#they suit him better than they ever suited her

[emilys-bangs]

So I loved to see you are taking requests for tooth rotting fluff and I’ve been thinking, what an established relationship in which Emily gets super jealous when someone’s flirting w r and instead of being mad or sad, she just responds by getting extra touchy and really wants to make you believe that she loves you better and louder and softer than anyone else could? (You obv already know) this is super random so sorry if it’s not your vibe lol

This is absolutely perfect, tysm for requesting <3

----

nuisance | emily prentiss x reader

Tags: established relationship, fluff, jealous / possessive emily, a gross man, no use of yn, use of petnames

Word count: 0.9k

A soft laugh tumbles from your lips as Emily whispers in your ear, idly profiling the dining guests from your place at the bar. She’s standing next to you while you sit on the plush stool, two drinks in front of you as you wait to be seated.

She’s chosen the perfect place. The restaurant is lit up with the warm glow of candlelights, soft music playing over the clinks of cutlery and the hushed conversations of couples. Emily is wrapped up in a burgundy dress, the satin kissing her pale skin in a way you’re almost jealous of. Her voice is soft, her fingertips softer still as they skim your arm and leave idle goosebumps in their wake. 

You feel almost sickeningly in love; your heart is just on the cusp of racing, your cheeks heated with a warm glow at the tenderness of her attention. It’s a rare opportunity, to see her like this—dressed up and relaxed and oh so gentle, her eyes shimmering with the love you know is reflected clearly in your own face.

“And that guy,” she murmurs, subtly tilting her head to the suited man sitting in the corner, “oh, he’s a piece of work,”—you giggle and her eyes soften, her lips tilting upward in a smile—“his suit looks like Armani and that’s definitely a Rolex, so you know he’s a lawyer. Pity, their egos are sky—”

“Excuse me?” Someone interrupts. You and Emily both turn in the direction of the voice, expecting to see the hostess.

It’s not her. A man stands in front of you, the determined look on his face informing you of his intentions before he even speaks.

Emily’s arm curls around your waist. “Can we help you?” Her tone is pointed and sharp, edged with irritation you know only you can hear—apparently she sniffed him out, too.

The man ignores her. His eyes slide to you; the unabashed hunger in them makes you stifle a disgusted shiver. “Can I buy you a drink?” He leans against the bar, dragging his gaze over your body.

“I already have one.” You say flatly, “In case you didn’t see.”

“He’s too busy looking at you to notice it,” Emily’s voice turns warm as she hooks her finger under your chin and gently brings your eyes back to hers. Her fingers tighten on your waist, the darkness of her eyes as intense as a black hole as her thumb ghosts over your bottom lip. “I don’t blame him, chérie,” she breathes, her words now for you only, “have you seen yourself tonight? You’re breathtaking.” Her fingers gently rake through your hair, careful not to mess it up.

A shiver dances down your spine. Cheeks hot, you tilt your chin upward. 

Getting the hint, Emily leans in for a kiss, not before you see the smug smile on her lips. Surprisingly she’s soft, caressing your lips gently, reverently, instead of kissing you with possessive intent. Somehow it makes you love her impossibly more, and you sink further into her kiss before an annoyed ahem breaks you out of your daze.

You turn to the man with a scrunch between your brows. “You’re still here?” You ask, fighting to keep a straight face when Emily snorts. She hides the sound in your forehead, her lips gently pressing against your temple. The hand on your bare arm distracts you, and as she draws circles on your skin you barely notice the napkin that the man slides across the bar, his number written messily on it.

“If you ever change your mind from that,” he sneers at Emily, her responding scoff dripping with derision, “call me.” 

He has the audacity to smile.

Anger flares in your stomach. “Watch your fucking—”

“That’s sweet.” Emily interrupts before you throw a punch. “I don’t think you want it though, do you, amor?” She trails her knuckles down your cheek, her eyes still hot with jealousy. The low murmur of her voice almost soothes the fire in your veins.

“No.” You say, twirling your chair to properly face her. Her nimble fingers cup your jaw and you lean into her hand, raising your voice so the man can hear you. “You’ve got a lighter on you, haven’t you?”

Emily grins. The dimples in her cheeks make you smile back, even as the man sputters behind you.

“Emily Prentiss?” The hostess comes by then, giving you an apologetic smile. “Your table is ready.”

“Just in time.” Emily doesn’t spare the man another glance as she holds out her hand for you. You take it, smiling as she carefully helps you down from the stool. Her fingers thread through yours and you turn to grab your phone.

Ever in tune with you, Emily squeezes your fingers. “I’ll get it, my love.” She murmurs, grabbing your phone and hers, as well as her purse. With the barest tips of her fingers, she grabs the napkin and tosses it into your half-full wine glass as the man gawks.

You laugh softly as Emily turns and gently pulls you to your table, both of you steadfastly ignoring the hot set of eyes behind you. She drops your hand when you reach the table, only to pull out the chair for you, a sparkle in her dark eyes.

You grin at her brightly. 

Emily feigns confusion. “What?” She asks, her brow arching.

“I love you.” 

A slow smile spreads across her lips. Emily grabs your hand, gently kisses your knuckles and leaves behind traces of her lipstick. 

“I love you, too.”

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism

[storm-and-starlight]

Meteoric

This was originally from a larger fic idea that in retrospect wouldn't have worked, but I really liked this one scene, so it's getting posted on its own!

Damian Wayne is ten years old and trapped in a country he doesn't know with a Batman he was never supposed to be heir to and he is learning how to fall.

"I know how to fall," he snaps, irritated already -- he has already been trained, by people better than Grayson will ever be. It's more than muscle memory at this point -- it's more like running, breathing, the step and flex and roll to come back up already swinging.

"Do you now," Grayson says, trying for amused and interested and ending up with tired instead. "Off of buildings?"

"Yes," because how different can it be, really, except they're up on the pinnacle of Wayne Tower already, so high he can barely make out the shapes of the cars below them, looking out on the wide stretch of the city, darkened smoky stone and warm golden lighting and the great black expanse of the sea beyond it all. He has seen the images of his Father surveying his city, settled on the snarling head of a gargoyle or in the darkness behind neon lights, wrapped in shadow. Grayson is no master of stealth, no darkly watchful presence -- he leans wildly out over the gap, cape bannering out behind him in the wind, and looks up.

"Okay," Grayson says, still sounding tired, and turns to look at him. The cowl does not suit him; his chin is too narrow. "Wayne Tower's a good reference point if you need to get somewhere fast -- it's got good access to most of the major roads, and it's high enough you can grapple pretty much anywhere without slowing down too much."

"Yes," says Damian, "obviously."

"So, we're going to use it as practice," and Grayson fires a grapple at the neighboring skyscraper, checks it with a hard tug, and hands the gun over to Damian. "Like we did in the Bunker--"

"Release at apex, reset, fire again. I am aware." He is trained in all the things his father was trained in, during his time before he became the Bat, but he was not trained in this. This was something he learned in Gotham, on buildings such as this one, and Damian was not born to this city, to the home of Batman -- but he has been named Robin, and he has seen how all the rest of them fly. He sets his feet, braces for the leap -- below him, the city rumbles, never sleeping -- the line is almost invisible in the dark.

Grayson shifts, stepping closer, cape snapping in the wind.

"Going to tell me not to look down?" Damian gives his own tug on the line, which refuses to budge, and looks up, and out, and down, at the impossible plummet under his feet.

"Robin," Grayson says, tired and grieving and still somehow full of that infinite, impossible gentleness, that disgustingly soft core of him that Damian has wanted to plunge a knife into since the day they met, and "I am not afraid," Damian snaps, and leaps.

It's -- terrifying, paralyzing, the rush and plummet, the wind catching in his ears and howling, the thin rubber grip of the grapple gun in his palms all too slick for when his weight catches against the line and pulls him back upward, and yet it's also-- amazing, and he whoops sudden and startled and delighted when the arc runs out and he is flying, hanging weightless at the top of the world with all the lights of the city and the sea around him, black and gold and brilliant.

And then gravity reasserts her grip and hauls him back down to the Earth, backwards. He clings instinctively tighter to the gun, cape twisting, flapping, tangling with his legs as he falls blindly back towards the uncaring streets -- and an arm hooks around his waist and hauls him back up again with the benefit of greater mass and greater momentum, and with a jolt he finally hits the release and lets Grayson sweep him up onto the roof of the next building, landing without a breath of a sound.

Damian shoves his way free and Grayson lets him go, lets him shove the grappling gun back in the holster on his belt and stride off to the middle of the roof, glaring down at the smoke-stained concrete. He has practiced this a hundred times over in the Bunker, the changeover, the weightlessness -- he has done it perfectly on the practice course, again and again, until Grayson finally agreed to take him out into the city without the Batmobile, and he froze--

"You're not the only one, you know," Grayson says, and Damian pauses. He doesn't look back, but he pauses, and Grayson sighs. "Tim did the same thing all the time when he was learning. It takes practice."

"I have had practice."

"Not on the streets."

"What difference should that make?"

Damian can feel Grayson's Look, boring in between his shoulder blades, and he clicks his tongue and turns back to the edge of the roof. This building isn't quite so tall, and flatter on top. Any leap will be reliant more on the winch feature of the grappling guns to haul him up to the next roof in the chain.

"Damian," Grayson says, stepping up next to him.

"Names."

"Fine, then, Robin," and he actually manages to hit amused. "You want to know a secret?"

"Hm."

Grayson leans in, conspiratorial, and Damian refrains from tilting himself away. Grayson's secrets are... varied, in terms of how secret they must be kept, and frequently inane, but occasionally... occasionally they are his father's secrets, and Damian-- holds tight to those. 

They are his birthright, after all.

"Bruce didn't know how to do this either," Grayson whispers, close and quiet in his ear.

"I am aware of that." There was, after all, a time when his father was not Batman, Damian knows, and his lack of training then does not excuse Damian's current inability--

"No, I mean even as Batman," and Damian whips his head up to look at him, but Grayson is looking out over the shining lights of the city, unreadable behind the cowl. "

In the early days, he didn't-- leap like this."

"Explain."

"He didn't have the training. Who would be crazy enough to teach him how to-- throw himself off skyscrapers?"

"Surely there would have been someone--"

"Before all of this? Before the Justice League? Before Superman? Bruce--

"Names."

"--your father knew a lot of things, but he didn't know this." Grayson shrugs, shoulders drooping as though the cape is dragging them down. "Back then -- well, actually, back then we mostly used the Batmobile, but when we did do rooftop patrols it was a different technique. Lower buildings, narrower streets, different line attachments, no midair switches and no big drops like that. I spent a lot of time using a grapple like an elevator as a kid," and he-- laughs, soft and quiet and wistful. "I learned a lot from him, but I didn't learn how to fly."

"But the others--" He has seen the recordings of his-- predecessors, of Drake's careless confidence in the air, Todd's reckless swoops -- even Brown is better at this than Damian, and that cannot stand. His mother told him that Batman would close the gaps in his education (what small ones there were), that he would be the greatest of his students, and yet he cannot do this, and his father is not here to teach him -- and yet his father did not teach Grayson, either--

"They learned from me," Grayson says. "Bruce did too, sort of -- it wasn't exactly like trapeze, I had to figure out a lot of it, heh, on the fly, and I worked out the technique with him -- but the basics? That's all me. Robin flew before Batman ever did."

"...tt," Damian says, because he has no idea what else to do, but he looks out over Gotham's neon-and-gold and wonders, briefly, what it must have been like, all those years ago, to take that first leap. To look up to the sky and see Batman and Robin, aloft.

"Trust me, Robin, you'll pick it up," Grayson says, resettling the cape on his shoulders, and Damian looks up at him again. He's smiling, now, and the cowl still doesn't suit him but it's less about the shape of his face or the tilt of his chin and more that Richard Grayson, perhaps, should not be wearing the cowl at all. "You've already got the hardest step down."

"Which is?"

"Don't be afraid to fall," Grayson says, and gestures out at the city in front of them, alive with light. "All you've gotta do is keep moving forward. I'll be right behind you," and English isn't Damian's first language but Mother found him only the best of the best to be his tutors, and he hears the second meaning underneath the words. I'll be there to catch you.

"Tt," says Damian, and leaps.

[bones4thecats]

Hello, you can, Tfa Starscream x Conjux femme reader, where Starscream's clones are in love with the reader 💙❤️

➸ Clones v. Starscream; Trans. Animated

Character: Starscream and his Clones (Transformers Animated) A/N: This was actually one of my favorite things I've written for the Transformers Franchise. I hope you enjoy it as well, 💙❤️Anon! Disclaimer(s): Nothing, except maybe poly relationships? I'm not sure, didn't get that deep into it.

Star - 💫 / Slip - 💐 / Ram - 🪶 / Sky - 😱 / Thunder - 🌩️ / Sun - 🌦️

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Starscream Clones v. Starscream ══════════════╝

💫 Starscream landed, transforming back into his bi-pedal mode. He was not very amused. Those Primus-forsaken Autobots managed to stop him from gaining another object for his plans! How annoying!

💫 As he walked around the run-down ship that was once the Nemesis, Starscream could hear the voice of his conjunx coming from a couple hallways down. But his conjunx's voice wasn't the only one he heard, he also heard his clones' voices

💫 Speeding up his pace to almost a full-out sprint, the seeker stopped in front of a doorway. There you stood, speaking to Slipstream while Skywarp held onto you from behind. He was acting as if you were his personal plush

💫 Starscream's anger was now soaring. How dare these knockoffs of him start getting along with his conjunx! You were his, not theirs! He's been with you for hundreds of thousands of years, they had only been with you for a couple Earthly months at most!

💫 Hearing a scoff from the entry-way, you turned and saw your conjunx, Starscream, standing there. He was leaning against the doorway with a sour expression on his face. You chuckled and motioned for Skywarp to let you go, which he did

💫 You walked up to Starscream, wrapped your arms around his midsection, and hugged him. Your grasp was better than almost any Cybertronians, especially a femmes. Starscream smiled smugly and hugged you back, glaring at the Clones behind you, you being completely oblivious to the action

"How was your mission on Earth?" You asked.

"I bet he failed." Slipstream voiced.

"Starscream? Fail? That's nonsense." Ramjet said, making Starscream narrow his optics and bawl his servos into fists.

"I recommend you shut your intakes, Clones."

"Exactly. Starscream is one of the best Decepticons ever created. Even better than that bucket-head Megatron." Sunstorm praised.

"Thank you, Thundercracker." Starscream said.

💫 You looked as Slipstream rolled her optics and walked off, her metal hips swaying as she did so. While many mechs would match, you preferred the sight of the original Starscream's hips moving as he walked around

"Oh please. I am obviously the superior Starscream. You're all mere pieces of scrap compared to my genius." Thundercracker boasted.

"Exactly. And you totally didn't fail your last mission against the Autobot Repair Team."

"Why you-"

"Enough, you two. I think you guys need some time to recharge. Go to your chambers and relax," you added, "and don't bother trying to flatter me out of it. Sunstorm."

💫 Sunstorm shrugged and walked off, the others following suite. You then looked at Starscream and chuckled, hugging him once more as he picked you up and walked to look out of one of the many huge windows that surrounded the now-destroyed war ship that you lived on for many years

"You know, sometimes I think that you like those Clones more than me." Starscream teased, a smirk ever so present on his face.

"More than my original sparkmate? Not possible."

💫 Starscream laughed lightly as you leaned forward and leaned your forehead against his. You could feel the bit of the Allspark in his helm pulsing with his own spark as you gave him affection. While many called him sparkless and a monster, you knew the real Starscream. And he could feel love. And right now was extreme proof of that claim

[kirain]

Astarion frowned as he and Tav entered the modest boutique. It was small, but clean; organised. It had an almost rustic charm to it, featuring large windows adorned with delicate lace curtains, which were tied back just enough to let the sun shine through. That was appreciated, as Astarion had grown weary of the dark.

He said nothing as his cheery companion scanned the outfits on the walls, cupping her chin as she considered and rejected each one. Carefully curated as they were, she seemed to be looking for something specific. The soft beams accentuated racks of unique frocks, hand-knitted sweaters, and artisanal jewelry, but she passed them all by.

Why did she bring me to this rundown shack?

Astarion huffed. Has she noticed how old my clothes are? No, she's not that perceptive.

His eyes widened as her finger suddenly pointed at some lingerie behind the shopkeeper's counter. His heart sank.

Of course ... she wants to dress me in something risqué. Expose my body. Why am I not surprised? There's nothing more "sexy" than a vampire, after all. He bit the tip of his thumb, feigning indifference. So in the end, she's just like all the others. A horny, selfish little—!

"No, no! Not that!" she laughed. "The one beside it."

Astarion flinched, trying to hide his shock as the shopkeeper passed her a plain ashmeadow outfit. It wasn't particularly bright or stylish, but the pattern was subtle, casually elegant, and paired with lightweight trousers, likely designed to ease movement.

"What do you think?" she asked, unfolding the pieces for a better view. "Doesn't it look nice and comfy?"

Astarion hesitated. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinised every inch. Overall, the outfit was dull, at least compared to his usual garb, but pleasant in all the ways that mattered. It wouldn't grab attention, but it wasn't hideous. It wouldn't make a spectacle of his body, but it would complement his figure, his hair, his eyes. For one brief moment, he felt oddly respected, but he quickly recoiled in mistrust.

Is this a trick?

He quickly waved at the suggestion, bidding the shopkeeper to take the outfit away, but Tav clung to it, staying his hand.

"Wait, what's wrong with it? You don't like it?"

"I appreciate your confidence in me, darling, but I don't think even I could make that dreary ensemble look good. That's something you'd see a pig farmer wearing." He gave her a seductive grin. "Surely you'd like to see me in something more ... exotic."

Disgusting, but I need her protection. Just fuck me, already. Get it over with. Why the song and dance? Why the charade? Am I not being forward enough? Perhaps I should should try the 'lonely bachelor' angle. That tends to work on sensitive women like this.

Tav raised a brow, her confusion genuine, but Astarion didn't believe it. He couldn't.

"No, I just think this suits you," she said.

Astarion scoffed, thrown by her sincerity. There was no hint of sarcasm or trickery in her tone. No indication that she was fulfilling some mundane kink by picking such an outfit. But it didn't make sense. He hadn't been particularly kind to her, and he was only good for one thing: sex. Surely that's what she was after.

"Did you not hear what I said?" he snapped. "That's something a pig farmer—"

"What's wrong with being a pig farmer?" she argued. "They work hard, live free, and dress for comfort."

"And I'll have you know, that outfit is not for farming," the shopkeeper added, visibly offended. "I mean, I suppose you could. It's certainly durable, but it's more for ... sophisticated roving."

"There you go," Tav giggled, harmlessly. "Don't you want to be a 'sophisticated rover', Astarion?"

He pulled back defensively, pursing his lips to hide his fangs. They live free? Dress for comfort? As if I ever had such a choice. She has no idea! His fingers curled into a fist.

"Are you ... mocking me? Is that what this is?"

Am I just a toy to you?! A doll to be dressed up to your liking?!

The air around him felt charged, a palpable tension that made it difficult to breathe. A deep red flush spread across his neck, creeping up towards his pale face. The anger was sudden, but uncontrollable, and he didn't know why.

Calm down, you fool. This is nothing. You've been through worse. He screamed internally. So then, why does it hurt more than usual? Why is it worse when it's her?! I ... I don't want her to see me this way, but I know she does! Who wouldn't?!

"Mocking you?" Tav asked, breaking the silence.

She tilted her head, the simple act pulling Astarion from is raging stupor. Her eyes were innocent, unassuming. And of course they were—he hadn't yet told her the truth about Cazador. The details. The depravity.

Hold on. Is this ... real?

"What are you saying?" she peeped. "I brought you here because of how worn out your clothes are." She pointed at the seams of his waistcoat. "Thin with crooked replacement stitches. I always see you fiddling with them."

Astarion's throat tightened. So she did notice. He tried not to blush.

"I'm sorry if that came off the wrong way. I wasn't trying to insult your clothes, I just thought you might like something new."

"I ... see."

"If you don't like the black and white..." She smiled and gestured to the shopkeeper. "We can order something with colour. Do you take commissions? Can my friend here make alterations?"

Friend?

"He can. And we do indeed sew to order, but it might take a while. I'm down a seamstress this month."

Astarion paused, their voices fading. He looked down at the sleeved tunic and accompanying vest that Tav held close to her chest. It was thick, surprisingly well crafted, and more fashionable than he initially dared to admit. For a moment, he felt his unbeating heart flutter. New clothes. A whole outfit, just for him. He'd forgotten what that felt like. What shopping for anything other than a victim for Cazador felt like.

Against his better judgement, he reached out and rubbed the material between his fingers. Twill. Handcrafted. Warm. He felt a tingle as he realised Tav didn't choose that outfit at random. She'd put a lot of thought into it.

"I want this one."

"Sorry?" Tav said, glancing up at him.

"This outfit." He tugged at the sleeve, gently. "I want this one."

She smiled. "Are you sure? You didn't seem overly thrilled about it a second ago."

"Tch! Well, I changed my mind," he hissed. "What can I say?" His eyes softened. "It's grown on me. Just like your ... annoyingly infectious positivity."

"Alright, alright," she laughed, ignoring his jibe. "Can you ring this up, sir?"

Astarion's back stiffened as she reached for her coin purse. Money, right. That hadn't crossed his mind. As horrible as Cazador was, everything was provided. When allowed to sleep on a bed, it was there. When Cazador's guests wanted wine, it was there. Anything needed to rope in victims was given. He hadn't had to buy anything in nearly two hundred years.

"Wait, I—"

"It's no problem," Tav said, sensing his conflict. "I'm happy to do this."

"But..." He frowned, crossing his arms. "Well, don't expect anything back. If that's what you're after, you're going to be sorely disappointed."

"I don't expect anything back, Astarion." She handed the shopkeeper a roll of gold coins, then turned to him with another tender smile. "I'm just glad to help out a friend."

Astarion stood in silence, his brow twitching. A thought occurred to him—two words he hadn't felt the desire to say in two centuries. Two words he'd almost forgotten. He shifted from side to side, looking anywhere but at her, desperate for an escape from the vulnerability pressing down on him.

But I think she truly means it.

"I..."

His mouth opened, then closed again. He cleared his throat, trying to speak, but the silence lingered. He could tell she expected nothing, but for once he wanted to give a part of himself, by choice. Just a few words. The feeling inside him grew, a swell of gratitude he couldn't quite contain. Finally, he sighed and met her eyes with a smile.

"Thank you."

[kikyoupdates]

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡'𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes. All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

prologue | story masterlist | next

When faced with the demands of the strongest sorcerer, your family can’t possibly protest. Well, not that they would have wanted to, anyway. They must be happy they don’t have to deal with you anymore. 

Out of sheer spite, your mother insisted you live with the rest of the clan and be forced into a life of cruelty and discrimination, but even she would never dare defy Gojo Satoru. Besides, her wish has already been fulfilled. You still won’t have a shot at a normal life. Even if you had been given the right to choose for yourself, now that you’ve met Satoru and discovered what world this is, there’s no way you would ever take the easy way out. 

For better or worse, you will be a jujutsu sorcerer. 

True to his word, Satoru was able to convince the Gojo Clan members to let you stay with them. You’re not sure exactly what he told them, but he may as well be their deity. Granted, he’s still only a kid, but in the grand scheme of things, bringing in a single girl to stay at the estate isn’t that big of a deal. It isn’t a difficult request to fulfill. Based on the way everyone turns up their noses at the sight of you, however, you can tell they aren’t too happy about it. 

“No one here will ever hurt you,” Satoru promises. He keeps glancing over at you every few seconds as he leads you through the grounds of the estate—which is massive, might you add. He’s a lot more attentive than you were expecting. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re a weak, helpless baby bird. Which you might as well be, in all fairness. 

You nod and smile brightly. “Okay. Thank you, Satoru. I’m really happy to be here.” 

“Are your injuries really painful?” he asks with a frown. “We don’t have anyone here that knows how to convert cursed energy into positive energy. But if I try asking, maybe they can reach out to another clan and bring someone over to heal you.” 

“You don’t need to go to the trouble. I’ll be okay.” 

Satoru watches as your grin somehow gets even wider, despite the fact that the bruised, swollen parts of your face must be aching uncontrollably. He’s not sure why you’re always smiling so much. It’s not like you ever had any reason to smile. Not with how horribly your family has always treated you. 

Then again, that’s exactly what drew him in. Your warm, sunny disposition, which is so starkly different from what he’s used to. Even if it doesn’t make much sense, a smile suits you. He likes seeing you smile. 

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect that smile of yours.

You’re given a nice place to stay. Satoru insisted that you live in the same building as him. It’s obvious that he wants to keep you nearby, in case anyone dares to try anything. Although you’re willing to bet that they won’t risk upsetting him. Not when he’s made it clear that you’re off-limits. 

It’s kind of crazy how much power and authority a literal child has. 

Gojo Satoru is in a class of his own. The details of his upbringing were never openly disclosed in the anime or manga, but you know for a fact that he didn’t have anyone he could truly call a close friend. Not until he met Suguru. 

You may be hopelessly weak for now, but if nothing else, you’ll make it so that he never has to feel lonely.

That night, you settle into your big, spacious room. You didn’t bring anything along with you for the move. It’s not like you had any personal belongings to speak of. Certainly nothing valuable, either. Your new room is a bit empty right now, save for a few decorations here and there, but you resolve to brighten it up and make it your own. All in due time. 

Before you tuck in for bed, Satoru stops by. 

“Hi,” he greets, poking his head into the room. “You don’t mind if I come in for a bit, right?” 

“Of course not,” you smile. “Go right ahead.” 

He nods and steps inside. There’s a clan member waiting by the doorway, and they flash you a brief glare before turning their back towards you and sliding the door shut. As expected, you’re far from popular. They probably think you’re just a hindrance, or maybe even a distraction. You’re not sure if they’ll ever change how they feel about you, but it’s definitely better than staying with your own family. 

Besides, as long as Satoru likes you, that’s more than enough. 

“Is this room okay?” he asks, kneeling down onto a cushion. “If you don’t like it, I can get you a different room instead.” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure. 

“Really? You can be honest. I can tell that you’re the kind of person to hide how you feel because you don’t want to upset anyone else. I already know your dad is the one who beat you, but it didn’t look like you were going to rat him out.” 

“I just didn’t want to stir up even more of a fuss. Besides, seeing other people get hurt won’t make me feel any better. I’m happy enough just to be here. Again, thank you, Satoru. For helping me.”

You sure like to thank him a lot. He’s not really used to being thanked—for anything, really. He’s being trained and brought up as the strongest sorcerer. It’s a given that he’s meant to save and protect those who are weaker than him. But you don’t take any of that for granted. You’re never shy about showing your appreciation. You want him to know how much every one of his gestures means to you. 

He likes that. He likes it a lot. 

“If it’s alright, I’m going to try and go to sleep now,” you say. “I’m pretty tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Oh. Did you want to spend the night in my room? Like a sleepover? Would you be allowed to do that?” 

Satoru blinks. The invitation catches him off guard, and he watches as you pat the spot beside you, on your futon, still smiling brightly. 

He turns away in a hurry, cheeks red. 

“I-It’s fine,” he stammers. “I should sleep in my own room. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It seems like you are, so… I’ll leave now. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” you happily reply, but Satoru is already out the door, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. 

You giggle at the sight. He’s so adorable. You can’t even express how happy you are to be here. The future may look grim, but you’re determined to change it, no matter what it takes. 

That night, you dream of a world where Gojo Satoru is saved. 

“Satoru. Here, try this. I made yummy rice balls for us to eat. There’s a secret ingredient inside. Can you guess what it is?” 

Satoru reaches out and takes a rice ball into his hands, furrowing his brows as he looks it over. As far as rice balls go, it looks pretty normal. It’s actually rolled up really neatly. He’s surprised you made this yourself. You did a pretty good job. 

“Secret ingredient, huh?” Satoru shrugs. “Sure, I’ll try it.” 

He takes a big bite, and although he’s not really sure what he was expecting, it definitely wasn’t this. 

“Gross!” he exclaims, immediately spitting it out of his mouth and onto the ground. He then proceeds to stare at the inside of the rice ball he just bit into. “Did you… you actually put chocolate inside of this? Disgusting! What’s wrong with you?!”

You frown. “What, you mean you don’t like it? I actually think it’s pretty good. I was sure this combination would be a hit.” 

Satoru watches, horrified, as you bite into your own rice ball, smiling all the while. There might actually be something wrong with you after all. He’s starting to realize that you’re slightly unhinged. 

“Remind me not to eat anything you make ever again,” he shudders. 

“I’ll pick something better next time, don’t worry. Oh! How about this? What do you think of rice balls stuffed with ice cream—” 

“No.”

This is what most of your days look like. It’s been just over a week since you arrived at the Gojo estate. Your injuries have almost fully healed. Also, you’re no longer required to do chores at virtually every waking moment, so whenever Satoru isn’t busy with training, you spend all of your time together.

Satoru has to do a lot of different things. It’s not just honing his jujutsu abilities, day in and day out. He isn’t allowed to slack off when it comes to academics, either. It’s clear that his family intends for him to be perfect in any way possible. They refuse to let him settle for anything other than the best. 

It’s a lot of pressure for a kid. Satoru makes it look easy, but nevertheless, you feel sorry for him. Which is why you always try to make sure that he’s having fun when he’s with you. You want him to have some semblance of a childhood, at the very least. 

Of course, you still can’t grant him the freedom you wish he had. It’s always inevitable that someone gets in the middle of your time together. 

“Master Satoru. It’s time for you to work on your studies.” 

One of his usual attendants comes to pick him up. Satoru clicks his tongue in visible annoyance, but as always, he doesn’t protest. He has a strong sense of duty and purpose. A determination to uphold his responsibilities as the strongest. 

Before he leaves, though, he turns back towards you. 

“I want [Name] to come with me today,” he says. “She can at least sit in the room while I’m doing my work, right?”

The attendant blinks. He’s bewildered, of course, and you’re not sure what else to do but bat your eyes at him with a bright, hopeful expression. You may be weak, but you’d like to think that you’re a pretty cute kid. It’s about time someone developed a soft spot for you. 

“She’ll distract you,” the attendant refuses. He narrows his eyes at you in frustration, so apparently, you’re not that cute.

Satoru pauses for a moment, then grabs you by the hand and pulls you close. 

“I want her there,” he insists, interlocking his fingers with yours. “She’s coming. I’ve already decided.” 

“Master Satoru, you can’t—” 

Too late. It seems like he’s in an awfully stubborn mood today, so for better or worse, you find yourself in the same room as him while he has his lesson. 

It’s a bit awkward. Satoru told you to sit right next to him the whole time, and although he doesn’t allow himself to get distracted, it still feels weird to be sitting in on a private lesson. While the teacher glares at you the whole time, no less. 

“Do you know what the answer to this question is?” the teacher asks, pointing to one of the questions in the textbook Satoru is learning from. 

Satoru chews on the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. “It’s… B. The answer is B.” 

“Sorry. I’m afraid that’s not correct,” the teacher says. She scribbles something down onto a piece of paper. “It’s alright. That was an exceptionally advanced question, so I can’t blame you for—” 

“It’s C.” 

To be honest, you didn’t mean to voice your thoughts aloud. It was a reflexive, absentminded remark. The answer was just so obvious that you ended up blurting it out. 

But now, both Satoru and the teacher are staring at you in bewilderment.

Satoru turns towards the teacher with a frown. “Is she right?” 

“...yes,” the teacher replies, looking somewhat reluctant to do so. “But it was a multiple choice question, so I’m sure it was just luck. Let’s move on to—” 

“[Name], what about the next one?” Satoru asks, pointing towards another spot on the page. “Try answering this one, too.” 

So, you do. You don’t just answer that question, but the next one, and the next one after it, and the next one after that, and so on and so forth. The teacher looks both amazed and horrified. Even Satoru can’t seem to hide how taken aback he is. They’re both staring at you like you’ve been hiding this incredible intelligence all along, when really, you’re kind of cheating. You died when you were sixteen years old. Satoru is incredibly smart for his age, but even taking that into account, your years of lived experience give you an obvious advantage. 

Still, you have to admit, it feels kind of nice. Finally being acknowledged for something, that is. 

Satoru’s lesson ends, and you can see the teacher whispering to the other Gojo Clan members about what just happened. Their eyes all widen in shock as they glance your way. They believe you’re ‘gifted’ all of a sudden, and while it doesn’t mean much for a jujutsu sorcerer, at least they might think a bit more highly of you from now on. Maybe they’ll finally approve of you being by Satoru’s side. 

“I didn’t know you were smart,” Satoru admits. “To be honest, up until now, I thought you were kind of dumb.”

“...oh.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” 

“Is there a good way to be dumb?” 

“I just meant that you seemed a bit dumb, because of how straightforward and simple you are. And you’re nice to everyone, no matter how badly they treat you. You’re easy to take advantage of, so… yeah. I thought you were dumb. Sorry.” 

Satoru chuckles sheepishly. You snort in response, amused by his uncharacteristic shyness. You suppose it doesn’t really matter whether people think you’re smart or not. From the moment you were born, it was clear that you would have to defy everyone’s expectations. You’re going to have to work harder than most in order to prove yourself. In order to have a chance at saving people.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Satoru remarks. 

“What thing?” 

“It’s a thing you do sometimes. You drift off, and even though you’re usually smiling all the time, your face will get all serious for a few moments.” 

“Oh. I guess I have a habit of getting lost in my thoughts. Sorry. I just really want to get stronger. I end up thinking about it a lot.” 

Satoru doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s strange that you’re so fixated on improving yourself. He’s the strongest, so of course, there’s a heavy burden upon his shoulders. He has to be the best. It’s both his birthright and his destiny. There’s simply no way around it. 

But as for you…

Come to think of it, do you actually need to become stronger? 

He’s already decided that he’s going to protect you. Even if he hasn’t known you for very long yet, he likes having you around. There’s no reason why he can’t look after you. It’d be nice if you got stronger too, he supposes, but it’s not like you’d ever be stronger than him. With him by your side, your future is already assured. 

Which is why it’s weird. There’s this urgency and desperation he senses from you, almost constantly. It’s not like your family is around anymore. And even if they ever tried to take you back, he wouldn’t let that happen. 

And yet, you’re still determined to become stronger. It’s almost like there’s something you’re not telling him. Something more than just a simple desire to prove yourself. 

…then again, maybe he’s reading into things too much. 

Word travels fast, and soon, pretty much everyone in the clan has discovered that you possess intellect far beyond what they imagined (not really, but whatever, you’ll take it). Satoru keeps insisting that you be allowed to sit in on his lessons from time to time. They reluctantly allow it, and sometimes, you even help answer some of the questions he has—instead of the teacher whose literal job it is to do so. She doesn’t seem to like you very much, unfortunately.

One night, as you’re preparing to go to bed, Satoru stops by your room again. 

He does this a lot. He usually makes a point of saying goodnight to you before he goes to sleep. It’s adorable, and it warms your heart to see that he’s starting to care for you so much. Sometimes, you still can’t believe this is the life you’re living. 

You were expecting him to poke his head into the room before exchanging a few words, as usual, but this time, he turns up with a futon of his own. 

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” he declares. 

You blink. “Oh. You got permission?” 

“Yes. They whined about it a lot, but I said I didn’t care. It’s not even a big deal. You said before we could have a sleepover, right? Unless… you changed your mind.” 

He averts his gaze, looking a bit bashful. Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll refuse. Although you’re not sure who in their right mind would turn away this adorable little sweetheart. 

“I definitely didn’t change my mind,” you grin. “I’m always happy to have a sleepover with you. We can stay up all night telling each other scary stories! I know a few really good ones.”

“Why would I be scared of some stupid stories?” Satoru brushes off. “I’ve already exorcized all kinds of cursed spirits. And none of those were scary, either. I’m too strong to have anything to be scared of.” 

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t heard them yet. You act tough now, but I bet you’ll be crying later.” 

Satoru rolls his eyes as he lays his futon down next to yours. He doesn’t think much of it at first, but once he’s lying down, facing you, and when he realizes just how close the two of you are… he’s embarrassed to admit that his heart starts beating a bit faster.

“If this is weird, I can leave,” he mumbles. 

“It’s not weird at all. Like I said, I’m happy you’re here. Ah. You’re not just trying to come up with excuses so you don’t have to hear my scary stories, right? I see right through you, Satoru. You’re not sneaky.” 

Satoru laughs. It’s a pleasant, melodic sound, and you hope you’ll be able to hear it more often from now on. 

Before you can start telling your stories—you really do have some good ones you’re excited to share—Satoru scoots in a bit closer, then gently places his hand down on top of yours. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and since you’re not sure what he’s referring to, you just frown. “I mean, it’s okay if you’re not strong, because I’m strong enough for the both of us. Before, I said I’d be your friend if you showed me how you planned on getting stronger, but… it’s fine. You don’t need to do that anymore. I’ll still be your friend. I don’t care if you’re weak or not. So, don’t worry about what anyone else says. I’ll stay with you no matter what.” 

Through the dark of night, you can’t tell, but he’s blushing profusely right now. He feels like he just said something really cheesy. But he’s not going to take it back. He doesn’t regret it. He means it wholeheartedly. 

You, his first ever friend, are irreplaceable. 

More time passes, and as much as it pains you to admit, you still haven’t gotten any stronger. 

While Satoru is busy training, you do the same. You try your absolute hardest to make some kind of progress, and yet, the changes are minimal—if any. It’s as if your body simply isn’t cut out for this, which is a bitter irony. To think that you’ve been reincarnated into a world where you have the potential to do a lot of good and help a lot of people, but your weakness is holding you back. 

The knowledge you have is invaluable. You know that. Even if you’re not all-powerful, you still have the ability to make a difference. But this is Jujutsu Kaisen. A world in which death isn’t just possible; it’s more common than surviving. If you don’t have any way of protecting yourself and others, who’s to say you’ll even last long enough to save everyone? 

It hurts. You hate being weak. You hate that your efforts yield no results. Unlike in the real world, where people can usually make up for talent or skill through sheer dedication and hard work, here, your fate may as well be sealed. 

“Not like that,” Satoru says, shaking his head. “Do it like this.” 

He proceeds to give you yet another up close demonstration of his cursed energy at work. He flattens several pop cans in one fell swoop, while you’ve been struggling to do the same to a single one of them. 

You exhale tiredly. “Stop saying it like it’s second nature. You have better control of your cursed energy than anyone else. I can’t possibly compare.” 

“Well, I don’t really know how else to explain it,” he shrugs. 

Your shoulders slump. A while ago, you had your sixth birthday. Which means it’s been slightly more than a year since you’ve gone to live with the Gojo Clan. A whole year, and still, you’re as weak as ever. You know it’s still too early to give up, but it’s hard not to feel discouraged when you have Satoru by your side, and every day, you’re reminded of the fact that you’ll be helpless to change his fate if this continues. 

“You’re getting upset again. Even though I keep telling you that it’s okay if you don’t get stronger. You have me. You won’t ever need to be scared.” 

Satoru smiles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a loose hug. During your time together, he’s become a lot more cheerful and expressive, which is of course due to your influence. It makes you happy to see, and you’re overjoyed that he cares about you to this extent. If you didn’t know what the future holds in store, you would’ve been more than willing to sit back and let him protect you.

He doesn’t realize that he’s destined for an early death. He’s so sure of himself, so confident in his strength, that he doesn’t even consider it to be a possibility. Which is why you do need to become stronger. Even if he doesn’t understand why. 

You hug him back for a few moments, then pull away—much to Satoru’s disappointment. 

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To train some more. I already talked to one of the clan members earlier. They agreed to help teach me. Reluctantly, but still.” 

“But we’re supposed to be having a lesson together soon,” he says, making a point to pout at you. 

You smile weakly. “Sorry. I’ll be there next time. I just… can’t afford to slack off. If I keep working hard, then eventually, something will give.” 

Of course, as you expected, your supervised training session doesn’t go much better. You can see the clan member repeatedly rolling their eyes at your lack of talent. The only reason they’re helping you at all is because Satoru insisted they honor your requests. 

Once again, you’re left feeling hopeless and deflated. You wonder if you’ll ever see any improvement, or if you truly are beyond salvation. Destined to be so weak that you can’t protect a single person. 

Not even your dearest friend. 

You stare down at your feet, gaze glassy, and for a moment, it feels like you’re about to cry. Isn’t there anything you can do? Anything at all? Some kind of trick that will allow even a weakling like you to have a fighting chance?

Some kind of… trick? 

All of a sudden, your eyes widen. 

Since meeting you, Satoru’s life has become a lot more fun.

He enjoys having you here. He never thought it would make that big of a difference, being able to spend time with a kid his own age. And not just any kid, but someone who’s taught him how to smile, laugh, and appreciate simple moments he used to take for granted before. He’s glad he made the decision to visit you again that fateful day. If he hadn’t done that, every day would still be just as monotonous and boring. Every day would be unbearably predictable. 

Satoru can never predict what you’re about to do next. It’s strange, because at first glance, you seem like a simpleton, but you always manage to find new ways to surprise him. 

Like right now, for instance. 

“[Name],” Satoru calls out. As always, he knows exactly where to find you. He can tell everyone’s cursed energy apart, and although yours is scarce, it easily stands out the most to him. It’s comforting and familiar. He’s fully committed it to memory by now, and if he wanted to, he could write a whole essay describing it. 

It doesn’t take long for Satoru to find you. For some reason, you’re standing in place and staring off into the distance with a vacant expression. You’re also holding something in your hand. Is that… a knife? 

“[Name],” Satoru repeats. He frowns as he steps closer to you. “What are you doing? What’s the knife for?”

You don’t respond at first, but then you turn towards him, in a rigid, unsettling manner. Your eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them before. Even your lips are slightly parted, as if something has you in awe.

“I understand now,” you mumble breathlessly. 

Whatever it is that you understand, Satoru definitely doesn’t. He’s unbelievably confused. And seriously, what’s with the knife? It’s starting to freak him out. 

Satoru knits his brows together. “What are you talking about? You’re being weird. Also, put the knife down before you end up hurting yourself.” 

“Okay. But first, let me show you something.”

You take a hurried step backwards. Satoru still doesn’t understand what’s going on. You’re never this cryptic. It’s throwing him off, and for some reason, he’s getting a bad feeling about all this. 

That bad feeling turns out to be right, because moments later, he watches as you drag the sharp end of the knife across your skin.

“Don’t—!”

Satoru cries out, but it’s already too late. There’s blood everywhere. It’s a deep gash. A serious injury. You’re wincing, looking lightheaded from the pain, as if you’re about to pass out any second. Satoru instinctively knows he has to get help, and yet, he’s too shocked to move. This has never happened before. He’s never watched someone get hurt in front of his eyes—someone he cares deeply about—and been helpless to do anything about it. He’s the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. A special, chosen existence. But right now, all of that feels pointless, because you’re in pain, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. 

“It’s okay,” you breathe out. “Just… watch.”

Satoru is about to cry out again, more desperately this time, but suddenly, he sees it. 

Your body is… healing?

It’s true. The gash on your arm, the one you just inflicted with the knife, has already fully healed. You pause for a moment, then wipe the blood off your skin, so that he can see more clearly. Sure enough, it’s gone. There’s no trace of the wound that was there a second ago. Almost as if what happened just now was a figment of his imagination.

“Reverse cursed technique,” Satoru mumbles in disbelief. “You… when did you learn how to do this? You never mentioned it before. And I didn’t notice any changes in the flow of your cursed energy, either.”

“I learned it just now.” 

“What?” 

“A few minutes ago. Before you came to find me. All of a sudden, I just knew how to do it. The knowledge appeared in my mind.” 

Satoru frowns. Something isn’t adding up. Converting cursed energy into positive energy is a very complex technique. Few individuals are actually able to pull it off. Even he doesn’t know how to heal himself. But such an ability was able to manifest in you? He supposes it’s not impossible, but given the nature of your cursed energy, and your overall lack of skill… it seems unlikely.

“I wanted to become stronger.” You pause for a moment, then shake your head. “Sorry. I needed to become stronger. So, I did. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but just now, I was able to confirm it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I think you already suspect it. That I didn’t obtain this ability naturally. I was frustrated that nothing was working, no matter what I did. I just couldn’t seem to improve, regardless of how hard I trained. So, I… took a gamble. I made a Binding Vow.” 

Satoru blinks. “A self-imposed vow?” 

You nod enthusiastically, but it still doesn’t make any sense. Would someone really gain the ability to use positive energy through a simple vow like that? It’s the first Satoru’s ever heard of it. And since healing is a rare, valuable power, most people would love to get their hands on it. If it was that easy, surely everyone would opt to do it, one way or another.

Once again, Satoru has a bad feeling about this. 

“I already knew that by imposing restrictions on yourself, through a Binding Vow, it’s possible to increase your cursed energy and empower your technique,” you say. “I wasn’t sure if it would work for me. Converting cursed energy into positive energy is complicated, after all. I knew I had to make it a pretty serious restriction, in order to have any chance of succeeding. Even then, it still might not have worked.”

You pause yet again, while Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat, and the next second, you’re smiling brightly, like always. 

As you utter the most horrifying words Satoru has ever heard. 

“In exchange for gaining the ability to use reverse cursed technique, I’m never allowed to use my cursed energy to harm anyone else, whether it’s a human or a cursed spirit. And if by some chance I do… I’ll die. Instantly.”

Satoru’s jaw drops open.

“...what?!” 

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[holdmytesseract]

hi friend! 👋

I have a cute and fluffy request for the Baby Fever AU! 💕Narfi's first steps, Loki and Ella are out on a daddy-daughter date (you can choose where they're going) while Narfi and reader are at home together.

While reader has her attention on other tasks, little Narfi takes his first steps towards reader. When Loki and Ella returns home, reader surprises them with Narfi walking towards them 🥹💚

Growing Up

☆ The Baby Fever AU ☆

Loki x Y/N feat. Narfi & Ella

Summary: Narfi takes his first steps, causing you and Loki to realise that he's not so tiny anymore...

Warnings: fluff, fluff and even more fluff!

Word Count: 1,7k

a/n: I know it took me quite some time, friend, and I'm truly sorry for it. 🥺 Also, I really hope that you like it and that I did your request justice. Thank you again for the amazing moodboards you made for me, @chennqingg ! 💖

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• Loki Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

divider by @fictive-sl0th <3

Today felt like a pretty normal Thursday to you. Getting up at seven in the morning, making sure Ella got ready for school, while Loki prepared breakfast - bless him - and of course actually dropping your daughter off at school. Since you had 'Ella duty' this week, your husband tended to little Narfi and got the very young man dressed, fed and ready for the day. Sometimes, it was pretty chaotic and quite hectic. Especially on the days you were working as well - not full-time, though. You were still in maternity leave, but Nick allowed you to work two or even three days a week, if you needed a change of scenery or just a break. Just like today. Sure, Loki had to return to being an Avenger as well, but you always made it work. Besides, the others were happy to jump in as a babysitter as well.

After dropping Ella off at school, you drove straight to the SHIELD headquarters for work, leaving Narfi with Loki, who'd leave your son with auntie Nat for the rest of the morning, because Steve hated it, when Loki missed out the important briefings which concerned his 'development' as a resident of planet earth. Or in other words: Making sure he still behaved, didn't relapse and was a 'hero' and not a threat to humanity. In your eyes, it was ridiculous that he still had to 'prove himself' after all those years... After getting married and starting a family... After everything he had done for the Avengers, America and the whole world. But well... Who were you to speak up and change things? It was how it was.

Seven hours of going through reports and sorting files, you clocked out of work. Yes, it wasn't much you were doing, but it was something. Better than just staying at home. You loved being a mom, but sometimes you needed to see something different - and you were more than happy to rejoin your friends in hopefully near future and slip back inside your Avenger combat suit.

Instead of driving to school to pick up Ella, you drove back home. Loki had already done that; taking his princess out for a daddy-daughter date to the indoor swimming pool.

Arrived at the Avengers compound, you didn't even bother to drop your stuff first; instead heading immediately for Natasha's. Your motherly instincts were literally screaming at you by now to go see your baby son. So, you did.

Your best friend opened the door to her apartment for you with a huge smile and little Narfi on her arms; dressed in his white sweatpants and matching jumper. He looked like a baby smurf - which was probably one of the cutest things you had ever seen and would get certainly never tired of seeing again. "Mama!" Narfi squeaked happily from behind his pacifier as soon as his beautiful ruby eyes registered you; impatiently squirming in his auntie's arms. "Hiii, baby boy!" You smiled brightly and immediately took him into your arms. His adorable giggle urged to your ears; causing you to smooch his little cheek with kisses, and once you had thoroughly greeted your son, you turned your attention to the Black Widow leaning now against the door frame still with that smile on her lips.

"Hey, Nat." You shuffled closer to hug her, what the Russian beauty instantly reciprocated. "Hey, babes." "Thank you for looking after this little guy here," you said; pulling back from the hug and gently bouncing Narfi on your arm. Natasha shook her head. "No need to thank me. I love playing the cool auntie part." "I'll keep that in mind," you winked, causing your fellow Avenger to giggle.

"Alright. We'll be going then. Gotta do some chores... See you around, Nat." "Sure thing, babes."

You looked down at Narfi, who had snuggled against you; head buried in your neck. "Say bye bye to auntie Nat, Narfi." "Bye bye," babbled the little boy in a sweet, quiet voice; clearly on the verge of dozing off. Natasha smiled and waved at Narfi, "Bye bye, маленький смурф." who instantly lifted a small hand to wave back. Smiling and bidding your goodbye to the Black Widow as well, you pressed a kiss against your son's forehead and ran a hand through his black locks.

Back in the apartment, you put the toddler down for a nap on his beloved floor cushion - which he mostly preferred for a nap, instead of his bed. Now that your son was sleeping peacefully across the living room, you had the time to do some chores. On today's programme: folding laundry. So, you spread out on the sofa, switched on the TV - but kept the volume down, of course, and got to work.

From your position, you had the perfect view on Narfi as well; having an eye on him from time time. Unfortunately, that didn't always keep him from escaping your watchful gaze. Just like Ella, was he his father's child... Sneaky and definitely a tiny mischief maker. Not quite as much as his big sister, but nevertheless...

You could swear that you only didn't look at him for five minutes - and suddenly was the floor pillow empty.

Shit.

"Narfi?" You called through the living room; letting your eyes wander and already moved to stand up. He wasn't in this room anymore. You sighed and shook your head with a small smile. "Little rascal..." You mumbled under your breath and crossed the living room; aiming for the hallway.

The good thing was, that Narfi couldn't get far; not having learned how to walk just yet. The emphasis was on the word 'yet'.

You rounded the corner into the hallway, "Narfi?" and found your son standing - hands free - beside the clothes basket, which he had clearly used to pull himself on his feet. At the sound of his mama's voice, the toddler turned his head - which caused him to immediately lose balance and land on his small bum.

Your eyes widened. Was he about to take his first steps and you 'interrupted' him? "Baby, were you about to take your first step?" Narfi was already pulling himself up again; using the clothes basket as a help like before. A sweet huff left his small lips once he made it on his small feet; causing you to stifle a giggle.

"Try again, baby smurf, come on." Narfi turned on slightly wobbly legs towards you; hand gripping the basket for dear life. "Mama!" You smiled and walked quite a few steps closer, before you squatted down and opened your arms. "Yes, c'mere! Come to mama!" You tried to encourage Narfi; a bright smile on your lips.

The smile got even wider, when your son suddenly let go of his support - and took a very wobbly, unsteady step towards you. With you mouth agape, you giggled. "Yes! You did it, baby! C'mon! One more?" Your happiness infected Narfi and he smiled a bright, toothy smile. Giggling, he made another two fast and wobbly steps, before he lost his balance and more or less stumbled into your arms. You reached out and caught him, before he could hit the floor; sweeping him up in a hug.

"Yay!" You cheered and peppered his cerulean, chubby cheeks with kisses. "Mama is sooo proud of you, Narfi." The little boy just cooed and gurgled happily.

An idea crossed your mind.

"Let's surprise daddy and your big sister when they come home, huh? They'll be so happy to see you walk." Your toddler's eyes widened at your suggestion. "Supise dada lala?" Narfi couldn't say Ella yet, so he settled on 'Lala' - it was the cutest thing ever. You giggled; nodding. "Yes, baby smurf. Come on."

The laundry was long forgotten; deciding to play with Narfi instead and helping him practising to walk.

After a very successful daddy-daughter date at the indoor swimming pool, Loki and Ella returned back home in the evening to the Avengers compound. The little girl's hand was neatly tucked into her father's bigger one as they exited the elevator. Ella was definitely tired and worn out - just like it should be after such a day. That was most probably the reason why Loki was carrying not just his duffle bag in his free hand, but also Ella's pink Disney princesses rucksack on his back.

Together, they stepped down the hallway and into your family's apartment. "Darling?" Loki called out; taking off his shoes and helping his tired daughter to get out of her jacket. "Mommy? We're back!"

The pair heard a small voice along some shuffling, before you rounded the corner into the entrance area with Narfi walking in front of you; yet gripping tightly onto your pointer fingers. "Hey, you two," you greeted them happily. "The baby smurf and I have to show you something." Proudly, you let go of your son's small hands - and let him walk a few small, still wobbly step. Before he could topple over, you grabbed him quickly around his middle; holding him steady.

Both, Loki's and Ella's jaws were on the floor; not having anticipated this. Sure, Narfi had tried to walk now for days - probably weeks, but it looked like he needed some more time to learn... Apparently not.

"He is walking now!" A not-so tired anymore Ella squeaked and crawled forwards and clumsily, but lovingly hugged her little brother - who didn't quite understand why everyone was making such a big fuss. He just squeaked along happily.

Loki met your gaze; his beautiful blues shining with a few tears. "Darling, he... Our son is walking..." He whispered; visibly touched, but you heard him anyways. Ella was already helping Narfi back on his little feet; his hands in hers tightly as she helped him walk down the hallway. It gave you the opportunity to step over to your husband. With a smile, you slung your arms around his middle; invading his space. "I know, babe, I know." Loki laughed softly and tried to blink back the tears as he wrapped you up in a hug; strong arms keeping you locked against his tall, defined body.

"We have to watch out now, babe. Soon, he'll start to run," you stated with a giggle, causing Loki to shake his head. "By the Norns, please not. He's already growing up too fast..." You sighed; knew exactly how he felt - and he was right. You rested your head against his chest, giving your husband the opportunity to press a kiss on top of your head. "Mhm... Growing up too fast, just like Ella." You felt the god's chest vibrate with a hum. "Just like Ella..."

маленький смурф - little smurf

Baby Fever Crew: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @multifandom-worlds @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @jennyggggrrr @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @huntedmusicgardenn @fictive-sl0th @herdetectivetheorist @hisredheadedgoddess28 @chennqingg @princess-ofthe-pages @km-ffluv @brokenpoetliz @lokiforever @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loz-3 @jaguarthecat @icytrickster17 @eleniblue @yourfriendlyslytherinhc @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @kimanne723 @lou12346789 @smolvenger @isaidoop @lokisgoodgirl @cakesandtom (Continuing in the comments)

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Thank you @shadowisles-writes for the moodboard!!

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

-

Lucien couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

Standing beside her human husband, glowing and lovely in the ruined light of the estate they stood in. She had pointedly ignored him, though the male—Graysen—had looked him over with more curiosity than anything. He supposed the human lord wanted to know what his competition was. 

As if there’d ever been any choice between them. She hadn’t even done him the courtesy of formally rejecting the bond, leaving Lucien with an ache he couldn’t dispel and a yearning he suspected would never go away. Even then, Lucien warred with the urge to rip Graysen to shreds.

He had his arm around her. She was leaning into his body, head on his shoulder and Lucien hated it. She owed him, he thought angrily. Not an acceptance, but at least an explanation. Lucien would have liked to be free, too.

Instead he leaned against the ruined door, arms crossed over his chest as he avoided his mate, his former friend, and his older brother all at the same time. He listened to their pretty speeches about unity and togetherness that would never amount to anything. The humans very obviously distrusted her—he could see they thought she was little more than a traitor. 

Feyre didn’t seem to have a good sense of her own history. Lucien wondered why that was. She cared, certainly, but was divorced from the suffering of her own people and wanted them to get over it as she had. Feyre was an anomaly, an outlier that, from Lucien’s perspective, didn’t even notice how different she was.

Even Nesta Archeron didn’t seem wholly convinced, arms wrapped tightly around her body as though she were trying to shrink in on herself. Across the room, Jurian was trying to catch his eye. Lucien would rather die, he decided. He wanted to wash his hands of all of this.

He didn’t regret the things he’d done, but…all Lucien felt anymore was misery.

He tried to slip out once it was clear there were no more speeches left in anyone. Oh, they mingled and talked, promising to keep in touch but he knew they wouldn’t. The fae were too secretive and the humans too distrustful. The history was simply too bloody between them and even five centuries couldn’t erase the hurt.

After all, the fae had never really paid any reparations. They’d merely walled themselves off and warned humans if they crossed the border, well. Everything was fair game. Lucien didn’t know how he’d do it differently—it was a herculean task better suited to far smarter minds than his own. He simply knew that what they’d tried—which was nothing at all—hadn’t been working and would fix nothing. 

“Wait up,” Feyre murmured, looping her arm through his as she’d done on the battlefield. She’d been trying to convince Elain to speak with him, which had gone poorly. Elain clearly wanted nothing to do with him, despite everything he’d done for her. The ache in Lucien’s chest expanded.

“I’m not going to Velaris, Fey.” That stopped her short. Standing among the rubble, a breeze blowing strands of that burnished blonde hair over her freckled face, Feyre looked sad. Young, too. It was easy to forget just how young she was, but…fuck. She was twenty. Lucien ran a hand through his hair, trying to think what he’d been doing at that age.

Fucking and drinking, mostly. 

“Why not?”

“Why—I can’t,” he confessed, letting her hear some of his grief. “I want to forget all this happened.”

“Where will you go?” she questioned, looking up at him with the roundest pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen. She reminded him so much of that fragile human girl he’d once known. Lucien exhaled a sigh.

“I don’t know.”

“She’s…she’s not going to come back, Lucien. I don’t know if she’s even welcome back, I’m so…” Feyre bit her bottom lip.

“So what?”

“Angry,” she whispered, as if Elain might materialize beside her. “This wasn’t how I wanted things to go, you know. But she…she’s got this idea of what life should be like in her head and she won’t let it go.”

“Good for her,” Lucien said dismissively, not wanting to talk about Elain.

“I need…I know you don’t want anything to do with her and I don’t blame you. I told her to at least explain it to you. To talk to you. I um…I went in her mind. A couple times, actually. She doesn’t have any mental defenses and Graysen is always screaming all his thoughts at me anyway. He’s filled her head with some nonsense about a creature who can make her human again.”

Lucien's blood ran cold. “What?”

“A creature tethered to a lake,” Feyre added pointedly.

“He’s a fool then. They both are, if they make a deal with a death god.”

“She’s going to look for him. Alone.”

Lucien hated that he cared. Hated more that he knew what Feyre was asking of him and that he was going to agree, despite how much more pain it was heaping on his shoulders. Hadn’t he suffered enough? Lucien was certain he’d been sent back to live a life of torment for crimes committed in the past. 

“I’ll do anything, Lucien. Anything,” she whispered, offering him her hand.

“You know that’s a fools bargain, Feyre,” he reminded her, knowing she wouldn’t have said it if she didn’t trust him.

“She’ll get herself killed and I’ll be blamed for it. Nesta will never forgive me and Graysen…he’ll spin it as faerie trickery.”

“How am I supposed to stop her? She seems perfectly capable of making her own choices.”

“You went there. You saw him. Explain to her what he takes and the cost she’d be paying. Restoring her humanity would come at an enormous cost. Elain can be selfish, but she’s not cruel.”

Lucien wasn’t certain he agreed with that.  He took Feyre’s hand, though, because he loved her as much as he’d loved anyone. She gripped tight, yanking him just a little closer.

“I’ll put you up somewhere quiet,” she murmured, holding his gaze. “Anywhere in my territory you want. You don’t have to work with me, just…stay, Lucien.”

“And when you have to pick between myself and your sister?” he asked bitterly. “Humans die quickly. She has a century with him, if that. Likely less given how stupid he seems.”

A smile cracked over her solemn expression. “She didn’t choose me. I heard her thoughts when we went to beg for sanctuary. She held such contempt for me and I…why should I keep begging her to care about me? She’s made her choice. And I am making mine.”

Lucien’s stomach tumbled at the ferocity of her words. “I tried to kill you once.”

Her smile widened. “I was a little shit, as I remember it. You went to war for me. I’ll never forget that.”

He’d gone for Elain, and he suspected Feyre knew as much, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. Maybe he could reframe it in his mind. Sure, he’d gone on Elain’s vision, wanting to prove himself to her. But he’d saved his friend—perhaps the best friend he’d ever had. “How do I…how do I stop her?”

“She’s going alone. Don’t tell anyone…but I manipulated Graysen’s thoughts to convince himself Elain had to go by herself. That it was part of the legend.”

Lucien sighed, exasperated. “What if I’d said no?”

“You wouldn’t,” she replied with that easy, lopsided grin. “She has to make her way through my territory to get to the harbor. I know the ticket she’s purchased. Just…meet her on the docks and say whatever you have to in order to send her home.”

“And if she gets on the ship anyway?”

“Then I’ll send in Cassian,” Feyre said, her smile fading. “And Elain will know I’ve been in her mind and she’ll be cleverer next time.”

Lucien paused. “How many times have you been in my mind?”

She squirmed. “Twice.”

“On purpose?” he demanded, more annoyed than anything.

“Just once—the first time was a mistake,” she told him hastily. He believed that. 

“And the second time?”

“When you visited my sister the first time,” she all but whispered. It was better than he’d been imagining. Feyre, in her roundabout way, always wanted the best for everyone. And if she could force it to happen, well…even better.

“I’ll do my best,” he agreed, if only because he’d already shaken her hand. He felt the tingle of magic sliding up his elbow, and when their eyes met, she was smiling again.

“We ink our bargains on the skin,” she told him. “Stay with me tonight, at least. You can decide in the morning where you want to go.”

“Maybe I want to live in the mountains,” he challenged.

“I’ll build you a cabin,” she whispered. “Or a palatial estate. Whatever you want—name it, Lucien. Just…don’t leave me.”

“No promises,” he said, heart racing. No one had ever wanted him to stay so badly they’d been willing to beg. To give him whatever he wanted. As Feyre took his hand, lacing her fingers with his, he suspected she would have given him nearly anything he asked for. Jewels, some low-level secrets he’d always wondered. And as they walked back to Rhys, who cocked his head to the side but only smiled as if what he saw pleased him, Lucien wondered if it wasn’t better to just try and make a clean break of things.

“Az and Cass are already halfway back,” Rhys told Feyre, falling into step easily beside them. “Azriel was seconds from pummeling Drakon to the ground.”

“Why?”

“He thinks they’re cowards,” Rhys said, some of his amusement fading. “How did you find them?”

“I read,” Lucien replied with a shrug, not bothering to mention that a lot of it had been blind, stupid luck. Perhaps Rhys knew that, too—after all, he had to have been looking for longer than Lucien had. 

“Well, they’re going back behind their wards.

“Miryam showed me how to get a message through,” Feyre told him, but her expression was troubled. Rhys merely nodded, offering a half smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“Hopefully we won’t need them again. Jurian has gone back with Vassa…they wanted Lucien to join them in the human lands—”

“No.”

The mere thought made his skin crawl.

“I told them he had more important tasks in Prythian that would better suit their goals.”

“Did you, now?” That irritated him. He hadn’t sworn fealty to Rhys as his High Lord. In fact, the only person Lucien felt any allegiance to was Feyre, who had promised him a life of quiet contemplation. 

“He’s lying,” Feyre whispered theatrically before a rush of cool, jasmine scented air filled his senses. Beneath the metallic edge of the magic lay the familiar scent of Feyre—pear and lilac, whorling together so nicely that for a moment he could pretend they were all back in Spring together and none of this had happened.

Was he selfish for wishing that? 

They landed on the cold streets of Velaris. A fog had settled from the mountainside, causing light snowflakes to settle on the cobblestone. Few people moved about—he’d forgotten Feyre and Rhys, like so many others, had evacuated their people. It would take time to bring them all back. 

Rhys made his way back to their home while Feyre took him to a familiar townhouse. “I thought you’d prefer it here tonight. It’s closer, but it’s also…”

“Yeah,” he agreed, understanding. It was empty. He could be alone with his misery, not forced to put on a show so people wouldn’t pity him. 

“I’ll have clean clothes sent over. If you don’t want to stay, I won’t make you, but…” Feyre bit her bottom lip, crossing her arms over her chest to ward off the cold. “I wouldn’t make you work for me. You could take a break, Lucien. Enjoy your life, for once.”

“A novel thought,” he admitted. “I’ll think about it.”

She nodded, tugging the end of her braid nervously. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Lucien wanted to say more, but the words that often came so easily to him were stuck in his throat. As she turned, Lucien lunged, catching her wrist. “Thank you.”

He hoped those two words conveyed what he wanted to say properly. She seemed to understand—they’d always had that between them, at least. Feyre nodded her head and he released her, letting her vanish into the mist before he went into the warmth. He’d been here before, just as bloodied and exhausted. Velairs had seemed foreign to him at the time, so at odds with the stories he’d always been told. This was the land of living nightmare? Surely not. 

But here, among the well appointed cream furniture and dark wood floors, lay the truth of the Night Court. It was no different than any of the other territories. It simply better guarded its borders by allowing rumors to spread unchecked. He knew, now, that Rhys rather liked that people were too afraid to come marching in. 

It was better than the heavily fortified borders of Autumn, he supposed. 

Lucien snapped his fingers, bringing the fireplace roaring to life. There was new magic in his veins he’d been trying to untangle. Ever since Hybern, Lucien had practically simmered with it. Flame like he’d never seen, bright and hot as the sun itself. It looked a lot like his fathers, like his brothers, but it didn’t feel like it.

He’d been hiding it, terrified if Eris learned, he’d have him killed. Lucien simply didn’t need any more enemies. He didn’t want Autumn, besides, and had to believe the world wouldn’t be so cruel as to force him back to the place that held so much misery for him.

When he and Feyre had trekked through, all he’d been able to think about was Jesminda, after all. What would she make of all this, he wondered? She’d hate Elain, he decided. He’d been trying to decide whether she’d like his mate or find her unworthy. Lucien had his answer at long last. Jesminda had always railed against the people closest to him, frustrated they didn’t treat him better, didn’t love him well.

You deserve so much more, she used to say. He’d believed it once, but now…gods, Lucien didn’t think so. Surely, after centuries of swallowing immeasurable bullshit, things would have started to look up? He’d thought so, for a moment. 

Now, though…

Lucien sighed, trudging upstairs to a room clearly meant for guests. He’d stumbled into Feyre and Rhys’s room and nearly gagged on the scent of them. The room at the far end of the hall—the one that overlooked the river—smelled faintly of lemon and dust. Better than the smell of sex, he decided. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Lucien didn’t bother to turn the lights on which caused him to slam his shin into a chair he hadn’t seen in the gloom. Ripping open the heavy, dark curtains allowed for gray light to filter in. There was a bed large enough to accommodate someone with wings, a dresser, and a bookshelf holding a haphazardly stacked collection of books on war. Cassian must have been here last, he decided.

The bathroom was large—Rhys had that going for him, at least. Lucien peeled off the Illyrian leathers, wincing when it ripped the hair from more sensitive places. How did Cassian and Azriel stand them, he wondered? Lucien would be glad never to wear them again. He hoped to have no cause to ever wear them again, though he figured that was asking too much. There was a death god tethered to a lake and a gaggle of humans trying to enrich themselves at the expense of the world itself.

And his mate, of course, comfortable with potentially damning them all for a human lifespan of happiness. 

Lucien sank into a tub of scalding water, almost embarrassed by the noise that escaped his throat. It was something between relief and a sob. Looking at his forearm, he found proof of the bargain he'd made with Feyre, inked in black and white. Pretty vines wrapped from his wrist to elbow, with delicate, autumn-like leaves hanging gracefully from the stem. He traced the pattern with his finger for a moment before relaxing against the cool, smooth surface of the tub. 

His muscles loosened beneath the water, a reminder that he’d run across that battlefield looking for Elain. He hadn’t known she’d gone back to the human—all he’d heard was that she’d been captured by Hybern and was being held as a prisoner. His fear had overridden his good sense. It had been Azriel who’d gone and rescued her, and Elain who’d turned right back around for the human who couldn’t even keep her safe. 

Lucien closed his eyes, trying desperately to banish the image of Elain from his mind. She’d made her choice and he wasn’t going to beg. Wasn’t going to get on his knees and ask her to give him a chance. All he’d ever had was his dignity, and he’d be damned if he threw all that away, now. She might be his mate, but that didn’t mean he owed her anything. Mate in name only…but Jesminda had been his love. She’d died for that love, defiantly refusing to disavow him even when Beron offered her the opportunity to save her own life. If she’d been alive, would he have wanted Elain?

No.

He almost couldn’t hate Elain for her choice. Lucien hated her for making it and for getting what he hadn’t—the chance to be with Graysen, who had survived the war. It seemed so supremely unfair that Elain got everything he’d been denied.

It was simply easier to hate her. As he laid there in the water, covered up to his chin, Lucien let whatever feeling he might have had for her solidify into something cold and unforgiving. It would take centuries of chipping to break through by the time he was done. He could guard this part of himself so carefully, so closely, that no one would even know it existed. 

Let Elain have her dalliance with the human. He’d die, and she’d have nothing. And Lucien…Lucien had nothing, anyway. How long, he wondered, would Feyre hold her resolve? Would she still choose him over her sister? He knew Feyre—she simply didn’t have it in her to hold a grudge. Not forever. Time had a way of easing things, besides, especially when you were surrounded by love and happiness. Feyre would have children, would settle into her life and she’d miss Elain.

Lucien thought he’d die if he had to see Elain at every solstice party for the rest of his miserably long life. He could beg his father to take him back—and end up on the same side of the blade Jesminda had. Or he could do nothing.

Travel.

Wander.

The idea seemed to warm him a little. Shifting his aching muscles beneath the water, Lucien let himself imagine living on the continent for a time. Maybe a decade before he moved on. There was nothing holding him to Prythian anymore. No one holding him here anymore. He couldn’t even go back to Jes, whose grave was lost to him. Her family had refused to tell him where she was buried and would likely have killed him before they ever let him say his final goodbyes to her. 

Lucien left the bath, drying himself as he solidified his plans. He had more than enough money, collected after centuries of being overpaid by Tamlin, and then overpaid again by Rhys. If he needed more, he could always pick up a job somewhere. Do things he’d always been curious about if he truly wanted to.

It was a nice enough fantasy to put him to bed. Lucien woke to snow falling softly and the smell of cinnamon wafting through the halls. Wrapping a sheet around his waist, he found a little note from Feyre beside a stack of fine clothes that were his style and not the Night Courts. He dressed quickly while reading her note.

You can do hard things—even this. 

Love you,

Feyre

The mug of steaming, cinnamon chocolate, felt more like a bribe than anything. Still, he downed it all the same. Snapping the cloak around his neck, and checking his hair one last time, Lucien braced himself to speak to his mate.

And to tell her goodbye.

[buckydeservesthebest]

OK SO HEAR ME F*CKING OUT!!!

Bucky Barnes, the Bucky Barnes we know would NEVER, EVER agree to try to murder anyone, not even bad guys, WILLINGLY.

Bucky didn't even want to kill the bad guys he faced like the Flag Smashers, not even Zemo, even when he had plenty of reasons to do so.

Bucky has made it clear time and time again that the last thing he wants to do is hurt others.

To make him act like the Winter Soldier voluntarily is horrifyingly out of character! Proving that he is not the Winter Soldier is literally the crux of his story in TFATWS!!!!

His suit in Thunderbolts has virtually the same components that HYDRA used to outfit him as the Winter Soldier.

Besides it is obvious that this scene is identical to that of CA:TWS.

The only explanation for this is that Bucky is being mind controlled again... There is no other way...

My theory is that whoever is mind controlling Bucky is using a different method than HYDRA's trigger words.

We know that something similar will happen to Isaiah Bradley in Cap4. That means the government has access to mind control methods. And Bucky "works" for Congress/Government. The new Ross government! The pin that Bucky wears is the same one that can be seen on the Ross Funko. Of course there is a connection there.

Also, we know from the book The Wakanda Files, that Bucky's brain has irreparable damage that even Shuri couldn't heal... So maybe Marvel is building on that...

Another possible explanation is Loki's scepter, suspiciously shown in the same scene as Bucky. Maybe some of the power of the mind stone is still there and that's what they're using to control him!

I strictly refuse to believe that Marvel made our Bucky become a ruthless bad guy voluntarily! THAT'S NOT THE BUCKY WE'VE SEEN FOR 13 YEARS!!!!!

Besides, if Bucky were really the kind of person to accept those kinds of missions, he would have already been recruited by Val to do her dirty work like the rest of the TBs.

Precisely, according to an insider, Congress assigns Bucky the task of investigating Val and exposing her dirt.

And if that wasn't enough, even when Bucky pretended to be the Winter Soldier in TFATWS, HE NEVER CARRIED WEAPONS!

So my complete theory is:

Bucky is being blackmailed by Ross' government to work for them, in exchange for not pursuing charges against what he "did" as the Winter Soldier, and that explains the court scene.

He is assigned the task of investigating Val.

He discovers what she is doing along with the TBs, and reports it.

At some point they (or perhaps Val herself from the shadows) assign him the task of tracking down and/or eliminating the TBs, but he refuses which causes them to resort to some sort of mind control to force him.

Bucky eventually breaks free of the mind control and ends up having to work alongside the TBs to overthrow Val.

And as a bonus, Bucky is the voice of reason and the leader who inspires the TBs to improve and be better people, as Seb said: "A guy coming into this group that was chaotic and degenerate, and somehow finding a way to unite them."

Bucky is and always has been a good man who has never enjoyed having to fight. I SWEAR IF MARVEL CHANGES THAT, WHICH IS ALL WE'VE SEEN FOR 13 YEARS, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M GOING TO DO.

Whatever the truth is, I HATE with all my heart that our poor boy is going through this horrifying situation as if he hasn't already suffered enough!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 😭😭😭 😭

[swordbisexual]

Marcher Blended

Cat and Blackwall share a drink, part one. 1k words

--

The Inquisition is a small operation. Tidy, for what it is, and run well enough, but there is still not enough of it to do more than scratch a few breastplates and nick a few blades. Blackwall can’t help himself as he walks his own watch through Haven; he makes a list of what ought to be done, though who this list is for, he could not say. It’s not his place to give orders anymore, and he’s yet to receive any to follow, though he’s still undecided of yet whether he’ll truly follow all of this through at all.

More drills. More men at work on the fortifications, at least double the number hammering away at the reinforcements right now. More arms, and more armor, though without the proper materials, the need for more is as good as wishing on stars. He could bring his concerns to the Inquisition’s commander, perhaps, but all of those at work at the top of the heap seem stretched thin enough as is, and prone to view his sensible suggestions as little more than the nagging of an old busybody.

He comes to a stop back at his usual post by the smithy and sighs. Not his place anymore. He has to remember that, lest he draw too much attention to himself and draw the kinds of questions he’s been able to avoid in his solitude for years now.

He doesn’t usually turn to drink just to keep himself warm, but it’s bloody frigid up here in the Frostback snow, and he’s taken to having a nip here and there when he comes to a pause. The bottle he draws out is as meager as the rest of his possessions: a poor green glass, unlabeled, with only a few drams left sloshing around the bottom. It’s Free Marches whisky, that he knows, but the kind of brew mixed together from one too many different malts, aged only just enough to take off the worst of the bite and likely better suited to being used as fuel for a torch. He takes a sip straight from the bottle. It burns going down, which is warming enough, and he makes ready to shove the cork back in and turns his face up to look once more at the eerie green glow of the Breach.

“How is it?”

Maker, but he’s not used to being in a place where a voice can come up on him like that, much less the voice of a lady. Blackwall tears his gaze away from the hole in the sky and turns to look at the lady in question: Lady Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, and in a flash of honesty brought on by the tingle of terrible whisky on his lips, likely the reason he agreed to join the Inquisition in the first place.

He squints back up to the sky, trying to think instead of honor, and duty, and the staunch reasons a Warden might join the fight for the good of the world. “Still unnerving to look at, same as last time we spoke of it.”

Cat Trevelyan crosses her arms and shakes her head with a smile. “No. The whisky.”

“Ah.” Blackwall looks down at the bottle. “It must reek something awful, for you to be able to tell what it is.”

“Next to the horses? No.” She delivers the last word on a soft laugh, a sound that’s at once youthful and wise, a strange sort of dichotomy that’s held fast at the back of Blackwall’s mind ever since he first looked her in the eye. Holding out an open palm, she nods at the bottle in his hand. “Let me see it.”

He tries a jest, carefully, cautiously, wondering if perhaps she might laugh again. “Is this some Inquisitorial inspection, my lady?”

She closes her fingers around the bottle’s neck, and Maker above, she does laugh again, a rare and wonderful sound. “Hardly. Unless you mean inspecting that you’ve got spirits fit for human consumption.”

“Come to requisition my personal stores?” She’s easy to talk to - too easy - and he’s been without this kind of company for too long. “Go on, then. For the good of the Inquisition.”

Cat lifts the bottle to her nose and her brows shoot up with a start. “Maker. That’s a Marches peat if I ever smelled one.”

Blackwall reaches out to take back his whisky, though he doesn’t grab for it, expecting instead for Cat to simply pass it over. “And a few more besides.”

She lifts the bottle to her lips and tilts back, and he sees her throat bob behind the folds of the silk scarf bundled loosely around her neck. It’s a lovely neck she has, with wisps of ash-blond trailing along the back where some of the finer, shorter hairs at her nape haven’t held fast to the otherwise neat braid that loops around her head. He has no idea how young she is; surely too young for him to think of her this way, and even if she wasn’t, he can’t be thinking like this of the woman who holds the world’s salvation in her palm.

With a shiver and a shake of her head, she blinks away the tears that spring to her eyes and peers at the bottle a little more closely. The way she wrinkles her nose says that she’s not satisfied with whatever she’s been able to divine from the glass - that is, if mages can do that sort of thing, and Blackwall realizes he hasn’t the faintest idea what she can do besides summon a storm from her hands and make him feel like he’s brushed up against lightning itself with only a word - and she finally hands it back over. “I’ve had worse, but I have to say, I’ve certainly had better.”

He pushes the cork back into the bottle, smacks it once with his palm just for good measure. “Can’t be too choosy, traveling the lonely Warden’s path.”

She flashes him a smile, wide and winning, and he feels a burning in his belly from more than the drink. “Then I’ll have to bring something better next time.” 

[winniethewife]

I know I'll be alright, But I'm not tonight 

(Commander Cody x F!reader)

Prompt: Remembering

Words: 717

Warnings: Angst, Grief

A/N: For my Event Nine weeks in hell and Angstember

Cody stood in the Negotiator situation room, looking around the empty spaces where his general and friends once stood. What was it all for? Can anything really be solved without bloodshed? He had just returned from his mission on Desix, he felt the sweat drip down his brow as he recalled the moment Crosshair had shot the governor. In all his years of fighting he had never felt shaken like this. He looked around the room again and felt the ever stronger absence of the people he had spent his whole life with. Where was Rex? Where were Fives and Echo? Where were Waxer and Boil? Where was General Kenobi? He knew, He knew they were gone. He felt an awful sinking feeling, the Negotiator was scheduled to be deconstructed and used for new ships in the next few rotations, the last place he had to remember everything he had gone though, every person he had cared about, He sighed deeply as he covered his face with his hand. He wondered what he was supposed to do.

“Cody?” a voice called out from somewhere in the ship, a familiar voice. A flash of memories cross his mind. Late nights doing paperwork together, even later nights drinking at 79’s, early mornings over a cup of caf. He turns to see her. Standing with her imperial officer’s uniform jacket slung over her shoulder and a worried look on her face. “There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry, I…I needed a minute.” Cody rubbed the back of his neck. He tried to seem casual about it but she knew him all too well.

“You’ve been needing a lot of time away lately.” She broached the topic carefully, closing the distance between the two of them. Cody’s shoulders fell in defeat, of course she had noticed. He leans against the Holo-       table in the middle of the room, she quickly followed suit.

“Do you…think we’re doing good things here? Are we making the galaxy better?” He was hoping this time he would get a different answer from her than he got from Crosshair. She let out a defeated sound, her head tilted back so she was looking at the ceiling.

“I don’t know Cody…It’s hard to say. I feel like…I have more questions than I did before, and I feel like the answers I get don’t inspire confidence. I feel like I did more on a daily basis when we were fighting in the war then we do now.” She looks over at him. “But…I really have my doubts.”

“I’m…also having doubts.” Cody said relief coating his words as he tears his gaze from her. “I’m starting to wonder, why this happened. We won the war, but we lost…everything.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. She gently put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

“He’s not dead Cody. They’re still looking for him.” She said softly. Cody looked up suddenly, He knew exactly who she was talking about. The General.

“How? I thought…they must’ve…really?” Cody felt like a weight came off his shoulders but an overwhelming feeling of guilt flooded his mind. He felt like his brain was short circuiting as he tried to find the words.  “I…I’m glad…I know I’m not supposed…I don’t…How am I supposed to feel?” He looked over at her, in his eyes she could see the conflicting emotions he was feeling.

“I don’t know. But I do know how I feel.” She scoots slightly closer to him “I spend my days looking over these reports, Order 66, the Jedi council, I can’t help but wonder…” Her voice trails off. Cody shook his head in disbelief.

“I can’t stay here, I want to make a difference, I want my choices to matter.” He takes her hand in his and squeezes it. She looks at him, and nods giving his hand a gentle squeeze in return. They both knew the rumors that had been circulating, about Clones going AWOL, about where they go. She doesn’t want to say goodbye. She doesn’t want to lose him too, and neither does he.

“We can’t stay here…” She whispered softly. Cody’s eyes lit up.

“So you’ll come with me?” He asked hopefully.

“I’ll go anywhere with you.” She confirms.

“Then let’s go…Anywhere but here.”

~

Masterlist

Taglist: : @silvernight-m @queerponcho @boredzillenial

[schmweed]

[froggomcdoo]

you ever read a work of fiction so good that you immediately need to find more and consume it but it doesn't have any more and there will likely be no more so you just suffer and think what if.

[diaryofamadsunwukongfan]

Sage Ayana

Race: Human

Nationality: Atlas (Areia colony)

Ethnicity: Mixed Vacun & Mistrali

Weapon: Pilgrim

Gender: Man

Sexuality: Aromantic pansexual

Starting Age: 17

Birthday: Spring 1st

Aura Color: Green

Handedness: Right

Complexion: Dark brown

Eye Color: Red

Semblance: Remedy (Every time Sage's Aura shield takes damage, Sage's semblance converts the damage into a secondary Aura reserve called Mood. Sage can use his Mood to heal his body or to recharge his Aura shields immediately, which looks like green leaves wrapping around his body.)

Occupation: Haven student, Junior Detective, Boy band drummer

Previous Occuppation: Sanctum Regional Tournament player (2nd place ten times)

"And the winner is, Sage Ayana of Areia city!" the host announced to the crowd. The hundreds of people in the crowd went wild. Hundreds of them chanting, screaming, Sage's name. He could reasonably assume that almost everyone from his home was watching, cheering for him too. It wasn't good enough.

Sage headed to the locker room. He sat down and began checking his weapon for damages, even though last match only lasted about 7 minutes. That was when she came in. "Good afternoon, Sage Ayana."

Quiet.

"Good afternoon, Pyrrha Nikos." Sage said back to the armored redhead. "It seems we will be going up against each other in the finals again." Pyrrha stated.

Silence.

Pyrrha started again, "How many times have we faced each other like this?"

"Ten times, in a row. I lost every single match."

"Don't sell yourself so short! It's an accomplishment to make it to the finals consistently."

"Stop." Sage commanded.

Pause.

"... Pyrrha," Sage looked her in the eyes for the first time she entered the room, "you know what it's like for people like us. We don't represent ourselves, we represent our towns. And each time I lose here... forget it. I shouldn't have said that." Sage then turned his back again.

Pyrrha walked in front of Sage. "I apologize if my skill in combat has upset you," Pyrrha said, "but being the best comes with a price."

"That's easy for you to say-"

"It's not!" Pyrrha shouted. "... I know Areia is... unfavorably compared to Argus by Atlesians. But know that I, nor anyone else in Argus, view your city that way. We are equals. And it is an honor to earn second place as many times as you did even if you don't see it that way, friend." Pyrrha then reached out her hand to Sage.

For a moment, Sage considered taking her hand. Forgetting about his duties, his discipline, his fidelity to his parent's teachings of strength.

"We are not friends, Pyrrha Nikos." Sage stared her in the eye.

"... very well then, Sage Ayana. Eternal rivals, then." Pyrrha sadly stated.

"...ladies and gentlemen, are you ready for the finale!!!" The host screamed so loud it could be heard inside the locker room.

Sage and Pyrrha got up and walked to the door, waiting for it to automatically open.

"May the best fighter win" Pyrrha hummed.

"I won't lose this time." Sage stated to her.

"You have said that ten times before." Pyrrha coldly stated back.

For a moment, Sage's mouth turned into a frown, but he corrected his face. He must always correct himself, always strive to be perfect... still not good enough.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

can i ask you something? what makes this different from s4 with buck and eddie? didn't you say you lost faith after s4, so how was it restored and how did what happen in the s6 finale not make you lose faith in what would have been the series finale, they got buck and eddie together with random women they have no chemistry with?

I feel like I've answered this question a hundred times but, okay, once more with feeling! A one and a two and a three!

My faith was restored with season four after I a) calmed down b) took a step back and had more time to reflect and c) wasn't having a mental breakdown. As I've said before, my personal life was bad at the time, so when my fictional TV show didn't give me what I wanted and it was one of the few things giving me an escape/joy at the time, I didn't handle it well. But when I took a step back, chatted with others, and had some time to reflect, I realized I had been too impatient in my expectations. Season five was fantastic for me re: Eddie's growth and healing, as well as Buck approaching romantic relationships. I was honestly surprised they didn't get together in the season five finale, that was my expectation and it seemed properly built up, but then we had weird pacing in season six in regards to Buck and Eddie especially so I really suspect BTS stuff was going on.

I don't lose faith because I have seen what happens when people rush shit for a finale because they are cancelled or might be cancelled. You do not have to agree with my opinion on this. You are welcome to say, well if this was the finale I'd be pissed! But I, personally, would have been upset if they'd rushed my getting together moment because they were scared they'd get cancelled.

Additionally, again, we do not know what's going on behind the scenes. Clearly stuff was going on during season six. I don't mean to put on a tin hat here, but it's possible Fox said "no." It's possible Tim said "no." It's possible there was other shit going on that I can't even guess on because I'm not involved, that led to a "no" that will become a "yes" now that they've moved to ABC. We do not know.

I have not lost faith because guess what! It was NOT the series finale. I do not care for the "almosts" of other timelines. This is the timeline I'm in, thanks, and what matters to me is not what might have happened or what almost happened but what did happen. In my opinion, the writing team chose to take a risk and not get Buddie together, not compromise their relationship, in the hopes they'd get picked up somewhere else. It's a risky move, but once you get Buddie together you can't take it back, and so I respect that they stuck to their guns.

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO AGREE WITH ME. But this is my opinion of why I'm not upset. As a writer, I respect when someone has the integrity to hold to their vision even if it means taking a risk.

(And frankly I didn't like it for a series finale for any of the characters, not just Buddie! As much as I love all of them. I want to see the Madney wedding, I want Athena to quit her damn job, I want Chim to get a storyline not tied to Maddie... etc.)

As far as where the boys are now, given this was not the series finale:

Back when it looked like Eddie would get with Ana, a lot of us were excited, because we felt it was important Eddie date other people before he dates Buck. Shannon is the only relationship he's ever had and we felt that for his own sake, his confidence, his maturity, he date at least one other person.

But that's not how his relationship with Ana went. He did it to give Chris a parent, he did it before he was ready, he did it because he felt he had to. Whatever sexuality you believe Eddie to have, the entire Ana relationship was steeped in comphet. It didn't give him confidence or help him learn to have an adult relationship. So Eddie needs, in my opinion, to date around a little. For himself, because he wants to. Then he'll have the confidence to be with Buck.

Buck's relationship with Natalia will, I hope, give him the growth I wanted him to have with Taylor. He did a lot of growth regarding his platonic family this season, but it was also made more clear to him than ever that he wants to be a father and a husband. But as we see he once again let someone else pick his couch. This time, Natalia. She seems like the band-aid solution to his post-death trauma, but the audience has already been set up to see that Eddie is what's right for Buck, not her. It's clear to me from the writing that they had to hedge their bets, again for whatever BTS reason, but they are still priming the audience to know Natalia's not right for Buck, Eddie is.

Personally, given Natalia's reaction to Buck's relationship with Kameron and Connor, I think Christopher will be the breaking point. Buck will never, ever choose anyone else over Christopher. And I don't think Natalia, who didn't seem super comfy with kids in the first place, will like that her boyfriend has a parental and unshakable relationship with someone else's kid. And who can blame her? It's hard to build a life with someone when they're co-parenting another kid already. It's kinda the number one concern divorced parents have when dating again - I already have a child, and I share that child with someone else, but I'm not romantically with that someone else, how can a new person accept that? It's hard! It's uncomfy! It's difficult!

Again, we saw Buck fall asleep on Eddie's couch. Eddie is Buck's true partner. Buck is already a father (and possibly will be again, I think it's looking more and more likely that Buck and Eddie will adopt a child once they get together, Buck loves Chris but clearly also wants a baby - c'mon writers give me a safe haven baby), to Christopher.

Just as he realized with his coma dream that Bobby is his true father, the one he already has, and that means he can forgive his parents for his own sake and meet them where they're at, because he knows from where his true support comes (Bobby especially, but the rest of the 118 as well)... so season seven will I think be Buck realizing that Eddie is his true partner and Chris is his true child. And Natalia is not Taylor. Natalia is a good person. She's a selfless person who helps people come to terms with their death and makes such a terrifying experience joyful and loving. Buck needs to reject the "perfect woman" because no matter how "perfect" she might be, she can never be what he wants. No one can, because Eddie and Chris already have his heart.

So that's why I'm excited. I'm excited for Eddie to get confident in his ability to be a romantic partner. I'm excited for Buck to reject the "perfect woman" because he needs to realize he already has what he wants.

I don't think it's like the season four finale. The season four finale they should not have gotten together. It was too soon. It would've been steeped in the trauma they both just experienced (and have yet to talk about heheheheh). I think that season six just gave us what we hoped would happen when Eddie dated Ana and Buck dated Taylor but Eddie especially was acting from a place of comphet and trauma, and Buck LITERALLY DATED TAYLOR BECAUSE EDDIE NEARLY DIED, it was a MASSIVE trauma response and he continued to be with her because she wouldn't leave him, even though he was absolutely miserable with her to the point where the intensely-loyal Buck drunkenly kissed someone else (I think that kiss was equally about Eddie, Eddie didn't show up even though Buck invited him, and Buck clearly is angry and missing him).

Season six finale gave us Eddie learning to ask someone out, Eddie trying to date casually, Eddie learning how to be an adult in adult romantic relationships. And it gave us the "perfect" woman for Buck, while ALSO showing us how she ISN'T what he really needs, to set us up for Buck realizing nobody will ever work out because nobody will be Eddie.

That's why I'm not worried. They're two entirely different scenarios. And while you may not agree with how the writing team chose to handle the possible cancellation and that is allowed, I do not agree with you, I will never agree with you, and people who do not agree with me need to stop dropping into my inbox because they will simply be deleted and also, a little bit, mocked. Privately. In silly voices. To my cats.

(Not saying that's you nonny, but I have had some rather annoying people drop me a line.)

So there you go. I got my faith back with season four because I was impatient and I just needed time to reflect, and I have not lost faith here because I believe they're two different scenarios, I like to give the benefit of the doubt to an excellent writing team because I don't know what BTS bullshit is going on, and I would've done the same damn thing and not compromised my vision of how I wanted Buck and Eddie to get together and taken that risk.

[ttsukiimi]

───〃★ C’MERE, BRING THAT D⍣CK HERE .ᐟ

〃★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ You’ve been a good wife—you really have! But when your husband’s boss confronts you about him cheating with his secretary, you just can’t help but take up his offer to get back at him.

〃★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ nanami x fem!reader, gojo x fem!reader, Sukuna x fem!reader, geto x fem!reader, cheating (not reader), smut (mdni), exhibitionism (sukuna, gojo), slight n⍣pple play, slight cl⍣t play, slight creamp⍣e (geto), full Nelson (gojo), office s⍣x.

〃★ 𝐚/𝐧 ⎯ I was gonna add toji but realized his broke assss not the boss of anyone🤧

────〃ଘ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 - NICE ‘N SLOW

The wooden legs of his desk scrapped against the floor with every deep thrust, important paperwork scattered all over from how much he had you squirming from his slow, calculated movements. Your nails dug into the wood, scratching and latching onto the edge as your back arched, a cry of pleasure bubbling from your throat.

Was this wrong somehow? No. Your cheating scum of a husband should receive the treatment he’s given you. And you almost wished he’d walk in on the sight of his boss balls deep in his wife. Well, ex-wife, anyway.

Nanami leaned in to your ear and you shivered, feeling his breath fan past your neck, smelling his cologne and—fuck, you could feel his muscles through this suit against your back. “Hope you’ve finally found your worth. He never deserved you.”

His words entered one ear and came out the other with how hazy he had you feeling, cock penetrating you over and over in a cycle that had you feeling delirious. Your head spun, and the world seemed to blur from existence—except for Nanami; his hands, his words, his voice.

“I’ll make you feel better—cum better than he ever has.”

────〃ଘ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 - I’LL DO IT INSTEAD

Now, Satoru had always had his eyes on you. From the very first moment you came into the office, bringing your husband his forgotten lunch, he knew he had to have you. The whole interaction left him feeling bitter anyway—he only waved you off after he grabbed his lunch and refused to kiss you in front of his colleagues.

What kind of man was he?

Satoru had no problem fucking you in front of him, though.

You watched your husband’s wide eyes, embarrassed but basking in your sweet revenge. A smirk graced Satoru’s lips, his own focused on your husband’s flickering gaze from how he split your cunt open so lewdly to your bouncing tits as if in a trance.

“‘S how’s it feel? Watching your pretty little wife get ruined?” He breathed, strong arms folding you further into the full Nelson position he had you locked in. “You turned on, hm? Seein’ her lil’ cunt get fucked?”

Your eyes closed and your tongue lolled out, head thrown back onto Satoru’s shoulder as your hand came down to pinch your pulsing clit in circles.

Satoru peppered kisses upon your jawline and stopped by your ear. “Why don’t you tell him how good ‘m making you feel?”

────〃ଘ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 - DO IT BETTER!

You’d always had your eye out for your husband’s particularly hot and intimidating boss, though you’d always stray your gaze away from him out of respect and loyalty. Respect and loyalty that your husband never seemed to reciprocate.

And when his boss finally confirmed that he was cheating on you—you’d finally given into your fantasy of fucking him.

But this isn’t how you imagined your fantasy would go.

Everyone’s eyes were glued to you, either out of fear of what Sukuna would do or out of pure infatuation from how wet your cunt was. You sat on Sukuna’s lap, legs spread open for anyone and everyone to see—even your spouse whose face was a mix of anger and confusion.

He didn’t have the right to be mad right now.

You were almost about to curse him out when Sukuna slid in with one swift thrust. Your breath caught in your throat, tears already welling in your eyes as he began to move without giving you even a second to adjust to his abnormal size.

He bounced you on his lap, heavy balls smacking against your ass so loudly it resonated throughout the meeting room. His big hands groped your chest though your blouse, practically ripping it off you.

“I’ll show you fuckers how to properly fuck a pretty lil’ thing like her.”

────〃ଘ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 - LIKE YOU DESERVE

Heat creeped up into your face. You hadn’t expected your day to amount to anything—considering your husband’s boss had told you about his affair just a day before—but there you were, sat on the same man’s lap as he fucked up into your cunt.

I’ll fuck you like you deserve. Those were his words—the words that got you here in the first place.

Suguru’s fingers toyed with the hood of your clit, pinching the nub of nerves in such a gentle yet pleasurable way that had shocks of electricity rocking through you. Your legs shook and quivered with how wide he had you spread them, muscles beginning to feel sore after some amount of time.

But Suguru hadn’t had his fill yet, he had to show you—make you feel what your husband couldn’t do to your body. So, with his cock still pumping in and out of you recklessly, two fingers entered your mouth while his unoccupied hand pinched and twisted your hardened nipples.

“Suck,” he ordered, and you did. It was almost embarrassing how fast you complied, wrapping your tongue around his thick digits as you suckled on them, excess saliva dribbling down your chin.

And it was all so lewd. The ring of cum coating his cock from both your multiple orgasms, your red and pulsing clit, your moans—and shit. If Suguru knew one thing it was one thing only; he would keep his promise and fuck you like you deserve.

[mostly-imagines]

Banished

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason misses his girlfriend

warnings: extremely mild angst, he’s just mopey (he’s fine)

Jason sits slumped over the kitchen island, head lying in his crossed arms. His now soggy cereal disregarded after barely a few bites.

Dick’s been rummaging through the cabinets for the better part of twenty minutes and Tim sits atop of the nook table shoving donuts in his mouth for the better part of thirty.

Damian trudges past them to the nook bench, taking out a knife and beginning to whittle away at a block of wood.

He glances at Jason with a scowl. “If you’re going to be so miserable, can’t you do it in your own home?”

Jason just grunts.

He wishes. You and Bruce had conspired to trap him at the mansion for the week so he could heal from injuries sustained during the last mission without risk of him suiting up and sneaking away from you in the middle of the night.

It’s not even the fact that he’s basically being babysat that’s got him so disgruntled. He wouldn’t mind it at all if you were here too. But you were dead set that the manor was too far out of your way for work, so you’d stay behind. A lose-lose for Jason.

“He’s just mad his girlfriend kicked him out.” Dick teases, swiping through the fridge.

Tim snorts from the doorway, “Me too. He’s a lot more depressing on his own.”

Jason kept his head down as he blindly reached for the spoon in his cereal and chucked it at Tim’s head.

Tim catches it without thought, continuing, “A lot more irritable, at least. Why isn’t she here?”

“She’s gotta work.” Dick says, scanning through the pantry.

Damian peeps his head up from his project. “But Todd has a rather large supply of less than legally obtained money, does he not?”

“Yeah, but she said she wants to pay her own rent, I think.” Dicks hums, finally giving up on his quest for a snack.

Damian pauses.

“So she wants to live in a tiny apartment?” He asks, a mixture of confused and horrified.

“Watch your mouth.” Jason mumbles.

“It was a genuine question!” Damian protests, face screwed up.

Jason finally lifts his head up, turning to his little brother with a raised brows. “And I’m genuinely going to break your nose.”

It’s an empty threat, maybe. But it was enough to shut Damian up anyways. Jason turns back to his cereal and swishes the bowl around.

Dick rests his arms on the counter across from Jason and speaks lowly. “You know, it is just a few days. She’s coming back.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Jason was never one for showing his feelings—let alone talking about them.

He misses you, plain and simple. Dick could see that much clearly, though the longing looked unfamiliar on Jason.

Bruce lingers in the hallway, just past the island, listening.

He’ll admit (to himself) that he’s worried about Jason. It’s been three days and Jason has yet to show a crack in this demeanor. And while it’s not uncommon for him to stow himself away, there is something quite wrong with the way he hasn’t countered his brother’s jabs at him or teased them.

And while he could do without the blatant threats, he’s proud to hear his son defending his girlfriend, even over trivial things. It’s one of the few moments where he feels like he did right by him as a father.

And now here’s his son, caring about someone else more than he cares about himself. Someone who’s a good person, no less. It had been your idea to trick Jason into staying at the manor, you were scared that he would push his body past its limit when you couldn’t do anything to help.

Bruce knew you didn’t feel great about basically banishing him for the week but he could see that you just wanted what was best for Jason. He could see it so clearly. Maybe Bruce could never have been a perfect father, could never have given his son everything he needed despite having more money than he could ever use. Maybe he couldn’t help him, even now.

But you could.

Bruce peers around the corner, leaning up against the doorframe.

He watches Damian give up on carving at his block and start into the leg of the table.

He watches the bickering that broke out after Tim grab the last glazed donut, which was apparently the only thing Dick could possibly fathom eating.

And he watches Jason.

As Jason’s phone lights up on the counter next to him. He glances down at it with a frown before his face absolutely lights up.

He scrambles to pick the phone up and starts typing away. A quiet action that catches the attention of all of his brothers.

He types and types, waits for ten seconds for a response and types and types again—smile on his face.

The Waynes didn’t need to be the greatest detectives in the world to know who he was texting.

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