#From the time before Bat-swap

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

First meetings between the Chief and the Drake

Tim honesty doesn’t know why he has to work with The Chief (or whatever the hell he’s called back in good ol’ Fawcett)

Why does an entire pseudo family of magic users even have a tech guy??

“They have useful information on the group were dealing with Tim,” rang-out Oracle’s heavily disguised voice. Ready for further hide her identity behind the screen to his left for when the expected Marvel finds his way to the Bat-cave. “With all the magic issues we already have to power through without outside assistance I think its nice we have more to rely on than just Zatanna or Jason whenever they’re in town.”

Tim fidgeted in the Bat-chair, swishing the tea Alfred made for him earlier in his mug. “I know but the whole family is a deck of wild cards, how do six people capable of taking on Superman on an off day just pop out of the woodwork with no history other than ancient the kind Babs?” Tim took another once over of the cave security cams and aerial footage of the manor’s surroundings, “We only found out about the rest of the family two weeks ago because of that shitty Luthor-Sivanna team up, Cap has a whole team hidden away in his city or that Rock place he mentions once in a blue moon and he never mentioned there being more of him.” Tim flew his empty hand up in the air, “and now Bruce is pulling his hair out trying to research what his now a minor pantheon of ‘heroes that are probably weird ass new gods’ and is going grey-er than normal finding nothing!”

At the end of that mini rant Tim could feel the disinterested, patient look from behind Barbra’s monitor, “Got the bats out of the cave now?”

“Is that some kind of family saying?” Questioned a voice from the nearby medical platform, The Chief had bypassed cave security at some point unknown to Tim.

Good god Bruce needs some anti magic runes or something…

“Oh!” The man startled when Tim head snapped to his direction, hovering in front of the door of a containment room or when they need to hold someone infected with anything from new fear gas to a zombie virus.

Why is he just floating there? Shouldn’t he be by the elevator or the Zetta tube if he just got here?

“Sorry, I’m uh- heh,” he hovered down closer to the Bat-computer, one hand rubbing his neck nervously and the other in mock surrender. “Cap said I needed to pop by to pass on what we know on Dionysian cult practices and what the stuff you guys found exactly does?”

There was a tense moment, one normally shared between vaguely Batman like heroes and vaguely Superman like heroes. Where one looks the other over studying for the slightest hint of evidence to their theories in everything about them, their form, the choice in costume design, the body language, to even the slightest hair out of place. All done in a fraction of a second to not force the subject of the inspection into trying to hide anything after the fact, all while the other acts so painfully normal and human that it throws every speculation out the window. Too nervous in the face of a mortal man to be anything approximating an immortal being or god, but proven to be far too strong to be anything but.

His proclaimed older brother wiped the floor with a Superman infected by red kryptonite. He broke the man of steels arm and bruised multiple ribs subduing him so that he wouldn’t knock down another building. The Captain had been able to catch up to and outrun Wally when a bomb got strapped to his wrist and disarmed it while still flying faster than the man could run. None of the Marvels have documented limits in all the battles they’ve joined the league on, short of the minor annoyance of a magical attack. One of them is the dictator of a small country. They pop in and out of existence for superhero duties on a whim. Good god Bruce why did you have to rub this specific paranoia onto me?

“I’m going to hazard a guess and say our magic friend has arrived?” Oracles distorted voice snapped him from staring the lanky hero down, just now noticing the outstretched hand waiting to shake his. Turning back to the monitor Tim replied a curt, “He’s here.” Ignoring the childishly dejected look of the possibly thousands years old or freshly spawned being of magic to his right.

“So,” the hero in grey clapped his hands, “I can just upload the data we’ve got on them to the Bat-Computer here and just head out for you guys to do your, uh, Bat…thing?”

“That would be be-”

“Do you have the files physically on hand, on a drive, or on another device we’ll have to link to the computer?” Oracle interjected, startling both men.

“Oh, uh, well…” he began flexing and un-flexing his fingers, “I can literally kinda just, well I can basically upload everything I know in my head to what you’ve got here?” Probably realizing how odd even that sounded he rushed to clarify, “I-I’m basically like a magic technopath or whatever it's called, I can talk to machines and control them to a degree. Not like flinging keyboards with my mind or talking politics with a toaster levels of talk but I can just y’know,” he gestured between his head and the many screens, “Take what's up here that you need and put it in here?”

The man gave a unsure and lopsided grin, as if hearing how near absurd it sounded to have the ability to mix two polar systems together so seamlessly to be as simple as a data transfer between a computer and a human maybe human mind with magic. A force that has famously never worked well with modern machines or technology without major repercussions or those machines fusing with the person trying to mix them, the closest they’ve gotten that doesn’t instantly mutate the user or straight up explode is when Cyborg connects to New Gods Tech and even then its a gamble of if he can do anything with it or if it will infect him with some kind of virus.

He’s nervous mentioning it but he has an air of confidence like hes done this before, but also as if its common knowledge for him but something to withhold from Red Robin. Tim wonders if this is a universal power for his “family” but replays how he phrased it in his mind, he only said “I” and not “we”, it’s most likely a power specific to him or only he’s been able to master.

[elizabethemerald]

Bruce woke up with the sound of two other people breathing next to him. He kept himself still and his breathing even as he tried to analyze his situation. He was definitely between two other warm bodies, both with their arms wrapped tightly around him.

While he wasn't wholly unfamiliar with a menage a trois from his wild playboy days prior to adopting Dick, his nights were never actually as wild as the paparazzi liked to pretend, and it had been a long time since he was willing to risk the safety of his kids by bringing multiple partners to his bed.

"It's ok, baby, we've got you." A deep voice murmured in his ear as the person to his left pulled him closer, then the arms across his chest tensed. "Wait, you're not Danny? Sam, wake up."

The person to his right, Sam apparently, snorted as she roused, and sat up a little to look him over. Bruce risked opening his eyes, he was trapped between two people, tangled in sheets and in a completely unknown situation, even with all his training this would be a bad situation if he had to fight his way out.

"He looks like Danny, Tucker, is he overshadowed?" Sam asked.

Sam was pale, with a black faux-hawk and purple eyes. She was completely naked and wasn't shy about her body. Tucker had dark skin and black hair. He had his hair styled in long dreads with multiple golden charms clasped to the locks. Bruce watched as his eyes flashed gold for a second before a sensation like sand gently pouring over his skin swept across his body.

"Oh, body swap. Looks like this soul is from a different dimension." Tucker said, declaring such an absurd situation with such certainty that Bruce could only guess that they had experienced something like this before. "Is your name still Danny in your universe?"

"My name is Bruce, Bruce Wayne." Bruce said, finally speaking and sitting up.

"Oh! Danny's alternate is rich!" Sam said with a cheer as she stood up and walked over to the closet. "Listen to that posh diction."

Bruce averted his eyes from his alternate's partner and looked ready to deny it when Tucker patted his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Bruce. Sam knows rich people. Her parents were millionaires." He whispered the last like it was a secret. "We've handled this sort of thing before, so we'll get you all sorted out and back in your proper body in no time."

Bruce jumped as an electrical charged arced across his body, he turned, ready to defend himself and he found Sam once more standing next to him, a small taser in her hand. Some how he hadn't even heard her approach.

"Sorry about that, our Danny's got some powers that we don't want you to hurt yourself with. That just disables them for a few hours." She had a sharp grin and still hadn't put on any clothes.

"You keep something to disable your partner in your closet?" Bruce couldn't help the question. Sam's smile grew even sharper, bordering on inhuman at the question.

"Of course! How else am I supposed to have him bound and begging before me?"

.

Danny had a sense when something strange was going on. It wasn't his ghost sense, or even from his accident. If anything it was a family trait. Jack and Maddie used it to find ghosts and haunted locations long before their tech could actually pick up on ecto, Jazz used to suss out when Danny had lied to her about eating his vegetables, and Danny used it whenever he had to work with the non ghostly members of the Infinite Realms. There was just this tingling in the back of his mind that told him that everything was not as it seemed.

So when he walked into the dinning room to find it full of Bruce Wayne's kids who all looked at him with concern then pretended everything was fine, that sense started going off. As they all began clearly speaking in different coded phrases while subtly (though not subtly enough) checking in on him, the sense grew even stronger.

Finally Danny set his fork down after eating some of the delicious breakfast that Alfred had prepared for him and looked around the room. All of Bruce's kids tensed and looked like they were trying to pretend that they weren't readying for a fight. He let himself smile at all of them.

"So it's clear this alternate gets up to some kind of weirdness." Danny said, his smile widening as the others tried to parse his words. "Now I don't need to know everything, its not my business, but I would like you all to know, that I am an alternate version of your father from a different dimension and I've dealt with some weirdness myself. I'm certain my partners are already working on getting everybody back in their proper bodies."

It was clear the others hadn't expected him to just come out and admit that he was body swapped, but just as clear that they had all figured out he wasn't their father. He wondered what gave him away, but let it go as he picked his fork back up and continued eating for a few more bites. When the silent conversations that were happening across the table started to grow panicked he spoke up again.

"Is there some where you would like me to wait where there aren't any secrets until my partners get this situation sorted? You are of course more than welcome to continue to observe me for any suspicious behavior, though I would like to get to know my alternate's children if you would allow me."

Danny smiled as the heated (yet silent) debate once more sprung into existence. He stood and allowed Alfred to lead him to a sitting room with a large TV. He relaxed into one of the stupidly comfortable couches rich people could afford. He had wanted to take a vacation for a while, might as well make the most of the time he had.

Super short dp x dc idea

Danny is an Alternative Universe version of bruce Wayne. They get switched through some hijinks and Danny is trying to be Bruce-like and just trying to act like a Good Dad to these children his alternate self has amassed (holy shit). Like, He's doing his best to attend school plays and parent-teachers conferences (because Alfred still reminds Bruce of all of them even if he says he can't make it) and is doing no batman stuff (because Danny is unaware there is even such thing as batman stuff).

Meanwhile, the children are 100% sure Bruce is a) possessed b) concussed c) hypnotized d) any and all of the above.

[sonrium]

DP × DC The Power of Names Coffee Shop AU

Coffee shops are notorious for misspelling peoples names to the point that it's a running joke and basically a forgone conclusion everywhere. Everywhere except this tiny coffee shop near Crime Alley. The new hire there, Danny, spells everybody's name correctly without having to ask. Whether it's "Carly" or "Karly," he always gets it right the first time. Heck, people give him their names in Chinese and Arabic, and he swaps to the correct alphabet, no problem (because Danny, being king of the dead, can speak all languages dead and living, so might as well be respectful).

It becomes a bit of a running joke in the community to give Danny the craziest names they can find to see if he can get them right. Some of the Bats even hear rumors about him and give it a go for fun. They make a game out of it to see who can find a language or alphabet that Danny can't get. That is until, while massively sleep deprived from a case involving cults and magic and getting nowhere, Tim accidently says one of the words that he'd been hearing in the cultist chants when he orders. Danny gives him an odd look but shrugs and writes something on the cup. It isn't until Tim has already left the shop that he realizes that the symbol written on his cup is one shown in the cultists scrolls he couldn't decipher.

Tim almost dropped his coffee. Danny wasn't just a human who knew a ton of languages, he must have been a meta with the ability to understand EVERY language. And the Bats desperately needed his help to crack this one before the cultist finished summoning whatever demon or disaster they had planned. But how to get the kid's help? From idle chatter while ordering, the Bats learned that Danny wanted nothing to do with the Gotham vigilantes. And Tim had already given his connection to this case away by spewing that word written on his cup...

(I like to imagine the name Tim gave was something like "corn field" and that's why Danny looked at him funny and not because it's one of the languages of the dead)

[3liza]

i said this YEARS ago when the 'vibes based literacy" discussion started because i had been reading about dyslexia to try to help my partner at the time, who was undiagnosed: the book about dyslexia that i was reading described precisely the techniques used in the "contextual guessing" reading education system, but as dysfunctional adaptations by dyslexic children. the contect guessing and memorization thing is a way of teaching entire generations of children to be functionally dyslexic, a profound and devastating disability, when they do not have dyslexia and do not need to have it. it's horrifying. it was how my partner read things, and watching him try to read something out loud was extremely demonstrative of the struggle he was having.

ken goodman probably had dyslexia and didn't know it, it's the most common learning disability in the world, an estimated 20% of all humans on earth have some degree of it.

In the paper, Goodman rejected the idea that reading is a precise process that involves exact or detailed perception of letters or words. Instead, he argued that as people read, they make predictions about the words on the page using these three cues: 1. graphic cues (what do the letters tell you about what the word might be?) 2. syntactic cues (what kind of word could it be, for example, a noun or a verb?) 3. semantic cues (what word would make sense here, based on the context?) Goodman concluded that: Skill in reading involves not greater precision, but more accurate first guesses based on better sampling techniques, greater control over language structure, broadened experiences and increased conceptual development. As the child develops reading skill and speed, he uses increasingly fewer graphic cues.

he's completely wrong, this not how fully literate people read. this is how dyslexic people read. fully literate people are using phonics and the alphabet all the time, that's how we read so fast and so easily, even texts that we're unfamiliar with or that aren't in our native language. i can scan a page of italian, french or norwegian and get the gist of it even though i don't speak the languages. i can sound out those words and pronounce them, even if im pronouncing them incorrectly, just by reading the actual letters and phonemes.

relying on context to predict which word comes next is what leads to the kind of aphasia dyslexics often exhibit not only while reading, but when speaking aloud. my partner would swap words that were contextually correct but not what he actually meant all the time. for example if he wanted me to hand him a blue comb lying nearby on a table, he would say "could you please hand me the green brush?" or if he was describing a cat he saw, he would often swap in another contextually-related word, one that sounded the same, like "bat", or one that was conceptually related but incorrect, like "dog". as a result i had to ask him to clarify or repeat himself many times to figure out what he was trying to say. it created profound problems for him and separated him from me and everyone else. the worst part is that he was barely aware of this. when he was driving it was extremely difficult for him to follow or give directions because he would swap out "left" and 'right" randomly.

you cant actually read like this.

She thinks the students who learned three cueing were actually harmed by the approach. "I did lasting damage to these kids. It was so hard to ever get them to stop looking at a picture to guess what a word would be. It was so hard to ever get them to slow down and sound a word out because they had had this experience of knowing that you predict what you read before you read it."

[81pastrys]

Merch Shoot

Summary— Lando has a merch shoot and his little girl is being clingy.

Warnings— Lila is kinda mean to Keegan tbh but None.

A/n— immediately started writing this when I thought of it bc umm hello?!

Dad Lando List

Lando had planned out today, for weeks. He noticed his wife a bit overwhelmed in the past few days and decided the least he could do was give her a break. Which is how he ended up with the quadrant team holding Lila. No one really bat an eye.

“Okay Lila, you stay here and play with Keegan.” Lando instructed. She looked at her dad without a clue in the world. She’s met them before, but she wanted her dad. She reached her arms to him and he shook his head at her. “Daddy has to take pictures sweetheart.”

She whined and he could see tears form in her little eyes. Keegan frowned, he didn’t know how to help Lando when he shared a glance. Lando had brought a mini tea set, her favorite toy to play with.

“Look, you can make Keegan your favorite tea!” Lando tried again but she didn’t let up, her lip quivering. Max was starting to run out of models and needed Lando in the shoot. Lando sighed and hoped he could corral her with Max.

“Mate.” Max said. He wasn’t surprised but usually the girl was easy going. “Lila it’s my turn with him.” Max fake whined to her. She gave him a giggle and reached out to Max.

“Take that as a win.” Lando laughed, changing and joining the shoot himself. Max walked around with the little girl, showing her the clothes they’re releasing in due time.

“Pink!” She squeaked at the pink tshirt on the rack. Max praised her color recognition. He forgot they had kids shirts until he reached the end of the rack. “For me!” She blurted. Max laughed and looked to Lando posing.

“Want to join daddy?” Max whispered. She gave him a nod with the biggest smile. Max grabbed a pink kids tee from the rack and swapped her shirts. He pats her back. “Go get him Lila.” He smiles and she runs up to Lando.

“Well look at you!” He smiled. The photographer was melting at the content he was getting. They got amazing pictures and good content. “Did Maxie put you up to this?” He asked her while tickling her. The giggles filled the studio and smiles broke out.

The photographer went along with Lila joining Lando, having them do father daughter poses. Holding her hand, her on his shoulders.

Once the shoot was done, so was the little girl. She was yawning and whining from being tired. “I know sweetheart, we’re almost done.” Lando said. They picked the best photos and she helped.

“Best model we had today.” Max said shaking his head at the little girl. She truly had these men wrapped around her finger. “I’ve got it from here, it’s getting late.” Max told him.

“Bye bye Maxie!” She told Max. He scoffed and tickled her. Lando got his things as she ran around telling everyone bye. “Bye Keegan.” She struggled to say the skateboarders name. He gave her a chuckle and a high five.

“Next time we can have tea huh?” Keegan asked. She nodded and Lando scooped her up to leave. “Bye mate.” Keegan said to Lando. With that, they left the studio and headed home. Lila falling asleep on the way.

No hate to Keegan but I don’t think he’d be good fun at tea parties 🫣

[mononijikayu]

cry baby — gojo satoru.

"You're trembling." you said, glancing at the tall, jittery man beside you. "I am not, I am…I’m not really!" Satoru replied indignantly, though his knee bounced at a speed that could launch satellites. "I’m just… alert. Observant. Ready for anything." You side-eyed him. “You're literally afraid of a five-second injection.” “I’m not afraid!” he scoffed at you, trying to act so strongly. “He might be. I’m empathizing. It’s called being a compassionate father. Look it up, will you?”

GENRE: post hidden - post inventory arc (2010s)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, mention of pregnancy, depiction of the aftermath of birth, depiction of parenthood, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORD COUNT: 3k

NOTE: indulging myself on the idea that gojo satoru is the type of dad to be a cry baby when it comes to his kids. i feel like he's the very emotional, very tender father. and i wanted to write it. anyway, i hope you enjoy it a lot <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

IF HE WAS BEING HONEST, GOJO SATORU KNEW HE HAS SEEN THE WORLD HAS TO OFFER. He’s seen and fought curses that tear people apart. He's known the many betrayals from all his allies, powerful or not.

He's known the fragility of life in its ugliest forms. Of course, if that was the case, he knew he would have been quite a different man. But this was a different matter entirely. 

You knew that the moment your son was born, your husband would be more of a different man. Your young boy was the most important blessing in your lives, after all.

When it comes to his son, his precious baby boy, his beautiful and brightly shining Satoshi, everyone just knows that Gojo Satoru becomes a mess.

You had always known that protectiveness becomes instinctual, it comes with the word parent. Your husband can fight a thousand curses without blinking, but the moment a nurse walks into the room holding a syringe?

He’s sweating bullets. This was how he was now he has become a father. He’s become more overbearing than when Satoshi was a baby. Perhaps even more than you.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust medicine at all. He does, very much so. Logically. Intellectually. He knows that it’s safe, and science proves it. Yet, Satoru completely explained it to you before. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have approved for his little boy to get the medicine. 

But emotionally? He’d rather swap places with his son in a heartbeat than let Gojo Satoshi feel a moment of discomfort. He would rather feel every inch of pain than see his precious little boy cry in his arms with such a miserable face.

At doctor’s appointments, he’s that parent. The one hovering too close. Asking too many questions. Looking up medical journals five minutes before the appointment and citing studies the pediatrician already knows.

He’s Gojo Satoru, so of course he thinks he knows better about all of this. Even when the poor nurse just wants to give Satoshi a routine vaccine.

And the irony of it all is that you’re the calm one. Level-headed. Reassuring. You’re the one who gently keeps Satoshi distracted with a lollipop or a little toy while Gojo Satoru paces behind you like a caged tiger in his Gucci tracksuit. 

You don’t wanna judge your husband, though. Maybe it comes with being a Zeni’n. Your father was the opposite of every other Zeni’n out in the world. He was a gentle sort of man, jovial and tender too.

But he too didn’t bat an eye when you were getting the injection or when you scrapped your knee or even when you ended up injuring yourself during training.

Though come to think of it, your mother was the same too…..Maybe it was just a familial trait for you to not feel like its the end of the world to see your little one face the world one step at a time. Starting with a needle.

The pediatrician’s office smelled faintly of disinfectant and bubblegum stickers. Little Satoshi somehow has become fond of the smell, which your husband was rather horrified about. You were used to it by now, though. 

Six year old Gojo Satoshi checkups were always like clockwork. It was rather easy, almost too easily the routine that comes once every few months. They were supposed to be done within thirty minutes, maybe even less. At least, they were supposed to be. Instead, they never are what they should be.

"You're trembling." you said, glancing at the tall, jittery man beside you.

"I am not, I am…I’m not really!" Satoru replied indignantly, though his knee bounced at a speed that could launch satellites. "I’m just… alert. Observant. Ready for anything."

You side-eyed him. “You're literally afraid of a five-second injection.”

“I’m not afraid!” he scoffed at you, trying to act so strongly. “He might be. I’m empathizing. It’s called being a compassionate father. Look it up, will you?”

Across the room, Gojo Satoshi was perfectly unbothered, legs swinging off the exam table, face buried in a dinosaur book the nurse had handed him. You leaned back in your chair, amused. The precious young master of the Gojo clan seemed to be enjoying himself. 

Young master Gojo Satoshi is sitting on the exam table, swinging his legs. Brave. Calm. Almost eerily relaxed, considering his dad is pacing like the world is ending. The little boy started humming to himself. You were quick to pick up on the Digimon soundtrack.

“Son, how can you be this calm?” Satoru cried out. “You’re getting needles on you! Ah, this is a bad idea!”

“It’s one needle, 'toru.” You shake your head at your husband. "He’s fine. You’re the one breaking a sweat."

"I'm just saying!" Satoru muttered, voice dropping to a hiss. "Needles are unnecessary. Painful. Medieval. There are better ways. I could reverse-engineer a technique that boosts immunity naturally. Something with cursed energy and kale."

You gave him a look. “You're not turning our son into a science experiment.”

"Technically, it’d be a wellness experiment—"

The door opened, and the nurse stepped in with a warm smile and a tray in hand. “Okay, Satoshi-kun! Just one quick poke and you’re all set, sweetie.”

Gojo Satoru shot to his feet like she’d entered with a grenade. “Wait, wait—what’s in that? Let me see the vial. Is that a fresh needle? Did it come out of a sealed pack? What about his arm, should we ice it first—?”

"Gojo Satoru.” Your voice was gentle but firm.

He glanced at you. Then at Satoshi. Then at the needle. Then back at you. Gojo Satoru felt like he was outmatched by the Zen'in blood in both of you for a second.

Satoshi rolled up his sleeve without a word. “I want the dinosaur sticker, miss nurse!”

“Well, we will definitely have to give you one! Since you’re a brave boy, no?” The nurse smiled, swabbed his arm, and in one smooth motion, it was done.

"Are we finished now, miss nurse?" Satoshi asked, beaming bright. "I want the Doraemon stickers!"

"We don't have Doraemon right now." The nurse retorted back to him, looking through the drawer for a band-aid. "How about Pokemon?"

"Wah, if there's a Steelix, hand it over, please!" He replies all too jolly, leaning forward.

"Alright, there's some here." She says to him. "But let's be patient. I need to put a band-aid on you before I go on and give you some stickers."

"Okay!"

Satoru blinked. “That’s it?”

“All done!” the nurse chirped, sticking a band-aid over the injection site.

Satoru was pale. “Are you sure? I remember this being longer.....And he didn’t even flinch…”

You ruffled your son's hair. “Because he’s braver than his papa.”

Satoru dropped to his knees beside the table and took Satoshi’s hands in both of his hands, his son enjoying the Pokemon stickers. “You’re a warrior. A legend. My strong little man. I’m so proud.”

Satoshi looked unimpressed at his father’s sudden burst of pride. He looks up as he pockets the stickers. “Can I get the ice cream now?”

Satoru sprang up. “Yes. Absolutely. Two scoops. No, three. And whipped cream. And gummies.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to spoil him if you keep doing this, 'toru.”

“I should spoil him. He’s a hero. Did you see him? He just stared a sharp piece of metal in the eye and didn’t even blink. That’s our son, babe.”

The nurse chuckled. “Would Dad like a sticker too?”

Satoru turned slowly toward her, dead serious. “…Do you have any with pandas?”

"I think so." The nurse says to him in reply. "Are you sure you don't want Pokemon?"

Satoru scoffed. "I'm a Digimon stan."

Soon after, they were in the car travelling to Satoshi's favorite ice-cream joint. It wasn't that far from the hospital which was good since you wouldn't have to drive very far.

When you arrived, your husband all but ordered so fast. Then started bragging about how brave Satoshi is, and Satoshi started to brag about his Pokemon stickers. It was a lot but the dream of ice-cream felt worth it.

A little while after that, you were walking out with a sugar-high Gojo Satoshi clutching more stickers from the ice-cream shop in one hand and a bubblegum ice cream on the other hand. He was grinning from ear to ear.

Gojo Satoru kept glancing down at his son's arm, where the nurse had playfully slapped a panda sticker. You looped your arm around his, trying to get him out of that worried trance.

“Are you good now?”

“I wasn’t not good before, I suppose…..” he replied, then paused. “Okay, maybe I was a little stressed.”

You smirked. “Just a little?”

“Fine. A lot. Happy?”

You leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Very.”

He grinned, finally relaxing. “I just want him safe. That’s all.”

“I know that.” you whispered. “And he is.”

He glanced down at precious son, Satoshi, who was all but skipping ahead of you both, already excitedly talking about where he'll put his new favorite stickers. Gojo Satoru's smile softened, full of warmth at the joy his son was feeling.

“Yeah, yeah.” he said quietly. “He really is.”

EVERYTHING WENT BY TOO FAST. But it started innocently enough. Fushiguro Tsumiki had been cleaning out the storage closet when she found a dusty old camcorder tucked behind a box of outdated holiday decorations.

Of course, that led to her brother, Fushiguro Megumi, to go and dig out the charger almost just as quickly. You encouraged them, finding yourself excited to see what would come up in the camcorder.

And before you knew it, your massive living room had turned into an impromptu family theater to enjoy a little bit of a movie night while Satoru was on break. Of course, it was complete with various kinds of popcorn, all of the floor cushions, and everyone’s curiosity dialed to max. 

"These are from when Satoshi was born, I think." you said, settling onto the couch.

Satoru flopped beside you, smug. "Prepare to witness peak fatherhood, everyone."

Megumi shook his head. “I doubt it.”

“Hey, don’t doubt your father like that!”

“You aren’t my dad.”

“Hm….That’s just to save face, I totally get that!”

“How did you even get to that conclusion?”

Tsumiki giggled at their commotion and soon hit play. The screen blinked to life, grainy but colorful, showing newborn Gojo Satoshi swaddled in a too-big hospital blanket.

A much younger Gojo Satoru appeared onscreen. One could see his signature blindfold pulled up onto his forehead, hair a mess, face exhausted but beaming.

Satoshi grinned. "That's me! Look at me, I'm so.....I'm so small, so cute!"

"You were that, kiddo." Satoru laughed, looking at the clip again. "Ah, it was just like yesterday all over again."

"Everything about that day was so memorable, it was just....Nothing could ever be like that again." You admitted to them, leaning back into the couch. "It's unexplainable, you know? Being there, it was just too much."

You all cooed appropriately when Satoshi's lips quivered into a small pout. Even Megumi who did it so discreetly. Satoru puffed up with pride.

“Look at my little jelly bean! He was so tiny!”

“Like, terrifyingly tiny, truly.” you added, smiling fondly at the screen. “I kept checking to make sure he was breathing.”

“And I kept checking to make sure you were breathing too.” Satoru chimed in, throwing an arm lazily across the back of the couch behind you. “You were so out of it, I thought I’d have to run diagnostics.”

“I had just pushed a whole human being out of my body, you know. Rather harshly, if I may say so myself.”

“A tiny, perfect human being, with all your will power, which I adore about you.” he said, undeterred as he kisses your hand. “Though, he has my impeccable cheekbones the moment he was born, for sure.”

“Cheekbones?” Megumi muttered, deadpan. “He looked like a potato.”

Tsumiki covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “A cute potato.”

“Thank you, 'miki!” Satoru said, pointing at her dramatically. “Finally, someone with taste in this family.”

The video continued: hospital lighting, that sterile tint softening as the camera adjusted. Onscreen, you were in bed, hair a little plastered to your forehead.

Your eyes bleary but full of something too tender for words. Satoru sat beside you, cradling Satoshi in his arms like he was holding the very first star ever born.

“I was so scared I’d break him, you know?” Satoru murmured suddenly, quieter now. His voice, both onscreen and beside you, had dipped. “But then he grabbed my finger and didn’t let go. Like he was already telling me to get it together.”

“He did that to me too!” you whispered, leaning into his shoulder. “Even then, he had you wrapped around his little finger.”

“I am not ashamed about that at all.” Satoru said proudly. “I would go to war for that baby.”

“You cried, didn't you?” Megumi pointed out, as the video showed a very misty-eyed Satoru trying to pretend he wasn’t misty-eyed.

“I was moved, okay? It’s called emotional maturity.”

“It’s called being dramatic.” Megumi replied.

“I am dramatic.” Satoru declared. “And a fantastic father.”

The camera angle shifted as the nurse behind it said something about the first injection, and on cue, you and Satoru visibly tensed. Everyone on the couch hushed, watching the past version of you both steel yourselves while baby Satoshi squirmed gently in your arms.

“You were ready to punch the nurse, weren't you?” you said softly, laughing.

“She was a nice nurse!” he defended, throwing up his hands. “But yeah, I was ready to fight. That needle looked like a sword to me.”

“I had to remind him it wasn’t a duel!” you said to the kids.

Onscreen now, Gojo Satoshi let out a shrill cry at the prick, and real-time Satoru winced all over again, clutching his chest dramatically. Tsumiki let out an awestruck sound, while Megumi was just intently watching everything, like he was memorizing it.

“I felt that.” he said, slumping sideways until his head rested in your lap. “That day shaved years off my life.”

“Yet here you are, fully recovered and annoying as ever.” Megumi said.

Tsumiki leaned forward, smiling. “But it’s kinda sweet. I mean… seeing you like that.”

Satoru grinned up at you. “See? Told you I peaked early.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing your fingers through his hair absently. “You haven’t peaked. You’re still climbing.”

He caught your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Then I’ll keep climbing as long as you’re with me.”

Megumi groaned. “Can I leave now?”

“Nope.” Tsumiki said, patting his shoulder with a teasing grin. “You’re part of this dysfunctional sentimental family now. No escape.”

"Megu-nii! Please stay." Satoshi said, almost standing up to go to Megumi.

"H—" Megumi lets out a sound as he saw Satoshi's bright eyes. He gulped. He knows he can't say no to him, after all. ".....Fine, I'll stay."

"Yay!" Satoshi cheered, getting back to his comfortable position once again.

"Oh, I think the clip is changing again." You say as the video ends. You looked at Satoru. "Weren't there multiple reels here?"

".....I think so, i don't really remember." He admits to you. "I mean, we did take a lot of footage. I just don't remember which this upcoming one is."

“Alright, Satoru!” Ieri Shoko’s voice was in the back, likely holding a camera as the new video starts. “Stop crying already!”

“Can you not right now, Sho? I’m nervous here!” Satoru’s voice comes into the zone. “I hate you! This is the worst day of my life and you’re being cheery about this.”

“Yeah, your misery is my business too, big baby.”

“Now, now.” Your voice ended up following suit. “I don’t think you should be doing this here—”

“But she started it!”

“Yeah, yeah! Cry baby!”

“Sho–”

“Oh, it’s auntie Shoko!” Tsumiki cheers as she hears the voice. “I didn’t know she was there.”

You nodded at her with a small smile. “Yeah, she drove us there since she was the one who knew the doctor who did Satoshi’s injections.”

“Gojo–sensei losing it is hilarious.”

“Megumi, you really have no mercy for your father?”

“Again, you’re not my dad!”

Tsumiki looked at you. “But wait, where were we when you guys were at the hospital with ‘toshi?”

“You were with grandma, she picked you up from school too.” You said, patting her head. “She made those muffins with you, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right!”

Satoshi’s mouth went agape, eyes opened wide. “But I look so small, don’t I? I could fit in your hands so fully!”

“You did.” Satoru nodded at his son, letting himself stare at him fondly. Even when he wasn’t going to look back to him. “You truly did fit in my arms, because you were so tiny.”

“Ehhhh, but now I’m big!”

“That you are.” You giggle, patting his head as you gaze at his enthusiasm at the screen. "Too big to be in my arms like that."

Then the screen cut to a new scene: a shaky shot of a baby clinic, the kind with pastel animal decals peeling slightly at the edges and a faint antiseptic smell you could almost imagine through the screen. 

Gojo Satoshi, just a few months old, lay bundled in a soft blue blanket on the exam table, cooing obliviously at the mobile spinning above him.

Shoko slowly let the camera lingered on his tiny face, round and pink with sleep, then panned shakily to Satoru. Still pacing, anxious, out of place in a world of lullabies and latex gloves.

You were in the frame too, half-seated on the plastic chair beside the table, one hand gently smoothing the blanket over Satoshi’s legs, the other reaching instinctively for Satoru’s sleeve each time he passed close enough.

He kept walking, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, jaw tight, bright blue eyes flicking from the baby to the nurse prepping the syringe. He looked almost like he was the one who's getting the shot.

“He’s too little for this.” Satoru muttered under his breath. 

You offered a small, tired smile. “He’s supposed to be little. He’s a baby.”

“Yeah, Satoru, calm down.” Shoko says behind the camera once again. “It's not like he's going to be angry about it for the rest of his life.”

“That’s exactly my point! He could feel like that!” he whispered, crouching beside you, peering over the edge of the table to look at Satoshi. “Look at him. He trusts us. He has no idea what’s about to happen.”

“He’s getting a vaccine, not a betrayal.” you replied, voice low, teasing, but not unkind. "It's for his health, he'll understand."

You were trying to hold steady for both of them, especially with Shoko pushing Satoru’s button too. Your baby and your husband, who looked more panicked than either of you had ever seen him during exorcisms or emergencies.

The nurse came over, cheerful in the way professionals are when they know something small is going to hurt. “Okay, Mom and Dad, this’ll be quick. Just a little pinch.”

Satoru stood up so fast his chair scraped backwards. “Wait—should I hold him? Or should you? No, you’re better with—actually, maybe I should—”

“I’ll hold him, don’t worry.” you said gently, lifting Satoshi and cradling him to your chest, careful to leave one thigh exposed as instructed. 

Satoshi blinked up at you, unaware, still calm. Satoru hovered, arms twitching like he couldn’t decide where to put them. He looked at Shoko for a moment and then you.But then quickly stared at his son, more warmly than ever before.

He crouched closer to you again, face closer to his son. He finds himself whispering at him, “You got this, little guy. You're stronger than your old man, I can already tell.”

The needle went in. Satoshi’s face scrunched. His bright blue eyes screwed shut. A second passed. Shoko points the camera at Satoru’s face. Almost instantly, there was that resounding wail. That tiny, sharp, helpless cry pierced straight through you.

Gojo Satoru flinched like he’d been struck. You rocked Satoshi immediately, whispering into his ear, shushing, soothing, kissing the crown of his head. Satoru reached out a hesitant hand to touch the baby’s arm, then pulled back like he wasn’t sure he had the right.

“He’s okay.” you said softly, your own throat tight. “He’s okay, Satoru.”

“I wasn’t ready for that sound. Oh my god. I feel like crying....holy—” he said, sitting beside you, shoulders folding inward like someone who’d taken a punch. “That… that shouldn’t be allowed. Babies shouldn’t cry like that. I feel like I need to fight someone.”

“Fight the syringe?” you teased, brushing your cheek against Satoshi’s. “I think the nurse already won.”

Satoru exhaled a half-laugh, half-sigh. “I should’ve held him. I should’ve done something.”

“You’re here. That’s everything already, you know?” you said, and turned so he could see Satoshi’s face, already settling, eyes blinking drowsily again, the wail fading to hiccups. “Look. He’s already forgiving us.”

Satoru leaned in, resting his forehead briefly against yours, and then against the side of Satoshi’s soft little head. “I’ll make it up to you, kid.” he whispered. “Ice cream. At six months. Or sooner. I’ll figure it out.”

Shoko laughed, more fondly than ever before. “Now, that’s just promising to spoil him the way you were.”

“Of course, my kid deserves the whole world!” Satoru retorts back to his friend. “I’ll spoil him rotten!”

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, hm?”

The camera zoomed out, capturing the three of you: a little family, wrapped around one small moment that, later, would become legend.

The day Gojo Satoru learned what helplessness really felt like and how deeply he could love something, someone. And that had changed his entire world. Just as much as it did yours.

The footage trembled slightly, then faded to black. You let out a small sigh and looked at your husband who was just shaking his head. His gaze trailed at you, leading to him shaking his head soon after.

Tsumiki burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you were losing it, Satoru–san!”

"Now, don't get too happy about that, 'miki! I was a wreck!"

"Was that snot falling down your nose?"

"Megumi!? I would never!"

"But there was some, I saw it—"

On the lower echelons of the sofa couch, you started to notice sniffing. Your face scrunches. You turned to your son. All the sudden, Satoshi’s bottom lip trembled.

“Wait, are you crying? Are you okay, Sato-kun?”

The six-year-old wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Papa loved me so much… Papa! Papa, you loved Satoshi so much?”

Satoru immediately swooped in, pulling Satoshi into his lap. “Of course I did! I do! You’re my whole world, buddy!”

You leaned over, rested your chin on Satoru’s shoulder, and whispered, “You were crying more than the baby.”

Satoru looked at you, eyes wide. “That was a vulnerable moment, okay? I was being emotionally transparent. And you and Shoko were filming me instead of comforting me, by the way.”

You smirked. “Oh, I comforted the one who needed it most and that is my precious Gojo Satoshi.”

"But I'm also your precious husband!" Satoru pouted.

"Hm, but that's another thing."

"Hah!? No, it's not!"

Tsumiki giggled, shaking her head. “This is so going in the family group chat.”

“No, don’t!” Satoru shakes his head. “Your auntie Shoko’s going to make fun of me again! After I put it all behind me, you're giving her more ammunition!”

“Good.” Megumi crossed his arms but smirked faintly. “I mean, I always knew you were dramatic about being a dad. I just didn’t know it started this early in Satoshi’s life.”

Satoshi sniffled into Satoru’s shirt. “It’s okay, Papa. I don’t remember the betrayal.”

Satoru gasped. “See?! He knew!”

You rolled your eyes affectionately, placing a kiss on your husband’s temple. “You big softie.”

He pouted. “You’re lucky I’m cute for you and only you, hm?”

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it, hm.” you said, eyes twinkling. “It’s a curse I bear. A very loud, very overprotective, very sticker-loving curse.”

Satoshi, now fully recovered, perked up. “Do I get a sticker for crying this time?”

Satoru grinned. “We all get stickers tonight.”

[muniimyg]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . pov!jk . ۫ ꣑ৎ . — [ 6 . ] green eyed boy

series m.list // taglist unavailable

friends to ???

slow burn

slight jealousy vibes, (ft jaemin,, everyone say hi to jaemin), misa is suspicious

note: jus vibes lol

//

misa has a theory.

she doesn’t say it out loud—not in so many words—but you feel it in the way she keeps watching you. like she’s collecting data.. which is probably why you’re currently slumped over a too-bright brunch table, nursing a hangover, while she bats her lashes across from you with jin beside her and a stranger sitting in the seat misa very intentionally didn’t let you choose.

he’s cute, sure. 

he has kind eyes and a nice voice. he tells you he works in design, and you nod politely while trying not to throw up your mimosa. misa keeps shooting you encouraging glances. it’s subtle, but it’s there—the way she leans in when the guy asks about your weekend, like she’s waiting to see if you’ll say jungkook’s name.

you don’t.

you barely get two sips into your drink before the bell over the café door jingles.

you don’t look up.you don’t have to.

you hear him first—his laugh, low and familiar. then, a second voice:

“damn. she is on a date.”

when you do look, jungkook’s already halfway to your table, a bottle of painkillers in hand. he drops it in front of you casually, like he just remembered.

“figured you’d forget,” he says, not even glancing at misa’s new recruit. “you always forget when you drink tequila.”

your headache pulses in time with your heartbeat… most of all, you hate how much softer it feels just having him here.

“you’re welcome, by the way,” misa says, narrowing her eyes as jungkook slides into the seat beside you. “for the company.”

“oh, we came for the show,” taehyung says as he drops into a chair. hoseok follows, grinning, mouthing hot girl brunch at you like a curse. meanwhile, jungkook just shrugs. there’s not much written on his face and it irks misa. although, she misses the way his arm brushes yours when he leans back. 

“so this is the guy you’ve been dodging for a month?”

you shoot misa a look. she blinks innocently.

jin tries not to laugh into his juice.

“he’s nice,” you say, which isn’t untrue. just… incomplete.

you try to listen while the guy talks—he’s telling jungkook something about his job, asking about you, the normal things. but your head is throbbing and your coffee tastes wrong. you grimace after the first sip and set it back down.

jungkook notices.

without a word, he nudges his drink toward you and pulls yours toward him instead. when you blink at him, he doesn’t even look up.

“no hot coffee after a night out,” he says. “makes you nauseous.”

“right,” you murmur. you try not to feel anything about that.

the guy across from you is still smiling, still trying. he’s sweet. 

you feel kind of bad. but when your food arrives and you reach for your hashbrowns, jungkook plucks them off your plate and swaps them with the fruit bowl from his.

“what the heck,” you say, mouth half-full. “i need that grease.”

he finally looks at you then—really looks. eyes still tired from the night before, hair tucked into a hoodie like he couldn’t be bothered to brush it.

“you’ll feel sick all day,” he says, quiet. “eat your fruit.”

you pout. “you owe me hashbrowns.”

he shrugs. “sure. okay.”

misa stares at both of you like she’s trying to read subtitles only she can see. when you glance at her, she’s already looking away.

the brunch lasts forever.

people finish their food. someone brings up a new movie. you feel jungkook’s knee bump yours once, then again. you don’t move. eventually, everyone makes plans to watch a movie. you opt out due to your hangover. jungkook doesn’t say anything and misa slumps as his silence confuses her more than it confuses you. once the bill is paid and everyone is getting their outerwear on, he offers to walk you home.

there’s a beat.

you glance at jungkook.

he doesn’t say anything right away. just leans back in his chair and looks at you like he already knows the answer.

“i can drive her.”

your breath catches. misa’s eyes ping between the two of you like she’s watching a tennis match. her face lights up, loving the way jungkook stepped in. what will he do next? confess? have a jealous fit? will his brown eyes turn green? 

you blink at him. 

and before you even realize it, you’re declining jungkook’s offer.

maybe it’s because everyone is watching. maybe it’s because you don’t want to embarrass jaemin… and maybe—quietly, selfishly—it’s because jungkook is still jungkook.

“i think i’ll walk,” you say, carefully. “fresh air sounds nice.”

there’s a brief pause. not long enough to be awkward, but long enough for jungkook to hear what you don’t say.

with that, jaemin says his goodbyes kindly, shaking hands with jin, thanking misa. he even tells the others it was nice to meet them, and it doesn’t come off as forced. you offer a small smile when he gently places a hand on the small of your back as you move to leave.

he shakes jungkook’s hand last. and jungkook—because he’s jungkook—gives nothing away. his expression is unreadable, his grip firm and short.

you don’t look back.

not at him. not at misa.

and that, misa thinks, that should be the end of it. either way, she wins, right? she set you up with someone… 

but something makes her glance toward jungkook.

he’s still in his seat. doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. there’s no shift in his body. no clench of the jaw. no sigh. nothing notable.except—

his eyes.

they’re still on the door.

they linger.

misa swallows, suddenly uncertain.

all this time—every glance, every quiet moment, every excuse to stand next to each other, the way jungkook always knew when to step in, to tease, to pull you aside—had it been… something?

or was she just imagining it?

she chews the inside of her cheek. watches jungkook finally look away, lift his glass like nothing happened.

defeated, misa sighs.

her theory?

inconclusive.

still—something pulls at her.

if there’s something between you and jungkook, it’s not a fire. not yet.

it’s sunlight. low and steady. the kind that settles into your skin before you realize it’s been too long.

misa’s not sure what scares her more—that you don’t feel it yet or that you do.

a sunburn. 

as jaemin walks you home, you realize he’s actually pretty charming. he’s funny in ways you didn’t expect him to be. it’s not enough to get you to laugh, but he earns a few chuckles out of you. jaemin is simple and clear. once you two reach your place, you give him a tight hug. 

jaemin leaves with a wave and a ‘text me sometime,’ which you probably won’t.

… and he knows that too. 

you sigh, feeling a weight being lifted off your shoulders the minute he turns the corner and is out of sight. for a moment, you think that’s it—until you spot the car parked across the street from your building.

jungkook’s leaning against the driver’s side door like he’s anchoring himself there—hoodie up, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. he looks up as you approach, eyes meeting yours through the low light, and something in his expression falters. 

just for a second.

you stop in front of him.

his posture doesn’t change, but the way he looks at you does—he takes you in like he’s been holding his breath. like maybe he regrets letting you walk away at all. then he straightens, slow, steps forward like he’s moving through water. his hands find your waist—tentative, warm. not a grab. just a quiet hold, like he’s trying to steady himself. 

or maybe you.

“how was your walk?” he asks, voice low and strained.

your lip quirks. “good. lacked the beach view and some romantic music playing in the background, but hey… there’s always next time, right?”

his grip tightens just slightly. not enough to hurt, just enough to say something. his eyes flicker—not quite a glare, but not relaxed either.

“you want romantic now?”

his tone is light, but it doesn’t sound like a joke. it sounds like something sharp, buried in softness. 

you roll your eyes, deflecting the tension like it’s second nature. “wasn’t aware i had options.”

that lands. 

his jaw ticks.

you almost miss it.

the silence stretches thin between you. neither of you move. but after a moment or two, you finally step back, and he lets you go—reluctantly. his hands drop to his sides, fingers twitching like they don’t know what to do now.

you walk toward your door. you don’t look back.

he follows anyway.

you glance over your shoulder, voice quiet. “what are you doing here?”

you expect a smirk, a joke, something stupid and evasive… but jungkook just stands there, blinking like you hit him in the chest.

a moment passes and it’s filled with silence. you turn to face him fully. 

lifting his head, he looks at you like he’s trying to figure it out himself. like he didn’t plan to be here. like he saw you walk away with someone else and followed without thinking. like his body made the decision before his brain could stop it.

and you—god, you don’t know what to do with him like this. with this version of him. unsure. unscripted. undone, almost.

he exhales through his nose. runs a hand over his mouth.

“i wasn’t crazy about him taking you home. didn’t know what it meant to you.”

you stare. for a split second, you swear his brown eyes turn green.

you push it. you push him—your green eyed boy.

“what does it matter if it means something to me?”

“it matters.”

“and this?”

you pause.

“what about this?”

“you.”

“what about me?” jungkook tilts his head at you, trying to play it off as confusion... but he isn't confused. at least, not right now.

your fingers tighten around your keys as you unlock the door. holding it open, you ask him;

“what does this mean to you?”

[koishiro]

# - 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : Yuji Itadori, Nobara Kugisaki, Yuta Okkotsu, Maki Zenin, Satoru Gojo & Toge Inumaki

masterlist | jjk masterlist | upcoming anon asks

Yuji

Yuji downright catches you two making out completely by accident. He borrowed a copy of a certain manga from megumi and planned to return it so when megumi told him just to bring it to his room to return it when he found the time, he not so subtly stumbled upon his two friends. Megumi was sat on his bed, you comfortably on his lap as sucked faces. His hands were rubbing your bad under your shirt, toying with the strap of your bra. Megumi’s hands moved to your hips to grind you on top of him.

Just as you were about to take the lead - “oh shit” stood at the entrance of your boyfriend’s door was non other than Yuji, eyes wide as he took in the position of you both. It took a few seconds of stuttered and jumbled up words only for megumi to grab a pillow and throw it in Yuji direction “piss off! Why don’t you knock next time?!” Narrowly missing the attack, yuji bent down to place the manga on the floor before quickly scurrying off in the furthest direction, “I’m so telling Gojo Sensei!”

Nobara

Nobara can tell straight off the bat just simply from the way you smile. “Why’re you smiling so damn much?” She’d ask, knowing damn well why. “Don’t I always smile this much?” Normally she’d agree until she sees the way your eyes flicker over to the table behind her, already imagining the love-stricken face a certain dark haired boy held. The next clue was the your reaction to a notification sounding on your phone, nearly diving for the device and soon followed by an even wider smile. “You’re practically glowing, you fucked already huh” whipping your head towards your friend you fumble over your words as a hue of pink stains your face - a dead giveaway. “that’s a sex glow if I’ve ever seen one”

Yuta

He is the one who keeps his nose out of everyone's business but even he couldn't help but feel intrigued when he noticed that Megumi had your scent on him one morning. Tasked with training with the first years, he was paired with Megumi. Battling back and forth caused the two to be within close proximity to each other, allowing Yuta to notice the whiff of perfume on Megumi’s uniform. Strange, where had he smelt that before? He’d find it strange how strong the scent was and took it upon himself to find out.

His opportunity arose on his walk through the school’s gardens, nearly knocking heads with you before he caught himself. Yuta didn’t even have time to open his mouth before a certain scent practically punched him in the face. And it certainly didn’t help when he was sat between you both on the field, overwhelmed with the mix of smells. “Do you guys swap deodorant or something?” Megumi just scrunched his eyebrows in frustration, his attention taken away from his book, “what the hell are you talking about now?” The irritation was clear in his voice as Yuta’s eyes flickered between you two. “You two smell like each other, why? You sleeping in the same bed or somethin’?”

Maki

Ohohoho she knew. Maki’s not stupid, she can see the way you both steal glances at each other, the secret smiles in the hallways, the ‘slick’ passing of notes… so when you start making excuses on days you’re due to train together she knew exactly where you’d be. “I’m really sorry but my mum asked me to head into Kyoto later to get something for her” another one of your white lies bled through your teeth. She just raised an eyebrow to your poor excuse. “A-ha, you heading there with your boytoy?” This of course caused you to trip over your words- “wha-I don’t-boyfriend? What’s that?” Only to receive a deadpan face in return.

Not only was that embarrassing enough but you just had to run into her in the hallways of your school - no less holding hands with your ‘boytoy’. “Oi name!” You heard from the other end of the hall, and unfortunately for megumi, causing your instincts to kick in. Quickly snatching your hand from his grasp you shoved him into a nearby classroom (hopefully not currently in use) followed by a crash bang - the tell tale signs of an upcoming injury and whiny boyfriend. “What was that?” Although she knew full well what - or who - that was. “Nothing! You’re seeing things!” You spat out in a panic. “Uh-huh, well tell megumi to come out when he has time, he has training with Gojo Sensei”

Gojo & Toge

Toge, the bastard, even though his speech fails him that doesn’t stop him from becoming the school’s gossip queen. Toge would be the one to tell everyone in the school group chat which of course includes Gojo which also leads the entirety of Japan to find out. And Gojo, oho Gojo, he’d make it his life mission to involve himself as much as possible in Megumi’s life. They’d actually work together; Toge would gather information and pass it on to his Sensei only for Gojo to use it against his son. They’d have their little gossip sesh during class of course, absolutely no shame whatsoever. But the way they found out was unfortunately unforgettable.

Walking into class after hours to get his pencil case that he mistakenly forgotten, Toge only walked in to find you sat on megumi’s desk with the boy sat on his chair with his head on your lap. Megumi had a girlfriend? Toge was almost convinced that he wasn’t into girls seeing as he paid no attention or care to the opposite sex. Oh how wrong he was. Of course he took a picture, what else was he supposed to do? Walk away? “Oh and what’s this?” Behind him of course was non other than the infamous six eyes - also his teacher. “Little Megumi’s not so little anymore huh”. If anyone were to see them they’d surely come off as creeps with Gojo’s tall frame shadowing Toge’s, both peeking through the screen door of the classroom. “Send me that picture won’t you?” Fortunately for them they didn’t make themselves noticeable, unfortunately for you word spread the next day.

—

=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 : I feel like I’m forgetting someone…

— 𝘒𝘰𝘪 𝘹𝘰

[copilot-crashout]

Anyway, I wanted to ask how the tulpar crew would react to reader style. Is gyaru that includes heavy makeup, long nails , a short skirt, etc? In which, they always think she’s a bitch for her style but is the most sweetest person ever? Please and thank you if you have the time!!

Pairing: Tulpar crew x fem!reader

Content Warning: Jimmy's part has brief mentions of misogynistic ideology and language. ( -᷄ _ -᷅ ; )

[A/N]: This was a really fun ask. Thank you! o(≧▽≦)o I like your pfp also, I love ALNST!! Happy New Year to everyone reading!

CAPTAIN CURLY:

-> As a kid, the first lesson he was taught was to never judge a book by its cover. No matter how extravagant it was. The same applies to you, and he's so thankful for it.

-> If you ever want to take pictures of your outfits, he'll be the best cameraman ever. He'll tell you where to stand and take multiple pictures before returning your phone. He'll take them from different angles, asking you to move slightly to get better lighting. Back home, he'll steal your phone, sending himself all the photos he had taken as keepsakes, grinning like a fool. Yeah, he really is lucky to have you.

-> Definitely buys you clothing to match your style! He wants to support your hobbies as much as he can, noting what he sees you wearing the most often! Takes you out on dates to try and find different pieces for both of you. He has you sitting outside his dressing room before stepping out in a simple low-cut shirt and khaki pants you swore he had at home. He does a little spin, walking slightly to test the fit of his trousers before he faces you, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"What do you think, honey? You're the fashionista out of the two of us."

-> Bless his heart, the man really is clueless. He'd be happy to learn from you, though! Ask to dress him up in a similar style and he's hesitant. He's comfortable with what he knows. He'd much rather spend it on you, to see you smile in those gorgeous outfits.

DAISUKE:

-> He thinks it's so cool! He's not one to judge right off the bat, especially as to someone's style. However, his mood dampers once he's aware not everyone thinks like that. He hears the curt answers people give you, the whispers behind your back and the harsh stares he quickly returns when you're not looking. You're not scary at all! How come he's the only one to see that?

-> He'll take you outfit shopping but it's more for him! He rocks with the cardigans you wear so hard. He starts looking around for different styles that he might like. Daisuke loves the way you're dressed and wants to seem as cool as you did when you first met. He leans to more colourful outfits, saving different fit inspirations that he scrolls past on Instagram. He's inspired by those accounts that post couple fits, wanting to do the same with your style.

"This is cute but it looks waaayyy better on you!"

-> He's swapping accessories with you! Daisuke steals some of your hairclips and you snatch his jewellery to wear with your fits. His heart wells up with pride when he sees you wearing something of his. He must've done a good job picking it out. Daisuke kicks his feet and giggles whenever you compliment him on his outfits. You? Of all people!? Like his outfit!?! He's hit the jackpot!

ANYA:

-> Initially, Anya is intimidated. However, it easily melts away at how kind you are! Instead, she's quickly charmed by your confidence to wear gyaru fashion when it's not very conventional.

-> Supports it fully! She does extensive research into the subculture. Dedicates her time to learning about the different types of Gyaru styles and its history - the whole nine yards!

-> She likely won't dress up in that style, but you have inspired her to focus more on fashion. Those socks and sandals may be good for work, but not the best for streetwear style. She doesn't wear extremely alternative outfits but is drawn to simpler and neutral outfits that still scream fashionable.

-> Anya holds onto one of your hairpins when she works! It's a sweet reminder of you and her patients compliment her for it. It's a win-win!

-> While you're preparing for a date with her, she'll walk into the bathroom, observing how you do your make-up and taking note of your routine. Eventually, she builds up the courage to ask if she could do it for you, promising with a grin that it'll look great.

-> You're sitting in the bedroom, nimble hands cupping your face as Anya draws your eyeliner on, tongue sticking out in concentration as she works on keeping it even on both sides. All you can focus on is the proximity between you both, the gentle warmth radiating from her hands. She gently tilts your face as she applies your blush before leaning down and pressing a swift kiss to your glossed lips.

"There. You look gorgeous, starlight. Ready to head off?"

JIMMY:

-> Hates it at first. It's obnoxious, loud, and only makes you look intimidating. Pretty girls like you should be dolled up but only in the way he deems appropriate.

-> He's... Weirdly envious. Not at the clothes you wear (although being able to afford a style like that seems like an unneeded expense) but more so at what it means. You don't care for others' opinions, wearing what you like because it makes you happy. No matter how much he wants to deny it, Jimmy thrives off the opinions of others. He looks like an everyman. The most average man you could conceive of. Not like anyone important. How could you stand out next to him? You look like someone worth remembering and it pisses him off.

-> If you're in a relationship, I could see him warming up to it. He'd still prefer it if you didn't wear it but if it makes you happy... Plus, having a cute girl like you on his arm is certainly an ego booster. He buys you a skirt or two, smirking when you notice its shortness compared to your usual ones.

"What? Don't like it? I thought this sorta thing was up your alleyway? You'd look sexy in it anyway, doll."

SWANSEA:

"This isn't one of those fads, is it?"

-> Swansea can only sigh. This isn't his first rodeo with self-expression. His kids have done it all, including driving him up the wall as they explore their identity through their fashion. It doesn't make him any less confused, unfortunately.

-> It's more... out there than he was expecting. It's not one he's seen before. Rather than researching in his own time, he'd much prefer to get a first-hand account of it all. He asks questions in that fatherly way. It seems like he's judging but he is genuinely curious.

-> He doesn't think he could ever wrap his head around it but that doesn't mean he won't support you. Instead of buying you clothes, he'll pay for your nail appointments, muttering how "you kids are always runnin' me dry."

-> For all his grumbles, seeing you happy is his #1 priority, and the grin on your face when you show him your outfit is enough to make it all worth it.

[faramirsonofgondor]

AU where a few weeks after Bruce takes in Dick (before Dick finds out about Bruce being Batman) he introduces Dick to the Star Wars movies. Dick quickly becomes enamored with Yoda, the tiny gremlin who cackles and talks weirdly and does a bunch of weird shit all the time. Dick is partially using this obsession to distract from his grief, but also he thinks Yoda is just really fucking dope. He builds a hidden shrine to Yoda in his room and whenever he’s having trouble with something he just says some weird shit like “Seek wisdom, I must” before running off to the shrine to think. Bruce follows him one day and is just like “wtf??? do i need to get an exorcist???” before Alfred reminds him that he’s a grown man running around in a bat costume.

When Dick finds out Bruce is Batman he insists on going out as Yoda, to which Bruce explains copyrighting and stuff. Dick eventually settles on going out as Robin, but his costume is like a mini version of Bruce’s except it’s the color of Yoda’s skin with a red cape, and claws attached to the hands and feet. Initially people find it funny but then they are very quickly terrified of the gremlin roaming the streets. Like sure a grown man in a bat costume who only grunts and beats up criminals is kinda scary. But a very obvious child who looks like he’s wearing Yoda’s skin, who talks like Yoda, does a bunch of fancy flips and cackles loudly, who also beats the shit out of criminals?? Fucking horrific.

Eventually a few months into their partnership, Bruce insists that Dick get a new suit because Batman is supposed to be intimidating one (he tells Dick it’s because of copyright issues). The first Robin suit is mostly forgotten, stashed away somewhere no one should ever find it. There no photos, not a shred of evidence that it ever existed beyond the few who remember it.

Then Bruce gets stuck in time, and Dick has to take on the mantle of Batman. Dick thinks he’s doing an okay job but it seems like criminals are becoming less and less afraid of him, which isn’t very helpful. Dick knows it’s probably because he can’t exactly shut off his “peppy” personality but he can’t think of any solutions. One day Damian makes some remark about how if Dick can’t even scare common criminals then he doesn’t deserve to be Batman. To Damian’s surprise, Dick agrees and suggests they swap mantles. Dick, on the other hand, has had what he believes is his most ingenius idea. Damian gets a bat suit fitted to his measurements, and waits patiently for Dick to come out in his newly fitted Robin suit. He is horrified by green monstrosity Dick walks out in. His escrima are now a dark brown - meant to look like Yoda’s staff.

“What is this, Grayson???”

“The original Robin suit, of course.”

Eventually they set out for patrol, though it takes a lot of time to convince Damian that Dick wasn’t lying about it being the original suit. Damian isn’t sure this tactic will work in scaring criminals and insists Dick needs a new suit. Dick gently shushes him with a “Quiet, You Will Be.” They finally come across a rogue, only for the criminal in question to start sprinting away with horrified screeches as the goons scattered fearfully. Dick chases them with a cackle, leaving Damian to deal with the goons, who immediately beg Damian to arrest them so long as they don’t have to deal with “that thing”. Damian decides not to protest about the suit anymore. Somehow Gotham’s crime rate drops 350% by the time Bruce returns. The rest of the Batfam is perplexed but nobody will say a word about it, not even the criminals. All they get is a relieved “thank god” from the rogues when the Batfam returns to their normal suits.

[dixons-sunshine]

Pregnant Pause | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your life was the epitome of a mess. You had just witnessed two of your friends get brutally murdered, your community was forced to serve an antagonistic group called the Saviours and your partner was taken by the same group, undoubtedly being tortured to try and force him into submission. It wasn’t the best moment of your life, and it definitely wasn’t the best time to start suspecting that you might be pregnant.

Genre: Angst to a little bit of fluff.

Era: Alexandria, Saviour arc.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, mentions of death, typical TWD warnings

Word count: 6.9k

A/n: I had so much fun writing this! To the person who requested this (they asked to remain anonymous), thank you so much. I really hope you like this and I really enjoyed swapping ideas with you for this fic.

—

Tears were streaming down your face with no sign of stopping anytime in the near future. In front of you, you could see the disfigured and maimed bodies of two members of your group, two of your friends. Glenn Rhee and Abraham Ford, brutally beat to death with a wired baseball bat. It was a fate that nobody deserved, especially not somebody as kind and pure as Glenn, or somebody as caring and courageous as Abraham. But they were gone, and with them, the remaining group member’s goodwill and hope.

Their deaths weren’t the only things that weighed on your shoulders. Negan, the leader of the so-called ‘Saviours’, had taken Daryl, your partner and love of your life, hostage. You had pleaded to them to let him go, but your pleas had fallen on deaf ears, and with one last tearful look at your archer, the doors to the truck had closed and taken off, taking a huge chunk of your heart with the retreating vehicle.

You could vaguely hear the sound of voices conversing and the shuffle of footsteps around you, but your attention remained fixated on the dirt beneath you. Your mind was racing at the speed of light at that moment, and yet simultaneously, you struggled to think of anything at all. It seemed that with your partner’s involuntary departure, your ability to function evaporated into thin air. You had no idea what to do.

You barely registered when Rick shook your shoulder, desperately trying to snap you out of your daze. “Y/N, look at me.”

You hesitantly looked up to meet the striking blue eyes of Rick Grimes, his eyes bloodshot from the tears he had shed earlier. He was tired, that much you could tell, and he seemed to be consumed by grief, the prior events to that moment taking an obvious toll on everyone, including your fearless leader.

“We have to go. It’s not safe here,” he whispered, gently urging you to stand. He was patient and caring, knowing full well that the events that had just transpired bore down into your soul. This would traumatize each and every one of the people present, of that much he was sure.

You remained silent, refusing to say anything until you’d had time to fully process everything. The remaining people in your group wordlessly split, Maggie and Sasha heading to the Hilltop and the rest of you heading towards the Alexandria safe zone. Aaron dutifully walked beside you, glancing over at you in concern every few seconds. He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off before he could utter anything.

“Please, don’t,” you whispered weakly, furiously wiping at the tears in your eyes.

Aaron frowned. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, careful not to alert the others who were walking in front of you.

You shook your head and let out a bitter laugh. “No,” you admitted, pursing your lips. “I’m pretty sure none of us are.”

Aaron’s frown deepened, but he ultimately left it at that. The rest of the trek back to Alexandria was spent in a deathly silence, the only audible sounds being footsteps and animals scurrying around in the forest. When you all finally reached the safe zone, dread filled in your heart, because with the Saviours now fit to come knocking at the gates whenever they pleased, the safe zone would never truly be safe ever again.

—

Four days had passed. Four days since Glenn and Abraham had been brutally murdered in front of you. Four days since your partner had been taken hostage by the hostile group who claimed to be saviours. Four days since your world turned upside down.

The fellow survivors in the community had not taken well to the news of the Saviours’ deal with Alexandria, but you had expected that much. They weren’t there. They didn’t know what could happen if you rubbed the Saviours the wrong way, but you did, and they would figure it out soon enough.

You sighed as you laid on the bed in the basement you shared with Daryl, staring up at the ceiling with a frown on your features. For four days, you had tried to think of a solution to the problem at hand, but you had shot point-blank each time. And anytime you had even attempted to talk to Rick about retaliating, about fighting back, he had shut you down in an instant. You couldn’t blame him, however. You had witnessed the brutality that Negan possessed and didn’t wish to anger him again. You just wanted to find a way to get Daryl out of his clutches and back home, safe. You needed him there with you, especially if your suspicions about something proved to be correct.

For the last two weeks, you’d been way more tired than usual. Your body had grown accustomed to the short hours of sleep or no sleep at all, but now it seemed as if you couldn’t function even if you’d slept ten hours. You’d been getting nauseous quite frequently and although you had no way of keeping track between your periods, you were pretty sure it was late.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what those implications meant and what they were leaning towards, but the possibility of it being true scared you. You and Daryl were as careful as you could be, but there were times when you weren’t careful, when you were reckless, so the possibility of motherhood could be an impending thing.

You and Daryl hadn’t ever really discussed having kids before. The topic came up once or twice, but that was during the earlier stages of your relationship back at the prison when neither of you were ready for that kind of commitment just yet. And with the whirlwind of chaos that ensued, from the Governor’s wrath in Woodbury, to the Governor’s annihilation of the prison, to Terminus and then to the fall of Alexandria when the walkers infiltrated, the topic never got the chance to come up again.

And now the possibility of you being pregnant was high, and there was a chance that you’d have to raise the baby without their father.

You quickly shook your head to rid the thoughts from your mind. Groaning in frustration, you got up from the bed and headed up the stairs towards the kitchen. There you found Rosita, who was seated at the dining table, her features contorted into a frown while she was fiddling with a gun in her lap. She glanced up at you when she heard your footsteps and offered a silent nod of acknowledgement.

You gave her a nod back and headed towards the kitchen. You retrieved a glass from one of the cabinets and headed over to the sink, filling the glass with water. You leaned back against the kitchen island and slowly sipped at the water, your eyes trailed on one of little Judith’s drawings that were stuck to the fridge. It was a picture of stick figures meant to represent everyone in the group, and your heart sank when your eyes trailed over the figure meant to represent the archer.

“What’re you looking at?” Rosita asked, grabbing your attention.

“Just this picture that Judith drew of all of us,” you responded, half-heartedly motioning at the drawing stuck to the fridge.

Rosita walked over to you and positioned herself on your right, leaning back against the kitchen island as well. She smiled weakly at the drawing.

“Back when we were happy.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, averting your eyes from the drawing to the woman next to you. “Now everything’s just gone to shit.”

“All thanks to that Negan puto,” she spat, her tone holding resentment and anger. Her anger was justified—she had witnessed Abraham getting beaten to death, and afterwards Negan had taunted her about it. He found what he did justified. You knew that Rosita wanted him dead, and you did, too.

“Yeah,” you replied with a heavy sigh, placing the empty glass down on the countertop. The two of you stood side by side in silence for a few moments, before Rosita broke the silence again.

“What’s up? It seems like something has you down.”

“Yeah. Daryl is being held hostage only god knows where and we have three days to find shit for those assholes or one of us dies,” you stated matter-of-factly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Rosita sighed. “I know, but that wasn’t what I meant. It’s something else, I can tell.”

You fixated your gaze on the ground, suddenly finding the tiles more interesting than anything else. “No, I mean... I don’t know. It might be nothing, but...” You trailed off awkwardly.

Sensing your awkwardness, Rosita quickly tried to reassure you. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it.”

You shot her a grateful look and she gave you a small smile. You brought your hand up and lightly patted her on her shoulder before pushing away from the counter.

“Where are you going?” Rosita inquired, raising her eyebrows in question as she watched your retreating figure.

“I need some air.”

Without waiting for a reply from the woman, you closed the door behind you and leaned back against it momentarily, before pushing away and setting off towards the infirmary.

After a short walk, you arrived at the infirmary. After opening the door and seeing that nobody was inside, you breathed a sigh of relief. You wanted to get this done without anybody knowing. You didn’t want people kicking up a fuss when there were bigger problems at hand.

Moving towards the cabinet you knew held the object you were looking for, you could feel your heart racing. When you retrieved the small box with the test that could quite literally change your life, you felt overwhelmed. You never thought that a small box would intimidate you, but that particular one did.

Wanting to be extra sure of the results, you grabbed another test from the cabinet. Slipping both tests out of the boxes and into your waistband and letting your shirt fall over them to cover them from prying eyes, you quietly slipped from the infirmary before anyone could notice that you were there. You walked with a haste in your step back towards the house, but the sight that awaited you at the gates quickly drew your attention. You quickly made your way over, where you saw none other than Negan beyond the gates, taking out an approaching walker.

You walked up next to Rosita, who looked over at you, anger dancing in her eyes. You were sure that your eyes mirrored the same emotion.

“Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy!” Negan laughed. His eyes strayed to his right, and you could see Rick following his gaze. From your point of view, you could see surprise spread across his face.

“Alright, everybody. Let’s get started. Big day,” Negan started, talking to people who were out of your line of sight. “Hey, Rick. You see that? What I just did? That is some service! I mean, we almost get turned away at the gate. Who is that guy, anyway? Do I get mad? Do I throw a fit? Do I bash some ginger’s dome in? Nope! I just take care of one of these dead pricks that could’ve killed one of y’all. Service.”

Your gaze strayed downwards when Negan locked eyes with you. He chuckled before walking through the gates, handing Rick his baseball bat. “Hold this.”

As Negan walked in, the rest of the people he brought with him followed behind their leader. However, you looked up when Rosita let out an almost inaudible gasp. You followed her line of sight and locked eyes with Daryl, and your heart both soared with relief and filled with dread. You were relieved that Negan hadn’t killed him, but you could see that he wasn’t being treated fairly, either. He was dirty and his face was cut and bruised, and he wasn’t wearing any shoes with his ‘uniform’.

You frowned, your eyes not straying from Daryl. Your partner kept his eyes locked on you until Negan spoke up again.

“Hot digidy dog!” Negan exclaimed, his eyes sweeping over the community. “This place is magnificent. An embarrassment of riches, as they say. Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up.”

You looked away from Negan and took a step towards Daryl, hoping to at least say something to him. “Daryl—”

“No. Nope. He’s the help. You don’t look at him, you don’t talk to him, and I don’t make Ricky here chop anythin’ off of him,” Negan cut you off, his eyes shifting to Rick.

When Rick averted his gaze, Negan turned to you, his eyes holding a certain malevolence as he gazed down at you. “Do I make myself clear, darlin’?”

“Yeah, you’ve made yourself transparent. I can see right through you,” you spat bitterly, refusing to meet his mocking gaze.

Negan chuckled wickedly. “Careful. We don’t want anythin’ to happen to your little lover boy over there.”

You slowly looked up at the man, your jaw clenched as you glared at him. A few beats of silence passed, until you broke the stare first, angrily walking away from him and back towards the house. Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes, but you willed them away, refusing to let them fall. You wouldn’t give that tyrant the satisfaction of your tears, no matter if he saw them or not.

When you reached the house, you practically flung the door open, storming into the house. Carl, who had been sitting at the dining room table, looked up at your sudden appearance and gave you a concerned look.

You mustered up—what you hoped was—a reassuring smile and sat down on the chair opposite him. He gave you a questioning look, silently asking what was wrong.

“Negan’s here,” you plainly stated, not missing the way his jaw tightly clenched in anger.

“He said a week. He’s early,” Carl grumbled furiously, curling his hands into fists.

“Yeah, but he’s here anyway. And he brought Daryl.”

Carl perked up at the mention of the archer’s name. “He’s here?” When you nodded, he continued. “Is he gonna stay?”

“I doubt it. Negan said that Daryl’s here as the help, so I’m pretty sure that Negan’s taking him back as soon as he’s done here.”

Carl's mood visibly deflated. He sighed and shook his head. “We can’t live like this. We should just kill Negan.”

You shook your head. “Believe me, I want Negan dead, too, but even if we kill him, one of his other goons will step up and take his place. We have to kill all of them, not just Negan.”

“How? There’s too many of them.”

“I don’t know.”

Carl shook his head before standing up, pushing the chair back. “I’m gonna go check on Judith. Make sure she’s alright.”

At the mention of the small child’s name, you suddenly remembered about the two tests that were stuck in your waistband. You got up, too, and nodded at the teenager. “Okay. I have to take care of something real quick.”

With a parting nod, you headed up the stairs and into the bathroom. Quietly locking the door behind you, you inhaled deeply, trying to ease the anxiety that had started to build. You took the two tests from your waistband and held it in front of you, knowing that the results that would show in a few minutes were going to change your life.

Shaking your head and inhaling deeply, you went over to the toilet, two tests in hand. You quickly did your business and placed the two tests on the countertop. You paced around in the bathroom, trying to work up the nerve to see what results awaited you. However, just as you were about to look at the potentially life altering results, a loud banging on the door startled you.

“Hey, hurry up in there! We don’t have all day to wait on you!” A voice you didn’t recognise bellowed from beyond the door, and you could only assume that it was one of Negan’s men. Sighing, you grabbed the tests without so much as peeking at them and slipped them back into the waistband of your jeans. You walked over to the door and opened it, coming face to face with a Saviour.

“What were you doing in there that took you so long, huh, pretty lady?” The man asked, eyeing you up and down with a primal intrigue.

You shivered in disgust, shooting him a glare. Without a word at the man, you walked off, needing to clear your head. The pregnancy tests in your waistband pressed against your skin and reminded you that you had to look at them, but you decided that would have to wait. You weren’t about to look at them around prying eyes.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang through the house. Startled, you sprinted towards where you heard the sound and saw Carl holding two Saviours at gunpoint, the Saviours in question holding crates with all of your medication.

“Put some back,” Carl started, pointing the gun at one of the men. “Or the next one goes in you.”

“Carl, what’s going on?” You questioned, moving to stand next to the teenager.

“They said that they were only taking half, but now they’re taking everything,” Carl explained, keeping his gun trained on the man in front of him.

The man simply laughed, wickedly smiling at the boy. “Kid, what do you think happens next?”

“You die,” Carl stated matter-of-factly, death glaring the man.

You looked over at the sound of approaching footsteps and saw Rick, his eyes meeting yours questioningly. You simply shrugged nonchalantly and put a gentle hand on Carl’s shoulder. He looked over at you and you gave him a small, tight-lipped smile.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you advised, before leaving Rick to calm his son down. You passed by Negan, who shot you a teasing smile, but you ignored him, moving out onto the porch.

You leaned over the railing, observing the people quietly. You could vaguely hear the voices from inside, but you paid it no mind. After a couple of minutes of just standing there and attempting to calm your racing mind, you saw Aaron walking alone, a frown on his face. You walked down the porch stairs and hurried to catch up to him.

“Aaron, hey!” you called, stopping the man in his tracks. He turned around and saw you approaching, and he offered you a weak smile.

“Hey.”

“Let me guess, the Saviours are ransacking your house right now,” you asked with a heavy sigh.

“They took our mattresses. Why the hell would they need that? And our coffee tables? What could they possibly need those for?” Aaron asked, exasperated. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, his shoulders slumped to show his exhaustion.

“I think they’re just taking them because they can,” you started. “They’re trying to prove that what they say is law. They’re trying to prove that we have no say, that they can take whatever they want simply because.”

Aaron sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping even more. “I hate this.”

“Me too,” you agreed, nodding sagely, “but what can we possibly do about it now? We’re outnumbered and outgunned. We can’t take them on even if we wanted to.”

Aaron shook his head. Silently motioning for you to walk with him, the two of you set off, walking to nowhere in particular. “I’m glad to see that Daryl’s okay.”

You slightly flinched at the mention of the archer’s name, and flashes of his current state flooded your mind. He looked awful, not just from the filth on him but from the bruises as well. He was being tortured and you wanted to do nothing more than to kill Negan for making the love of your life suffer like that.

“Define ‘okay’,” you sighed, walking up to Aaron’s house with him.

“Alive,” he said simply. The two of you sat down on the porch steps, keeping your gazes ahead on the Saviours who bustled around the community, taking whatever they pleased.

“Yeah, well, let’s hope it stays that way,” you whispered, feeling tears well up in your eyes. However, you wiped them away in frustration.

Aaron placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving you a small smile. The two of you quietly sat side by side for a while, simply looking at the chaos of the afternoon. You’d catch glimpses of Daryl from time to time, and he’d shoot you nervous glances as well, before returning to whatever task he was meant to do. Your heart shattered at the thought of what Negan was doing to the love of your life. You silently vowed to yourself that you would find a way to get Daryl away from them, one way or another.

“Aaron, Y/N, meeting in Gabriel’s church in five,” Rick’s voice called, snapping you from your thoughts. He appeared at the bottom of the steps, his tone holding a frantic urgency.

“Rick? What’s wrong?” You inquired, getting up from the steps, Aaron following your lead.

“The Saviours, they’re takin’ all of our guns, but we’re two handguns short. They’re threatenin’ to kill Olivia if we don’t find them.”

“Who would have them?” Aaron asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Like I said, meeting in the church.”

“Nuh uh. Not so fast.”

You clenched your jaw at the voice that sounded behind you. Turning around, you came face to face with Dwight, his mouth upturned in a mocking grin. He was nonchalantly leaning against the wall of the house.

“The missus over here is gonna take me back to whatever hole she and Daryl calls home, and then she’s gonna give me his shit,” he stated, pushing away from the wall and walking over to you.

You stepped back, glaring angrily at the man. “You already have his crossbow and his vest. What else could you possibly want?”

“His bike, but Rosita’s already taking care of that,” Dwight said, crossing his arms over his chest. He turned back towards Rick and waved him off. “Go on, go find out where those guns are.”

Dwight moved forward and gripped your wrist tightly, wordlessly tugging you behind him. You exchanged a nervous glance with Aaron before turning your attention back to Dwight. You ripped your wrist from his grip and glared at him.

“Touch me again and I’ll fucking chop your fingers off one by one.”

Dwight chuckled and walked ahead, expecting you to follow him. When he realised that you remained still, he turned to you with a warning glare. “Just so you know, I’m basically Daryl’s primary caretaker at the moment. Your behaviour today can either persuade me to make his stay with us better, or make it so much worse. Your choice.”

You hesitated for another brief moment, before sighing and walking ahead. Dwight’s footsteps could be heard from behind you as you silently lead him back to the house, your jaw clenched in anger as you stared ahead.

After a short walk, you lead Dwight up the porch stairs and into the house. You opened the door and stepped inside, the man following closely behind you.

“This is your home?” Dwight questioned, slowly closing the door behind him as he looked about the house in slight awe.

“Mine, Daryl’s, Rick’s, Michonne’s. We all live here,” you confirmed in a bored tone, walking forward until you reached the door that lead down to the basement. “Our room’s down there.”

“You live in the basement?” Dwight asked dubiously, staring down the stairs in question.

“Daryl and I do. We wanted our own space away from everyone where we wouldn’t be bothered, hence why we chose the basement.

“Well, then,” Dwight started, lowering his upper body down in a mocking bow. “Lead the way, m’lady.”

You rolled your eyes at him and descended down the stairs. You opened the second door at the bottom of the stairs and pushed inside, the warm air of your shared space with the archer suddenly feeling overwhelming. You disregarded the feeling, focusing instead on the man that followed you down. The sooner you helped him, the sooner you would be rid of him.

You motioned over to the dresser that held most of Daryl’s things. “There. You’ll find it all there.”

Dwight raised his eyebrows. “All of it? In that one measly dresser?” When you nodded, he continued. “That can’t possibly be it.”

“Daryl doesn’t own a lot of things that hold sentimental value to him,” you voiced and shrugged, sitting down on the bed as you watched the Saviour rummage through the dresser, carelessly tossing pieces of clothing over his shoulder. “Jesus, can you stop? He doesn’t have anything else you could want.”

Huffing in frustration, Dwight turned around to face you. However, just as he was about to let out a string of crude remarks, he stopped, spotting something poking out of your waistband. “Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up, before I make you,” he threatened in a low tone.

You hesitantly stood up. However, you nearly stumbled back when he lunged at you. “What the hell are you doing?!” you exclaimed, trying to push him away.

Dwight simply ignored you. Before you could stop him, he pulled the two pregnancy tests from your waistband, taking a few steps away from you. He eyed the tests, and a look of surprise spread over his features.

“You’re pregnant?”

Time stopped. Your heart started pounding against your ribcage, and your eyes widened. You were pregnant. Both tests came back positive. Words completely eluded you as you simply stared at Dwight.

Dwight shook his head and threw one of the pregnancy tests back in your direction, and you hastily caught it. He quickly pocketed the other one. “Congratulations. I’ll be sure to tell Daryl the good news.”

Before you could deny or force him to hand it over, Dwight hurriedly left the room. You sank to your knees on the ground, tears starting to well up in your eyes. You felt helpless, completely and utterly helpless. Sobs wracked through your body as you clutched the pregnancy test in your hand, wishing more than ever that Daryl was there to comfort you, to reassure you that everything would be okay.

But with him being in Negan’s malicious clutches, you knew that wouldn’t be a reality anytime soon.

—

“Hell of a place you got here, Rick,” Negan told Rick, turning around to face him as you all walked towards the gates.

Roughly two hours later, the Saviours were done ransacking your homes and taking whatever they pleased. You had gotten your feelings under control and walked with your leader towards the gates, hoping above all else that you could persuade Negan into letting you at least give the archer a hug.

“Give me a second,” Rick replied, his eyes shifting between the hostile leader of the Saviours and the building beyond the gates.

Negan followed his gaze, before turning back to him. “No.”

“Please, can you just... Give me a second,” Rick pleaded, looking up at Negan, the height difference very noticeable when he did that.

Negan finally agreed, giving him a nod, a malicious smirk on his face. When Rick jogged over to the building, that left you in Negan’s sights, and the man let out a low chuckle.

“Well, darlin’. I see you’ve actually listened to me. No interactions with your loverboy whatsoever. I’m impressed,” he complimented, taking a step towards you.

Standing your ground, you simply glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sarcastic retort. That simply elicited another chuckle from the man.

“You know, there is a way the two of you could be together again. You could always come work for me. Be one of my soldiers, so to speak,” he began, eyeing you up and down. “Usually, I wouldn’t offer that straight away, but for a looker like yourself, I’d make an exception. Or you could make Daryl’s life a hell of a lot easier if you want. You could become one of my wives.”

Unable to resist the urge, you drew your hand back and slapped Negan across his face. Taken aback, he stumbled, but that grin of his soon returned. His eyes raked over your form hungrily. “Just so you know, I’m so much more attracted to you now.”

You could hear a scuffle behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you spotted an angry looking Daryl being held in place by Dwight. The archer glared daggers in Negan’s direction, the urge to attack him evident on his face.

However, before anything could happen, Michonne came marching through the gates with a small deer hung over her shoulders, Rick hot on her tail. She wore a blank expression, refusing to meet Negan’s stare.

“Look at this!” Negan exclaimed, eyeing the deer on her shoulders.

“I thought she was scavengin’. She was huntin’,” Rick explained to Negan, handing him a gun. “This one never came inside.”

Negan took the gun and smirked. “Look at this. This is something to build a relationship on. Good for you, Rick. This is reading the room and getting the message. I said it before, Imma say it again. You, sir, are special.”

Rick looked at you, sympathy clear in his eyes. “Now that you know we can follow your rules...”

“Yes?” Negan drawled.

“I’d like to ask you if Daryl could stay.”

“Not happening,” Negan refused instantly. However, he turned around to look at you, a smirk on his face. “You know what, just to make the missus happy, maybe he can stay. Maybe Daryl can plead his case. Maybe Daryl can sway me.”

Negan turned to Daryl. The archer remained quiet, his eyes shifting between you and Negan. It was evident that he wouldn’t beg to stay; Daryl’s pride would never allow him kneel to the likes of that tyrant. Although a part of you wanted Daryl to just drop his pride this once, you were proud of him. Despite what he was going through, he remained steadfast in his beliefs. He would never bow to Negan, no matter what pain it could inflict on him.

“Daryl?” Negan pressed, amused by the archer’s silence. When Daryl remained silent, Negan turned back to you. “Well, Rick tried. Sorry, darling.”

You looked down, missing the apologetic look Daryl sent your way. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl had wanted to do nothing more than beg Negan to leave him here with you, but he couldn’t. Not when Negan had threatened to hurt you if he tried to return to Alexandria. Not when his hostage situation could ensure your safety.

“Now what you gotta do, is get over that tall wall of yours and try harder out there,” Negan began, looking at Rick. “Earn for me, because we’re coming back soon. And when we do, you better have something interesting for us, or Lucille? She’s gonna have her way. I want you to hear that again. If you don’t have something interesting for us, somebody’s gonna die. And no more magic guns. Arat, grab that deer. It’s getting late. Let’s go home.”

Michonne angrily dropped the deer and turned around. You shot one final lingering glance at the archer, your partner and love of your life, before following suite. Michonne put her arm around your shoulder and together the two of you walked back to your shared home, ignoring Negan’s mocking laughter.

“Something’s wrong, I can tell,” she whispered quietly.

You shook your head. “I wouldn’t necessarily say something is wrong,” you denied. “I just really need Daryl more than ever right now.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “But not without Rick. I need his opinion too.”

—

“You’re pregnant?”

You physically winced at the incredulous sound of your leader’s voice. For the second time that day, someone had asked you that pivotal question, but this one finally made it register in your mind. You were pregnant. And Daryl wasn’t there to help you through it.

Michonne wrapped an arm around you, allowing you to lean into her side for support. She rubbed your arm, hoping to bring you some form of comfort under Rick’s disbelieving stare.

“Rick,” she scolded, sending her partner a pointed look, as if telling him to read the room.

“Sorry,” he apologized, shifting his attention back to you. “When did you find out?”

“Today,” you whispered, your voice hoarse all of a sudden. “Right after Dwight took me down to the basement to rummage through Daryl’s things. He saw the tests and took one. I think he’s gonna use it against Daryl. How could I let that happen?”

Michonne pulled you tighter against her side, allowing you to cry into her shoulder as she whispered reassuring words into your ear. “It’s not your fault. Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

You hesitantly nodded against her shoulder, withdrawing from her hold and standing up. You began to pace the room, anxiously fiddling with your fingers.

“What should I do?”

“Go to the Hilltop,” Rick advised, effectively stopping your pacing. “They have a doctor there who can ensure that you and the baby are okay. And you’ll have Maggie and Sasha by your side. It’ll be safer for you there.”

“I can’t just leave,” you shut him down, shaking your head. “Negan is fit to come knocking at the gates whenever he pleases. We need more supplies, and soon. We need more people going out there.”

“Like hell I’m letting you out there,” Rick argued. “Daryl would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you or the baby, whether he knows about it now or not. The best thing you can do now for yourself and your baby is to go to the Hilltop. It’s safer and it’s relatively out of harm’s way. Please, if not for yourself, do it for Daryl. Do it for your baby.”

Sensing your hesitation, Michonne stood up, facing you head-on. “Rick’s right,” she began, capturing your undivided attention. “Go. We’ll be okay here. Your primary focus should be your wellbeing right now. Once things cool down around here, I’ll come get you myself. I promise.”

You remained quiet for a few moments, pondering over their words, before nodding. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll go.”

“We’ll have a car ready for you in the morning,” Rick responded, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing. Daryl would’ve wanted this.”

“I know,” you sighed. “It doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

The next morning came way too soon for your liking. Packed up and ready to go, you exchanged goodbyes with everyone. You were busy hugging Carl, the teenager clutching to your shirt tightly.

“Don’t die,” he told you when he pulled back from the hug.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you retorted, playfully pushing his hat down over his eyes, successfully coaxing a laugh from him.

After a few more exchanges, and another hug from Carl, you got into the car and drove off, heading towards the Hilltop Colony. The drive was spent in an anxious silence. You were wondering if you’d made the right choice, if leaving Alexandria for a while was really the best decision, but as your hand drifted to your abdomen that would soon grow, to the life that fluttered there, you knew that Rick and Michonne were right. Your primary focus should be your baby right now, and you’d be damned if you let anything happen to them.

After a while, the gates to the Hilltop came into view. You got out of the car as the gates opened, soon being engulfed in hugs by Sasha and Maggie. Jesus stood off to the side with a smile on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Maggie asked, pulling back from the hug.

“It’s a lot to explain,” you said, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

“Come inside. We’ll get you something to eat,” Jesus offered.

You smiled at him and nodded. “Sure. That sounds great.”

—

“That Gregory guy is such an asshole,” you spat angrily, sitting on the bench outside of Jesus’ trailer.

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Welcome to my world. We’ve been dealing with this prick for a week now and he still hasn’t gotten better.”

You shook your head, your hand absentmindedly rubbing over your stomach. A mere two days with the Hilltop’s leader breathing down your neck and you were just about ready to shoot him. He kept on sending crude remarks in your direction, voicing his obvious disdain that he had yet another Alexandrian he had to keep hidden from the Saviours. Thankfully, Jesus was there to put him in his place whenever you were the object of his distasteful glares, and since the day before, Enid as well.

Suddenly, shouts could be heard from the gates, before they were opened. You perked up at the rumble of a motorcycle, standing up to move closer and get a better view, instantly spotting the familiar glint of a familiar motorcycle coming to a halt, and an even more familiar man getting off of it. Your heart started pounding against your ribcage, and before anyone could stop you, you started running.

“Daryl!” you called, running as fast as your legs could carry you.

Daryl turned around at the sound of your voice. As soon as he saw you, he started running as well, meeting you halfway. You practically flung yourself into Daryl’s arms, and he instantly reciprocated the hug, burying his face into your shoulder. You hugged him to you tightly, holding the back of his head as you tried to withhold the tears flooding in your eyes.

“C’mon,” Jesus urged gently, prompting you and Daryl to pull apart. “There’s a room in the Barrington house. You can use it to get cleaned up and changed into something else.”

Daryl hesitated, but you nodded. “It’s okay. I’ll be there with you.”

You took Daryl’s hand in your own and followed behind Jesus. The two of you were soon in the aforementioned room, Daryl sitting down on the bed while you cleaned up one of the cuts on his face. He remained silent, his eyes locked on your face. He lifted his hand and cupped your cheek, halting your movements.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, placing a hand over his one that rested on your cheek.

“M’jus’ remindin’ myself that this is real. That this ain’t some trick my mind s’playin’ on me. That this ain’t another dream.”

You gently took his hand and lead it to your heart, placing his hand over it to feel the steady beating of the vital organ. “I’m here,” you whispered. “You’re here. This isn’t a dream. It’s real.”

Daryl swallowed and nodded, before letting his hand trail down to your stomach. “Is... S’this real? Are ya pregnant?”

Your heart dropped. The only way he could know was if Dwight did what you suspected—he mentally tortured the love of your life with the knowledge that you could’ve been pregnant.

Your silence confirmed it for the archer. He sighed and swallowed heavily. “You are. You’re pregnant.”

You nodded slowly, guilt creeping up in you. “I am. Did Dwight tell you?”

“He showed me the test. Said it was yours, that he found it with ya that day we were at Alexandria. I didn’t wanna believe him at first, but the more I thought ‘bout it, the more I started believin’ him,” Daryl replied. “When did ya find out?”

“The first time Negan showed up with all of you,” you admitted. “Dwight took one of the tests from me before I could stop him. I’m so sorry. I should’ve tried harder. You were already going through so much shit with the Saviours, and then he had to go put more shit on you because of me.”

Daryl pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “Don’ blame yourself. What do ya have to be sorry for? Findin’ out you’re pregnant?”

“For allowing him to take the test and use it against you.”

“Don’ be sorry. S’okay,” he whispered into your hair, stroking your back softly. Once you had calmed down, Daryl allowed one of his hands to travel back down to your stomach.

“You’re really pregnant?” he asked with a slight laugh, rubbing your stomach affectionately.

You laughed in wonder and nodded. “Yeah. There’s a tiny you in there.”

“Nah, they’re gon’ be a tiny you. Sweet, kind and a badass, jus’ like their mama,” Daryl countered, placing a kiss against your forehead. “Our baby. Our lil’ peanut.”

“You really wanna do this? Are you ready to start your own family?” you questioned, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“With you?” Daryl began, pulling you closer to him. “M’ready for anythin’.”

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Oh how I love your writing soooo soo much 🫂🧿

I had a request

Prank wars with taskforce 141, i bet the reader ropes soap into her shenanigans every time and both end up in lots of trouble.

Operation: Prank Wars

Pairing: Task Force 141 x Reader (Poly)

Warnings: Prank wars, chaos, friendly sabotage, Soap being an agent of mayhem, reader being his accomplice, Simon suffering in silence, John pretending he’s above it all, Kyle enjoying the show, and revenge being sweet.

Author’s Note: You and Johnny are the worst (or best?) duo when it comes to pranks. This is pure chaos, filled with playful sabotage, and everyone getting their turn in the crossfire. Hope you enjoy the madness!

Summary: It started with something small—just a harmless prank. But when you and Johnny team up to take things further, Task Force 141 is thrown into an all-out prank war where no one is safe.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It started as a tiny prank. Just a little bit of salt in Simon’s tea, nothing serious. You had done it absentmindedly, stirring the cup with the most innocent expression you could muster before sliding it over to him.

He took a sip. Paused. Then slowly, his head turned towards you.

“You do realize this means war,” he muttered, setting the mug down with the kind of slow precision that made your stomach flip.

Across the room, Johnny was already laughing, smacking his knee as he pointed at Simon. “Oh, she got you good, mate!”

Simon’s gaze flickered toward him, unimpressed. “You think this is funny, MacTavish?”

Johnny wiped a tear from his eye and grinned. “Hilarious.”

The next morning, your tea tasted like hell.

You spat it out immediately, coughing as you shoved the mug into Johnny’s hands. “He got me back!”

Johnny took a sip, only to gag and nearly drop the cup. “Bloody bastard put vinegar in it,” he wheezed. “Oh, it’s on now.”

And thus, Prank Wars 141 officially began.

——

The first phase of the war was harmless. Simple things. Sugar swapped for salt. Sticky notes covering Kyle’s entire locker. Simon’s boots mysteriously disappearing right before morning training.

Kyle got involved after he walked into his room to find it completely rearranged. Bed upside down. Desk moved to the closet. Clothes hanging from the ceiling.

“I know it was you,” Kyle grumbled as you sat at the table, casually sipping your drink like you weren’t involved. “You and Soap.”

You batted your lashes at him. “Me? I would never.”

Kyle narrowed his eyes. “You two are insufferable.”

“I’d say we’re innovative,” Johnny grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

Two days later, Kyle got his revenge. Your shampoo mysteriously turned into hair dye—temporary, thankfully, but still a shocking neon pink.

Johnny had laughed so hard he nearly passed out, until he realized his shampoo had been swapped too.

Now you were both pink.

Kyle leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as he smirked. “What was that about being innovative?”

Johnny scowled at his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his now vibrant locks. “Oh, he’s a dead man.”

You crossed your arms, determined. “We’re getting him back.”

——

John had tried to stay out of it, but it was inevitable. The moment you and Johnny set up a very elaborate trap involving a tripwire and a bucket of ice-cold water, things took a turn.

It was supposed to hit Kyle.

It got John instead.

He stood there, completely drenched, water dripping off his beard as he inhaled deeply.

Johnny was gone, running before John could even process what had happened. You, however, were frozen in place, suppressing laughter.

John wiped his face, exhaled slowly, and fixed you with a look that sent a chill down your spine. “You two better start running.”

You bolted.

Later that night, Simon sat beside you on the couch, his hand resting on your thigh as he watched you fidget.

“You really pissed him off this time,” he murmured, fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin.

You pouted, leaning into his side. “He wouldn’t really kill me, right?”

Simon huffed a quiet chuckle. “No, but he’ll make you suffer.”

Johnny, sitting across from you with his arms crossed, scowled. “We just need a better plan. Something foolproof.”

Kyle, lounging next to you, smirked. “You do realize every time you two try something, we’re all gonna hit back harder?”

You shot him a glare. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Simon squeezed your thigh gently, leaning down to murmur in your ear. “You’re relentless, love.”

You turned your head slightly, brushing your nose against his. “You love it.”

Johnny groaned. “Oh, get a room, you two.”

Kyle smirked, nudging Johnny. “Jealous?”

Johnny scoffed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Nah, because I’m her real partner-in-crime.”

You leaned into him with a grin. “Damn right.”

Simon shook his head, but there was amusement in his eyes.

——

The final straw came when you and Johnny accidentally filled Simon’s entire room with balloons. It was supposed to be John’s, but a slight miscalculation (i.e.: Johnny miscounting doors) led to Simon opening his door and being buried in a sea of latex.

Kyle lost his mind laughing.

John muttered something about retiring early.

Simon just stood there. Silent. Unmoving.

“…Mate?” Johnny hesitated.

Simon stepped forward, very deliberately popping a balloon under his boot. The sound was deafening in the quiet hallway.

“Oh, sh—” you started.

“Run,” Kyle whispered.

You and Johnny ran for your lives.

——

Somehow, some way, the four of them got you back in the worst way possible. You woke up the next morning to find yourself duct-taped to Johnny, both of you stuck together in a ridiculous tangle of limbs.

Kyle leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Told you we’d get you back.”

Simon, standing beside him, nodded. “Play stupid games… win stupid prizes…”

John, sipping his coffee, smirked. “Enjoy your morning, love.”

Johnny groaned. “This isn’t over.”

You huffed, glaring at your very smug boyfriends. “I hate you all.”

Kyle leaned down, kissing your forehead. “Sure you do, sweetheart.”

Simon pressed a kiss to your temple. “This was inevitable.”

John patted your head, looking all too pleased with himself. “Next time, don’t prank the man who sleeps with a knife under his pillow.”

Johnny flopped back against the bed with a dramatic sigh. “We’ll get ‘em next time, lass.”

And so, the war continued.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[invincibledc]

What if the superson trio swapped bodys like superman, batman and stargirl did in justice league action?

“Swapped bodies”

Summary: swapping bodies was the worst thing ever to happen to the future trinity of heroes.

Pair: Superson trio

“Ugh! Catch him Robin!” Wonderboy yells, flying with superboy who trying to reach Mr Mxyzptlk who keeps swerving in the air. Robin clicks his tongue in distaste at the impatient Amazon. “What do you think I’m doing you brute.” Robin sasses as he keeps his eyes on the imp. He was on a roof, readying his grapple before Y/N spotted him. Y/N picked Robin up who “tt” at the male. Mr Mxyzptlk sticks his tongue out at the ten year olds. Superboy frowns, “Hey. That’s not nice dude.” Mr Mxyzptlk smirks. “If you think that’s not nice, then get a load of this!”

The imp randomly has a bender in front of the children, the flying boys stop. You still held Robin in your arms who was ready to aim his grapple right there. But sadly the imp had already put his action into phase as the souls of you and the supersons got sucked in the blender. Mr Mxyzptlk laughed his head off, seeing the ten year old boys scream and get their souls swapped. As the imp poofs away, laughing. The souls enter their not rightful place.

Y/N opened his eyes to see he was still flying, but turned his head to see that his body was holding Damian. Or was it Damian? “What the?!” Jon yells looking at the Amazon male. They had swapped bodies. And Damian doesn’t know how to fly, making him fall with a yell with Jon still in his arms. “Damnit!” Y/N yells, he immediately swooped down and held the two boys by their waist. “I hate this.” “Me too Prince.”

At the bat cave, Y/N were in Jon’s body, Jon was in Damian’s body, and Damian was in his body. Y/N immediately grabbed onto his body. Shaking the boy, “get out of my body Damian!” Y/N yelled. He was angry, confused, and annoyed. His eyes turned red, indicating heat vision that’s about to burst. Damian quickly pushed your head aside, the laser shooting off and damaging something. Jon awkwardly stood there, he felt happy he couldn’t hear things far away or even see through things accidentally. But still, he couldn’t do anything at the moment as the two super strong boys argue.

“If you were a little bit more patient, we would’ve succeeded in this mission!” Damian yells in Y/N’s body. Y/N gritted his teeth, pushing Damian from him. “Right, but you took your sweet time didn’t you Damian!” Y/N yells. Damian flew across the cave, before immediately tackling Y/N. Jon’s eyes widen, he tried to move towards the two angry boys. But with how they both were pulling hair and using their excessive strength. Jon said “nope, fuck this” and went to find the adults.

As y/n and Damian were tumbling around and wrestling. Jon came back with Batman and Superman. “Holy!—” Clark immediately tears the boys apart from each other. Y/N was still feral along with Damian. Trying to claw at each other. “Boys!” Superman yells out. The two stopped, looking at the kryptonian. “What is going on?” Jon, aka who’s in Damian’s body start to explain the situation that had happened.

“We sneaked out to do our own mission for this patrol but we caught this weird little goblin looking dude, can I say he was rude because he stuck his tongue at me and—”

“JON! Get on with it man!” Y/N yelled out impatiently.

“Oh right! Okay but like then he popped this blender out and switched our souls so now I’m in Damian’s body, damian’s is in Y/N’s body and Y/N is in mine and they started to fight so I got you guys here to se if yall can fix this.” Jon says, finishing in one blow. Clark and Bruce looked at each other and sigh.

What will they do with these three.

Time passed with the trio as Bruce went to contact someone. Firestorm soon walked in, smiling as he held Mr Mxyzptlk like a stray cat. The imp was nervously chuckling. “Ah Pooh, guess my fun is over.” Batman leaned his face at the imp. “Fix them.” Batman points to Jon who stands there with Superman holding two angry boys. Glaring at the imp, eyes filled with rage and distaste. Firestorm smirked, “or else professor would like a little talk with you.” Mr Mxyzptlk shudders again the thought of the professor in his head. “Fine! Here kids.”

“Kltpzyxm” the imp poofs away, not wanting to deal with the professor like last time. The souls of the boys went back to place. Jon smiled seeing his hands, Damian scoffed meanwhile Y/N rolled his eyes but smiled. “Awesome, we’re back to our bodies. You can put me down man.” Clark frowned. “Can’t do that sport.” The boys raised a brow as Jon looked at his father. Batman walked up to the trio. “You snuck out to do your own mission. You failed and got yourself in trouble. You are all grounded,” Brufe then points to the Amazon boy. “And I’ll be contacting your mother Y/N.” Y/N’s eyes widened, Jon frowns. And Damian scoffs.

“AH WHAT?!”

[starboye]

starring: loser!simon "ghost" riley x male reader

request: loser simon somehow getting to have a sexy night with you

warnings: smut, loser!simon, big dick!simon, pain kink if you squint, cursing, mentions of drinking

to be truthful Simon doesn't even know how he got such a pretty thing like you in his bed, I mean he had just got off a mission and went to a bar to take the edge off with the team, seeing you from across the room and gaining a small crush on you, wanting to just maybe take you home tonight.

the boys doubted him, saying he couldn't possibly get you in his bed tonight so he took on that challenge, walking over to you and sitting at the bar and somehow striking up a conversation, you were slightly drunk which meant you were calmer than usual and didn't tense up when the man talked to you.

"so you come here often" you sipped on your drink, looking at Simon nervously tap his glass of beer "yea- well I mean no... I guess sometimes" he stammered while a shade of red ran through his cheeks, you took pity on the man right off the bat I mean he couldn't even talk to you without stuttering and the team knew they were gonna win this bet easy money.

"well in all seriousness I bet my friends over there that I could take you home by the end of the night" he admitted dropping his head and bow you were really feeling bad for Simon, so to drunk to even think you placed a hand on Simon's thigh and slowly caressed it "if you win this bet can i get some of the money" you chuckle and Simon was shocked to say the least.

cock hardening in his jeans as you inched closer to his crotch "y-yeah sure" he agreed and in a matter of seconds your lips crashed against Simon's, you intended to win this bet for him just for the fun of it, the boys had to pick their jaws up off the floor after they saw Simon swapping spit with you and soon getting dragged out the bar with you leading.

and you quickly made it to your apartment, struggling to open the door because of your drunk state which really bothered Simon, I mean he has a hot guy right in front of him who he basically made out with and bow has a achingly hard dick in his pants and he begging that you get the key, taking a sigh of relief when you open the door and drag him in.

"shoes off at the door please" you say kicking off your shoes and scurrying to your room, Simon following close behind just to find you laying on your bed slowly peeling off your clothes urging him to come closer, it was like his feet moved on their own, carrying him over to you as you became fully naked now "want me to help you take this off" you ask playing with the hem of his shirt, all he could do was nod eagerly at you question.

you swiftly began taking off his shirt, admiring his scars as you went on to take off his pants and underwear watching his thick cock fall out, you held back a whimper at just the sight of it "most people I've tried to have sex with say it's to big" he says scratching the back of his head awkwardly "the bigger the better" you chuckle falling back to lay on the bed and spreading your legs wide for him and he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to ruin you right now.

you use some spit as lube and watch as he timidly approaches you and presses his tip against your hole before easily slipping inside, it's like you were made for him and him only it maybe that was his eagerness to fuck someone talking, he slowly thrusted into you trying not to injure you, but for you it was agonizingly slow "not to be a dick or anything but you can go harder right" you question propping yourself up and you elbows to look at him.

although this wasn't his first time it sure as hell looked like it "yeah totally" he held back a groan now wrapping his large hands around your thighs to press them against your chest to fuck you deeper, his thrust now a little harder earning some light moans out of you, he wasn't lying when he said he was big, he was gaping you deep slightly grazing your g-spit with every thrust now turning you on even more.

with the harder thrusting came louder moans and louder moans came harder thrusts bringing a never ending cycle of Simon fucking you harder just to listen to you pretty noises, he was holding back from letting out his noises, not wanting to be too loud for your neighbors to hear "you can let it out big guy" you urge feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head as he thrusts became for of pounding your hole till he flooded your hole but he wanted to hold back for the sake of making this memorable and not a reoccurring nightmare of he came so early in the one guy he finally got a chance with.

with your urging he let out deep groans with each plap heard through the room "fuck can I cum in you" he breathlessly asks eager to get off with a hole wrapped around him "yes please" you moan moving your hands to grip his back desperately scratching at his already injured skin making his groans turn into more of moan (talk about a pain kink am I right) and it may have hurt but he loved every second of it, fucking you harder with the hope that you'd dig your nails into his back harder and you did, clawing at his back like a wild animal.

there's no hiding both of you were in the verge of cumming and it was sooner more than later, Simon whispering sweet nothing's just to get you harder and clenching around him and you to incoherent to even remember what he's saying only hoping that he floods your tummy with his cum "please please I want your cum so badly" you whimper holding him tightly as you feel your climax creeping up at a quick pace and Simon only responded in deep grunts and harder poundings.

he let out a long drawn out growl as he spilled his load in you, you letting out a high pitched moan as you cum all over yourself "thank... you so much" you whimper letting go of him but he never let go of you, holding you tightly while still shallowly thrusting into you riding out his high for as long as possible "another round" he begs under his breath hiding his face into the nook of your neck "yes please" you pant finally coming back to your senses, it was surely gonna be a kind night.

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318. @itsares @gargoylesworld09 @kadenvatsune @fuckshft

[ghostedgwen]

inside her fantasy | s.black

notes : so, finally a very long 8.6k words fic for Sirius. I had scrapped this many many times, changed plots like 4 times and even tried to just eat my keyboard while writing this but FINALLY I finished!! Thank u for 900 followers, ily all!!! somuch!!!!!

warnings : reader has an ancient blood curse with no cure, based on sleeping beauty- loosely, LOTS and LOTS of angst, the first wizarding war plot line, character death(s), mention of war and grief and loss, marauders angst (yk the rest)

Sirius Black never thought he would ever stop playing and offer his heart to someone else until he met her, but how does a man out of time keep a girl awake and within his reach? In which a girl is cursed to fall asleep, never to wake, and Sirius is hopelessly in love with her.

. . . Trends change, rumors fly through new skies but I'm right where you left me.

It starts with a dare, like all good stories involving the Marauders do.

You swap a fellow Hufflepuff's pumpkin juice for firewhisky before breakfast, right under the nose of three Prefects and a hovering ghost. You flash your friends a triumphant grin, and the moment the poor bloke takes a gulp and splutters across the table, you let out a laugh that makes heads turn.

One of those heads belongs to Sirius Black.

He doesn't laugh like everyone else. No, he watches for a moment, assessing, then leans over to James with a smirk. "Think we got ourselves another pranskter."

You catch it. Of course you do. You raise an eyebrow across the table and say, loud enough for him to hear, "You say that like you own the rights for pranks, Black."

James snorts. Sirius pretends to be wounded. "And here I was, thinking I was being complimentary."

"Don’t strain yourself," you say. "You might pull a muscle patting yourself on the back."

Something flickers behind his eyes. Interest, maybe. Or the thrill of not being immediately adored - he was too deep in his and his friends' adventures to truly notice everyone else. Specially that you wore a yellow robe, too forgetable for him.

James grabs his arm. "We’ve got practice, mate. Come on."

He stands, but he throws one last glance over his shoulder before he leaves. Right at you, you give him a mocking wave and you get a shit-eating grin in return.

You were caught sneaking back in from the Owlery.

He was caught hexing Filch’s office door so it screamed every time someone knocked.

Now you’re side by side, polishing trophies that haven't seen the light of day since 1903. Your fingers are smudged with Brasso. The room smells like lemon and resentment and old.

"So," he says, halfway through a plaque commemorating a Gobstones champion, "what’s your best detention story?"

You grin. "I once convinced McGonagall that Peeves framed me. Drew a whole diagram and everything."

Sirius lets out a laugh that bounces off the marble. "That’s impressive. I usually just take the blame and try to look roguish while doing it."

"That explains the ego," you reply, smirking.

He narrows his eyes, mock offended. "You’re not as clever as you think you are."

You pause, toss him a sideways glance. "And you’re not as clever as you think you are."

There’s a beat.

Then he grins. Wide and wolfish. "Then I’ll have to try harder, won’t I?"

And just like that, the dynamic begins.

The pumpkins explode in perfect sequence: one after the other, like a line of golden-orange fireworks down the centre of the Great Hall.

Everyone cheers. The Marauders look vaguely shocked, for once caught off guard by a grand prank -

Because the original plan wasn't supposed to work that well. And definitely not with the added effect of floating bats that shriek "Boo!" in different languages.

You had overheard their plotting. Tweaked a few spell matrices. Subtle improvements. You're not a glory-hog, but thought to add your own flair.

Sirius corners you near the staircase hours later, after the chaos has started to die down - he looked like he had been hunting you since it all went off.

"You meddled."

You feign innocence. "I improved. There’s a difference."

"You should join us."

You raise your brow. "I work alone."

Nevermind the fact you just tinkered with their pranks, you decided against joining their little band of Marauders as you didn't fancy being the only girl in their little boys group.

You'd rather do your own thing.

Moments later, Filch comes stomping down the corridor, waving a list of suspects. You grab Sirius's hand without thinking.

"Hide."

He doesn’t question it. He lets you drag him to the small, tight place between walls where a statue was located, you squeezed yourselves behind it.

He whispers, "You really are a menace."

"Takes one to know one, Black."

Your breath fogs in the silence. His eyes catch yours. For a moment, the world shrinks. Just the sound of your heartbeat and the feel of his coat brushing your arm.

He doesn’t kiss you.

But he wants to.

He asks you like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke, and perhaps it was. He had insisted so, justifying it in his head.

"Fancy a trip to Hogsmeade? I hear Honeydukes has a new licorice wand."

You smirk. "Only if you’re paying. And I want a scone. With clotted cream."

He blinks, not expecting you to say yes. He half-expected you to make fun of him for it or perhaps hex him at his audacity.

He broke into a grin at that, unbelievably successful. "Done."

You go. It’s cold and overcast and perfect. Sirius has managed to shrug James off who whined non-stop about being left alone for yet another date.

James Potter ever the brat was complaining that, "Mates before dates!" but Sirius left him.

You tease each other the whole way there, and the whole way back.

Inside the tea shop, he stares at the way you scrape the jam across your plate and says, "You’re not like anyone else, you know."

You tilt your head. "That sounds suspiciously like a line - am I supposed to swoon now?"

He sighs, knowing you'd respond with a bite like always. He leans back. "It’s not. I just meant - "

"I’m not interested in being Sirius Black’s next conquest," you interrupt, quiet but firm.

For once, he has no retort.

For once, something cracks in his expression. Just for a second, that you barely caught it.

Then he masks it with a grin. "I’d never break your heart."

You don’t believe him. But you wish you could.

The tower is asleep - but as always, one Gryffindor is out of bed.

Sirius sits on the edge of his bed, candle flickering low beside him. His parchment is blotchy with crossed-out lines.

He thought about practising it first, writing down his thoughts and feelings and words he dared not say on parchment before he blurts them out to you.

In fear that he'd say it wrong - or you wouldn't take it too well. He resorted to writing his feelings down, it made him feel almost embarrassed. Almost.

I don’t know why I keep thinking about you.

Maybe it’s because you don’t make it easy.

Maybe it’s because when I’m around you, I’m not just ‘Sirius Black’ - I’m something I don’t hate.

He finishes the letter at that after many revisions, numerous lines crossed out and ink droplets staining the edges of the texts. He stares at it, blinks once -

Then he folded it, tucked into the bottom of his trunk. Probably not to be seen ever again by any other soul, specially not the person it was written for.

He went to bed with a heavy weight on his chest.

Your friends surprise you with a pile of sweets and a stack of cards. Someone charms the banner to say Happy Birthday, You Absolute Legend. There’s music, and dancing, and laughter that lights up the whole room.

You were against them throwing a whole party but they insisted. Your dormmates had birthdays outside of school, right during holidays and summer breaks so they insisted on celebrating yours.

You couldn't dodge out of it any longer and it soon turned into a big thing with other people from the other houses piling into your common room, all invited, to celebrate your coming-of-age.

Sirius gives you a wrapped package the size of a wand. Inside is a quill - you eye it with distrust as it couldn't be that simple with him.

"What does it do?" you ask, raising a brow with a coy grin.

He smirks. "Try it."

You scribble your name across a napkin. The quill shimmers, then begins writing compliments beneath it: Wittiest girl in the castle. Eyes like midnight mischief. Dangerous in the best way.

You laugh so hard at the words that you felt tears in your eyes.

During the festivites, you decided you have had enough and snuck out so effortlessly, you climb the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

Sirius follows, wordlessly, you didn't even mind him following you in there. Much too happy by everything that had happened to feel anything but pure happiness.

The stars are out, constellations drawn out to scatter across the night sky. You can feel the cold wind brushing past you, but you’re warm.

Must've been the Firewhiskey.

He stands beside you, watching how the moon illuminated your face. How the white light cast an almost blue hue across your features, like you were a painting come to life.

He leans in, despite himseld and you immediately caught it. Pressing a hand to his chest to stop him, your palms staying flat against his jacket. You give him a small smile.

"Not yet," you whisper.

He doesn’t push, he just slowly nods, accepting the rejection.

"Seventeen feels. . . big," you say, eyes on the sky, turning away from him before you could reject pushing him away before he could even close the distance.

"You’ve got time," he tells you.

You smile, soft. Sad, somehow.

"I know."

The library was unusually silent for a Thursday evening. You knew that most students had already left to their common rooms or gone to dinner, escaping the biting chill that had settled over the castle.

Even the ghosts, those eternal spirits who haunted the halls, seemed to have retreated into their own restless slumber, leaving the space in a fragile, almost sacred silence. Rows of towering bookshelves stretched into the shadows, their dark wood and brass fittings gleaming faintly in the low glow of the lanterns, like silent sentinels guarding ancient secrets.

You sat curled in one of the oversized armchairs near the far window, your legs tucked beneath you, a pile of books and loose parchment spread across your lap.

Your ink-stained fingers moved furiously, scribbling notes, ideas, or perhaps just trying to clear your mind. Your quill tapped rhythmically against your lips as you thought, lost in the world of your own making, unaware of anyone else’s presence.

The truth was, you weren’t supposed to be here. You hated the library on principle - so quiet, so organized, so full of reminders of work you’d rather avoid. But tonight, it was a refuge of sorts, a quiet space where you could escape the chaos of school and the pressure of exams.

Besides, you liked the solitude. It was easier to think when no one was around.

Until you felt that familiar, restless energy stir within you.

You weren’t sure what it was exactly - maybe boredom, maybe the need for distraction. Maybe a desire to defy the dull routine of school life. Whatever it was, it made you glance around and contemplate your options. Perhaps a little mischief. A quick prank to liven things up.

You shifted slightly in the chair, lifting your quill and preparing to scribble a note to yourself or perhaps an amused doodle. That’s when you noticed him.

Sirius Black.

He was leaning casually against one of the bookshelves, his dark hair falling into his eyes, a crooked grin curling on his lips. His eyes flicked over you with a teasing glint, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. You tried to ignore him, but you knew better.

He sauntered over, boots silent on the stone floor, a devilish smirk on his face. You could see the glint of mischief in his eyes, the way he always looked at you when he was about to do something he knew you’d hate.

"Well, well," he drawled, voice low and amused. "What do we have here? A little angel hiding in the library after hours?"

You rolled your eyes, pretending to ignore him. "Not your concern, Black."

He chuckled softly, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours. "Come on, don’t be like that. I thought we were friends."

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at your lips. Sirius always knew how to push your buttons - in the worst and best ways.

He reached out, fingertips grazing the spine of a dusty, leather-bound tome on the table next to your chair. His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Thinking of a little prank, are we?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide your grin. "Not this time, Black."

He leaned closer, voice lowering to a whisper. "Come on, I know you’re dying for some trouble. Just one little thing."

You hesitated. You knew he was right - your usual impulse was to stir up chaos, to shake things up. But tonight, you felt something different. A flicker of unease, maybe. Something about the way you were feeling - restless, distracted, almost jittery - made you pause.

Sirius, however, was relentless.

He reached for the nearest book on the table - an enormous, dusty volume - and grinned wider. "How about I give this a little shove? Bet it’d make a hell of a noise."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re hopeless."

He chuckled again. "You’re just afraid I’ll beat you to it."

You shook your head, trying to focus on your work again. But then, something caught your eye. You felt it before you saw it: the strange stillness in your body, the way your fingers suddenly refused to move, the sensation that your mind had gone quiet, almost as if you’d fallen into a trance.

You didn’t realize until a moment later that you’d gone completely still, your eyes fixed on a point far away.

Suddenly, Sirius’s voice broke through your concentration. "Oi, princess," he said softly, crouching down beside your chair. "You’re gonna fall asleep in the library like that? Not exactly the look you’re going for."

You didn’t respond. For a moment, you didn’t even blink. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.

He nudged your shoulder gently. "Come on, wake up. Hey."

Nothing.

Your heart fluttered - an odd, sinking feeling you couldn’t quite place. You were alive, weren’t you? You felt your chest rise and fall. But something was wrong. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak.

Sirius’s brow furrowed. "Oi, what’s going on?" he asked softly, reaching out to shake you more firmly. "This isn’t funny."

Still, you remained frozen, eyes staring blankly ahead. Your head lolled slightly to the side, your body slack in the chair’s embrace. A shiver ran down your spine; a primal instinct told you that something was terribly wrong.

He reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and gently shook your shoulders. "Come on, talk to me. Wake up."

No response.

His heart hammered in his chest. You weren’t responding. Your body was limp, unnaturally still.

"No, no, no," he whispered, voice cracking. Panic rising. His mind raced - what was happening?

He pressed his ear as close as he dared to your chest, listening desperately for a heartbeat. There it was, faint but steady - faint, slow, like a distant drum. You were alive, somehow, but not present. Not really.

His breath hitched as he stared at you, helpless.

"Please, no," he muttered, voice thick with emotion.

Without thinking, Sirius slid his arms under your body, lifting you carefully, cradling you against his chest as if afraid you’d shatter. Your head lolled against his collarbone, limp and unresponsive. His heart pounded harder now, pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

He sprinted through the rows of books, knocking over stacks in his haste, ignoring the startled shouts of Madam Pince, who hurried after him.

"Help! Somebody, I need help!" Sirius shouted, voice echoing down the corridor as he burst out into the hallway.

The hospital wing smelled like lavender and antiseptic, a familiar blend that didn’t bring comfort tonight. Madame Pomfrey was at her desk, meticulously organizing vials and bandages, when the doors swung open with a gust of wind and Sirius burst in, clutching you carefully.

Her eyes widened in alarm at the sight of you, unconscious and limp in his arms. "What happened?"

"I don’t know," Sirius gasped, pounding his fist against his chest as he tried to catch his breath. "She was just sitting there. She wouldn’t wake up."

Pomfrey hurried forward, her hands deft and sure. "Bring her here," she ordered, taking you from Sirius’s trembling grip and laying you gently onto a bed.

"She’s alive," Pomfrey said, brow furrowing. "But she’s not sleeping. This is . . . different."

Sirius clenched his fists, helpless and desperate. "What do you mean? Is she hurt?"

Pomfrey shook her head slowly. "It’s not a physical injury. This is magical. Or perhaps. . . something darker."

He looked at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "A curse?"

She nodded grimly. "Most likely. A very old, very powerful one."

Sirius felt the ground shift beneath his feet. "A curse? How? Why? I - "

Before he could finish, the door swung open again, and Professor Dumbledore entered with his usual calm grace, his robes flowing behind him like a gentle wave. His blue eyes, however, were sharp with concern.

He moved swiftly to your bedside, examining you with quiet precision. His fingers hovered over your brow, then traced down to your wrist.

"Leave us for a moment, Sirius," Dumbledore said softly, voice calm but firm.

Sirius hesitated, his jaw tight. But he nodded, stepping back into the corner, watching helplessly as Dumbledore’s gaze flicked over your still form.

He could hear the whispering of Pomfrey’s concerned murmurs, see the way her brow furrowed as she studied you.

Finally, Dumbledore turned to Sirius, his expression grave. "This is no ordinary sleep," he announced.

"You said it’s a curse," Sirius pressed. "Can you fix it?"

Dumbledore’s expression darkened, the lines around his eyes deepening as he folded his hands in front of him. “I wish I could. But some magic was forged not to be broken. This is a blood curse - ancient.”

Sirius stared at you. At the way your head lolled to the side, still tucked in close to your shoulder like you’d just drifted off mid-sentence. Your hand was still curled around your quill, ink smeared at the base of your palm. You looked so alive. Too alive to be cursed. Too alive to be gone.

But you weren’t breathing right. Not deeply, not the way you did when you fell asleep in the Common Room after a long patrol. He would’ve teased you for it, if this were different - how you snored just a little when you were really knackered, how your mouth always parted like you were in the middle of some secret dream. But there was none of that now.

Just stillness. Just silence.

“She was fine,” he said again, voice quieter this time. "She was laughing at McGonagall’s robes in Transfiguration. Making that bloody stupid joke about animagus hats. She was fine.”

Dumbledore looked at him, and there was no comfort in his eyes - only something impossibly old. “These curses often lie dormant until they are triggered. A moment of emotional intensity. Prolonged exhaustion. Sometimes even something as simple as turning seventeen. We don’t always know what wakes them.”

Sirius blinked hard. His throat was starting to close. “And now what? What do we do now?”

Dumbledore sighed. “We wait.”

“No,” Sirius snapped, too quickly, voice breaking on the edge of it. “That’s not- that’s not good enough.”

The air around him tightened, buzzing beneath his skin like he was about to explode. He’d lived his whole life under someone else’s control - his family, his bloody name, the rules of the castle, the limits of what magic could and couldn’t do - but this was different.

This was you. You weren’t supposed to fall asleep in a library and never wake up.

“This isn’t happening,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, pacing like he might wear a hole through the stone. “She’s not some fairytale. She’s not some . . . cursed maiden locked in a tower. She’s her. She’s stubborn, and she hates studying, and she always steals the last bit of toast when she thinks I’m not looking - she’s real.”

“I know,” Dumbledore said, quiet as ever.

“She can’t just - ” Sirius’s voice cracked again. “She can’t just go.”

“She’s not gone.”

“But you don’t know when she’s coming back.” The words scraped out of his throat like they’d been broken inside him. “You don’t know if she ever will.”

Silence.

And then, Dumbledore spoke again - gently, but with the weight of someone who had seen too much. “This curse runs in her family. Passed through generations. Few survive it more than once.”

Sirius’s hands curled into fists. “She didn’t even know.”

“Perhaps not,” Dumbledore allowed. “Or perhaps she did. But she hoped, as many do, that it would skip her.”

Sirius stared down at you, at your fingers, still ink-stained and human. “So what now?”

“Now we care for her,” Dumbledore said. “We wait. And we love her, even if she doesn’t know we’re here.”

“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “No. That’s not enough. That’s not me. I’m not going to just sit and watch her fade. There has to be something. Anything.”

Dumbledore hesitated.

And that hesitation - that split second - was all Sirius needed.

“There is something, isn’t there?” he said, stepping closer. “You’re holding something back.”

“It’s not something that can be done,” Dumbledore said slowly. “Not the way you think. This curse. . . it only yields to love. Not infatuation. Not obsession. Something older. Something that holds its shape even when time doesn’t.”

Sirius’s chest burned. “Then I’ll do it.”

“You don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I don’t care.”

“You would have to remain, Sirius,” Dumbledore said. “Through months. Years. Decades, perhaps. And never know if she’ll wake. Or if she’ll remember. You’d have to love her in silence. Without promise. Without return.”

“I already do.”

The words were out before he could stop them.

The air felt different after that.

Dumbledore didn’t speak for a long time. Then he said, “If that is true, then you may be the only hope she has.”

Dumbledore sent word to your family within the hour.

Sirius wasn’t in the room when they arrived - Dumbledore had gently, firmly suggested he give them privacy - but he could hear the voices. Muffled through stone and spellwork. Raised. Bitter. Desperate.

They’d known. Not everything, but enough.

It had happened once before - a great-aunt, long dead, whose name had been scrubbed from the family tree out of shame or grief or maybe both. You were supposed to have been spared. A healer had sworn it dormant. A ritual had been done when you were a baby. There’d been no signs. You were bright, brilliant. Uncursed.

They’d believed in the lie because it was easier than preparing for the truth.

You woke up just after 4 days. Those 4 days were spent with Sirius visiting you in between classes, meals, Quidditch practices. His friends were growing worried for him as they also worried for you.

He looked changed in just a span of 4 days. 4 cruel days spent on your bedside begging you to wake up, begging you to come back to him.

Promising you grand pranks you could pull together, more alcoholic concoctions to throw up in the morning. He offered everything to see your eyes flutter open.

It wasn't fair. He was just beginning to know you, to love you - it all felt to fresh and raw and real - this cannot be happening to him.

When you woke up, it was so sudden.

Just a sharp inhale that jolted your whole body and the whisper of your name as Dumbledore caught your shoulder before you could fall out of the bed in shock.

You blinked at the light, slow and sluggish, as if waking from years instead of days. You reached for your wand first - you did not find it. Then your face. Then the necklace under your collarbone. None of it had changed. But everything had.

They cried - your parents. But not the way Sirius thought they would. Not relief, not love, not wild, stupid joy.

No, they cried like cowards. Quiet, ashamed, as if your waking made it worse. As if the confirmation of the curse meant the whole thing had been real all along. Like you were some buried secret they couldn’t keep hidden anymore.

Sirius watched it all from the hallway, fists clenched, pacing outside the Hospital Wing like he was about to be sick.

The door creaked open. Madam Pomfrey slipped out. “She’s awake.”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t even think.

He was inside the room before anyone could stop him, blood still thrumming in his ears. You were sitting up in bed, hair a tangle, voice raw as you said his name - confused, hoarse, like you hadn’t said it in years. “Sirius?”

He didn’t answer. He crossed the room and pulled you into him like you were drowning and he didn’t care if he sank too.

You tried to push him away after that.

It started the moment you woke up, dry-mouthed and weak, in the Hospital Wing. Four days. You'd lost four days of your life to a sleep you hadn’t meant to enter, and everything had changed.

You saw it in your parents’ eyes first. The shame. The quiet devastation. You saw it in the way Pomfrey didn’t scold you for trying to stand, and in the way Dumbledore couldn’t quite meet your gaze.

But most of all, you saw it in Sirius.

When he ran to you and pulled you into a hug, like holding you meant that it was all real. He just breathed like he'd finally surfaced from drowning.

You couldn’t look at him too long. Because the guilt hit harder than the fear. You hadn’t meant to become a problem. A burden. A question mark in someone else’s future.

So you did what you always did. You joked.

"You should probably date someone with a better track record for staying conscious," you said over breakfast the next morning, stirring your porridge like it might give you answers.

He didn’t laugh.

You tried again in the corridor. "Seriously, Sirius, you don’t have to do this whole loyal boyfriend routine. I know it’s been a weird month. I give you full permission to run."

He didn’t even blink - not even when you finally addressed him by first name. A progress to your now, very complicated, relationship.

"You think I’m staying because I feel bad?" he asked one night, voice low and raw. "You think this is pity?"

You shrugged, but your fingers clenched around the edge of your sleeve. "I think I wouldn’t blame you if you left."

And that was the truth. The quiet, aching part of it. That you didn’t think you deserved someone who stayed. It was a burden you could never ask of anyone.

He stepped closer then, close enough that his words landed right against your ribs.

"Don’t you get it?" he said, voice shaking with something bigger than anger. "I'm not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you wake."

It should’ve comforted you. It only made your chest ache harder.

Because you didn’t want him waiting around like some tragic romantic figure. You didn’t want to be the girl people wrote poems about after she vanished too soon. You wanted to be solid. Reliable. Here.

But you weren’t. And he's decided to stay anyway.

Even when you stopped meeting his eyes.

Even when you flinched in the middle of a sentence, panicked that a yawn might spiral into something worse.

Even when you stopped touching him entirely, afraid that if you reached for his hand, it might be the last thing you ever did.

Still, he stayed.

And he started leaving you things.

A tiny mirror charm on your nightstand, bewitched to show cartoon dog ears on your reflection when you frowned.

A chocolate frog with a note tucked inside the box that said, Still here. Always here.

A prank exploding parchment that poofed glitter in your face during a Charms study session and made you laugh until you nearly sobbed.

Sometimes it was just small things. A folded jacket over your chair when you forgot it was cold. A sugar quill tucked into your books.

It should have been too much. But it never was.

Because you missed him. Desperately.

You missed the ease. The banter. The feeling that you were someone he chose, not someone he pitied.

You missed before.

But there was no going back.

One afternoon, you found him outside the library, sitting on the floor with his head tipped back against the wall.

He wasn’t doing anything. No mischief, no plotting. Just staring up at the ceiling like he was trying to stay still. Like the world had moved on and he was trying to figure out how to follow it.

You hadn’t seen him all day.

And somewhere in your chest, the idea that he’d finally given up had lodged itself like a splinter. The relief that washed through you at the sight of him was nauseating.

He looked up when your footsteps stopped.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then, finally: "I’m sorry."

Sirius blinked. His expression shifted from surprise to something softer.

"For what?" he asked, sitting up straighter.

"I don’t know," you said honestly. "Everything. Pushing you. Making you wait around for someone who can’t promise anything."

You hesitated.

"I wish you could love someone with less complications."

He stared at you for a moment, like you’d just said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. And then, suddenly, he laughed.

A real, full-bodied laugh. Like it startled even him.

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden bark of laughter that escaped him out of nowhere. "What?"

"If this were easy," he said, still laughing, "I’d think it was some grand prank. I’d assume Moony and Prongs were hiding behind a tapestry ready to jump out."

You snorted despite yourself.

"Merlin, you’re so stupid."

And then you kissed him. Not planned. Not careful.

Just raw.

You kissed him like you were terrified and desperate and alive. Like if the curse took you tonight, you wanted this to be your last memory.

He didn’t pull away. Just froze for a breath. And then he was kissing you back with that same terrified urgency.

You pulled away after a second, just enough to murmur: "Just in case I don’t wake up tomorrow."

Sirius cupped your face with both hands then, thumbs brushing under your eyes like he was trying to memorize them.

His voice was soft. So gentle it hurt.

"Don’t worry about tomorrow," he whispered. "You’re awake right now."

You nodded. But your lip trembled."I’m so scared of falling asleep."

There. You said it. Finally voicing out the thought that haunted you at night. Bags hung under your eyes from nights you desperately tried to stay awake.

Your dormmates have all tried their best to offer any help they could. The whole castle knew your predicament by now - nothing ever stays a secret at Hogwarts.

You appreciated them, but nothing helped.

And when you finally said it, he didn’t flinch.

He just pulled you in again. Wrapped his arms around you like he could protect you from the unknown. From the curse that ran through your veins, as old as your magic.

"I know," he said. "I’m scared too."

And then he kissed your temple. Your forehead. The corner of your mouth, he wished he could kiss every inch of you.

"Don’t worry, love," he murmured. "I’ll be here when you open those pretty eyes."

And the thing is, you believed him. Even if it still hurt.

Even if you still woke every morning unsure if you'd made it through the night or it was some dream you have landed into.

He was always there.

And slowly, you started reaching back.

They didn’t have forever - so they started pretending like they did.

By late February, your hand had found a permanent place in Sirius’s.

He joked that the skin might fuse together if you weren’t careful, and you’d laughed - really laughed - for the first time since you’d woken from that cursed sleep. He’d grinned like a fool then, pride blooming in his chest just for being the reason your shoulders weren’t tight with fear, just for chasing the shadow from your eyes, even for a moment.

You’d made it through March. Barely. Some days your legs dragged beneath you like your body already knew the sleep was coming. Some nights Sirius had to shake you awake from dozes you didn’t remember falling into. But you were still here. And so was he.

Hogsmeade in spring felt like a stolen miracle.

He took your hand outside Honeydukes, lifting it to his lips with a boyish smile. “So, what’ll it be, darling? Chocolate frogs or a full day of snogging behind the Shrieking Shack?”

You rolled your eyes. “If I die in the Shrieking Shack, Sirius Black, you better be ready to fight off some angry ghosts.”

He beamed. “Then it’s a date.”

You weren’t hiding anymore. He’d told everyone. James had fist-bumped you and said it was about time. Remus had congratulated you as well, making a sarcastic remark that "Pads can finally stop moaning about how much he wants you now that you can snog him into silence." Even Peter had hugged you with the kind of gentleness that meant he’d heard. That he understood.

And the pranks - oh, the pranks.

It started with your idea, actually. A tiny hex that made Filch’s boots click like tap shoes. The look on Sirius’s face when you suggested it - pure, lovesick awe.

“Marry me,” he said, half-joking.

You tilted your head. “Better wait until I survive the school year.”

The boys had welcomed you into their chaos without question. You were a natural. A little louder than James, a little sharper than Remus, and exactly Sirius’s brand of reckless.

When you came back one night covered in soot and giggling from a dungbomb gone wrong, Sirius tugged you close on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, kissed your temple, and whispered, “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

But he was the brilliant one. The constant. Every night, after curfew, he would draw the curtains of his four-poster and you would curl beside him. The other boys never said a word - not one complaint, not even a tease.

You were terrified to sleep alone. And they understood.

Some nights you fell asleep tangled together, his arms around your waist, your breath uneven against his neck.

Other nights, sleep wouldn’t come. You’d lie awake listening to his heartbeat and whisper nonsense into the dark. Sirius would hold you tighter, thumb brushing lazy circles into your spine.

And every single night, he would say, without fail:

“Tomorrow will come for you, love. For us. I’ll be here, handsome as ever when the sun rises.”

You pretended to believe it. Most nights, you even did.

April crept in like a thief. The scent of rain on stone, blossoms blooming beside the lake, the castle lit with gold and promise. Exams were approaching. So was the end.

So was the sleep.

And then - you didn’t wake up.

It was a Thursday.

You’d said goodnight. You’d kissed him. You’d whispered your usual lie: “See you in the morning.”

And then - nothing.

The Healers said it was the curse reasserting itself. That your body was fighting to stay, but the magic was older than any potion. There was no way to stop it. No one knew how long it would last.

Sirius didn’t move from the Hospital Wing for a week.

James brought food. Remus sat with him in the early mornings. Peter left chocolate frogs on the table beside your bed. But Sirius - he stayed. He barely slept. He wrote letters and folded them beneath your pillow. He spoke to you like you were just resting.

“You’re not gone,” he said one night, voice cracking. “You’re just late. You’ve always been late to things, remember? You’ll wake up and tell me I’m being dramatic.”

But you didn’t wake.

You missed the N.E.W.T.s. Missed the way Remus clutched his results in trembling hands. Missed James and Lily getting into a blazing row about the future and making up in the courtyard two hours later.

You missed the last Gryffindor breakfast, the daisy chain crowns, the class photo with everyone laughing too hard to stand still.

You missed graduation.

Sirius didn’t walk. He refused. Said he wouldn’t cross a finish line you hadn’t.

By July, he was different. Gaunt-eyed. Brittle-tempered. The war had begun - the real one - and he joined the Order like his blood was already boiling for vengeance.

But still, he wrote you letters.

He left them at St. Mungo’s when you were transferred there in August. Left chocolates, enchanted notes, silly doodles. He threatened the mediwitch who tried to call you a lost cause.

“She’s not gone,” he snapped. “She’s just waiting.”

And then - autumn came.

And you woke up.

The world smelled different. Crisper. More distant.

You were eighteen now. But the world had moved on without you.

Your body was slow to respond. Magic flickered in your hands but didn’t sing the way it used to. You blinked against the sterile light of St. Mungo’s, head pounding, heart aching.

And then the door opened.

Sirius stood in the frame.

Older. Sharper. Shadows under his eyes, jaw tighter, arms crossed like he’d forgotten how to relax. But still - him. Still yours. Always yours.

He stared at you for a moment like you were a ghost.

And then he was at your side, sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair back with shaking fingers.

“You missed a war,” he said, voice rough.

You tried to smile. “Did we win?”

He didn’t answer that. Just leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours.

“And I missed you,” he whispered. “Every damn day.”

You moved in together. Shared a flat with creaky floors and mismatched furniture, patched together like your hearts. You tried to build a life between sleep and fear - fleeting moments of normalcy suspended in the quiet before sirens, the hush before screams.

The flat became a fragile sanctuary. You lit candles during power outages and cooked dinner over the radio’s static updates. Some nights you danced in the kitchen just to remember joy. Other nights, you held each other in the dark, neither speaking, just listening to the wind press against the windows like a warning.

You kept a journal now - small and leather-bound, pages inked with memories of what you missed, what he told you, and what you dreamed when you were gone. You wrote down things like: his laugh this morning, like something untouched by war. Or: he said “stay safe” like he meant “stay alive.”

You lived like it might all vanish again. Because it would. Because war takes everything, even the things you think are untouchable.

You both tried to power through it, despite the raging war around you and the brewing danger that curled like smoke under your door. Each day was a risk. Each night, a relief.

You were worried for him - for the way his name appeared in whispered conversations, for the work he did in shadows. But you knew it was right. He was trying to change the story.

Sirius sometimes talked about stopping. Once, after a long silence over cold tea, he said quietly, almost ashamed, “I barely get enough moments with you, with all this happening - what if I just get less and less time?”

You reached across the table, grabbed his hand like it was the only steady thing in a world falling apart. You shook your head, firm. “No. You don’t get to give up. You’re fighting for a good cause. Let’s be on the good side of history when people look back on this time.”

His eyes searched yours - tired but still burning - and after a breath, he nodded. “You’re right. You always are.”

So you both joined the Order.

Not because you weren’t scared, but because you were. Because fear can hollow you or harden you - and you chose to fight.

Then one night, in a small and quiet gathering of Order members - tired, battle-worn, but still fighting to hold onto something human - Lily stood up.

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and smiled - truly smiled, not the brittle one she'd worn through grief and fear, but something bright and real, like the girl she used to be before the war.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

For a moment, the room was still - stunned into silence. And then it erupted like spring breaking through frost.

James laughed so loudly it startled the portraits on the walls. He beamed like the sun - the kind of joy that doesn’t ask permission. Remus stood and clapped him on the back, his eyes glassy with tears he wouldn’t let fall. Sirius made a strangled noise, like a laugh and a sob at once, and buried his face in his hands.

When he looked up, his grin was crooked and wild. Peter smiled too, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes - there was something distant in his expression, like he was somewhere else entirely. You noticed. But you hadn’t been around long enough to know what was normal for Peter anymore, so you let it slide.

The Marauders buzzed with pride, their joy loud and golden, filling every dark corner of that war-battered room. Your found family, in all its ragged glory, clung to joy wherever it bloomed - because joy was a form of resistance too.

Later that night, after the toasts and the storytelling and the laughter worn thin from overuse, the others drifted away. Candles burned low. The room emptied, settling into silence.

That’s when Sirius pulled you aside.

He looked different in the low light - softer somehow. His usual fire had banked into something slower, more careful. There was a tremble in his hand as he reached for yours, not from fear, but from urgency.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” he said. His voice was low, stripped of bravado. “I don’t want to wait. Not with everything going on. Not with how time keeps. . . stealing you.”

Your heart caught. Because he was right. Every day was a borrowed page, every goodbye heavy with the question: will there be another? Will tomorrow really come?

He pulled something from his pocket - a ring, simple but quietly extraordinary. It shimmered like starlight, charmed with a magic that whispered permanence in a world that promised none.

“Marry me,” he said.

There was no speech, no preamble. Just those two words. And then more: “I know it’s selfish. I know you’re scared. But I don’t want anyone else. It���s you or nothing. It’s always been you.”

You opened your mouth, the beginnings of protest forming. You wanted to say he might regret it. That the war could tear you away, again. That love like this didn’t always get a happy ending, not with your curse anyway.

But he saw it all in your eyes and stopped you before the words could shape.

“All we have is now,” he whispered. “Say yes. Say yes while you’re here.”

And something in you - some quiet, aching truth - answered him before your lips did.

So you said yes.

You were so afraid but you said yes despite yourself and the clawing fear. Because love, in this world, wasn’t a promise. It was a defiance, and in some fairy tales, love is how you beat war.

Your wedding was held shortly after his proposal and it wasn't big at all.

There were no grand halls or gilded arches, no glittering lights or towering cakes. Just a windswept clearing in the woods near Godric’s Hollow, with wildflowers bowing in the breeze and magic humming softly through the air like it recognized something sacred.

Only friends were there - the people who mattered, who had bled and laughed and fought beside you. The ones who’d become family when bloodlines stopped meaning anything.

Remus officiated, because of course he did. He stood in worn robes, clutching a piece of parchment he barely needed to glance at, his voice steady despite the tremble in his hands. He kept it simple, heartfelt. There were no flowery vows, no overly rehearsed speeches - just truth spoken between people who knew how precious time had become.

Lily cried, openly, beautifully - tears glinting in the sunlight as she clutched James’s hand. James looked at her like she hung the stars, then raised a glass and made a toast full of wit and warmth, ending with, “To love that fights, even when the world’s falling down.”

Sirius kissed you like a vow, like he could stitch you into the present with just his mouth on yours. There was no audience in that moment, no war, no future - just the weight of his hands on your face, the steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your palms. A promise sealed in the kind of silence that means everything.

Afterward, when the sky began to burn gold and purple at the edges, and laughter floated over shared food and spiked cider, you pulled him aside. Looked him in the eyes.

“Don’t regret this,” you said.

He smiled at you - not the cocky grin he gave the world, but something gentler, quieter. A smile made just for you.

“Never,” he said. “Not in any lifetime.”

And for a while, things were good. The war kept brewing but you stayed awake, greeting him like it's the best surprise every morning. Only, he greeted you now as his Wife.

Then Harry was born - tiny, wrinkled, and loud enough to shake the walls of the cottage with his arrival. The kind of scream that said, I’m here. I survived.

You were there. In the still-soft hours after, Lily handed him to you, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something fierce and unbreakable.

She placed him in your arms like it was the most natural thing in the world - like she was giving you hope in human form.

He was beautiful. Small fists curled in sleep, a shock of black hair, his father’s stubborn chin already making itself known. And those eyes - not James’s, but hers. Green and bright and knowing.

For a moment, you all forgot there was a war. Just long enough to believe in a future.

You and the Marauders became the babysitters.

It wasn’t official, but it was understood. Harry would grow up surrounded by magic and mischief and unbreakable love - even if the world outside was falling apart. You rocked him to sleep in Lily’s favorite chair, humming lullabies that didn’t quite belong to you.

Remus read him stories in soft, calming tones, changing his voice for each character until the baby would babble back in delight. Peter would bring sweets and toys, always a little awkward, like he was trying to earn a place in a world that had started to drift just beyond his reach.

And Sirius - Sirius made him laugh. Real, belly-deep baby giggles, the kind that echoed through the house and made even the darkest thoughts scatter for a while. He barked like a dog, of course. Poked his tongue out. Pulled ridiculous faces that turned Harry red with laughter and left James wheezing from the couch. Harry adored him.

One night, after the baby had worn himself out and fallen asleep curled in James’ arms, the fire crackling low and quiet in the hearth, Sirius turned to you. His hair was mussed from Harry’s tiny fists, and his smile was soft - the kind that only came out in quiet moments like this.

“He’s so bloody cute,” he whispered, watching the baby’s chest rise and fall. “I think I want one of my own.”

Your breath hitched.

The air felt too still, too sharp. “Sirius - ”

You didn’t have to finish. He saw it instantly - the fear blooming behind your eyes. Fear of the future. Fear of hope. Fear of losing again.

He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours like he was anchoring you.

“It’s alright,” he said gently. “It’s just a thought. We don’t have to. I just. . . I love this. I love you. And I’d never let anything happen. You hear me?”

He touched your cheek then, eyes full of that same vow he’d made the day you married. “If you ever fell asleep again, I’d hold the world steady until you came back.”

You nodded, even as your heart clenched. Because that’s what Sirius Black did - he made impossible promises and meant every one.

And time passed. Quietly, quickly. Like a thief.

Then came the mission.

Just another assignment with the Order. Nothing you hadn’t done before. Nothing worth fearing, not really. But Sirius was tense. He lingered at the door, kissed your forehead too long. Held your hands like they were glass.

You kissed him that night, trying to lighten the mood, trying to be brave for both of you. “If I don’t wake for a while,” you whispered, smiling softly, “tell me you’ll wait again.”

He kissed you back like he was sealing a spell, like he could pour every ounce of magic he had into your skin.

“Always,” he said. “Tomorrow will come for you, love. For us. I’ll be here - handsome as ever - when the sun rises.”

It did not go well. You encountered a death eater and was severely hurt, still alive and fighting but through your fight to stay alive - you slipped into the darkness.

Tomorrow came, and you didn’t wake.

Not the next morning.

Not the next week.

Not when Lily and James were murdered in their home, his body in the hallway leading to the nursery, her body found crumpled over a crib that somehow still held a crying child.

Not when Sirius found them first. Not when he fell to his knees on the floor, screaming James’ name so loud it broke something inside him forever.

Not when Peter turned traitor and vanished in the smoke of his own destruction.

Not when Sirius was blamed - framed - and hunted like a beast. Not when they cornered him on that street and stripped him of everything.

Not even when they dragged him to Azkaban.

You didn’t stir.

He screamed your name in that prison cell. Whispered your promises to the cracks in the stone. Waited for the sunrise that never came.

And still, you didn’t wake.

Not until three years into his sentence, when the war was over, the dead buried, and the child orphaned.

You had promised to be there when the sun rose.

But this time, time didn’t keep its promise.

you left me no, you left me no choice but to stay here forever. . .

end. masterlist

[rawjutsu]

HI :3 p2 of the ":3 with benefits" series

pairing: college aged loser yuuta x college aged lesser loser freader

summary: you run. he texts. you cave. ramen and doujinshi follow.

cw: eh none i think

you didn’t walk out of yuuta’s dorm—you fled. with your bra twisted, one shoe in your hand, and the ghost of his moan still ringing in your ears.

“your tits are so soft—i could die right here—i’d be so happy—”

you practically launched yourself into the hallway before he could finish the sentence. he was still panting, sweaty bangs stuck to his forehead like some sort of deranged hentai protagonist. you handed him your number just to get him to shut up.

“yeah haha sure text me”

you slam the dorm door behind you and don’t stop walking until you’re back at your own building. you delete the hinge app before you’ve even made it out of the parking lot, praying to whatever god watches over chronically online women that he never texts you.

and for a few days… he doesn’t.

you're just starting to breathe again when your phone buzzes.

yuuta 🤷‍♂️ hi :3

you stare at the message for a full minute.

you consider blocking him. you consider changing your number. but for some unholy reason—maybe you bumped your head running from his dorm—you reply.

hi

you stare at the bubble for a beat longer than you should, already regretting everything. but then he sends:

yuuta 🤷‍♂️ wanna get ramen with me? there’s this manga cafe that just opened n it has private booths and curry udon n a bunch of old school stuff :3

...private booths. doujinshi. ramen.

you sigh.

sure why the hell not

. . .

the manga café is cozy, cluttered, and smells like miso broth and freshly printed paper. yuuta’s already waiting at the front, still with that same sheepish smile, dressed in an oversized hoodie with faded black jeans and beat-up converse. the circles under his eyes are still aggressively present, but somehow it works.

“i got us the booth with the tv and the kotatsu table,” he says like he’s trying to impress you. “also, i preordered the spicy pork ramen. i didn’t know your spice tolerance so i got mild but you can swap if you want!!”

the booth is stacked with manga—classics, shoujo, even a few questionable titles you’d never admit to reading. you snort when you see a copy of that one infamous maid-themed bl doujin you’d bought on accident.

you stare at yuuta across the kotatsu table, chopsticks hovering in midair.

he's busy poking at his soft-boiled egg like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. occasionally he lets out a soft “mmm” at the flavor like he's a food critic and not the same man who had hentai girl posters on his ceiling.

the ramen's good. the ambiance? cozy. the playlist overhead is playing old-school anime ops. you should be having fun.

but you’re spiraling.

is this a date? can you even call it a date if you already got folded like a lawn chair by the dude three nights ago? shouldn’t this have happened before the sex? like, chronologically?

you sip your broth like it’ll clear your head, but instead it just burns your tongue.

yuuta looks up and smiles like you didn’t literally run out of his dorm like a bat out of hell the last time you saw him.

“i’m glad you came by, i was kinda nervous you’d block me lol”

did he just say lol out loud?

“i almost did.”

“fair.”

he’s honest, at least.

you glance around the café again, the soft hum of anime bgm blending with the slurp of noodles. there’s a couple in the next booth holding hands over a volume of my love story!! and someone solo-reading berserk with the focus of a monk.

you look back at yuuta.

“so... what is this exactly?”

he tilts his head.

“ramen.”

“no, like… us. this.”

yuuta blinks. his mouth opens, closes, then opens again like he’s buffering. you watch in real-time as his brain loads a response.

“i mean… i guess it’s a date? like, if you want it to be? or it can be just ramen? or like… a doujinshi meetup? with food?”

he says it so casually, like you’re not questioning your whole life and the concept of post-hookup social rituals.

you squint.

“do you normally date girls after railing them with hentai posters above your bed?”

he looks horrified.

“OH MY GOD I MEANT TO TAKE THOSE DOWN—I WASN’T EXPECTING COMPANY THAT DAY—”

you laugh. loudly. you’re not even mad you're just so bewildered. 

yuuta groans and hides behind his bowl, his ears visibly red.

“it’s okay if you don’t want this to be a thing,” he mutters. “i just like hanging out with you. like. you’re funny. and cool. and you knew the artist of that succubus doujin without even checking the spine and that was really hot actually.”

you pause.

that’s… kind of the nicest thing anyone’s said to you on a date. if this is a date. you’re still not sure.

but he’s looking at you now—not in the same way he did that night, all dazed and pussy-drunk—but like he’s actually seeing you.

“thanks,” you say. “that’s... weirdly sweet.”

he grins, cheeks still pink.

and suddenly you're just sitting on the floor next to a large bookcase, knees brushing, trading doujinshi recs with the guy who railed you within an inch of your life then asked if he could "hold your boobs for comfort."

it’s weird.

but it’s not... bad?

you leave the café with a full stomach, a new copy of succubus maid academy vol. 4, and a lingering feeling in your chest you can't quite name. yuuta waves at you as you walk off, still hugging his half-read bl anthology to his chest.

“text me when you get back safe okay!!”

you don’t promise you will.

but you do.

taglist: @isagistar sttaejoon-blog