#does he find out all at once or does he find out one and domino from there

[littlelostbirdy]

In your headcannons when does Jim Gordon find out (actually learn the identities) or 'find out' (get confirmation of the identities he figured out and, very purposefully and politely, firmly ignored until just now this minute) of the batfam?

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Heritance

There's not much left for Tim in his parents' wills. Or, well, not much by his standards - the rest of the family, barring Bruce and Damian, think he is absolutely loaded and too full of himself to care. Which is maybe a little bit true; receiving about a dozen properties across the world, a trust fund and a wide collection of artifacts that his parents have accumulated through years of their archeological escapades is a lot by middle class standards.

But Tim knows how much money Drakes actually had, and a few old houses and an assembly of junk seems like not much in comparison.

In any case, it's all rather useless in Tim's position. He has no interest in traveling aside from when he has to for a mission, and he couldn't give less shits about archeology even if he tried. The trust fund is fine, he guesses, but it's not like he needs it, what with being the CEO of Wayne Enterprises and one of the Wayne Wards.

So, as morbid as it is, the best reaction he can muster at his inheritance is a shrug and a mention in his mile-long list of 'things I need to figure out when I have time'. Which basically means he'll maybe get to it when he's old and retired, and not any sooner, because Tim Drake the CEO and Red Robin the vigilante are both very, very busy people who never have time.

Naturally, his life has other plans, and it's only two or three months later that Tim finds himself breaking through the balcony window of his own apartment in Praha.

It's at that moment, when he's lying on top of a soft persian rug, surrounded by glass shards and wondering if this move was enough to lose his tail that he realizes his inheritance might be slightly more than just a few properties and some boxes with old things.

Because, through his own heavy breathing, he hears a thoughtful, slightly sarcastic voice from inside the room, "I guess the door was too hard to figure out for you, wasn't it."

He sits up, turning his head so sharply it almost snaps. His eyes immediately fall on a boy not much older than him, sitting with one leg thrown over the other on the dark red couch near the wall. He looks like he clearly belongs here: white, vintage collar shirt and black, high-waist trousers, a silver ring on his thumb that looks too old to have been bought in this century, dark raven hair and perfect porcelain skin.

And he is reading a newspaper. Like a slightly bleeding costumed guy in a domino mask breaking the window and falling onto the carpet is just another Tuesday.

Hold on, this is Tim's house! He double-checked the address, there's no mistake!

"Who are you?" He demands, frowning, as his hands reach to the birdarangs out of habit.

"Keeper of Doors," the boy answers, not looking up and flipping the page, "And you're the Drakes' heir, I assume."

Tim blinks. The response provides no actual answers, it only creates more questions. "What doors?" He asks because the rest of the points can most likely be addressed later. Like the issue of his busted secret identity, right.

The boy sighs and closes the newspaper, folding it in half and uncrossing his legs to sit a bit straighter. "Doors, capital 'D'. The ones that lead everywhere you want."

"The what?.." Tim repeats, dumbfounded and lost in this unexpected nonsense. The boy gives him a truly unimpressed look, his eyebrow twitching. Then, he stands up - Tim's fingers close around the birdarang again - and steps towards the nearest door, grabbing the handle. His feet make absolutely no sound.

"Drake manor," the boy announces and pushes the door open. He doesn't step through, however, instead just standing in the doorway and turning back to Tim, gesturing for him to look.

Tim does.

Seeing the familiar hall, the one he's seen so many times, the one he walked through every day before he moved out, makes him realize a few things at once. One, he needs to revise the list of houses he inherited since it looks like they are not just properties but a map of teleportation points, most likely. Two, his parents knew full well he didn't need the trust fund, it wasn't for him, it was probably for this boy, who may or may not be the, well, gatekeeper. Three, if the first part of his inheritance turned out to be this, he is going to need to call in Zatanna to sort through the collection of his parents' artifacts lest something turns out to be actually cursed in there.

Four, he's been staring at the boy and gaping like a fish for longer than its socially acceptable.

"...What's your name?" He asks, suddenly conscious about the fact he was kind of rude before. The boy snorts, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he closes the door back.

"Danny," he introduces and snaps his fingers. The glass shards around Tim move all at once, rising from the ground and going back towards the window, like a reversed video recording. A second later, the balcony window looks as good as new, not a crack in the glass. "And you?"

"Red Ro-" Tim starts, but then pauses. Fuck it, he might as well, "Tim."

Danny waves his hand in the air, like snatching something out of nowhere, and, just like that, there's a box that looks suspiciously like a first-aid kit in his hands.

"Nice to meet you, Tim. Now, get over here and stop ruining my carpet with your blood."

[imissthefire]

stefan is my babygirl, my kitten, my sweet little rat, my caution wet cement sign that goes unheeded, my silly rabbit, my goofy goober, my cracked mirror that exudes an ominous mist, my sock lost in the dryer, my rusty nail, my fortune cookie with two fortunes inside, my broken drippy faucet, my glasses with fingerprints obscuring my sight, my soft taco, my little birdie in the woods who sings songs haunting as his past, my half melted ice cream, my dented can of peaches, my doorknob, my ergonimically designed powerdrill, my worn out jeans, my—

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 17

Somewhere in the back of Bruce’s mind, there a voice that was grateful that no one Bruce had slept with had experimented on their own child. With Talia and himself there were already lines that had been crossed, but what Danny had been through was another level of horrible. Which is why that tiny voice didn’t mater.

This wasn’t about Bruce, this was about Danny. Danny who looked ready to bolt again. Bruce reached out and placed his hand on Danny’s still cold cheek.

“Danny, being my clone doesn’t make being my son any less true.”

“That’s not—” Danny’s eyes welled with tears again and he leaned into the touch even as his foot scooted backwards. “That’s not how it works.”

“It does for us. Our family is messy. It’s complicated and confusing and… wonderful,” Bruce said. He spoke slowly both so that his words were clear, but also so that he could find the right words. “It’s a butler and orphans, assassins and demi-gods, sons and daughters and sometimes people who are neither. You being a clone is just one more thing in that mix. You’re still my son, if you’d like to be.”

“You can’t want me, I’m dead,” Danny insisted.

Jason set a pot down, loud enough that Danny’s eyes flickered to him.

“Kid, Danny, that doesn’t mater,” Jason said in a carefully controlled tone. “It’s the same as I’ve said before, they all know I died.”

Danny’s eyes widened, causing the tears to sleep free. He blinked rapidly.

“…Oh.”

-

They’re sat around the living room, each with their own mug of hot chocolate, even Bruce Wayne— even… well, Danny supposed it would be Tim Drake-Wayne, once he had shown up. He had flown through the door as he spoke through gulped breaths of air. He didn’t have a domino on either. They all sipped slowly at their drinks.

They were waiting for him to talk.

Talking seemed an insurmountable challenge.

Danny took another sip of the hot chocolate and licked the sugar sprinkle bat from his lips. He didn’t look at them as he spoke.

“Dick Grayson, Jason Wayne, Tim Drake-Wyane. Cassandra Wayne… Duke Thomas, and Damian Wayne. I don’t know Spoiler or Oracle. I only… I looked up Bruce Wayne on a library computer after I ran. That’s why I know.”

“Close friends of the family,” Mr. Wayne said.

“And ex-girlfriends,” Night— Dick spoke up.

“Right. Red— Tim said him and Spoiler had dated.” Danny mumbled. He glanced over at Hood from under his bangs. Hood… Jason? Hood. Too many changes. Hood hadn’t said anything since he had revealed everything.

He must have noticed Danny looking though, because he sent a melancholy smile Danny’s way. “I get it. We kept a really huge piece of information from you, but we didn’t lie. When we said you had us no matter what Bruce Wayne did, we meant it.”

“But he’s your dad.”

“And that means we're all very good at not listening to him,” Tim said proudly.

Mr. Wayne just gave an amused snort at that.

“Dandelion,” Hood said, ignoring his family, “the first time that you looked up at Red and I we both clocked who you were instantly.”

“Not the clone part,” Red added.

This time it was Danny who gave a little snort.

(Fuck, they even snorted the same.)

Hood just flicked Red off. Tim. “Sure, not the clone part.”

“Because someone wouldn’t let me take DNA,” Tim interrupted again.

“It’s corrupted anyways,” Danny said and suddenly all eyes were on him again. He ducked his head down into a shrug. “From my death. This form I guess it would match enough? But my ghost form wouldn’t be any help.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Tim said softly. “But also Hood was right, you didn’t deserve us doing that to you right then, even if I just wanted to help. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t know that you came from Bruce. You just came from him in a different way than we thought.”

“You were family right away, kid,” Hood said. “If didn’t matter your name or pronouns or history or if you’ve died or even that you’re a clone. As soon as we got a good look at you, you were family.”

Danny could feel the tears coming again and he wiped at his eyes in frustration. He wanted to just stop crying today.

“You could have been wrong,” Danny said. They didn’t get it, why didn’t they get it?

“Could have. But you were still a hurt kid that needed help,” Hood said.

“You don’t need blood to be family,” Dick said. “Me and Jason and Tim and Cass and Duke… Alfred, none of have blood with each other or Bruce and Damian. If you had turned out to not be related to Bruce at all? Well, you were already family.”

The tears came now and Danny couldn’t stop them. The hot chocolate was taken carefully from his hands by Jason while Dick pulled him into a hug.

“I don’t— I don’t get it,” Danny said through the sobs. “Why can you all— why can you all love me after a month when they— when my— when the people that were supposed to be my parents never did?”

“Danny—”

“They killed me!” Danny roared. He was shaking now and Dick help him tighter. “They made me just to kill me and cut me into pieces! I was their son! I was…. I was their son. Why couldn’t they love me?”

Between one blink and the next Mr. Wayne was up from his chair and in front of Danny. His large hand was so warm on Danny’s cheek. Danny sobbed harder.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, I don’t know because you are so loveable. It’s something wrong with them, not with you. I already know you’re wonderful and I can’t wait to get to know you more.”

Danny didn’t get it.

Danny didn’t believe it yet.

But god did Danny want it.

Danny flung himself forwards, landing in the arms that were waiting to catch him, and let himself cry.

-

“Nose bleed stopped and he’s resting now. Jay is staying in there with him in case he wakes,” Dick said as he closed the door to Danny’s bedroom softly behind him. A sad, wet blue lump was in his other hand. “We’ll try to get his bear dried out, it was in the bag he took.”

“See if the dryer has an air dry setting,” Bruce said. When both sons in the room looked at him in surprise he just gave a little shrug. “Dickie used to play with Zitka outside all the time. I learned to help make sure she was always ready for bed.”

Dickie gave a little laugh. It was heavily tinged with stress, but it was a laugh. Bruce would take what he could get right then. Jay still had a job, so he’d be alright for now. Dick would need to stay busy and close to people, but both those would do most of the work for the moment. It was Tim that Bruce had to worry about the moment; he was being very silent.

“Tim, chum, are you done with your drink?”

Tim blinked up from staring down at said drink. “What?”

Bruce crouched down in front of Tim (trying not to think of how he crouched down in front of a sobbing Danny just a bit ago) and took the mug. “What are you turning over in that head of yours, chum?”

Tim fiddled with his nails now that the mug was out of his hands. Bruce wouldn’t stop it unless Tim managed to make himself bleed. It wouldn’t be the first time or the last.

“Sweetheart?”

“It’s going to take him a long time to believe us— this,” Tim said, the words almost a rush.

Bruce nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

“And he could run again,” Tim continued, still speaking quickly. “It could all be going well and then suddenly he could be thinking of running again because he’s doubting things.”

“Okay Tim,” Bruce said with careful words. His mind was running through all the times when Tim had pulled away from the family, “what do you think we can do to help that?”

Tim shrugged and looked away. “I guess— I mean, saying things to him is good but it won’t get as far as actions. And those actions need to include making him feeling useful.”

“But—” Dick started, the dryer now rumbling away in the linen closet.

“I’m not saying make him do work,” Tim interrupted. “But until he can consistently believe that we want him in the family, him feeling useful will help give him a reason to stay. As long as he’s useful, he won’t think that there’s no reason for him to stay when he thinks no one wants him around.”

Gently, Bruce reached out and took Tim’s hand away from where his cuticle had started to split and bleed. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the spot gently. “We’ll make sure to offer him ways to help out. We’ll talk as a family about where the lines will be and what sort of work is alright, especially as Danny is still healing.”

Tim took a careful breath and nodded. “Good.”

“And Tim?” Bruce waited until Tim was looking at him to continue. “I love you and I’m very glad that you are part of this family.”

-

Bruce sent Dick back to the manor after Cass arrived. They talked about what was best and agreed together that for Danny, Bruce still needed to be here in the morning. Bruce knew Dick hated to leave, but he was the other one who could handle Damian and whatever moods this may have invoked. And they were both worried about pulling Jason away from Danny right then.

Once Dick had wrangled Damian, they all had a meeting. Jason joined in with headphones Tim delivered and stayed mostly silent. Alfred lingered behind Dick’s shoulder.

Bruce went over the day, doing his best to treat it like a debrief just so that he could get through it without his heart breaking the rest of the way.

Danny had run of his own volition, afraid that those who had hurt him would find them. He was most afraid of them hurting Jason and Damian. (Dick pulled Damian close). He wasn’t Bruce’s son, biologically speaking, but his clone. They would try, with permission, to take some blood and analyze it soon. There were worries about the state of Danny’s DNA that Bruce wanted them to look into, for Danny’s safety.

There was worry any tests might set Danny off.

Danny knew about their identities, though they did not share Stephanie and Barbara’s name— both girls gave their go ahead. He seemed confused, but alright. They had to be ready for a possible out burst over it later after everything that had sunk in.

They would be sure to give Danny things to do that made him a quick part of the family, Bruce wanted everyone to think what those would be. There was to be nothing that was patrolling or anything dangerous. They would all agree on the list.

When Bruce ran out of things to say, Alfred stepped forward, there as always to help with the next step. “Is there anything specific I should prepare for his room?”

“Blue,” Cass suggested.

“Stars,” Tim said from where he was tucked into Cass’ side. “He likes space. Maybe one of those projectors that turns the ceiling into the night sky?”

“Soft blankets,” Jason spoke, a quiet addition.

“An air diffuser, natural scents like flowers and earth,” Dick chimed in.

“A… a pet,” Damian said, words uncharacteristically hesitant, though he straightened up defiantly at the look of confusion on everyone’s face. “If he is a flight risk, then a pet will be something he stays for. It will also be a responsibility for him that is little effort and not dangerous. Also, when he needs company but the family is… overwhelming, his pet will be there for him. There are many cats and some suitable dogsat the shelter right now, I will take him.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched up in a little smile. “That’s a very good idea, thank you. I’m sure Danny would like your help, after we introduce you two properly.”

Damian nodded, though that slight uncertainty was still there in the curve of his shoulders.

“Dami?” Dick prompted.

“When will I be able to meet him? Properly.”

“How about in a few days, before we move him to the manor, I’ll bring you over with me, okay ayouni? We can bring lunch with us and have a meal together,” Bruce offered.

Damian nodded sharply, a slight smile on his lips. “Acceptable.”

“Good. We will try to have everyone over before we move Danny, which will be mostly on his timetable. For now, everyone get some rest.”

There was a chime of voices agreeing to that and signing off. Bruce made sure he was the last to leave the call.

---

AN: It's... mmm... not great day, so you all are getting this now instead of tomorrow when ao3 updates. Stay delightful, darlings <3

[spider-stark]

GREED IS GOD

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - If Kaz Brekker insists on being a jerk to you, then why does he keep threatening the boys you like?

Warnings - fem!reader, toxic, subtle power dynamic, kaz being emotionally constipated, could deviate from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, !minors dni 18+!

Word Count - 2.2k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“You had no fucking right, Brekker!” 

The words tear straight from your throat, rageful as you swing open the door to one of the Crow Club’s private gambling parlors. Inside, several heads snap to where you’re looming in the doorway. Some of them wear baffled looks, unsettled by the violence of your intrusion, while others look as if they’re holding in a cheeky laugh behind tight lips.

You’re not sure what they find so funny, whether it’s the prospect of Kaz Brekker getting his ass handed to him by a girl or something to your expense.

The grunts—about ten of them, in total—sit around a black poker table, the center of which is lavishly adorned with the striking silhouette of a crow, styled in sleek, bloody crimson. At its head is Dirtyhands himself, his elbows digging into the bolstered edge, leather-clad fingers pressed together in a stiff steeple. 

His eyes slide to yours, cold and detached. 

Your chest locks, lungs constricting around a breath. 

“I assume you’ve all been introduced,” Kaz rasps, a terse nod in your direction, “to the Dregs dearest asset and resident instigator.” 

There’s a snort or two, but no laughter. No one can ever tell when Kaz Brekker is making a joke, and as such, it’s best to never laugh at him. 

In the main hall behind you, the Crow Club’s usual clamor seems to grow, low-lives and thugs barking over games of Blackjack and Craps. It’s loud and obnoxious, a rival to the incessant pounding in your head, your blood turned to an erratic rush in your ears. 

It hits you this might’ve been a bad idea. 

Then—like an idiot—you choose to double-down. 

“You had no right.” The words catch in your teeth, serrated on the way out. You point at him. “You over-fucking-stepped, Brekker!” 

It’s a domino effect, the low snicker of one grunt setting off the next until they’re all laughing at you, chortling like a bunch of rowdy pigs. Your fingers curl, rage smarting—but then there’s embarrassment, too, red hot as it crawls up your neck. 

Why is it that a man's anger earns restraint, but a woman’s is entertainment? 

Before you think to find the answer in the way Jesper would—by drawing the pistol at your hip and shooting a Saintsdamned hole in the ceiling—Kaz lifts a commanding hand. 

“Shut up. All of you.” 

Kaz doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. 

The grunts fall into a wary silence. Kaz’s glower drags around the table, marking each face. The men start shifting in their seats like the cushions have been set on fire, but they’re too afraid to stand up. 

“Get out.” 

Chairs screech back. Cheap boots scuff against polished floors, the grunts shuffling toward you in a disorganized heap. You suck in a breath, turning sideways to let them file out past you. They avoid your gaze—not because they’re scared of you, of course, but because Dirtyhands had already snapped their leash once tonight. 

When the last grunt skulks out, Kaz gives you an order, too. 

“Close the door.”

And damn if your feet don’t obey, so used to blind obedience that you immediately step into the parlor and do as he bids, a palm pressed flat to the door's glossy-black paint, feeling it in your bones when it clicks shut. 

The air shifts. 

A lump forms in your throat. The sensation of a noose getting tighter, tighter—the persistent, strangling fear of a child who knows they’re about to be scolded, who's still innocent enough to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they can escape it by crawling under their bed, by keeping their back turned. 

But you’re not a child. And this isn’t your fault. 

You turn around. 

“Do you know what keeps men in line?” Kaz asks, giving you no time to answer before he continues, “I’ll give you a hint. It’s not respect. Not loyalty, either. So what is it? What keeps a gang from going off the deep end, from turning order into chaos?” 

You swallow. Try to feign nonchalance. “I don’t know, Brekker. The enduring power of friendship?” 

Kaz doesn’t so much as blink. 

“Fear,” he answers simply, firmly. “Fear keeps them in line. Fear of consequence, fear of uncertainty—” he leans slightly forward, gaze unnervingly intense—“fear of me. And do you know what jeopardizes that fear?” 

Your skin feels tight. “Me?” 

An irked, tight-lipped smile. “Exactly. You.” 

Kaz relaxes back into his chair, and it strikes you how he almost looks like a fixture of the room—his dark, austere style blending seamlessly with the parlor’s imposing black-and-crimson decor. Or maybe that’s not right. Maybe it’s the other way around—the parlor, the Crow Club itself, exists merely as an extension of Kaz. It’s his blood woven into the crow’s silhouette, the blackness of his soul that paints the walls. 

A tired, gloved hand combs through his slicked hair. Pink lips part with a sigh that feels purposeful. “So. Next time you want to act all big and make a fool of yourself, give me enough time to clear the room, hm? That way, I don’t have to deal with men getting it in their heads that they can talk back to me all because you do it without losing your tongue. Understood?” 

You suck on a tooth, glancing off to one side. It takes a minute for words to find you, and when they finally do, they spill out in a frustrated heap. “Raske told me about Leon,” you tell him, more an accusation than a statement. 

Images flash in your mind, the spattered freckles and gap-toothed smile of the dealer you’d gotten sweet with. 

The dealer that, as of a few days ago, disappeared from the Crow Club without a trace. 

“What,” you press, brows lifting expectantly, “you’re not even gonna say anything? Deny it, even?” 

His expression is one of perfect neutrality. Still, the tiniest hint of satisfaction slinks into his tone. “I’m not sure why you’re so upset,” he tells you, almost patronizing. “Did Raske not tell you everything? I was quite gracious, all things considered. He even convinced me to let Leon keep his tongue.” 

A scoff pushes from your lungs, frustration bubbling into childish fury. It takes all your restraint to keep from stomping your foot at him. 

“You broke his hand, Kaz!” 

He looks offended. “I broke both of his hands,” he corrects you, the distinction incredibly important. “Leon should consider himself lucky I didn’t take a finger for all the times he’s been caught skimming. So long as the bones heal, he should relearn his shuffle just fine.” 

But you’re no fool. The bones won’t heal. Not properly. 

Leon will never deal again. You’ll never see him. And Kaz… 

Kaz wins. 

“Leon isn’t a skimmer,” you defend, a bitter growl as you stomp for the poker table. You stop opposite him, palms pressed flat to the felt-top as you hold his stare. “And even if he was,” your voice cracks, “we both know that wasn’t your reason, Brekker.” 

Kaz lifts his chin, the muscles in his shoulders tensing in a slight, barely perceptible shift. “Oh?” 

You count on your fingers. “Leon. Junip. Teller.” 

Each name tastes acidic in your mouth, cheeks burning with the memory of friends and almost-lovers, boys with nothing more than the misluck of smiling at you in a place where Dirtyhands could see. 

“Kerrigan, Donni.” Your voice climbs, “Mikael, Alyn!” 

How many have been punished? Made to pay for fallacies at the cost of shattered bone or cut-off digits? And why, why is it that anytime you seek happiness, Dirtyhands comes to tear it away? 

“Do I need to keep going?” you finally spit. “Or have I painted well enough for you to get the picture, Brekker?” 

He nods, dusting a speck of lint from his suit coat. “Oh, you’ve painted plenty well enough. This is becoming an epidemic, isn’t it? Parents giving their children such stupid names.” A harsh shadow flickers across his face. “Or was the point simply that you get around?” 

The words land like a blow—and you falter with the impact. 

Your stare drops, nails scraping against the felt-top. “This isn’t fair,” you mutter, head shaking. 

“What isn’t?” 

“This!” 

It’s an exasperated breath, an explosion that wracks through your body. You shove back from the table. Kaz sits straight, a line between his brows. 

“I do my job, Kaz!” 

“As is expected.” 

“I do more than my job!” you argue. “I do everything you ask!” 

“Good.” 

“I scale every rooftop, climb through every window, gather dirt on every fucking rat in this absolute sewer of a city!” 

His head tilts, antagonizing, “As does Inej.” 

You jab a finger to your chest. “I helped you steal a DeKappel!” you hiss, careful not to speak too loud of the one-hundred-thousand kruge painting you’d nabbed from Van Eck. “A fucking DeKappel, Kaz!” 

A sigh slips from his nose. Two leather-clad fingers press to his temple, rubbing in circles as if to soothe some budding ache. “Could we speed this along?” he asks. “I’m a busy man, and dealing with Leon took precious time out of my–” 

“Why?” Your voice is wretched, desperation lashing with every syllable. “Why is it never enough? Why can’t I have one, just one thing outside of my obligations to you? One thing to make me happy, one thing to-” 

His hands brace the table, shoving to his feet so quickly the chair screeches from underneath him, clattering back onto the ground. “Because it makes you weak,” he snarls, low and threatening. “It distracts you.” 

Bullshit. You audibly call bullshit. 

Then something snaps. 

Kaz slams a fist against the table, hard and loud enough to make you jolt. He won’t look at you. “Because,” he starts, pained as if the words have to slash and claw up his throat, “it distracts me.” 

Everything. 

Your wretched feelings, your childish fury, your anger for Leon. 

It all fizzles into something static. 

“It… what?” 

“You heard me.” 

You blink. Once. Twice. 

A third time for good measure. 

“Well—I did, but… Why?” 

Kaz sucks a breath deep into his lungs. Low, to himself, he admits, “Because Inej was right.” Dark eyes look up. “I am selfish and violent. Hungry to the point I feel it in my bones. Greed is my god,” he rasps, wavering, “and you, you are my altar.” 

Oh. 

You take a step back, nearly stumbling over your own feet. “Sorry, I…” a breathy, humorless laugh. “What do you… what does that mean, exactly?” 

Fucking hyperbole. 

A gloved hand rakes through his hair. “That I want,” he starts, only to trail off. 

But then the words settle. Become their own sentence. 

“I want.” You’ve never heard Kaz this desperate. Never seen his eyes this soft, this hazy with apprehension. “It’s abhorrent and I’ve tried to stop, but I can’t. I can’t stop wanting,” a pause, a space left for the word he can’t quite form. You. You, you, you. 

There’s a moment. 

Silent consideration, internal debate. 

Kaz is a monster, one part of you argues. He doesn’t think before he speaks, shatters the bones of any boy you bat eyes at. 

Kaz is a shield, whispers the other. He’ll dismiss a room on your behalf, threaten the lives of any who might hurt you. 

There’s a moment. 

Then, all at once, there’s motion—glorius, frantic, thoughtless motion. The scuff of your boots across the floor; the shocked catch of his breath; the feel of stiff fabric bunched between your fingers, pulling him closer closer closer by his lapels, brow furrowing when his head turns to dodge your lips. 

Gloved hands settle on your waist, the electrifying feel of cool leather brushing bare skin, shirt lifting as Kaz pushes you backwards, up onto the poker table. 

“I can’t,” he struggles. But your legs tighten around his waist, core pressed to the growing bulge in his trousers, and hips seem to meet yours to the tempo of Oh, but I want to. Saints, I want to.

“I can’t,” it's a pant, a moan, his head shaking, dark eyes fluttering, “I can’t be what you deserve.” 

“Then be what I want,” you beg, “be what I need.” 

Your palms lay flat against his chest, slowly drifting up toward the smooth nape of his neck. Your fingertips barely graze the warmth of his skin before a leather-clad hand snaps from your waist, roughly taking hold of both your wrists. 

“No,” he almost chokes, desire held back by fearful restraint. “Not yet.”

His grip loosens—trusting you to obey, to let him set the pace.

And he does.

Nimble fingers are already sliding your pistol from the holster at your hip, sliding it across the table before setting to work on your trousers, fiddling with the flimsy closures before tugging them down, bearing witness to the parts of you he’d only ever seen in dreams. 

Not yet, you think, hot and desperate, cool leather grazing against sensitive skin. But eventually, inevitably. 

Perhaps greed is your god, too. 

a/n - yeah, idk guys? i guess i just can't write smut. the amount of times i walked up to my sister while writing this just to scream "I can't take Kaz Brekker's pants off" was alarming. alas, this exists now and maybe some of you will enjoy it! i'll give true smut another go at some point, probably will something shorter so i don't get distracted with other things lmao

anyways, would love to hear what you think (what works, what doesn't work, what you love, what you hate lmao) and thanks for reading! 

[thewizardingpost]

Bound by Fate

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary ⌇ you’ve always felt a strange pull toward James, Sirius, and Remus, but since you’ve come of age, the bond between you and your three closest friends deepens, and you begin to understand that they are your destined partners, your mates

warnings ⌇word count  4.2k, ABO AU, eventual smut (penetration & oral), friends to lovers/mates, omega!reader, alpha!james/sirius/remus, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending 

Mates were a concept you’d only heard about in tales—an undeniable bond that grew between two souls, a connection so deep and instinctual it could never be ignored, no matter how hard you tried. It wasn’t just about attraction or desire; it was about belonging, about finding the person—or persons—that you were meant to be with. The kind of bond that shaped your very existence, binding you together in ways words couldn’t explain—like a key to a lock, a flower to rain, or the stars to the night sky. It was a force that simply was, and nothing could break it.

You’d always imagined the day your mate was revealed would be one of pure joy, a fairy tale come to life. The thought of having someone destined for you filled you with a thrilling, eager anticipation. But all that fervor, all that restless longing to discover who your mate—or mates—might be, came to a crashing halt. It felt as if your heart, once brimming with hope, had splintered into a thousand shards.

The realization of who your mates happened overtime, not some sudden onslaught of emotions like you had expected. It came through scent, intense emotional responses, and heightened physical sensitivity. It was late in the afternoon, the four of you hanging around in the library, when the “change” started. 

There’s a section in the library that the four of you consider your hidden nook. It’s not genuinely hidden, just tucked away in the far corner, behind a row of dusty old books and faded tapestries. Few people venture that deep into the library, and even fewer linger long enough to notice the secluded alcove. But to you, it’s the perfect little refuge—a space that feels entirely your own, like a secret world where time slows down.

The four of you are seated on the worn rug, scattered across the floor in comfortable silence. James sits with his legs crossed, leaning against a stack of heavy textbooks, his eyes focused on the pages of a book he’s half-reading, half-absentmindedly flipping through. Sirius is sprawled across from him, one arm resting on his knee, staring at the crackling flame of a nearby candle, his mind seemingly elsewhere. Remus, ever the quiet one, is at the edge of the group, his book in hand, but his attention more often than not drawn to the stillness of the room, as though taking in the peacefulness of the space.

The soft rustle of turning pages is the only sound that fills the air, a steady rhythm that matches the calm energy of the nook. It’s not the usual kind of gathering—no loud conversations or jokes, just the simple presence of each other in a shared, unspoken understanding. 

Then, without warning, Remus’s shoulder brushes against yours. It’s nothing—just the briefest contact, the kind of thing you wouldn’t normally notice, except... something about it makes your skin prickle. A spark of warmth, a flicker of something you can’t quite place. You freeze for a split second, feeling the pulse of it surge through you, and then just as quickly, you shrug it off. It must’ve been the wind, or the way you shifted—anything but what it really was. You try to ignore the slight tremor still lingering in your chest, pretending it never happened. The air in the nook feels the same as it always does. Quiet. Safe.

Yet, there’s no denying that something’s begun to stir beneath the surface, even if you’re not ready to face it yet.

Then one by one, like dominoes, it all began to spiral out of control. At first, it was just a subtle thing—Remus’s hand grazing yours while passing you a book, his touch sending a wave of electricity up your arm, leaving your skin buzzing. Then, it was Sirius leaning a little too close as he joked about something, his scent wrapping around you, stronger than usual, more intoxicating—like fresh earth after rain, something comforting and wild all at once. And James, always nearby, his proximity suddenly making your pulse race, the warmth of his presence a magnetic pull that seemed to draw you in no matter how hard you tried to fight it. Each moment felt like a spark, a jolt, until it was impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just their touches or the way their scents seemed to fill the air—it was the way everything about them felt more intense, more overwhelming. Their voices had a deeper resonance in your chest, their laughter echoing in your bones like an unspoken invitation. At first, you tried to pretend it was nothing, just your imagination, but soon, it became impossible to deny. The way your body reacted to them—too sensitized, too attuned—felt like the inevitable shift of something you could no longer outrun.

And then, in the middle of Potions class, it happened.

One of the other students—a nameless boy from Slytherin, someone you barely thought about—brushed past you. He reached across the table for an ingredient, his arm brushing against yours in a way that should’ve felt completely normal. A simple touch. But as his skin made contact with yours, nothing happened. No spark. No warmth. No shiver running up your spine like you’d come to expect. Just, nothing.

You blinked, confused at first. Normally, physical contact wasn’t something you’d really notice, not the way some others seemed to. But this time, you couldn’t shake the contrast. His touch felt so bland—empty even. You felt the coldness of it, a distance that was somehow more obvious than if he hadn’t touched you at all. It left you with a strange, hollow feeling.

Your breath caught as the realization hit you like a bolt of lightning: The Marauders. Every time their hands brushed yours, or their scent filled the air around you, it was different—alive, almost electric. They didn’t just touch you, they reached you. They made you feel things you hadn’t known you could feel. Now, at this moment, it clicked.

This wasn’t just some passing attraction, some infatuation or idle crush. It was something deeper, something undeniable. They weren’t just your friends—they were your mates. And the stark difference between their touch and this boy’s was all the proof you needed.

Your heart raced. The truth, like a wave crashing over you, was undeniable now. There was no escaping it. You didn’t just feel something for them. You felt everything.

What should’ve been an exciting day—the day you discovered who your mate was—only left you with a gnawing anxiety deep in your chest. These were your best friends, the three people you trusted most. The thought of a relationship with them was overwhelming, and the idea of all three? It made your stomach churn. Could this even work? How would things change between you? Would they accept you as more than just a friend? It felt impossible. The four of you were connected, destined even, but they already had each other. What could you possibly add to this bond? Was this “fate” really a thing, or just some cruel twist of circumstance? 

You pulled away from them out of fear of them realizing they’ll notice the strange connection between the four of you. It was easy to avoid them knowing their schedules and habits. If they were in Hogwarts, you went to Hogsmede. If they were in a class with you, you called out sick. If they started down the hallway you were in, you’d turn on your heel and speed-walk in the opposite way. Despite the tug towards them and how much you missed them, you decided it was better to run away and deal with the pain in your heart. 

It was impossible to keep running from them. They’d given you space, respecting your need to figure things out, but even they knew there was only so much distance you could put between yourself and them. Fate, however, wasn’t so patient. The Marauder’s Map marked your every step, your exact location, as if it were pulling them toward you—like invisible strings already tying everything together. You couldn’t escape them, not anymore. You couldn't outrun it—not when fate was already pulling you together, no matter how much you tried to distance yourself.

You stepped out from the entrance to your dormitory, expecting the usual quiet corridor stretching before you. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you froze.

There they were, standing in your path, as though they had been waiting for you. James, Remus, and Sirius—all of them, their presence unmistakable. The air was thick with tension, and you could almost hear the unspoken questions hanging between you.

Sirius was the first to speak, his voice sharp, laced with frustration. “You gonna keep running away?” he demanded, arms crossed tightly over his chest. There was a flicker of something else in his eyes—hurt, confusion. “We’ve given you space, but this… this is getting ridiculous. You can’t keep doing this.”

You shifted uncomfortably, trying to avoid the topic you weren’t ready to face. You didn’t want to, confront it, not yet—not ever. Your fear of their response to finding out was too strong. “I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to brush it off, but your voice came out a little too quickly, too quietly. "It’s nothing. I just needed some time."

Sirius’s eyes narrowed at your words. His jaw tightened, frustration turning into something sharper. “Nothing?” he repeated, his voice rising just enough to show the tension in his words. “You think we’re that stupid? You think we haven’t noticed? You can’t just pretend like nothing’s wrong. You’ve been shutting us out for days. We’re not blind.”

Before you could respond, Remus stepped forward, his brow furrowed. He shot Sirius a brief glare, his eyes softening when he turned back to you. “Sirius,” he said, voice calm but insistent, trying to de-escalate the situation. “We’re just worried. Please, talk to us.”

You could feel their eyes on you, waiting for you to speak. But your mind raced, and all you could do was let out an awkward laugh, forcing a tight smile. “It’s really nothing,” you said, your voice shaky. “I just… need some space, okay? I’ll be fine. It’s fine.”

You tried to take a step back, hoping to end the conversation before it spiraled further. You wanted to escape, to not deal with it.

But James stopped you, his voice soft but laced with hurt. “Please, can we talk?” he asked, his eyes full of concern. “We can go somewhere private.”

You felt the weight of his gaze, the silent desperation behind it, and for a moment, it softened something inside you. You hadn’t meant to hurt him. You hadn’t meant to pull away from them like this. The sudden realization of how much his feelings mattered to you hit you all at once, and for a brief moment, you faltered.

But despite the softening in your heart, you still couldn’t bring yourself to stay. You didn’t have the words, didn’t know how to explain it.

Still, you nodded reluctantly, and with that, the four of you found yourselves back in your dorm room, the heavy silence following you inside. The door clicked shut behind you, and the room seemed too small for what was about to unfold.

You sat on your bed, hugging your knees to your chest, your gaze dropping to the floor. The tension in the room was thick, the unspoken words filling the space around you.

Sirius paced, his footsteps sharp and purposeful, the restless energy in his movements clear. He looked angry—his jaw was clenched, and his hands were shoved in his pockets as he walked back and forth. His expression was hard and unreadable.

Remus stood a little further away, his arms crossed, brow furrowed in concern, though a subtle frustration lingered in his posture as well. He kept looking at you, his gaze soft but questioning, like he was waiting for you to open up. You could see he was trying to read you, trying to understand why you were pulling away, but there was an edge to his calm that you hadn’t seen before.

James, standing a little off to the side, looked almost... small. He was still, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze fixed on you. The hurt in his eyes was undeniable, and you could feel it pressing down on you. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t push, but the silence between you two seemed to speak volumes. His usually carefree nature was gone, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable.

You swallowed hard, unable to meet any of their eyes for long. The weight of everything was suffocating.

“I… I didn’t mean to shut you out,” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur, but it felt like you were shouting. “I just… I don’t know what to do with all of this. Everything’s changing, and I—”

Sirius stopped pacing and turned sharply toward you, his frustration bubbling over. “What is changing?” His voice wasn’t angry, but there was a harshness to it. “You’ve been shutting us out, and we have no clue why. We’re here, but you just keep pushing us away like we’re the problem.”

Remus stepped forward, his voice gentler, but you could see the frustration lingering behind his calm demeanor. “Sirius, let her speak,” he said, a quiet plea for understanding. His gaze softened again, but there was a flicker of concern. “We’re just trying to understand. Whatever this is, whatever you’re feeling, we’re here for you.”

James didn’t say anything, but his arms dropped to his sides, his posture deflated as he moved a little closer, his eyes never leaving you. You could feel the weight of his concern and hurt all at once. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, as if everyone was waiting for you to finally break it.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, but it was hard to find the right words. The reality of what you had been avoiding, what you had been pushing down, seemed to finally come to the surface. "I just… I don’t know how to deal with this," you said, the last word slipping out before you could stop it. "It’s too much.”

What if I’ve already lost them? What if this is it?

It felt like sand slipping through your fingers, everything slipping away from you as you stood there, helpless. You were losing them, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

Remus, his voice gentle yet firm, broke through your spiraling thoughts. “Please, dove,” he said, taking a small step closer. His tone held an urgency that made your heart flutter, though it only added to your feeling of being overwhelmed. “Talk to us.”

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes for a brief moment, trying to find the strength to speak. Your thoughts twisted and turned, and for a second, you almost couldn’t breathe. Tell them?

You exhaled shakily and gave a sigh, the words finally slipping out despite every part of you wanting to avoid it. “It started slow,” you whispered, voice trembling. “At first, I didn’t even realize. It wasn’t like anything changed overnight. But... when you touch me—when any of you touch me, I feel it. This electricity, this spark that... I don’t know how to explain it. The way your hand brushed against mine, it felt like something else. And then, when I smelled you… your scent—God, it pulled me in. It felt so right. So natural. And I started noticing it with all of you. It was like I couldn’t breathe right unless I was near you.”

You stopped, feeling the weight of the words you hadn’t let yourself say before. The words you didn’t think you could say. The words that terrified you.

“Then there was the day I realized,” you continued, barely above a whisper. “It was in Potions class. Another guy—he just bumped into me, reached over to grab an ingredient, and... I felt nothing. His touch was just... bland. Empty. No sparks. No pull. And it hit me all at once. It was like I couldn’t deny it anymore. I wasn’t imagining it. That’s when it all clicked, that I wasn’t just feeling this because I was going mad. I was feeling it because you—you three—are my mates.”

You blinked rapidly, and a few tears finally escaped, trailing down your cheeks. You looked away, embarrassed, but you couldn’t stop them. The dam had broken, and all you could do was let the words spill out, hoping that in some way, it would make sense to them.

“And I was scared,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Scared that if I let this happen, it would ruin everything. That I’d lose all of you, that I’d lose the friendship we had, that I’d mess it all up.”

James sighed softly, his voice full of compassion. “Oh, love...” he murmured, his tone so gentle it almost broke you further. You could feel the sincerity in his words, the warmth in his presence as he took a small step toward you. “We’re not going anywhere, alright? You’ve never had to be afraid of that.”

Remus nodded, his expression serious but soft. He stepped forward as well, his gaze unwavering. “You’re not alone in this. We’re never leaving you. We’ll face this together, all of us.” His words felt like an anchor, pulling you back from the whirlwind of your own doubts.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, but you didn’t feel like you were sinking anymore. Their presence, their words, wrapped around you like a blanket, calming the storm within you—at least a little.

But then, as if on cue, Sirius stepped forward. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze intense as he studied you. And then, without saying a word, he reached out. His hand brushed gently against your cheek, wiping away the tear that had escaped down your face.

You froze for a second. The touch, light but deliberate, shocked you. It was like electricity coursed through your veins, a rush of warmth and something deeper, something you hadn’t fully understood until now. Something that made your heart skip a beat.

His eyes searched yours, a question hanging in the air between you two. “Did that feel like what you explained?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with curiosity. You could feel your breath catch in your throat, but when you looked up at him, something in you shifted. Your chest tightened, but not from fear. The tension inside you seemed to ease, just for a moment.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, leaning into his touch as if you’d done it a thousand times before. It was crazy—how quickly you just... let go. How quickly you could calm down under his touch, like the world outside of the room didn’t matter. Like everything was right again, for just a breath.

His thumb gently brushed across your cheek, the contact grounding you. And somehow, in that one moment, the tears halted–your spiraling thoughts stilled. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his hand, the familiar scent of him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it could all work out. The bond—the mateship you’d been avoiding, the feelings you’d been too afraid to admit—it was no longer just a weight, an anxiety-filled weight.

Sirius brushes his fingers over your neck, lulling over to your exposed right shoulder. His touch brings heat, making your mind grow dizzy from it. Its insane how much a bond carries control over you, your emotions–it’s scary, terrifying how much power it holds. 

He brings his hand upwards again, brushing your chin up. Sirius moved slowly, eyes trained on yours as he leans in–his breath falling onto your face. With a quick glance down to your lips, you knew his intentions. You nod, admitting your permission and his lips are on yours in a heartbeat. The brief brushes of your bodies touching brought upon was nothing compared to the feeling of his lips on yours–hand cupping your cheek. Your eyes had fluttered shut, your own hand reaching to tangle in his black hair and pull him closer. 

He ends on top of you on your dorm bed, body slotted between your opened thighs. His kisses travel down your neck, his voice breathless, “are your roommates returning today, beautiful?”

You have to pull your mind out of the dizzy headspace it had begun to enter into to hum your confirmation. When he continued his kisses on your neck, you’ve been sent into orbit. Your head is tossed back against the bed sheets, whines escaping you. You’ve let go completely, no more holding back your feelings against the bond–you’re trying to bring it closer to you, needing it to encapsulate you. It’s almost like you're trying to make time for all the days you spent avoiding them. 

When Sirius nips at your neck, at a spot where your pheromones are strongest–James and Remus step back in. You’re dazed, but you hear them talking in the back. You catch a few words–mating mark, where, need to choose different locations. It all spiraled from there. Clothes were almost ripped off, moans and the smell of sex filled the air. 

Each one–James, Remus, and Sirius–got a chance at fucking you. You took each one’s knot, your cunt sore–so unbelievably sore, red, and puffy from the way they all were feral. It was everything you wished for, everything you were pleading them for. Your moans of, “o-oh… Please! James, shit–please.” Your whines for more, begging Sirius to go faster–harder. Your gasps and tugs on Remus’ hair when he ate you out, pleading that he never stopped. It was a frenzy, one that didn’t even begin to slow down until the sun had begun to rise again. 

Remus, having taken you in doggy–his length pressing against your cervix–placed his mating mark on the back of your neck. 

Sirius, doing it in missionary, placed his on the right side of your neck–by your ear. 

Then James, letting you ride his length to your heart’s content, had his placed on the opposite side of Sirius’. The guys had placed theirs on each other, but you were too out of it to remember–maybe even see it with how blurred your vision was. 

Your earlier tears—those tears of sadness, of fear that they might leave you, that they might break your heart—shifted. They no longer stung with the weight of abandonment but softened into something more profound. They became tears of pleasure. 

Your heart, once clenched with fear and doubt, was now full—overflowing with something gentle, something unspoken, but undeniable. It wasn’t just relief; it was something deeper. The marks of your bond, the quiet promises that passed between you, were beginning to settle in your skin, into your soul.

The anxiety that had once twisted in your chest, the fear that they would eventually slip away, was transformed now. In its place, you could feel the steady, unshakable presence of their connection to you. Their touch, their scent, the weight of their bodies near you—it was all part of you now.

Later, you found yourself nestled between them, your body tucked close as the four of you curled up together in the small bed. The room was quiet, save for the soft sounds of breathing and the occasional rustle of blankets. Sirius, who had been the most distant, now lay with his arm across your waist, his breath even and calm against your skin. Remus was on the other side, his back to yours, his warmth a comforting constant as you all found a rhythm together.

James, still close, shifted slightly in his sleep, his hand brushing across your hair. You sighed deeply, feeling the peace settle over you like a thick, soft blanket. Every part of you, every part of this moment, felt complete.

And with that, you understood. You understood the bond—how, in a way that was unexplainable, yet irrefutable, you were intricately woven into their lives, and they into yours. It wasn’t just fate. It was this—the quiet knowledge that, from now on, you would always be part of them. That you were theirs, as they were yours.

As you lay there, tucked into them, your body began to relax, the warmth of their embrace washing over you. Your skin seemed to hum with the connection, a gentle vibration of energy coursing beneath your skin. It was a bond, a promise—one that would last, that would hold.

The mark, invisible to the eye, burned into your heart—a symbol of the truth you now knew, of the future that had been set long before you could even comprehend it.

The weight of their promise to stay with you, to never leave, fills the space between your hearts, and you let out a shaky breath, feeling a peaceful purr rise from your chest, soft and content. There was no fear now, no loneliness. Only the warmth of their love, their touch, their presence.

You were theirs. And they were yours. And everything, finally, fell into place.

[stealthetrees]

I am once again not working on my fic. Instead I wrote this, which would be at the very end. Sequel to this post.

Hunter was not happy to be sitting in Fox’s office. He was clearly used to doing things very differently. Fox did not know how he did things because neither he nor his squad had ever filled out a report in their lives.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” said Fox bluntly. “The only reason I am even considering offering you a position because Echo is in your squad.”

“What does Echo have to do with anything?” asked Hunter, slouching down further.

“You know when you get cats from a shelter and you find those two that are so attached to each other you can’t separate them?”

“No?”

“Well Echo has this twin, Fives, who I don’t trust you to look after properly so it’s either you come to Coruscant or I keep Echo.”

The gears in Hunter’s head took a long time to start turning under the mullet. He’s probably never used them before. Poor dumb kid, no one to teach him how to think. No! Bad Fox! You can’t keep all of them, Stone will have another intervention.

“You can’t just take Echo, he’s part of our squad,” Hunter said indignantly.

“That’s why I’m offering you a choice,” said Fox. “Coruscant is no one’s first choice for assignment, but we do have more options than you think. You’d have to go through training first. Then maybe an assignment at the Kennals to give you some experience, but eventually I think you could even be trusted with a few off-world assignments.” They would like the Kennels. The small station built to monitor the rancor infestation was a favorite for troopers wanting a change of scenery.

“Why are you so determined to keep Echo?” He asked, sarting to sound suspicious. Knowing his history, Fox knew suspicion would come through eventually. Clone Force 99 did not have the best experience with authority figures, which Fox could relate to.

“I listened to Rex gush about his pet Dominos enough to take this seriously. If he found out I purposefully kept them separate he would kill me.”

[starmapz]

shame on me || chapter six || grief

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 6.2k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

Grief is a cruel emotion. It wraps its clawed hands around your throat and drags you down until you can no longer catch your breath. It threatens to drown you in its grasp, leaving nothing behind but the bubbling feeling of what once was. Like an anchor, it holds you below the surface until there’s nothing left but a shell of your former self.

Gojo knows the feeling well, although he’s gotten better at hiding it over the years. He didn’t have a choice. After all, he’s the strongest.

He tilts his head to the bedside table, flipping his phone screen towards him to check the time. Three in the morning. He lets a breath out through his nose, staring at the ceiling. His stomach churns as he lays there, a grimace plastered to his face.

He can’t help but find the whole situation he’d found himself in ironic. Despite your inherent kindness towards others, he had pushed you away. He had pried away any ounce of respect you may have had for him because of his misconception of Miriko, and when he had been wrong he hesitated. Satoru Gojo hesitated.

Although the thought clung to him like a hangnail, it wasn’t what kept him awake at night. What kept him awake was the haunting sound of your sobs. The reminder of the domino effect his poor judgment had caused.

It all could have been prevented, had he treated you like the rest of the faculty. He could have treated your first meeting as a lapse in judgment on his behalf and moved on. He could have been civil. He could have accepted your original denial to help him train Yuji.

Would that have changed anything though, really? You were too kind to have denied Gojo your help in training Yuji, he was sure of it. You would have said yes had he begged. At the end of the day, you were always meant to be here. Here in the cabin, in this moment, choking on your agony.

It didn’t stop the fact that Gojo blamed himself. You likely did too.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he flips onto his side. Eventually, things would get easier. He kept reminding himself of this fact. That no one was there when he lost…

Suddenly jumping to his feet, he grabs his glasses from the bedside table and slides them over his iridescent irises, throwing on a loose white T-shirt and gray sweats and bounding down the stairs to the kitchen. He steels himself in his resolve, swallowing his guilt. Maybe no one was there when he needed someone, but that was no reason for him to let you drown alone.

More importantly, it occurred to him for the first time since you’d agreed to stay in his cabin almost two full days ago that you hadn’t eaten anything. Shoko would not be happy to know that Gojo hadn’t been doing his job keeping an eye out for you.

Your sobs subsided as he moved through the kitchen, opening the fridge and cabinets. He was assuming you held them in at his expense, not wanting him to hear your moment of weakness, but he didn’t blame you. Were he in your position, he would have done the same.

His hand pauses over the carton of eggs as a stray thought wanders through his mind. 

“It’s lonely,” he recalls your words to Yuji, “being at the top with no one able to touch you.”

He lets out a long sigh through his nose. It pained him to say it, but you were right. He knew you meant it in a different sense than how it felt for him, that you truly had been lonely for a long time, but it didn’t change the way your words struck him. Gojo was surrounded by people in a way you never had been, but that didn’t change the fact that at the end of the day, he too pushed everyone away, even if they failed to see it.

He had a job to do, a part to play. It was a trait of his that Yuji had picked up and he hated it, but he also saw the way that you were attempting to coach those thoughts out of him and he admired it.

Standing with his hand over the eggs for so long, the fridge beeps as a warning to close the door. Bringing him back to the present, he pulls out a pan and cracks a couple of eggs straight into the pan before seasoning them.

He doesn’t bother worrying about whether or not you’ll hear him, he knows you’re awake. He’s not sure you’ve managed to sleep at all. Your sobs were near constant and although he had hoped that maybe by the time the second day came around things would subside, they hadn’t yet. Gojo’s own sleep schedule was a nightmare as well, unable to find rest between keeping up his appearances with the students, missions, and trying to sleep through his guilt. He had hoped to catch up on sleep when you woke up, but that didn’t seem to be the case either.

He stares at the pan, so deep in thought and more exhausted than he realizes, that he doesn’t realize it’s burnt. Only a little bit though. It’s fine. Gojo’s not a chef.

He pulls a plate from a cupboard and throws the omelet on it. It looks a bit sad sitting alone on the plate, but he figures it’ll have to do.

With the plate in one hand, he knocks on your door with the other. Taro’s barks startle him and he whips around to where the dog had been roused from his sleep. Before Taro has time to growl at Gojo, he’s quickly distracted by the realization that Gojo is trying to get your attention.

He waits a moment, praying you’ll open the locked door, but when you don’t he tries again.

Silence.

Third time’s the charm.

Taro whines when you still don’t respond.

“C’mon, y/n. It’s important.”

It takes a moment, but he hears you shuffle around, followed by the scuffling of your unsteady steps.

When you open the door, he forces his reassuring smirk. Taro bursts past Gojo straight to you, sitting at your side comfortingly as though sensing your mental state.

He swallows at the glum sight of your sunken eyes, one leg shaking despite leaning against the doorway. Your skin is gaunt and shoulders slumped. It takes everything in him to remind himself to play his role in this matter. Right now, he was nothing more than a doctor. That was what you needed, right?

“Omelet?”

Your eyes dart to the plate in his hands, raising a brow. “You said it was important.”

Sensing that his smirk wasn’t an aid in your well-being, he decides to drop the act. “Eating is important.”

“I’m not hungry, Gojo.”

“I put my heart and soul into this omelet.”

You eye the plate again, your crimson eyes taking in the admittedly sad looking plate with a single omelet in the middle.

“Did you put anything in it?”

He frowns, eyes flitting between the eggs and you. “Seasoning.”

“So you made eggs,” you deadpan.

He shrugs. “Eggs, omelets, it’s all the same.” God, why were you so difficult with him all the time?

Sighing, you slowly straighten, leaning your shoulder against the door as you accept his offering. He grins eagerly as you try the eggs. The way you furrow your brow after taking a bite doesn’t instill confidence in his abilities. You flip the omelet to the other side, holding the plate out to him.

“They’re burnt.”

“They’re crispy,” he insists without missing a beat.

Had he blinked, Gojo swears he would have missed it, but a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

It’s a start.

“Can I come in?” He asks hopefully, examining your suspicious expression. When you let up and shuffle aside, he passes through the threshold of the door and waits as you balance yourself against the walls to make your way to the bed on wobbly feet.

When you finally take a seat and mindlessly pick at the eggs he made, he sits at the end of the bed. It creaks under his weight as he settles in the tense silence that hangs between you both.

It’s funny, the way he seemed to lose his words suddenly. After all, there was no right answer to the question of what to say to you. At the end of the day, it wouldn’t change how you felt or what happened. Regardless, he didn’t like the idea of leaving you to drown alone just as he had so many years ago.

“Still sore?”

You shoot him a look and he winces. He had just watched you shuffle along the wall to make your way to sit on the bed, he supposed it was a stupid question.

“Is, um,” he clears his throat, “the bed comfy?”

You pause your movements, chewing on your lip for a moment. “It’s fine,” you say with a humorless chuckle at his attempt at conversation. “Cat got your tongue, Gojo?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Yeah, a cat named Guilt. “Sorry, I-” his blue eyes flicker around the room in search of a reasonable answer but it never comes to him. The moonlight flooding in through the open window shines in the crimson eyes that stare back at him, clearly awaiting an explanation. “Look, I’m trying y/n.” It’s all he can think to say.

Your shoulders relax, if only a bit, and to his surprise your hardened expression softens. You let out a long breath and nod. “Thanks, Gojo.”

Slightly taken aback by your more relaxed figure, the white-haired man reclines on his palms as he relaxes in your presence, offering a sympathetic smile. “Have you slept at all?���

“... No.”

The smile falters. “And this is the only food you’ve had.”

You nod, training your attention on Taro to avoid the air of discomfort between the pair of you. Taro eagerly awaits the moment your attention slips so that he can eat the meal that was growing colder by the second.

“Would you at least sit at the table and try some food if I make some tomorrow morning?” It’s a rhetorical question and you both know it, Gojo isn’t about to stand aside and watch as you fade away wallowing in your grief.

“Sure,” you sigh, a glint in your eyes as you snidely add, “try not to burn it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo snorts, rolling his eyes. You managed to eat about half of the omelet before sliding the plate over to your dog, but at least you’d eaten something. If Gojo had to take care of you himself, then he would.

He takes the plate from you, heading to your door.

“Gojo?” He turns his head to face you before leaving the door. “Thank you.”

He smiles. Not his signature smirk or grin, but a genuine smile, before closing the door behind him.

–

Getting to the table had been a colossal effort. With your chin leaning on the ball of your palm, your tired irises follow Gojo’s movements as he moves ingredients around in the kitchen. Maybe eggs weren’t his forte, but his pancakes were turning out fluffy, albeit very sweet and sugary.

The white fabric of the T-shirt he wore is pulled taut as he reaches up to a shelf to grab a plate. He grunts when he sets it down, adjusting his blindfold over his eyes before returning to cooking. It’s strangely domestic in a way you had never thought of Gojo before.

Pouring a couple more small pancakes into a pan, he sets a small stack in front of you.

“S’alright if you can’t eat it all.” He turns back to continue cooking for himself. Pouring some syrup over the stack, you thank him and take a bite.

“This is actually pretty good,” you comment.

“You say that like you expected me to be a bad chef.”

“I’ve only ever seen you eat sweets and your eggs were burnt.”

“You never came out for lunch with me,” he shoots back in defense of his sugary tendencies.

“You were kind of a dick,” you tell him bluntly.

Before he can retort, there’s a knock at the door. With an exaggerated huff, he turns to the door, ducking through the entrance as he peeks through it and grins at the sight of Megumi. The young boy grunts and slaps Gojo’s hand away as he ruffles his hair.

“D’you still need me to walk the dog?” Megumi asks, eyes flickering to meet yours. You conjure up the best reassuring smile you can manage and nod to him.

“Thanks, Megs,” Gojo grins, ruffling his hair again. Megumi shoots daggers at Gojo for ruffling his hair again before he takes off into the training field with your excited pup in tow.

You knew Gojo cared about his students a great deal, but even so it caught you off-guard just how much he acted like a proud parent to Megumi, puffing his chest out as he turns back to you from the door. Gojo takes note of the way your head is tilted, lost in thought.

“I’ve been taking care of him since he was six,” Gojo explains, smiling over his shoulder.

You blink in surprise, straightening in your seat at the thought of Gojo taking care of a child. He couldn’t be much older than you, which had to mean he was young when he took in Megumi. Thinking of Gojo as a father was an equally strange thought to the domestic setting you’d found yourself in with him once again. 

When the look of shock didn’t leave your face, Gojo chuckles to himself as he sits down at the table across from you, setting a plate with a much larger stack of syrup-drowned pancakes in front of him.

“Him and his sister had nowhere to go and he’s a talented kid,” he explains fondly. His smile grows as he cuts his pancakes, dimples notably showing at the corners of his lips. Every moment this morning, it felt like you were seeing him in a strange new light.

“Didn’t take you for a dad,” you mumble through a mouthful of pancakes. “You’re pretty good with kids though.”

“Compliments? This early in the morning?”

“Are you always this much of a pain in the ass?” You grumble, leaning on your fist.

His silence says no, but his shit-eating grin says absolutely. Still, he recognizes you aren’t genuinely annoyed with him. If anything, this was the most friendly the two of you had ever been. You could only wonder what switch flipped in him that he decided to be more friendly with you but you don’t have the energy to think too hard about it.

“How’re you feeling?” His tone takes on a more serious timbre as he gets up to set his already finished plate in the sink, running a hand through his hair as he leans on the counter with crossed arms.

“A bit better,” you admit, rolling your shoulders. “I hate the disconnect with Miriko though,” you confide, stabbing a small portion of pancake for the dozenth time. “It’s weird, it’s like this strange feeling that I’m forgetting something in the back of my head.”

Gojo hums in understanding, “Has your connection with her gotten stronger in the past couple of days?”

“A bit last night,” you nod. The only difference between last night and the previous was food, so you had to imagine that was an important factor in her energy recovery. “It’s quiet, though.”

Your words hang in the air as Gojo takes them in, his chest rising as he takes in a breath.

“Lonely?” Although the intonation of his tone implies a question, it isn’t one. He knows the answer.

“It is,” your voice is barely a whisper, meek. You’re not sure why you find yourself divulging information to Gojo of all people, but who else was left? You couldn’t drive yourself crazy in the silence that your own mind had become. It was strange, the way your own brain wouldn’t shut up, and yet you craved the familiar presence of the curse that had caused this whole situation in the first place. Of course, you couldn’t blame her. She was the only reason you were alive to this day.

Then again…

You turn your attention to Gojo, examining the strangely casual outfit he was wearing before trying to make sense of his expression. His lips are pursed, as though he’s waiting for you to continue.

If you couldn’t blame Miriko, could you really blame Gojo? Would you have ended up here with or without him?

You press your lips into a tight line, turning your attention back to your plate.

No, you decide. You wouldn’t be in this position if not for him.

But then again, you never would have met Nanami. Even with the loss hanging heavy over your head, you wouldn’t trade your relationship with him for the world. You wouldn’t trade the feeling of being loved.

You stab the pancake harder than intended as you juggle your thoughts, causing you both to jump and pulling you out of your trance.

Gojo clears his throat. “I’ll um, give you some space,” he tells you and hurries off to the washroom to shower.

A shower sounds nice. Maybe that would help clear your thoughts.

–

Dull lights flicker above you, illuminating your figure. You lean over the washroom sink, sighing at your reflection. The woman staring back at you barely feels like someone you recognize. No wonder Gojo had forced you to eat. Even you were able to admit that you looked like a damn wreck.

Pale skin matches your equally dreary and tired expression, not to mention the dull ache in your limbs forcing you to lean on surfaces for support. Lifting a hand, you run it through your wet hair, wringing out what water you’re able to before letting it fall over your shoulders. If it dripped down your shirt, so be it.

Holding yourself up on the door frame, you pick your phone up for the first time since you’d woken up. Of course, you’d always kept your distance from others so you weren’t expecting any messages, but to your surprise your dad had texted his worries. Sliding your phone to unlock it, you read through a flurry of worried texts, followed by one that surprises you.

12:32 PM | Dad: Your friend answered the phone and told me what happened. Love you. Text me when you wake up.

You open your mouth to ask Gojo about the text, but the words die on your tongue as you look up at him.

Gojo is sitting at the table with his legs up on the chair opposite him. He’s wearing a black compression shirt, the outline of his pecs visible beneath the thin fabric. A pair of loose white pants adorns his lower half, tied at his hips. You can’t see his eyes from beneath the thick fabric of his blindfold.

He tilts his head curiously as you freeze with parted lips and wide eyes, trained on the mug in his hands that made your blood run cold. It’s nondescript, he likely picked it up when he’d gone to gather things from your cabin without thinking twice about it, but the sight has a familiar tightness clenching in your chest.

“Where did you get that?” Your voice is eerily devoid of emotion.

Sensing he did something wrong, Gojo sits up, holding the mug up to look at it. “Dunno, I brought it over from your cabin.”

“It’s not yours,” you tense at the sight, spitting the words through your gritted teeth. Images of Kento using the mug each morning flash through your mind, the sound of his gruff morning voice stirring panic in your chest as you act without thinking.

“It’s just a mu-”

“It’s not!” Your voice is loud enough to shock the both of you. You’re gripping the wall hard enough that your knuckles run white. He takes the hint, setting the mug down as realizes what has you so upset, hands up in the air to depict his innocence.

“y/n, it’s not a big deal, ple-” Gojo tries to mediate the situation, knowing you aren’t in a good enough headspace to cooperate, but it does him no favors as he sees the tears beginning to well in your eyes. He panics as hot tears trail down your cheeks and he does the only thing he can think to help.

With only a couple of wide strides, he closes the distance between you and envelops his arms around you. You tense at the contact, unmoving, making him wonder if he’s made a mistake. You swallow hard, not wanting to give in as if you were admitting defeat, but you would be a fool not to accept what you had needed so badly. Even if it was from the person you wanted to blame.

So you give in, wrapping your arms around his torso and struggling not to shake from the tears that were staining his white shirt. Toned arms tighten around your core as you accept his embrace and he stands unmoving as you let the sound of his steady beating heart soothe you.

Even if it was only for a moment, as you feel the weight of anxiety lift from your chest, it feels like you can finally breathe again. It was a solace you hadn’t expected to find in Satoru Gojo, but even if only for a moment, the feeling of breaking through the surface of the sea of emotions swirling around you is a relief.

You don’t dare move as Gojo’s chin rests atop your head, his thumb rubbing small circles against your ribs as he mindlessly offers you comfort. His warm breath fans across your shoulders, the rhythm of his breathing offering a distraction from the panic that had settled in at the sight of someone else in the place that Kento should have been.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly push off of Gojo, who keeps one hand under your forearm to keep you steady. He continues to rub circles into the skin of your arm with his thumb, his expression serious as he lets you get your bearings.

“I- I’m sorry,” you squeak, barely able to get the words out at all as you bring a hand up to wipe your tears. “I don’t know- I- I-”

“It’s fine, y/n,” he assures you, a small smile revealing the hint of the dimples on either of his cheeks. “It happens. You’re going through a lot.”

Your head hangs in shame at how you lashed out at him, your eyes resting on the floor.

When you mutter another apology, Gojo lets out a breathy laugh, clearly not sure what to do with a small crying girl in his home who wasn’t exactly fond of him. Gripping your forearm reassuringly, he slowly begins to move to the table, sitting you down in the chair he was using and letting you take the mug as he sits beside you.

Your eyes train on the familiar light blue speckled mug with brown undertones. It hadn’t been purchased for him, it wasn’t a gift. It shouldn’t hold any meaning, really. But it was the only one Kento had seemed to use, causing something to snap in you at the sight of Gojo using it.

You can’t bring yourself to hold it, your eyes trained on the familiar shape that was held with a warm smile most mornings.

“Did he ever tell you we went to school together?”

You wipe another tear, nodding as you watch Gojo take his blindfold off. Uncovered, his cerulean eyes seem to hold an entire other world within them.

“You wouldn’t have believed what he was like.”

“What do you mean?” You ask curiously, leaning forward as Gojo reminisces.

“He was a year behind me, Shoko, and-” he stammers over his words, recovering before you have a chance to think twice about it. “He was just as reserved back then as he was when you met.”

“Even as a teen?”

“Especially as a teen. So straight and to the point,” he grins, shaking his head. “The other first-year was good for him, I think the two of them brought out the best in each other.”

“I never heard him mention anyone else in his year.”

“And his hair, did he ever show you?” Catching your curious look, he stands and bounds up the stairs, choosing to ignore your statement. From the bedroom loft you hear his voice. “Would you believe me if I told you he wasn’t my biggest fan?”

“He has good taste,” you mutter somewhat jokingly.

“I heard that,” Gojo teases as he bounds back down the stairs with a single photo in hand and his sunglasses now hanging from his shirt. “Check it out, this is from his birthday.”

Standing in the center of the photo is a very young Nanami sporting long blonde hair and an unimpressed expression. A party hat is strapped to his head and he’s standing as stiff as a board. The photo is blurry, clearly taken from a flip phone several years ago.

A bittersweet smile spreads across your lips at the sight.

“His hair…” You mumble in disbelief, a choked laugh escaping your lips as a tear slips down your cheek. You slowly reach out and take the photo from Gojo, thumbing over the photo as though you’ll feel anything more than glossy paper. You don’t, of course, but the sight brings a comfort you haven’t felt in a while.

“Told ya, it was a sight,” Gojo chuckles. He watches the way you hold the photo, like it’s precious, a grimace pulling at his lips. He replaces it with a smile. “You can keep it.”

“Hm?”

“The photo, you can keep it.”

“Oh, I- Are you sure?” You ask, examining the blue eyes that could pierce right through you. He nods. “Thank you, Gojo.”

Silence falls over the cabin as you observe him. He leans back, his arms crossed behind his head with a small smile as he leans his head back. His chest rises and falls slowly, muscles flexed as the material of his shirt bunches at his biceps.

You can’t help but wonder what changed. Was he only being kind while you grieved, would the switch flip in a month when you had recovered? Your eyes fall to the photo at your fingertips.

You’d once aired your grievances to Kento about the strange way Gojo reacted to you and he’d mentioned having a hunch about what his issue with you was, the discussion now clear in your mind.

“You think he’s doing it on purpose?”

Nanami nods. “Yes. Gojo is annoying, but he’s smarter and more emotionally intelligent than he comes across.” He pauses with a reminiscent laugh. “Sometimes, anyway.”

“Why would he purposely be an asshole?”

Kento shifts to prop himself up on his elbow, moving his pillow beside you. Your eyes flicker to the flexed bicep and he smirks. “I have a hunch…” he hums, his mahogany eye trailing down to your fingers as he threads his own through yours. “That he’s worried you’ll turn on him.”

“Oh,” you blink, eyes widening. Your grip on Nanami’s hand tightens. “Can you ask him about it?”

His lips press into a thin line. “I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t admit anything.”

“Right…”

With that thought resurfaced, you could only hope to bring it up sooner rather than later. The opportunity didn’t come until a couple of days later. You were regaining your vigor and had even managed to reconnect with Miriko, whose strength was growing steadily.

Of course, that didn’t make the turmoil of emotions any easier and you would be lying if you said being alone at night with your thoughts was something you enjoyed, but at least a semblance of normalcy was returning to your life.

Even so, admitting that Gojo’s presence had been a strange comfort pained you.

Gojo had also proven to be a half-decent chef, but more to your surprise he seemed to be attempting to take care of you. He also didn’t dare leave you alone. He had needed to step out for a mission and had left Yuji to keep an eye on you, whose eyes had brimmed with grateful tears that you were okay, something that warmed your heart and sent you into a flurry of sobs.

Megumi continued to drop by every day to walk Taro, each interaction between him and Gojo continuing to baffle you as you realized just how much he did see the students as his own children.

In particular, you began to notice more and more the way Gojo acted like a proud parent towards Megumi. It was oddly heartwarming, when you realized the few things that decorated the rather barren cabin Gojo stayed in were things that seemed to be made for Gojo by Megumi when he was quite a bit younger.

A couple of the magnets on the fridge held up drawings or cards that you’d never bothered to look at but it became clear they were school projects and notes, as well as a couple of small gifts sitting on the kitchen windowsill. A pipe cleaner flower from Megumi’s little sister and a pipe cleaner dog from the young boy, both horribly sun faded but full of love.

It grew harder every day to hold any amount of hate for him.

Five days after waking up again, Shoko dropped by to check in on you and run some tests before getting you up and walking again, doing some basic rehab. Miriko had insisted she would be able to heal you but Gojo was adamant on having you recover as soon as possible.

Closing the door behind Shoko, he turns to where you’re sitting on the couch in the living room, your crimson gaze following his movements. He sighs, stepping over the back of the couch and sliding down onto the couch beside you, legs spread in typical man fashion.

You raise an eyebrow at him as his knee brushes yours, but Gojo just smirks, slinging his arm over the back of the couch. He had very little regard for personal space.

“How’re ya feeling?”

“It’s nice to walk again,” you tell him, dodging the question as you lean back into the couch.

“Ya look like a penguin,” he snickers, throwing his head back.

“You’re such a pain,” you groan, knocking your knee back against his teasingly.

The warm afternoon sun threads through the blinds at the end of the couch, illuminating Gojo’s cheek with its gentle rays. His white lashes seem to sparkle from where they’re barely visible over his sunglasses, fluttering every so often as he blinks.

“Gojo?”

He hums, giving his head a shake to keep his bangs out of his vision.

“Why do you want me to recover quickly?”

“Cause I care?” He says as though it’s obvious.

“Yeah right,” you sneer. “Really, why?”

“Okay first of all, ouch,” he puts a hand over his heart in feign offense. A smile pulls at the corner of your lips. Slowly but surely, he was earning your trust. Believing he cared in the friendly way he seemed to imply could still be seen as a stretch, but you decide to leave it be. “Second of all,” he frowns now, “the higher ups aren’t happy.”

“Okay…” you urge him to continue, pulling your legs up onto the couch as you face him.

“They want you dead.”

Your face falls at the admission, the muscles in your jaw clenching as a familiar thought runs through your head. You wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for Gojo in the first place.

“Why not just kill me, then?” Your words are ice on Gojo’s skin, as though any ounce of trust he’d earned is gone in an instant. The tension in the air grows steadily the longer he doesn’t answer, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end.

“What kind of a question is that supposed to be?”

“You never liked me to begin with, so why-”

“For fuck’s sake y/n, what are you on about with that?” He pulls his shades off as he asks the question in exasperation, waving a hand in the air.

“What am I-? You- You know the answer to that question!” You retort in disbelief.

His jaw hangs open as his head falls back against the couch. “Fuck, I-” He closes his eyes, bringing a hand up to the bridge of his nose. “You are so fucking difficult, you know that?” He grumbles.

You stand up abruptly in disbelief. “I’m sorry, do I need to remind you of the shit you pulled to get me here? About how my last three weeks have been?”

“y/n I know you’re upset but that’s not fair.”

“Not fair? Not fair?” Heat gathers at your cheeks as tears threaten to spill. And god damn it, it only makes you more angry that you can’t stop yourself from crying in an argument. “You want to talk about not fair?”

The silence that hangs between you both as you pause could be cut with a knife. It hangs heavy in the air as you both know what’s coming. Gojo presses his lips into a thin line, standing as he prepares himself for the onslaught of what’s to come.

“Kento is dead. I destroyed the entire schoolyard, I can barely walk, I need help just to take care of my own dog and-” you pause, trying to regain your composure before tears can spill down your cheeks. “-and now I can’t hide anymore. I don’t get to have a normal life, because of you.”

“C’mon, that’s not fair.”

His repetition only makes you angrier and you take a wobbly step away from him, wanting out of his sight. For all the kind things he did for you, each one seemed to be constantly outweighed by the reminders of the situation you’d been thrown into. All from one unfortunate meeting two years ago.

“I’m fucking trying, y/n!” He raises his voice, taking a step forward to tower over you. His chest is rising and falling fast, blue irises darting across your face as he takes in the change in your expression. Your brow furrows, lips parting as he airs his grievances. “I made a mistake, okay?” His resolve wavers as the volume he’s speaking at returns to normal.

You don’t dare utter a word, out of fear he might not continue.

“I know I can’t make it up to you. That’s fine. But it’s not fair to blame me for Nanami’s-” he doesn’t finish the sentence when you can’t meet his gaze. “That loss hurt us all.”

With the sun nearly set, there’s very little light left illuminating the two of you. The sounds of the summer cicadas in the distance seem to disrupt the tense air in the cabin, a welcome distraction from the pain settling into your chest once more.

Taking a deep breath, you swallow the lump in your throat. “Can I have some space?”

You see the subtle way his shoulders slump. It’s not a response, but he knows as well as you do that his answer wouldn’t have mattered either way as you turn and shuffle into the guest room. Taro follows behind you, able to sense that you’re upset. You’re thankful for his endless support, no matter whether you were in the right or not.

No matter how much you wanted to feel you were right, it wasn’t easy when Gojo had a point. You’d been so caught up in your own emotions you hadn’t stopped to think of the way the loss had affected Yuji, Megumi, Shoko… or Gojo. You knew him and Nanami weren’t close, but you’d never considered what kind of relationship they did have.

Settling down onto your bed, you pick up the photo sitting on your desk. Nanami in a party hat. Your bittersweet smile returns at the sight and you sigh, long and forlorn.

You couldn’t keep blaming Gojo. You hated to admit it, but he was right. It wasn’t fair. Regardless of the fact that a portion of the situation was his fault, you’d fought about that enough times to last a lifetime. It wasn’t worth the energy anymore.

Miriko?

Yes?

Would it be so wrong to forgive him?

It takes her a moment to respond.

It is not my place to make that decision.

Shuffling on the bed to lay flat on your back, you stare at the wooden ceiling, turmoil threatening to bubble over in your chest as you wipe the tears that finally fall.

He was trying, you owed it to him to try as well.

But fuck were things ever more difficult now that you were alone, without your boyfriend to go home to.

For the fifth night in a row since you’d woken up, Gojo feels the familiar knife of guilt twist in his gut as he hears your quiet weeping. Unrest is quickly becoming his closest friend.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

a/n || he's trying 🥹 writing domestic gojo is so fun, hope you all enjoyed! 💖

btw this is the nanami photo ehehe

[thedemonsurfer]

Back on my bullshit with trying to guess character motives feat. Dark Sun

Sooo Dark Sun (or 'Just Sun') finally rolled up to talk to Sun in todays SAMS ep, and naturally I'm putting him on the high-speed cycle in my head trying to parse what his motives are. What does he GET out of this?

Because he was leaning on Sun really hard to kill Nexus-- specifically, he wants Sun to see Nexus as a representative of the worst kind of person Moon can be, and to recognize that as a threat that needs to be killed.

But-- why?

Roll back a bit: Dark Sun has been involved in every step of Nexus' fall from grace.

He did something to New Moon at their very first meeting.

He provided Eclipse with the means to bring back Solar, and then prevented him from acting until Dark Sun wanted him to.

He dropped Ruin off on New Moon's doorstep when Moon was at a point where he could have accepted Solar's death, causing Moon to double down on his efforts.

He plucked New Moon out of space and pulled the chip containing Old Moon out of his head and left it for Monty to find.

He's provided Nexus with a new base of operations and enables his monkeying around with dark energon dark star energy, despite the damage it's doing to Nex.

Dark Sun needs Nexus to make himself into a threat. Because that's what he does, he sets up the dominoes and pulls the strings, but he doesn't outright tell others what to do (unless it's bossing Ruin around, but Ruin is his bitch so he doesn't count.)

And today, he was leaning real hard on Sun to see Nexus as a threat. to see all Moons as a threat (though, curiously, not mentioning Old Moon).

So what is he getting out of this? Why does he also need Sun to see Nexus as a threat that needs to be stopped? Why does he want Sun to 'understand' that he has to kill his brother?

Dial back the motives. The most compelling and strongest motives are Simple and Selfish: Eclipse didn't actually want power, he wanted Moon to pay attention to him. Ruin did want to prevent a total catastrophe, but he also wanted revenge on the Creators for destroying his life and world.

(As an aside, this is why I feel that Bloodmoon didn't make a good antagonist, and why Ruin's initial appearance was kind of boring. 'I'm here just to fuck shit up' isn't a very compelling motive.)

What do we know about Dark Sun?

He lied about having killed his Moon and actually kept him to torture-- or he DID kill his own Moon, and the one Ruin met was a substitute

He never gets his hands dirty, he gets others to act for him

He's obsessed with Sun

He fucking hates Moon

Dark Sun tells Sun that 98% of dimensions lose their Sun, and Moon is often the one that kills them. But it's not exactly that straightforward, is it?

Atlas points out that Dark Sun is counting dimensions where Sun was reset as him being 'dead'. Dimensions where Eclipse has a hand in Sun's death could be considered Moon's fault, since Eclipse is a byproduct of the killcode. Ruin's situation resulted in the ego death of both his Sun and Moon, on his Moon's suggestion. Ruin also wiped out 5000 dimensions and I think that's gonna skew some of the numbers.

And... how many dimensions have we seen a dead Sun in the show? Two, I think? The one where they never split up and Moon consumed Sun after the killcode took full control, and Solar's. And in Solar's, that Moon went mad trying to bring his Sun back.

Almost every instance we've seen, Sun and Moon coexist just fine once they're in separate bodies.

And I think that's what Dark Sun wants. I think he's trying to justify killing his own Moon before they ever got a chance to get along.

Moons MUST be evil and unable to change, they MUST be cruel. It's impossible for a Sun to get along with a Moon for any length of time, and that Sun is in the right when he has to kill his Moon.

And he's going to use Sun and Nexus to prove how right he is.

[adventuringblind]

Any chance you could do Lando x AUDHD (Autism&ADHD) reader?? Either just him or poly with Oscar, maybe Oscar try a keep them both in line??

The Responsible One

Landoscar x Reader

Summary: Oscar reflects back on the chaotic duo he has for partners

Warnings: none :)

Notes: Lando is ADHD coded... change my mind, I dare you. Also, a life update for you all! I know things have slowed down, but I am still writing! I've been working my ass off and getting ready to start my masters program, so life has been insane. Thank you all for the continued support! ❤️

Masterlist

It certainly wasn't anything new to Oscar, having to manage both Lando and their girlfriend. The chaos they bring with every footstep is insane, but he loves them both dearly.

One time, he found them deep in a conversation about the difference between chocolate and vanilla. Sometimes, he gets absoloute silence only to be interrupted by Lando's strange thoughts that he just needs to say.

Don't get him started on taking them anywhere out to eat. He hates anything to do with it because both of them have differening food sensory issues. It's a pain to get them to agree on anything.

His favorite moments are when both of them are incredibly clingy. It's like being suffocated with hugs, kisses, and cuddles. It's an amazing way to die if you ask him.

He once had to run around looking for them because neither was getting back to him. Turns out they were asleep on the floor together. Blankets tangled with their limbs. Rain sounds playing from somebody's phone. They looked so cute and peaceful, and Oscar does love to sleep. So the Australian joined them in their huddle on the floor.

Speaking of the floor: why are they both obsessed with it? He can't tell you exactly why, but they both love it. Floor time is an essential part of their day that Oscar has adapted to. When Kim started finding him on the floor, he laughed and said, "Oscar! They got you, too!" Apparently, Max also likes the floor because of them. Then Charles started because of Max. The domino effect her supposes.

The one thing he spends most of his time trying to figure out is volume. Specifically why Lando can be quite on second and not the next. It's a jump from word to word sometimes. Whereas the female is so random, he can't predict it. He wouldn't mind it, except for when they set each other off, and then she gets overstimulated. Lando feels so bad that he has to apologize at the end of every sentence for the rest of the day.

He spends many hours trying to soothe both of them. He knows, however, that's at the end, he will be treated to comfort food and a movie. Not because he needs it neccecarily, but because the other two do, and he gets to reap the benefits.

Humor and jokes with the two are his favorite. One of them is blunt, and she loves to tell people like it is. She has no filter really and is a deadpan like Oscar himself. The other can't lie to save his life but tries. He lacks a filter in such a strange way that really Oscar never knows what he's going to say. Oscar is constantly having to hold in his laughs.

They both talk his ear off about random information about the things they love, but he could listen to them all day. They get overstimulated and need breaks. But he's happy to provide a safe space. They cuddle and hug and cling to each other, but he basks in it.

They love him unconditionally, including him. They make him feel wanted.

And it doesn't matter him to him how many people ask him why, or how many tell him they are too chaotic. He could care less. He loves them because they are the definition of distraction walking around as humans.

They are his chaos. He doesn't mind being the responsible one if he gets to keep laying on the floor listening to their ramblings.

And what can he say? It's fun to watch them be brutally honest with people.

[multiheadcanons]

TF2 MERCS AND GAMES

scout: the boy loves an fps, though is pretty good at most any game you set in front of him. nobody ever wants to play a video game with him. sucks at cards though. lost his entire first check to a drunk demo on poker night. that is when he found out he did not know the rules of poker. good sport about losing games because it happens so rarely, but a very sore winner. you would think he’s never won anything in his life ever. also a casual enjoyer of puzzles.

soldier: soldier is a cheater. a damn good one at that. one of the few people to beat scout in any game of scout’s choice, bar a good old foot race. and that’s because scout doesn’t know that one of the controllers suck, the port that holds the controller’s wire is loose (he bribed spy for that), and if you tap the tv the wrong way the screen will glitch. but soldier does. also a fat cheater at board games. hides money and cards under his helmet and will DIRECTLY LIE ABOUT THE RULES. medic refuses to play with him because he’s a cheater but nobody believes medic because medic is also…. a fucking cheater.

pyro: those little hand games where you have to know the rhymes? pyro loves those. that can keep them entertained for HOURS. their favorite is the susie had a steamboat one because almost cursing makes them giggle. has a mutual agreement with medic that they will play their respective games with each other since they have both been found guilty in game court and banned. pyro set the board on fire in an act of rage at the possibility that they might go bankrupt, and demo argued it was cheating. gets really good luck on card pulls. won a jackpot at blackjack on an off night at the casino. they donated most of the money to a shelter and threw the rest off a building to the people below. they just…. they didn’t take the cash out of the bag? and is now wanted for questioning of negligent manslaughter.

demo: demo is a card shark; and he will not play for anything less than money and privileges. past that, he likes a good board game until the middle of the game. he’s the kind of guy who makes real-life deals to win a game of monopoly. sore loser, to the point where he’ll start a fistfight if he suspects cheating. he banned medic, engie, and pyro from team game nights because they’re all cheaters. in his defense, he did hold a trial against him all, and they were all found guilty. would probably like dungeons and dragons, but has never played.

heavy: heavy is not much of a game player, but he joins in on game nights because it’s good bonding. a great player because he’s a wild card with no care for the rules, and likes to watch scout lose, as boring as it is to watch him go “good game!”. it takes everyone teaming against scout, but if heavy’s playing, people can breathe a little easier knowing that it’ll be a close game at worst and a total toss up at best. slow decision maker. pyro tried to teach him a hand game once, he didn’t care for it. he also knows that soldier is a cheater, but doesn’t have the heart to get a fourth person banned from game nights because of cheating. he still misses watching the doctor suck at cheating. kind of thinks cheating is in the essence of competitive games. is not a cheater himself. average luck on card pulls. enjoys dominoes.

engineer: also really likes hand games. slaps hands too hard because he gets too into it. pyro never minds that. also a card shark with a mean poker face. also plays go and chess; he’s pretty good but there’s no real competition in the base for him to really hone those skills. also banned from monopoly nights because he was found guilty of cheating, so now on game nights they play uno instead in the next room. a graceful loser, and a sore winner. he’ll shove it down your throat if you lost.

medic: medic is a cheater. a bad one. and a sore player in general. he cannot help himself but to cheat at competitive games, and finds cooperative games boring. insult hurler when things go awry. was the one who actually initiated and created the team court for game night issues, and was the first to be held to trial and found guilty. that infuriated him. he lunged at demo when the verdict came in. LOVES a good card game though, his favorite is speed. don’t even make eye contact he will seduce you to the table with humble promises of him keeping his old hands limber, beat you undebatably and patronize you after, promising you’ll get him next time. and you’ll do it again because he’s like a game playing succubus who wants to slowly crush people’s spirits through the game of speed. it’s like he gets off on it. the closest anyone got is scout and they tied. it almost started a fight because scout would not agree to a rematch, and medic refused their rightful tie. tie refuser. surprisingly graceful winner and loser. but in the midst of the game all bets are off with him. also a fist fighter when it comes to games, and has knocked boards over before. he knows soldier is a cheater and brings it up every time they get ready to play and nobody believes him. he once bribed pyro to burn the game trouble because he was rolling like dog shit and couldn’t get the dice out to weight them.

sniper: snipes dms a dungeons and dragons campaign under an alias online that consists of six party members. he’s a bit of a hardass dm, but he’s become pretty good friends with john from the party, he thinks. good guy, couple of kids and a wife, no known bounty on his head. hates any other game. will reluctantly play poker and then quit after the first hand. frankly just a quitter of games in general. hates competitive games with his team because they all act like they have no sense. it’s like literally playing with children. is normally the peacekeeper for team game nights and will refuse to play because medic and demo fight people over little shit. his most common phrase is “it’s a GAME, YOU CUNTS”. prefers single player games. he’ll schedule his dnd sessions on game nights if he doesn’t want to deal with them. will occasionally indulge pyro in a hand game or two if they ask, though the first time pyro did ask sniper leaned in close and said “do not ask me unless you have asked everybody else and exhausted them”. occasionally indulges medic in a FRIENDLY GAME of uno. will quit the second medic starts getting snappy with him, so the doctor has had to learn that if he wants to play with snipes he’s gotta be nice because “i’m not gonna play your stupid game if you’re gonna act like a dick!”

spy: is one of the party members in snipe’s dnd group, under the identity “john”. he’s really enjoying it and the freedom of being someone else who’s pretending to be something else for fun and not for profit. can’t always join board game nights on the base because dnd sessions fall on the same day sometimes. though he’ll go afk and even miss sessions to watch the fights when they get rowdy, but because “john” has built good rapport with snipes he never complains about the occasional disappearance, though none of the other players are really given that same grace. has a dice collection he paid a lot of money for that he’ll occasionally gift a set to snipes as “john” to keep in his dm’s good graces. tries to join on the poker games when he can, it’s easy money when medic isn’t playing and demos too trashed to see. also plays solo games like solitaire. will never play hand games with pyro. has bad luck with cards he didn’t shuffle.

[eternalera]

i love everyone saying how if ekko stayed everyone would understand his choice and not blame him for it but he left anyways and that makes him the best character. and while yes i kinda wanna dig deeper into this, the fact is that if ekko stayed i doubt that he ever wouldve been able to forgive himself, he never wouldve been truly happy, why? because he had everything that he wanted. he was flung into another dimension by chance and it just happened to be the best one where everything went right and he's dating his childhood crush (aka jinx/powder although im gonna use powder since its technically powder).

throughout ekko's character we've learned a few things and one of them being that he's not selfish by any means. he's built an entire commune for the greater good, he doesn't charge people anything and he lets them stay, he created a utopia in a dystopian world so that people can grow up normally and live a life that he and a lot of others never lived at his age. he doesnt force the people into labor he lets them have fun and i highly suspect that the people in the firelights are there because they went to support him and his endeavors and he doesn't want to let them down.

he has people relying on him because of this thing that he created so what does he do when there's a problem? he finds it and goes to fix it, and when he does that its then when he gets flung into this alternate reality and has to try and get back even though he has everything. why?

because his people need him. the tree is still dying, and if that tree dies everyone's lives who live there will be utterly destroyed. because he created that commune/utopia he is responsible for it's survival and while he has everything in this universe it's not his universe it's not his to have. what is his though is once again his society and he cant just throw that all away not with everyone counting on him. so he needs to go back.

not only that but in the end powder was right, he gave them the tip, he started off the chain of reactions he was the one who introduced everyone to hextech and while it's not his fault of how everything plays out he played his rule as much as the next person, as much as powder or vi. he started the chair reaction and while he can't control what happens after it what does matter is that he started it, he knocked over the domino's and for that he has to live with his decision and how it played out.

in this universe everything turned out fine, in his though is an entirely different story and he has to own up to that, while he didn't control it he still started all of this kinda like jayce with creating hextech, he didnt want everything to go out of hand or for viktor to basically become god and emotionless but regardless of the fact that's what happened and maybe in a different reality that doesnt happen but it still happened and because of that he has to own up to that mistake.

when vi slaps powder and runs off she couldn't have predicted that silco would take her in or that powder would become jinx but she still has to take some sort of responsibility for it.

ekko has to face what his decision caused in the end, maybe there it turned out for the better but in his universe it didnt and i think thats what makes his character truly mature in a sense. now am i saying that everything is ekko's fault? no, it's not but just like everyone else he had his part to play and even if it's not his fault arcane does make it clear that he's not entirely innocent just like powder says

"you gave us the tip"

you introduced us to this, you made us go on this mission. you're not innocent. and this fucking works it acknowledges the part that ekko had to play in everything which... lets be honest some people were NOT (and still arent) talking about. so that makes him going back and fixing everything so much better even if most of it wasnt his fault he still sees the harm that he caused and wants to fix it.

thats why he's the boy savior, and that's why he cant stay.

[archivewriter1ont]

Unveiling the Saved at the Citadel: Fives Lives And Joins the Batch AU

I have been working on this in my brain for a WHILE and I'm so happy to finally share it! The plan is to begin posting a few fics in this AU during May (following the Months of the Bad Batch, Fives May, as that would be 5555-05).

There are many, many, many details I can't wait to explore in some more in-depth writing but here is the bullet-pointed gist of the AU ⬇️⬇️

Intro to the Saved at the Citadel AU

Instead of the heartbreaking mess that was the ending of the Citadel arc, we see the welcome arrival of Rex and Company's unexpected rescuers -- the Bad Batch! Clone Force 99 was on a separate mission in nearby space and received a broken-up distress call from the party on Lola Sayu. The batchers realize that it's Big Brother Cody and some dude named Rex, Big Bro's other favorite brother, and show up with a shock-and-awe response that would make the trigger-happy Alpha-17 beam with pride.

Echo is not presumed dead at the Citadel or taken to Skakko and Fives does not have his chip arc or die.

The Domino ARC Twins and Rex are sent immediately on a different mission with the Batchers, destination unknown, after a specific target. During the assignment, Rex comes to respect the Batchers just as he did in their TCW arc, and the Dominos find themselves becoming attached to these four defects who are simultaneously rough around the edges and extremely welcoming.

After everything is said and done, Echo and Fives decide to transfer to the Bad Batch. Rex lets them go, just as he did with Echo in Unfinished Business, and continues to check in regularly.

The newly expanded Bad Batch goes on a variety of exciting adventures as a six-man squad, becoming an even more deadly machine as the twins integrate into their new family. On a return trip to Kamino, Tech comes across some strange rumors of a clone who lost it on the battlefield and was transferred back to their home planet for evaluation. Fives volunteers to snoop around with the genius once they get planet side, and that's how the Batch finds out about the inhibitor chips.

While Tech and Fives are rescuing Tup and gathering evidence to take before the Jedi and the Senate regarding the chips (because while the Batch may be wary, the twins know a few Jedi and politicians who will not be happy about this info) Hunter and the others are trying to cover for them...and stumble across a blonde-haired little lab assistant who calls them by their names.

With Tup and Omega in tow, the Batch heads to Coruscant to inform the Jedi and confront the Senate. Secrets are revealed, from the origins of the Clone Wars to Anidala to the existence of a Second Sith, and new allies must be found, made, or blackmailed to uncover the entire, widespread plot to overthrow the Republic.

The Batch calls up all their favors and old contacts, including Fox, Quinlan, and even a certain lady pirate that Tech and Echo accidentally met on a recent undercover mission (and a rather annoying Weequay they wish they didn't know at all) to help pull off the counter-overthrow.

The Jedi gladly go along with the scheme and confront the Senate. In the madness, Hunter ends up just a little too close to the Chancellor and...

Hunter: "Cody...is the Chancellor a Jedi?" Cody: "No." Hunter: "Ok then he's the Sith." Cody: "What?" Hunter: "Unless the Jedi just give out those laser swords like party favors." Obi-Wan: "How exactly do you know that he has one?" Hunter: "Felt it. All your sabers give off a weird EM pulse. They're different flavors but they all make me want to sneeze."

Now all the Jedi are royally pissed -- 1. that they didn't see this before and 2. that all the suffering brought by the war has happened due to Palpatine's greed. It doesn't take very long for every available Jedi in the system to converge at the Temple to help take down the Chancellor.

But they end up just being the decoy squad. As Mace Windu and Yoda cause a distraction by confronting Palps directly, sabers drawn, Crosshair uses a slugthrower to snipe the Chancellor through a window. He wishes he could undo this as he is forevermore dubbed by Fives "The Mighty SithSlayer."

The Jedi hide the Batch in the Temple for a few days until they can set the record straight to the public, giving the six saviors of the Galaxy plenty of time to rest after their crazy saving-the-universe ordeal and play with the younglings who are ecstatic to meet real-life heroes. This also gives Tech and Echo time to go over the records from Kamino and find the location of a certain Mount Tantiss, where a certain Hemlock was centralizing medical equipment and personnel for Project Necromancer and other unsavory programs.

Phee decides that after all the ruckus on Coruscant, Tech needs an extended vacation on this really nice, beachy planet she knows about. She graciously allows the other five to tag along with their newly discovered baby (older?) sister.

Tantiss is taken over by the GAR, with CF99 spearheading the operation as the special forces group. Emerie is brought over to the good guys, and she, Tech, and a myriad of scientists from across the stars use the on-world base to house their genetic research operation. Within months, after dedicated research and help from Nala Se, who was given a generous plea deal in return for her assistance, every clone trooper is given the gene therapy required to halt their accelerated aging.

Everyone lives happily ever after on Pabu and elsewhere, including Mayday. Fives becomes the island storyteller and immortalizes the Batch escapades through that.

I have so many fics I want to write for this AU it would boggle your mind. Seriously...it is not even funny.

[brucewaynehater101]

I think that prior to Tim being found out as a spider demon, only Cass had good thoughts about Spiders. And maybe Damian but in more of a "don't kill it, you put it in a cup and move it to the garden" kind of way. Dick *hates* them and Jason had a bad experience with Beast Boy using the form of a spider the size of a dinner plate to jump scare him when he was still Robin.

As for how he makes his silk, i once saw a design of a spider demon that had two black dots at the corners of its mouth and when it pressed a finger to the dots and pulled them away, a line of string was hanging between their finger and the dot. I think his thread looks like normal spider thread (including the size) but is durable enough that only a few strands can stop a charging Bane. It's possible for him to take the silk he produces and turn it into thread and from thread into fabric. The fabric moves and feels like high quality silk but is about twice as durable as Kevlar due to how strong his threads are.

The only reason all of the Bats aren't already decked out in full Tim Silk Gear is because of the sheer amount of time and energy it takes to make that much thread. If he uses all of his spare time to make thread and turn it into fabric as quickly as he can, he would only make 2 or 3 fabric napkins in a month. If he was only eating, sleeping, and making silk he could produce a single sheet about the size of a picnic blanket in the same amount of time. Not exactly a lot of fabric to work with. Plus there's the fact that his thread is very weak by the standards of his species due to a mixture of malnutrition, constant exhaustion, and frequent injuries.

However, most of his family does have at least one thing that he made with his thread for them. They have no idea what kind of fabric it is that Tim brings them things made of and when asked if he can get more, he simply shakes his head and says, "I wish I could, but farming to much of the material needed to make this stuff can seriously harm the type of creature that creates it. I'm keeping it vague so that you guys don't try to buy it yourselves. The person I get this from have been very, *very* heavily researched to make sure that it's done in a humane way. Basically anywhere else you find this stuff is almost garenteed to be horribly mistreating the creatures to force them to produce as much as physically possible. And I got my guys entire stock just to make this for you." This throughly covers his tracks and makes it so that the Bats won't consider trying to buy more silk from other sources. Most of the things he makes for them are small, like gloves or Domino Masks or at most an under shirt to give them an extra layer or protection. Cass's whole cowl is made of Tim's Silk.

As for what kind of malnutrition Tim has, the Bats already knew about that, sort of. John saw Bruce's new gloves and after feeling them asked where the fuck he got that much Jorogomo Silk and why it's such Shit Quality. When Bruce asked for him to elaborate, Constantine ran his hands over the gloves a few times while muttering to himself before sighing, "Malnutrition. Their silk is a direct reflection of their health. Whoever made this, they have *not* been eating well. Probably only just enough to survive and with no... well, you'd probably be glad to hear that the one who made your gloves hasn't been chowing down on an human flesh. But it's an important part of their diet. Yeah, this one seems to have been trying to use supplements for the shit it needs, but that'll never truly work. Like you can take all the vitamins tablets ya want, but unless you go out and soak in some sunshine every now and then you'll always be deficient in Vitamin D cause your body just won't process it. If I were you, I would get in contact with your seller and get them a deal with the local mourge. After all, you're from Gothem. I'm sure no one would notice if a few of the already dead disappeared."

That night Bruce had an uncomfortable conversation with Tim about how his seller might not be as good as he thought and what Mourges tended to "loose" bodies most often. Tim did start eating some from the already dead but he hates it. Not because hes eating people but because they've been dead for a while and only fresh bodies taste good.

As for Jack, he goes into a coma until Tim gets there and he uses some of his threads to make Jack his puppet. However, Tim doesn't have any practice with preserving the bodies of his puppets yet so after about a month, Jack is starting to fall apart a little so Tim sets up for him to be part of a car crash and makes a new puppet to be Uncle Eddie. The second puppet does last longer, but only about 2 and a half months and then Tim eats what's left of Uncle Eddie. Maybe one day he'll be able to make puppets that last for years like his mom did, but not just yet.

Also she isn't dead and does stay in contact. She just got bored of her life as Janet Drake and ditched her puppet, telling Tim "here's my new number and new name and the puppet of your father. Good luck kiddo." And Tim was like "YOURE THE BEST MOM" because really, by their standards she is. Most of his species are completely abandoned once they can walk, hide themselves, and produce silk. Most don't have any idea who their parent or parents are at all.

Ooh! The way you made his silk OP but then put in a very realistic limitation was cool as hell.

I'm also curious how the Bats would feel about Tim needing to consume human flesh. If Red Hood is still killing, it would he super cool of him to offer up some of the people he murders. Hopefully that will be a bit fresher and better tasting for Tim.

Also, would Alfred try to cook food for Tim's diet? Or would that be too much for Alfred to handle so he refuses to cook human flesh?

If Tim or someone else cooked that food (post-reveal), they probably would have to build an entire kitchen just for him. They wouldn't want to cross contaminate that since it could make the humans really really sick.

You mentioned that Tim doesn't hate consuming flesh. Does he have any reservations about it? Are there parts of his being that he hates for not being human enough?

At least Bruce doesn't seem to mind a creature consuming already dead people. Though, maybe Tim (pre-reveal) worries Bruce would mind if it was someone he knew.

I'm also hella curious where puppet Uncle Eddie comes from. Dead body? Bad guy Tim doesn't mind turning into a puppet?

Love Janet Drake. Maybe Tim could go visit her every once in a blue moon. If not, at least both of them seem happy and content with their relationship

[gilverrwrites]

Been reading back through the Sionis!readerxJason posts, and I cant stop thinking about specifically this bit:

"God forbid he ever finds out Jason is Red Hood. He’s dragging you home kicking and screaming and locking you up. His kid? With Red Hood. He thinks the fuck not."

But like combined with part 2 and the idea of you getting caught in the act with Red Hood. Like tbh I feel like Jason would be so careful about mixing you up in his Red Hood side (especially when you eventually let slip how Roman lost his shit at you when he learned it was Jason you were dating) but things happen and eventually you and Jason slip, caught up in the moment and one of Blackmask's goons sees you getting dicked down by real "friendly" with Red Hood and reports it to your dad.

And maybe Blackmask is able to put 2 and 2 together that you've been actively, knowingly warming the bed of his Nemesis for months just to spite him, or maybe the magic of the Domino Mask prevails once again and he just thinks that you're deliberately hooking up with people he hates (first you're spreading your legs for that Wayne fucker, Todd, and now you're FUCKING RED HOOD in his (Blackmask's) own warehouse?!?!?!?!) But either way he loses it. No more Mr Nice Dad act, he's been too lenient with you for too long and it ends now, its time you learned your lesson. And then he's dragging you kicking and screaming to be locked away (and probably worse).

OR if he does realize that JT=RH (whether he figures it out immediately or it only clicks after he confronts you) he decides to use you as bait to lure Red Hood into a trap. What better way to teach you the consequences of rebelling than to make you watch as he kills the prick you've stupidly fallen in love with (that might be the most nauseating part of this for Roman. Didn't he raise you better than that?).

Regardless, it all comes to a head when Jason shows up to bring you home, and you finally get to witness first hand exactly how the Red Hood came to be such a thorn in your father's side.

I have nothing to add to this, anon you're brilliant. I didn't post this straight away cause I was trying to think up something to add, but I got nothing, you've perfectly encapsulated it, and I agree with everything you’re said. 💖💖💖

[fictionalmenxyn]

🂱𝐑𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧🂱

Pairing: redhood!rafe x Wayne!reader

Warnings: p in v, no mentions of protection (protect!), pet names, dirty talk, spanking, language and possessive

𝐑𝐑𝐑

It was yet another night of patrolling for you. In your black combat boots and pants with your dark grey hoodie and black tactical vest and belt along with your domino mask. You searched the streets on your own. Usually you were with your father, Bruce Wayne. But he had Justice League matters to attend to.

So on your motor bike you zoomed through the dark and rainy streets of Gotham. Your helmet collecting rain droplets as you speed through the streets.

Your hearing caught your attention of something. Commotion, finally, your night isn’t so boring after all.

You tilted your bike to the side as you spun your bike around. Speeding into the direction of the commotion.

We park your bike near by and hide your helmet behind some trash cans. You go on foot. As you make your way over you double check your knives. Since your dad doesn’t like ‘killing’.

You peak around a corner, seeing a woman getting mugged by two guys.

You headed over, running as fast as you can. I tackled the one to the ground. Starting to punch him a few times till the other on pulled you off the goon. You elbowed the one behind and flipped. Your on the guys shoulders as you elbow his head. He shoved you into the wall. Causing you to fall off of his shoulders. I threw one of your knives into the guys thighs. He yelled out in back “fuck you! I know you! You’re Batman’s sidekick!”

You laughed “no, no… I’m my own person…” you lunged at the guy and placed a knife to his throat. He froze, you smirked “what were you saying??” The other guy was about to grab you. That’s when you head two gun shots fire. You quickly go to the woman and cover her the best you can. You look over your shoulder to see the two goons dead in the alley.

You grabbed the woman’s things and told her “stay in the light, find people and get home safe, yeah?” You hand her things and watch as she runs away.

You see a figure at the end of the street, holding a gun up. Pointing at you.

You raised your hands, still holding a bat-a-rang you had grabbed moments ago. The person seems to froze. The deep voice asked “where’d you get that?” You looked to the bat-a-rang then back to the figure “what’s it to you?”

“My past…”

The guy stepped forward. The dim light coming from the street behind you showing you who the man was, Red Hood. Your eyes widened ever so slightly “Red Hood? What’re you doing here?” He spoke under the helmet “patrolling, same as you… you didn’t answer the question, doll”

The voice seems familiar, a little too familiar. You answered “a friend…” the guy asked “friend?? Or family??” You gulped. How’d he know? Has he seen me before? Why does his voice sound so familiar?

You counteracted “how’s this from your past?” He replied briefly “used to use them..” you asked “how come?” “Doesn’t your dad have many Robins?” Your eyes widen. “R-Rafe…? No… can’t be… you’re-” “a dead man, yeah, I’ve heard it before…”

You couldn’t believe it, once you two were inseparable. You attended his funeral, walked to his grave every other day. Checking his flowers were fresh. You would kiss his headstone before leaving. Before his death, you two were attached to the hip. People would think you two were each other’s first love. But you were friends… Bruce could tell there was more.

Rafe spoke “hey, seeetheart…mind putting the stuff down?” You were snapped out of your thoughts. Seeing his gun was in a holster. You put your bat-a-rang into your tactical belt.

You stuttered “h-how? I-I visited you-your grave almost every day? Rafe… I-i cried for a week when dad didn’t come back with you…” he nodded and slowly approached. “I did die… but I’m back now… it’s a long story for another day… y-you really did all that?” He was now only inches away from you.

Both of you being older now, you could see just from his height and form, how much he’s grown. Whereas you stopped growing at fifteen. He towered over you, easily. You nodded “all of it was true… I made sure I did… if I was busy with homework I got Alfred to remind me after to go visit…” Rafe smiled softly under the mask. A first time after his death.

He place a hand on your hip “you’ve grown up…” you chuckle softly “so have you… probably more than me… still can’t see that face I’ve kissed for years…”

He chuckled lowly “maybe you can see it… but not out here, too risky…”

You nodded completely understanding, since it’d be risky for you too. You asked “would you uh… wanna come back to the Manor…? I know you probably wouldn’t want-” “yes, sweetheart, I’ll come back with you…” he joked lightly “still in the same place, right?” You smiled softly and nodded.

You both got on your bikes and sped through the streets once again.

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You both sat in your room. Your big bag windows over looking the backyard and forest in the back. The rain heavily pours and creating the perfect background noise for your catch up session with Rafe.

You had Alfred find some spare clothes for Rafe. He, now in some black sweatpants and a dark grey gym shirt, sat on your bed. You had changed into some grey sweatpants and a baggy black sweatshirt. You sat on your desk chair (that has wheels). Crossed legged as you talk with Rafe.

Rafe would check you out as you talked, you not minding one bit. Considering he used to do it all the time, so it felt familiar. He was back. We were back…

He placed both his hands on the arms of your desk chair and wheeled you closer. So you were right up against the bed and between his legs. He smirked “so, since I haven’t seen you in a while, why don’t we cut to the chase and you give me one of those magically kisses you used to give when I would be injured after patrol.”

You smiled softly, leaning forward and softly kissing his lips. He lifted you up with ease and put you on his lap. Placing a hand on the back of your head as he deepened the kiss. Your tongues clashing as he claims dominance. He groaned into the kiss, kissing the taste of your cherry lips. He felt like you have brought him back to life.

You felt his hard on as you continued to sit in his lap. His hands moving to your ass and softly squeezing them. He pulled away to get some air. Pressing his forehead to yours. He whispers “ever since I came back… you were on my mind… all the god damn time… wanted to find you sooner, without your dad…” you nodded. He smirked “thought about you in so many different ways…” you whispered “yeah? What way was your favourite?”

He chuckled lowly “you under me, baby… loved cuddling you… but we are grown up now, I want more…” he grabbed your hips and rocked you against his hard on. You gasped softly.

Rafe smirked “you want it?” You nodded “missed you so much…” he pecked your lips. Mumbling against your lips “missed you too.. wanna feel you all over, yeah?” You nodded.

Soo enough you were both naked, you laid in the middle of your large silk black bed. He hovered over you. You glanced down at him. Fuck was he huge…

He smirked “want it, baby doll?” You nodded “want you…” he moved his tip against you. Moving it up and down along your entrance. Causing you to softly moan. He pushed the tip in, groaning as he started to fill you up.

He gripped your hips, he looked down at your chest. Fuck did he love your chest, but what caught his eye. Wasn’t your boobs, but the necklace you wore. The same gold necklace with the letter J on it. The one he gave you on Valentine’s Day when one of your shitty not so boyfriend dumped you. He knew it would make you happy. So that’s why he got it. But after his death he didn’t expect you to keep it on.

It made him twitch inside you, seeing such a memorable thing still on you. Made him want you as his, no one else��s.

He slowly started to grind into you, you moaning softly. He groaned “fuck… you’re so tight, baby… feel so fucking good…”

You moaned “Rafe…mmm so big… missed you, Rafey…” he groaned and bucked a little harder at the old nickname “missed you too, gorgeous…”

He started to pick up his pace, ever so slightly. Causing you to become a moaning mess. He grabbed the bottom of your thighs and pushed them up more. Going deeper into you, filling you more. His long, slow yet deep thrusts made your mind fuzzy. No one has ever been like this.

The past relationships you’ve had, mostly wanted you to be closer to your dad. So they never really took care of you in that sense. That’s why when you dad noticed your ‘partners’ wasn’t treating you right. He’d have a very stern conversation and kick them out.

Rafe kept going. You moaned “feels sooo good, Rafe… mmm”

He smirked, pecking your cheek and talking against it “yeah? Like my big cock filling you up?… fits so perfect, might be made for each other, hm?” You nodded “yess…” Rafe smirked against your cheek. Then his jaw fell agape when you tightens around him. He moaned against your cheek “fuck, baby, wanna take my time with you… make you feel good… wanna make you mine, how’d that sound? Hm?”

You nodded “wanted it…. For so long…” he grinned “me too, baby… wanna have you as mine, mine to touch… mine to take… mine to love and take care of… to protect…” you moaned.

Rafe started to speed up, the sound of your breathing and squelching starting to fill the big room. The sound of the rain making it surprisingly more intimate. You both loved rain. You’d cuddle for hours talking about go knows what.

You moaned as he started to pick up the pace. “Feel so good, sweetheart… gonna take you as mine, yeah? You’d like that, huh? I’d be the best for ya” you put your hands on his shoulder blades. Digging your nails into his shoulders slightly. His hips stuttered for a moment. Your nails feeling good against his hot skin.

You both started to feel it coming on. Almost at the edge. Rafe gently spanked your ass “gonna come for me, Pretty?” You nodded “yesss!” He smirked “good girl. Come all over me, yeah?” You nodded.

You moaned his name one last time before squeezing against his big hard cock. Finish on him. He keeps his money as he feels his climax approaching. He moaned “fuck… where’d you want me, baby?” You gasped “inside!” He moaned “fuck, you sure??” You nodded “on… the pill…” he nodded.

He gave one more big thrust as he fills you up. Finishing inside of you, just like you asked. He groaned as he slows his pace then comes to a stop.

He gently pulls out, looking down to see the mess you both caused. He could honestly get hard again at the sight. He patted your ass “good job, babe…”

That’s when he squeezed your hand, that’s also when you realised he hand been holding your hand the whole time. God he had a soft spot for you, always had. But Rafe was always like this for you. And showing you all his love was always one of his favourite missions.

You looked at him, breathless and satisfied. He leaned down and kissed your lips softly. Pulling away he asked “so? Is it true? You wanna be mine again? But more this time?” You nodded “forever and always…” he smiled. His first time feeling truly happy after his ‘accident’.

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