#I would like to take a moment to tell you about how the middle and the second to last pics make me want nikki to crush my skull

[chuluoyi]

✎ a birthday to remember

- gojo satoru x reader

what is the so-called grand surprise does your husband prepare for your birthday?

genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—massive fluff, comfort, pregnant!reader, (cough) pregnant sex

note: hi peeps it's been ages since i last wrote gojo :') and love entries on that matter *sobs* but here it is... my birthday has passed too but here's to any of you whose birthday is near!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

“Sensei— happy birthday!”

This year, your birthday happened to fall on a workday.

If it were up to you, you would have taken the day off. However, Satoru had been assigned to Osaka and wouldn’t be returning until weekend, so taking leave and staying at home would most likely make you feel lonely.

Not only that, with you entering the fifth month of pregnancy, you figured it was better to stay active. And by the end of the day—you didn’t regret coming in at all. The students were all so sweet, they even chimed in to get you a pretty maternity dress to wear. You couldn’t wait to tell Satoru about them tonight.

You skipped happily toward the parking lot, but right when you turned the corner, suddenly—

“Wifeeeey!”

“Oh my god!”

You let out a loud gasp and took a step back, taking in the view. A sea of colorful balloons, with a man in suit standing right in the middle of it—

Your husband. In flesh. You blinked once, twice— thrice.

“Satoru...?”

He poked his head out of the string of balloons, a beaming, million-dollar grin lit up his face at the sight of your shocked expression. “Wifeeey! Happy birthdaaaaay!”

Before you could even process his sudden appearance, he had you in a chokehold, engulfing you in a bear hug and nuzzling his face against yours with childlike enthusiasm, the faint scent of his cologne filling your senses.

“What are you doing here?!” you half-shrieked, the surprise spilling from your voice.

He pulled back, frowning dramatically. “Ehhh? You don’t want me to be back?”

“Yes—”

His eyes widened as if you’d just committed the gravest betrayal. “You big meanie!”

“No,” you quickly retracted, trying to hold back your own smile at how comically dejected he was. “I mean… aren’t you supposed to be back on Sunday?”

“Heh heh, nope! I lied~” Satoru chirped, his grin returning in full force. “It’s my wifey’s birthday—how could I not come back for you?”

In that moment, your heart fluttered. He was probably saying it for no reason, but the fact that he really did fly back from Osaka just to meet you for your birthday meant a lot to you.

His big, warm hand then gently caressed your visible baby bump, his grin widening when he got a kick. “Ah, right… Hello to you too, baby! Did I startle you too? Sorry~”

You rolled your eyes, retorting, “He is terrified.”

Satoru leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper directed at your belly. “Don’t worry, baby. Papa’s here now, and he’s got balloons. That makes everything better, right?”

“...how long have you been standing here with these balloons?”

“Hmmm, not long. About an hour, maybe?”

“You shithead—why didn’t you just come inside?”

Satoru’s gasp of mock offense made you laugh despite yourself. “And ruin the surprise? My wifey deserves the full dramatic effect!”

Being Gojo Satoru’s wife certainly came with its fair share of patience-testing episodes, and sometimes you wanted to return him to Yaga for additional lessons of discipline.

But it was candid, over-the-top acts like this that reminded you just how lucky you were to have him.

Satoru brought you to a high-end restaurant for your birthday dinner before the two of you finally returned home.

And the moment you opened the door, you were greeted by countless balloons floating on the ceiling and the ground, the fairy lights illuminating the room in a cozy glow.

You were taken aback, mesmerized by the sight. “When did you even have the time to decorate the house?”

He grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “I have many little helpers—”

“Don't tell me it's Ichiji and Nanami? Satoru, you—!”

“I promised Nanami I wouldn’t make him blow up balloons! Though I might have heard him grumble something about being above this…”

"You're unbelievable..." You let out a resigned sigh, yet still smiling as you stepped further into the living room, now bathed in the soft, golden glow.

Satoru observed you with a quiet smile. His pretty wife, and the small life within you. He adored you the most out of everyone else in this twisted world.

Click! Click!

"Huh?" You turned to him when you heard the distinct sound of a camera shutter.

Satoru was holding his phone, an amused glint in his eyes. “Just capturing the moment, you know. You, the lights, and baby. It's perfect.”

You giggled. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

He shrugged, that signature grin returning. “What can I say? You’re beautiful.”

Later, you'd find out that one of the photos would be his lock screen from now on. It would be the first thing he saw every time he unlocked his phone.

Satoru brought out the box he had prepared, handing it to you with a sly grin. “Look, sweets, before we go to bed, I have one more gift for you—and you have to wear it now.”

You arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, as you took the box from his hands. The moment you opened it and pulled out the contents, you froze.

“—?! Satoru!”

A scarlet lingerie set. The bra features intricate lace trim along the edges, and the matching panties are equally bold, with a sheer lace overlay. Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at Satoru, who was watching you with an winning grin, clearly pleased with his choice.

“What?” he challenged. “They'll suit you, c'mon.”

“You're absolutely shameless.”

“But you love me anyway~”

You let out a defeated sigh, glancing up at him, already realizing there was no way out of this now.

“You’re lucky I’ve hit my head somewhere and married you.”

. . .

He was right. It fit you perfectly.

The moment you got out of the bathroom, Satoru could feel himself getting hard already. You looked like a vision, the deep red seemed to highlight your every curve, turning you into an effortless seductress.

And not only that, you were adorable too— fiddling with your fingers and touching your rounded belly, barely hiding how self-conscious you were.

"Don't just stare at me..." you mumbled, glaring at him.

He reached out, gently brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch tender despite the fire in his eyes. “You’re making it hard to look away, you know.”

His hands then trailed down, skimming the sides of your body, each touch lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. It was almost as if he was unraveling you, piece by piece, and you weren’t sure whether to pull away or pull him closer.

And wait... was it just you or were the space between your legs indeed getting hotter and wetter?

As if reading your mind, suddenly two of his fingers touched your barely clad pussy, and you gasped. That's right— there is indeed a hole in this freaking lingerie!

"Are... we...?" you swallowed, your gaze meeting his.

"Can I?" he asked back, voice husky. His crystal clear eyes burning with lust as he assessed you— from your eyes, lips, and then the inviting sight of your cleavage.

Did you want this?

Of course you were. Your birthday was still far from over, and you missed him too.

In response, you pushed his already hovering fingers inside you, making you hold your breath. From that point on, Satoru knew what you wanted.

Without another word, he rubbed soft circles around your clit, and you let out an unabashed moan at the contact, clinging to his shoulders for support. "Ahh..."

He teased you for a while, before slowly entering his fingers into your throbbing folds, and you were close to collapsing if it weren't for his secure hold over you.

"You're so, so damn naughty..." he whispered lowly in your ear. It was taking everything he had not to lose it right then and there. He wanted you to be as comfortable as possible, but the sight of your writhing face and that baby bump was damn distracting and ignited the beast inside him.

He made you pregnant already, but there was just this primal desire— wanting to mark you more...

His fingers slowly pumped in and out of you, dragging them deep but just not deep enough—

"Please..." you scratched his back unwittingly, frustrated at his shirt that got in the way. "I-I... want... you..."

How sweet. Satoru relished in your titillating breaths and chuckled, vigorously continuing his dirty ministrations.

"Say it louder," he growled in your ears. "Can't hear you."

The bastard. You yanked his hair and made him catch your teary gaze. "I... want you..."

Sinful desire flared to life at your words. "Your wish is my command, missus."

Satoru suddenly pulled out his fingers—ignoring the whine you accidentally let out for being empty all of a sudden—and admired the sheen, sticky whiteness on them.

"I barely did anything and you're this wet already," he snorted, tasting it. "They're right about the pregnancy hormones."

He placed his hand on your waist, pressing a kiss on the firm skin of your belly, before undoing his belt and trousers and pulling out his hardened member.

The sight made you actually gulp, especially when he pumped it. He pulled you to his lap and guided his pride to your sopping entrance. The moment he inserted himself, he let out a groan of relief, while you arched your back and hissed, "Ngh!"

Satoru captured your lips, his hand pressing against your aching spine. He pulled you closer, urging you to take him completely.

"Ahh— ugh... mrgh!" you sighed against his neck as soon as you did, trying to even your breath. This was something you had done so many times before, but why was this time felt like an awakening of some sorts?

"Most beautiful," he breathed in your ear wickedly. "Don't worry, leave everything to me."

He rocked his hips against yours, one hand on your back and the other gripping your thigh. With each salacious thrust, you mewled and he panted, keeping you steady all the while.

He could feel your baby bump rubbing against as his toned abs, going along with the rhythm. Satoru grinned proudly, noticing how much it had grown over the past few months. The baby must be healthy in there, huh?

The relief somehow spurred him into pick up his pace, thrusting you more deeply than before. You almost squealed.

"You know what?" he grunted, mind hazed. He didn't really realize what he was saying to you, to be honest. "You're the prettiest when you're like this— round and full, with my kid."

You only caught the lewdness in his words, but you weren't able to ponder about it as he suddenly buried his face into your supple breasts.

"Look at them, getting bigger too— these days..." He sucked on the sensitive skin and you gasped in pleasure, crying out afterwards when he fondled them with both hands.

Your senses were overly heightened and you knew you wouldn't last long. Satoru too knew he was nearing his orgasm as he tore your new bra and sucked on the mound, furthering your never-ending moans, causing your eyes to roll back as the blinding pleasure overtook you— pushing you to cum right then and there.

In the next second, he pushed you into him impossibly deeper, and his hot release gushed inside your womb. You writhed at the sudden fullness, before getting limp and collapsed into him, not even realizing that you had squirted all over his lap and dress shirt.

Your husband glanced at you, in disbelief himself at the messy scene, but utterly satisfied as his bright eyes twinkled. "Heh..."

You were awoken at three in the morning, and the first thing you noticed was that you were in Satoru's warm embrace.

His arms were wrapped around you securely, holding you close as if he were protecting you even in his sleep. You must have passed out afterwards, as all you recalled was the numbing exhaustion.

Yet you knew for certain that Satoru had cleaned you up, dressed you in your pajamas, and even placed a heat pad on your hips to soothe you.

(He remembered the one time you woke up with cramps right after a raunchy night before)

Your husband was a cheeky shit, but for you, he was willing to go extra miles. It was an overlooked fact sometimes due to how unserious he was, but each time he did and you were reminded of it, your heart always soared.

Looking up, you found his peaceful sleeping face, and not for the first time, you couldn’t help but marvel at how truly handsome he was. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you gently caressed his face.

"Hmm...?" he frowned adorably, and you almost giggled. But when he cracked his eyes open, you almost regretted it—oh yes, he is a light sleeper.

"Sweets...? Can't sleep...?" He turned to you, voice thick with sleepiness. "Anything wrong?"

"No, I'm just watching you." You smiled, poking his cheek. "Go back to sleep."

"Really? Nothing's amiss?" His hand gently slid to your belly, giving it a reassuring rub. "You have to tell me if anything’s not right..."

"Hush, I'm fine."

After making sure you were indeed fine, Satoru tightened his arms over you and pressed his eyes shut. You wrapped your arms around his back in response, feeling his steady warmth. Right in this moment, you were overwhelmed with this gentle, soft feeling— love, the kind he gave you so freely and candidly.

Your birthday had passed, but if there was one wish only he could fulfill, surely you could still ask him, right?

"Satoru..." you muttered, feeling the cool breeze of the air conditioner lulling you back to sleep. "Will you stay with me... forever?"

A smile curled on his lips at your question, his eyes still closed. "Silly girl, it's your bedtime, so why ask that?"

You thought he wouldn't answer it as he didn't say anything more. But right before you drift into deep sleep, he pressed a sweet kiss to the crown of your head, giving you his promise— one that felt truer than anything else he had said to you before.

"I will... so you must stay with me too, got it?"

[sunnycantaloupe]

"Since when was this marriage valid?!" Piece 2

Malleus's segment

This with Malleus, who as a young child was able to evade his caretakers and find himself in the forest near the palace. Hood over his head, he explored the area, admiring the wildflowers and trees. He was saddened when the small woodland creatures would run from him, but he didn't let it dampen his mood.

As he walked, he eventually came across a semi small clearing. In the middle of it, sat you as a child, making flower crowns and trying (along with failing) to climb trees in order to get to the birds on them. He wasn't sure if he should approach, thinking back to the times earlier when the animals evaded him. Before he could make a decision, you spotted him.

Instead of running, you eagerly approached him. You talked about how you couldn't see his face, but that you didn't care and asked him to join you. He nodded, very happy that you didn't run away out of fear.

For the next hour or so, you taught him how to make flower crowns, how to get the birds to come to him (which did not work), and other trivial stuff. Eventually, he took off his hood, expecting you to run away in fear or embarrassment because of his status. Your actual reaction made him so, so happy.

You stared wide eyed before excitedly going on about how "pretty" he was. How he must be a prince (you didn't recognize him????) for him to look so cool. How you were so glad to have him as a new friend now. Malleus was awestruck as he watched you flutter around him excitedly.

At one point, you claimed that you wanted him to marry you. When Malleus asked why, you said it was because you were never going to let him forget you, and that marriage was the only way to ensure that (you were a kid, give yourself some slack). That made sense to him, so he agreed.

You both picked a wild flower that you liked best and used some magic to preserve it. Then, you exchanged it with each other, you giving him a smile.

You two had been playing for hours, and it began to get dark. You heard your mother call out for you to come home, along with Malleus hearing footsteps coming from behind him. You both said goodbye, you telling him that "you'll know I'm home if the chimney is on!".

The week that followed was a very happy week for the both of you. You told your parents about your new "husband", which they laughed off and joked that you would have to bring him home eventually. Malleus told his caretaker about you, who seemed to already know and cheekily asked if he had fun. You would meet everyday, you bringing him snacks for him to try and him bringing his favorite book for you to read.

All was well, until one day you came to him in tears. You told him about how your parents were going to take you far away, and that you wouldn't be able to see him anymore. You confessed that they talked about how you had a "bad memory", and that you were scared you were going to wake up one day and not remember him. He comforted you as best he could, and assured you that it was ok. "I can remember for the both of us." he said, which cheered you up a bit.

With that, you waved him goodbye for the last time, promising him that you would come back. As your family packed up, you gave the preserved flower a hug before putting it away in your luggage. By the time night fell, your family was gone.

...

Many, many years have passed since then, and Malleus was newly appointed as the king of Briar Valley, after his grandmother stepped down. He was prepared all his life for this, and his grandmother deemed him ready.

Growing up, he always looked out his window. He was keeping an eye out for smoke in the forest near his castle, looking for any sign that you came back. He kept his flower preserved over the years, keeping it on his bedside table next to him while he slept every night.

One day, after his duties, he retired to his chambers. It wasn't quite late in the day, but he was still tired. At that moment, his advisor (the cheeky one that used to be one of his caretakers) suggested that he looked out his window. As he did, his eyes widened. There was smoke.

You had come back, albeit a few weeks ago. Many years have gone by and your parents let you have the small cottage that you grew up in, after you expressed interest in returning to Briar Valley. Soon after, you packed up your stuff and moved back. Nostalgia flooded your mind as you walked through that forest, through the small clearing, and up the steps to the cottage door.

You placed the preserved flower on your bedside table, in the same spot where you put it as a kid. Due to your now diagnosed memory problem, you couldn't remember exactly why you had it, just that it was given to you by someone you cared about. In fact, this mystery person was the reason you even came back. You were always someone that trusted your gut, so you went with that assumption.

The first weeks you were back home were spent cleaning up the place. It had been unoccupied for a really long time (by human standards at least), so it needed a little tidying up. By the time you had finished, a few weeks went by and you decided to enjoy the newly cleaned space by lighting up the old chimney and sipping some tea you bought in town.

Life went by peacefully...until one day when you were trying to make bread yourself, there was loud knocking at the door. You had half the mind to give the visitor hell, and you were ready to do that until you opened the door and came face to face with two royal guards.

At first, you freaked out. You thought you were in trouble somehow, because why else would the royal guard be at your doorstep. Before you could freak out further, the louder of the two guards opened a scroll, loudly proclaiming that your attendance was urgently requested by the newly appointed king, so that you may be formally crowned as his spouse.

See? He told you that he could remember for the both of you.

A/N: Here's Mal's piece! Funfact, his, Leona's, and Idia's segments are the only ones that take place in the original twst universe. Happy reading!

[sh1-n0bu]

bello, not sure if your taking requests so this will be my little thirst😼

was thinking about the elf bf and how intimacy is so foreign to him! How good your touches feel on his heated skin but what was this odd feeling? The coil in his tummy getting tighter with each grind of his hips on your thigh. The feeling felt so weird.. it feels good? is this good? he doesn’t want to disappoint you, or worse, scare you away! so he stops himself, letting his hips slow their grind for a moment. Inadvertently edging himself!

id like to imagine if he touched himself he would stop before cumming as well, he doesn’t know what it is! it feels so odd, makes him feel hot all over!

After he slows his grinds, you would be a bit confused…, does he not want to cum? or does he want to wait til your inside him? it takes a bit before you even think that maybe he hasn’t gotten that far before, the idea that you get to corrupt him making your face heat. Goodness he would be so pretty, teary eyes begging for you to slow down. Hips bruised from how rough you had grabbed him!

and to think, when he finally cums? its so overwhelming. heat spreading through his body, mind numbing as his legs twitch slightly? his pretty cock leaking onto his stomach? GOOD LORD I NEED IT💥💥💥

ty for listening nobu🫶🏼 we love you pls dont die

(low key my first ask, hope you enjoyed as i dont write much)

bellooooo, me is not taking requests for now but im still open for brainrots/thirsts!!!!

good lawdddd y’all gotta stop corrupting me more, my horny level can’t keep up guys. so i haven’t read the history of middle earth and all abt the biologies and cultures of the races tolkien created but i have come across multiple posts or points of people pointing out that sex and intimacy is an extremely important and raw thing. like how a constant friction creates fire over time and how that fire spreads into a wildfire that consumes everything, that’s how it is to elves and their culture. courting is important and it could go for a very long time until they decide to officially tie the knot. yet even after getting married, the consummation won’t happen in a while, first the couple must at least intertwine their fëa (soul) and so, the consummation act is more intense and powerful. its a very draining thing, when elves fuck, they fuck. long and hard, probably all night and into the next morning and even evening perhaps. they’re immortals, they have a monster amount of stamina

so with this info in mind, u gotta realize that elves do have knowledge of sex, how it usually feels etc and how near sacred it is to their kin. love is a fragile thing that will cross their eternal life only once and when they love, boy do they love. yet something tells me that despite having knowledge of sex, masturbation and other fleshly pleasures, they don’t participate in it much. its like they barely have anything that gets them pent up or sexually frustrated until they fall in love. and if it is a mortal? oh boy, they are confused and yearning. it’s like an instant neuron activation for them

the poor elf would barely know what to do with these thoughts and imaginations of you and him in such a compromising position. images of you guiding him through your first times together, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings into his sensitive, pointy ear while he shrivels with embarrassing noises on your lap. oh how those calloused, hardened hands would feel when tightly fisting at his cock, draining him dry and milking every last drop of his cum. how those long, thick fingers would feel when thrusting inside him, scissoring him open and making him squeal. good god, don’t even get him started on the dirty images he thinks of you when he looks at those arms and thighs of yours, he’s imagining himself riding that muscle until he soils his pants or how your hands would push his head down to fully swallow your cock into his throat

would it taste as how it is described in the eroticas? would your precum be salty as your thick cock head pushes past his soft lips with your soothing voice instructing him to “open wide, puppy”? would you be so mean as to fist at his gorgeous locks and fuck into his mouth, use him to your own pleasure? he would be a good puppy for that, taking whatever you had to give him with red cheeks and hands obediently held on his lap. like a good puppy, he would open his mouth, tongue out like an eager little dog waiting for the taste of his favorite snack as you stroke your dick, a low moan falling as he finally taste your load shoot into his awaiting open jaws

and when his dirty thoughts are finally granted and turned into reality? he’s a goner. scrambling on his feet, tripping over his words, mind blanking as he feels your hands grope his ass over the linen of his pants. feeling like a young ellon rather than the full grown elf he is when your hands fiddle with the buckle of your belt, gulping down the saliva in his mouth as he sees your strap spring out of your undergarment

with a shaky hand, he would grip your strap, meagerly stroking his hands up and down with a stuttered “i-is this okay…?” oh dear stars, how badly you wanted to just fuck him dumb right then and there, seeing the cute pouting lips, big eyes staring at you for an approval as he weakly asks for your preference. how fast he is to crumble when he feels your rough hand wrap around both your and his own dicks, stroking them together with a slow pace, occasionally spitting on them. his mind was already blanking, and he was sure that he had already came into your hand the moment you touched him

“w-wait a—annh!! mmh uhnng♡︎ h-hold owwnn♡︎ i ju-ust c-came! i came alreanngh already...♡︎!!” the poor elf weakly cried out, falling back into the sea of soft pillows as his hands shook by his chest, where he held them close to himself. he was sure you could hear the rapid beating of his heart, embarrassed by the noises he kept letting out despite biting down on his lips to shut himself up. poor sweetheart, doesn’t even know that the thing dripping down onto his stomach is his pre-ejaculation and not his cum! “shh shh… it’s alright, darling. i’ll be sure to teach you all about the fleshly pleasures tonight♡︎” and you were going to absolutely ruin him

sweet virgin elf who crumples into a heap of mess after experiencing his first cum. moaning and even squealing as his hands flailed around, unable to choose whether to hold onto your arms or to claw at the blanket beneath himself as you continue to keep going despite his whines of having already came. you were so mean, quickening your pace and even squeezing your dicks together, he was so sure that he blacked out when you first did that or swiped a thumb over his oozing tip. arms covering his face to hide the flush of his cheeks and the drooped ears, crying out to you that he was going to die. so dramatic

“sh-stooohpp..! stop stopstopstop—stop it♡︎♡︎! i came!! i nyaagh ungh guhc—came! i alreaawdyy camee…♥︎!” the elf cried out, already slurring his words together as his hips grind back and forth on the bed until your free hand comes up to keep it down in place with a bruising grip. your sweet boyfriend could only cry out, a broken whine falling as he shook his head, looking down at your hand that held down his hip before shifting to look at where your cocks were touching. held together in a tight fist, your hand already soiled with his cute load of precum as well as his stomach. he never noticed it before but gods, your strap was dwarfing him in size and girth. he would surely die if he takes that big thing inside himself!

but when you don’t seem to hear his pleas and only continue to fuck your strap and his weeping cock together in a faster pace into the tight grip of your fist — even rocking your hips forward too! — the poor elf was sure he was going to see the bright skies of valinor that night. whimpers turning into broken wails, punched out sobs of your name falling out of his now bloodied lips as he covers his face with his hands. he could feel the hot tears that fell from his eyes, wiping them away with cute pathetic sniffles as you tighten your fist just at the heads. another squeeze and one more before he was crying out your name in a shrill scream, his legs around your hips tightening, shaking even, as he finally feels himself cumming alongside you. translucent colored seeds mixing together, dirtying his stomach and even shooting up to his heaving chest

“…s-shoo goowdd… aaanh hhagc—♡︎ c-cum..♥︎ cumming ’gainn hhgaaa♥︎ ughk haahg [n-naawme], [namenamenamena—]♥︎♥︎” the elf sobbed out weakly, a putty in your hands as he feels his cock slowly grow flaccid. if it weren’t for the rough pads of your fingers tracing circles around his clenching rim and the feeling of your clean hand push away his hands from his face, your elf bf would have most definitely been sure that he had died and was re-embodied. yet despite the fuzziness in his brain and the way his blood seemed to circulate too quickly through his veins, his body unconsciously pressed itself against you, against your fingers as if seeking for more pleasure

thats enough thirsting yall, go do yalls assignments

[thethingsnerd]

This one. I like this one. Fic under the cut

“Your input is not necessary.”

It’s not the first time Bruce had said that to Dick tonight. It would be less frustrating if B was making better calls- he’s not really listening to anyone else tonight, not just Dick, and his decision making is suffering for it.

Everyone's tempers are suffering for it, too.

It starts with Oracle, who hates when Batman falls back into bad habits like this as much as Dick does, and has twice as less patience for it. She's curtly professional from the word "go" and when Dick offers to bring her a pint of cherry garcia later, Barbara tells him to shove it up his ass instead. Dick doesn't take it personally.

Next is Cass, who's always extra stressed when Barbara's upset. Even so, it blindsides Dick. They'd ended up at the same shootout, they'd efficiently gotten the surrounding civilians to safety, they'd worked together beautifully. They de-escalate the gun fight next, and Dick knocks a gun out of a gangster's hand before he can shoot Blackbat in the back. He doesn't think twice about it until Cass starts castigating him on the roof.

"I didn't need help."

"He was behind you. That's the whole point of a patrol partner, Blackbat, so someone can cover your six."

"No."

"No?"

"You were out of rhythm."

"I was not-"

"You're throwing me off."

She's running before Dick can say anything else. He could catch up with her, if he really tried, but he's still not sure what that was about. Maybe Dick is as out-of-sync as Cass insisted, or maybe Cass is feeling off-kilter herself. Either way, he doesn't go after her.

The rest of the night shift is uneventful, aside from the snipe over comms. Back at the Cave is a different story. Steph and Tim are arguing when Dick rolls in, and Dick gets all of three steps toward the computer before they round on him instead.

"Dick! Tell Tim that-"

"No, Dick, inform Stephanie-"

"Oooh full name, I'm so chastened, Timothy-"

"You should be embarrassed-"

"Okay!" Dick interjects. "What is the problem?"

Steph glances between Dick and Tim, glances at her feet, then sighs aggressively. "Nothing," she grits out. "Absolutely nothing, so for once in your life leave it alone, you busybody."

Dick watches as she stomps away. Just a bad night, he has to remind himself that it's just a bad night. Tim shakes his head when Dick glances at him, so Dick heads straight to the showers.

Clean, warm, and dressed down in comfy sweats, Dick feels much better than has all day. He'd passed Damian on the stairs, but something was clearly eating at the kid- he'd taken one look at Dick and turned sharply in the other direction. Hiding. Dick's been there, and valiantly tries not to take it personally.

He decides to make himself some chamomile (he'll never take sleeping pills again after don't think about it) and takes a moment to check in with himself. His therapist would be proud. Alfred would be proud of how nicely his chamomile turns out; Dick almost always understeeps herbal tea but tonight he's gotten it just right.

Dick sips his tea. He takes inventory of his injuries; minimal bruising, achy lower back, tender left wrist. Pretty good. Then takes stock of the rest of him; tired but not yet sleepy, agitated but not too badly. All in all, considering all the tension, tonight definitely could have been worse.

Famous last words.

Tim walks into the kitchen just as Dick gets to the dregs of his chamomile. Dick nods at him in greeting, and Tim does not take it well.

"Oh, now you acknowledge me?"

Dick does not sigh. He doesn't but it is such a near thing. "Did I not acknowledge you some other time tonight?"

"I asked you to back me up downstairs and you totally ignored me!"

"I did no such thing. You were in the middle of an argument I didn't catch the start of, so I asked what the problem was. How is that ignoring you?"

"I asked you for backup and you didn't come through," Tim hisses.

"Backup in the field and backup in a lovers' quarrel are not the same-"

"It wasn't a- a lovers' quarrel, asshat!"

"Well, how am I supposed to know when you don't say what's really going on?"

"You shouldn't need to know! I asked for backup-the only thing you're good for is backup and you couldn't even do that right!"

......yeah, alright, there's no getting around it. Dick is going to have to take that personally.

Dick deliberately turns away from Tim. He rinses out his teacup so the porcelain won't stain. Then, he takes a long, centering breath, and decides to do something he hasn't done in a long time.

"That how you really feel, Tim?" One more out.

"Yes."

Dick decides to cut his losses.

"Okay then."

"Okay?" Tim asks. Clearly still angry but now confused as well. It's a bad look for him. "This is not an 'okay' kind of situation."

"Not from your angle," Dick says. It's the only reply Tim gets before Dick makes his way upstairs.

Last time he left Gotham at dawn, Dick had nothing but a backpack and stolen emergency cash. This time, Dick is a grown man and a lot less desperate, not to mention a lot less injured, so he digs out his civilian suitcase and actually plans out what he wants to take.

He packs jackets, pajamas, shaving razors, plenty of socks- the kinds of things that are only expensive when purchased by the Wayne Estate, and that he won't buy for himself. All shoes go in a beach bag he has stashed in his closet, except for his loafers which go in the bottom of the dress bag with his most tolerable black tie suit. That had annoyed him last time, he remembers- Alfred had always been so militantly insistent on perfect tailoring that the baggy fit of Dick's off-the-rack replacement had been an unbearable insult to injury.

Other personal affects get tucked in the suitcase with care, bits and bobs, odds and ends, and he zips up everything just as the clock hits 4:00. Even the most workaholic bats should be in bed by now, or at least upstairs, so he should be good for a pop down.

Dick has a Nightwing stash on the edge of the city, and he'll get most of his kit from there, but his costume and his current favorite pair of escrima sticks are going with him now, neatly folded into a briefcase. Dick also nabs a keyring on his way out of Bruce's office.

The car keys used to stay in the garage with their respective vehicles, but one too many joyrides had prompted Bruce to hoard all the keys in a desk drawer instead. The first time Dick had seen them under the monogrammed stationary Bruce never uses, he'd laughed out loud.

It pains Dick to leave his bike behind, but even though Dick doesn't have a lot of luggage, it's still too much for a motorcycle. He'd considered which car to take carefully; no flashy sports car, obviously, but also not one that Bruce is particularly fond of. He needs a car for practical reasons, not spite, so Dick settles on the least ostentatious Audi and tries to think of anything else he might want in the next five-to-ten years.

Dick takes the box of chamomile tea bags.

__________

Donna opens her apartment door on the fourth knock. The look on her face is superficially friendly that Dick's proud of her- of course, she smiles for real when she registers just who it is at her door. Dick finds himself smiling back before he decides to.

"Hey, Donna. Mind if I crash here for a minute?"

Donna raises a curious eyebrow, and Dick bites his lips to keep from grinning. Donna ushers him inside without a word, locks her door, and all but pushes Dick into a bar stool. Donna sits herself up on her counter in front of him and demands eye contact.

"When you say a minute, do you mean a New York minute?"

Dick slides his eyes away and toward her couch. "I mean a lot of minutes. I'm cutting Gotham off."

"AAAA!" Donna picks him up and spins him in the air for several more turns than he thinks this really warrants. Then Donna sets them on the floor just to twirl Dick around even more, and he giggles. Part amusement, mostly relief; Donna wouldn't be so excited if he'd come at a bad time.

"Was the scream of delight necessary?" He asks, still laughing.

"Entirely," she says, mock serious. "This is a delightful day."

Donna sobers a bit at her own words. She eyes him more thoroughly, "It is a delightful day, yes?"

He knows that Donna knows he wouldn't decide to cut contact for no reason, that's not the real question. The answer to her question, which is 'are you reeling from what it was', is thankfully 'no'. Not today.

"Yeah," Dick says honestly. "Peachy, even."

Donna smiles at him.

She deposits him back at her kitchen counter, declares she's going to make real breakfast- apparently she's been breaking her fast with fruit jerky all week- and starts grilling Dick the same time she starts frying up sfakianopita.

"So which straw broke the camel's back?"

"My brother implied I'm mildly useless and I took offense."

"Only 'mildly' useless convinced you to get out of hell? I'm not complaining, but that doesn't sound like you."

Dick bites down the instinctive urge to deflect, to push her away. Donna wouldn't care even if Tim insulting him had been his only grievance. Donna is happy to have him here.

"Nah, it was more of a... death of a thousand cuts kind of thing. Yesterday was a bad night, and I thought about it some- which, you know how that usually goes- I thought about it, and I'm tired of not taking any of it personally. Even if they don't mean it, I don't want to put up with it. Then Tim comes in with an unmistakably personal attack and...."

"And you made the best decision."

Dick's mouth twitches up. "They wouldn't call it that."

"They have terrible decision making skills."

Donna starts stacking the sfakianopita on two plates.

"That's not true, they just don't always pay attention."

"Who does these days?" Donna gripes.

"You," Dick says.

Donna turns toward him, one hand on her hip, one hand pointing her spatula at Dick's face. "You don't make it easy, Dick."

Dick shrugs emphatically. "What can I say? I was born difficult."

"Not difficult," Donna shakes her head. "Just challenging."

"And you like a challenge?" Dick grins.

Donna bops him on the shoulder with the spatula. "Get it right, Dick. I love a challenge."

Well, doesn't that make Dick feel warm and cozy? Donna smirks at him like she's won something (she has and they both know it) and turns to root through her fridge for cheese. Dick gets out of his seat to find the honey while she does.

__________

Dick crashes on Donna's couch for exactly nine days before she tells him they're getting a new place together. Dick tells Donna that he always intended on getting his own space- a misstep, since Donna argues that's exactly why they should get a new apartment. A two bedroom, where Dick can have more privacy.

"I don't want to impose, Donna."

"Have you ever considered what I want?"

Dick sighs. "What do you want, Don?"

"I want company. It's been a lonely year, D. I enjoy when my friends impose."

There's not much he can say to argue that. Isolating himself never leads Dick anywhere good, anyway.

Between apartment hunting and catching up, Donna and Dick fight supervillains. New York City never lacks for things to do- smugglers to send packing, wannabe world conqueror to thwart, assholes to kick in the face. Dick had honestly forgotten how fun it is to patrol during the day.

He adds some some gold back into his costume. Dick's surprised by how much he likes it- it was his idea, yet when he catches glimpses of blue and gold and black all blurring together in high rise windows, beside Donna's sea of stars, Dick feels more like himself than he has in long, long time.

He starts picking up a lot of dropped habits. He makes dinner; real dinner, like Madam Vasilyev used to make on the train's little stove, and like he would sometimes make for the Titans for family team dinners. It's so much easier to make things when it isn't for him alone. Donna is happy to let him, having no great love of cooking herself, and always supportive of non-cape hobbies.

She's full of surprises, though. Dick had tried to teach all of his friends at least one or two meals they could make from scratch themselves, just in case. He hadn't thought about whether any of it had been retained, though, not now, so many years removed. Not until Donna one day bestows upon him a pot of chicken paprikash and he almost cries.

It's delicious. Just like his parents used to make, whenever they could find a grocer who sold paprika. Just like he taught Donna to make it in the Tower an entire lifetime ago.

"Did I get it right?"

"Did you make it with love?"

"Of course."

"Then you got it perfectly right."

Other than dinner, he starts gardening. Nothing serious, but the new apartment has a couple of windows, so Dick plants a window box full of herbs.

He plants cilantro first. The seeds were on sale at the hardware store, so the whole box was just cilantro, for a while. Donna buys live basil from a grocer she likes, so one of the cilantros gets pawned off to a neighbor, and their pasta sauces taste awesome.

It's not the most exciting hobby, but it gets him out of bed on Bad Days.

Those days, it's hard to do anything at all. It hits him, when the clouds are just the wrong color, that he and Bruce are on the outs again. He hates being on the outs with Bruce, hates that it means another bond between them has snapped. Makes him catastrophize about whether or not this is finally the fence that can't be mended.

At least it's not nearly as bad as it was Before. Dick hadn't understood, back then, what Bruce's problem was. Now that he's older he knows Bruce had never had to let someone walk away before- even with Talia, B had been the one to walk away first- and took Dick's bid for independence badly as a result.

He'd swung by Gotham exactly once for Jason, and stole the kid away to Tower at every opportunity. He'd made sure Jase was present in Dick's space the way Dick was no longer welcome in Bruce's.

He'd gone back to Gotham exactly one other time, after Bruce held Jason's funeral without so much a ping on Dick's pager. All that accomplished was losing Dick his house key. Until Tim barged in.

Donna and Dick were winding down for the night, enjoying a nice bottle of wine and a shared bowl of plantain chips, when Dick makes another decision.

"Donna."

"Dick." She tosses a chip in the air so she can catch it in her mouth.

"I've had an epiphany." He swirls the wine in his glass playfully. Donna leans forward in her chair.

"Do tell."

"Every time I don't want to talk to Bruce, he finds a new stray child to bring home. And I always go, because what I am supposed to do? Not keep an eye on them? But Bruce has a billion orphans-"

Donna snorts. "A billion?"

"Okay, fine, half a dozen orphan children roosting in his house full of ghosts, and it's probably inevitable that there will be another and you know what, sister?" He drains the rest of his wine glass while she stares at him.

Donna seems to consider him, or maybe she zones out, but after a moment she similarly liberates her glass of its wine.

"Lay it on me, Robin."

"I'm not going back this time. Not until someone actually apologizes, not if there's a new bat, not if there's another secret baby, not for any of that bullshit. Tim's as old as I was when Tim first came around, so he can deal with it. Or Cass. Or Babs. Or Bruce can keep his act together for longer than two weeks at a time I don't care. I won't be lured back for family drama. Not this time."

Dick stops to breathe. A mistake, really, as it's the perfect opportunity for stinging anxiety to start buzzing under every inch of his skin. He's an idiot. What a stupid thing to say, what a stupid idea to even have-

Donna is in front of Dick. When did she get out of her chair?

"Richard John Grayson."

"Donna Hinckley Stacy Troy."

I've come to a decision, too. Tell me if it's a good one."

Then she pulls him into a hug. Dick swallows heavily and lets himself be held, for a while.

"Good decision?" Donna asks.

"I think so," he says. He wraps his arms around Donna, reciprocating- God, how long has it been since he's had a reciprocal relationship? Donna squeezes and he throws the thought out of his mind. The awful pull against his insides has subsided, so now he's just warm and loose.

"Donna, do you like my decision?"

"I really really do."

__________

When they were still in Donna's old apartment, various Gothamites tried to contact him. A lot of voicemails are angry and accusing. He listens to them once just in case and deletes them right after. He gets texts from Tim that he knows are meant as olive branches, but they're all offers of joint patrols, or going over case files together, or similar Mission oriented activities.

It's hard to turn him down, especially since he knows Tim won't understand. It's easier to ignore Bruce's messages, sparse as they are, demanding explanations.

Cass had broken into Donna's apartment. Donna had been out with a friend she met in her photography club, doing yoga maybe? Dick had been making egg fried rice for lunch when a wild Bat appeared.

Dick had smiled politely, which seemed to confuse her. Dick had offered to share his lunch, which seemed to make her feel better.

They’d eaten in silence for a while, Cass occasionally staring hard at him while Dick waited for her to make the first move; exactly how Dick would treat a hungry kid he didn’t know. You never know what will spook a stranger, after all.

Bowls empty, Dick had gone to pick hers up to wash when she caught his wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to wash up after our lunch.”

Cass squints at him, exaggerating her expression to make sure he gets her memo.

“You know what I mean. Don’t pretend.”

“I’m not pretending to do the dishes,” he answers calmly, blandly.

“Stop pretending you don’t know me!”

“What would you prefer I do?”

“Go home.”

“No.”

That doesn’t seem to be what she’d expected him to say. She’d expected pushback, for certain, but flat refusal, nothing else? An unwelcome miscalculation.

“Why not?”

“At the moment, I won’t feel at home in Gotham. As far as I’m concerned I’m at home right now.”

“Liar,” she’d hissed. Dick was watching, tho, and saw the confusion in her stance. Her eyes told her he wasn’t lying at all. Deliberately on Dick’s part, not entirely truthful, yet not entirely manufactured- the apartment may not be special to him, but Donna always will be.

“I have no reason to go to Gotham right now.”

“Your team is there.”

“I’m not on Team Bat at the moment.”

“You can’t quit-“

“Cassandra. My roommate will be home soon. I suggest you leave now, if you have nothing to say on your own behalf.”

It’s a low blow to call her a messenger, to write her off as nothing but a mouthpiece for Bruce or Tim or maybe even Damian. Dick wouldn’t feel bad about it if they weren’t close, so he won’t feel bad about it now; she’s the one who didn’t want partner, Dick’s just respecting her wishes.

Cass stares and keeps staring so long he’s worried she’ll refuse to leave, but then they both heard footsteps in the hall, and by the time Dick turns back toward her she’d already gone.

The next morning, Dick had a new message from Bruce. It was an email, that time, instead of a text, which more than anything actually written lets Dick know Bruce has caught on to what’s happened. What is still happening. The email begins ‘Mr. Grayson-Wayne’ and Dick doesn’t read a single word further.

__________

Wally visits the new apartment shortly after they move in. Apparently, Nightwing being in town again has caught the interest of an opinion columnist or two, and Wally had wanted to see him with his own eyes.

“You’re hanging out with people again!”

“I never stopped,” Dick protests. “We see each other once a month, Wally.”

“Scheduled visits- ugh, it’s like you were in prison, and I only got to see you during your time in the yard.” All of this is dramatically declared as Wally flops on their couch, taking up space and definitely bothering the neighbors.

It should annoy Dick. It should at least hurt his ego. Instead, it makes him bloom into a smile, and throw himself onto the couch next to his friend.

“Donna and I have been having a great time without you,” he teases. “We could have an even better time with you, if you’re up for it.”

“Dickie, I thought you’d never ask.”

The Flash joins Dick and Donna for a fight every now and then, patrolling as often as work and Central City will allow. It’s good- it’s really, really good.

“Why did we disband?”

“Because we grew up?”

“Terrible decision.”

“Adulthood is overrated.”

“I don’t know, I certainly wouldn’t want to be a teenager again, would you?”

“Nah.” “NO!”

Wally looks away from the conversation he started, and his eyes find the window box. “Hey Ds, is that a garden?”

“It’s mine,” Dick says. “Right now it’s just cilantro and basil. I’m open to suggestions.”

Wally gives him a once over, looks again at the plants, then changes the subject. The next time Wally comes over he’s holding a pot of chives.

A couple of months later, there’s a siren hiding out in the Harbor. It kicks Dick’s ass and Donna almost drowns. It occurs to them that they are idiots, and that they should’ve called Garth. Garth, thankfully, both answers his communicator and has time for them, so they get to watch Tempest absolutely destroy the siren.

Afterward, they go for pizza. They ask Garth if he would want to come around more often maybe, just because?

Garth smiles brighter than the moon.

The first time they stop a supervillain downtown together, it’s all the papers will talk about the next day. Someone got an excellent picture of all four of them in action. Flash is about to pounce, so he’s still enough to see. He’s tagged in with Donna, distracting the giant rat monster from the air so Flash can trip it into the river. On the bank, left of center in the photo, Tempest and Nightwing and are on standby. Garth will drench the awful thing, all fifteen stories of it, once it’s close enough to the water, and Nightwing will fry the thing with all the electricity his sticks have got.

They work together smoothly, and they cheer when they win, and the papers all ask, ‘Titans Back Together?’

After a while of mulling it over, they unanimously decide to answer ‘yes’.

Listen I love the ‘dicks being ostracized from his family and self destructs’ trope in fics however

I would like an inverse just once (I could write it but I want this fic to be good so I can enjoy it and I am not the greatest writer) where everyone blows up at him and flat out lays into him and he just goes… okay… if that’s how you feel?

Takes himself off of the patrol routes and rosters. He’s off the emergency calls and his ‘call for city wide emergency’ has been down graded to ‘call for world wide emergency’ he’s no longer on comms with oracle

He stops offering assistance to the other kids teams, doesn’t send info for investigation and doesn’t go within 100feet of Gotham.

Takes himself off the den-mother, baby sitter, trainer for all the younger teams lost that involve any and all bats

In the beginning he vacates his apartment and temporarily moves in with Donna in New York and things are good because of course they are. They’re Dick and Donna a world doesn’t exist where they aren’t okay.

And then his presence in New York leads to a lot of the og core five titans interacting and they realize that they miss each other like hell and start to work together more and more. Until news sites are like ‘teen titans grown up??’ ‘Original titans spotted doing hurricane aid in Florida!’

Because Dick loves his family but he knows when to bow out. And he chose the family he made in the new teen titans.

And then one day one of the bats track him down in nyc and breaks into what is now Dick and Donna’s apartment and are ready to argue that they need him back and need him there for a huge Gotham wide event.

And Dick says ‘sure okay let me get my stuff and we leave in half and hour’ as soon as the first sentence is out

No convincing or begging or asking for money (cough Jason cough)

Dick is patched into their comms and he’s working efficiently except he’s not… acting like himself.

He’s collaborating with whoever they tell him too, no problem, he’s discussing ideal plans and co-ops and teams and how to best get it under control.

But he’s talking to them the way he talks when he’s offering aid to teams he’s not a part of.

Like the hero version of an acquaintance and no one can call him out on it because he’s doing good work. Work that’s on par with his work before this whole fiasco. He explicitly isn’t letting their personal issues affect his work.

He’s speaking but not talking

And Bruce remembers this… he’s probably the only one who does because last time he was the only one included. The last time Dick acted like this is when he first visited Jason and him after he had been fired.

Whenever Bruce was in the room and Dick was forced to speak with him, the conversation never strayed past business casual especially around Jason.

Batman and Nightwing got into screaming matches

Bruce and Dick were strangers

And now they’re back to this, 7 kids later, a million ends of the world stopped, they’ve bled together, cried together and clung to each other in pure relief after they managed to clutch victory.

And Nightwing was treating Batman Inc like a new team stepping onto the scene.

Once they’ve secured everything and managed to keep Bruce from self destructing and making it worse. Dick just leaves and tells oracle that he’ll send over his debrief in 3-5 business days and it was nice working with them.

And then he’s gone

No cave, no manor, no Alfred, no med-bay because Dick doesn’t stay places he’s not welcome.

And after they all talk about that and how weird it was and Bruce reveals Dick did this before when he was Nightwing after Bruce fired, where Dick Grayson didn’t know Bruce Wayne.

And one of the kids asks when he broke and stopped the act and Bruce just says ‘the day he found out Jason died’

And the Batkids kinda freak bc what do you mean?? What is he only going to come back when someone dies? Thats not? There has to be another way?? And Bruce is like yeah no idea sorry (bc he’s helpful like that)

So then Steph the next day resolves to go visit him, Tim isn’t the only professional stalker. And she finds Dick and Donna’s apartment and well it’s daylight and she’s in civvies she’s if she climbs in through the window she might get reported to the NYPD and she doesn’t wanna get arrested or shot to door it is!

And so she goes and knocks and Dick opens the door and just lights up

Something something this is such a nice surprise something something it’s so good to see you.

Dick had taught Donna how to make some of his mother recipes when they were kids. So now whenever they’re together for a long time they cook together.

So Dick who is usually living in a cluttered apartment with no clean dishes and an exclusively grab and go food is now trying to force feed her some of his cooking.

Because he picked up the habit again since he’s the better cook between him and Donna.

And it’s delicious and he wants to catch up and hear everything that’s going on in her life, is she working with new people, dating anyone? How is her relationship with her mother etc etc.

It’s a nice day and she stays late and never confronts him on anything until she sees how long ago the sun set and she needs to get moving.

He hands her paper with his number and makes her promise not to give it to the others or she will lose access to it, he offers to help her on a conditional basis as nightwing but only her, she can call him about the rest if it’s an end of the world or they’re near death and need immediate aid.

And that’s like the fic because the key to winning nightwings assistance is like breathing (optional) but if you’re Dicks family you have to care or else. He’ll love you and help you, when you need it but he won’t tie his life up with yours, he’ll spend his time with people who value his opinion and the person behind the mask.

Anyway cue all the Batkids trying to do what Steph did and fail because they’re neurotic shits who think bonding involves doing casework together or a steak out.

(The next person to crack it is Damian, completely unintentionally he has a fight with Bruce and can’t ask him how the fuck he’s supposed to solve this equation in the new stupid way they’re teaching him no he can’t use the old method they’re supposed to show their work so he pulls up to Dick and Donna’s in a ratty ass hoodie like plz wtf do you mean you work top down explain Grayson- and dicks like awww no problem kid)

[kawoala]

I love ur work and profile and u seem so amazing, if u are taking request could u pls pls write for an ushijima x ice skater reader?

If not u can ignore

Have a good day/night <33

⁝ USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI 𝜗𝜚 glorified hot potato 𝜗𝜚

ᰔ word count ; 645

ᰔ content warning ; veerery minor themes of “i’m so much better than other people” 、 low key love at first sight 、 cousin! oikawa 、 teasing said cousin! oikawa.

when you were a kid, you never pictured your life turning out like this.

going to university on a full-ride scholarship for ice skating? of course. you’d been skating your whole life, so it was no surprise when it had come in the mail. being one of the best skaters on the team? of course.

standing in the bleachers of your university, surrounded by your fellow classmates - who smell, by the way - as they cheer loudly for said university’s infamous volleyball team? absolutely not.

you don’t even like other sports, you’re not really sure how you let your friends convince you to come to a volleyball game of all things. the sport itself is boring, you think. they pass the ball around a couple times and if they drop it too many times, they lose. it’s a glorified hot potato.

even so, there’s this guy on the court that you just… can’t take your eyes off. he’s tall and he’s big and his facial expression says he’d rather be anywhere else - most of the time.

most of the time, his face is lax, void of any emotion except boredom. most of the time, his jaw is clenched, eyes slightly narrowed as the ball moves around the court.

but then he hits the ball. he hits the ball and his brows pinch together in concentration. his mouth stays shut, but his nose scrunches up as he puts all of his strength into hitting the ball.

you decide right then and there that you need to know who this man is. you turn to one of your friends, nudging her shoulder. when she looks over, smile on her face, you grab her shoulders and lightly shake her. “i need to know who number eleven is.” you point down to the court just as he serves the ball over the net, scoring a point. “oh my god, kiyo, look at him. just- please tell me. i- i’m losing my mind, i think.”

she stares at you for a moment, a look of bewilderment in her eyes. she’s used to you scoffing at other sports, you laughing at how hard other people have to try to be good at their sport. but this? this is… different and you know it.

“um,” she starts, eyes drifting to the court as well. “number eleven? that’s ushijima. he’s a… second year, i think? i heard he went to shiratorizawa in high school.”

“ushijima,” you repeat, nodding. “ushijima. ushijima.” your brows slowly furrow. “ushijima- where have i heard that name before?”

kiyo shrugs. “he was like, kind of famous. his school was top of the ranks, i think. don’t take my word for this, though, because i’m not actually sure for certain.”

you’re too busy thinking to even register what she’s said. you’re thinking and thinking and thinking until - oh.

you pull out your phone and, in the middle of the large, smelly, noisy crowd, you call your least favorite cousin. he picks up on the second ring.

“y/n?”

“oikawa!” you exclaim. you plug one of your ears and hunch down, trying to hear better. “hey- who was that kid that wanted you to come to his school and you spent your whole high school career trying to beat him?”

“what?”

“the guy!” you exasperate, rolling your eyes. “the guy who was really good. was his name ushijima?”

“…yeah. what about him? why are you asking about him?”

you pause, snicker, then ask, “how funny would it be if i brought him home for thanksgiving?”

“what?! y/n, absolutely not! i will never speak to you agai-”

you hang up the phone and stand up straight again, eyes focusing on the court once more. your future husband is back on the court, eyes slightly narrowed, jaw clenched - just how you like it.

looks like you’ve got a new assignment this semester.

[dorabellingham]

Drunk Call

warning: alcoholic beverages, being unconscious

characters: jude x reader

summary: when you call him in the middle of the night because you haven't gotten over the breakup

may contain spelling and translation errors!

It was a silent night in Madrid and Jude was sitting on the sofa in his apartment, his eyes fixed on the television, but not really paying attention to what was playing. His mind was somewhere else, or rather, with someone else. You. Since the breakup, things had never been the same for him. He knew he needed to move on, but how? When everything around him seemed to have your memories embedded in it? The sound of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. He looked at the screen. It was you. His hand hesitated for a moment before answering, his heart pounding in his chest.

—Y/n?

His voice came out cautious, almost fearful.

—Jude... —Your tone was slurred, tearful, unmistakably drunk. —Please, don’t hang up.

He sat up straighter, a wave of worry taking over him.

—Y/n, what’s going on? Are you okay?

—No... —You sobbed, and he felt the lump in his throat tighten. —I... I'm horrible. I can't do this anymore. I can't live without you, Jude.

His heart sank. He wanted to tell you that he felt the same way, that every day without you was a constant struggle. But he knew you weren't in the right state to hear that right now.

—Where are you?

He asked, trying to stay calm.

—At home... —You laughed humorlessly. —Alone, as always. Honey... can you come? I know I shouldn't ask this, but...

He was already grabbing the keys before you could even finish.

—Stay there, okay? I'm going.

When Jude got to your apartment, the door was already unlocked, which only increased his concern. He walked in and found you sitting on the floor in the living room, holding a half-empty bottle of wine and with your eyes red from crying so much.

—Y/n...

He approached slowly, kneeling in front of you.

You looked at him, your eyes watering, and suddenly started laughing.

—You came. I can't believe you came.

—Of course I did. —He put the bottle aside and held your face in his hands. —What's happening to you?

You shook your head, tears starting to flow again.

—I'm broken, Jude. I know I was the one who broke up, but... I didn't know it would be like this. I didn't know it would hurt so much.

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your words.

—Sweetie, you're drunk. We should talk about this when you're better.

—No! —You held onto his shirt, almost as if you were afraid he would disappear. —I need to say this now. Jude, I love you. I've always loved you, and I was an idiot for thinking I could live without you.

Your words hit him like a punch to the chest. He loved you. He always had. And hearing it from you now, even in that state, made everything inside him want to scream that he felt the same way.

—Y/n...

He started, but you interrupted.

—You can hate me. You can ignore me tomorrow. But today, Jude, please, just hold me.

He couldn't resist. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tight, as if he could protect you from all the pain you were feeling. You cried against his chest, sobbing, as he ran his hand through your hair.

—I never hated you. —He whispered. —Not for a second.

You pulled away just enough to look at him, your eyes shining with a mix of sadness and hope.

—Then stay... just for today.

Jude nodded, unable to deny you anything at that moment. He helped you up and took you to the bedroom, where you lay down, still holding his hand as if it was the only thing keeping you on the ground.

—Will you be here when I wake up?

You asked, your voice trembling, before closing your eyes.

He squeezed your hand gently, feeling a new wave of emotions rise within him.

—I’m not going anywhere, Y/n. I promise.

And that night, as you slept, he stayed by your side, watching you, fighting his own demons and wondering if, perhaps, you could still have a future together.

part 2?

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Change Your Mind (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: After an intense fight between you and Bucky, you vow to get your revenge on him. He thinks your kidding around until he wakes up with an arm made of metal. Will he forever have the metallic limb? Or will you both resolve your issues and cause his arm to become human like once more?

Warnings: readers a witch of sorts, this would take place in an AU where bucky *doesnt* have a metal attachment

WC: 600

Read on ao3!

--

Bucky didn’t usually slam doors. But tonight, the door to your shared apartment rattled on its hinges as he stormed out of the room, leaving you standing in the middle of the kitchen, seething.

He’d crossed a line. You weren’t even sure how the fight had started—something small that spiraled out of control, words sharpening like blades until you both drew blood. But what stung the most was how dismissive he’d been.

“Do whatever you want,” he’d snapped. “It’s not like I care.”

Those words echoed in your mind long after he’d disappeared into the other room. Your hands trembled, but not from sadness—oh no. This was anger, white-hot and unrelenting. Fine. If he thought you were bluffing when you said you’d get your revenge, he was in for a surprise.

Bucky had no idea what you were capable of.

When Bucky woke the next morning, the sunlight streaming through the window felt... off. Something about his arm felt heavier than usual, the weight pulling awkwardly at his shoulder. Groaning, he sat up, running his hand through his hair—except it wasn’t his hand.

“Holy—” Bucky stared down at his left arm. The sleek vibranium he was used to was gone, replaced by something disturbingly familiar: the exact same metallic construction as his right arm.

“What the hell?” His voice was hoarse as he flexed his fingers, the joints moving with unsettling ease. It felt real—too real.

He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over himself as he stumbled into the living room. You were there, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a cup of coffee in hand, your expression as nonchalant as ever.

“Morning,” you said sweetly, taking a sip.

“What did you do?” Bucky demanded, holding up his new metallic arm.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Oh, that? Just a little reminder to be nicer during fights. Thought you could use a taste of your own medicine.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. “A taste of my own medicine? Are you kidding me? This is permanent!”

“Only if you keep being an ass,” you shot back, setting your coffee down.

He stared at you, a mix of disbelief and frustration written all over his face. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” you replied, crossing your arms. “Maybe next time you won’t storm out in the middle of a fight. Or, I don’t know, tell me you don’t care?”

Bucky flinched, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well, it sure felt like you did.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge. Bucky sighed, running his flesh hand over his face. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was mad, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

You raised a brow. “Go on.”

He exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “I care about you. More than I should’ve let on last night. I was out of line, and... I deserved this.” He gestured at his arm, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Even if it’s kind of overkill.”

You huffed, but a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Apology accepted. And maybe it was a little overkill.”

“Only a little?” he teased, stepping closer.

You reached out, brushing your fingers against the metal, and with a whispered incantation, the metallic surface shimmered, melting away to reveal his human arm underneath. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the change.

“You’re not just scary,” he murmured, meeting your gaze. “You’re terrifying.”

“Good,” you said, smirking. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before pissing me off.”

Bucky chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “Lesson learned.”

[captainsophiestark]

Dance Like Nobody's Watching

Dick Grayson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: DC

Day Twenty-Seven Prompt: "Let me remind you."

Summary: Dick's SO is having trouble adjusting to the new scrutiny of attending Wayne galas as his date, but thankfully, he has an idea to help with that.

Word Count: 1,449

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I sipped my champagne, trying to get a handle on my nerves. I could handle fighting the Joker and Scarecrow with no problems, but attending a Wayne gala as the partner of Dick Grayson was throwing me for a loop.

I fought the urge to scowl about it. If one thing could make this night more awkward, it would be some person I barely knew finding me making faces in the corner.

What irritated me the most was that this was by no means my first Wayne gala. I'd grown up with Dick and spent countless hours in the manor with him and his family. We'd been each other's primary entertainment at these things as kids. But being here as his date, and as an adult expected to do more than turn the banquet tables into a fort, was turning out to be surprisingly stressful.

When we were kids, nobody seemed to care what we did much beyond just noticing and thinking we were cute. Now, it seemed like everybody in this room wanted something from Dick, and either saw me as a threat to their ability to get it or as a secret backdoor to him, if only they could get me on their side.

I was seriously on the edge of losing it and going back to the buffet tables kid-style.

Dick had done his best to stick with me, but people kept showing up to pull both of us away from each other for a conversation, and we hadn't been able to do much without being incredibly, obviously rude. I'd finally managed to extract myself enough for some breathing room, but I could see Dick still in the middle of things, a group of old men who almost certainly wanted money from Bruce talking his ear off.

Even from here, I could tell Dick was barely paying attention to them. His eyes scanned the crowd, and after a moment, they landed on me. He raised an eyebrow, and I gave him a reassuring smile. Unfortunately for me, he knew me too well and was too good of a detective to believe it.

Dick quickly made his excuses to the men around him, and didn't take no for an answer as he left the conversation and headed in my direction. He crossed the massive room quickly to stand before me, and this time when I smiled at him, it was much more genuine.

"Hey," he said, returning my smile and leaning in to kiss my temple as soon as he reached me. "How are you doing?"

"Good." I tried to strengthen my smile, but Dick saw right through it. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"...Are you sure?"

I sighed. "It's just... this all feels a little weird. I've known you forever, you know it's never been important to me that you're the famed son of billionare Bruce Wayne. But it seems like that's all anybody else here can think about, and they all either hate me because they want to be with you or want to be my new best friend, all so they can get to you and Bruce. It's fine, none of their opinions matter to me, but... I just didn't expect to feel so weird coming to one of these things again."

Dick took a step closer to me, reaching out to take my arm with a concerned look on his face. He spoke quietly enough that, even if someone had been intentionally eavesdropping (which had happened more than once tonight), they wouldn't be able to hear him.

"Do you want to go? I'm happy to leave if you want to. We don't have to stay here."

I shook my head before he'd even finished his sentence.

"Running and no-showing Bruce's galas isn't a long-term solution. And seriously, it's fine, I'll adjust. I just... I don't know. I miss the days where we hid under the punch bowl giggling out of sight of everybody, you know?"

My boyfriend grinned. "I mean, if you really think about it, there's nothing keeping us from doing that again."

"I can think of a few things," I laughed, swatting his shoulder lightly. He hummed, but sobered quickly as he scanned the room, clearly thinking.

"Well... if you're sure you don't want to commandeer the space under the desert table?"

"I'm sure."

"Then why don't we try dancing? That's a little more... socially acceptable than hiding under the tables, but it's one of the things we used to have the most fun doing at these things. Remember how we'd just take over the entire floor to do whatever we wanted when we were kids?"

I laughed. "Yeah, of course. Although it's a little harder to remember the feeling that inspired us to just run out there before."

Dick smiled softly and extended his hand to me.

"Let me remind you."

My heart did a little backflip, especially when I met Dick's sparkling blue eyes. I huffed a little laugh of disbelief, especially at the thought of stepping into the center of the spotlight when I knew just how many people were going to be watching. But then I looked at Dick again, and I decided that, as long as I was with him, they didn't matter.

I took his hand, and he didn't waste a second before pulling me after him to the dance floor. I laughed, unable to hold back a smile even as heads turned towards us. Dick ignored them completely. He pulled me to his chest when we reached the center of the floor and wrapped an arm securely around my waist, the other taking one of my hands. I rested my free hand on his shoulder, and as we started swaying together to the music, his eyes didn't leave mine for a second.

"You know..." he started after a moment, drawing my attention back from a glance over his shoulder to where people were watching us. "This is nice, but a slow dance wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

I gave Dick my full attention and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but... what did you have in mind?"

He grinned. "Something more like this."

Suddenly, Dick was spinning me out and away from him, twirling across the floor before pulling me back. We'd know each other long enough and spent enough time as vigilante teammates that his steps were easy to follow, even as he started something closer to swing that didn't match the music at all.

I laughed, a warm feeling spreading through my chest as I shared a smile with my partner. In the back of my mind, I knew more people were probably watching and judging than ever. But suddenly they didn't matter like they used to.

Dick swung me around again, then pulled me close and into an exaggerated dip. If I didn't know he was a superhero, I probably would've been a little worried about him dropping me. Instead, it just made me laugh, especially as Dick grinned and led me into something way too close to something you'd do to Cotton Eye Joe.

With every second that passed on the dance floor with Dick, everyone else in the room faded further and further away. It felt like when we were kids, just me and the most important person in the world to me having the time of our lives.

"Feel any better?" asked Dick, whispering in my ear as he pulled me close again, both hands wrapped tight around my waist. I smiled, running my hands up his arms and across his shoulders.

"So much better. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me. We're partners, you know I'd never leave you hanging."

I pulled back enough to meet Dick's eyes, and found their familiar sparkle and a smile waiting for me. I gave him a soft smile back.

"I love you, Dick Grayson. So fucking much."

Dick beamed back at me. "I love you too. Now come on, the band's finally catching on to what we want. I want to dance with the love of my life to music that's actually fun for dancing."

I just laughed as Dick swung me out and away from him again, the two of us twirling across the floor, this time in sync with the now-faster music. Suddenly, after a few minutes with Dick, the propsect of all these Wayne galas didn't seem nearly so daunting anymore. Sure, I might have to deal with a few unpleasant strangers whose opinions didn't matter to me. But I'd also get to do this, laughing and dancing and having the time of our lives, with my favorite person in the world.

Worth it in the long run, as far as I was concerned.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

DC Taglist: @gaychaosgremlin @v1ckycheesue @lavender-dinos @g0atmansbridge182

[littlestarbigsky]

i fear the only thing i can write anymore is the curtis boys as kids BUT PLS THEYRE EVERYTHING TO ME and also they’re so tragic once they get older i love when they can just be happy :((

that being said, here is toddler ponyboy getting sick and darry being a little hero❤️‍🩹

darry heard ponyboy crying before the toddler had pushed the bedroom door open. he sat up in bed, careful not to ruffle the blankets covering soda. it already took him long enough to fall asleep, he didn’t need darry waking him up in the middle of the night.

darry’s eyes landed on his little brother standing in the patch of moonlight shining through the window, his face flooded with tears and his bottom lip trembling. he had thrown his too-small baby blanket around his shoulders in an effort to keep himself warm, and darry quickly realized it was because he was no longer in his pajamas.

“oh, pony,” darry reached down and grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed. “c’mere, you’re gonna freeze.”

pony ran over to him and jumped up into darry’s arms, letting his big brother wrap him up in the warm blanket. darry pulled pony into his lap, holding him close. every inch of pony’s skin was drenched in cold sweat and darry could feel him trembling.

“hey, it’s okay, can you tell me what happened?” darry tucked pony’s head under his chin, enveloping his baby brother in as much warmth as he could, even though his skin was already hot to the touch, which didn’t do much to ease darry’s growing anxiety.

“i…” he sniffled, his voice trembling. “i threw up…”

“in your bed?” darry asked gently, and ponyboy nodded nervously, his watering eyes like huge glass orbs in the moonlight. “oh baby, i’m so sorry.”

“i don’t feel good,” pony hiccuped.

“no, i bet you don’t,” darry soothed, rubbing pony’s back and rocking them gently. “is that what happened to your pj’s?”

pony nodded and gave a shaky sob, burying his face in the front of darry’s shirt, “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to!”

“hey, hey,” darry held pony’s face in his hand and met his eyes. “you’re sick, it’s not your fault, baby, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“i didn’t want to! i… i…”

“breathe,” darry took an exaggerated breath that he knew pony would copy, trying to keep him calm as he pressed pony’s head to his heart while they breathed together. “don’t worry. you’re okay, it’s all over now, you don’t have to be scared.”

darry let ponyboy wear himself out crying before trying to remedy the situation. he was laying limply against darry by the time he had calmed himself down.

“how about this,” darry started, shuffling pony so that they could look at each other. “let’s get you a bath to get you feeling a little better and i’ll take care of your sheets. that sound okay?”

pony sniffled but eventually nodded, and darry scooped him up and carried him to the bathroom. in the dim light from the vanity, darry could see how miserable pony looked. his hair was almost slicked back with sweat, his skin was hot and clammy, and his nose and eyes were red and puffy.

after making sure the blanket was still securely wrapped around his brother, darry turned on the water, letting it run and warm up for a few moments before shutting off the drain. he turned back to ponyboy and smiled weakly, “i’m gonna go get some things for you, yell if you need me, okay?”

pony nodded, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

darry hurried out of the bathroom, throwing a couple towels into the dryer to warm up and stopping in the kitchen to pour each of them a glass of water, sticking a bendy straw into pony’s cup. when he came back, pony had gotten out of the rest of his clothes and was leaning his head against the wall with the blanket pulled over him, a hand over his stomach and his eyes glazed over.

darry knelt down in front of him, “can you drink some of this for me?”

pony whimpered, “…don’t wanna get sick again.”

“it’s just water, kiddo, it’ll help you feel better,” darry held up the cup for him, and he reluctantly leaned forward and took a small sip.

“there you go, good job, honey,” darry smiled at him, setting the cup down on the sink and turning off the tap. “i think your bath is all ready.”

ponyboy held out his arms and darry gently picked him up and set him down in the water, watching some of the tension in his face instantly dissolving. darry let pony sit in the hot water for a few minutes before he started helping him get cleaned up, swiping some of their mother’s sweet scented shower gel.

it was a mark of how awful pony was feeling that he didn’t complain that darry hadn’t put in any bubble bath or given him any toys, didn’t try to splash darry like he always did or complain about the water temperature. he just sat quietly and let darry help him, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head back as darry washed his hair.

“look at you with your hair all slicked back,” darry smiled as he rinsed shampoo out of his little brother’s hair. “someone’s gonna mistake you for a greaser.”

pony gave him a weak smile and a short puff of breath that might have been a vague attempt at a laugh. darry could see his eyelids drooping the longer he stayed in the water, the perfume of the soaps heavy in the air and making both of them feel drowsy and dizzy.

“darry?” a new voice came from the doorway behind them. darry turned around to see soda standing and watching them, a blanket around his shoulders and his stuffed dog under his arm. “what’re you doing?”

“hey, pepsi,” darry gave soda half a smile. “i’m just helping pony, he’s not feeling so hot. you can go back to sleep, i’ll be there soon.”

soda’s eyes softened as his eyes locked on ponyboy, head leaned against the side of the tub and fighting to keep his eyes open. soda didn’t listen to darry, instead, he came over and sat down next to ponyboy, holding his hand gently.

“oh, darry, he’s gonna fall asleep right here,” he whispered. “it’s okay, honey, we all get sick sometimes.”

darry dried his hands quickly and set a hand on soda’s shoulder, “can you sit with him for a minute? i just want to get his sheets in the washer.”

soda nodded, reaching up to swipe away some of the water before it could drip into pony’s eyes. darry could hear them babbling tiredly to each other as he left, which eased some of the tension in his chest; maybe pony was feeling a little better, maybe he was helping.

he hurried back to the nursery and stripped off the bedding and grabbed pony’s pajamas off the floor, carefully bundling them all up and throwing it in the washer. he grabbed the warmed up towels from the dryer before heading back to the bathroom, stopping when he saw someone standing in the hallway.

“…hi mama.”

“darry, it’s so late, what are you doing up?”

she closed the gap between them and gently combed his hair out of his eyes before kneeling down so she was eye level with him.

he shuffled his feet nervously, “pony threw up, i was just helping him out.”

“you could have gotten me, honey,” she chuckled. “you don’t need to take care of all that yourself.”

“i know, he was so upset though…”

mama sighed, “where is he now?”

“in the bath,” darry shrugged. “he was all sweaty and shaky, i thought it would help.”

she kissed his forehead gently, “you did everything right. thank you, sweetheart, i’ve got it from here.”

he handed her one of the towels and followed her closely back to the bathroom. when they pushed the door open, soda’s arms were folded on the edge of the bathtub, pillowing pony’s head from the hard ceramic. pony’s eyes were closed and his breaths were deep.

soda turned around when he heard the door open, shushing them, “shh, he’s asleep.”

“oh, sweetheart,” mama hurried forward, knelt down next to soda, and pulled the drain out of the tub. “don’t tell me all of you are awake.”

“shh!” he shushed her louder.

“he can’t stay in the bathtub all night, soda,” she smiled at him. she reached over and gently tapped pony on the shoulder. “ponyboy, c’mon you’ve gotta get back to bed.”

pony’s eyes blinked open, and he seemed confused until he eyes landed on mama and he reached his arms out for her. she smiled sweetly at him and scooped him up with the towel and pulled him into her lap, not minding when he leaned his dripping hair against her chest. he drowned in the material, the towel four times too big for him. he snuggled into her and the warm towel, his little feet kicking soda absentmindedly.

“darry tells me you aren’t feeling well,” she rocked with him gently. “some tummy trouble, maybe?”

pony’s anxiety at her words was palpable, “i… i didn’t…”

“it’s okay,” she ran a hand through his hair. “i’m not mad, i just worry about you, baby.”

she reached up and grabbed his water cup from the sink, giving him the straw and letting him drink a little bit.

“you should all be asleep,” she set the cup back on the sink. “you two, go back to your room, i’ll come check on you soon.”

she stood up and sat ponyboy on the sink, starting to dry him off the rest of the way. darry motioned for soda to come along and they dragged themselves back to their room, exhaustion hitting both of them like a truck. darry pushed the covers back for soda and wasn’t shocked when his little brother burrowed into his arms.

after a few minutes, darry heard their door open and mama stood in their doorway with ponyboy on her hip in a fresh set of pajamas, looking like he was a few seconds away from falling asleep. she came over to the bed and adjusted the covers around both of them and pressed a kiss to both of their heads.

pony leaned forward, reaching for darry, so far that he fell out of mama’s arms and between darry and soda on the bed.

“baby, your brothers need to sleep,” she sighed, going to pick him up, but pony only dove between darry and soda.

“i wanna stay,” he whimpered, starting to tuck himself under their blankets.

mama sighed, “is it alright if your brother stays here tonight?”

darry and soda both nodded, scooting closer to ponyboy under the blankets and thoroughly sandwiching him between them.

“okay, then,” mama conceded. “i’ll see you in the morning, i love you.”

she ruffled ponyboy’s hair gently and left the room quietly.

“alright, baby, you get to stay with us, but you’ve gotta sleep, you need the rest to get better, yeah?” darry whispered, smiling as pony snuggled into his big brother.

“mmm, ‘kay,” pony mumbled, already almost asleep.

“yeah, and no throwing up on us!” soda joked, but he threw an arm over pony and flopped down onto the pillow.

they were all fast asleep within a few minutes.

[akascow]

okay so

i think the viktor and mel hallucinations during jayce's whole Moment in 2x07, their eyes are just completely black. and its VERY faint but u can KIND OF see the outline of their irises if u look REALLY close (irl)

to show u what i mean:

first ones are just normal settings (tho my computer brightness is all the way up), i only messed with the exposure n highlights of the pictures and stuff in the middle ones, and outlined the eyes in the third ones

​which could make sense in terms of his mental state i think ? he maybe feels like he let them down, or betrayed them or couldnt help them in a way ??

they dont feel human to him anymore. or maybe hes created these images so theyre judging him as he can only reminisce on what happened and how he left things

mel’s vision looks maybe like either angry, stubborn, strong willed or annoyed lol... her chin is kinda turned down, with downturned eyebrows, and her lower lids are halfway closed implying that shes like glaring or narrowing her eyes at him, her lips almost look pursed together and i think ? her nostrils are flared but its so hard to tell lmao we only get like three frames of over exposure HAAH take these with a grain of salt lmfao

viktor (even tho i cannot for the life of me read his expression HAHA) to the best of my ability i think kinda looks hurt or confused, maybe innocent for lack of a better term or scared. ((which given how he left jayce it would kinda fit lmao)) BUT his brows are ever so slightly scrunched together, one is higher than the other which usually implies confusion or thinking or admiring. eyes are wide open, mouth is agape a teenie bit, these are usually seen with softer, positive or more admirable expressions, and his chin is tilted upward. im not trying to turn this into a jayvik thing i swear im just comparing to my facial recognition knowledge HAHA

and as he loses himself deeper in the hexcore, the more he starts losing and/or fearing the two ppl he loved most ? ... and worries how he’d get back to them (if at all) and how he would imagine they would react.

the two ppl who not only made and brought him to who he is today, but uplifted and supported and stood by him for ~10 years despite everything

anyway this theory would all pair nicely with the voices that start playing in the background during his lil Montage lmao it kind of culminates into a massive guilty conscious, that then outwardly presents itself in their hallucinations:

“i never asked for this” - jayce to viktor, after their conversation about him breaking their promise about destroying the hexcore, resulting in vik leaving him lmao. also jayce literally turned viktor into this metal husk so hes gotta have that sitting on his shoulders too lmfao

“[heimer] was my mentor, and i betrayed him” - jayce (to mel) abt voting heimer off the council despite heimer ending up being completely right about magic in the first place

“it corrupts” “you must destroy it” “ive seen nations destroyed” - heimer about the hexcore, jayce screams over this as those lines play, anguishing over the fact that he literally did this to himself and hes the reason Piltover is (or will be) no more bc he ignored the warnings

“its your time now jayce” “perhaps its time for the era of magic” - mel to jayce, context is in the quotes HAHA. jayce is screaming no! no! and please! during these lines, i think its just to hammer (pun intended) home on the fact that it all ties back to him for ‘creating’ magic. its on HIM (at least in his own mind) for the destruction of Piltover and all of its people

maybe im just thinking too hard about it idk (im not). or unless this was extremely obvious to the average viewer HAHA. in my defense i spent this whole montage pausing every .6 seconds to take a picture of seggsy and broken and whimpering jayce so i wasnt really paying that much attention to it all AHAHA

anyway do u think this was a hallucination or was it actually the mage standing here with him for a flash lmao

okay sorry for that long ass post i would add a page break sooner but it would interrupt my flow of thoughts that i need u all to experience like i do HA

[jayktoralldaylong]

Alright, there's something I'd like to talk about, and let's come at it with an open mind. When Season one of Arcane ended I was 99% sure that Mel was not going to make it to this season. I was praying for every kind of miracle that could happen just to keep that beautiful goddess on screen but she was the first line of contact for that bomb.

Now that everything has been revealed, I want to talk about that bomb.

Ironically, Season two episode one starts with the exact same shine of gold that ended season one.

See, season one:

Season two:

And when the smoke clears we can see her leaning really close to Jayce, like she got blasted towards him.

Now, looking at the seat arrangements from Season one, I can actually see it a lot better now that I'm taking a second look. We can see that she is standing directly in the line of fire, Jayce is standing to her left and Viktor is sitting in his chair, Jayce's chair. Just about everyone sitting by her right died, Salo is sitting furthest away from the blast, opposite her. He probably saw it just a few seconds before she did.

And when she wakes up, all groggy and out of focus, her hands are on his shoulder. They been there, she did not just put them there, she already had her hands on him. Protecting him.

But what I really want to pay attention to, is the look on Mel's face when she and Jayce take in the damage.

The entire place burned down. Realistically, not a single person should have survived that, especially not unharmed.

Then the damage starts sinking in (Don't look at Jayce, look at Mel):

Look at Mel, as they look around the room of injured Councillors.

Jayce is panicking, full on panicking, he's had his nerves rattled, he's never seen anything like this (unlike Mel who, if the audience remembers, grew up in Noxus). And the sweetest thing is how she follows him around, trying to comfort him, while he's trying to shake Cassandra awake.

And she stays right there by his side, until her mother pulls her away (foreshadowing about their duties pulling them apart perhaps?)

Now, imagine you were in the middle of a disaster, a terrible disaster, and you had the power to save every single person in that room, but you did not know this because no one ever bothered once telling you that you had powers. However, in that moment, you did indeed save one person, without knowing, without even thinking. Who did Mel save?

She saved Jayce. (The craziest thing about that.....is that.... Viktor was literally right beside him. He was right beside Jayce OMG 😭😭).

Watching this scene, I cannot imagine the amount of guilt that threatened to swallow Mel whole ever0y time she saw the aftermath of what happened and a small part of her brain would nag her that she could have prevented it, that she could have protected Jayce's friend.

So why Jayce? Why ONLY Jayce?

"Because she loves him."

Obvious answer, two plus two equals four, but this is Arcane we're talking about, there is more to this simple equation and it is plain to see in their reactions in the aftermath.

Jayce is devastated. He is new to war, he does not know shit about it, it scares him to see all the people that he respects flattened like they are nothing. The Piltover Council means something to Jayce.

To Mel, they are colleagues. They are.... people with names and faces and power. They are people she would help on a normal day, but at the first sign of danger she clung to one person.

Jayce was Viktor's first friend, and he was Mel's too. He was the first person to tell her that she was not crazy. The first person to strangely believe in her dreams, to pour out affection not out of arrogance but genuine care that he was not ashamed or even hesitant to show her. He fought for peace when she began to doubt. When she felt unstable, his naivete and pure heart steadied her.

Mel loved Jayce. Loved him so much that she did not freak out when he was tweaking cause of the Arcane. So much that she fought for him when he was getting outright dominated by his ex. 💀💀 And while it is not the space shattering world changing soul bonded union of javik, I think it is beautiful that Mek loved Jayce.

I think it's ironic that the brotherly love that people keep trying to achieve with Jayce and Viktor was represented so well with Jayce and Mel. I think it's iconic that a male and female character that banged on screen can go their separate ways without a dramatic breakup and without losing the entirety of their care for one another (cause some of it was definitely damaged after their individual trauma).

What I'm trying to say is that Mel loved Jayce. The love was there. Call it romantic or platonic or whatever but she cared about him more than she cared about anyone in that room when that bomb went off.

And it just twists something in my heart....that Jayce was so loved by the two people that meant so much to him. That he gave all of his heart out and they gave everything back because of how selfless his love was. Everyone says Viktor and Mel are out of Jayce's league but they both keep putting him first. (⁠T⁠T⁠) They just cannot resist that all encompassing love of his. It saved Viktor, and it saved Mel who finally found her truth, and lost him to find it.

[tyrantisterror]

Wherefore Art Thou Clownfucker?

A while back I made a post explaining why vampires appeal to me, and while it was mostly in a more general sense, there was a specific focus on why I find them, you know, hot. And it was that was in part because I had recently discovered that I'm apparently surrounded by Werewolf fuckers on here, much to my dismay as a Vampire fucker. It's like being the only goth kid at a rockabilly concert or something. I felt defensive, is the point! I needed to go to bat (heh) for my pale ladies (and Astarion.... and Spike)!

And now, because Muncher compels me to do so, I'm doing the same for Clowns. My other pale ladies.

Now, keep in mind the fact that I'm a monsterfucker first and foremost, and that my clownfuckery is really more derived from my monsterfuckery. I imagine the middle section of the Clownfucker/Monsterfucker diagram is pretty big, but I also know there are some clownfuckers who are very much NOT monsterfuckers, and vice versa. This is not the case for vampirefuckers, who are nestled firmly within the monsterfucker circle, because while all vampires are monsters, not all clowns are monsters. I bring this up because while I'm gonna try to explain clownfuckery on its own terms, there is likely going to be some monsterfucker bias in my explanations and defense. That's just how it is on this bitch of an earth!

I'm gonna get real pretentious here and talk about the historic role of clowns for a moment. From Comedia del Arte harlequins to medieval court Jesters, the clown's role has always been that of Comic Relief. They are, simply put, here to be tonally dissonant - when everyone else is serious and dramatic, a clown comes in as this weird, silly, incongruously hilarious element that contrasts the gravity of everything around them. "Relief" is really the key word here - a clown's job is to provide levity when otherwise there would be none. When everything is dark, they provide a little light.

That's the core emotional appeal of clownfucking - a clown is/should be someone who can make you smile when you need it the most. Kingdom's at war, family's fighting, your life's in shambles? The clown will make you laugh. Everything feels dark and gloomy and depressing? Here comes a silly little goofball wearing bright, clashing colors and jingling with each step because they're covered in bells, and all they want to do is tell jokes until you start laughing. Clowns are, by intent, that sweet sweet hit of dopamine personified.

Clowns are here to make you smile.

Another important historical detail about clowns is their unique place in the hierarchy of society - namely, being entirely outside of it. A jester was in some respects the lowest person on the totem pole, a fool that had power over no one and nothing, living to be laughed at. Yet, because they had no power over anyone, it was generally poor taste to take offense to anything a jester said, which meant they could talk more freely than anyone else - when everyone else acts like a butt-kissing sycophant, a jester is free to talk shit and speak their mind.

The traditional attire and appearance of clowns plays into both of these traits: the bright, gaudy clothing and makeup is silly, yes, but it's also a sign that the clown does not give a single shit about fashion and other social norms. A clown is, by nature, an anomaly, a misfit, a rebel.

Nowadays we have another word for people with that attitude. Clowns are punk.

Weird makeup, crayola red hair, patchwork clothes...

I would say the very fact that "normal" people look at clownfucking as some sort of inexplicable fetish is, in fact, part of the appeal. It's a form of xenophilia, of attraction to things that are different and othered, a love for outsiders and misfits and oddballs. To fuck a clown is to show love and adoration for something outside of the realm of what is socially acceptable - something silly, goofy, and weird, yet also often harmless. After all, a clown's main purpose is to make you smile.

That's not to say that clowns have to be harmless to be attractive, mind you. Tons of people, many much smarter than I, have talked about the cultural shift of our perception of clowns that began somewhere in the 1980's. Clowns went from being viewed as genuinely fun and cute to primarily being figures of fear and terror - if a clown shows up in modern media, even if it's innocuous, there will always be at least one character who vocally talks about how creepy they think clowns are.

That may in part be due to the fact that clowns have such a benign mission statement - a lot of people, especially nowadays, do not trust a person who claims they just want to make others happy. Anyone who acts like that MUST be up to something - there must be something nefarious going on, some evil plan, some lurking danger.

Which is where you REALLY bring the monsterfuckers in.

You really don't need to do that much with a clown's design to push it firmly into monster territory - "a pale person with sharp teeth" is the bare minimum it takes to make a vampire, after all (and even the pale part can be downplayed).

And a clown's dedication to making things "funny" can make for a very enjoyably-scary persona for a monster - hell, half the appeal of the Addams Family is that they're a bunch of freakish inhuman monsters who react to a bunch of scary shit with absolute delight and adoration. Again, the tonal dissonance element is at play here, albeit in a different way - even when Clowns are the darkness in your world, they still bring light in the sense that they view it that darkness as funny in of itself.

(hell, the word "harlequin" means "five horns," and may be rooted in folkloric monsters like Herne the Hunter depending on who you ask, so in a way clowns have always been monster-coded)

I think all of this is pretty well exemplified in the current Patron Saint of Clownfuckers, the goddess of Clownfuckery if you will, Harley Quinn. Hailing from a story whose main setting is such a Gothic Horror-inspired nightmarish shithole of a city that it's literally called Gotham, surrounded by characters who are at least 60% gothic horror archetypes by volume, opposed by a hero who literally dresses like a Dracula, it is inarguable that Harley Quinn is surrounded by darkness that's both literal and figurative.

But she's always smiling, and not in an ironic way.

Harley Quinn suffers intense abuse, she's drawn into wicked schemes, and in the way of most modern clowns, she causes no small amount of mayhem and suffering herself. But even at her darkest, she's always smiling, always trying to find the bright side.

She's a rebel, she's a punk. Almost everyone thinks she's beneath them. Almost all of those people get proven they're wrong. In a world full of tyrannical hierarchies, she steps outside of them.

She's an outsider, a misfit, an oddball. And she wants to make you smile.

I think you can probably see the appeal of that.

[starfishstark]

frank with someone who's very independent but actually pretty anxious inside? a person who can talk and appear pretty confident but really is super shy and quiet if you got to know her really. I just feel like he's pick up in that so early, doing chores for you he knows you don't like to do. AND when he finally gets you in bed and sees how shy you are he's shocked at the difference

OH. EM. GEEEEEEEE.

girl the way i could talk about this for hours im literally on my phone and im about to spit out all my headcanons on this (probably 700+ words on this, eyeballing)

if ur here for smut i have it bolded where it starts from

we all know, no shit, frank has UNHEALTHY habits. like man will rely on the fucking force and will power to get through his day, but the second it’s anyone else? it’s all of a sudden “nah, you knew you were hurting urself and you let it slide? nah you don’t hurt someone i love.” dhhdjeuxhdj man just fuck me on the wall don’t you

and i’m assuming like this is a reader who knows how to cope with that anxiety, just getting through her day and pulling through till she can curl up next to him at the end of the night, wanting sleep so she can just shut everything out for a second till the next day

NOW ME PERSONALLY. THIS FITS ME SO WELL. everyone assumes im an extrovert bc of how much i like to talk to people and openly try new things, BUTTTT if you were really close to me, you’d know how much i’d like to step back and let someone else take the wheel, how much i’d CRAVE it.

i’d be friending all night and day for a chance to just let someone control me (frank castle, baby, WHERE YOU ATTTT)

i think frank would clock you out so GODDAMN QUICK. in his life? false walls, fake personalities, they don’t work out. he’s gotta know who’s who at the very instant he meets them.

see you may think you’re masking your anxiety pretty well, or that you’re hiding this shyness great with conversation and such, but he notices. maybe it’s the way you tug on your sleeve, play with your rings, sway back and forth in a comforting rhythm just waiting to get by yourself again.

and here is our conundrum- frank castle knows you.

he all of a sudden knows the big ol secret that you’ve been covering for a while, because what the fuck? being vulnerable? huh? what’s that?

and it just shoots up from there, everytime you’re around him before you start dating, he starts doing little things to ease your anxiety.

maybe you’re getting food with your friends, he guides you in with the rest of the group, gets a table and gets everyone situated, and all of a sudden he’s telling you about this amazing dish on the menu that you’ll like, so you don’t have to worry about ordering. your fav drink? already memorized for last time. what? you need to book a ride back home? tf he just standing there for, “c’mon little lady, i gotchu covered.”

it’s so fucking pleasing to be around, relieving to experience, and just so perfect that you don’t notice he’s doing it on purpose, for you.

by the time you start dating, there’s so much trust built upon that foundation— yes, you can get bold and sassy time to time, but he knows at the end of the day, you want to be held. you want to just be held so tight like the rest of the world would fall apart if you didn’t, you want to feel like every seam is about to start floating apart if he doesn’t get those huge arms around you right there and then, squeezing like a weighted blanket, like a safe haven in the midst of everything

(i’m so fucking single someone hold me)

any time he’d notice your anxiety tics, like your hands kneading themselves in your lap, all of a sudden observing the lights in the middle of a conversation, oh he’s step right in, getting close to your ear so you could feel his presence around, so you could correlate the moment you felt safe and maybe trick your brain into giving into the warmth js for a second if he could help

“smthn the matter? talk to me hun”

right, but you being you, you get all people pleasing, lighting up your face with that years-of-practice smile and answering brightly enough that it tricks most people

frank being the only exception, taking your answer if your in public and reapproaching alone, or if it’s in public and it’s someone else bothering you, oh he’s be so quick to pluck you out of that place like a daisy.

already planning getting your favorite drink and someone to sit and talk so you don’t feel like you wasted a day, tf was that supposed to mean anyways, wasting a day? with a face like that? ain’t a day wasted when he woke up next to that face resting next to him.

if you’re the person to feel anxiety from just a messy house, he wouldn’t even complain. by the time you got home, the dishes are already out of the sink and arranged

the counters decluttered, and at least the bed is made. it puts your mind to ease when you don’t have to do it after your day, able to just toe your shoes off and run for a hot warm shower and then get started on dinner

if you didn’t want to make dinner, he’s already tying his apron or calling up take out (where tf does he get his money from? ion kno)

if ur like me, you like to make dinner in a clean kitchen bc u can play music, dance around and get stuff chopped up, cooked up, smelling good and tasting even better and it’s a control that seems small, but it just lets you…quiet. it’s a process but it’s not tedious, it’s healing, yknow.

he’s come up behind you, those large hands on your hips (fucking veiny, large, calloused hands on your hips, fingers splayed with and across the skin, the balm to your jittery energy, the still you need to stop moving so much, the need for your desires, god, i could write headcanons about those hands itself)

anyways. he’s deeply inhaling with his head crooked down to rest on your shoulder while he peers into whatever you were making, listening attentively, letting you get into the whole works of it.

you babble mindlessly while you cook, here and there breaking into dance from the music playing, and frank all but indulges you, letting you have your little bubble in this home, if not here then where?

ok, shut up starry, she came here for the fun stuff, stop projecting ur domestics canons onto them

(cri)

ladies and gentlemen of the jury, i plead guilty. pls have frank castle fuck me. matt is my lawyer he’s a very good one, tell em matt tell em how much i need frankie to bend me over

(matt sighs from the table: this is a parking ticket.)

now before yall got intimate for the first time, he knows you’re a tease, it’s an easy joke that spills out, oh yeah you’ve observed it people love to gaffaw at those kinda jokes, and you love to please some people.

and even with him, the stupidest things, and you’re a tease about it.

you’re kissing maybe, or maybe you just feel the energy, and you’re already yapping off going on and diffusing tension building inside you, it’s not anxiety but you can’t quite pinprick it yet. he makes you feel alive, but it’s new and you try to rid of it

oh but he gets your quiet real quick doesn’t he. all it takes is a “look at me, don’t hide. let me see your eyes.”

FUCK. GODDAMMIT. HOLY MAMA HAVE MY BABIES.

eye contact is SO HARD when you’re strung up, the thought of someone looking into you seeing you when you’re not your perfect self, it’s horrifying. yet he loves you so; maybe even more when that smug smile rests at his lips, pulling you by the chin back in for a smile.

yall haven’t even taken your clothes off yet, oh he’s gonna get a kick outta this

and we all know we’d already be wet as a slip n slide at this point, but he’s a gentlemen so he takes his sweet ol time with foreplay, lips on your skin while he unhooks your bra with one hand (my favorite party trick you geezer, js for me?) and all of a sudden you’re huffing and soft pants when his hands grasp at your chest, squeezing, with those hands, rough and yet measured delicately, oh he knows how to string you apart like that, you’re not moaning yet, but it takes you by surprise, your breaths are ticking up at the end, you like this so damn much

but frank is nothing if not a clever bastard, he makes you say it. “u like that? cmon, say it, hun. tell me to keep going, tell me you like that.”

yessir yessir yessir. god you can’t even look him in the eyes, mesmerized by the way everything feels that you trying to tuck yourself into him, wanting everything, wanting closeness, wanting him.

you’d end up murmuring something out, and he’d respond that he could hear you actually, insist on the fact (except he could hear the change in your breath from at ease to anxious? sure.)

he wouldn’t stop pressing against you, a soft roll of his hips before you could even start your second attempt at the sentence, effectively shutting you up and going “m cmon, lemme hear you.”

he’s not talking about you talking anymore

franks not stopping till you’re practically whimpering that it feels good, that he should keep going, shaking like a leaf, so he shushes you up, making quick work of the clothes, and kissing you brainless

“mm so quiet hunny? where’d my big-talking girl go, huh?”

MY GIRL 😫

(i have issues i know pls move along)

now he’s got you on your back, or pressed against the headboard, anywhere where he pries your legs apart, a kiss to your soft inner thighs as a thanks, one hand splayed across your hip and the other trying to work you open and loosen you up.

your eyes are skirting around, going here and there and trying to find a place to rest, practically blaring in your head DO NOT look down there; do NOT look up at him; Do NOT look at those damn muscle chiseled shoulders; the LAMP. yes. the lamp, very sexy, just focus on the lamp.

aw he’s having none of that, two fingers deep inside of you, not yet touching your sensitive soft clit, the sounds lewd and slick. knuckles deep, hitting places u physically couldn’t with his thicker longer fingers, grinning softly at your hesitance of where to look. that damn smile is what got you into this mess in the first place

“hun, look, look at me, ok? nah nunna that thinking nonsense, just look at me…n feel—yeah, you like that? right there? good girl, lemme hear you.”

you’re trembling, you’re gone coming after all that, eyes catching his and struggling still, but it’s his girls first time with a man good as him, he’s gotta let it slide. (oh he’s just a sucker for you)

once he’s successfully got you coming the first time, he’s gone. driven mad. you got this sheer coat of sweat painting your skin like a painting, eyes twinkling while they look up at him with expectations that he’s going to more than fulfill, hands propping herself up while he slides a pillow under her hips, so damn vulnerable and soft and fucking willing for him, willing to put up with his bullshit and his paranoia, trusting him and letting him control the moment, letting him soothe you, your need, it’s all driving him mad.

MADLY IN LOVE MWAHHAHAHAHAH (i am so sorry everyone i am not a serious person)

he knows you’re more sensitive cause you just came, and every stretch, every touch, feels like bliss exploding across your skin. it makes you so damn beautiful in his eyes

your hands are so small on him, anchoring onto his bicep or his shoulders, finding some place to hold onto while he fucking rails you into that bed

you know what getting hit by a freight train is like? me neither, but franks hotter than one anyways so who tf cares.

he’s got you gasping. hes got you there.

and all that sass, the attitude, teasing you gave him? worth every damn second of this. of this nervous shy girl that he knows js what to do with

make a (consensual) mess outta her

if you thought you’re getting away with only cumming once, well. it’s a good think he doesn’t want you to think in the first place, so you just lay back and let him take of it, why don’t ya?

ok back to my wholesome thoughts. we going aftercare with this one

ok anyways else a little sassy after sex like they’re making up for how dumb they were during it

(everyone boos at me. matt murdock in the back raises his hand and nods. “she’s right” he says. thank you matt)

so he’s cleaning you up and teasing you about what a mess it is down there and ur like “well who’s fault is that?”

and he grins, pressing just a little harder into that mound and rendering you useless for a minute, till you’re back again and going at him and he’s just smiling bc his girl is back. sassy, attitude, he loves it all. (especially when you’re as nervous as a mouse under him, but two sides to every coin type shi, yknow?)

warm bath depending on how boneless you are, still talking some crap against him while he picks you up from the bed like a bag of grapes, carrying you to the bath, (you’re still going on by the way)

it’s so heartwarming, just the way you got back up, he loves it. he loves you.

yeah, he loves you, alright.

and he gets u sushi. lotta sushi required for aftercare. or whatever the fuck you prefer. fufu? shi there’s gotta be a place in all of new york still open, and there’s gotta be some poor door dasher still ready to drive it over. italian? why didn’t u say so, the aprons coming out again.

anyways. cuddles. u get it i don’t gotta say more i’ve said enough.

i feel like deadpool with the amount of talking i just did. if i yap this much again, someone PLS say “starry, stfu” and get me outta my funk PLS

[floweycidal]

do you think when flowey was a wee weed and just got into calling himself flowey that he had a kind of embarrassing stage he does not want to talk or even think about where he tried too hard to be the opposite of asriel and it was so obvious everyone could tell it was asriel

BAHAHAHAHA, YOU BET I DO! this is probably going to be as headcanon-y as it gets (kinda), sorry in advance. but really, making him a total sopping wet soggy loser is the best part of writing him. it's my favorite angle, no doubt.

the first month of being "flowey" was an exercise in second-hand embarrassment, except the person you're embarrassed for is yourself. and you can't even leave the room to escape it, because surprise! you are the room. you're a flower. stuck there. living it.

he had it all planned out. goodbye asriel dreemurr, the prince of crying-at-literally-everything, hello to... whatever cool and clever thing he was supposed to become. the details were fuzzy, but he figured being soulless meant the whole "evil" thing would come naturally.

it did not come naturally.

the cracks showed almost immediately. everything he tried just came out wrong. his threats sounded more like worried suggestions. his evil schemes kept accidentally making things better. his idea of entropy was essentially community service with attitude.

he couldn't even get the basics right. he'd tried tossing out sick burns, but they'd just hit with all the impact of a wet napkin. they weren't even insults half the time—just weirdly specific observations that petered off awkwardly.

he sucked at it. no way around it. he sucked ass.

so, he worked harder. determined to sound edgy, bad to the stem—whatever that meant—but it didn’t seem to take. every affront felt more like an accident than an attack. 

and the laugh. god, the laugh. he practiced it, forced it, tried every variation. dry chuckles, derisive cackles, even an exaggerated villain’s howl. none of them worked. what kept slipping out instead was the exact same dorky laugh that used to bubble up when #she would do silly voices during storytime.

this was the worst. he was the worst at being the worst.

his own body double-crossed him at every turn, still running on years of ingrained kindness his mind was trying to stamp out. he'd be right in the middle of his most "menacing" speech yet, really getting into the whole eternal suffering thing, when someone would sneeze.

"bless you!"

every. time.

the number of “villainy” monologues ruined by his automatic politeness was actually impressive. really, it was almost a talent.

it was a drawn-out process, this transformation. no guidebooks or cheat sheets. however... i’d argue the closest thing he had to a mentor here was toriel.

she didn't know it was him. obviously. somehow that made it worse, because she kept almost-recognizing things. little stuff he hadn't managed to burn away yet.

a familiar turn of phrase. how he'd end sentences. that godawful giggle that still sounded too much like pillow forts and frolicking in the mud. how he’d fill glasses, just enough to make them brim above the edge. the efficient way.

each time her eyes would catch on these moments, these tiny betrayals of self, he'd slam that reset button with all six petals. nu-uh, no buckaroo.

her reactions were the compass he followed, pointing to what needed to be carved away. reset after reset, he got better at it. harsher. finer. a little less like the kid who used to run up to her with flower crowns and scraped knees. 

the kindnesses got rarer; the callousness came easier.

never easy enough, though.

she'd still tilt her head sometimes, something glittering in her eyes like she was hearing the first few notes of a song she’d once known by heart. and he'd realize he'd effed up again, let some stupid little piece of asriel show through.

she’d never know she was teaching him how to stop being her son. to her, he was just some weird flower guy that occasionally felt eerily familiar, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

every time she almost intuited something in him, he'd reload, desperate to finally become someone she wouldn't know at all.

ahhhhh. and so it came full circle. in his frenzied bid to unlearn being her child, he was still (by the most bruisingly contorted logic) turning to her for guidance. still just a kid, looking to his mom for answers. just… not in the way either of them would’ve wanted.

[todayisafridaynight]

Sorry to keep throwing Miscellaneous Asks your way, but I finally had a moment to get my thoughts in order on one of the points on your Venn diagram I wanted to talk about! I always kind of debate whether or not to send other, semi-unrelated long asks like this when we've already got a chain going, but oh well. I'll try and address anything brought up in response here in the main one and hopefully it doesn't get confusing lol.

So I was thinking about the extent of Jo and Arakawa's relationship. It is completely true there's not much you can say that's concrete, especially since most of what we see is from Jo's perspective. Although his perspective is crucial to forming an understanding of their relationship, it's not sufficient. This is particularly the case because, coming back to giri-ninjo for a moment, Jo is largely bound by giri; it's clear his loyalty runs deep, but it's not a choice for him.

Arakawa, on the other hand, can choose who he places his trust in, especially early on. And I think it's incredibly important that, despite having men who've already been with him from day 1, men who've already been helping him with his son, Arakawa chooses to "place every confidence" in Jo (per an old Famitsu profile, one of the first official ones) and chooses to make Jo his captain.

Similarly, he kind of chooses Jo "over" Ichi in sending Ichi to prison "instead of" Jo. Perhaps the family really would collapse without Jo's talents, but… does it have to collapse entirely? Didn't Arakawa make it pretty far on his own? I guess it's neither here nor there, but I've always wondered if things would've really played out as feared if Jo went to prison instead. Not to understate Jo's role in the family, of course.

Anyway, I think that trust shows not only in overt gestures such as entrusting Masato and the family's finances to Jo, but also in more subtle behind-the-scenes ways, such as what we were talking about before with regard to New Year's 2001. There's also the fact that leaking information to Aoki was Jo's idea; for that to be the case, Arakawa would have to discuss Aoki's threats at length with Jo. (Unrelated, but come to think of it, "complying with him [to] make him see value in keeping us around" is very often the strategy of victims of abuse and neglect…)

And this one's an underrated detail many people miss, but after Arakawa shot Ichi, while he was able to come up to Ichi to tell him he's counting on him and sneak in the fake bill, if the goal was to not arouse suspicion, I don't think he would exactly have been able to excuse himself from the dinner to drive Ichi to Yokohama. Time was of the essence in terms of Ichi's survival, so that leaves Jo, who was conveniently already at the scene and who was certainly in on the "secret rule" that constitutes part of the Arakawa Family's agreement with the homeless camp. Overall, there is a pattern of Arakawa approaching Jo before anyone else, isn't there?

Sort of branching off of that, I would personally feel comfortable saying that Jo knows Arakawa better than anyone else. He seems to know details about Akane and New Year's 1976 no one else does, details Arakawa would have had to volunteer himself, and that plus his own experiences are what allow him alone to have the most complete picture of that night.

I also get the impression Jo understands Arakawa better as a person than anyone else--certainly better than Aoki, but perhaps even better than Ichi in some cases. There are multiple instances where he defends Arakawa and challenges their perceptions of him--that he's "betrayed" the Tojo Clan, that he's betrayed Aoki, that he's the type to scheme and make power-plays behind Aoki's back. He hasn't. And, despite how little Jo's "allowed" to say, he turns out to be right every time. Also worth noting Arakawa does something similar in asking Ichi to try and understand Jo's frustrations, though he's more or less enabling Jo's abuse in doing so.

Lastly, The Smallest Detail that drives me kind of insane. Them arriving at the office in the back seat of the same car in one of Ichi's flashbacks. I wouldn't think too much of it if it were any other time of day, but the first-thing-in-the-morning quality and the fact Jo isn't driving (thus it's not as an act of service but as an equal) is like… Okay. You're carpooling to work. And if you're not carpooling, you're honest-to-god living together. What the hell.

So a lot of it is this web of inferences--it has to be, at least currently--but I really do think there's a lot to chew on. More than meets the eye, anyway. I've also been stewing in all of this for years, especially since drafting Jo's relationships section, so I might just have inhaled the fumes for too long lol

Thank you for coming to me about the nature of their relationship! Although I did put it down as being more-or-less 'uncertain' on my chart, I do agree that their relationship isn't as cut-and-dry as other relationships might be (it's going back to appreciating the complexities of RGG relationships, especially in the case of the Arakawa's where for every party involved it really IS complicated)

I wanted to exclude making any definitive statements on things that couldn't be verified without making a detour on the original post (I know I already mentioned frequently that Arakawa is able to joke about Jo being 'softer' on Masato, but I do think about their relationship often and the implied depth of Jo's loyalty if- as you said- he was able to climb through the ranks of the Arakawa family much quicker than preexisting members), but there are clear points in the game that due allude to a great trust between the two (and I also note that carpooling detail during Ichi's flashback- or at the very least I know I'd find myself noticing Jo sitting in the back opposed to the front/driving). It's definitely not hard to assert that Jo knows Arakawa well either, it's hard not to come to that conclusion when we have evidence from the game to infer that.

[fatherbrat]

ONE LAST TIME, R. SUNA

sum. two months into your relationship with your current boyfriend, your ex-fwb finally sends you a voicenote to let you know exactly how he feels about it.

feat. rintarou suna

cw. ex-fwb!suna, cheating, mutual masturbation (kinda lol), jealousy, dirty talk, anal mention, pillow humping, possessiveness, degradation

wc. 1.2k

When you posted your first official pictures of you and your new boyfriend, you had expected Suna to react…negatively. You basically braced for impact the moment you hit post, but all you got from him was an Instagram notification and two texts.

sunarin liked your post.

rin ;)

lmk if you want me to delete our pics.  and hmu when you two break up :p

You never bothered replying, initially not sure how to reply, and then forgetting about the texts entirely. The two of you barely have any contact for a few weeks after that, but he's obviously keeping up with your socials; liking every post and viewing every story. It doesn't bother you, but it's weird going cold turkey on your relationship like that. You had expected him to reach out for some sort of closure. You wanted him to. 

Halloween swings by in no time, and (much to you boyfriend’s dismay) you dress up as a sexy nurse. You don’t remember much of the night, but you do know that you posted a picture of you and your friends all dressed up on your story before getting blackout drunk. 

Your phone dies early on in the night. Your friends take good care of you up until it’s time to bring you back home, and you don’t wake up until the afternoon. You don’t check your phone until a couple hours after that—long after it's been turned on and charged to 100%. 

When you finally check it, two particular notifications catch your attention. 

sunarin liked your story. 

rin ;)

Voice Message

The voice message is 12 minutes long. 

You exit your texts immediately, opting to distract yourself by tending to your other notifications. It doesn’t help much. Your mind races, wondering what he was talking about for so long and if it was really so important that he reached out after almost four months of near-silence. 

You toss your phone onto your bed, shaking your head. You try to ignore it, cleaning the bathroom and folding the laundry and vacuuming the living room all in an effort to forget about the lengthy recording sitting in your phone. 

But it doesn’t take long for the curiosity gnawing at you to win. 

You practically run back to your bedroom, grabbing your phone and sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. Your fingers move quickly across the screen, hitting play without hesitation. 

The first 8 seconds are nearly silent, and you start to wonder if it’s possible that he sent such a long message by mistake.

But then you hear a heavy sigh.

“I like your costume.” His tone is hushed, like he’s telling you a secret. “You look hot.”

There’s another moment of silence, like he’s giving you a chance to change your mind and stop listening. 

But then Suna moans and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. 

“You never answered my text, y’know. When I asked if you wanted me to delete our pictures. So, uh, I kept ‘em.”

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

“I’m looking at one right now. It’s from last Halloween. When you-“ His breath hitches. “When you went as a Playboy Bunny.”

You remember. Suna dressed as Hugh Hefner and the two of you went to a party together. Then he took you back to his apartment and fucked you while you were still wearing the bunny ears and bowtie. 

You’re pretty positive you’re not wearing the bodysuit in the picture he’s looking at. 

“I don’t know how much of this night you actually remember, but I can describe the picture for you.”

You tense, anticipation sending goosebumps up your arms. 

“You’re kneeling on the ground, looking up at the camera, and you’ve still got those bunny ears on your head.”

This voice message is going in the last direction you thought it would.  Is he—?

“You’ve got cum all over your face, baby.” He laughs to himself before continuing. “And you’re sticking your tongue out like a fucking whore.”

Suna takes a ragged breath, a sound you're all too familiar with. It confirms your suspicions—he’s definitely jerking off. 

“That was a good night. We had a lot of good nights.” He sounds miffed all of a sudden. “I seriously doubt the boyfriend is fucking you as good as I did.”

You suppress a shiver. A pang of guilt heats your chest at the mention of your boyfriend. You should stop listening. Delete the message. Tell him to delete the pictures and then probably block him. 

Or you could let the message keep playing. 

Suna inhales sharply, followed by a shaky moan. You swear you can hear the sound of his fist stroking his dick. 

“I hope you’re not letting him put it in your ass like you let me. That’s our thing, okay?”

Under different circumstances you would have laughed. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “And I hope you’re not letting him spit in your fucking mouth. Or–shit–doing that thing where you’d suck me off with your head hanging upside down off the bed.” He falters at the end of the sentence, groaning into the phone.

“I’m not gonna–” he interrupts himself, sighing deeply. “I’m not gonna pretend I’ve been happy for you. I miss you.”

You feel hot all over, a heady combination of annoyance and arousal and embarrassment. There’s a dull throbbing between your legs and in the back of your mind you wonder if this is what Suna wanted when he sent the message. 

“Just–just let me fuck you one more time. Okay princess? I’ll make it sooo good for you,” he whines. You can hear his hand picking up speed.

“It’s still early. Two months is nothing, it won’t even count as cheating.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “God, just one last time. Please?”

Without thinking, you grab a pillow and position yourself over it in a straddle. You won’t let him fuck you, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make you come one last time.

“I promise I’ll do that thing you like with my tongue. And you can pick all the positions if you want to.” There’s a tremble in his voice. “Or just lay there. I’ll do all the work.”

You grind into the pillow beneath you, picturing the expression you know he’d be wearing if he were in front of you–batting those dark eyelashes with raised eyebrows, just barely able to control the smug curve of his lips.

Heat pools in your gut and a whimper falls from your lips. Suna keeps talking.

“I know you miss me. You have to. You’re probably touching yourself to this right now.” 

You gasp softly and rock your hips faster.

“Such a fucking slut.” You hear the telltale quiver in his voice that tells you he’s getting close. “My fucking slut.”

You moan, his words giving you flashbacks.

“Oh fuck. Fuck, I’m coming,” he rasps, before letting off a series of moans and whimpers that almost make you concede. You grind harder into the pillow beneath you, imagining Suna in his room, chest heaving, talking into the phone and making himself come to pictures of you. 

That does it. A tsunami of pleasure washes over you, forcing your body to tense before you go limp, collapsing onto your bed with a shudder.

You and Suna breathe in tandem, both of you catching your breath. 

You hear another laugh through the phone. “Damn, that was a lot.” There’s the sound of sheets rustling. “Kinda made a mess, princess.”

He’s silent for another few beats before clearing his throat. “Text me, okay?” he says quietly. “Please.”

The voice message ends.