#your grief will end whether you want it or not

[thefrogdalorian]

Candles

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Even though Din insists he doesn't want you to make a fuss over his birthday, you cannot resist spoiling him in your own special way. Although your perfect day does not go entirely to plan, you are determined to make the best of it...

Word Count:  3.8k ✯ Rating: Teen ✯ Content Warnings: A few suggestive lines, mentions of grief/mourning parents. Other than that, pure fluff! ✯ Author's Note: Thank you @decembermidnight for betaing this one, I always appreciate your help! Since we don't know Din's canonical birthday I thought May the Fourth was a good excuse to celebrate... but you get it on Revenge of the Fifth instead! ☺︎ I saw a post from someone (can't remember who) that said Din has holes in his socks, it's a hc I hold dear and was fun to explore in this fic!

✯ My Masterlist ✯

Din Djarin does not delight in being doted upon. You know this with as much certainty as two suns rise over Tatooine. 

Yet, you cannot resist your urge to spoil him on the one day of the year that is truly his.

Din's reluctance to be spoiled is precisely why you rose before dawn, pottering around the modest galley, gathering the ingredients necessary to bake a cake. You hope that even though Din is ordinarily a light sleeper, the energy he exerted in passion the previous evening will have sufficiently tired him out so that he sleeps in, for once. 

After all, he does so much for you and the big-eared, bug-eyed baby boy you both vowed to raise as a Mandalorian warrior in the small cabin you share on Nevarro. Baking him a cake is the least you can do.

Preparing a cake to celebrate his birthday is not the only thing you have in mind. Even though Din already declared that the greatest gift of all is your love, you could not resist spending a few credits to treat him to a small gift. The thought of surprising him with it causes a knot of anxiety in your stomach, but you try to suppress those fears as you begin weighing out the ingredients.

You focus too on the beautiful sentiment Din expressed to you, how deeply he treasures your love. Such words are a far cry from the hardened, battle-weary warrior you had first encountered on Coruscant. Din reported to your boss, Carson Teva, for his latest missions from the New Republic. The first meeting in that office had left you curious, if a little intimidated, by the hulking Mandalorian who towered over you as you quietly worked at your desk.

Din extended a gloved hand to you at the end of your all-too-brief conversation. When you took it and shook it, marvelling at the softness of the leather and how his hand engulfed yours, you were sure that you had felt a spark. You wondered whether you detected a hint of longing in his lingering touch. Whether he, too, had felt a tingle across his skin as your hands touched.

Almost an entire cycle later, you had your answer.

You smile when you think back to those early days. How Din's visits became more frequent and led to longer and more personal conversations. Your chats became less concerned with threats that plagued the galaxy. Eventually, they continued outside the parameters of the depressing New Republic office building where you once worked. 

Life with Din was everything you had yearned for and more. A boring bureaucratic desk job was never your desired lot in life. Din had opened up an entire galaxy of possibilities for you. He had brought you to Nevarro and given you the life you had always wanted but never expected for yourself.

All things considered, making a special effort for his birthday is the least you can do to attempt to repay the enormous debt of gratitude you owe to Din. A debt you are certain you will never truly manage to clear but are determined to try anyway.

So, rather than spending the first moments of light of Din’s birthday cuddling with him... instead, you find yourself hunched over the kitchen counters as pale orange light streams in from across the lava flats.

You hum quietly to yourself while you mix the carefully weighed-out ingredients, careful not to wake Din. Pouring the batter into the tins is a rather precarious manoeuvre and you are careful not to waste a single drop of the mixture. 

With the cakes finally baking in the Nanowave, you turn your attention to the mountain of pots before you. Upon seeing it, you wish Din was a little more flexible on his no-droids policy. Or that Grogu was awake. 

The kid has been known to use his powers to aid his parents with domestic chores from time to time, particularly if you allow him to sneakily eat a frog from his pond without his father noticing. 

Unfortunately, there is to be no help. If you want to keep the secret cake under wraps until you present it to Din later, you must get stuck into washing up.

You make good progress, carefully scrubbing away the remnants of batter with a soapy rag. So consumed are you by your diligent cleaning of each pot and utensil that you do not hear familiar footsteps as they echo across the hard kitchen floor.

You let out a yelp of surprise into the stillness of the early morning when a familiar pair of long arms wrap around your waist and a chin rests upon your shoulder.

“Good morning, ner riduur,” Din rasps as he softly kisses the side of your neck.

His voice is rough and gravelly with sleep, even deeper than usual. You gasp as he presses himself into you. It seems that Din has sufficiently recovered from the exhausting activities which kept you awake for most of the night. Until dawn was far closer than you had intended, given how early you knew you had to be awake to bake his cake.

For a moment, it is enough to make you forget the task at hand. 

Then you remember with a jolt why you are in the kitchen at such an early hour. You spin around in Din's embrace and vocalise your disapproval. 

“Din! It's far too early. Go back to bed!” you plead, keen for him to leave immediately.

Din responds by tightening his grip on your waist and continuing to press hot, open-mouthed kisses on your neck. It takes all of your strength to push him away.

"Please, Din," you whine, staring into his eyes, “I'll join you soon.”

Din sighs and then nods slowly, “Don't be too long, I'll be lonely...”

You exhale deeply as he turns to leave, pleased that Din is none the wiser about the surprise sweet treat. 

Unfortunately, the Nanowave has other plans. The characteristic ding lets you know that the cake is ready. Before you can respond, Din is over there in a shot. For the first time, you notice that he is wearing nothing except a pair of loose-fitting cotton shorts. His toned physique bared to you, muscles straining under his scarred skin as he leans over to take the cake out of the Nanowave. 

Din spins around with the cake cradled in his hands, the tin covered in a towel to protect his hands. He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly confused at what you have been making.

“Surprise!” you halfheartedly exclaim, with a nervous chuckle, “Well, it was meant to be a surprise at least…” 

“Ner kar’ta, you shouldn’t have,” Din whispers, with no true sense of disapproval in his tone. His brown eyes are glassy as he smiles at you with such tenderness that you feel your chest tighten.

Din asked you not to make a fuss over his birthday. But you can tell he is deeply touched by the gesture. The emotion on his face is almost enough to distract you from the fact that your riduur is barely clothed, practically glowing in the soft golden light which brings the promise of a new day. 

Almost.

All frustration and disappointment vanished at the sight of him before you. Din is always stunning, but in dawn's soft, golden light, you are convinced he is the most breathtaking sight in the entire galaxy.

You take the cake from his hands and gently set it on the kitchen counter to cool. Although Din has seen the cake, he has no idea of the decoration you intend to adorn it with. Later. You can finish the cake later.

For now, those honey-flecked brown eyes and the expanse of golden skin on display are far too irresistible. You pad across the kitchen and wrap your arms around Din’s neck, pressing your lips against his. It is a show of intent. You groan in delight when he cups your cheeks with his large hands and deepens the kiss, tenderly stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. 

Icing the cake can wait. For now, there is something far more mouthwatering to occupy your time...

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Fortunately, you and Din slipped some clothes on before you drifted off after exhausting yourselves with your early morning lovemaking. So, when Grogu uses the Force to leap onto your entwined forms a few hours later after the golden light has turned to something paler and more indicative of mid-morning, he is saved from a scandalous sight. 

“Good morning, ad’ika,” Din coos, grinning widely in an expression which makes his eyes light up despite the sleepiness there.

Grogu chirps in response. His familiar baby babble is still only way he communicates with you and Din. Din nods and presses his forehead to his boy. Your heart soars as you watch the two of them interact. 

You wonder how Din understands him. You love Grogu; bonding with him was effortless. But their bond is something special, something which goes beyond words, a bond which you feel truly privileged to witness. Grogu saved Din in so many ways and made him into the man who is so easy for you to love today. 

“Why don’t you two get up and make something to eat?” you ask, yawning and stretching as you come around after the rude awakening.

“No special birthday breakfast for me?” Din asks, feigning incredulity.

“I thought you didn't want me to make a fuss?” you giggle, then add with a hint of seriousness, “I would never deprive you of a lazy morning of making flatcakes with your son.”

Din’s eyes flash with sentimentality and he leans over to kiss you again. Then, he rises from the bunk, chatting away to Grogu as he goes. You smile in their wake, so proud of your little Clan. 

You had an ulterior motive for suggesting Din and Grogu prepare something to eat, unrelated to your reluctance to find yourself in the kitchen again given the considerable time you already spent there this morning. While Din and Grogu go to make breakfast, it gives you the perfect opportunity to finish wrapping Din’s present.

Even though he said there was nothing you could buy for him, you still wanted to treat Din to something that would truly be his own. Much of his disposable income and free time is spent making your and Grogu's lives easier. Although you know acts of service are his love language, the thought that he would not have any gifts to open for his birthday is unacceptable to you. 

Mercifully, you had settled upon a present with surprising ease. You knew that Din needed nothing more than he already had to be satisfied, so the prospect of finding something small yet meaningful had seemed slightly daunting. 

Fortunately, the weekly artisan market on Nevarro came to your rescue. 

Din is meticulous in polishing and maintaining every part of his armour, especially the parts visible to the admiring eyes of others. Din does not neglect a single part of it. 

There is one piece of his everyday attire, however, which was noticeably shoddy compared to the rest of his beskar brilliance—his socks. 

They were threadbare and riddled with holes. A fact you had pointed out to Din numerous times, but the stubborn man still refused to have them darned. 

So, when you saw the deep red, thick socks at the weekly market on Nevarro, you knew they would be perfect, to the extent that you had purchased two pairs. 

You are sure that Din will appreciate them and not take umbrage with the gesture, that he will realise you are doing it for his comfort. Still, your hands tremble as you wrap the socks up in brightly coloured paper. You hope that the socks are as well-received as you have imagined they will be.

When Din calls to let you know that breakfast is ready, you stash the wrapped socks beneath the covers on your bunk and eagerly make your way to join them. 

Although you try to be present and enjoy the simple domesticity of breakfast with them, your mind is preoccupied with worries about whether the gift will be appreciated. The worry does not dissipate, remaining a leaden weight in your gut.

After finishing the flatcakes, you insist on cleaning up since it’s Din’s birthday. Even though you have done far more washing up than you intended, having some alone time while Din takes Grogu outside to his favourite pond gives you time to think.

You had planned to give Din the socks after you returned from a planned walk across the lava flats. But when Din and Grogu return to the cabin and are eager to leave for the walk, you can wait no longer. You want to enjoy this time with them, rather than being preoccupied with worries over how your gift will be received.

Din and Grogu hover by the entryway, clearly buzzing with anticipation for the walk. You are relieved that Din had not yet placed his helmet on, cradling it under his arm. The days when he wore it constantly feel so long ago; like they are from another age. Over the time you have known him, you have seen far more of his brown eyes than that dark T-visor. Yet, he still wears it whenever you leave the cabin. 

“Just need to use the ‘fresher,” you insist, excusing yourself.

“Alright,” Din nods. 

Instead of heading to the ‘fresher however, you scoop up the presents from underneath the covers on your bunk, taking deep breaths to compose yourself as you head back towards them. 

Din looks over at you curiously, shaking his head as he attempts to repress a smile when he sees the gift. You breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that he appears to be excited by the prospect of a present. 

“I know you said no gifts, but these are practical, I promise,” you vow.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Din says sternly, his eyes darkened like they do when he scolds Grogu before his entire expression softens and you feel instant relief. He adds affectionately, “But thank you, ner kar'ta. You are too good to me.”

“You deserve it,” you smile, leaning in to kiss Din on his stubbled cheek. 

Din nods and then tears into the brightly coloured paper. You wait with bated breath, anxious to see his response. For a terrible moment, he does not move. Then, your heart aches as his face drops. Din scowls at them, clearly unimpressed.

You open your mouth to apologise before Din plasters a grin across his face, a smile that does not quite reach his eyes and addresses you.

“Thank you, ner riduur,” Din smiles weakly, “Let me go and put them on right away.”

“Okay, Din,” you reply, your tone unsure.

Din hands Grogu to you and disappears off into your quarters. Grogu tilts his head to one side as though he is appraising the situation.

When Din is not quick to return, your concern is immediate. He had been itching to get out on the walk. Now that he is taking his time to put the socks on, you are certain something is wrong. Fear and guilt settle in the pit of your stomach.

“I don’t think he liked them,” you murmur, searching Grogu’s large eyes for answers.

Grogu nods slowly. 

You take another steadying breath in preparation to assess the situation. Despite your trepidation, you head down the hallway towards your quarters. The thought of Din being unhappy for even a second on his birthday unsettles you, especially if you were the cause of such an unwelcome emotion. 

When you make it to your room, the hulking silhouette of a Mandalorian warrior, with his broad shoulders slumped over in anguish greets you. The guilt is instant. You hover in the entryway for a few moments, cradling Grogu and pondering your next move.

“Din, did I offend you with the gifts?” you finally question as you set Grogu down on the bunk. 

Din sighs and shakes his head, turning to face you. The happy expression of this morning has been replaced with one of anguish. 

“I’m sorry I ruined your birthday,” you feebly murmur.

Din’s eyes widen in horror as he stands up from the edge of the bunk, instantly closing the distance between you and reaching out to hold your upper arms in his large hands. 

“No, never,” he promises, brown eyes darkened with sincerity.

You nod, shooting him a sceptical look.

“They, uh…” Din closes his eyes and sighs, clearly struggling with something, “They just remind me of something…”

You look at him, still confused by his evasiveness. You weren’t sure what such a simple pair of deep red socks could have done to disturb him so deeply.

Din opens his eyes, “Of somewhere,” he clarifies before he shuts them again.

He pauses for a few more seconds and you stand there unmoving, barely daring to breathe.

“The colour reminds me of the robes we wore on the planet of my birth.”

You swallow the lump which has abruptly formed in your throat, nodding at him to indicate you understand. He does not have to elaborate, to go back there if he does not want to.

“Okay, Din,” you say gently, wrapping your arms around his waist and bringing his head into your chest, “I can exchange them for a different colour.”

Din shakes his head, “No, I love them. It was just…” he sucks in a deep breath, voice quivering slightly as he adds, “A surprise. I try to avoid that colour at all costs.”

You think back to why you had been drawn to the socks. Perhaps your subconscious picked up on the fact you had never seen him with anything of that colour and wanted him to try something new. 

“They feel incredibly warm, the material is so soft. Thank you, it was very thoughtful of you,” Din smiles weakly. 

You can tell that something is still troubling him, so you boldly ask, “Do you think of them on your birthday?”

Din seems taken aback by your question but nods. 

“Before I met Grogu and you, when my heart was hardened and I rarely allowed affection in, my birthday was the one day of the year I would allow my mind to wander back there,” Din admits, “To think of them, of the life we could have had. Now I realise, of course, that if I stayed on Aq Vetina, I would never have met Grogu. Or you.”

Din addresses his son now, scooping him up and cuddling him tightly, “You are the best things that ever happened to me.” 

You feel overwhelmed with emotion as you look at them. Din presses his forehead to Grogu's for a few seconds, closing his eyes and relishing the contact.

Din opens his eyes and meets your gaze, “I have to let that place go. It’s not my home anymore. Not even this cabin is home,” Din muses.

You look at him quizzically, not following his train of thought. 

“Home isn’t a place for me,” Din whispers, “It’s a feeling. It’s the way you and Grogu love me.”

You are floored by the sentiment. That this once stoic warrior has such tenderness to him still amazes you.

“Oh, Din,” you whisper, cupping his cheek as you press your forehead to his.

Your arms encircle his waist. He brings you close with one hand and you know that he is drawing comfort from embracing you and Grogu like this. When you finally lean your head back, you detect a certain tiredness in those brown eyes you love so much.

“Why don’t you get some rest, honey?” you question, “Grogu can join too. It’s been a long, emotional day already and I want you to enjoy the rest of your birthday.”

Thankfully, Din does not fight you, conceding that he needs rest. When he climbs under the covers, you drop a tender kiss on both of their foreheads and turn to leave.

Before you leave the room, soft, even breaths indicate that they have already fallen asleep. The sight of Grogu’s tiny head on Din’s chest as they nap together makes your heart swell.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

The cabin is bathed in golden light once again, this time after the sun has set. The three of you sit in contented, companionable silence as you appreciate the full feeling after a good meal.

You utilised Din and Grogu’s nap to ice the cake and prepare a special dinner consisting of Tiingilar, a traditional Mandalorian dish. Despite your apprehensiveness at perfecting the recipe, Din approved of your attempt.

As you sit there, you contemplate suggesting another nap. Consuming a sizable quantity of rich food always leaves a certain tiredness. 

But there is still one important duty yet to be carried out.

While Din is somewhat distracted talking to Grogu, you quietly excuse yourself and stealthily prepare dessert.

Your fingers tremble as they did when you wrapped the presents as you light the candles. You head towards the table on shaky legs. You begin singing the traditional birthday song with accompaniment from Grogu, who tries his best to join in with various chirps. 

Din grins as he watches you. You notice with relief that the spark in his eyes has returned. When you finish the song, you place the cake before him on the table.

“Blow them out!” you encourage.

Din nods and leans forward to extinguish the candles after savouring the moment a few beats longer. 

The excited expression on Din’s face is soon made bittersweet, “I’ve never blown out my own candles before,” he admits.

“There’s a first time for everything,” you whisper, touched by the years of agony which lie behind those words.

You are grateful that shovelling the sweet dessert into your mouth gives you an excuse not to speak as you are unsure how to move on from such an admission. Din has been through so much. Yet, he is still one of the kindest, gentlest men you have ever met. You want to give him all the experiences the galaxy has to offer. To make up for all of the years of hurt. 

“Thank you for the cake, it was delicious,” Din appreciatively says after he swallows his last bite. 

“You’re welcome,” you smile, “I think Grogu enjoyed it, too.”

You nod over at your mischievous son, who has more of the bright blue icing smeared around his face and tunic than ended up in his mouth.

Din smiles as he places the plate back on the table before you. He rubs his belly contentedly and adds, “Thank you for making this my best birthday yet.”

“Of course, Din,” you shrug, “You deserve it.”

You are already planning ways to make next year even better.

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#din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fluff #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #my fics #din djarin deserves to be spoiled ALWAYS

[orgasming-caterpillar]

Do you think letting go is love or not letting go is love?

Neither. Love isn't letting or not letting go. Love is about caring, remembering, understanding. If you have to let go of something -or hold on, for that matter- then is it really love? If you have to let go, then that love isn't appreciated and love that isn't appreciated doesn't deserve to be given. If have to hold on to something just to love it, you're not holding on to love, it's grief you're holding on to. If someone puts you in a situation where you have wonder if you should let go or not, then it's not about love anymore, it's about you and how long you want to keep breaking your heart for.

#hold on to love for too long and you won't realise when it will rot #the rotten love (grief) will make a home in your arms #it will bite you and scratch you and hurt you like every wounded animal gone mad with pain #until you become one yourself #or until you let the animal jump out of your arms and run away #and it will #your grief will end whether you want it or not #even rotten things grow flowers after a while #but when the flowers grow they won't remember the name of the love that nurtured them #they'll remember the grief though. that's what gave them life. #do you want to live with flowers of grief; a distasteful memory of the smell of rot #or do you want to let go #choose your answer wisely; the wounded animal won't wait for long before snapping #orhasming anon #anonabanana

[yourqueenb]

I really need Trystan and MC to outright address the parallels between Trystan navigating the emotions of finding out Juliana was in love with another Thorne and MC navigating the emotions of watching Trystan grieve, reminisce on, and relive his relationship with Juliana. If not for the good of the story, then for me because realistically I’m too insecure to handle having a S.O. with a dead lover 😭

#choices CoP #choices crimes of passion #choices trystan #choices stories you play #playchoices #idk how MC does it #I just want her and Trystan to talk already #everybody else is concerned with whether MC will ultimately end up staying in Drakovia or leaving Trystan behind to go back to work #meanwhile I just need to know that my baby girl is okay #cuz lbr we all know things will work out in the end and Trystan and MC will end up staying together somehow #but in the meantime I need how painful it is to 1) watch your SO have to deal with grief in this way #and 2) maybe feel like you’ll never live up to their previous relationship or that you’re living in their shadow — #to be addressed #reassure me Trystan that’s all I ask 😭 #choices #choices app

[bas-writes]

50 Smutty Fics Ideas

Made this for an event I haven't run in the end, but it'd be a pity to keep them hidden. I hope they'll help your creativity flow!

A and B are hiding together in a tight place, their bodies pressed close. With adrenaline running in their veins, the situation eventually gets out of control.

A and B are dancing what eventually leads to a slow, intimate dance. A gets aroused from B pressing close to them.

A has an obvious crush on B and plans to finally confess. A chickens out and tries to opt out of the situation, but B presses them to speak in a spicy way.

A is tied to an altar as a sacrifice to demon!B. More than taking their life, B is interested in taking their body.

During a visit in a sex shop A spots a weird toy. B suggests purchase as a joke. Little do they know A seriously wants to use it.

A and B are friends with benefits. A's feelings turn out to be genuine, but they don't want to ruin the balance, so they keep it to themself…until they accidentally slip a confession during sex.

A is really into a specific body type/body part and B's body looks as if taken straight out of A's fantasy. A can't hold it anymore and reveals how much B turns them on.

A and B are on a motorcycle trip. The constant movement, vibration and touching is getting them excited.

A walks on B changing. It's the first time they see them naked, and they can't peel their eyes off them.

A survives a near miss. B, worried and scared to death, doesn't want to leave their side since then.

A and B need to share bed due to circumstances. They wake up in each other's arms and it awakens something in them.

A goes down on B. B wears nothing but stockings. At some point A starts tearing them out of the way with their teeth.

A loves B's scent but they keep it secret. One day B catches A masturbating while sniffing a piece of their clothing.

The way A moans "I love you" turns B absolutely feral.

A tries to get B jealous as a part of their flirting game. B snaps way harder then A predicted.

A and B are in a dom-sub relationship. A breaks a rule and B has to again teach them how to be a good sub.

A is less experienced in kink than B. B introduces them to the world of kink with their favorite one.

A gets extra loud during sex so B has to cover their lips. Limited oxygen/fingers in mouth insanely turn A on.

A and B meet for what's not supposed to be a romantic date - but they feel so good around each other, it's suddenly 2am, and they don't really want to part. A proposes B to move the meeting to their place.

A is arguing with B. They truly can't decide whether they want to kill or fuck B more.

That was supposed to be just a make out session, but A kisses so good that B gets impossibly aroused.

A and B are about to face a dangerous situation. They want to enjoy life before it might be too late.

A celebrates a great success with B. Drinks and festive atmosphere quickly turn the matters spicy.

It's A's birthday and they find B tied to bed in nothing but very revealing lingerie.

After a soul-draining break up, A wants to get rid of remaining grief & enter a new path of life with a bang: they contact B, a professional dom.

A and B realize they are being watched during sex. They don't intend to stop.

A is in a middle of meeting when they receive a message B. It's a very explicit nude.

A puts a blade by B's throat, be it seriously or as a joke/teasing. B's reaction is…enthusiastic.

A's hands seriously distract B. Their reactions eventually clue A in: and they decide to use the new knowledge to their favor.

A and B get trapped in one small space and need to wait for emergency. If only there was a way to kill the boredom…

A uses a sexual favor to convince B to do something.

A suffers from pent-up stress and frustration. B offers their body for them to use to get rid of negative emotions.

During soft, vanilla sex A asks B to try something different/rougher.

A shoves B against the wall. Now, once they are so close, A can't stop looking at B's face/lips/body part of choice.

A has lips/tongue/nipples/genitals pierced. B is really curious how does it feel during sex.

A rolls sleeves up/takes shirt off, revealing body hair to B. B has no idea how to act normal around A anymore.

A is usually reserved when it comes to intimacy and emotions. When in public, B does something that breaks A. A pulls B close and whispers to them: "I need you. Now."

A is preparing themself to roll with their day. B walks on them wearing nothing but their shirt.

A tends to neglect their needs. B uses kink as a way of taking care of them.

It's unbearably hot and A switches to wearing short and fine dresses. B finds out they are wearing no underwear underneath.

A has a really big dick/strap, B struggles to take it. A taunts and teases them about it.

Good cock & bad cock routine with dom!A, dom!B and sub!C. A praises C while B degrades and taunts them.

A and B are in a dedicated but open relationship. C grabs their mutual interest.

A loses a bet and now has to do what B tells them.

A, B, C (and maybe more 🤭) running a train on D.

A has a dark/unusual sexual fantasy & they bring it up to their partner, B. B agrees to try it out.

After a longer break A is so needy for sex that they can't enough of B. B is a trembling, ruined mess, but A just keeps going.

A is filthy rich & B is their sugar baby. A pays B a ridiculous amount of money to try a kinky scenario out.

A is a virgin but also very curious about a certain kink. B does their best to let them try it in a safe and satisfying way.

Wedding night between A and B takes an extra spicy turn.

Please, reblog and/or credit, when you use (but don't @ me!). The divider made by @/saradika.

#writing prompts #smut prompts #otp prompts #prompt list #smut prompt list #smut writing #bas writes

[billfarrah]

I genuinely can't believe there are actually people coming for Young Royals for showing a character empowering themselves enough to remove themselves from a toxic situation and framing it as Wille "running away from his problems."

Removing yourself from a toxic situation which has caused you nothing but suffering and trauma and grief is not running away from your problems and it's genuinely such a dangerous thing to imply.

Why does Wille have to stay in a role he's never wanted, to please parents who have never accepted him for who he is or what he wants, who want to dictate how he lives his life and how his boyfriend lives his life and what path he takes in life and how he portrays himself to the media?

The show is literally about personal autonomy and finding the strength and motivation to be radically yourself regardless of what is against you and Wille's decision is portrayed an act of bravery. Leaving the monarchy is not "running away from his problems" - he's removing himself from an institution he does not believe in and does not want to be a part of and choosing to take a journey of self-discovery where he can discover who he truly is, who he wants to be, without anyone breathing down his neck or telling him whether he is allowed to have tattoos or how short he is allowed to cut his hair. Wille should not have to beg and fight with his family and with the royal court to be accepted.

The ending of the show never implies that Wille's mental health struggles are suddenly over and done with. Nobody is saying his anxiety and issues with anger have disappeared. Nobody is saying he will never struggle again. However, majority of his mental health issues throughout the show are directly linked to his role and the pressures it puts himself under. Leaving that all behind doesn't solve every problem he could ever had, but it alleviates a large amount of stress. Have people never left a stressful situation or relationship behind and suddenly felt an immediate and monumental relief?

I'd also like to point out that the ending of the show is not Wille abdicating. He has to officially renounce his claim to the throne for that to happen. He's simply just telling his mother how he feels and what he wants to do. The journey is not over for Wille and there will no doubt be many hardships ahead for him, but now that he's released himself from this and is for the first time sure of what he wants and sure he is able to deal with it, he is more equipped to deal with what's ahead than ever before.

Wille removing himself from the expectations of his family and the royal court are demonstrations of him working towards bettering his mental health, because he is finally able to recognize that the situation has always negatively affected him and he finally feels powerful enough and not drowned by anger, resentment and anxiety to leave it all behind and start over.

If that isn't bravery, I don't know what is.

#young royals

[thegnomelord]

i took 357191027r6392936446322736432947372 psychic damage from the Makarov fic so you gotta write reader being rescued, healed, rehabilitated and loved by the task force. imagine them teaching reader to be their own person or letting him top without any commands or punishments. reader would be whining like a puppy who doesn't know what it's doing and would be so cute and fearful looking for reasurance when fucking into a task force member it would be so cute

lol idk dude. I was intending to do the fic as a one off to satisfy my puplay kink but it's now started to rot my brain even more lol. If I did continue it, I don't know if I'd want a happy ending or an angsty one (omfg imagine going through all the healing and rehab and experiencing love only for one word from Makarov to have you going back to him without question)

So tell me ya'll if you want me to turn the one shot into a longer fic lol, but for now here's some headcannons, ideas/ whatever and some porn

CW:NSFW, rough anal, Simon x reader with Price watching, dom/sub.

I can't imagine Hound would be happy about the 'rescue' considering everything and definitely would be resistant to rehab (Hound biting ppl and getting muzzled lol) that dogheaded asinine stubbornness coming to bite him in the ass. I headcannon Hound to have already been violent when he was under Price's command but Price kept Hound in check(if anyone's seen that young ghost and price comic with him being compared to a fighting dog it's kinda like that).

Makarov didn't need to do much and just played into the aggressive tendency to make Hound as they are now. The more violent the reaction hound would make, the more attention and praise he'd get. Also I'm just a sucker for dog like characters that are unhinged. That have no moral compass except for the one they're loyal to and will do whatever they ask.

So the task force members would have their hands full with Hound that's basically an aggressive fighting dog taken straight out of the pit. Also I'm still thinking whether the 141 would try to steer Hound away from the pup/dog like mentality Makarov conditioned them into, or if they would try to redirect it by calling Hound 'pup, boy' etc, instead of 'dog' like Makarov did.

Also the grief Price would feel to see the man he thought was dead turned into that would break his heart. I don't know if I'd want him to crack down on trying to rehab hound, or let a lot of things slide because he's scared of fucking you up more.

But also like rehabed fighting dogs turn out to be the sweetest animals and Hound just going from this 'I will bite your throat out' to just a gentle giant that's just happy to be able to touch or hug someone without needed permission. . . but he can still bite a throat out.

Also I 1000% swear that Makarov's a whore and would have trained reader to have enough stamina to fuck him all night long so the task force would get pounded into next year lol.

This is questionable cannon and non-confirmed lol you just got me brain rotting with the cute pup part and this came out. Rough and quick.

CW:NSFW

You feel like you will die; heat burns through your veins, sweat crawls down your skin and makes your hair stick to your forehead. Your hands grip Simon's bruised hips, holding them up for him as you pound into him. "Please-" You barely manage a small whimper, hiding your face in Simon's shoulder.

Simon's body quivers beneath you, limp and boneless, a wet hole for you to use. He's as sweaty as you, rough grunts and half-formed swears leaping from his lips every time your hips meet his ass in a bruising thrust. He's the closest to you in size, albeit still smaller, which makes it easier for him to take your size than the others. His insides are a sweltering heat around your cock, fucked into a loose sloppy hole that would gape if you pulled out, muscles still doing their best to squeeze you every time you nail his prostate.

It makes you feel ashamed how long it took you to find it. Mounting anyone but Makarov feels wrong, you're not sure how fast or how deep to go, this current rough pace making Simon the most vocal since you began. You feel him cum again, walls clenching tightly for the first time in a while as you force him into spurting what's left in his empty balls.

"Pl- sir, I- please, please," You can't help but hiccup, your nails leaving crescent bruises in his skin as you just pound him through his orgasm. It's his fourth one.

"What's wrong son?" Price's words barely get through the fog of need in your skull, more little whimpers splitting from your lips. "Don't you want to let go?" Tears blurry your vision, you can barely see his face from where he's resting Simon's head in his lap.

You can't cum. Your balls are so full they feel like they'll explode any second, cock throbbing to finally shoot your load but no matter how harshly you thrust into the willing hole beneath you. It feels like those times Makarov would put a cock ring on you, but worse, now it's your own body refusing to give you release. You haven't earned it.

"Please-" You repeat, because that's the best your mind can come up with, your hips stuttering as overstimulation stabs your nervous system like a knife. "I-please, fuck- I can't." You force out, forcing yourself to return to the punishing pace, your pelvis starting to go numb like it would a few hours into Makarov using you as a living dildo.

Price's fingers are disgustingly gentle as they curl into your sweaty hair, making you look up at him with soft pressure on your scalp. There's no bite to his touch, no pain, it's too good for a thing like you.

You'll thank what god exists that Price seemingly understands your problem, "Oh, son." You hate the hint of sorrow in his tone, you hate yourself more for how it makes your heart pound in your ears. "Here, let me" He whispers, his other hand sliding down to your naked neck.

The lack of any collars around your neck still disgusts you every waking moment, still makes you feel wrong, bad dog. His fingers wrap around your throat. They're too loose to be a proper collar, but it lets you breathe easier, his palm warm and big enough to completely cover the 'V.M' tattooed on your skin.

"Go on, that's a good boy." He whispers, "Cum for us." Price orders, kissing you so softly it disgusts you, like heaven wrapped in thorns.

You feel fresh tears spill down your tears as the dam not letting you cum is finally torn down. You hiccup your 'thank you sir's against his lips as you spill inside Simon. You can just distantly hear Simon groan as you dump your cum into his sloppy hole, muscles weakly fluttering around your cock as you roll your hips, fucking your cum deeper into him, just the act of cumming hurting almost as much as being denied, your balls aching with every spurt of cum.

You collapse on Simon, pushing the breath out of his lungs, as boneless as him. You don't struggle when Price rolls you to your side, your cock slipping out. Cum and lube gushes out from his hole like a firehose, flooding the small space between you two, his rim red and irritated, muscles weakly fluttering around nothing as they try to close.

You try to thank him but you slur your words into his skin, feeling the muscles in his abdomen quiver as you huddle closer and wrap your arms around him, your chest pressed flush to his back. You expect him to pull away, Makarov hated being vulnerable like this longer than he needed, but all Simon does is grunt and tip his head back so you can hide your face in the space between his shoulder and neck.

"You olright Simon?" Price asks, brushing a hand through your sweaty hair for a few seconds before you feel him softly wiping away your spend from you two.

"Fuck," Simon breathes out, voice scratchy and rough. "Are we sure Makarov's human?" His hand reaches up to scratch your scalp as you kiss one of the numerous bite marks you left on him. His skin is a canvass of black and blue bruises, your bite marks starting to clot across his body. "Shit, I can't feel my legs."

His words feel like a slap in the face, and you don't notice how you let out a small whimper, your hold tightening. This is it, you'll have to let him go soon, he'll order you to leave like Makarov always did.

"None of that son." Price's voice is calm in your ear, rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. "You did good."

Simon hums, his fingers running lower to scruff you, "Mhm, yeah," His words are slurred, exhaustion weighing on both of you. "Best snog I've ever had." He grumbles, and you don't doubt he won't admit it in the morning, but for the moment, as you feel yourself slowly drift off to sleep, you let yourself enjoy the praise, the warmth of human touch, the care you can feel in both of them.

This is starting to feel nice.

#gnome's tea break #gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #top male reader #trinkets from the hoard #captain john price #simon ghost riley x reader #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #Hound-reader #Good Dog fic

[ohdeerfully]

hello there!

was wondering if I could request Alastor and reader having a debate over whether radio or the newspaper is better than the other (reader was a journalist in 1930’s New York in their past life). Heated debate that ends with fluff.

thank you!❤️❤️

hi thanks for the request!! honestly it doesnt really end with fluff, more just alastor being confused and also confusing, and im super sorry for that :sob: but i hope u enjoy it anyway!!! kiss kiss

What Would the Papers Say

Alastor x Reader (not explicitly romantic)

TW: none! join my discord!

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Alastor stood in front of you, a tight smile and narrowed brows decorating his face as he stood ominously over you. You swallowed, hard, as you had to crane your neck significantly to look him in the eyes. He waited impatiently for your words, his smile inching to become larger and more sinister by the second.

You took a deep breath and steadied your gaze against his, staring into his maliciously red eyes.

“Why can’t you just admit your wrong,” You said snidely, “The newspaper reached so many more people. And gave more people jobs. And was just better in general, really.”

Alastor laughed at you with closed eyes, something he would tend to do in arguments. He liked to make the other person feel ridiculous. 

“How wrong that is!” He snapped back, eyes settling on you again. “My dear, the radio had much more value. Could your rolls of paper play music? Speak to people? All I see is a boring, colorless, dry wad of useless writing.”

You balled your fists in anger, restraining yourself from getting physical. You wouldn’t be able to land anything, anyway, so there was no point in trying. 

“That ‘useless writing’ was my life’s work, you dick!” You spat, heart clenching slightly at the thought of him considering something so important to you useless. “Some people don’t like to listen to an annoying asshole yap in their ear for forty minutes!”

Alastor waved his hand dismissively at your attempt at an insult, his smile never faltering in the slightest. If anything, it grew wider when he saw your growing frustration. “But more people like listening to the asshole’s stories than reading the drab paper, no? News travels so much faster verbally! Why else do you think the paper lost popularity after the radio was introduced?”

You lost any response you had, eyes falling to the floor in defeat. Your stomach churned with unease, hating that you were losing an argument to Alastor. Yeah, it was hard to win against him in the first place, but it still pissed you off.

“At least we had fun comics to read…” You muttered in a weak attempt at a retort, folding your arms.

Alastor only barked a laugh in response, stepping forward and grabbing your chin with his sharp claws to tilt your eyes back up to him. He wanted to see your eyes glimmer with defeat, it was something he loved to see when he beat somebody in an argument—especially over something they were so passionate about.

However, his smile weakened by a hair when he saw your eyes, slightly shining with held back tears. You still had a look of frustration and you were confidently staring right back at him, but for once… he didn’t really like the look of miserable defeat. Not on you. 

Alastor’s grip on your chin dropped so fast, as if you burned him, and his eyes darted away from yours. His brows were furrowed in what you perceived as confusion, but the expression vanished nearly as soon as you recognized it. 

“Agree to disagree, then,” He said finally, looking back down at you through slitted eyes. He turned with a dramatic flourish, briskly walking away. He turned his head slightly towards you as he spoke one last time, “though, the radio’s never been used for fire kindling.”

Alastor did not like the way you made him feel. He didn't like that your grief made his own emotions go haywire. He was going to find out what it was about you that made him feel... weak, was it? He wasn't sure, but he just needed to get out of there.

You cursed at him, though he paid your words no mind. You could tell by the way his ear flicked in your direction that he had at least heard your frustrations. You finally let your confident face fall, and with a pout you traveled towards the hotel lobby. You needed a drink.

“Bold to argue with Alastor like that,” Husk gruffly commented as you sat down, slumping your shoulders. His arms were folded over his chest, and you awkwardly rubbed your arm.

“You heard all that?”

“You aren’t exactly the quietest.”

You sighed, resting your head against your palm and drumming your free hand against the bartop. “That’s embarrassing,” You said simply, chewing on the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t uncommon for racket in the hotel, but you typically held yourself to a higher standard than being the cause of said racket.

Even though you were upset about the argument, you couldn’t help but visualize that expression on his face when he looked at you earlier. What was that? Concern? Regret? Or were you just reading too much into it? And why did he leave the room so quickly?

You pondered over this as Husk slid a drink over towards you, the glass leaving a watery trail from building condensation. You gave him a small smile and silently sipped at it for a few minutes.

You tried to tell yourself you didn’t care one way or another what those emotions Alastor displayed were. He was a jerk. He put you down for what you were passionate about, and what you had dedicated your life too. What a dick. You didn’t care. Nope.

With a groan, you tilted your head back to finish the glass and nodded a thanks to Husk again before you made your way up the hotel stairs. Without realizing it, your legs seemed to take you to a particular floor and to a particular room that you would’ve rather avoided. You briefly wondered how strong that drink was that Husk gave you.

You held your fist up, paused for a few seconds, and then knocked. Why were you even here in the first place? You weren’t going to apologize. You opened the door yourself when you heard a faint ‘come in,’ slowly pushing it forwards and cracking it open just enough to peek your head through. Your eyes trailed around the room before you finally saw the demon in a bayou-like setting. 

Alastor was sitting leisurely on a metal chair, one leg thrown over the other as he sipped on a mug. His eyes were barely open as he relaxed, and you could only slightly tell that he was looking at you.

“It’s rather impolite to interrupt somebody’s alone time,” He quipped as you walked the rest of your body into the room. “Especially somebody you pestered and yelled at only an hour ago.”

You bit back an angry comment, and kept your breathing level. You shouldn’t let him get under your skin like this. You clenched your fists, but otherwise maintained a cool attitude. You walked towards the corner of the room, examining the scenery before you. You wondered if the forest was actually that big, or if the wall was just an extremely well illustrated illusion. It wouldn’t surprise you if Alastor was eccentric enough to manifest a whole bayou in his own room.

Alastor looked up at you from his seated position, though he still seemed incredibly tall even as he sat. He had a grin spread across his face, and his head tilted slightly at you.

“Need something?” He tried prompting a word out of you. You hadn’t said anything since coming in, and curiosity began gnawing at his thoughts. He was frustrated, truthfully, about the earlier experience he had with his own confused, jumbled thoughts.

You honestly didn’t know why you came to his room. You didn’t really know what to say. You weren’t going to apologize or grovel for forgiveness, and you knew he would never ever admit he was wrong, either.

“You know,” You started slowly, voice just above a mutter. “The newspaper and radio could’ve worked together… one doesn’t have to be better than the other.”

Both grin and eyes widened at your comment. A wave of Alastor’s hand materialized an identical chair across the table, and you sat yourself neatly—and, a bit awkwardly—when he gestured for you to join him.

“What a thought,” He replied, bringing the mug to his lips again. His comment didn’t really give you any insight to what he actually thought about your statement. Though, you should’ve guessed. He has a superiority complex so big he would never admit to anything being on an equal level to him.

Still, you smiled weakly at him. You watched as his gaze studied you, maybe a bit too intently, and you momentarily saw that strange expression shift across his features. Just as before, you barely had time to consider it before it vanished.

“Tell me,” Alastor said, leaning back into his chair. A mug manifested in front of you as he spoke, and with a smell you could tell it was your favorite tea. You wondered if he actually knew, or if it was just something he could do magically. “If you are so keen on the radio and paper working together…”

He paused dramatically, and you clenched your jaw in response. How aggravating his knack for showmanship could be.

“Would you care to make a deal?” There was a sinister look in his eyes as he said the words, his grin twisting up his face with his sharp teeth bared at you. You felt a prickling at your neck, a bit uncomfortable.

“I don’t really… want you to have my soul, dude,” You responded, fiddling your fingers around the rim of the mug in front of you. 

That sinister expression lightened, and he cheerfully waved a hand at you. “No, no, no,” He laughed, leaning forward and letting his elbows rest against the table. “No soul contract. Just… say, a mutually beneficial partnership. Radio Demon and Newspaper Demon. Interesting, right?”

“I… guess,” You replied slowly, considering it. Hey, if your soul wasn’t involved, what was the big deal? How much power could Alastor hold over you if he didn’t have your soul?

A lot, probably.

You shrugged. “Sure, deal.” 

Immediately after your response, a shining sheet of paper and an outdated quill appeared in front of you. You eyed Alastor warily as you took the sheet, reading over the terms of your deal. Honestly, it didn’t seem that bad. It only really iterated your loyalty to him, and in return he’d give you the same. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was a weird attempt at courting you. Weird.

Your eyes moved back to Alastor, who was watching you intensely. He had that strange expression once again, and it was starting to frustrate you. Why did he keep looking at you like that? And what did it mean? The room was silent for a few moments, save for the flickering noise of the ever-present radio frequency that followed the demon in front of you.

You took the quill, signed, and after a dramatic flash of light the paper was gone and you saw Alastor sitting with his eyes closed in an overly pleased smile. He clapped his hands together for a moment, before settling his sharp gaze on you once again.

“Well, my dear,” He leaned his chin on top of his hands, which were clasped together. He had a dangerous glint in his eye. “Mind if I take you for lunch to celebrate our new partnership?”

#ohdeerfully #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #deals with alastor r always fun

[muchosbesitos]

Can you please do one where Y/N is spider woman, but she is a variant of Miguel’s wife that died. She was recruited by Parker B, and she met Miguel at HQ. He’s cold and very distant from her, but in reality he just wants to hold her and love her like his old wife. Y/N sneaks into Miguel’s room one day hoping to snoop around to find anything that could explain his past and his cold demeanor. But she either comes upon him walking videos of him and his old wife (a 100% doppelgänger of Y/N, both physically and characteristically), or she accidentally finds the footage when she’s snooping around and Miguel catches her. (And Y/N has a crush on him the entire time) 

glimpse of us

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader

contents: angst, death, mentions of pregnancy, miguel kinda being an ass? and brief mention of a blowjob (like one sentence brief 😭)

author’s note: should probably state that i was listening to frank ocean and jeff buckley’s ‘lover you should’ve come over’ while writing this so my bad if it’s too angsty LMFAO. anyways idk if this should be a 2 parter or if i should js leave it alone

word count: 6.2k

Grief. It was an emotion that Miguel was all too familiar with, whether it be losing civilians that pleaded for their life until the very end or simply just the grieving of a relationship. Grief sunk its claws deeply into his very being, the perspective that he had towards life completely tainted. He walked on eggshells to prevent himself from enduring any more losses, missing opportunities left and right out of fear. Every time he went through something traumatic, he assured himself that it'd be okay. That it was just a test of his character. And now, all that pain and suffering seemed worth it now that he was up there on the altar.

You were the embodiment of perfection, an angel sent from above to illuminate what was once the darkness in Miguel’s life. White lace intertwined into your wedding dress, the material falling well past your feet. The veil placed above your head flowed past your head, the crown fitting you all too well. You looked like you were meant for this moment, brought into this world to be his wife. Well, no. He was brought into this world to be completely and utterly devoted to you, thinking of himself as lucky that you reciprocated the feelings.

The sound of 'Wedding March' followed as you made your way up to the altar, everyone's attention solely focused on you. Yet, even with all the eyes peering into your direction, you could only manage to look up at Miguel. The image was imprinted in his mind the moment it happened, the rose petals on the floor surrounding you as you made your way up. The venue had been small, just enough to be able to fit both of your families and a couple of close friends. Despite of the venue size, Miguel had made sure to make every idea that you had a reality for the reception.

He refused to accept something other than what his pretty wife wanted, willing to bend over backwards just to fulfill your every whim. He didn't care about the amount of money that he had to spend, not when your presence mattered more than any possession he owned. He felt like he could spend this lifetime devoted solely to you and it still wouldn't be enough time. His only job throughout the wedding plan was swiping his debit card and approving the charges made to his account. He gave his opinion on a couple of the minute details such as the designs of the cups and the napkins, but overall, he left it up to you and the planner.

"Here, antes de que empieces a chillar," Gabriel whispered next to him in a teasing tone, handing him a handkerchief. Miguel took the cloth with a small shake of his head, putting it in his pocket. If anything, Gabriel should've kept the handkerchief for himself. Miguel felt all the saliva in his mouth dry up at the sight of you up close, seeing the gold necklace he'd bought for you adorning your neck upon further inspection. "You've got a little drool there," you whispered just for him to hear, a cheeky smile on your face as you pointed to the corner of his mouth. He indulged your teasing, swiping a finger where you'd pointed. "Hard not to drool when you look so enchanting."

(before you start crying)

"Thank you to everyone who's gathered here today for the gathering of this lovely couple," the priest started off, looking up from the book he was reading off of to the guests. He waited for the guests to settle down before continuing with what he had to say. The ceremony seemed to drag on as the priest continued to speak, all that Miguel wanted was to have the honor of being your husband. The crowd seemed to disappear while he looked at you underneath the fairy lights that you'd requested for the venue, his expression just so full of love as he admired you. In all the different ways that he'd seen you, this one had to be his favorite. The image of his future wife.

The sweet melody of your voice upon speaking your vows was soon drowned out as he looked down to see blood splattering around your stomach. The wedding continued as normal, everyone at the event sporting a smile on their faces. "Do you take Miguel O’Hara as your husband?" The priest asked, oblivious to the fact that you'd just collapsed on the podium. Matter of fact, everybody seemed oblivious. No one was rushing to call 911, too on the edge of their seats to wait for your response. If you were in pain, you didn't present it. Your eyes almost seemed to glisten as you looked over at Miguel, the words 'I do' escaping from your lips.

Cold sweat dribbled down his forehead as he woke up to the solitude of his bedroom, darkness enveloping him completely. His chest heaved as he tried to calm himself down, convince his brain that it was just a nightmare. His heart ached when he looked over at the spot next to him, finding it empty. He really needed a hug from you now. Needed to feel your fingers in his hair to ground back to earth. He wanted to let out a yell out of frustration, every dream and memory that he had of you now tainted with the memory of losing you. First date? You ended up on the floor with your stomach bleeding. Engagement party? Same result.

Ironically enough, the only thing he couldn't bring himself to dream of was the actual event of your death. That in itself would open up wounds that he wasn't ready to face, wounds that he wasn't sure he'd be able to go through for a second time. He ran a hand through his hair, the ends standing up like a soldier in command. The bed creaked underneath him as he stood up, his eyes rapidly blinking to try to get adjusted to the darkness. He stepped into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. It wasn't enough, it was almost like the scene was tattooed in his eyelids so he'd have to endure it as long as he lived.

The only thing that managed to soothe the pain that resided deep inside his soul was the physical pain that he willingly put himself through. The muscles in his legs ached as he moved up on the stair master, intensity set at the highest setting. His mornings usually consisted of this repetitive motion, getting about four hours of sleep before he woke up soaked in his own sweat just to be awake for the rest of the day. His body was over exerted from the amount of stress he was under, but he didn't care. He'd push himself beyond his limit if it meant it would distract him from the memory that you were no longer here to be his person.

"No, you're not listening to me, Miguel!" Your voice boomed throughout the apartment, overlapping his as he tried to argue back to you. You'd seen the scene too clearly and yet he still had the audacity to claim that they were just friends. As if friends looked at each other the way Dana D’Angelo looked at Miguel. She looked at him like she'd eat him alive regardless of the wedding band adorning his finger, her lip often caught in between her teeth as a mean to seduce him. "I'm telling you that I don't care about her advances, I only want you! Haven't I done enough to prove that to you?" He lowered his voice, holding your hands in between his own.

"Yet by not doing anything about her advances, you're making her think that it's okay!" While you didn't expect Miguel to cut off every woman from his life, you at least expected for him to shut down the ones who were so clearly interested in him. Miguel’s frustration seemed to be more evident now, his brows creasing together as he let go of your hands. "Te he dicho un millon de veces. I don't want Dana, I just want you. Please believe me when I say that," you could tell he was trying to make amends but that apology just wasn't cutting it. "Seriously, how hard is it just to cut that damn bitch off?! She cheated on you!"

(i've told you a million times)

"Maybe this whole marriage was a mistake if you can't even trust your husband," he uttered as he turned his back to you, your mouth agape at his words. He had to be saying them just to hurt you, right? He'd certainly done the job if that was his intent. You refrained from crying in front of him, never quite giving him that satisfaction in any arguments between the two of you. He'd never given you a reason to distrust him, but you couldn't say the same thing about Dana. You knew her issues regarding commitment, how easily she ignored the fact that someone was already accounted for.

"Maybe it was," you whispered quietly to yourself, unaware that he'd heard it even through the thin walls. It was only when you heard the staircase leading up to the apartment hallways that you allowed yourself to cry, assured by the fact that Miguel wasn't here listening to you. You looked over at the baby outfit you were planning on surprising him with, gripping it so tightly that your knuckles started to turn white. You were hoping on surprising him with the news of your pregnancy given how eager he was to have kids, only to have the evening end up in an argument.

The argument continued until the next day, both of you unable to put your pride aside and apologize. Well, mostly him. He was at his desk, glasses tipping at the edge of his nose as he read through the last report of his samples. His brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the percentages in front of him, the culture showing an abnormal amount of growth for the amount of time it'd been exposed to the antidote. His train of thought was abruptly cut off when he heard his cell phone ringing in the pocket of his jeans, a small groan escaping from his lips before he reached for it.

Your name appeared on the caller ID, his gut telling him that this call was important. Despite that, he pressed the red button to shut the ringing up. His ego was still bruised from the words you'd uttered yesterday, even though he knew that you hadn't meant them. They were just words spoken out of anger. the same reason why he even thought of uttering those words to you. He pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose, raising his hips to put his phone back in his pocket when the shrill ring sounded again. He took it as a sign of you raising a white flag, deciding to be receptive towards the signal.

"Aló?" He asked as he picked up the phone, your heavy breathing coming through the other end. He stood up in a frenzy as he listened to the sounds of your breathing, starting to feel his blood turn cold. "Miguel! Thank goodness you picked up. I think there's a couple men following me. Can you please come and pick me up? I'm at fifth a-POP!" All the air from his lungs left as he heard a gunshot coming through, the unmistakable sound of a thud echoing in his ears. "Hurry up and get her purse, asshole!" He heard the yelling and scuffling of feet get closer to the receiver, your belongings being stripped away as he was forced to listen.

Miguel remained on the line, wanting some kind of indication that you were still alive. For now, he'd settle for listening to your ragged breathing coming through. He'd called for an ambulance before leaving the house, though he wasn't sure how serious it would be taken with the amount of homicides that happened throughout nueva york. "Oyé. Once you get out the hospital, we're going to Bali like you wanted us to. We're renewing our vows," he spoke into the phone, his voice threatening to crack as he willed himself to cling onto the last bit of hope.

The ambulance still wasn't there by the time he arrived, his knees buckling at the sight of the amount of blood on the sidewalk. He watched other people walk around you like you were inconveniencing them, anger brewing inside him at the sight. He knelt down by your side, watching the bullet wound piercing through your shirt onto your stomach. He removed his shirt without much thought, using it as a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. All he needed was more time. More time with you. More time to apologize to you.

All he wanted was to tell you was that he didn't mean it, wanted to let you know how much you meant to him and more. He didn't want you to die thinking that he hated you. The pain in his chest intensified at the thought, warm tears rolling down his cheeks onto your face. "I'm sorry," he tried to tell you in broken sentences, his voice cracking as tears welled up in his eyes. He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for at this point, if it was for the fact that he wasn't able to save you or for the fact that he'd called your marriage a mistake.

The last thing he remembered from that was your hand squeezing his, your eyes snapping open to look at his for a fraction of a second. "I know, Miguel," your voice was hoarse as you spoke, blood leaking from your mouth. He was immediately dismissed from the scene once the paramedics arrived, the police following soon after. While he was getting questioned as one of the suspects from the attack, you were in the back of that ambulance battling to even stay alive. He forced himself to be compliant, answering the ridiculous questions just so he could be next to you again.

The wait outside the emergency roomed seemed endless, the ticking clock on the wall only adding to the ominous mood. His hands rested on his knees, his head hanging low as he listened to the chatter going on around him. A kid complaining that their mom wouldn't give them their tablet. A woman wailing loudly at the news of her daughter's stroke. After what seemed an eternity, a nurse approached him with a solemn look on her face. "We did everything we could but unfortunately the blood loss was just too much by the time we managed to get her underneath the table. The mortician's analyzing her body down in the morgue."

"Sorry about the wait, we like to do investigations on deaths that aren't of natural causes. We managed to get the bullet out intact so our chances of finding the perpetrators are much higher now," the mortician spoke to Miguel after coming out the laboratory, the voice coming out in a dull tone as Miguel forced himself to focus. The dim lighting around him almost seemed fitting with the topic of death. "We didn't find anything too out of the ordinary, except for the fact that her hgc hormone levels were elevated upon doing blood tests," the mortician continued, treating this as standard routine while Miguel was slowly dying inside. "Can you explain what that means?"

You were pregnant. A million of different scenarios ran through his head on the drive home, the image of you swollen with his baby resting in the forefront of his brain. His grip on the steering wheel was iron tight, trying to maintain his focus on the road ahead. He imagined the baby shower that he would never get to host now, the gender reveal that would now remain a permanent part of his imagination. He was running on autopilot, unable to register his surroundings when he arrived. Home didn't feel like home anymore. Not without one of your candles burning in the background. Not without the dulcet tunes of the record player you'd spent too much on.

His knuckles were purple by the end of the night, having found the perpetrators before the police were able to. The cracking of noses and the crunching of teeth grinding together filled his ears with a certain kind of satisfaction. His sense of morality had been long tainted before, his only goal in mind to have them meet the same fate you'd did. He beaten them to a bloody pulp, their faces disfigured after he was finished with the job. He was expecting for the feeling of satisfaction to rush over him, to make him feel like this was all worth it. But all this reminded him was that you weren't coming back no matter what he did. 

Miguel spent the next couple days in bed, unable to fall asleep as the memory of your lifeless body ran through his mind at every second. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was your lips uttering that you forgave him. Shock, how he regretted the petty fight between the two of you. If the two of you hadn't been fighting, he would've been the one to take you to work instead of leaving you to your own devices. His mind was just a constant loop of: if, if, and if. He was curled up in a ball, silent tears soaking your pillow as he buried his face in it. He maintained doing this every night until the remnants of your shampoo no longer lingered on the pillowcase.

Eventually, he managed to leave the house upon realizing that all the food on the fridge was either pass its expiration date or rotten. He walked around aimlessly through the aisles, picking up what would be easiest to cook. The idea of eating didn't even appeal him all that much, not when it wasn't your delicious cooking. The type of cooking that would leave him going back for seconds, rubbing his stomach with his head tilted back at the dinner table. Soon enough, his cart was full of refried beans, frozen dinners for one, and chicken soup from a can. The once health junk that complained about processed foods was long gone, settling for what was easy.

He walked into the cleaning aisle section, unsure of what he needed to buy. You were usually the one who took care of the necessities of the house, knowing what brand of dish wash was better and knowing what brand of toilet paper would last you two the longest. He put the chemistry class he'd taken in college to work, reading through the ingredient lists until he found something that was up to his liking. He stopped by the laundry aisle, overwhelmed by the strong aroma of the different scents permeating the area. He'd only come in here to pick up one thing.

Fabric softener. It was the one thing that he did remember what brand you liked, since it was the first thing that he woke up to in the mornings. The relaxing scent of a lavender field hitting his nostrils as he brought the cover over his body. He scanned the shelves, unable to find what he was looking for. He scanned the shelves for a second time, taking his time to analyze the bottles as if he expected for it to magically appear from thin air. "Excuse me, but do you have any more of these in the back?" He asked an employee, pulling up a picture of the bottle he'd taken on his phone.

He felt the air leave his lungs as he waited, his throat constricting while his vision blurred. Bis chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his grip on the shelf next to him tight. His body was urging him for oxygen but he couldn't bring himself to breathe, warm tears accumulating in his waterline. The world seemed to be passing him by at a rapid speed, everybody too preoccupied in their own problems. His world, however, had been turned on its axis completely. He didn't know how to function like the rest of these people, not without you by his side.

"Sir?" The employee's voice was barely heard over the ringing circulating through his head, his eyes darting over to hers. "So, about that softener. The line's chosen to discontinue that product but there's plenty more on the shelves," their words only served to disappoint him even further, the frown on his face deepening to the point it almost looked like a scowl. His hands clasped and unclasped in attempt to calm himself down, trying to acknowledge that this was far beyond his control and this poor employee's control. His control lost against his emotions, his voice wavering as he tried to speak.

"Can you check the back again?!" He managed to croak out, desperate to have something that reminded him of lazy morning spent with you. Of the feeling of having his lips pressed against your forehead, your naked bodies intertwined underneath the dark bedsheets. He hadn't even meant to snap at the underpaid employee, but he needed that fabric softener. The others on the shelves just simply wouldn't suffice. He needed that small reminder to tether him to reality.

"Sorry sir, I don't know what to tell you.." the employee's words didn't quite compute in his brain, a sudden ringing reverberating throughout his skull. He managed to nod out a response so as to not get security called on him, ignoring the stares that people were shooting his way. The shelves seemed to be crowding around him, a cage closing in around him. He needed to get out of this place, needed to get back to the comfort of his own home. He needed to get away. Get back to the one place that was still full of memories of you, your trinkets scattered throughout the house. He gave up on shopping, leaving the cart behind.

He walked into one of the bathroom stalls, closing the door behind him. If he would've been a little more self conscious about his surroundings, he would've realized that he was kneeling in front of one of the Walmart toilets. Just the sight of public restrooms was enough to disgust him on a regular basis but he wasn't thinking properly. His eyes stung as salty tears rolled down his cheeks despite his best efforts to maintain his composure. He welcomed the sting that rested on his knees, anything to distract him from the fact that he felt himself falling apart. Any feeling of pain that wasn't caused by you.

He curled up into a ball on the dirty bathroom floor, his knees resting by his chest as he burst out into tears. He'd been holding out on breaking down for so long that the seams had finally unraveled. His shoulders shook as he sobbed, his mouth silently crying out for you. For you to come back to him. "Miguel?" LYLA spoke up after a couple minutes of inactivity, noticing him on the ground a couple minutes later. While she couldn't feel human emotions, she couldn't help but feel bad seeing her creator laying on the floor. "Peter. Miguel needs your help. I'm opening a portal to you."

"Miguel, come on man. You've gotta stand up," Peter pleaded with him as he tried to help him up to no avail. "No. It hurts," Miguel muttered, his eyes starting to burn from the amount of tears he was holding back. He was never one to cry in front of other people and he certainly wouldn't start now. "I know, Miguel. But come on, you can't have a mental breakdown in a Walmart. Let's go home and drink a couple beers, yeah?" Miguel only agreed to Peter's request to get him to shut up. His metabolism was too fast for the alcohol to hit him properly, leaving him in the same state that he was in the bathroom. But for now, he'd make stupid conversation.

So if Peter had seen him in that state, why had he brought a carbon copy of the woman that haunted his every waking moment was beyond him. Miguel had to do a double take just to make sure he wasn't seeing things, just the sight rendered him speechless. You waved up at him, almost seeming like you were expecting more out of this interaction. He couldn't bring himself to act normal, to even utter a word. Just the sight of you was too painful to bear, something like Medusa's stare. He simply nodded off to whatever Peter was telling him, waiting for the doors to close before he began a thorough analysis about your background.

He couldn't help but wonder if he could morph you to be the perfect image of his wife, shape you into the perfect mold. He'd even thought about how he would go about it, slowly but surely showering you with love until he was able to make subtle suggestions to you. Subtle suggestions that would turn you into a perfect image of his wife. He shook his head after thinking through the scenario once more, realizing just how much of an asshole he was being. He knew that you were a completely different person than his wife, the mole on your left eye serving to prove his point, but that didn't mean he still couldn't see her in you. Seeing you resurfaced some feelings he'd tried so hard to bury.

"Is he like that with everyone?" You asked Peter as he led you through the various paths of HQ, various paths that you'd inevitably end up getting lost in despite the tour. "Miguel? Yeah, I'd say so. Don't take anything too personal from him. You probably won't have to see him too often since you report to me anyways," Peter's words were meant to be reassuring, but you couldn't help doubt the sincerity behind them. They seemed measured, almost like he didn't want to hurt your feelings in the process. You decided to stop asking questions about Miguel, choosing to ask more about how the society worked.

The few times that you did see Miguel were during your mission briefings and even then, he seemed to want to avoid you at all costs. He avoided eye contact with you as he spoke, answering other people's questions before answering your own. "Yes Web-Slinger?" He inquired after he was done with his train of thought, his red eyes focused on the cowboy-ish Spider-Man. "Well the little lady over there had her hand up so she can go first," the other man replied, referring to you. You wanted to shrink into your seat when everyone's gaze was directed towards you. "Yes but I’m answering your question first. What is it?"

Despite the fact that he didn't give you any actual motive to develop a crush on him, you still couldn't help yourself. You started looking forward to the mission briefings despite how much time they lasted. You started thinking about him in scenarios that you probably shouldn't have, thinking of the way his muscles would tense under your touch as you gave him a massage. You'd heard some baseless rumors from the other spiders at HQ who'd slept with him, fantasizing that it was your body he was playing like an instrument instead of them. You were practically feeding your delusions off of bread crumbs, silently cheering for yourself when he managed to face you.

You thought that maybe he was just stressed out the day Peter had introduced you to him, given that he was the one leading this whole organization and whatnot. "One coffee, please," you ordered at the cafeteria, standing for an ungodly amount of time in line. Though, with the amount of variants that wandered throughout the building, you supposed you couldn't expect for easy service. You took the cup of coffee after paying two dollars for it, making your way over to Miguel’s office. You were hoping you could get some brownie points with him. Start off slow before you tried to pursue something deeper with him, something more intimate.

You brought your fingers up to the door, hesitating for a moment before knocking on it three times. Miguel instantly hated himself for even recognizing that knock, the minute details about his wife engraved deep into his cortex. Deep into his soul. "Come in," his voice came out from inside, unbeknownst to you that he was looking at the cameras throughout HQ. "I brought you a coffee. I didn't know which one to get so I just went with black," you offered as you peered your head to look up at the platform he was standing on. You could barely make out his figure with the darkness surrounding you, the only light source being the monitors around.

"I don't drink coffee," his response came out curt, making you question what you did wrong this time. As adamant as he was to not pursue any conversation with you, you were at the very least determined to leave him with a good impression of yourself. At least aiming for that since any chances of him reciprocating the feelings brewing out inside you seemed slim to none. "Are you sure? I saw you with a cup the other day," you tried to push the subject further, hoping he'd be a bit more receptive this time around. "I didn't stutter, did I? I said I don't drink coffee."

It was so quiet that you could hear the quiet beeping from the computers, the noises almost mocking your attempts. "Well, I'll just leave it on your desk in case you change your mind," you told him, setting it down on the table with the least electronics sitting on it. You made your way out of his office, grimacing to yourself as you recounted the events. Well, at least he'd spoken more words than before. Even if they did undermine your intelligence a bit. You wouldn't consider it as a win, but you'd consider it as progress. Somewhat. Well, you hoped that it was a step in the right direction towards getting to know him.

Miguel picked up the cup of coffee, immediately wanting to be disgusted at the gesture and wanting to throw it out. He saw it as something that disturbed the equilibrium of his office. As minute as it was. He took a sip from the cup, mentally reprimanding himself for enjoying the liquid going down his throat. "You're so weird, seriously. Who just drinks black coffee?" His wife used to tease him during the mornings after making his cup, setting it on the counter along with the daily newspaper and a plate of eggs. He'd almost thought of apologizing to you, holding you against himself to remind himself of what he used to have but he knew better of it. He knew it wouldn't be the same.

You busied yourself with the multitude of files that Miguel left for you to do, the task making it seem like he was keeping you busy for as long as possible. You were buried underneath paperwork, filling up papers that you had the briefest knowledge of given the reports provided. You'd made it out of your desk at around seven, much of the other spiders having already departed from HQ to head back to their respective universes. You lingered for a little bit longer, strolling around to make yourself a bit more acquainted with the place before sitting down at the common area. You scrolled lazily through your phone, trying to find something to distract you from heading back home.

You watched as Miguel departed from his office, talking to one of the spiders with his gizmo before opening up a portal. The orange colors swirled around, complimenting the blue and red design of his suit before he disappeared inside. You couldn't help but wonder if he just had a problem with you specifically or if he had some kind of trauma trailing behind him. While he was more closed off and less charismatic than the other spiders, he at least made the effort to maintain a proper conversation with them. You rubbed your sweaty palms on the material of your pants, standing up from your seat to head into his office.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" A voice behind you boomed, your back straightening out like a ruler. You turned around to face miguel, the clip from his wedding playing in the background. Specifically the part where you, well your variant, was sharing her vows. You'd never seen him smile the way he did in those videos, never seen him so full of life. You were about to open your mouth to explain but Miguel’s glare was quick to shut you up. You didn't know how to explain the situation, that you were snooping around his personal belongings because you were curious?

"Get out. I don't want to find you in my office again."

You defeatedly got off from the platform, making your way over to the door. You looked back at him, the pain in your chest growing stronger at his rejection. You just wanted to know more about him, get a glimpse of the man behind the shell that he put on for the public. Despite getting the answers you were looking for, you were only left with more questions in turn. Did he hate you because you reminded him of who he couldn't go home to? You stood there with your hand on the doorknob like a fool, waiting for him to take mercy on your poor, bleeding heart. Mercy that unfortunately never came.

"I thought I told you to get out."

The scent of your perfume lingered inside of the room, the slightly floral aroma hitting his nostrils when you departed. He shouldn't have thought much of it but it only served to prove how much different from his wife you were. Despite the fact that the two of you were so similar, even in the ways that you acted, there was a little difference here and there. The foods that you liked to frequent, the different aromas that you enjoyed, and even the jewelry that you chose to wear. His wife had been more subtle with her jewelry while you chose to wear a heart necklace over top your Spider-Suit. Just the thought was enough to drive him mad.

Miguel let out a shaky exhale, his eyes traveling to where the clip was playing in the background. "Por ti aprendería todo los idiomas si fuera necesario para describir el amor que siento. Te amo, Miguel. Ahora y en la muerte," your voice was a sweet melody that he could never get enough, his throat closing up as he hung his head. "Y yo a ti," he spoke up along with the recording, the camera panning over to Miguel as he went through his own vows. The exchange of love brought an involuntary smile to his face, no awful dream morphing it into something it wasn't. The ceremony played out, the waltz music filling the silence in his office.

(for you, i'd learn all the languages if it was necessary to describe the love i feel for you. i love you, miguel. now and in death//and i to you.)

He frantically looked through the files, analyzing each of them by name just to make sure you hadn't deleted any while snooping around. He'd seen them plenty of times whenever his mind was too much to handle, which seemed to be more often these days. He let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding after triple checking the files, all of them where they were supposed to be. Almost as if it wasn't enough to have that sense of security, he decided to put them in an encoded folder that only he and LYLA would be able to access now. Those memories meant too much for him to put them at stake.

That night, no dreams of his wife came back to haunt him. No painful reminders of how she'd died, of how he'd failed her in her last moments. His dreams were oddly peaceful, a life in a beach paradise where none of his worries seemed to matter. He still ended up waking up in the same cold sweat when he got the image of you, the new spider recruit, haunting his dreams with that sweet smile of yours. The dream itself had been enjoyable, an arm wrapped around your waist as he kissed you good morning. The feeling of your lips wrapped around his morning erection, your tongue greedily lapping up his precum while the sunlight illuminated your features.

The thought of it being you and not his wife for once stirred him awake faster than any nightmare ever could. The fact that he was starting to grow more accustomed to you as a person, rather a simple visage reminding him of what used to be terrified him more than any multiversal anomaly. He was unable to fall asleep for the duration of the night, simply looking up at the ceiling as he tried to figure out what the dream could possibly mean. He wanted to hate you so badly, for reminding him of his past failures. And yet, he couldn't help but long for your company now that he was laying alone.

taglist🫶🏼: @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @lazyjellyfish300 @pxtched @nympholove @ifiwasaguybrickedup @yournextbimbogf @nixinluv02

#muchosbesitos #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara oneshot #miguel o’hara self insert #angst #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara fanfic #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara spiderverse #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel o’hara au #miguel ohara #miguel 2099 #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o’hara x fem!reader

[nyaagolor]

Ranking the Ace Attorney main cast on whether or not I think they'd be a narc

I was making a more coherent, serious post about the different approaches to justice each of the characters have and how that is shaped by their backstory... and then I realized a funnier question is what they would do if they saw you eating a weed brownie so I made this post instead

Phoenix: In the trilogy era, yes. He trusts people, but believes that trust has to be built on pursuing justice and always accepting the harsh reality. He'd be sad about it, but a narc nonetheless. In his Beanix era he's making his money through "totally legal gambling" and on the hunt for questionably legal evidence so I have no doubt in my mind there's a pot farm under the WAA for supplemental income. He gives up his narc ways and for that I salute him

Apollo: If I were to pick a single member of this cast who is NOT invited to the rotation it would be him. He had zero hesitation throwing Kristoph to the wolves after working for him for years so I know he has absolutely zero qualms about ratting out his friends or coworkers. Loyalty means nothing in the eyes of justice and it means nothing to him. He's a narc.

Athena: She's gonna lecture you and look all sad about it, but she's no snitch. She's been through the rounds with Simon so she gets it. Having to know you hurt her feelings is enough of a punishment in her eyes

Edgeworth: He's not a narc but he IS obsessed with being right, so if you don't immediately fess up with exactly what you're doing he's going to send your stoned ass to the chess dimension and honestly I think that's worse

Franziska: Unfortunately she is a cop. Narc.

Godot: Diego-era yeah he's a narc, but after the coma? I feel like he has better things to worry about, he would just ignore you. He has some soul searching to do and some grief complexes to unlearn he doesn't have the time to be a lil snitch. Post prison I think he's stoned somewhere in Kurain and chillaxing, as is his right

Klavier: Don't let his rockstar attitude fool you he's a narc and extremely annoying about it. The gavinners tour bus is dry as hell and it's all Klavier's fault. Daryan offers him a line and he gets all uppity and says "the only LINE i want you doing is the third line in the prechorus, you keep messing up the syncopation" and that's the end of that discussion

Simon: He's been in prison so he knows what's up. Not a narc. Might glare at you until you share though

Nahyuta: He's a narc and will lecture you so long about it you're tempted to turn yourself in to get out of earshot. He also never forgets and never forgives. Datz is trying to reform him but it isn't going well

Sebastian: Yes, but I think the idea of him having to turn in someone for it would make him cry so they end up comforting him instead. Kay thinks he needs to try a weed brownie

Maya: I want you to look at me and tell me she doesn't smoke weed. Not a narc

Pearl: I think if she found out that her big sister figure smoked weed she would have a heart attack. Def a narc

Trucy: I can say with absolute certainty that if you really wanted weed she could find you a dealer faster than anyone in the cast. Trucy is a magician and has grown up around a variety of people involved with some seedier institutions, she knows better than to snitch. Has not been and will never be a narc

Kay: Will help you shoplift. Not a narc

Gumshoe: A narc on principle, but would feel really bad about it and would probably let you off with a warning if you started crying or acting upset because I think he's a softie. He's not unreasonable

Ema: If you think she has even the tiniest sliver of respect for cops you're lying to yourself. Not a narc and will actively help you evade police out of principle. A homie, honestly

Fulbright: Not only is he a narc but he definitely runs the DARE program at the local highschool and is printed on half the posters they put up in the precinct. I'm also like 80% sure he doesn't actually know how weed works

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #apollo justice #athena cykes #miles edgeworth #franziska von karma #godot #diego armando #klavier gavin #Simon Blackquill #nahyuta sahdmadhi #maya fey #pearl fey #trucy wright #kay faraday #sebastian debeste #dick gumshoe #ema skye #bobby fulbright #mod vex #headcanons

[ginkgo-phyta]

Hotch would definitely give you the princess treatment, and you know what? Jack would too, after seeing his father he knows how to treat a girl right. And the team would definitely tease Hotch, because his son is going to steal his partner from him :)

omg no LITERALLYYY tho like just like omfg alright i got carried away with this and its not even really what you're talking about but listen to me okay LISTENNNNN

tagged spencer reid x reader because i want more people to see this teehee pls dont hate me i have spencer fics yall should read if you havent already but also you should still read this too

YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH AARON HOTCHNER AND ITS INFLUENCE ON HIS SON JACK gn!reader, FLUFF, no warnings(?) another informal blurb typa format :P

you and hotch decide together you'd like to date for a while first, take things slower and fully solidify and strengthen your relationship, before you become a part of jack's life. you didn't want jack to get attached to you or write you off too quickly in case life took you in different directions. you didn't know it at the time, but hotch introduced you to jack when he was sure he was going to marry you some day- and soon. he had been so incredibly head over heels in love with you and once you and jack got close, the little guy really got to witness how highly his father regarded you- and just how he showed you it every day. even in the little things. from the way hotch pulled out your chair, held all doors open for you, always kept your favorite drinks and snacks stocked up in the fridge and pantry, never let you open your own car door, the way he made spaces for you in his bathroom and closet without even being asked, and how he always stuck to your weekly dinner date- whether in person or over the phone. to the way his father would look at you, listen intently to whatever you were talking or ranting about, how he'd cup your hands and press quick kisses to them or move any bothersome strands of hair from your face when you'd eat, and how enthusiastic he always was when you and jack would spend time together.

jack was a bit hesitant with you at first, he was a bit older at that point and the quickness with which beth had left his life had admittedly stung him, leaving an ever-present welt behind. but he warmed up to you, appreciative of the way you welcomed him with open arms, never pressured him to spend time with or even like you (letting him accept you at his own pace) and how you clearly were not trying to take the place of his late mother- even many, many years into your relationship with his father. what he loved the most was how you always encouraged hotch to recount stories of haley, put pictures of her in jack's room or wherever else he wanted them, and how you would remind him: "your mother would be so proud of you jack." you would watch old home videos of their old family and jack never failed to notice how you wouldn't ever feel negatively about it. that was really what won him over. he also loved how open you were with both him and his dad- every day you'd say "i love you!" both casually and purposefully. it instilled in the young boy the importance of expressing appreciation, love, and care for others.

before you, hotch was always a just bit emotionally closed off. even when it came to jack he liked to keep himself a bit more reserved. he tried to stay a strong and unwavering inspiration, only wanting to show his son his best face. but once you came into their lives you inspired hotch to open up more than he had the last few years after haley's passing, inspired him to embrace even the "uglier" emotions he felt in life: grief, anger, sadness, and tiredness. it ended up passing onto jack in small ways, allowing him to feel even closer to dad. you became a huge structural post in jack's life. your love for one other inspired him, as he grew up he dreamed of one day having a relationship like yours. he looked forward to being able to treat his significant other the way his father cares for you.

you loved jack as if he was your own, though you never wanted to say that to him for fear of overstepping your role. aaron would always assure you, especially as jack grew older, that his boy felt it. you watched him go from a playful child, to a moody teenager, to a budding adult eager to make his mark on the world. and you were there supporting him the whole way.

you'll spend a lifetime with the both of them and although there will be many funny, loving, or frustrating moments you'll hold in a special place in your mind, there's one memory from when he was still a youngin that you love the most. it was a surprise dinner party at your fancy restaurant, aaron had booked the whole place just for you and the guests to celebrate your engagement and he had enlisted jack's help to plan the whole thing. jack, the bau team, and your friends and family were all there to shower you in love. the most memorable part of the night was the moment everyone sat down for dinner, all around a giant table (possibly multiple tables pushed together). as everyone moved to take their place jack ran so eagerly in front of you to pull your chair out before his father got the chance. you were shocked for a second before bursting out in a melodious laugh- it was so unexpected but you were incredibly moved. "oh, jack, thank you!" your loving, excited, and genuinely appreciative tone made jack's already huge grin grow even wider and more endearing. everyone else had noticed this too and laughed in joy along with you. "oh my god!" "that was so freakin cute" "he did not just do that!" rang out around you. of course aaron noticed, standing in silence for a second, a similar smile mirrored on his face, before he shook his head with a chuckle. as you took you seat, jack made sure to push your chair in just before you sat down fully, diligently executing what he'd studied his father do hundreds of times before. you turned to thank him, but before you could even open your mouth jack moved to take your cloth napkin from the table, shake it open, and carefully place it in your lap. awwws flooded in from all sides of the table

"oh you are just so adorable jack, thank you so much." you said as you pinched his still slightly chubby cheek "you are just the kindest, sir." you playful tone cause jacks entire face to blush and he shyly walked over to take a seat next to you.

"what? you take my job, and now you don't even want to sit next to me?" hotch spoke up from you other side. jack knew his father was joking, but he still bashfully giggled, sinking a bit more into his seat

"you better be careful, hotch," derek spoke up from across the table, motioning to his former boss with a breadstick, "looks like you got some competition there."

everyone broke out into more laughter, especially aaron. in the midst of the hysterics, the once-stoic man's hand crept into your lap to hold your own, thumbing over the back of your hand and the beautiful engagement ring wrapped around your finger. you shared a glance while you both laughed before you looked over to jack. wordlessly, your hand suddenly hopped up to ruffle up the little boy's hair, causing him to scrunch up his nose and giggle even more.

but you didn't have to say anything, your eyes held the truth. love. jack continued to look up at you, feelings of warmth, joy, and safety draped over him like a fuzzy throw, covering him from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. he knew that with you in his life now, besides him and his father, everything would be okay.

A/N: SCREAMING how was this anon? sorry i didn't delve into the team teasing hotch more bc these thoughts were swimming in my head and i NEEDED to get them down perhaps i could do another post of just teasing quotes if that's something you'd like! i got a few ideas swimmin already teehee i hope you enjoyed my love!!

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch imagine #hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader

[hisui-dreamer]

Hihi Rinna! Saw the cool event and I would like to request a bouquet ⁠\⁠(⁠･⁠◡⁠･⁠)⁠/ daffodils, rhododendrons and a few cherry blossoms, please send it to Lilia, Jamil and Jade!

everlasting mementos

Characters: Lilia, Jamil and Jade

Synopsis: you've left twisted wonderland, leaving behind a simple bouquet of flowers for him as a parting gift

Tags: heavy angst (disco wants suffering y'all), no happy endings, bad vibes all around, farewells

Word count: 976

Notes: hooboy this one was depressing ヘ⁠（⁠。⁠□⁠°⁠）⁠ヘ hope you enjoy the pain!!

Masterlist

flowers of choice:

daffodils: please don't forget me

rhododendrons: red ones symbolise tremendous grief

cherry blossoms: scattering, fleeting moments

Lilia casts a spell on your flowers to make them everlasting, keeping them by his bedside table his gaze is always drawn to it every time he walks into his room, and he’s reminded of all the memories you’ve shared together

he’s become used to saying farewells, having gone through the pain of losing his dearest friends and countless comrades in the war

he’s long learned that life will always move on, and whether or not you move along with it isn't a choice you get to choose

tries to act as normal, but everyone can tell he’s not energetic as usual

silver and malleus offer to spend more time with him so he won’t feel too lonely, and sebek even watches his mouth to not accidentally upset him

he’s incredibly grateful to everyone for being so considerate, but there’s no stopping the dull ache in his heart

every time he’s in the kitchen, he hears your panicking voice echoing in his ears, scolding him for another misdemeanour

or your squeals of surprise when he pops down from the ceiling to give you a kiss

you've really left a mark on this old fae...

Lilia tenderly caressed the flowers, tears welled in his eyes, tracing silent paths down his cheeks. He knew his time with you was limited, that you would always go back to your world and never return. He knew that nothing would last forever, but he just hoped he could have spent a little more time without you.

"How foolish am I...," he murmured softly, his voice tinged with sorrow. "To dare to hope for a different ending. One without goodbyes."

Amidst the flickering candlelight, he found himself enveloped in memories of your presence. "The world feels so much dimmer without you," he confessed, his words laden with longing and regret.

Jamil wanted to throw out the flowers but he couldn't bear parting with the last thing you left behind for him

he ends up turning them into pressed flowers, making a tiny pendant with them so he can keep you close always

Jamil, like he's done most of his life, decides to bottle up his feelings and go about his day as usual

but everyone in scarabia can tell he's snappier and a lot more tense than usual

even kalim, who's been trying his best not to upset or trouble jamil

on late nights, when he's all alone with his thoughts, he pulls up your old voice recordings, unable to fight the urge to hear your voice

he replays them tirelessly until every sentence is etched into his memory

the comfort they once provided now only serves to amplify his frustration, a mere reminder of your absence

he had resigned himself to a life in the shadows, but then you came into his life and for the first time in forever he let himself hope for a brighter future but now...

he wants to be mad at you for giving him this false hope, but he can't even stand the thought of being mad at you, he's just mad that he let himself hope again

still, he doesn't regret a single second he spent with you

The sound of your voice from the recording dwindled into the hushed night, and with it, the floodgates of his emotions burst open, and he collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming down his face.

"It's not enough," he whispered between sobs, clutching the device tightly in his trembling hands. "Just hearing your voice... it's not enough."

He yearned to see your smile, to feel your warmth beside him once again. "You gave me so much hope," he choked out, his voice breaking with emotion. "That maybe, just maybe, we could have been happy."

Jade keeps the bouquet of flowers you gave him, propagating them so they'll always thrive by his side, making sure to care for them so he'll always have the last gift you give him

each time he tends to them, he talks to them as if they're you, telling them about his day, what shenanigans floyd has gotten into, how well his mushrooms have been growing...

he never leaves without wishing for your happiness, because that thought eases the ache in his heart slightly

on the outside, he acts unaffected and you really wouldn't be able to tell he's upset at all

but floyd and azul can tell, it's clear as day to them just how devastated he is

azul lets him have more free time, cutting his shifts shorter so he can go on hikes or take care of his terrariums, any activities to cheer him up

but even those activities fail to lighten his mood, because he's constantly reminded of his memories with you

him taking care of your wound after you'd tripped and injured your knee, you excited to show him the new mushroom dish you've been working on, the subtle stares and smiles the two of you exchanged at school...

there are traces of you littering every corner of his heart...

As Jade passed by a familiar hiking spot, the very place where countless moments were shared between the two of you, bittersweet memories flooded his mind. He sank to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggled to catch his breath.

How was it possible that you were only in his life for a short period, yet your absence felt unbearable? How had you managed to leave such a profound impact on him, with every little thing now serving as a painful reminder of your absence?

"I just... wish to see you again..." he whispered to the empty trail, his voice choked with sorrow. "What can I do... to make this feeling go away?"

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#✧2k! blossoming bouquets✦ #twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland lilia #lilia vanrouge x reader #jamil viper #twisted wonderland jamil #jamil viper x reader #jade leech #twisted wonderland jade #jade leech x reader #✧disco🪆✦

[uravitsy]

‘YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL’ SATORU GOJO

ACT ONE.

summary. gojo visits your grave once a year, reflecting on the limited time he had with you while going through the stages of grief. ☆

warnings. angst, sad!gojo, fem!reader! gojo x you, grief, established relationship, some smut if you squint, bittersweet ending

a/n. this is a short story i wrote over the summer, i wanted to dabble into the idea of gojo not being able to fully process his grief without the help of his students. it is a bit sad though.

ACT TWO : ̗̀➛ ACT THREE : ̗̀➛ FINALE

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

"Does Gojo-sensei seem…different today?" Itadori asked absentmindedly, leaning back in his chair while balancing a pencil on his nose. He was doing everything else but the work he was supposed to finish before class ended. His two close friends, Megumi and Nobara, spared him a quick glance, as if debating whether to answer his ridiculous question.

"When is that nutjob ever okay?" Nobara bounced back another question, making Itadori stop balancing himself on his chair to think for once. The pencil he had on his face clattered onto the ground. "If anything, he's more extra than he was yesterday."

"Exactly," Itadori frowned, the invisible lightbulb above his head continuing to flicker as he thought long and hard about what Gojo could be upset about. He knew it was a stretch, and he himself wasn't too good at reading emotions, but he was sure something was off—from the way Gojo's smile seemed wider to the way his laughs went on for a second too long. "What do you think, Megumi?"

The black-haired boy stopped moving his pencil across the paper. His face remained stoic as the two beside him turned to look in his direction, anticipating an answer from him.

In short, Megumi did know why Gojo seemed off today, and it was all because of his vague memory of you.

He was a clueless child back then, but he felt it. He felt the love you and Gojo shared, something he had seen before between his own mother and father. It was strong, beautiful, like a song that only you and Gojo knew the lyrics to. It was a dance—a slow burn into the spotlight of a world you two created.

He admired it. He admired you and the person you helped Gojo become.

And though your memory was beautiful, it was also tragic. Megumi did mourn you since he remembered bits and pieces of you, but he was sure Gojo mourned you the most. Especially since today was the anniversary of your death. For as long as he's known Gojo, he knew that this one day out of the year was the time when he'd crack more jokes, tease him more, and laugh the loudest—all to mask his pain.

And he couldn't help but think it's because Gojo never properly grieved for you.

"He's the same as usual," Megumi lied. It wasn't their place to know, nor was it his. Everyone had their secrets and the stuff they keep to themselves. Who were they to pry into his business? "You guys should just drop it."

And with that, he went back to his assignment, ignoring the gawking stares from both of his friends.

"Well, now I'm even more curious," Itadori pouted, resting his chin on his hand as he looked out the window just in time to see Gojo's back as he skipped off campus. "He's literally leaving in the middle of the day!"

"Itadori—" Megumi started but got interrupted by his friends' loud voices.

"What?!" Nobara pushed Itadori away from the window so she could look. A sudden spark of curiosity consumed her as she cracked a mischievous grin. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"We should follow him!" they both said at the same time as they rushed out of the classroom with such speed they left papers flying behind them.

Megumi could only sigh. His peers were likely to get in trouble and drag him into their mess somehow. It never fails. He thought for a moment about how he would benefit from following them to make sure they didn't get caught leaving school grounds without a teacher, but he came up with nothing. He figured he should take his own advice and mind his own business, let those two knuckleheads do whatever they want and suffer the consequences for it.

They could potentially run into dangerous curses, dangerous people, or dangerous people controlling dangerous curses… and then suffer grave injuries. You know what? Maybe he should follow them from a distance.

Meanwhile, the door to the flower shop gave a soft ding as Gojo opened it. His tall frame took up the space in the small shop. Gojo ducked his head as he came in, careful not to knock over the potted plants that rested on the floor and shelves in no particular order. The air was stale with an earthy smell that was oddly comforting. It was good to know that the place remained the same after a year—the only thing that stayed the same in his chaotic life.

"Satoru!" an elderly woman looked up from her newspaper at the sound of the doorbell, thick circle glasses making her eyes appear large and almost fish-like. "Good to see you! How have you been?"

"Mrs. Yamada," Gojo bowed respectfully to the elder, to which the lady playfully pinched and pulled his cheeks. "Missed you too!"

"You silly boy, you know you can visit anytime and not just once a year, you know (Y/N) would've loved that, hm?" Mrs. Yamada made her way behind the counter, already grabbing and wrapping up a single flower. A flower that was your favorite, the same kind you'd always get whenever you would come into this small flower shop.

Gojo never understood why you didn't let him buy a whole bouquet of the flowers you loved. "Then I'd have to take care of all of them," you'd say, your laugh like a sweet melody in his ears that he constantly wanted to replay. "When it's just one, I feel like it lasts longer, you know? I seem to appreciate it more."

The memory made him frown slightly. If you allowed it, he would've bought the whole damn store for you, and you wouldn't just be stuck with a single flower. He didn't get it. He didn't get you. Even after all these years, he was still trying to figure you out.

"Ah, she used to come in every Sunday morning to say hello," Mrs. Yamada smiled warmly. "Always ready to hound me for something sweet to eat. (Y/N) had a nose like a hound and a stomach like a sumo wrestler." The brown wrapping paper crinkled against the elder's fingertips as she folded it around the flower. "Oh, how I miss her."

"Come now, Mrs. Yamada," Gojo leaned against the counter, tapping the wood with excitement. "She'd want us to smile, to celebrate her life, right?! Then that's exactly what we'll do."

"Satoru…"

Gojo waved his hands dismissively. "The usual price for the flowers, right?"

"Yes," Mrs. Yamada rang him up at the cash register before sliding the flower across the counter toward him. But before Gojo could grab it, she pulled it away. "I wanted to tell you before I closed up shop for the day, but… I will be retiring next month."

Gojo's smile fell then.

"I am getting too old, and ever since my husband's passing, I find it quite hard to manage this all on my own, no matter how much I love to do so," she patted the counter lightly, eyes glazed over in a daze as if recalling a memory. "I will be closing the shop and moving to America to stay with my daughter."

"Then are you going to sell the building?"

Gojo found himself asking before he could even think about what to say.

"I'll buy it."

Even in death, you were expensive. How was that possible? Gojo found himself using his savings to buy a whole flower shop that you weren't even here to see. But did that matter to him? Of course not. You were worth every penny—and the shop, to him, was nothing more than a shiny penny that he could buy for your sake. All because you loved it and would visit it often. Gojo couldn't let it close down; it was too valuable for the sake of the memories it held.

So now he owned a flower shop. What the hell was he going to do with a flower shop? He didn't know a damn thing about flowers.

"(Y/N)…" Gojo whispered your name as he pushed open the metal graveyard gate, the bolt making a loud creaking noise that echoed into the summer breeze.

It didn't take Gojo long to find your headstone. After all these years, he knew this cemetery like the back of his hand; at this point, it was like a second home to him. The only place where he could truly let the mask fall as he mourned for you.

In the years you've been gone, he had a long time to think—to wonder why you of all people had to be taken away from him. It made him question, curse, and cry to a higher power above if there was one. Would they be listening? Did they hear him? Did they understand the pain he was put through? And if everything was a part of the higher power's plan, then why was (Y/N) written in with such a tragic story? Why did her life become a song of such somber music?

It wasn't fair. And to Gojo, he would never make sense of it, no matter how hard he tried.

"Ah, it's a beautiful day, (Y/N)." Gojo smiled warmly at your headstone before sitting on the smooth tile, rummaging through his bag to pull out a rag so he could wipe the dust that was on top of your engraved name. "Though I bet you're complaining about how hot it is. I know, it is a little toasty, but a beautiful day nonetheless."

Wiping the concrete clean, Gojo made sure it was spotless with all the cleaning supplies he brought. He had to make up for the year he was away; that's why he always deep-cleaned your headstone since he knew he wouldn't be back until next year. He wanted you to watch the seasons go by with a pretty headstone, one that sparkled whenever the sun cast its rays on it.

"Hm?" Gojo tilted his head as if to hear your unspoken question again. "Oh! I'm doing good. Still teaching. You'd love these lot of kids, though. They have such great potential and are such a reckless bunch who enjoy escaping off campus to follow me here."

"Crap! He's onto us." Gojo heard Nobara's voice from the bushes behind him.

"Do you think he knows?" Itadori asked in his typically clueless fashion.

"He knows, dumbass." Megumi sighed before emerging from the bushes with twiddledee and twiddledumb trailing behind him. Their bantering stopped once they saw Gojo sitting by your headstone, the air suddenly becoming still as they made their way closer.

"Gojo-sensei, we can explain—!"

"Don't even," the white-haired man laughed before gesturing toward the headstone. "(Y/N), meet my students. Students, meet (Y/N)!"

"Ah! Nice to meet you!" Itadori bowed in respect, and so did Megumi.

"Why are we bowing to a dead—" Grabbing ahold of Nobara's hand, Itadori forcibly pulled her down so she could bow as well.

"Oh, you kids are in so much trouble," Gojo said with a gleeful smile. "I'm already thinking of all the ways to punish you."

"In my defense," Megumi started, "I tried to stop them."

"Yetttttt you're still here." Tilting his head, Gojo looked at his students playfully. "I hope you all enjoyed this field trip, but let's head back to campus, yeah? And get ice cream along the way!"

"Oh! Ice cream!" Itadori and Nobara spun around in a dance as they made their way toward the entrance of the cemetery, the pair just finding it best not to question who you were or what you were to Gojo. They could finally sense what Itadori was talking about that morning. He was different today, and it was clear he was sad. "La la la la la!"

"Let's go, Megumi. Do you still prefer chocolate?" Gojo turned to walk away but stopped in his tracks when he noticed Megumi staring at your grave with an expression he couldn't read. "Megumi?"

"Gojo-sensei…" His student turned to look at him. "I just want you to know that it's okay to be sad, to grieve for her."

Gojo chuckled, tucking his hand in his pocket as a breeze cut through the air, its chilled warmth wrapping around the pair. "Who's to say I don't? I grieve her every day."

URAVITSY 2024

#༊*·˚ uravitsy #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x female reader #jjk smut #smut #anime #angst #jjk angst #lovers #short story #gojou satoru x reader #bittersweet #yuji itadori #megumi fushiguro #nobara kugisaki #tw death #romance #lana del rey

[furiousgoldfish]

One of the issues you run into when you're not allowed to express anger as a child, is that you're no longer able to get angry. When you're in a situation that should evoke rage, you instead feel fear, anxiety, panic, or grief, emotional hurt and helplessness. You end up operating a body that cannot feel or express anger. The only times you do feel angry is when you're directing it at yourself, it comes as a form of self hatred, and desire to cause pain and injury to yourself. Because this is the only way you would have been allowed to be angry, only way it was safe, to direct it at yourself, same as everyone else is doing constantly, teaching you that it's normal and expected.

Growing up like this means that all of the anger from your childhood keeps getting stored into your body instead of externalized, and you still cannot get angry when the situation demands it. Instead, when you're being disrespected and injustice is served in your face, you can either feel helpless and lost, or the frustration you feel irritates you so much you cannot stand it. Your body is not used to feeling anger and doesn't know how to process it. Instead it feels like you're going to explode, restless, endlessly irritated and at a complete loss on how to handle it. Because you never learned how to handle anger, except to take it out on yourself, and you might be driven to just keep doing that, forever.

Taking a stand for yourself and confronting whoever deserved your anger might still feel terrifying and all of the insane things that happened to you as a result of childhood anger might get triggered. You might feel too frightened to confront them because you can imagine all sorts of ways it could come back to hurt you - this person could try to get you fired, for example. They might smear campaign you and get you evicted, they could threaten you with something or blackmail you, they could destroy something of yours, spread rumors, hold a grudge and do thousand times worse to you. Those are thoughts evoked by memories of childhood, where abusive parents threatened and did any or all of these things, including torture, in order to keep you from expressing anger.

However this person is hurting you right now, unprovoked, and getting no resistance. From that, they're learning that they can keep doing it, with zero consequences, because you've already been broken and cannot fight back. That is a dangerous situation to be in too, even if it is impossible to predict whether this person is insane like your parents and will try to get revenge for any bit of resistance for their abuse.

I had situations where I would be pushed over the edge and allowed my anger to come out at someone - and people would sometimes complain about it, but they would usually back off, and I would regain my peace of mind because I created a consequence for disturbing it. Anger, however, doesn't feel good. My body is not used to it so it makes me incredibly tense, stressed, frustrated and upset, and it doesn't go away for several days, even weeks sometimes. Because scratching the surface of it evokes the repressed childhood anger which is almost unbearable with how giant it is.

Human body can learn to process anger, it can feel better, more powerful and more in control because of it. It can protect you without inflicting damage to others. It doesn't make you anything like your abusers, who let their anger out at someone who wasn't their equal, had no way to fight back, and did not deserve any of it. Your anger creates boundaries that keep you safe, it doesn't exist to torture others for existing.

It's easy to fall back into the place where you don't want to be angry, and try to be accommodating and allowing of injustice, just so you don't have to feel frustrated and afraid. I often fall back on it too, just wanting to live and have peace. But life around other people often doesn't allow it, and sometimes anger is necessary to send a message of what boundaries will not be crossed without a consequence. Anger is not a bad feeling, it is an act of self love. It comes out to let you know that you've been treated unfairly and it's there because it's telling you that you matter. That treating you unfairly is something to get mad about.

#anger #rage #anger issues #cptsd #abused child #abuse symptoms #trauma symptoms #repressed anger #processing anger #anger builds boundaries #ptsd #traumatic anger #internalized anger #anger directed at self #not being allowed to bring angry creates self hatred #self love #abuse recovery #trauma recovery

[estapa-edwards]

FAKE BOYFRIEND - J. HUGHES

paring: Jack Hughes x fem! reader

word count:3.6k

requested? no

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

The ringing of my phone pulled me out of my reverie. Glancing at the screen, I saw it was my cousin, Sarah, calling. With a sigh, I answered, knowing exactly what the conversation would entail.

"Hey, Sarah," I greeted, trying to sound upbeat.

"Hey, Y/N! I was just finalizing the wedding arrangements and wanted to know if you're bringing a plus-one?" Her voice was filled with excitement.

The question wasn’t unexpected. My family, as loving and supportive as they were, had a knack for reminding me about my perpetual single status at every family gathering.

"Um, well…" I hesitated, trying to think of a polite way to say no without inviting further scrutiny.

Sarah, sensing my hesitation, quickly added, "You know, it doesn’t have to be serious. Just someone to keep you company and make the day more enjoyable."

I sighed, "I know, Sarah. It's just... I haven’t found the right person yet."

There was a pause on the other end. "Okay, I get it," she said softly. "But you know how the family is going to be, right? They’re going to ask questions, judge, and probably set you up with someone."

My heart sank at the thought. I loved my family dearly, but their constant nagging about my love life was exhausting.

"I know," I murmured.

Before the conversation could continue, a familiar voice interrupted from behind me. "Hey, Y/N, who's causing you grief now?"

I turned around to find Jack Hughes, my close friend since elementary shcool, standing in my living room with a concerned expression on his face. We had been through thick and thin together, always there for one another. He was the kind of guy who would drop everything to help a friend in need.

"Hey, Jack," I said, forcing a smile. "Just the usual family stuff, you know?"

He raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to it. "Want to talk about it?"

I hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to share my family drama with him. But then, recalling all the times he had been there for me, I decided to spill. "Sarah wants me to bring a date to her wedding. The family's been on my case about being single for so long, and I just don't want to deal with their judgment."

Jack chuckled lightly, "Well, I might have a solution for you."

I looked at him curiously. "Oh?"

"How about I be your date for the wedding?" he proposed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I stared at him, taken aback by the suggestion. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, why not?" he shrugged. "We're already close friends, and it’s not like we haven’t pretended to be a couple before."

He wasn’t wrong. We had often joked about being the perfect fake couple, given our compatibility and understanding of each other. But this was different. This was my family, and the idea of introducing Jack as my boyfriend felt strange, yet oddly comforting.

"You’d do that for me?" I asked, my voice wavering slightly.

"Of course," he replied, his smile genuine. "Anything to save you from the family inquisition."

I couldn’t help but smile back at him. "Alright, deal."

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

The twinkling lights and festive decorations of the office Christmas party created a warm and inviting atmosphere. Colleagues mingled, laughing and sharing stories, while holiday music played softly in the background.

Jack and I had arrived together, opting to carpool to the event. As we entered the room, I spotted my overly curious coworker, Karen, who had a habit of prying into my personal life.

"Y/N! So glad you could make it. And who is this handsome gentleman?" Karen had asked, her eyes scanning Jack appreciatively.

Not wanting to delve into the intricacies of my love life with Karen, I turned to Jack and smiled. "Jack, this is Karen, my coworker. Karen, meet Jack, my… boyfriend."

Jack caught on quickly, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me close. "Nice to meet you, Karen," he said smoothly, flashing her a charming smile.

Karen’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting the revelation. "Nice to meet you too, Jack. Y/N, you never mentioned you had a boyfriend!"

I shrugged, trying to keep the act going. "Well, you know how it is. We’ve been keeping things low-key."

Jack played along, sharing playful glances and inside jokes throughout the evening. It was yet another successful performance, and by the end of the night, even Karen was convinced of our faux relationship.

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The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink as Jack and I drove towards the hotel where we would be staying for the weekend getaway. The atmosphere inside the car was relaxed, with soft music playing in the background and the gentle hum of the engine providing a comforting backdrop to our conversation.

As we approached the hotel, I felt a sudden wave of nervousness wash over me. Thoughts of the weekend ahead, sharing a room with Jack, and the realization of our growing feelings for each other made my heart race and palms sweaty.

Sensing my anxiety, Jack glanced over at me with concern. "You okay, Y/N? You seem a bit tense."

I tried to brush off his observation with a forced smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little nervous about the weekend, I guess."

Jack pulled the car into the hotel's driveway and parked the car. Turning to face me, he reached out to gently take my hand in his. "Hey, it's okay. We're in this together, remember?"

I looked into his eyes, finding comfort in their warmth and sincerity. "I know, Jack. It's just... this whole situation is new to me, and I don't want things to be awkward between us."

Jack squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Y/N, we've been friends for years, and we know each other better than anyone else. We can handle this. And if things get too uncomfortable, we'll figure it out together."

His words were comforting, and I felt my nerves begin to settle. Taking a deep breath, I nodded. "You're right. We can do this."

Jack smiled, releasing my hand and reaching for our bags in the backseat. "Let's go check in and start our weekend adventure."

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As we walked towards the hotel entrance, I spotted my mom and my aunt, Sarah's mom, standing near the lobby. Their eyes widened in surprise as they watched us approach, clearly taken aback by our close proximity and seemingly intimate interaction.

My heart sank as I realized they had seen us walking in together. The nervousness I had felt earlier returned in full force, and I could feel my cheeks turning red with embarrassment.

Jack, sensing my discomfort, gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. "Stay calm, Y/N," he whispered, offering me a supportive smile.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to muster up some courage as we reached my mom and aunt. "Hey, Mom, Aunt Susan," I greeted, trying to sound as casual as possible.

My mom looked us up and down, her eyes filled with curiosity. "Y/N, Jack, what a surprise to see you two together. Are you...?"

Before she could finish her sentence, Jack stepped in smoothly, "Yes, we're together. We thought it was time to let everyone know about our relationship."

I looked at Jack in surprise, not expecting him to take the initiative and declare our faux relationship so convincingly. He winked at me, reassuring me that he had everything under control.

My aunt Susan looked shocked but quickly recovered, offering us a smile. "Well, that's wonderful news! We're happy for you both."

My mom seemed skeptical but nodded, choosing to reserve her judgment for later. "Alright, if you say so. Just make sure you take care of each other."

Jack nodded earnestly. "Of course, Mrs. Y/LN. Y/N means the world to me."

Feeling a mix of relief and gratitude, I thanked Jack silently for his quick thinking and support. As we said our goodbyes and headed towards the check-in counter, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for Jack’s unwavering support and our ability to navigate awkward situations with ease

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After completing the check-in process, Jack and I made our way to our hotel room. As we entered the room and took a quick look around, we both realized something that had been overlooked in our haste to plan this getaway - there was only one bed.

We stood there for a moment, exchanging awkward glances, each of us processing the situation and unsure of how to address it.

Jack broke the silence, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "Uh, looks like there's been a little mix-up with the room arrangement."

I nodded, trying to maintain a calm demeanor despite the sudden surge of anxiety I felt. "Yeah, it seems that way. I can call the front desk and see if they can switch us to a room with two beds."

Jack quickly shook his head, "No, it's okay. We can make do with this. We've shared beds before on trips and stuff, right?"

He was right. We had shared hotel rooms on numerous occasions during our travels with friends, and it had never been an issue. But this time felt different, more intimate, given the nature of our pretend relationship.

Taking a deep breath to quell my nerves, I agreed. "Alright, let's just make the best of it. We can take turns using the bathroom to change and stuff."

Jack smiled, relieved that I was willing to go along with the unexpected situation. "Sounds like a plan."

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Lying side by side in the dimly lit room, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting a warm hue over us, the atmosphere felt intimate and comforting. The earlier tension from the unexpected room arrangement had dissipated, replaced by a shared understanding and connection between Jack and me.

After a few moments of silence, Jack turned to face me, his eyes filled with concern. "Y/N, I couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable you seemed earlier when we ran into your mom and aunt. Is everything okay?"

I sighed, feeling a wave of vulnerability wash over me. "It's just... my family can be so judgmental sometimes, especially when it comes to my love life or lack thereof. I know they mean well, but their constant prying and comments can be really hurtful."

Jack reached out, gently taking my hand in his. "I'm sorry you have to deal with that, Y/N. You deserve to be accepted and loved for who you are, without any judgment or criticism."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt the weight of Jack's words and the comfort of his presence. "Thank you, Jack. It means a lot to hear you say that."

He squeezed my hand reassuringly. "You're an amazing person, Y/N, and anyone would be lucky to have you in their life. Don't let anyone make you feel otherwise."

I looked into Jack's sincere eyes, feeling a sense of gratitude and understanding. "You've always been there for me, Jack, supporting me and lifting me up when I'm feeling down. I don't know what I would do without you."

Jack smiled softly, brushing a stray hair behind my ear. "I'll always be here for you, Y/N, no matter what. We've been through a lot together, and I cherish our friendship and the bond we share."

I nodded, feeling comforted and grateful for Jack's unwavering support. "I cherish it too, Jack. And who knows, maybe one day I'll find someone who truly appreciates and loves me for who I am."

Jack looked at me intently, his expression unreadable for a moment before he spoke. "Y/N, you're amazing just the way you are. And whoever ends up with you will be the luckiest person in the world."

Feeling a mix of emotions, I smiled at Jack, appreciating his kind words and the genuine connection we shared. "Thank you, Jack. That means more to me than you'll ever know."

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The first rays of morning light streamed through the gaps in the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. I slowly began to stir, feeling an unfamiliar warmth and comfort surrounding me. As my eyes fluttered open, I realized that I was cuddled up against Jack, his arms wrapped securely around me.

For a moment, I lay there, savoring the unexpected intimacy and comfort of our embrace. Memories of our vulnerable conversation from the previous night flooded back, deepening the connection I felt with Jack.

Carefully, I tried to extricate myself from his grasp without waking him, but as I moved, Jack began to stir, his eyes blinking open sleepily.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," I replied, blushing slightly at our close proximity.

We both looked down at our intertwined bodies, a hint of embarrassment and amusement coloring the moment.

"Looks like we ended up cuddling in our sleep," Jack observed with a chuckle.

"Yeah, seems like it," I replied, laughing softly. "Guess we're comfortable enough with each other to do that without even realizing it."

Jack smiled, his eyes warm and affectionate. "I guess so. I hope you're not too uncomfortable with it."

I shook my head, feeling a sense of contentment and happiness. "No, not at all. It was actually really nice."

We lay there for a few more moments, basking in the warmth and comfort of our cuddle, before finally deciding to start our day.

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The morning was spent leisurely, with Jack and me joining my family for breakfast at the hotel's dining area. As we walked in together, hand in hand, I could feel the surprised and curious glances from my family members.

"Good morning, everyone," Jack greeted warmly, flashing a genuine smile.

"Morning, you two," my mom responded, still trying to adjust to the idea of Jack and me as a couple.

Throughout the breakfast, Jack made sure to engage with my family members, sharing stories, cracking jokes, and showcasing a genuine interest in their lives. His natural charm and wit quickly won them over, and by the end of the meal, even my most skeptical relatives seemed convinced of our faux relationship.

After breakfast, we spent the day exploring the city with my family, visiting local attractions, enjoying delicious meals, and creating memorable experiences together. Jack continued to play the part of the doting boyfriend flawlessly, offering me his jacket when I was cold, holding my hand as we walked, and stealing affectionate glances when he thought no one was looking.

At one point, I shivered slightly in the cool air-conditioned room. Without hesitation, Jack draped his jacket over my shoulders, his touch gentle and caring. I looked up to find him smiling down at me, his eyes warm and comforting.

"Better?" he whispered, his voice soft and soothing.

"Much better, thanks," I replied, feeling a sense of warmth not just from the jacket but also from Jack's thoughtful gesture.

Later in the afternoon, we stopped at a local café for lunch. As we sat down at a cozy corner table, Jack took the initiative to order for both of us, choosing some of the café's popular dishes and ensuring there were options that I would enjoy.

Throughout the meal, Jack made an effort to engage in conversations with my family, sharing amusing anecdotes and stories that had everyone laughing and enjoying the meal even more. His ability to connect with people and make them feel comfortable was truly impressive.

After lunch, we headed to a beautiful botanical garden. As we wandered through the lush gardens, Jack reached out to hold my hand, his touch reassuring and comforting. We strolled together, admiring the vibrant flowers and serene surroundings, our conversation flowing naturally and effortlessly.

At one point, Jack pulled me aside to a secluded spot overlooking a tranquil pond. "This place is beautiful, isn't it?" he said, his eyes reflecting the beauty of the scene before us.

"It's stunning," I agreed, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over me. “Just like you.” Jack whispered. 

I looked up at Jack, surprised by his comment. His eyes were sincere, reflecting the beauty of the scene around us and the warmth of his affection for me.

"Thank you, Jack," I whispered back, feeling a flutter in my heart at his words. "That's really sweet of you to say."

He smiled softly, his gaze lingering on me. "I meant it, Y/N. You bring light and beauty into my life, just like this garden brings peace and tranquility to this place."

Feeling a deep connection and warmth from his words, I leaned in closer, savoring the intimacy of the moment we shared. "You have a way with words, you know that?"

Jack chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Only when I'm inspired."

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The dinner was set in a cozy, dimly lit restaurant, with soft jazz music playing in the background. The ambiance was warm and inviting, and the table was filled with laughter and chatter as my family and Jack enjoyed their meal.

As the evening progressed, the topic of conversation shifted to relationships and dating experiences, a subject that always seemed to make my family curious and playful, often at my expense.

"So, Y/N, is Jack your first boyfriend?" my cousin Emily asked, a teasing glint in her eye.

"Yeah, Y/N, tell us, is Jack your first?" my other cousin, Mike, chimed in, joining in on the fun.

Feeling the familiar sting of embarrassment and the weight of their teasing, I tried to brush off the question with a smile. "Well, Jack is my first 'official' boyfriend," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

The room erupted in playful laughter, and I could feel the color rising in my cheeks.

Trying to lighten the mood and divert the attention, Jack leaned in, "Well, I must say, I consider myself incredibly lucky to be Y/N's first. She's an amazing person, and I couldn’t ask for a better partner."

Feeling the warmth of Jack's supportive words and the lingering sting of the teasing, I tried to maintain a calm exterior. But inside, I was struggling to keep my composure.

Sensing my discomfort, Jack discreetly reached under the table, placing his hand gently on my thigh. His touch was reassuring and grounding, providing the comfort and support I needed in that moment.

I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me as I looked into Jack's eyes, finding understanding and empathy in his gaze.

"Thank you, Jack," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly.

He gave my thigh a reassuring squeeze and offered me a comforting smile, "Anytime, Y/N." 

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The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear, with the promise of a beautiful ceremony ahead. As I got ready in my hotel room, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. Today was the day I had been dreading due to the constant nagging from my family about my love life, but with Jack by my side, I felt more at ease.

When Jack arrived at my hotel room to accompany me to the wedding, he looked stunning in his tailored suit. His eyes brightened as he took in my appearance.

"You look absolutely breathtaking, Y/N," he complimented, his eyes filled with admiration.

"Thank you, Jack," I replied, blushing slightly at his compliment. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

As we made our way to the venue, Jack continued to be the perfect date, holding my hand, offering me words of encouragement, and making me laugh with his witty remarks. Despite the pressure and scrutiny from my family, Jack's presence made everything more bearable.

During the ceremony, as we stood side by side, I noticed Jack stealing glances at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. There was something different about his gaze today, something deeper and more intense, filled with emotions he hadn’t shown before.

Throughout the reception, Jack was attentive and caring, making sure I was comfortable and enjoying myself. As we danced together, I could feel the warmth and tenderness of his embrace, and for the first time, I began to see a glimpse of the depth of his feelings for me.

As the night progressed, and the champagne flowed, Jack's inhibitions began to wane. During a slow dance, he pulled me close, his eyes searching mine with a vulnerability I had never seen before.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice shaky, "you mean more to me than you'll ever know."

Caught off guard by his confession, I looked into his eyes, searching for clarity and understanding. There was a depth and sincerity in his gaze that left me speechless, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still between us.

Feeling a rush of emotions, I replied softly, "Jack, you mean a lot to me too." “Lets not pretend anymore.”

"You're right," Jack murmured, his voice filled with conviction. "Let's not pretend anymore. I want us to be real, Y/N. I want us to be together, truly together."

I nodded, feeling a deep sense of relief and happiness. "I want that too, Jack. I'm tired of pretending and hiding how I feel. I want us to be genuine with each other and with the world."

Jack smiled, his eyes shining with love and sincerity. "Then let's make it official. Let's be a real couple, in every sense of the word."

Feeling a surge of joy and excitement, I hugged Jack tightly, burying my face in his chest. "I would love nothing more, Jack. I'm ready to start this new chapter with you."

As we stood there, holding each other close, I felt a sense of completeness and contentment wash over me.

#jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #nj devils #new jersey devils #jack hughes

[whalesforhands]

Hii! I have an idea ☝️😈

What about teen gojo and geto meeting future reader and they’re all baffled and mesmerized and all this fluffy stuff and reader is just like “🧍‍♀️” confused since she was fighting a curse a few seconds ago- But the adult versions of the two are busy doing whatever else so she has to deal with them until the curse wears off?

Just wanted to ramble 🏃‍♀️ Merry Christmas!

i like ur rambling, anon. guess what timeline i picked, hehe. whether or not it’s canon to main dyf au, is for you to decide. merry christmas hohoho

You practically deflate onto the ground, knees scraping against the soft dirt whilst your poor, beaten up staff was used as your sole support where you had stabbed it into the dirt, your hands sliding down the handle of your weapon as the dust settles around you.

It was rare to have you deployed on-field for an exorcism of a curse, and even rarer for you to have to deal with anything above a Grade 2.

(Mainly due to your husbands who were sorely against you having to do any exorcism at all.)

But, alas, even they can’t slay every single curse in the world; the higher-ups having purposefully kept their most powerful busy as of late.

“And you promise to abandon your mission if you can’t defeat it?” A seriousness in his tone, almost dreadful, almost domineering in nature. Geto Suguru will not take no for an answer, his hands upon your shoulders squeezing lightly, trembling just ever so slightly.

“Do not fight anything you deem above your skill level.” Gojo Satoru is wholly deadpan, your pinkies interlocked in a promise as intense eyes stare you down. You feel his pinky tighten, restless, unlabeled impatience. Absent of any semblance of playfulness. “Okay?”

You’ve taken their words seriously, only taking fights that you know you would win; only running when you know you can’t.

A jujutsu sorcerer does not give their life up so easily.

You hear a rustle from the bushes, eyes darting behind you, and ripping your weapon out and readying for another face off just as you feel a familiar, overwhelming power looming just where you had looked away.

“Now, now, now.” That familiar voice, lacking in all the more mature tones you were used to, all the gentleness that you’ve grown so fond of.

“You’re gonna drop your weapon, put your pretty hands up and slowly turn around to face me.”

(You didn’t even hear his footsteps. Was he flying?)

There’s no hesitation in your compliance, the clatter of your staff to the ground as your hands are held up. The malice in the energy you feel all stoked and ready to explode at any given moment, the tones of his voice an underlying, upset melancholy.

You’re facing the Gojo Satoru, afterall. However, there’s an issue with him, something you’ve realized all too soon after loving him for so long.

There’s a tensed silence between the both of you during the stare-down, your eyes still getting used to his slightly shorter stature, much shorter hair as compared to your highschool days and current adult age. His cheeks a tad bit fuller, but eyes dulled considerably.

He’s still so cute.

“My Six Eyes tell me that you’re (name) (last name).” From your breathing pattern down to every last speck of your cursed energy; it was undeniably you. His eyes shine with quiet grief, and gritted regret as you meet his gaze.

You feel sorry for him.

“…but you’re not my (name).” You’re a little more mature looking, a little far too calm and collected in his presence. You’re the same; yet not the one he knew. His eyes narrow as the red on his glowing hand fizzles out, his stance commanding and broad as his feet finally touch the ground before you, using his looming height as a threat. It contrasts the way his voice cracks just as he ends his words, a beating silence enveloping the both of you as your heart calms, your hands slowly going down.

“And you’re not my Satoru.” It causes a stuttering, reddish plum to his cheeks, a throb to his heart that he hadn’t expected to feel, clenching his fists, a click of realization alongside his fingernails digging into his skin, intrepid gaze holding your calm one.

“So I am in another world.”

——

This wasn’t your Suguru either. His hair is messily bunned up, the bags under his eyes darker than you have ever seen him. His lips are dry, his complexion lacking any of the usual vigor your Suguru had.

He looks far too weary, far too tired as he sits upon a nearby bench, hunched over and just so exhausted that it makes you wonder when was the last time he has had a good night’s sleep.

“Oi, Suguru!” The ‘Satoru’ that you had met is all too keen to greet the boy, his hand around your elbow and pulling you along with him. “I found out where we’re at!” His loud call only heeds the visible slump of the black-haired boy’s tensed shoulders, eyes still cast towards the ground as the cicadas call around him.

“And I found somebody to help us.” He brings the both of yourselves to a stop before the blank boy.

“It’s nice to meet you?” You’re honestly at a loss for words at the situation. For how all powerful and odd Gojo’s powers can be, you hadn’t expected this situation one bit.

It’s at your voice that this ‘Geto Suguru’ nearly whirls his head back at a speed so quick that it nearly scares you. Dry, reddened eyes widening and mouth opening, getting up on shaky legs as he extends a hand towards you.

“You—“

——

“So…” The silence is far too awkward for you to be comfortable. “There was a (name) in your timeline too, I hear?” Your fingers are twiddling with your jujutsu uniform as you sat in between the both of them, their proximity a just inching between the line of too close whilst awaiting for Ijichi’s pickup to the campus.

‘Gojo Satoru’ is the first to speak up. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“Our (name) is… Dead.” You see ‘Geto Suguru’’s hands clench at his uniform pants, bundling the fabric up so tight that his knuckles started to turn white.

Oh. You feel bad now.

“I’m… Sorry about that.”

A breath is sucked in through his teeth. “Don’t be.”

You shouldn’t feel sorry for them at all. It’ll just make it worse than it already is.

Isn’t it funny? Comical? That their (name) had to be ripped away from their hold, had to be clawed away from their reach, only for fate to place another you; living, breathing right in front of them.

So palpable, so alike, so unbearably, painfully you. It makes them want to throw up in disgust, honestly. But they can’t.

Because it’s you.

“I-I’m sure that I-“ No. “Your (name) lived a good life if you were both around, then. Please- Trust me on this.” You know. You know that any version of ‘you’ would be satisfied with their life if they had friends like them; Gojo, Geto and Ieiri.

It’s a life that no version of you would ever regret. You wouldn’t regret becoming a jujutsu sorcerer if you had gotten to meet people like them.

And it brings two broken hearts just a tinge more comfort.

——

“Um, Satoru..”

“Yes?” It was a chorus of two similar voices.

“Ah— No. Uhm— My Satoru.” You’re a bit frazzled as you nod towards your blindfolded husband, a satisfied hum coming from him as he made his way towards you.

“Just call the other one Gojo! Or you can just call for your hubby~” He’s cooing into your ear for the duo to watch on, a hand on your waist to hook you in close as a smile is donned upon his face.

There’s a beat of silence before the more intimidating white-haired sorcerer spoke up.

“No. I want to be called Satoru.” The younger Gojo had had his eyes set upon you, never letting you leave his vicinity. Then, that means that the other ‘Geto Suguru’ would be called as simply ‘Suguru’, then.

“Your blindfold’s pretty lame. Do I actually want to wear that?”

Your Gojo chooses to turn his nose up, and ignore that sneer his younger counterpart gave him. “Man, I was so angry.” You hear a sigh as you see a hand wave off the younger boy. “Do whatever you please, little me. But don’tcha leave yet, please! My Suguru’s gonna be so stoked to see this.”

Oh, speaking of your Suguru.

“Did you tell him to pick up some dashi stock for our dinner tonight? I ran out yesterday.”

“…how about we just order a pizza tonight?”

“Sator— Gojo!” Your hands are immediately upon your hips as you feel him hug you towards him, a hand going up to stroke the back of your head, as your face is pressed to his chest to muffle the incoming scolding.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t be mad at me! A wife’s scorn is a husband’s greatest regret!”

“…you guys live all together?” ‘Suguru’’s voice breaks the moment between the both of you.

You feel a rumbling of your husband’s chest as a laugh is released.

“And we got kids together too. Ya jealous yet?”

——

“Aha, this is certainly a sight.” Suguru is shedding himself of his jacket as he kicks off his shoes by the genkan, the sight of his younger self, and double the Gojo certainly jarring for him as they sat around the dining table.

“Welcome home, honey!” It’s your Gojo that skips along to press an obnoxiously wet kiss to your other husband’s lips first as you gently place the final bowl of zaru soba down.

(Minus the miso soup side dish. You’re still slightly mad, but you have guests over.

“We could’ve just ordered a pizzaaaaaa!” Your husband’s whines are ignored as you strain the noodles out.

“I’m not feeding guests a pizza, dearest idiot husband of mind.” You pat your hands dry upon your apron, turning to flick at his forehead as he whines even more, begetting a giggle before you tiptoe up to press a kiss to the area.)

“Welcome home.” Your voice greeting your husband is lost on ‘Satoru’ and ‘Suguru’’s ears as they stare down at the bowl before them. The significance of the food almost making the cursed spirit user tear up.

This was his favourite food. It— ‘You’ and himself used to eat this frequently until—

“Suguru… Are you okay?” A whispered concern from his Satoru.

“Yeah. I—“ He thinks he’s going to be sick. “I’m fine.”

“It isn’t much, but I hope you enjoy it.” His ears finally tune back in just in time to hear your voice once more. Dreary copper-amethyst gaze flicking up to meet your warm, lovely face.

He’ll eat it. He’ll eat it. He’ll eat it.

“Don’t push yourself if you can’t.” It’s this world’s Suguru that pops in, much longer hair, his older features, his broader stature and more muscled body.

(Does— He know what he’s been through?)

His chopsticks are trembling as he brings the noodles to his lips, mouth opening and slowly chewing— He stops as a realization hits him.

It’s delicious. It’s so delicious. There are tears in his eyes as he begins to gobble it up, a hack in his throat as ‘Suguru’ pushes the urge to vomit away to take in more.

(If— if this was his final time meeting you- Then he has to. He has to. But— This is strange. Even his counterpart didn’t react all that much to his and Satoru’s appearance.

It occurs to him that perhaps, they aren’t in another world. If they’re meeting their older selves, then— Perhaps they are in another timeline.

Which means—)

His gaze returns down to the now empty bowl before him, before flickering up to meet your satisfied, almost prideful face.

“Thank you for the meal.”

“You’re welcome! I’m so happy you loved it that much!”

Perhaps this situation wasn’t so bad at all, giving him the chance to see your smiling face once more.

——

“If you give me a kiss, I’ll tell him~” Is he mocking his younger self…? You just wanted him to help the other ‘Satoru’ to get back to his world. Alas, you relent, leaning over to press a chaste, quick kiss to his cheek as your Geto watched on with upturned eyes and a happy smile.

“Hey, kid me.” A joyful hum, a satisfied gait as your Gojo watches the little boy who he once was.

“You already figured out how to go back already, right? Whatcha waiting for?” Huh…? Your Gojo already knows how to get them back?! Your eyes widen as you nearly choke on your water.

“Now, now Gojo. Don’t tease them.” Your Geto is chuckling, patting your back as you cough. “You’ll make our poor wife worried. I’m sure that they have some sort of unfinished business here.”

What?! Were they both in on this? This is just getting stranger, and stranger…

“Heh. Guess it isn’t a surprise I would know myself best, huh?” Satoru lets a cocky grin overtake his features as his fingers intertwined with his Suguru’s.

“Guess I really am the strongest.”

His gaze finally stops at you. “It was nice— Y’know.” He grows shy, eyes shifty from behind his sunglasses. “Seeing a (name) again.”

‘Suguru’ speaks up. “Thank you for— Allowing us to experience it again.” He’s grateful. The most he’s ever been, the most he’s ever felt ever since your passing.

Thank you. But— It’s only goodbye for now.

“It was nice meeting the both of you!” You’re bowing politely as you wave.

(The younger Suguru is finally smiling. Even if it’s just a little.)

“We’ll see you soon! Wait for us!” A salute and a bright grin. And in a flash, they have disappeared.

…what?

masterlist

Notes:

If you don’t get it, your current Satoru and Suguru have experienced what their younger counterparts have been through.

Younger Gojo and Geto have been watching every move you’ve been making. Keep that in mind if you ever reread this, haha.

During dinner, younger Gojo and Geto decided to share a bowl together since Geto hasn’t been able to eat a full meal without throwing up. It was the first time in a while he’s eaten so much. When Gojo saw how much he was eating, he asked for a separate bowl for himself.

Geto Suguru thinks he’s pretty handsome in this world. Would…you have liked someone like that too? His Satoru certainly does. He’s seen the shifty, almost shy gaze his Gojo threw the older Geto. Maybe he will grow out his hair.

“Aww, I was such an adorable brat!~” His hands are placed upon his cheeks as he cooed, watching as his husband and yourself cleared the plates.

“Hmm. I suppose you must’ve lost all that cuteness in your youth, wouldn’t you agree, darling?.” Suguru’s cooing back at him from the kitchen with a laugh, his body turning to you to ask for your opinion.

“His younger self was certainly so cute… But I suppose my answer depends on whether he helps with the dishes today.” You’re teasing him right back as you slowly wash the plate.

“W-what? Fine, I’m coming! Call me adorable, pleaseee!”

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk angst #gojo x reader #geto x reader

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part Ten

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: talk of death and dying, grief, reader gets to a pretty bad place, stabbing

A/N: It’s earlyyyyy. If this was a Friends episode, it would be called, “The One Where Reader Loses Her Goddamn Mind”

As a child, Gurney would take you to the seashore to reward you for a particularly good session, whether it be academic or physical training. You used to look forward to these rare occasions. Not only because you loved the sea, but because your beloved mentor would loosen and his scarred face would slip into a semblance of a smile. On this specific day, you remember the sky being impossibly blue and the water still as a puddle.

You had reveled in your good fortune.

Laughing, you had initiated your favorite activity — chasing the waves down the shore then running away as the tide crashed at your heels. The memory of that day invoked a sense of warmth and safety, enveloped by the sunlight and the briny smell of the sea.

You had taken a break from your antics to catch your breath when you noticed dimples forming in the sand whenever the water receded.

You squatted down, sea-sprayed pants rolled to your calves, to inspect your discovery. After a few moments, you realized that snails are causing the dimples, being no longer than your pinky nail and entombed in pastel-colored shells. Delighted, you watched them scurry to bury themselves in the sand before trying to grab one for yourself. You dug fervently in the wet sand, giggling as they slipped out of your still chubby fingers.

Finally, finally, you managed to scoop up a hunk of crumbling sand that hosted one of the tiny snails.

Crying out triumphantly, you hurriedly brushed the sand from its purple-colored shell and then held it up to the sun. The small, nearly translucent creature disappeared into its home. But you didn’t care. You found it and it’s yours. Gurney, sitting in the sand a few feet away, calls, “What did you find?”

You skipped over to him. Slowly uncurling your careful grip, you showed him your treasure.

“It’s a snail,” you had told him enthusiastically, “I caught him in the tide.”

Gurney smiled indulgently at you. “How cunning you are, Lady Y/N.”

You started to dance, nonsensical and without rhyme or reason, the dance of small children so possessed by happiness that you needed to release it somehow. “I’m going to take it home and show Papa,” you said as you spun away, snail clutched to your chest.

Later, Gurney approached you. His feet had been bare and encrusted with sand, face reddened by too much sun. He squinted at you. “Lady Y/N, I must tell you something.”

“Hm?” You had been busy balancing on a piece of driftwood, arms spread out like wings. You had transferred the snail to your pocket after worrying your sweaty palms would lose grip on him.

“You must return your friend to the sea.” When you gazed up at him in disbelief, he ruffled your hair. “It will die if you take it from its home.”

“But…but I love him,” you said with child-like solemnity. Your lower lip jetted out.

Gurney’s smile turned pitying. “I know you do, Lady Y/N. You have a gentle heart. But sometimes, when you love something, you must let it go so it can be happy and safe. You want your snail to be happy, don’t you?”

You paused and considered this, then nodded.

Stepping off the driftwood, you moved a few paces closer to the shoreline and laid the snail lovingly atop it. It wiggled into the sodden sand and vanished as the tide washed over it.

Tears that you were too ashamed to shed burned your eyes, and you sniffed.

“You did the right thing, Lady Y/N,” Gurney had told you, “because of you he will live another day.”

You thought that by journeying to Giedi Prime, by marrying the na-Baron, you would be ensuring the happiness and safety of your family and beloved mentor.

But now, like the tide washing over the snail, they were gone.

At first, you were detached from reality, wavering slightly. Asha and Feyd and the servants stared at you. It felt as if a numbing agent had swept over you, completely obliterating any sense of self. You ran the words over and over in your mind, hoping that if you repeated them enough you might be able to change their meaning.

The House of Atreides has fallen. The House of Atreides has fallen. The House of Atreides has —

Tears blurred your vision. Your lower lip trembled. You said, very quietly, “You did this.”

“Y/N,” Asha had said, stepping towards you.

“You did this,” you repeated louder, voice loathsomely tremulous. The numbness in you turned sharp and jagged. “You did this. You knew. You knew.”

Asha started, “We didn’t —”

“You think we did this?” Feyd snapped.

You barely heard him as the pieces fell into place, memories of the last few months surfacing and creating your gruesome truth. The threats from Rabban, the Sardaukar soldiers, Rabban’s recent departure. There was no doubt the Harkonnens were behind your family’s downfall. Had they all known? Were you just another pawn in another game that you hadn’t wanted to play?

Hysteria crept into your tone. “You knew. You knew. And you lied! You fucking lied! All this time you knew they were going to kill my family and neither of you did anything.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Feyd sneered.

Asha looked to him, alarmed. “na-Baron, perhaps this isn’t the best time to —”

“If I wanted to kill your family, I would’ve done it on our wedding day,” Feyd continued as if she hadn’t spoken. He advanced on you. “We had no hand in their deaths.���

“Don’t come near me.” You held up a hand to prevent him from getting any closer. Your gaze flickered between Asha and Feyd, to the servants watching the entire scene unfold with wide eyes. “None of you come near me.”

“Y/N —”

“GET OUT!” You screamed. Tears had streamed down your face then, which was surely reddened by anger and grief. “All of you! Get out!”

The servants scurried away, leaving Asha and Feyd in their wake. They stared at you; Asha in fright, Feyd’s expression unreadable. Your whole body shook with the concentrated effort not to launch yourself at them. “I never want to see either of you for as long as I live.”

Feyd’s mouth worked. “Fine.”

He spun on his heel and disappeared. Asha lingered momentarily, seemingly searching for something to say, but ultimately ended up trailing after the na-Baron with her head low. Now that you were alone, you flung yourself into your quarters and started pushing furniture in front of the door.

You wanted to be alone. And you never wanted to see another Harkonnen again.

That had been, what — three days ago? Four? You had stopped keeping track. After barricading the doors, you had alternated between wailing your sorrows and destroying everything you hadn’t pushed in front of the door. Then, from that night and into the next two days, you had curled into a corner of the room and slipped in and out of consciousness, getting up only to relieve yourself.

It was the third day, then, that Feyd began knocking. At least, that’s what it started as.

Soon he was pounding on the door, throwing his body against it, screaming and cursing and crying out your name. He roared, “You can’t stay in there forever!”

Each strike of his fists on the wood reverberated through you like a physical blow. Not once did you respond to him, much to his ire, demanding that you let him know you’re still alive.

Were you?

You weren’t sure. And even if you were, you had nothing to say to him.

Your sadness was a living, breathing thing, its arms reaching around your middle in an embrace that slowly squeezed the air from your lungs. You could feel it compressing your bones, your blood, pressing down on you with merciless force. Everything melted together in a devastating act.

And then, in fragments of time when you could wade through your crushing grief, grim realization would settle in.

The last time you had seen Jessica, you not only insulted her status but dismissed her from your presence. She’d tried to reconcile, through your father, of course, but you had denied her even that. Would you have felt as justified in your decision if you knew she would be dead soon?

Your heart panged at the thought of Leto, too — how you had so cowardly ran from him to avoid his disapproval of you. And now…now you would never see them again. Never hug your mother or feel the brush of your father’s beard on your cheek, inhale their familiar scents.

You were alone. Completely alone.

And worst of all? It was the fault of the people you had just decided worthy enough to trust.

This delivered a hit to you almost more crippling than the deaths of your family: the death of the new family you thought you found. Asha. Feyd. Their faces circled through your mind. You did your best to shove them away but sometimes you thought you saw them in the corner of your eye, heard Asha’s musical laugh or caught the fluid, graceful movements of Feyd’s stride.

And each time you turned in a flurry of hope that they were there. Because, despite their betrayal, you wanted them there to comfort you.

The fifth day passed. Your images of them increased, to the point that you staged arguments with them and raged and sobbed and came undone. You vaguely realized that the food you kept refusing was affecting you, the poison your body now depended on taking its toll without daily reinforcement. Your days became delusions and fake conversations. You were weak, mentally and physically, unable to move. Some of the nausea and fever returned from the first few days after dosing, too, rendering you powerless.

Your mind played tricks on you. A memory of Caladan superimposed on top of Feyd’s mouth, his body on yours, Gurney and your parents and the sea and the snail and your own bloodstained hands. The Feyd your subconscious conjured found you like that — crumpled and spent and sodden with tears — after you imagined he broke into your quarters.

Unlike the other images, however, this time he scooped you into his arms and carried you to the bed where he laid you down on the bedclothes and plied you with something bitter-tasting that drifted you off to sleep.

A bright light washes over you, and you slowly open your eyes. The first thing you notice is a warmth inside you that previously had been missing. Then, that you’re lying in the bed and the room has been cleaned and, for the most part, rearranged.

You jolt up. There’s a cuff around your left wrist, keeping you bound to the bed. It rattles as you yank on it, urgency seizing you.

“It’s just a cautionary measure, na-Baroness.”

A woman glides into view. By the crown of dark haired braided back from her forehead, you know she’s not Harkonnen. The woman stops at the end of the bed and smiles reassuringly.

“Who are you?” You croak.

“My name is Doctor Wyn. I am a physician that’s been called in to aid your recovery.”

You consider this. “Feyd-Rautha called you.” She nods at this, and in response you recline back against the pillows. “I don’t want to see him.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Wyn says. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, I suppose.”

“Your body was suffering from the lack of nourishments and, without your dosage of poison, severely unable to regulate itself. Did you suffer any…delusions? It’s mostly commonly associated with poison withdrawal. I want to clarify what you remember of the last few days.

You hesitate but eventually recount your memories, including seeing Asha and Feyd. “The last thing I remember is a vision of…him.”

Wyn hums. “I suspect that was real, na-Baroness. He’s the one who managed to get to you. And in good time, too, you were close to death.”

“He…found me?”

“Yes, na-Baroness.”

You think back to your fragmented memory of the event, of Feyd’s pale, concerned face hovering over you as he tucked you into his body.

That had been real?

“Did he put you up to this?” You ask.

“No, he did not,” Wyn answers with a hint of amusement, “but he has been waiting anxiously for you to awake. Do you mind if I inform him? I will only be gone for a moment.”

You nod your assent. The thought of Feyd makes your stomach twist uneasily.

When she leaves, you turn your gaze up to the ceiling. The last few days float over you, the news of your family’s deaths. The numbness is now replaced with something you can’t quite name — not sadness or grief. It’s almost peaceful, except for a flicker of anger.

Wyn returns. You’ve moved yourself fully upright and flattened down your hair. The surprise is evident on her face. You tell her, “Let him in.”

“na-Baroness, are you sure?”

“Yes. Do it now.”

Wyn nods again before leaving. This time, the sound of approaching footsteps is only too familiar. Feyd freezes when he sees you. An indecipherable expression crosses his face before disappearing behind his usual indifference.

You take him in greedily — the contours of his face, his broad shoulders, plush lips. All of this pales in comparison, though, to the scar that starts at his right brow and slices across his nose to the opposite cheek.

Feyd examines you. “You look like shit.”

“I could say the same to you.” You want to know what caused the scar, but you don’t want him to know that you care. “Why did you save me?”

“It would be terribly inconvenient for me if you died.”

“Are you sure it’s not because I’m the only thing linking you to Arrakis?”

Feyd’s gaze hardens. “Explain.”

“Arrakis,” you repeat like it’s obvious, “isn’t that why all of this is happening? I’m the last of the Atreides line and as my husband you stand to inherit the planet.” And the spice trade.

“Admittedly, I’ve given thought to it,” Feyd says with a tired sigh, “as did my uncle, who I suspect orchestrated this entire tragedy.”

“Don’t separate yourself from him,” you hiss.

“Did you not hear me?” Feyd rounds the bed to your side. “The Baron has been acting of his own accord, scheming behind our backs, wife, with my idiot brother. And while we should’ve been retaliating, you’ve been…here.”

“Here, what? Mourning my family?”

“Do you not wish to avenge them?”

Your tongue rolls in your cheek. “I do.”

It’s true — his words fan the anger in you into a burning inferno. You do want to avenge them. You want the Baron to pay for what he’s done.

Feyd sits down on the edge of the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. His hand twitches as if to grab yours but ultimately thinks better of it.

“We can’t do it if you do not trust me and believe me complacent,” he says. “Tell me what I must do to prove it to you.”

You don’t reply. Instead, you stare at him, achingly beautiful, this man whose darkness calls out to yours. You can tell that he is earnest about this. His suggestion is a summation of your relationship thus far, you push him and he pushes back harder. Only, this time, you would push last.

“You hurt me,” you murmur, “and now I want you to feel the same.”

“How?” Feyd asks. Did you imagine his eyes flick down to your mouth?

“Give me your dagger.”

His movements are slow, deliberate. Not once does he tear his gaze from yours as he unsheathes the dagger at his hip. Feyd presses the handle of it into your palm. It’s heavy, a weight you’re not certain you can even wield in your current condition. You wrap your fingers around its leather grip.

And Feyd never even flinches as you plunge the dagger into him.

Part Eleven

Taglist:

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#feyd rautha #dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #writing #feyd rautha harkonnen