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augustinewrites · 1 year ago

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i cannot for the life of me find the ask, but this is what the fushigojo apartments (and house!) look like!! ps: i’ve attached the name of a song to each of the apartments that i think fits their time there!

the green tea & honey apartment

so here we have the first apartment! it’s fushigojo mom’s apartment— a cute little two bedroom close to the school. gojo doesn’t have his own place yet, and he doesn’t want to bring two zenin kids to the gojo clan, so this is the only place he considered raising them in. the kids are good at sharing a room for a while, but then they start kicking each other out of the bed in the middle of the night and are starting to need their own space, so after 2 years, they move!!

core memories in this apartment:

- trust was built here

- megumi lost his first tooth (and summoned his first shikigami! see: loose tooth)

- gojo and megumi shared their first father and son moment (see: off days)

the coming home apartment

this is the second apartment! gojo rents this place. it’s a little bigger, a little more grown up. it has three bedrooms, so the kids finally get their own! it’s a little further into the city, but closer the middle school gojo wanted to send them to. they stay here for a long time. it hosted birthday parties and sleepovers. movie nights and homework sessions. living room dancing and kitchen table bills. first fights and family meetings. i don’t know why i’m getting so emotional thinking about how much they’ve all grown here. they must have been so sad to leave it :( which they do, after about 8 years.

core memories in this apartment:

- love grew here

- megumi brought a “date” home for the first time

- fushigojo parents “breakup”

and finally, the sweet nothing home

their forever home 🫶 gojo had it built a little ways out from the city and let fushigojo mom fill it with things they love. they brought pieces of their old homes to create a place to rest, to love, to heal. the perfect balance of gojo’s unnecessary spending habits and basic practicality. it has a lot of bedrooms for all of their adopted kiddos to visit and to host their friends! there’s also a nursery 🥺

core memories built here:

- a happy ending!

#thank u all for listening to me blurb about my fave family #i’m gonna go cry now #keeping up with the fushigojos #green tea & honey by dane amar ft jereena montemayor #coming home by honne ft niki #sweet nothing by taylor swift

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wrylu · 2 months ago

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MY FAVORIYE PART THEYRE EVERUYTHIG NTO ME GRHRGHGRRRRRRR AGHGHHWWWWWW IM LSONIG IT!!!!!

This had and has my emotional . Thank you dearly miso soup I adORE THIS WITH ALL OF MY HEARRRTTTT AND WHAT'S LEFT OF MY BRAIN 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

I think everybody should just. Read this right now espescially you @dasybequackin NIKPRICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

— AN OLD SYMPHONY

𝜗𝜚 — in which, John gets sick after a mission in Siberia, never been one for the cold, that one. Good thing he has a sweetheart for a lover.

JOHN PRICE x NIKOLAI wtv the frerreeak his last name is angst — but if you blink, its gone — w comfort. john trying to be stubborn, nik being an idiot in love. 2.4k. — loved this ( my first cxc fic !!! ) — requested

“John, you’re burnin’ up,” Nik muttered, one hand on John’s forehead and the other firmly planted on his hip.

“‘M fine,” John croaked, his voice betraying him with every syllable. He was wrapped in their old, oversized knit blanket, slouched on the couch like a grumpy bear hibernating in the wrong season. His nose was red, his cheeks flushed from the fever, and his thick brows furrowed in irritation.

Nik sighed. “You’ve said that three times now. You weren’t fine when you tried to argue with me about takin’ your clothes off, and you’re not fine now.”

John grumbled something unintelligible and sank deeper into the cushions.

Shaking his head, Nik left the living room and headed to their kitchen. It wasn’t the first time that John had pushed himself too hard, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last which made his partner’s gut twist up in worry.

But Nik knew exactly how to handle him—grumpy disposition and all.

The familiar sound of chopping vegetables and the soft clatter of pots filled the house. Nik moved with practiced ease, humming to himself as he worked. John pretended not to care, but the smell of onions, garlic, and herbs slowly lured him out of his sulk.

By the time Nik returned with a steaming bowl of soup, his liver was sitting up, though still looking like he’d lost a fight with his fever.

“‘Ere,” Nik said, handing him the bowl with a knowing smirk. “Eat.”

John stared at the soup, then up at Nik, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a line. “You didn’t have to go through all tha’ trouble.”

Nik raised a knowing brow and crossed his arms. “I didn’t marry you just to let you starve when you’re sick, lyubov.”

Grumbling under his breath, John picked up the spoon and took a hesitant sip. The warmth spread through him immediately, the savory broth and tender vegetables soothing his sore throat. He hated how good it was—mostly because it meant Nik was right.

“You’re makin’ it impossible to stay mad at you. He mumbled between bites.

Nik leaned down, brushing a kiss to his husband’s forehead. “Good. Now finish that and drink some water, or I’ll make you take medicine next.”

John scowled, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. He didn’t mind being taken care of—not when it was Nik.

“You’re too stubborn for your own damn good.”

That earns a chuckle from John, he raises his hand and wipes the sweat from his brow.

After waiting next to the couch for an hour just to make sure John was lucid enough, Nik made John waddle up stairs—which took at least five minutes— and lay down in their shared bed.

“Put ya hand down ya idiot,” His husband says. Wringing a cold compress into a bowl on their nightstand, and placing it on John’s forehead.

Partner, lover, husband.

John never thought he’d find himself thinking, saying, those words. Before, the words had felt foreign on his tongue, icy like the snow topped mountains in Siberia.

“You were right.” John croaks out. The bed dips where Nik sits down with a hand on John’s thigh.

“About what? M’right about a lotta things, gotta be more specific.” He says with a smile.

John opens his mouth to answer but his words escape him as a cough instead. He turns his head away from Nik as he does. When he turns back, he sighs and his eyes are blown, unfocused. “Tha’ Siberia woulda gotten me sick.”

Nik huffs at that, patting the hard, soft flesh of his lovers hand sitting at his thigh. “You need to listen to me more. Might learn a few things.”

John lets out a weak laugh, his voice still hoarse from the strain of his cough. “Listening to you, Nik, is what got me up in those mountains in the first place.”

Nik smirks, leaning back slightly, though his hand remains firm on John’s thigh, grounding him. “Ah, but if you didn’t, you’d be bored out of your damn mind, wouldn’t you?”

John tilts his head, eyes narrowing as if to challenge the statement, but the corners of his lips twitch upward despite himself. “Maybe,” He concedes, his tone light and teasing. “Still, I don’t recall you warning me about how bloody cold it’d be.”

Nik laughs at that—a full, deep sound that seems to warm the room more than any blanket could. “I warned you, stubborn bastard. You just refused to listen, like always.”

The banter feels easy, familiar, like the rhythm of an old song. Nik adjusts the compress on John’s forehead, his expression softening. “Rest now, John,” He says, his voice quieter, more insistent. “I’ve got you.”

John’s eyelids grow heavier as the warmth of Nik’s presence lulls him into something close to peace. “Yeah,” He murmurs, his voice barely audible as he slips into sleep. “I know you do.”

For a while, the room is silent save for John’s steady breathing. Nik sits there, watching over him, his own thoughts far away but anchored by the sight of his husband at rest.

He stays where he is, his hand lingering on John, his thumb idly brushing over the fabric of the blanket. The quiet of the room settles over him like a heavy quilt, but he doesn’t move—not yet. He knows better than to leave, even for a moment. John’s restless sleep has a habit of pulling him back into old battles, his body tensing, his breaths coming shallow and quick as if he’s still out there in the cold, fighting ghosts.

It’s not long before John stirs, his brow furrowing as a low, involuntary sound escapes him. Nik leans forward, his voice gentle. “Easy, lyubov’ moya,” He murmurs, the Russian slipping from his tongue effortlessly. “You’re safe.”

John’s breathing evens out again at the sound of Nik’s voice, and Nik exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It’s always like this—an unspoken battle fought in the quiet moments, one where Nik’s only weapon is his steady presence. He wonders if John knows how much he gives away in these unguarded moments, how much of his strength is tied to trust.

Nik shifts slightly, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand. He tilts it toward John, pressing the rim lightly against his lips. “Drink,” he coaxes softly. “You’ll feel better.”

John groans but doesn’t resist, taking a few sips before sinking back into the pillows. His eyes crack open, barely focused, but there’s something there—a flicker of gratitude, of recognition. “Nik . . .”

“Shh,” Nik interrupts, placing the glass back on the nightstand. “Don’t talk. Just rest.”

But John’s lips twitch in that stubborn way they always do. “Didn’t think I’d . . . need you like this,” He admits, his voice raspy. “Thought I was the strong one.”

Nik snorts, shaking his head. “You’re strong, John,” He says, his voice firm but kind. “But even the strongest men need someone to hold them up. ‘S what I’m here for.”

John doesn’t respond right away, his eyes slipping closed again. For a moment, Nik thinks he’s drifted off, but then a quiet, almost imperceptible whisper reaches his ears: “Love you.”

Nik’s throat tightens, and he doesn’t bother hiding the soft smile that spreads across his face. “I know,” He whispers back, his hand returning to rest gently on John’s. “I love you too.”

And as the night deepens, Nik stays right there, a sentinel by John’s side, ensuring that the past remains where it belongs—far away, outside the walls of their shared sanctuary.

The hours stretch long, but Nik doesn’t mind. His body is accustomed to waiting, to watching, to guarding something—or someone—he holds dear. The dim light of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows across the room, illuminating the lines of John’s face, softened now by sleep. His breathing is slow and even, a far cry from the earlier ragged coughs that had racked his chest.

Hours pass, Nik shifted from his seated place an hour or two ago to lay beside his sickly husband, not caring if he’d catch his fever.

He shifts slightly, careful not to disturb his partner sleeping soundly beside him, and lets his mind wander. The weight of their shared history sits with him, not heavy, but present—like an old friend who’s overstayed their welcome. Siberia, Afghanistan, countless other places that have carved lines into their skin and etched stories into their souls.

He glances at John again. There’s something grounding about seeing him like this—vulnerable, unguarded, human. It’s a stark contrast to the commanding figure Nik first met all those years ago, barking orders with a cigar hanging lazily from his lips. Back then, John Price had seemed untouchable, invincible.

But here, now, he’s just John.

Nik’s lips twitch at the memory. He reaches for the blanket and pulls it up higher over John’s chest. “You’ve always been a pain in my ass, you know that?” He mutters quietly, not expecting an answer.

But a low, gravelly voice responds, startling him. “You love it.”

Nik jerks back slightly, leaning back on his elbow to see John’s face. “Thought you were asleep.”

John cracks one eye open, a smirk pulling at his lips despite the pallor in his face. “Hard to sleep with you muttering to yourself over there.”

Nik huffs, leaning back into the bed. “Go back to sleep, idiot. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

John’s smirk softens into something more genuine, his gaze holding Nik’s for a moment longer than usual. “I mean it, love,” He says, his voice quieter now, serious. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Nik swallows hard, the words settling into a place he doesn’t often let himself acknowledge. “Good thing you don’t have to find out,” He replies, his tone gruff but warm.

John hums in agreement, his eyelids already growing heavy again. “Stay,” He murmurs, the single word holding more weight than it has any right to.

“Always,” Nik says softly, watching as John drifts back into sleep.

The night stretches on, but Nik stays where he is, unwavering. Whatever battles John fights in his dreams, whatever demons haunt him, Nik will be there—his silent promise, unbroken.

©miwsolovely do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms . likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3

#I love you niklprice. I love you miwsolovely /platonic 💗💗💗💗💗💗#AUGHHH Yummy stuff... Will reblog this on my reblog account too because it's just that awesoeme . YOU'RE AWESOME !!!!!#wryblog #tea's faves #fAVE EVBER!!!!!!! THE FAVE EVER FOREVER AND EVERVERVRR #nikprice #Needed this 🙏🏼🙏🏼💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗#mutuals <3 #not my writing #nikolai cod #john price #cod

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