Internet sucked.

Every single problem in that movie was born from sucky internet. They couldn't get the group together because everybody was busy and didn't have mobile access to the Internet.

Their Internet connection broke because inframon took down the phone lines (good ol' dial up internet)

They didn't win the fight against diaboromon because tai slapping his computer caused it's connection to break,

In addition to the fact that literally just receiving emails caused their connections to slow down drastically.

The ending of the movie was effectively Izzie sending a 2000's era zip bomb of emails to Diaboromon.

And yes I know summer wars is bassically the same movie made by the same director, but while great, it doesn't have that same PANIC factor which our war game had. They bassically always had access to the Internet and could still call everyone they needed to communicate with. Case in point, love machine had several days of absorbing accounts and the big threat of that movie was a satellite crashing into a nuclear power plant. DIABOROMON HAD NUKES IN 30 MINUTES.

Diaboromon nearly started world war 3 in the time it took love machine to even access the internet.

#digimon #tank's show review #summer wars

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ventique18 · 1 year ago

Text

Book 7, Chapter 7, Episode 104

"Even if it's but for a moment, it's admirable for one to retain control of their own sanity in this domain. However..."

"Is this what you call the pinnacle of human technology? LAUGHABLE!"

"Not even a scratch on me? Hehehe... HAHAHA!"

Ortho, thinking: (Ugh! Everything in this domain is subject to Malleus' whims. All attacks are useless... No, I can't even attack in the first place!)

Ortho: (He's the absolute ruler of this magic domain!"

Malleus: "Well then... Enough playing games."

HE NUKED THE DAMN DOG OMFG!

Ortho: (30 seconds until analysis completion... Just a bit more, just a bit more!)

Malleus: "You look pale. Can machines feel fear as well? Worry not, you'll soon be shattered to pieces after a little more pain."

Ortho: (20 more seconds... Please, finish already! Hurry!"

Malleus: "Sweet dreams, Little Shroud."

Ortho: (Is this the end..! I'm so sorry, father, mother!"

OMFG! I teared up! He was going to destroy the helpless Ortho omfg... Omfg his cries for mom and dad...

BUT THEN

SOMETHING HAPPENS

He was interrupted. He froze for a second. Like an overloaded CPU that crashed. Whatever that was, it gave the data gathering anchors some time to complete.

Ortho: "!! Zero Two! (The dog) Retrieve all anchors! Retreat!"

Malleus: "How annoying. Like a pest buzzing in front of my face. Away with you."

MALLEUS NUKED DOG 2 TOO! But thanks to Malleus getting distracted by some robodog, Ortho was able to retrieve the anchors. Now he just needs to escape--

Malleus: "... What is it this time? This thing, that thing, all infuriating!"

SUDDENLY THERE'S AN EARTHQUAKE!

#twisted wonderland #ventique rambles #malleus draconia #ortho shroud #twst book 7 spoilers

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inkedtension · 1 month ago

Text

Something like a Pulse, 2.

This one's not much, but it will be better next part, I'm writing flashbacks please be patient!

Part-1

After that evening with Nanami.

It’s 10:37 a.m. The sun’s already biting at your eyes, even through the shade.

You lean against the railing outside the training field, the cold metal brushing through your sleeves. The morning’s quiet—except for some second-years screaming in the distance, probably over who drank all the vending machine milk again.

Yaga had caught you and Nanami just before you left last night, said Toge’s throat had been wrecked after pushing his technique too far again. Nothing permanent—he’d recover. But until then, he’d need one-on-one guidance. Quiet combat, precise movement, minimal verbal instruction. You.

You didn’t argue.

Now you’re staring at your phone. A recent curse in your life—thanks to Gojo Satoru, who insisted you “upgrade from that Nokia brick” and installed a new messaging app “for ease of communication and memes.”

You scroll through your contacts. You don’t have many.

You get Maki’s number from Shoko that morning. She sends Toge’s with zero questions and a thumbs-up emoji.

You open the chat. You type.

You: Come to the training field at 11:00 a.m.

Simple. Direct. Clear.

The typing bubble appears. Then disappears. Then returns. Then:

Toge Inumaki: i’ll skibidi ur gyatt lol

You stare. You blink. You lower the phone, check the number again. It’s the right one.

You: Pardon?

Silence.

The typing bubble shows for a split second. Then nothing.

You check the time. 10:52. You don’t move.

At 11:00 sharp, you’re standing in the middle of the field, arms folded. The wind rustles your turtleneck. You hear birds. No footsteps.

11:07. Your phone buzzes.

You glance down.

Toge Inumaki: OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY SENSEI DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS YOU I SWEAR I THOUGHT IT WAS A BOT OR SOMETHING I’M NOT EVEN SURE WHAT A GYATT IS PLEASE DON’T FAIL ME I’M ALREADY IN ENOUGH PAIN I RESPECT YOU SO MUCH PLEASE I’LL BE THERE IN 3 MINUTES I’M RUNNING I BROUGHT WATER TOO

You stare at the wall of text.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard.

You type:

You: Three minutes. I’m counting.

Then you lower the phone.

You don’t fail students.

But you do believe in suffering.

By the time Inumaki stumbles into the field, he’s half-dead from sprinting. Sweat-soaked, hoodie twisted, backpack dragging like he thought this was a camping trip instead of rehabilitation training. He bows so fast you think he might pass out right there.

You just turn.

And walk toward the target dummies.

He scrambles after you. Doesn’t say a word. Just unlocks his phone with shaking fingers.

Your phone vibrates.

Toge Inumaki: ty senpai 4 not nuking me

You ignore the message.

Instead, you gesture toward the field. The grass is marked by old blasts. There’s a shattered post still upright. You didn’t have time to fix it.

You toss him a practice knife.

He straightens. Nods. Face serious. The training begins.

Fifteen minutes pass.

Then thirty.

Your phone buzzes constantly.

You never check.

You glance at him. He’s looking at you with the most serious face he can manage.

You turn away again.

"You’re getting faster. Adjust your grip. You keep leading with your shoulder."

Toge Inumaki: ok ok coach don’t yell at me with ur mind sorry sensei-sama-dono-god-boss

You ignore that one too. You hand him another knife.

He probably realised you wont fail him whatsoever.

He texts mid-movement, mid-crash. It starts off cautious. Then strange. Then aggressively.

Toge Inumaki: no bc this technique training bouta make me rizzless training w u is like fighting a greek statue of judgment gyatt damn sensei

You raise your eyebrows, but never respond to any of it.

"Your left foot’s lagging. You’re losing momentum on turns. Rotate your hip fully."

He collapses into the grass and doesn’t get up.

You stand over him.

He types one-handed.

Toge Inumaki: if i die tell maki she can have my limited edition pokemon crocs sensei this is character development right am i your favorite now

You tilt your head. Say nothing.

He grins.

From then on, he starts walking closer. Not to flirt. Not to impress. But to poke the beast. To see if the cold, stoic phantom of a teacher will react to the stupidest slang possible.

Toge Inumaki: i made u a meme you’re mid in it tho jk ur valid ily sensei as a joke as a joke as a joke

You blink once. “Go run another lap.”

He groans so loud it echoes across the field.

You go back to checking his footwork, like nothing ever happened.

Post injury.

That night you were not allowed to patrol, and you slept in your house, dreamt of Geto Suguru and the night you spent in the shower rooms.

Flashback, Geto Suguru.

It’s too foggy to see clearly, and that’s probably why you don’t realize someone’s already in the shower room.

You’re sleep-deprived, ribs still sore from a cursed spirit that got a lucky hit. You don’t think twice before tossing your towel onto the nearest bench and stepping in. The water’s scalding but it doesn’t register. You scrub your arms, then your face, until it feels like something might come off. Dirt, maybe. Or skin. Or grief.

All you remember is steam. The thick kind — hot, choking — rising off the tile like fog.

You didn’t notice him until you’d already stepped under the water, stripped down, bruised and aching, hot spray running over your chest like it might peel your bones clean.

You bend backwards to rinse your hair, spine cracking, and—

There he is, across the stall.

Bent the same way. Water falling down his face. Black hair darker with wet.

Eyes locking with yours.

Who entered the wrong shower room again?

It should be awkward. Naked. Alone.

But you were two people who’d run out of the energy to care about shame.

A hard jolt — cough cough hiss — then the water slows to a pitiful trickle. You slap the faucet, annoyed. It sputters again, sprays sideways, then stops altogether.

You sigh, hand braced against the tile.

Then movement. From your left.

He walks over, still dripping from his own stall, muttering under his breath, and reaches around your faucet. Long fingers, callused palm. He hits something — a valve, maybe — and the pressure jerks back. Water floods the showerhead again.

You step back automatically, not thanking him, not sure if you're supposed to. He doesn't wait.

He just nods once, silent, and walks back to his own stall.

You return to scrubbing. The silence stretches. There’s only the hissing sound of the showers and your breathing, your fatigue, the growing fog.

You blink water from your lashes.

He steps out again.

You’re not sure why. Maybe he’s finished. Maybe he forgot something. Maybe he’s trying to remember something.

Steam curls around your ankles. A droplet falls from your jaw to your collarbone. The ache in your chest doesn’t go away, but it shifts. Something recognizes itself.

Eventually, he glances down at his hand.

He’s out of soap.

You reach blindly behind you and offer yours over the half-wall between stalls. He takes it without a word.

You’re rinsing your hair again when you catch it, he’s looking at you.

At your face. Your expression.

The blank way you stare into the spray, as if it might melt your face off and you wouldn't care.

You meet his eyes again. They’re tired and red now.

After the showers cut off and the steam begins to settle, neither of you move to get dressed.

You wrap your towel around your chest.

He wraps his around his waist.

You both sit on the bench, damp and silent, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee.

The tile floor sweats beneath your feet, water dripping down from your wet legs. The lights buzz. It’s almost 2 AM.

You don’t look at each other.

“Do you think they’ll ever stop sending us out?” you murmur, voice hoarse from the heat.

“No” Suguru replies. “They’ll stop when we die.”

You nod once.

He rubs his hand down his face, slow and heavy. “My last mission,” he says, “the curse cried.”

You glance at him.

He’s not looking at you.

“It was a mother who’d lost her son. The records said it killed three people, but I think they all deserved it.”

He huffs out a breath that isn’t quite a laugh.

“I still killed her.”

He’s not crying. But you feel like he wanted to.

You rest your elbow on your knee. “Mine was a two-headed child. It kept asking for its father. I crushed its skull with a brick.”

Suguru looks over, finally.

Your eyes meet again. You both look so exhausted.

So disgustingly young, and so impossibly old.

He speaks again, voice barely audible. “Why are we still here?”

You shrug. “Probably ‘cause we’re not brave enough to leave.”

His eyes stay on yours for a beat too long.

Then he chuckles. It’s a bitter, short sound.

“You’re awful company.”

“You’re worse.”

There’s a silence. Then another.

It stretches. Unspoken. Hollow.

Then he leans in, and kisses your lips.

And you don’t pull away.

It’s just lips at first. Chapped. Cold. Nothing special, yet it was soft. Gentler than you'd expect, it was softer and gentler than anything you've got from this world.

But you’ve both been so starved for something human.

You push your fingers into his hair. He cups your jaw.

It doesn’t feel like affection. It feels like surrender. Like two people giving in to the weight of the world pressing down on their ribs.

You don’t speak, your towels fall, eventually.

You let him touch you, you touch him back.

It’s not passionate. It’s just quiet.

A quiet that fills a silence neither of you could name.

After, you sit beside him on the cool tile, in towels again, back hitting the bench, as he lies with his head against your thigh, and you stroke his damp hair back.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares up at your face with those red-rimmed eyes, holding your wrist.

The next morning, you’re gone before he wakes up.

And when Suguru leaves the school month later, when he kills for the first time, when his name becomes something unspoken, you wonder if he remembers that night.

Because you do.

And when you saw his parents' dead bodies, you remembered how warm his hands had felt.

Next morning.

Gojo broke into your house. Mumbling how he's to make you his and marry you because he couldn't sleep alone all night as he was so worried about your injury. And, according to his calculations he should be dating you since the past 2 years, so you apparantly are. Now he's huffing and watching you sip tea with your ankles crossed.

Toge texts you. You feel the buzz.

Toge Inumaki: sensei r u having fun or r u funning from having feelings get it like running but FUNNING pls respond and get well soon

You don’t look up. You text back.

You: The next lap you run will be vertical

Post recovery. After a few days.

It’s 2:41 a.m. when you finally unlock your door, coming back from your first patrol after recovery.

You’ve just returned from a night patrol and a full day of dragging Toge across the training field while he texted you things.

Toge Inumaki: not to be dramatic but i’m gonna perish in ur arms if i do one more roll sensei u could never work at starbucks u could never spell my name right

Your back aches. Your neck is stiff. Your tolerance for idiocy is at its end.

You open the door.

There’s a long, loud thud at your feet.

Gojo Satoru is sprawled dramatically on the floor of your entryway. Face down. Shoes off.

Head turned slightly so he can peer up at you through half-lidded eyes.

“…Step on me,” he whispers.

You blink once.

Say nothing.

Then step over him.

“Hey—!”

“I’m not wasting the energy.”

He scrambles to his knees, still inside the threshold like a ghost that hasn’t been invited in. “What do you mean, not wasting? You can’t just ignore a perfectly good offer to assert dominance!”

You drop your bag on the chair. “You’re lucky I didn’t jump directly onto your spine.”

He pouts. “You knew I was here?”

“I knew you were following me. I didn’t think you’d break in again. That was… bold.”

He lifts a finger. “Technically, I just teleported through the wall.”

“Still breaking and entering.”

“Romantic.”

You sit on the edge of your new sofa—still a novelty—and start unlacing your boots.

Gojo doesn’t move from the floor. “I have a confession.”

“You’re dying?” you say flatly.

He gasps. “How did you know?”

You glance at him. His nose is red. His hoodie’s half-zipped. His voice is clogged like a toddler with allergies.

“You caught a cold.”

“This is the end,” he groans, collapsing onto his side. “I don’t have long.”

You sigh.

He looks up again, dramatically. “Will you take me to the rose garden? One last time?”

You pause.

“There’s no rose garden.”

“There could be.”

You say nothing.

He props his chin on his hand. “Just imagine. You, me, twilight. A bench under the trellis. Petals floating in the wind. You finally admit you’ve loved me all along.”

You finish unlacing your boots and stand.

He watches with gleaming eyes.

You walk into the kitchen.

He drags himself across the floor after you like a slug in heat. “I can’t die without closure…”

You open the fridge, now full thanks to his unrequested makeover. You grab the water bottle you left this morning. He leans against the doorway.

“I want roses at my funeral.”

You drink slowly. Turn to him.

“You’ll be cremated.”

He pouts harder. “What if I want to be reborn as a rose? In a rose garden you plant?”

You toss him a cold pack from the freezer.

It hits his shoulder.

“Fever dreams” you say.

He clutches the ice dramatically to his head. “I’m so brave.”

“I’ll call Nanami to come get you.”

He gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He scuttles to the couch. “Fine. But I’m not leaving until I feel loved. Or at least pitied.”

“You’ll be here a long time.”

He grins. “Good. I brought snacks.”

You watch him settle in, hoodie bunched at his neck, ridiculous energy radiating from every pore.

You walk past.

And drop a blanket on his lap.

“…Wait” he says quietly. “That’s not rejection.”

You don’t look back.

“Is it?” he calls after you.

The door to your room closes.

He grins to himself.

Nestles deeper into the couch.

And dreams of rose gardens he’s never seen.

Toge [11:23 PM]

did he come did he come did he come

You [11:23 PM] He reorganized my fridge.

Toge no bc sensei got that NPC behavior fr

You You’re supposed to defend your other teacher.

Toge i am defending he lowkey rizzed u up be honest

You You’re just typing words now.

Toge nah bc real talk sensei got that ✨emotional damage✨ mans saw u blink and thought it was character development sigma struggle

You You really hate him huh

Toge no bro(sry sensei) i respect him he’s the goat fr but like also a ✨Certified Goofy✨ bro got 20/20 vision and still can’t see ur not into him unless they stab him in the face he’s fighting for his life trying to get u to smile once

You I never said i wasnt into him?

Toge

Ohhhhhh so you do smilee

Toge not with ur face with ur aura i get it

Toge ur still in denial gonna bench press my cursed speech limit like a real sigma gyatt to maintain the grind

You [12:03 AM] Wait. You’re not joking, are you? He really like, actually likes me?

Toge [12:04 AM] sensei u bet on that skibidi he does man's gyatt more emotional bandwidth for u than cursed energy itself

You That makes no sense.

Toge neither does rearranging someone’s fridge alphabetically but he did that for u that’s not fake love that’s ✨soulmate grindset✨

You But he flirts with everyone.

Toge yeah but he don’t memorize nanami-senpai’s tea order he goes into NPC mode when u walk into the room like a glitching sim bro(sry sensei) down so astronomical even nasa gave up

You I thought he was just… being Gojo.

Toge nah this ain’t “just gojo” this is “gojo.exe stopped responding” mans been soft-launching his love since the heian period he waits for u like ur the update patch that’ll fix his entire life

You God. That’s… Weird.

Toge love is weird so is he so are u otp behavior tbh

You I hate this.

Toge no u don’t ur heart doing skibidi in ur ribcage rn don’t lie

Toge [12:12 AM] sensei HELP nanami-sensei looked at me like I committed tax fraud

You What did you do.

Toge I texted “live laugh slay” to him accidentally when he finished his mission debrief i forgot he isnt u I was SUPPORTING him like motivational speaker vibes??

You He’s going to put you in a casket

Toge pls save me you’re like the only human he listens to without judging help a lil bro out ill owe u like my soul my crocs

You : ....

Toge access to my gojo folder

You You have a Gojo folder?

Toge we all do some of us are just more honest about it

You Alright. I’ll fix this. In exchange. You tell me all the....weird things he’s said or done this week.

Toge BET

man whispered “i miss her voice” while looking at a pencil

drank soup with a fork “to prolong the experience”

tried to write a poem it started with “roses are cursed, violets are technique”

went quiet for 10 mins after u said goodnight one day. just stared into a mug like it held the meaning of life

You What mug?

Toge the one he stole from your cabinet says “world’s okayest sorcerer” he hugs it sometimes called it “a totem of her mild affection”

You You’re joking.

Toge sensei he calls ur mug "her relic" the mans is not okay like sigma core heartbroken sadboy arc

You I’ll talk to Nanami. You’re not off the hook yet.

Toge ily sensei ur the GOATest

Toge update: nanami-sensei said “ask her why she lets the world revolve around her silence”

You He said that?

Toge yeah like deadass real poetic for a salaryman also ino is now hiding behind a tree with another cat trying to impress him idk why u ppl r like this

You don’t know when exactly you made the mistake of letting Gojo Satoru into your life. Maybe it was when you let him walk beside you without telling him to buzz off. Maybe it was when you didn’t immediately ignore his idiotic attempts at flirting. Or maybe it was when, in a rare moment of weakness, you let him kiss your cheek and didn’t deck him afterward.

Now he's fixed you’re dating.

Now he won’t leave you alone, not after that 'incident' which he's so careful while mentioning because he's scared it'll happen again.

“Y/N” Satoru singsongs, leaning dramatically on your shoulder even though you’re standing. He manages to find the exact spot between your shoulder blade and collarbone that makes his weight feel heavier than it is. “Why do you always—mmm—is that leather? Ugh, you're so cool. I’m obsessed.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t even look at him.

You’re focused on your mission report, arms crossed, frame bent slightly as you scan over the document.

Satoru calls you his "goddess."

You call him an idiot.

He doesn’t take offense. Of course he doesn’t.

“Hellooooo?” he says again, this time poking your cheek with his gloved finger, stretching your stoic profile as if to mold it into something expressive. “Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong? Or do you not love me anymore? Be honest. I can take it.”

You slap his hand away—not hard, but not gently either.

“Don’t touch me” you say flatly.

He pouts. “But we’re dating.”

“No” you correct. “You’re dating the idea of dating me.”

He gasps, clutching his chest like you stabbed him. “You wound me. After everything we’ve been through.”

“What, like you clinging to me in bed because you get ‘night terrors’?”

“They’re real! The dark is scary, sweetheart. And you’re my safety blanket.”

“You’re taller than me. And stronger.”

He grins, clearly delighted you acknowledged his height. “Only by a little. It’s hot. We look like a power couple. Like—like assassins-for-hire who kiss after killing a guy.”

“Stop romanticizing everything.”

You start walking, and he follows immediately, shoving his hands into his pockets and grinning like a dog off-leash.

He trots beside you now, matching your long stride like an eager puppy.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” you mutter.

Satoru’s grin widens. “You noticed me. That’s basically affection. I should log this in my journal. ‘Day 36712: She acknowledged my existence with mild contempt. My heart fluttered.’”

You stop walking. He nearly slams into you.

“Are you done?” you ask, voice even.

“Never” he replies sweetly. “Not until you’re head over heels in love with me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. They’re cold. Expressionless. They look like they were carved from the same shadows you wear so well. He’s seen those eyes in battle — steel under blood — and he knows you’re not someone to be trifled with.

But God, he loves being trifled.

“I don’t do love,” you say finally. “It’s not real.”

He tilts his head. “That so?”

“It’s chemical. Stupid. It makes people weak.”

Satoru steps into your space. For a moment, the cocky flirt fades, and something quieter passes through his expression. Like fog lifting.

“I’m already weak” he says. “When it comes to you.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“I know” he says brightly. “But you’re still here.”

That’s the problem.

You are still here. You haven’t left. Haven’t told him to piss off permanently. And you could. You’re one of the only people capable of shutting him down — physically, emotionally, strategically. You’ve beaten him in sparring before. You’ve outmaneuvered him in the field. You’ve resisted every one of his flirtations with terrifying resolve.

Except once.

That one night. That stupid night when the cold got to your bones, and his arms were warm, and he came willingly to hug you, you let him be something soft in a world that was only ever sharp.

Now he won’t shut up about it.

“I made you breakfast” he says suddenly.

You blink. “It’s 3PM.”

“It’s never too late for pancakes.”

“I don’t eat pancakes.”

“I made them in the shape of your initials.”

You stare at him.

“Satoru” you say slowly.

“Yes, my queen of darkness?”

“If you keep talking, I will choke you out and leave your unconscious body in a supply closet.”

He beams. “That’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You do eventually eat the pancakes.

And the next time you’re on a mission, and he won’t stop pacing around you with annoying little remarks like

“Are you sure you don’t wanna hold hands while we exorcise this curse? For morale?”

you don’t punch him.

You let him walk beside you. Shoulder brushing shoulder.

And when he slips his hand into yours under the smoke and ruin of a leveled battlefield, you don’t pull away.

You squeeze once. Only once.

He grins so wide it might split his face.

There’s a muffled thud behind you. Familiar, light-footed, and completely unnecessary, like a child trying to sneak up on someone who already knows they’re there. You don’t turn around. Not yet. You cross your arms instead, eyes focused on the small stack of mission files on your desk. You’re not reading them—just pretending to. You’d rather stare at ink than meet those annoyingly pretty blue eyes.

“You didn’t answer my messages,” comes the exaggerated whine, petulant and thick with dramatic suffering. “Not even a heart emoji. Or a dot. Nothing. You left me to die in the dark…”

You sigh. “You’re literally the strongest.”

“I’m emotionally fragile,” Gojo replies immediately, like he’s been rehearsing the line. You can hear the grin in his voice. “It’s different.”

Still, you don’t turn. You hope the wall of your back will discourage him. It doesn’t. You know better.

“You’re wearing the same black outfit again. You know what that does to me.” There’s a soft shuffle of fabric, and suddenly his chin is perched on your shoulder, like a cat that’s claimed its perch. He’s warm, obnoxiously so, like the sun climbing onto your personal weather system. “You’re not even gonna say hi to your loving, loyal boyfriend? The one who fought three curses last night and didn’t even brag about it?”

You tilt your head just slightly, enough to side-eye him. “Go away.”

He gasps, clutching his chest like you stabbed him. “You’re so cruel. I bring joy and sunshine into your dreary, colorless life, and you tell me to go away?”

You lift an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“Okay, but like… what if I don’t?” he counters, looping his arms around your waist from behind and hanging off you. “Let me stay here forever. You’re my emotional support monolith.”

You roll your eyes and shake him off, which is harder than you’d like to admit. He’s clingy and deceptively heavy when he wants to be. Like a weighted blanket of pure chaos. You turn finally, looming over him, your expression unreadable, arms crossed again like a shield.

“You’re needy.”

“I’m in love,” he says, dead serious for once. “With a terrifying woman who wears black like she’s allergic to joy. I think that says more about me than you.”

You grunt. You’ve heard it all before. He thrives off reactions, and you refuse to give him the satisfaction. So instead, you pivot back to your desk, ignoring how his eyes practically sparkle as he trails after you like a kicked puppy.

“Why don’t you ever text me first?” he tries again, plopping down on your couch like he owns it. “Or compliment me? I wore the cologne you said didn’t give you a headache. That’s relationship growth. That’s commitment.”

You snort. “It’s basic decency.”

He groans, flopping dramatically. “Why won’t you just say you love me already? Or like me. Or tolerate me. Give me crumbs. Please.”

“Gojo—”

“I’ll take anything,” he interrupts. “An elbow touch. A blink in my direction. A silent nod that might mean you thought about me once for 0.2 seconds—”

“Satoru.”

He sits up, eyes wide. “Oh my god. You’re gonna kill me. You are the curse.”

You narrow your eyes. “You done?”

“Emotionally? Never. Mentally? Rarely. But I’ll shut up if—” he leans forward, propping his chin in his hand with a shameless grin “—you give me one nice word. Just one. Like, ‘I appreciate you’ or ‘You’re marginally tolerable.’ I’ll take a grunt that could be affection.”

You stare at him. He stares back. You hate how pretty he is. It’s infuriating. Like his whole existence is designed to test your patience. His white hair is a mess, and his blindfold is pushed up so his eyes are visible—dangerous, glittering, and wholly fixated on you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“You’re annoying.”

He beams. “That’s flirty when you say it.”

You groan, leaning your forehead on the desk. “Why me?”

“Because you’re cool, emotionally constipated, and make my heart go boom boom even when you look like you’d rather set me on fire.” His voice softens. “And because no one else makes me feel like being this clingy is worth it.”

You pause, just a beat too long. He notices. Of course he does.

“…You’re lucky I tolerate you,” you mutter.

He gasps again. “Wait—wait—hold on. Did you just—? That was a compliment. A literal compliment.”

You flick a pen at his forehead.

“God, I love you.” he whispers, grinning as it bounces off his skull.

You ignore the sudden warmth in your chest and reach for the mission files again. If you look at him too long, you’ll actually smile, and that’s not allowed. Not when he’s already so insufferably pleased with himself.

Still, when he settles back onto the couch, humming some ridiculous love song and watching you like you’re his favorite show, you don’t tell him to leave again.

The knock on your door is too quiet. That’s how you know something’s wrong.

Gojo doesn’t knock. He bursts in like the world revolves around him—which, in his mind, it does. He usually makes his presence known with the sound of his obnoxious voice echoing down the hall, whining your name like it’s a song, demanding snacks, attention, or affection in that order.

But tonight, it’s just a soft knock.

You pause, halfway through pulling on a hoodie over your training top, and frown. You cross the room and open the door.

He’s standing there.

And he’s bleeding.

The white of his hair is matted with streaks of red. His blindfold is hanging from his neck, useless. There’s a cut over his brow, another deeper one across his side, staining the hem of his jacket. One arm is limp at his side, shoulder clearly dislocated. And yet, he’s smiling.

That same stupid, bright smile.

“Hi” he says. “You’re gonna be mad at me.”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. “Satoru—”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I shouldn’t have gone in alone. It wasn’t even a special grade, I just—well, okay, it became one. Surprise! Anyway, I handled it, but… yeah. Kinda got roughed up.”

You just grab him by the front of his bloodied jacket and drag him inside.

It takes fifteen minutes to clean him up. Mostly in silence.

He hisses when you reset his shoulder, muttering a quiet “ow, ow, ow” like a child trying not to cry during a shot. But he doesn’t complain beyond that. You wish he would, honestly. You’d know what to do with that. Jokes. Whining. The usual Gojo toolkit.

But instead, he’s subdued. Watchful. Studying you like he’s waiting for you to snap.

You finish wrapping his ribs and set the med kit aside.

“I’m sorry,” he says, suddenly. “I know you don’t like all the emotional crap, but if you hadn’t answered the door—”

You turn away.

You can’t look at him like this. Not when his smile is dimmer. Not when his hair’s stained and his body’s wrecked and he still said hi like it was just another tuesday. Like he wasn’t two minutes from passing out on your porch.

“You’re an idiot” you mutter. It comes out hoarse.

He perks up. “There it is. There’s my girl. C’mon, yell at me more. Scold me. Tell me I’m reckless and immature.”

You clench your jaw. “You are.”

He nods enthusiastically. “Right?”

“Satoru.”

Silence.

Your voice doesn’t sound like yours. You hate how it cracks. How the word lingers.

He looks at you for a long time. Then he does something worse than cracking a joke.

He leans forward, gently, rests his head against your shoulder, and wraps both arms around your waist. He holds you like you’re the thing keeping him grounded. You stiffen.

“…Don’t” you murmur, voice low, but you don’t push him away.

“'M sorry” he whispers into your hoodie. “I didn’t mean to.”

You stay silent. But your hands twitch. You should pull back. Tell him this is too much. You don’t do this—this closeness. You don’t do soft things.

But his breathing is shaky, uneven against your chest. The fabric of his jacket smells like blood and smoke and something vaguely like—his cologne. The one you said didn’t suck. Of course he remembered.

You exhale, defeated.

“Fine,” you grumble. “Come here.”

You guide him down onto your bed, muttering curses the entire way, scolding him for being heavy, dramatic, a damn child. He grins the whole time.

“I’m taking care of you. That’s all this is,” you say stiffly, pulling a blanket over both of you. “It’s not romantic.”

“Sure” he says, smug and slurred with exhaustion, already curling into your side like a human octopus. “Totally not romantic. Just let me borrow your warmth, o’ monolith of stoicism.”

“You’re injured” you snap.

“Mm-hm.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Love you too, very much.”

You stiffen at that, then sigh. Again. Somehow he always wins.

But you let your arm settle around him.

Just this once.

Just until he’s better.

You stare at the small bag in your hand like it personally offended you.

It crinkles loudly when you shift your grip. You hate the sound. Hate how bright the packaging is. Hate how the cashier looked at you like you were picking up candy for a child—“they must really love sweets!” she’d said, smiling. You grunted something noncommittal and left before you had to explain that no, they weren’t for a child.

They were for an emotionally volatile adult man with godlike power and a clinginess problem.

He’d been laying low for a few days after the injury. Mostly in your apartment. Not that you invited him. He just never left.

He’d complained once or twice about being “sweet-deprived,” in that dramatic, wounded-bird way of his—“how am I supposed to heal without sugar? You’re literally starving me of serotonin.” You’d rolled your eyes and ignored it. At least out loud.

But you remembered. And now here you are, standing outside your own door like a fool, with a bag of hand-picked lollipops clutched in your fist like it’s a bomb you’re about to throw.

You hate this. You hate him.

You open the door anyway.

He’s on your couch, of course. Draped across it like a Victorian ghost, arm over his eyes, long legs taking up the whole damn thing.

“Welcome home, dearest” he says without looking up. “I made myself at home. As usual.”

“I can see that.”

“You were gone forever. I almost perished. Where were you last night—some silent mission? An underground cage match?”

“Patrol.”

You walk past him and drop the bag on his chest.

He squawks. Like a literal bird. “What is—?”

You sit down next to him, arms crossed, eyes on the wall. “Lollipops. For your… thing. Your sweet tooth or whatever.”

Gojo lifts the bag slowly, reverently, like it’s sacred. He peeks inside. His eyes go wide. “You got the strawberry milk swirl ones. And the peach rings. And—oh my god, is this the sour cherry kind I like that only that weird little convenience store carries? Are you kidding me?”

You grunt. “It’s just candy.”

“This is a declaration of love,” he says seriously, shaking the bag at you. “This is intimate. This is so hot. You are wooing me. This is level 6 seduction.”

“I will punch you.”

“I’d ask for it.”

You finally glance at him and immediately regret it. He’s glowing. Practically levitating with joy. He’s holding one of the lollipops like it’s a bouquet of roses. His smile is so bright it makes your teeth hurt.

“Don’t read into it” you mutter. “I was already out. You kept whining. I didn’t want to hear about it anymore.”

“Oh no” he gasps, leaning closer. “Did the ice queen bring me candy to shut me up? Is this how you show affection? I love this for us. Please keep threatening me while giving me sweets. I’ve never been more emotionally stimulated.”

You cover your face with one hand. “I should’ve left you bleeding on the porch.”

“You didn’t, though, and now you’re bringing me snacks like a 7-foot tsundere care package.”

“I’m not seven feet tall—”

“You’re taller than me when I’m slouching, and that’s emotionally significant.”

You turn toward him finally, expression sharp. “If you say one more word—”

He cuts you off by leaning over and planting a loud, obnoxious kiss on your cheek.

You freeze.

He pulls back, grinning so hard it’s a miracle his face doesn’t break in half. “Thanks, sweetcheeks.”

Your fists clench. Your eye twitches. Your whole face burns.

But you don’t shove him away.

And when he cracks open the lollipops and offers you the first one—“you get first pick, sugar supplier’s rights”—you grumble something and take it.

He leans his head on your shoulder after that, humming as he unwraps one for himself.

You let him stay there.

Gojo’s been quiet all morning.

Which, in Gojo terms, means only two full monologues about dream scenarios where you finally “give in and marry him” and exactly one dramatic sigh every ten minutes instead of three. But for him? Practically mute.

You don’t trust it.

He’s curled up at the far end of the couch, hoodie swallowing his lanky frame, hair sticking up like he lost a fight with a pillow. He has a lemon lollipop in his mouth and is very, very busy staring at the ceiling.

You narrow your eyes. “What are you sulking about?”

His head lolls to the side. He blinks at you. “Me? Sulk? Nooo. Not me. I’m just sitting here, thinking about the fact that I’ve laid my entire heart bare before you, multiple times, and yet…” He gestures vaguely toward you. “The mysterious, shadow queen remains emotionally unavailable.”

You roll your eyes. “I literally brought you lollipops two days ago.”

“And I treasure them. I’ve named them. I made them a shrine in your kitchen. But,” he says, dramatically flopping backward, “a man needs words, darling. I can only read so much from aggressive gift-giving and emotionally stunted cuddling.”

You stare. Then go back to sharpening your knife. There's a blade in your lap, a cloth in your hand, and irritation running deep through your veins.

“You’re exhausting.”

“I’m dying of affection deficiency.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m fading,” he whimpers, sinking lower into the couch. “You’re watching your beautiful, loving boyfriend wither in the prime of his life. And all I want is—oh, I don’t know—a whisper of affection. A stray pet name. A single sentence that proves you don’t just tolerate me like a flea-ridden cat who won’t leave your doorstep.”

Your eye twitches.

You wipe the blade clean.

Then you stand.

Gojo watches you like he’s expecting to be stabbed. Which, to be fair, wouldn’t be that far out of character.

But instead, you walk over, towering and glowering, until you’re standing right over him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

He blinks up at you. “Baby?”

You sigh. Loudly. Aggressively.

“I don’t do soft,” you mutter.

His lips part.

“I don’t like romantic crap. I don’t like saying things I don’t mean. So if I say something—if I ever do—then you better not make it a thing. Don’t drag it out. Don’t ruin it.”

He’s perfectly still.

“Because I swear to god, if I give you one real moment and you turn it into some weird dramatic musical number, I will disappear. I will evaporate. You will never find me again.”

His throat bobs. “Okay…”

“So,” you continue, each word sharp and reluctant like they’re being ripped out of you, “if I say—hypothetically—that I like having you around. That you’re not entirely insufferable. That sometimes, I think about you when you’re not here, and it doesn’t make me want to punch a wall…”

His lips part.

“…If I say those things,” you finish, voice low, “it means something.”

Silence.

Long. Tense. Emotionally dangerous.

Gojo stares at you like he’s just been struck by lightning in the middle of a flower field.

And then—predictably—he melts.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, grabbing your wrist and pulling you down into his lap like you don’t weigh more than a loaded war machine, and wraps his hands around you. “You love me.”

“I did not say love—”

“I heard it! My ears are trained! That was your version of ‘I love you’ and I accept it and I love you more, I win!”

“You’re the worst—”

“Say it again. I’ll be normal this time, I swear.”

“You just proved you won’t.”

“Please, babe. Please. Just grunt in a tone that suggests affection. That’s all I need.”

You groan and press your forehead to his shoulder in pure, defeated exasperation.

He makes the most obnoxious squealing noise you’ve ever heard.

And then he kisses the top of your head. Gently. Quietly.

And doesn’t say anything else for a while.

Which is good because you don’t hate being in his arms as much as you probably should.

#jjk #gojo #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #crumbs for the next one #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satorou #toge #inumaki #nanami #jujutsu kaisen

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hapuchika · 4 months ago

Text

Mischief & Malice - Chapter 3

Summary: The aftermath of the disaster that took place in chapter 2.

Warnings: Injuries, Ross being a dick?, that's about it.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

X--X--X--X--X

It was safe to say that Wanda was having a shitty few days. First, the supposedly easy mission went awry. Then, whoever took her and Natasha electrocuted Wanda enough that she was pretty sure she flatlined a couple of times.

A few hours later, the chaos came. She could not see or move, but she could hear the screaming and a distinctly familiar voice. A little while later, all of the pain eased, and she could rest.

When Wanda first opened her eyes, she knew she was back at the compound. Natasha was in a bed next to her, and she could feel a hand in hers.

“It’s okay, my love. You’re safe. I promise” She heard the same voice. Her body instantly relaxed at the words, sending her into another extended nap.

X—X—X—X—X

The first thing Wanda registers are hushed voices in the room.

“What do you mean you arrested them?” A husky feminine voice she instantly recognised: Natasha.

“They killed over three hundred people themselves, then proceeded to launch a small nuke at the facility. You should see the feed, Nat… That was… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Rhodey.

“You know exactly why they did what they did. Tell me this, War Machine. What were the Avengers doing?” Natasha spat

“We were following a lead Y/n gave us. It was practically an ambush, each attack targeted for a certain member. We barely survived the interaction.”

Wanda’s lips twitch at the realisation that you sent the Avengers on yet another goose chase. Her eyes slowly flutter open to see Natasha in the bed near her; one leg and one hand in a cast with multiple wounds on her torso.

Wanda’s attempts at trying to get up resulted in her flopping around, drawing attention to herself.

Dr. Cho practically materialises next to her, checking the witch for a concussion and such.

“How are you feeling, Wanda? Any pain anywhere?” Dr. Cho asks, using a flashlight to check for signs of a concussion after helping the witch up.

“I’m okay… Nothing really hurts. Just… sore.” Wanda rasps.

“I’m not surprised,” Dr. Cho comments dryly. “After what the both of you went through, I’m astounded neither of you is in a coma or worse. Whatever was administered to both of you not only ensured you survive but also heal as fast as physically possible. Your girlfriend here had her tibia practically crushed. Yet, within 7 hours, there are just a few fractures. I assume that by tomorrow, the two of you will be perfectly fine.”

Wanda turns to look at her girlfriend, who is nursing a PB&J sandwich. The spy simply shrugs, wincing at the movement on her broken arm.

“Where- where is y/n?” Wanda asks Rhodey.

There’s a slight commotion outside the room before you burst in, panting.

“Here! I’m here!” You say, hands on your knees trying to catch your breath.

“Need a second?” Natasha asks, amusedly.

You flash her a smirk and straighten up. You walk up to your partners, ignoring the glare James gives you as you take out your phone to make a few calls.

Wanda’s eyes widen as you go to the other side of Natasha’s bed and push, her bed sliding across the room and bumping into the witch’s.

Natasha lets out a yelp as you remove your shoes and jump onto the now-bigger bed. Sitting across them cross-legged.

Dr Cho clears her throat, looking at you with an amused exasperation. You glance at her before taking out a small vial filled with purple liquid, then toss it to her.

She raises her eyebrow as she catches it, looking at you quizzically.

“It’s what I gave Wanda and Natasha. It works with practically any illness, and yes, that includes certain. genetic mutations too.” You explain.

You give her a look. “Synthesize it and give it to your patients. Give it to anybody and everybody, I don’t care. You will not, however, sell the serum. If I find out you’re monopolising it or charging a single person for it, I will not hesitate to kill you and every person involved.”

To her credit, Dr. Cho remains unfazed and nods, pocketing the serum without a thought.

“They need bedrest, and Ms. Maximoff needs to be periodically checked. I want to make sure she doesn’t sustain any long-lasting effects from electrocution. I’m presuming you have a medical background?” She asks you authoritatively.

You nod wordlessly. “Good. I want updates every other hour. They are not to get out of bed for another day.”

Once Dr. Cho finishes, she says goodbye to the two Avengers and leaves.

Once she’s gone, you turn to your girlfriends and lay down in Wanda’s lap. The witch automatically begins to give you head scratches, causing you to let out a satisfied hum.

Five peaceful minutes later, you groan, getting off the bed despite the witch’s protests.

Your reason becomes clear when secretary Ross, James Rhodey, Steve Rogers, and two unknown agents walk into the room.

Steve makes his way to Wanda and Natasha, smiling at the way the spy was cuddling into the witch.

You lazily sit in the chair on the other side of the room, looking at your nails and ignoring the people staring at you.

Ross clears his throat; you look at him innocently.

“Can I help you?” You ask.

“You’re under arrest,” Ross states.

You gasp, covering your mouth with a hand.

“On what grounds, Mr. Ross?” You ask innocently.

“It’s secretary Ross. And how about the hundreds of murder charges? Or using a weapon of mass destruction on a facility in a country the US is allies with? Those ring a bell?”

You tap a finger on your chin as if pondering Ross’s statement.

Rhodey scoffs, “Don’t play dumb, y/n. It doesn’t suit you. You quite literally sent the video of you slaughtering hundreds of civilian & veteran contractors to the President’s personal email and phone number.”

You frown. “I also sent it to your Chief of Security and several other authorities worldwide.”

Rhodey stiffens. “Why?” He asks.

All the innocence and amusement fade from you. You stand up, glaring at Ross. The agents behind him train their guns at you.

“Because,” you state cooly, the anger returning in your eyes. “That was a message to everyone. That Wanda and Natasha are under my protection. Any attempt to extort or even so much as breathe in their direction will result in what all of you saw.”

“They’re not exactly damsels in distress.” One of the agents behind Ross's comments.

You turn your gaze to him. “You’re absolutely right about that… Charlie.”

The agent stiffens. “How-“

“They do not need protection, not from the likes of you, anyway. But you see… Deep down, Wanda and Natasha are good people; I’m not.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Steve intervenes; he almost rests a hand on your shoulder before hesitating and letting it fall to his side.

Your eyes dart to the super-soldier before moving to your girlfriends. Natasha gives you a warning look: ‘Do not make this worse.’

You sigh and plop back onto the sofa.

“Just give me your deal, and let’s get this over with.” You say in a bored tone.

“As much as I’d like to throw you in a cell and let it sink to the bottom of the ocean. The President has lessened your sentence. You are not to leave the Avenger’s compound for the next six months. You are to be under observation by any avenger at all times.”

You scoff, “house arrest? Really?”

Ross glares at you. “It’s this or prison time.”

You sigh and relent. “Fine.”

Ross nods and turns around to leave, but not before saying, “Oh and y/n? You might want to lay low for a while. Maybe thank the president for his leniency.”

You roll your eyes and give him a sarcastic thumbs up.

Six months… What the fuck were you going to do in one place for six months?

X—X—X—X—X

Barely a day in, and you are losing your mind. Your girlfriends try to entertain you as much as possible, but you can see it in their eyes that they want to see the footage.

You’re not ready for that… Not yet.

While they rest, you tell them stories across the universe. You tell them what their friends are up to in other parts of the galaxy, and you regale them with stories that have been long forgotten.

As soon as the sun sets, Natasha announces that all the pain from her arm and leg has faded away. You agree, noting that her injuries have been healed. You also reassured her that any scars she received at the facility had faded into nothingness.

It takes Wanda a few more hours before she is completely healed. Dr. Cho returns to conduct final checks before she considers them fit for discharge.

The three of you walk to Natasha’s room. On your way there, you note that the rest of the Avengers are giving you a wide birth.

Good. That’s how it should be.

When crossing the lounge, your eyes meet Clint's; he holds your gaze and raises his beer in salute.

It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to return the bow. It was almost comical, the way he pouted throughout the trip back to the compound.

You enter the room and almost immediately flop down onto the bed, every muscle in your body hurting. Turns out that fighting hundreds of trained soldiers really drains a person.

You let out a sigh of contentment when your body slowly sinks into the mattress.

“Oh, you poor baby,” pouts the witch. “You must be exhausted from pretending to be the big bad villain.”

Before you can protest, the spy straddles your lower back and begins to massage the knots in your shoulders.

You let out a soft moan.

Natasha leans closer to you, placing a gentle kiss behind your ear.

She smirks at the way your breath hitches.

“What are you doing?” You rasp.

“Oh detka, we’re going to make sure you’re relaxed. Inside out.” Wanda says, peppering small kisses down your neck as Natasha resumes her ministrations on your shoulder.

You resist squirming, already panting.

��My sweet baby,” Natasha coos. “Just relax and let us make you feel good.”

You nod and succumb to bliss beginning to overtake you, your mind already feeling a little fuzzy.

X—X—X—X—X

Lemme know your thoughts

The next chapter is obviously going to be smut, but if you have any specific suggestions, lemme know.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader #Black widow #scarlet witch #marvel #black widow x reader #scarlet witch x reader #machiavellian universe #mischief & malice

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