#honestly the third one is a bit better at least..

[pandaofsecrets]

I already went over why I like Lukagami here, so I'm gonna go with ChloNath.

First of all, I can see why they'd like each other. Nathanaël has been characterized as having a bit of an anger problem ever since his first appearance, so it's not that much of a stretch to think that he's had to deal with people who told him to stop being angry, like it's that simple. He would therefore relate to how people tell Chloé to "be nice", but never elaborate on what that actually means or give her a solid incentive to do so. Chloé would similarly relate to Nathanaël's insecurities, even if she doesn't openly admit it at first. Chloé also strikes me as someone who likes the angry, combative type. She seems to quickly get bored of people who yield to her—Kim did everything she asked and was rejected with extreme prejudice, and the less said about Sabrina the better. And it makes perfect sense, because Chloé is used to being given things on a silver platter. Everything she gets without having worked for it is going to have no value for her.

Now, this does sound like a relationship that would quickly spin out of control, but honestly I think it'd actually serve as a great vehicle for self-improvement for both of them. For one, of them are the way they are because they're constantly acting like they have something to prove. Chloé is trying to be the "exceptional" person worth her mother's time, and Nathanaël lashes out at people because he's trying to project the image of someone that shouldn't be messed with. So, both of them are likely to double down when they feel judged or rejected. If they're with someone who meets them on their own terms and who they can safely take their issues out on, they're eventually going to get to the point where they go "Wait, this is dumb. Why am I doing this?" For another thing, both of them have this thing where they project their idea of the "perfect" partner on their crushes and get super huffy when said crushes don't stick to the script. Only, they're about as far away from each other's ideal as possible, so being together is going to teach them to stop living in their own heads and take the other person as they are. It's the same reason the Love Square works so well—or at least it would in a better show. Adrien having a completely hidden side to him that Marinette has to reconcile would teach her that love is less about planning cute dates and making gifts for someone's next 35 birthdays, and more about actually understanding the person next to her with their flaws and sins. And vice-versa for Adrien, of course.

Second of all, staying on that "perfect partner" idea for a bit, most of Chloé's ideal of the perfect guy comes from her parents in one way or another. Nathanaël being the furthest thing away from that would mark a definitive break between the values instilled in her and who she chooses to be going forward. It would force her to choose between what she's been taught and what she actually wants in life, and to actually commit to that choice.

Third, Nathanaël would be one of the first to correct people when they call Chloé irredeemable, even if it's just in a "It's not that she can't get better, it's that she doesn't want to" kind of way. Nath's Jewish, and in Judaism there's not really such thing as a point of no return. Evil is a choice one makes, and not making that choice is seen as always a possibility. You know that bit in Steven Universe where White Diamond randomly stops being a tyrant because of a single conversation (nay, a single comeback)? It's that idea, taken to the extreme. Nathanaël is going to be one of the few people who, even if he doesn't personally forgive Chloé, is never going to deny that she's got the capacity for change.

Judaism also sees good and evil as less about being and more about doing, and emphasizes taking real, tangible measures to fix what you've done. Nathanaël would force Chloé to seek atonement in a real way, where she has to think about the impact of her actions and actually put in effort to make up for her wrongdoings.

[Sidenote, typing this out makes me realize just how completely at odds Nathanaël would be with the show's system of morality where intent is everything. He'd be the least likely to judge Chloé for doing the right thing for the "wrong" reasons, but also the least likely to let, say, Marinette or Félix off the hook because they had "good intentions". No wonder he doesn't get a lot of screen time.]

Lastly, they have had the most interesting interactions with Hawk Moth. Nathanaël is the first character we see to be punished for trying to defy him (Evillustrator), and Chloé is the first character to actually succeed in defying him (Miraculer). If there was a scene where Chloé helped Nathanaël break free of an akumatization, it'd bring everything full circle.

I'm asking in genuine curiosity; is Twitter just behind the curve or is there a real rise in anti-crackship sentiment? I mean I've talked to people who just prefer to ship whatever's canon so long as it's not an actual crime, but... it just feels so boring.

Actually, please repost this with your favorite ship regardless of canonical merit and explain why you enjoy it---I'm curious and crave dopamine.

Only fair to trade, mine at the moment is Artistic Musing.

[mysticfrullato]

y'all why didn't anybody tell me that Hellraiser II is just a disappointing and extremely questionable piece of the saga

[midnight-rice]

ok tumblr really *has* broken my speaking mannerisms, at work I found two cup lids that had melted together inseparably and muttered "this, too, is yuri" as if that's a normal thing to say on a sunday morning

[siriuslylantsov]

be my valentine

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: in which, spencer asks you out after a hearty but incomplete info dump on the history of valentines day.

tags: fluff! idiots inlove, gn!reader, reader is briefly described as shorter than spencer, teasing!spencer, grumpy!reader, penelope is an angel and i love her so much, reader shitting on valentines day and raising some very valid points.

a/n: based on this request, second fic for the event!! i know its still four days till valentines day but! if i didnt get this done now it would've been late. i rewrote this THREE times... but i rlly like how this version came out! happy reading :)

wc: 2.1k

it's your lunch break and you’re glaring at yet another sappy couple that walks by you. grumbling, you take another bite of your blueberry muffin. spencer laughs from his seat in front of you, amused by how your lip curls into an irritated pout. the two of you had walked to a cafe, a brief reprieve away from the frenzied police department you were stationed at for this week's case. 

“motherfuckers,” you seethe, still chewing your food. “i hate valentine's day.”

he laughs again, his tone sarcastic, “really, i never would’ve guessed.”

your glare shifts to him as you cross your arms. his grin is still there, annoyingly persistent, you hate that it doesn't affect him as much as it should. if you told him this, he would’ve told you that it didn't pack much of a punch. 

you roll your eyes and continue with a heavy scoff, “it's just another fake holiday, you know. like mother's day. created by greeting card companies trying to commercialise a day that shouldn't even exist honestly. every day should be dedicated to showing your loved ones how much you care, not just 24 hours in the middle of february.”

he accepts your cynicism with a smirk, completely accustomed to it. he knows you don’t mean it, not entirely, you just like to rant. “you know valentines day actually goes back about 2000 years. i’m sure greeting card companies weren't around back then,” he corrects, biting his lip in suppression.

your eyes narrow into slits, feeling the faint shift in the air of an incoming info dump. you ignore the way you want to hear what he has to say and take a sip of your coffee instead. you stall to torture him a bit, it's funny how he squirms.

“really,” you drag out, stroking your chin in exaggerated contemplation. you stare at him knowingly, he wants to continue but he's waiting for you to give him the green light. you laugh quietly, mood already improved, “go on.”

spencer visibly brightens, sitting up straighter and hands springing into action. “well, valentine's day has a really fascinating and somewhat convoluted history,” he starts, almost giddily. “the earliest accepted theory can be traced back to the roman festival of lupercalia, which was celebrated from february 13th to 15th. it was a fertility festival dedicated to faunus, the roman god of agriculture, and it included a ritual where men would sacrifice a goat and a dog, then use strips of the goat’s hide to whip women-”

“wait, they used goat skin to whip women?” you interject, eyes widening incredulously.

“yes! they willingly lined up for it too, believing it would make them more fertile,” he explains, far too animated considering the context, but it's okay. you like his enthusiasm. 

you grimace, “weird.”

“right. however, the day of love that we now recognise was brought by st. valentine, though which valentine is unclear—there were at least three martyred saints by that name. the most famous story involves a priest in third-century rome who defied emperor claudius ii's orders by secretly performing marriages for young soldiers,” he pauses to take a breath. you use it to bring your coffee back up to your lips, hiding your smile.

“claudius believed single men made better warriors, so he banned them from marrying,” he clarifies to which you nod. “when valentine was caught, he was executed on february 14th, which is why he’s the namesake of the holiday. some versions of the story even say that he sent a letter to his jailer's daughter signed ‘from your valentine’ which could be the origin of the modern tradition.”

“huh,” you pick your lip in thought, spencer hides the way his eyes dart down to them as you do it. “but that’s still an execution, how did it-”

the shrill tone of your ringtone interrupts you. “mhm, okay,” you respond when you pick up the phone. “we’ll be right there.” 

spencer stares at you expectantly, reaching over to grab your bag. he secures it over his shoulder and stands up. 

“it was jj,” you explain, stuffing the last bits of muffin into your mouth. “wi’ness ‘howed up.”

the food-muffled words make him chuckle and hold out a hand for you to get up. you let him pull you up with a dramatic huff, still holding his hand as you dust crumbs from your lap. you realise it a little too late and let go with a start, frown returning when you realise he isn’t going to let you carry your bag.

the walk back only took about five minutes before but this time's slower pace makes it a longer ordeal. comfortable silence brackets the two of you until it doesn’t when spencer speaks up.

“so, there's actually a lot more to the history of valentine's day. for instance, how the day became one of romance instead of, as you said, one that marked a martyrdom. we could, i don't know, discuss this properly over dinner. or drinks? or ice cream, i know that you like ice cream-”

filler words... he’s nervous. amid his rambling, he doesn't realise that you’ve stopped in your tracks. 

“-we can do whatever you want, i don't mind.” when he looks beside him and doesn't find you, he turns around. he can scarcely read the expression on your face, he usually can. this causes a little bout of concern to bubble up, “what is it?”

“are you asking me out?” your question is immediate, blunt, as a confused crease forms between your eyebrows.

well shit, he was. his lips part as he processes what he just said, he looks a little like a deer in headlights the way he stares back at you. was that too much? are you mad? did you want him to ask you out? what if you say no? he should say something. what if he messes everything up? he can’t-

“spencer,” his name rings out softly, pulling him from his spiral. 

his eyes snap to yours, searching, desperate to read between the lines, to piece together what you’re thinking like he always does—except this time, he can’t. he squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again, “yes.”

he swallows hard and adds, “on a date.”

“i got that,” you murmur, stepping closer to him, and closing the distance that he unintentionally left.

his head dips, voice small. “i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

your head tilts slightly, studying him. “you didn’t.”

the reassurance eases him a little but not enough as the anxiety claws at him while he waits for your answer. your phone sounds again from your pocket, this time a text from morgan. you quickly type out a response–got lost, be there in 2. it's a pathetic excuse, if you focused, the station was in your direct eye line. but you needed to say something. 

“okay.”

he can't help the sign of relief that slips out of him, you giggle at the sound. when he looks at you again, he's unmeasurably happy to see your poorly concealed smile, breaking out in his own matching one. 

“yeah?” he asks sheepishly.

you nod, chewing your bottom lip, “yeah.”

your eyes squint at the corners, a side effect of the same grin that those sappy couples had been sporting, the same one that you’d been complaining about a little while ago. it makes you want to kick yourself, so you do the next best thing. you take hold of spencer's hand and drag yourself back to the pd. spencer shuffles somewhat behind you, trying to keep up with your stride. it doesn't take him long with those long legs of his.

his thumb strokes your knuckles gently–deliberately, you feel–but he pretends it's an unconscious action with the way his eyes are trained ahead. it makes you roll your eyes. when you near, you reluctantly let go of each other, the moment being the last time the two of you are alone for the rest of the day.

-

the team ends up solving the case a few hours later, taking the jet home where a valentines day baking spread is set up in the briefing room. all set up by the resident tech savvy. penelope tells you later that it took a whole week of convincing on her part, insisting that it would be quick and she’d clean up, and that everyone would get home to their own valentine's day plans in no time. 

there are a few heart-shaped helium balloons floating in the corners, and pink streamers in easy to reach places. the room is drastically more inviting, maybe the tones of fuschia and bubblegum have something to do with that. a cake and a bowl of suspiciously dyed punch reside on the table, along with pink plates and cups.

“penelope,” you gasp when you see them.

perfectly curated baskets of chocolate and cookies and associated items for everyone. you pick up the one with your name on it and inside you find: a candle, your favourite candy tied together with a little bow and a letter signed ‘happy valentines day, sweetheart. love, penny xx’. 

oh my god, you could kiss her. 

“it's like christmas,” emily muses from the other end of the table. you hear jj mutter something in agreement. you peek over at spencer, it's probably the hundredth time that you've snuck a glance his way. his eyes were already on you every other time, only now they were accompanied by a pair of red heart-shaped glasses, the clear plastic lenses offering a perfect view of his hazel orbs. the picture makes you laugh to yourself, you can barely hear it echoing from his end. 

-

about 30 minutes later, only the stragglers are left. in better words, the single people. the individuals with partners having rushed off to their own respective plans. you're making small talk with another girl who worked around the office when you feel a light hand on your shoulder, spencer nodding his head toward the elevator to signal your leave. you politely wish her goodbye and walk out with him. 

“cute glasses,” you tease, bumping his shoulder with yours, though the height difference makes it so you're nudging his upper arm. 

“yeah? i might get the lenses medicated, switch them out for my regular ones,” he jokes, his elbow nudging yours gently as he pushes the bridge of the glasses up the slope of his nose instinctively. 

“good idea,” you nod.

“you think?”

“mhm.” 

once again, he beats you to your bag, swiping it from your chair and carrying it along with his own. you meekly toy with the hem of your shirt as the two of you walk to the elevator. 

“so, bummer that neither of us have plans today. it’s so early,” you say, being blatantly obvious with what you're suggesting.

spencer only offers you an indifferent “yeah, bummer” in response, walking in when the doors slide open. when you look at him though, he's anything but indifferent, the corner of his lip pulling up in a crooked smile, irritatingly smug. you don't know where he gets off on being so at ease but the expression on his face makes you scowl as you follow him in. 

he is silent the whole ride down. you become increasingly annoyed, only faltering slightly when his hand reaches down to hold yours. his fingers thread between yours and you not-so subtly curl yours over his, ignoring the way he looks down at you. 

you try not to smile at the domestic picture of the two of you walking out hand in hand. thankfully the basement is empty. he pauses between your cars and mutters a quick “see you monday” before loosening his fingers and turning to walk away.

“spencer,” you groan, almost a whine as you squeeze his hand before he can let go.

he responds immediately, without missing a beat, “yes, angel.”

fuck.

you want to melt but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “would you like to do something tonight?” you grit out begrudgingly.

“i would love to,” he agrees, pulling you closer with your hand. your gaze darts to the two bag straps on his shoulder and you realise he had no intention of letting you go just like that. so you shove him, a little hard that he stumbles a bit. he huffs a laugh and you shake your head dismissively. 

he slowly, tentatively, dips down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. your eyes flutter shut at the contact. 

“how does thai food sound?” he asks, that same bashfulness creeping into his voice that you love so dearly. 

“sounds perfect.”

you share another sweet smile that would probably make you gag from an outside perspective but now it just makes you feel dizzy. he leads you back to his car, muttering something about how he’ll pick yours up tomorrow morning. you want to argue with him but that same dizzy feeling stops you.

you can't help the dreamy sigh that slips out when he connects your hands again over the centre console. thank god for st. valentine, you think.

reblogs and replies are appreciated :) | m.list

divider from @saradika-graphics

[falesten-iw]

It’s strange when “democracy” means people have to choose between Ivanka’s dad and Ella’s mom, as if that’s supposed to feel empowering. Sure, two bad options don’t feel great, but hey, at least there are options. In some countries, you’d be lucky to get even one choice. And in others? They don’t get elections at all, just a permanent leader who shows up like it’s just another day on the clock. But here democracy feels like a two for one special with a free side of disappointment.

Now that Ivanka’s dad has won. Yes Yes my friend !! Abo Ivanka has won!! And here we are, looking at this system and thinking, “Was this even a choice?” It’s like being asked to pick between plain oatmeal and soggy cereal for breakfast. Sure, it’s technically a choice, but nobody’s excited about it. The two main parties hog the spotlight so completely, they’ve turned “options” into a choice between “slightly bad” and “absolutely dreadful.” And heaven forbid a third-party voice shows up, because here, you need a 50% popularity rating just to get a seat at the grown-ups’ table.

By now, picking a president feels like choosing between the flu and food poisoning. The two big parties are so close in their love for big donors, it’s like watching rival soap operas funded by the same network. We call it “democracy,” but it feels like a rigged game, with mega-donors pulling the strings while the rest of us are just the audience, sitting here with popcorn, hoping the plot somehow gets better.

Sure, many lean toward the Democrats, thinking they’re the “better” choice. But from where I’m sitting, especially as a Palestinian, neither side looks promising. Take Gaza: Democrats have left it in ruins, like a bulldozer at a sandcastle competition, with 80% of the infrastructure leveled and 90% of the people displaced. Now Ivanka’s dad is in charge, and, honestly, we’re past worrying about escalation, because there’s nothing left to escalate to. At this rate, they have already broken the records for destruction and the number of martyred, but the looming fear now is if there’ll be any Gaza left to talk about.

For Palestinians, for Gaza, for much of the world, this isn’t “democracy”; it’s a magic show where they tell you to pick a card, but no matter what you choose, it always comes back to the same card: disaster.

And now, winter’s arrived in Gaza. The nights there? Let’s just say, they’re colder than the stare you’d get from a #### who’s been asked to pay $12 or 15 for a black coffee. My family, like so many others, is living in a tent, a “tent” being a generous word for a few sheets trying to pass for walls. The wind comes in from every side, and huddling under thin blankets in this weather is like fighting a snowstorm with a paper towel. The cold bites to the bone, and there’s no escape; it’s like nature’s way of reminding us we’re still here, exposed.

If you can, please consider donating. Even the smallest help means warmth on a freezing night, a bit of comfort in the middle of a relentless winter. It’s a glimmer of hope for my family and trust me, it’s more welcome than soggy cereal ever could be.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead. Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 250 SEK is equivalent to 25 dollars, and 506 SEK equals 50 dollars and so on.

Note: There’s even a raffle for a handmade Palestinian thob if you want to participate : Link

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[humaling]

Two Victors, One Closet.

pairings: finnick odair x reader

summary: you hid in a closet to escape from a fan—but what are the odds of ending up in the same closet with the capitol's darling?

warnings: none!

word count: 3k

author's note: my fav piece so far. i love forced proximity guys

You’d rather be anywhere but here—at another Capitol party, suffocating under the weight of excess and expectation. If your presence weren’t mandatory, if Snow weren’t holding a noose over your loved one’s neck, you’d be in bed, sleeping soundly—something you’ve only managed to do since winning your Games a few years ago.

This party is no different from the others you’ve endured. It’s loud, obnoxious, and mind-numbingly monotonous. People parade around in the most hideous outfits imaginable, calling it fashion simply because it defies normalcy. You can think of a few who would look far better in something simple, yet they insist on prancing around in walrus costumes or altering their features to resemble wild animals—an attempt at beauty that, in your humble opinion, makes them more unsettling than presentable.

If you earned a dollar for every person you’ve avoided tonight, you’d have at least a hundred—enough to buy yourself a decent meal at that small diner on the outskirts of the Capitol, where the people, at the very least, seem a bit more human than the ones inside this party.

You uncomfortably shift in your dress, flattening out the creases that start to form. The fabric, though luxurious, clings to you in a way that feels suffocating, a constant reminder of the expectations woven into every stitch. A pink cocktail sits in your hand, glittering under the dim glow of the chandelier, the ice clinking softly as you tighten your grip around the delicate stem. Your expression remains composed—sweet, practiced, effortless—as a Capitol couple manages to sneak up behind you, their voices dripping with familiarity as they greet you like an old friend.

“My! You would look so much better in my dress than the one you’re wearing,” one of them gushes, grasping your arm with manicured fingers. The scent of artificial roses wafts off her in waves, sickly sweet and overpowering.

You glance at her outfit, taking in the bold choice of material. Classic. A long cocktail dress, its bodice clinging to her frame, the skirt draping in soft, deliberate folds—made entirely of tiger fur, the stripes catching the light with a golden sheen. Authentic, of course. Anything less wouldn’t be worth parading.

“You flatter me,” you reply, forcing a light laugh, though your stomach twists at the thought of slipping into something like that.

“Oh, but I mean it! Just the other day, Vera Juno—you know her, don’t you? The one with the most divine peacock-feather corset—she was saying how dreadfully plain fur looks on me, but I told her, ‘Well, darling, it’s not the fur, it’s the person wearing it!’” She giggles, waving a hand as if dismissing the very idea that she could look anything less than stunning.

Her husband, draped in a garish emerald suit with diamond-studded cuffs, takes a long sip from his flute of champagne before sighing dramatically. “Speaking of Vera, did you hear? She’s on her third face this year. Third! I told her she had to slow down, but she’s obsessed. I mean, honestly, she’s starting to look like a bad painting.”

You hum in amusement, nodding along as if this is the most fascinating conversation you’ve ever been part of, when in reality, you feel like you’re suffocating. The weight of their words, their extravagance, their sheer detachment from anything real—it presses down on you like the bodice of your dress, too tight, too constricting.

“I simply must introduce you to my designer,” the woman continues, taking a sip from a martini glass filled with some unnaturally blue liquid. “She does custom work—one of a kind. None of that tacky, mass-produced nonsense. Oh! And she works with the rarest*materials. I swear, she had a real mockingjay feather last season, but she used it on some nobody—can you imagine?”

You force a gasp, widening your eyes just enough to appear engaged. “A real mockingjay feather? That’s practically a historic artifact.”

The husband scoffs. “And wasted on a girl who doesn’t even appreciate fashion.”

You smile, tilting your head in interest, all while subtly scanning the room. You need an escape. The dance floor? No, too crowded. The bar? No, you’d risk them following you for another round of terribly important Capitol gossip. Your fingers tighten around your glass as you spot an avox disappearing to an empty hallway. Perfect.

“Oh! Is that—excuse me, just one moment,” you say, flashing them an apologetic smile before slipping away, weaving through the sea of elaborately dressed socialites. You exhale softly, relief washing over you as their voices fade into the background.

As you step into the hallway, a voice calls out your name. Your breath catches, and you pick up the pace, scanning your surroundings. Hide. That’s the only thought in your head. You can’t handle another meaningless conversation with another obnoxious Capitolian. You’d rather lock yourself in a dark, windowless room than entertain their exhausting chatter.

Your eyes dart around until they land on a cabinet door, slightly ajar. There’s no time to hesitate. You slip inside, pulling the door shut behind you, swallowing yourself in darkness.

Pressing your ear against the wooden surface, you listen. Muffled footsteps. The sound of your name again. You recognize the voice instantly, and dread coils in your stomach. Him. The man who runs that ridiculous website about you, documenting every move you make as if you’re a spectacle rather than a person. He’s practically built an archive of your life, shoving every scrap of information he can find onto the internet for Capitol citizens to obsess over.

You hold your breath, remaining perfectly still, listening as his footsteps shuffle past. He calls your name once more before, finally, mercifully, they start to fade. You wait a few beats, making sure he’s really gone before exhaling a slow, relieved sigh. Your forehead rests against the wooden door as your grip on the handle loosens.

But the moment of peace is short-lived.

A voice murmurs behind you, low and bemused.

“Uh, sweetheart?”

A yelp escapes your throat as you whirl around, arm swinging wildly to hit whoever’s behind you. But your hand meets nothing but air before it smacks into the wooden wall with a sharp thud.

A soft cry leaves your lips, pain stinging through your knuckles. Before you can recover, there’s a faint click beside you. A dim light flickers on above, casting a warm glow over the cramped space. You squint, your eyes adjusting, and then they land on the bronze-haired man standing at your side, sea-green eyes blown wide in surprise.

You freeze, recognition settling in.

“Finnick?”

His lips twitch before stretching into a slow, easy grin, flashing those infuriatingly perfect teeth. He leans against the wall, one hand still resting on the light switch, head tilting slightly as he peers down at you.

“Fancy meeting you here, sweetheart.” His voice is laced with amusement, a smirk playing on his lips as he extends his free hand toward you in mock politeness.

You glance at it, scoff, and cross your arms instead. “What are you doing here?”

Finnick sighs, slipping his hand back into the pocket of his dress pants. “Hiding. Obviously.” His tone is dry, like the answer should be obvious.

You exhale sharply, pressing your back against the door as you try to compose yourself. Of course, he’s hiding. He’s probably avoiding some desperate Capitol sponsor or an overzealous admirer. People cling to Finnick Odair like moths to a flame, and he plays his role so well.

“Well,” you mutter, shifting slightly, “I was here first.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and amused. “So territorial. What, do you want me to step out and expose both of us?”

You narrow your eyes. He has a point. If either of you leaves now, you’ll draw attention, and the last thing you need is to be caught crammed into a cabinet with Finnick Odair. That would be another scandal for the Capitol to sink its teeth into.

You sigh, rubbing your temple before glancing up at him. “Fine. Just—don’t talk.”

Finnick hums, tilting his head slightly. “You sure? I think we could have a very productive conversation in here.”

“Finnick.”

“Alright, alright.” He grins, leaning back against the shelves. “Silent as a clam.”

You roll your eyes and shift in place, trying to find a comfortable spot without knocking anything over. The cabinet wasn’t made for two people. Your arm brushes against his chest, and you can feel the warmth radiating off him, his breath ghosting against your hair.

“Will you move?” you hiss, trying not to bump into the precariously stacked cans of paint, cleaning supplies, and tools surrounding you.

Finnick lifts a hand in mock innocence. “Well, honey, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but it’s pretty cramped in here with all this stuff.” He gestures lazily to the shelves around you.

You glare at him. “You clearly still have space behind you.” You poke a firm finger against his chest. “Move.”

Finnick glances over his shoulder, then looks back at you with an exaggerated frown. “There’s a vacuum.”

You stare at him. “Are you serious?”

“It’s taking up, like, all my space.”

A slow, frustrated breath pushes through your nose as you shift your weight. It’s hot, cramped, and you’re stuck here with Finnick Odair.

He watches your struggle with barely concealed amusement before offering, “Well, I could just step out and—”

“Don’t you dare even think about it!” you whisper-yell, eyes sharp as daggers.

His smirk widens. Infuriating.

Finnick’s smirk deepens, his sea-green eyes glinting in the dim light. “Oh, honey, you wound me,” he drawls, placing a hand over his chest like you’ve personally offended him. “You think I’d sell you out just to stretch my legs?”

You scoff, crossing your arms despite the cramped space. “Yes.”

His lips twitch. “Fair enough.”

You huff, shifting against the wooden door, trying to create some semblance of distance between you and Finnick, but it’s impossible. The small storage cabinet wasn’t designed to hold two people, let alone a six-foot-tall Victor with broad shoulders who takes up way too much space. His arm brushes against yours, and you feel the warmth radiating off him—annoyingly distracting.

Finnick exhales dramatically. “You know, if you wanted to get me alone, you could’ve just asked.”

You whip your head up, glaring. “I will knock you out, Odair.”

He grins. “With what? Your tiny fists? Oh, sweetheart, you’re adorable.”

Your nostrils flare. Infuriating. Absolutely insufferable. You have half a mind to elbow him in the ribs, but knowing Finnick, he’d probably enjoy that too. Instead, you sigh sharply, tilting your head back against the door.

Silence settles between you, save for the muffled sounds of the party outside—the distant laughter, the clinking of glasses, the upbeat music that feels worlds away from the stifling little closet.

Then Finnick speaks again, voice quieter this time. “So, who are you hiding from?”

You hesitate. You don’t owe him an answer. But there’s something disarming about Finnick, something that makes people spill their secrets before they even realize they’ve opened their mouths.

Still, you settle for a vague response. “Someone annoying.”

He hums. “So, not me?”

You shoot him a look, and he chuckles, clearly entertained.

“Let me guess.” He taps his chin, pretending to think. “Overzealous sponsor? Jealous socialite? Deranged fan?”

You shift uncomfortably. Close enough.

Finnick notices. His smirk softens into something less performative, more genuine. “C’mon,” he coaxes, tilting his head. “Who was it?”

You exhale through your nose, deciding to humor him. “That guy who runs the website about me.”

Finnick’s brows raise, then his face twists in sympathy. “Oh, him? Yeah, I’ve got one of those too. Talks about me like we braid each other’s hair at sleepovers.”

Despite yourself, a snort escapes your lips. “Right? He acts like he knows everything about me. It’s creepy.”

Finnick grins. “Well, at least you haven’t been shipped with half of Panem. I swear, if I had a coin for every time someone claimed I was secretly in love with some random socialite…” He shakes his head, mock exasperation in his voice.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And who are you secretly in love with, Finnick?”

His smirk falters for half a second—so quick you almost miss it. But then it’s back, all charm and mischief. “Wouldn’t you like to know, sweetheart?”

Your lips press together, and before you can stop yourself, you mutter, “Not really.”

Finnick places a hand over his heart again, gasping. “You wound me twice in one night? Unbelievable.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. The frustration you felt earlier has dulled into something else. Something lighter.

Still, you don’t let your guard down. “Just don’t get too comfortable,” you warn. “The second I think it’s safe, I’m out of here.”

Finnick smirks, leaning back against the shelves. “And leave me all alone? In this cold, dark closet?” He sighs dramatically. “How cruel.”

“Ugh, shut up.” You groan, lifting a hand to shove Finnick back.

It happens too fast.

You push him a little harder than intended. His legs catch on the vacuum behind him, throwing him off balance. His arms flail as he tries to grab onto something—unfortunately, that something is you.

You barely have time to react before gravity does its job.

A loud thud echoes through the tiny storage room as you crash into Finnick. Your foreheads smack together, sending a sharp jolt of pain through your skull. Finnick, caught in the most ridiculous position imaginable, hangs awkwardly midair—his back pressed against the wall, legs still half-propped on the vacuum. His arms instinctively wrap around your waist, holding you in place.

You wince, lifting your head slightly, your free hand pressing against your now-throbbing forehead. “Ow,” you mumble. His skull might as well be made of steel.

Finnick lets out a breathy chuckle beneath you, though it’s slightly strained. “Y’know, sweetheart, if you wanted to be on top, you could’ve just asked.”

Your hand immediately smacks his shoulder.

Before he can get another word out, the door creaks open.

“Is there someone in h—oh…”

Finnick’s head snaps up—only for your forehead to slam into Finnick’s again.

“Ow!” you both groan in unison.

You don’t even hesitate before slapping his arm again. He muffles a grunt.

Meanwhile, the woman standing in the doorway is frozen, gloved hand covering her mouth, eyes wide with realization. “Oh my! ” she gasps, face flushing. “Are you two all right?”

Her words barely register as you rub your forehead, still disoriented. A gloved hand touches your shoulder, and you glance up to see her looking between you and Finnick, brows raised.

“Yes, we’re fine,” you mutter automatically, nodding mindlessly.

That’s when you see it—the look on her face. The way her eyes flick between you and Finnick, her lips slightly parted as if processing something. Then it clicks.

Oh. Oh no.

Finnick, still beneath you, shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flicking to the side. His tongue pokes at his cheek, barely suppressing a smirk.

The woman’s face shifts from surprise to intrigue.

“Oh,” she says again, but this time, there’s understanding in her tone. As if she knows exactly what she just walked in on.

Your stomach drops as you realize exactly what she is thinking. She doesn’t just assume she walked in on something—she is convinced of it. And worse, she looks absolutely thrilled.

“Oh,” she says again, her eyes lighting up with amusement. “Oh my.”

You scramble to push yourself off Finnick, but in your flustered state, you end up pressing your weight further onto him instead. His breath catches for just a second before he exhales a soft chuckle.

“Easy there, sweetheart. Didn’t know you were so eager.”

You smack his shoulder, but it only makes him grin wider. “Will you shut up and help me?” you whisper harshly, still trying to push yourself up without making the situation worse.

Finnick sighs dramatically, as if this is somehow an inconvenience for him, before placing his hands on your waist and lifting you off with frustrating ease. Once you’re on your feet, you try to brush yourself off and compose yourself, but before you can say anything, the woman gasps and claps her hands together.

“This is so lovely,” she gushes. “And here I thought the rumors were just speculation! But to think I’d witness it firsthand—oh, this is wonderful.”

You frown, not entirely sure you want to know what she’s talking about. “What?”

She gestures between you and Finnick with an almost conspiratorial expression. “Your little secret romance, dear. You don’t have to pretend with me. I won’t tell a soul.”

You open your mouth, then close it again, completely at a loss for words. Meanwhile, Finnick leans casually against the shelf, watching with clear amusement.

“That’s very kind of you,” he says smoothly, flashing his most charming smile. “We’d hate for anyone to get the wrong idea.”

You whip your head toward him, glaring daggers. Do not encourage this.

The woman giggles, as if she is witnessing something out of a Capitol drama. “Oh, don’t worry. I understand. A little forbidden rendezvous? How thrilling!”

You let out a strangled sound of frustration. “It’s not—we’re not—”

She raises a hand, silencing you with a knowing smile. “Say no more, dear. You have my discretion.”

Finnick hums approvingly. “Much appreciated.”

You feel your blood pressure rise. He is enjoying this far too much, and it’s obvious by the way his lips twitch as he glances at you. The woman sighs wistfully as if she is witnessing the most romantic scandal in all of Panem.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” she says, winking before disappearing down the hallway.

For a moment, you just stand there, staring at the empty doorway as your brain struggles to catch up. The silence is thick, filled only by the distant hum of the party outside.

Then, slowly, you turn to Finnick.

He is smirking, arms crossed over his chest. “Well,” he drawls, amusement thick in his voice. “That went well.”

You inhale deeply through your nose, trying to rein in the urge to strangle him. “You absolute—”

Finnick chuckles and tilts his head slightly. “Careful, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want people to think our lover’s quarrel is anything serious.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. You can already hear the whispers spreading through the Capitol. By tomorrow morning, there will be headlines, theories, and most likely an entire fan club dedicated to the two of you.

And Finnick Odair, the bane of your existence, is going to love every second of it.

part two

[gffa]

*walks back into BATFAMILY fic fandom eleven months later, holding a Starbucks cup* I'm right on time, I don't know what you mean. AND I have returned with the fruits of a fandom that continues to be incredible at providing the good stuff! Sometimes it's still hard for me to grasp just how much fic has exploded onto the scene in the 10+ years I was away from DC, that there was some incredible fic back when I was into the fandom, but coming back to actual mountains of it has continued to blow my mind every time and made me love these characters even more than I already did.

It's almost overwhelming, honestly, how much good fic there is to read, so let me scream at you guys and shove links at you because I'm having a great time here and I want to drag all of you into it with me, COME HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT RIDICULOUSLY DRESSED SUPERHERO COMICS WITH ME, it's all fun and games, I swear! (Okay, but at least you'll have a good time crying about the Bats, I can give you that much at least.)

BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST GREMLIN ROBIN I'M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ sleepless, perfect duty by glassofwater, dick & bruce, 4.3k     The choice to forgo sleep, to forgo Dick Grayson, has never been easier. Not when the other option is Robin. ✦ Parallels in Reverse by rosetteanon, dick & damian & bruce, time travel, 2.2k     Damian travels to a dimension that's a little bit behind his own. There, he meets a younger Dick Grayson, and a happier Bruce Wayne. ✦ string theory by wingdingery, dick & bruce & damian, time travel, 8k     When Bruce and Dick get transported to an unfamiliar Gotham, it only takes running into a different Batman and Robin for Bruce to realize two things: one, they’re in the future; and two—in the future, Dick Grayson is dead. ✦ Rooftop Meetings by orphan_account, dick & bruce & leslie & shrike & cast, 10.2k wip     When Two-Face almost beats a newly minted Robin to death, Bruce decides that the life of a vigilante is too dangerous for a kid. This becomes the catalyst for a series of events that leads twelve-year-old Dick Grayson down a darker path. ✦ It Could Stay This Simple (Just Stay This Little) by coconuticecream (magspie), dick & bruce, 3k     Maybe claiming legal guardianship over a child at 22, and so soon after becoming Batman, spread Bruce thinner than he'd realized. Maybe Bruce was less equipped to parent a third grader than he'd thought. Maybe Bruce should do more to invite Dick into his life. Maybe Bruce should hug Dick, or promise he'll do better by Dick, or tell Dick that he loves Dick more than he thought himself capable. (or: bruce and dick practice self care together.) ✦ No One Said Flying Was Easy by Wrtrmd2, dick & bruce & alfred, 51.1k     Eight year old Richard Grayson has just watched his parents fall to their deaths. Hurting and alone, he struggles to adjust to the new life he's thrown into. Bruce Wayne takes him in, but seems to have no idea what he's doing. Can they help each other put the pieces of their broken lives back together?

✦ Zitka by PechoraFlow, dick & bruce, 2.7k     After Dick's parents fall to their deaths, he is left clinging to the few things he has left: one of them being Zitka, his stuffed elephant. ✦ your heart is the only place that i call home by emavee, dick & bruce, talon!dick, 6.3k     There shouldn’t be any Talons that are this small, this young, but there’s one standing right in front of him. And that shouldn’t be Bruce’s soulmark blooming on his too-pale skin, but it is—there’s nothing else it could be. Batman really should know better than to bring a Talon home with him, but here he is, wrapping up the boy in a set of meta-cuffs and tucking him into the backseat of the car. ✦ Hostage by EternalLife, dick & bruce & alfred, 3.9k     Dick Grayson is 10 years old. Batman is nowhere to be seen, and Robin has a gun to his head. ✦ The Mother-Son Dance by cometoastop, bruce & dick, 1.8k     Dick is upset he doesn’t have a mother to bring him to his school’s mother-son dance, so Bruce offers to bring him instead.

BATFAM FIC RECS - ADULT BATSON AND BATDAD ARE MY KRYPTONITE, I FOLD LIKE WET CARDBOARD FOR THEM: ✦ Permission To Pause by farawayfiction (JJ_Thomas), dick & bruce, 1.9k     Bruce pulled the phone from his pocket. A text from Dick was waiting for him on the notification screen. ✦ oathbreaker by one_step_closer_to_death, dick & bruce & cast, 2.3k     Stranded and on his last leg, Batman might be fighting his last battle yet. But Bruce promised he was coming back home and this was one promise he wasn't going to break yet. ✦ Judge and Juror by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & alfred, 6.6k     Anonymous asked: I was just wondering if you would like to write a story set during bvs and how Nightwing could be involved there? ✦ When You Don't Have an Umbrella by TheSilencer, dick & bruce, read the tags, 1.2k     Dick Grayson and Batman talk about the rain. Except they're not actually talking about the rain. ✦ riding the blues by TheResurrectionist, dick & bruce & oc, 3.9k     “What’s in there, anyway?” Charles asked, rolling down the window. “Looks heavy.” “A few million dollars' worth of electroshock weapons,” the kid said, dead-serious. After a moment, a grin stretched across his face. “Nah, I’m just fucking with you. It’s old clothes, mostly.” ✦ Lexically Homeless by nighhtwing (divineauthor), dick & bruce, 1.1k     Dick, Bruce, and their relationship with language and each other.

BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ One, Two, Buckle My Shoe by sElkieNight60, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & alfred, de-aged!dick, 17k wip     Dick was twenty-eight. The boy in the mirror most certainly was not. ✦ Weight of Judgment by Dragonbat, dick & bruce & alfred, 1.6k     As leader of the Teen Titans, Dick had to make a difficult decision. Now he's dealing with the fallout. ✦ Robins, titmice, and other spring birds by Fleur_de_Violette, dick & jason & bruce, 8.5k     There are a lot of things Jason doesn’t understand in the dynamic of the Wayne manor, despite being here for nine months. Maybe a rescue turning a little more dangerous than it should have been for Robin will help him see things clearly? ✦ bachelor parties of different sorts by cedarcat, dick & jason & barbara & cass & bruce (& background dick/babs), read the tags, 4.4k     Dick and Barbara are engaged. There's just one complicating factor that Dick has to deal with. He'd rather avoid it. aka: the one where dick handles past trauma poorly, finds the support he needs in his family, and comes out better for it. ✦ Kitchen Talk by Smitty, dick & alfred, 3.1k     Dick Grayson gets some good advice in the hours before Nightwing #45. ✦ Teach Me to Dream by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & alfred & leslie & cast, time travel, 29k wip     Dick’s eleven. Not thirteen and eager to prove himself. Not seventeen and mourning a brother. Not nineteen and wishing his best friend wasn’t dead and Bruce would look him in the eyes. He’s only eleven. So why does he remember all of that? ✦ like the back of my hand by Jo_B, dick & bruce & conner & dick/babs, 2k     “Cut it out.” “Would you stay still, please?” Dick swats Bruce’s hand away and starts pushing himself up. “Y’know, in the wild, bats eat their kids.” “That’s not even a little bit true and you know it.” ✦ idea man by vaporeon_ninja, dick & bruce & jason & damian, 8.3k     Ask him. As if it were that easy. As if Damian hasn’t only just barely begun to respect him, and would immediately burn all the ground they’ve covered if Dick so much as implied he wanted to help him get through something. Yeah, fat chance. No, Dick can’t ask him. But he can’t just keep doing nothing, either. So he decides on a third option- just start trying anything. ✦ One of His Own by DawnsEternalLight, dick & bruce & damian & alfred, 1.3k     Dick's freshly back from Spyral and apartment hunting. Little Does he know his dad has already got that covered. ✦ Now That's a Lot of Damage by Sanctioned_Chaos, dick & bruce & jason & tim & cass & cast, 5k wip     On a joint operation with the Justice League, Dick's family falls victim to a particularly malignant curse and he's the only one who can free them. Consequently, it makes him the subject of their suffering.

BATFAM FIC RECS - JASON TODD IS AN ASSHOLE CAT, I'M GONNA THROW HIM AT DICK BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY (AND MAYBE SOME OF HIS OTHER SIBLINGS TOO): ✦ All the Roofs of Uncertainty by Kieron_ODuibhir, dick & jason & bruce & leslie & cast, 70k     For all the blood on his hands, Red Hood was never just a villain. And Nightwing never gives up on family, not for good. (Or: The one where Dick bleeds a lot and Jason argues with everybody.) ✦ Red In My Ledger by WordsAblaze, dick & jason, 1.1k     day five, where jason realises a little too late that dick isn’t an intruder breaking into his safehouse... ✦ Fixed Points and Fluxes by i_am_the_imposter_syndrome, dick & jason (& bruce), 16.5k wip     When a mission involving a mysterious sorcerer goes wrong, Dick and Jason find themselves out of time and place in a Gotham that’s not quite their own. Protocol dictates they lie low and avoid unnecessary interactions as much as possible until they can get home, but their family here is fractured, and if there’s one thing that’s constant across universes, it’s that Bats have each other’s backs. ✦ Too Close to Call by Dragonbat, dick & jason & bruce, 5.8k     Summary: Things go horribly wrong when Robin thinks he can bring in Two-Face by himself. Now Nightwing’s life is on the line and one bad decision might spell disaster!

BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK AND DAMIAN WERE THE BEST BATMAN & ROBIN, I'M NOT HEARING ARGUMENTS ABOUT THAT EITHER: ✦ Won't You Stay A While? by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian & tim, 2.8k     Ric did not expect to find a child sitting on the hood of his cab. Damian did expect to get his brother back. ✦ The Universe Doesn’t Get to Take This by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian & bruce, 1.9k     “And they’re so important that you don’t come home to check on your recently un-amnesiac brother? And here, I thought I was your favorite.” ✦ Just a Little TLC by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian, 1.7k     Dick was not sick. Really. He was fine. Fine!

BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY'RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ The Long Way Home by itsnatalie, jason & tim & bruce & dick & damian & cast, 111.6k     With Jason tentatively back in the Batfamily, things are going pretty well for him--except for the whole thing with Tim. But who gives a shit about Tim Drake? But when Jason and Tim are pulled into a frightening race for their lives inside a labyrinth that's out to kill them, they may have to look past their differences just to stay alive. Maybe along the way, they'll discover they aren't as different as they thought, and family comes in many different forms. ✦ IRIS Log #1548 by deadchannelradio, jason & cass & barbara & bruce & steph & tim & damian & roy & dick, 8.5k     A Disclaimer From Your Friendly Neighborhood Oracle: The following is a transcript of Patrol Communications Audio written by state of the art transcription technology, IRIS (Interpretation of Recorded Intelligence Software). IRIS was created to provide easily searchable records, automatically, and eliminate the need to transcribe each patrol audio log manually. That being said, IRIS is still experimental, and may not always be entirely accurate. ✦ Real Housewives (sort of) of Gotham by brandywine421, dick & selina & bruce & damian & jason & roy & talia & dinah & harley/ivy & helena & cast, no powers au, 5.9k     Selina is curious to a fault but she has a twinge of concern at her almost-stepson's name popping up on her personal line. They were allies and frenemies, depending on who was Brucie's favorite pet at the moment but he usually texts birthday wishes and xoxo's instead of actual voice contact. "Is everyone okay?" ✦ War! by Smitty, dick & barbara & tim & cast, 1.9k     What 'entertainment' was Nightwing talking about in Nightwing #44? Innuendo. ✦ Nowhere Safer by lurkinglurkerwholurks, dick & jason & tim & bruce, 9.6k     What's a Robin to do when the nightmares don't stop? ✦ Love like Cats by Laroyena, alfred & bruce & dick & jason & julia & cast, 20.7k     “This takes crazy cat people to a whole new level,” his old friend told him. “So this old family your dad took care of, they left their fortune to a cat.” Alfred Pennyworth, ex-special agent of the British Secret Intelligence Service, moves to America to become a butler. A cat butler. ✦ Minimum Height Requirement by Drag0nst0rm, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph, 66.4k     Somewhere in the multiverse, there's a universe where letting his children dress up in capes and follow him into vigilantism seems like a good idea. Bruce is determined that it isn't going to be this one . . . Despite his children's repeated attempts to convince him otherwise. (Or: "When you're eighteen, you can do what you want. Until then, no capes.")

✦ Family Crisis by librarylexicon, bruce & dick & jason & tim & cass & steph & leslie & cast, 85.8k     At the close of the gang war, Batman uncovers an attempted deception concerning the life of his former protégé Stephanie Brown, and suddenly nothing is as important as his family. While Dick seeks absolution, Tim struggles with grief, Cassandra searches for belonging and Steph rebuilds her sense of self, Bruce faces the return of ghosts from his own past and psyche. (War Games AU) ✦ grasp of ice by Kieron_ODuibhir, tim & damian, 6k     “Drake.” The hand in his was cold. Not because it belonged to a corpse, but because the night was cold. Cold and bright and pitiless, fresh snow glittering perfect under the waning gibbous moon like diamond sand. “Drake. Stay awake.” Drake, because he was insane, smiled before he said, “I don’t want your pity, Robin.” ✦ The Salem Protocol by Dragonbat, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & barbara & jim & cast, 47.4k     An AU version of Batman, RIP. When the GCPD makes a surprising arrest, Gordon knows he needs to call in support. Contains MASSIVE spoilers for Batman #678.

BATFAM FIC RECS - I CUT MY TEETH ON DICK & TIM AS CLOSE BROTHERS AND NO ONE WILL NOT TAKE IT FROM ME: ✦ Hide and Seek by WordsAblaze, dick & tim, 1.1k     day twenty five, where a mission leaves dick and tim playing a not-so-fun version of hide and seek... ✦ To be a good brother by andthentheyweretwo, dick & tim (&tim/kon), 7.7k     It’s not always easy to be a good brother. Sometimes, it’s downright hard. ✦ Think Happy Thoughts by fanfictiongreenirises, dick & tim & bruce, 2.3k     Dick's vitals keep crashing if his thoughts turn downwards. Tim tries to help. ✦ Hisstamine by coyote_nebula, dick & tim, 2.7k     Dick gets bitten by a venomous snake. Tim pretends to know exactly what to do. ✦ Words That Must Be Said by Dragonbat, dick & tim, 1.4k     Tim needs Dick's advice when his long-lost uncle turns up.

BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK/BABS FOREVER AND YOU CAN SHUT IT IF YOU DISAGREE, THEY'RE ADORABLE TOGETHER: ✦ I'll crawl home (to her) by dizarys, dick & babs, ~1k     She needed to focus. She was Oracle and Oracle couldn’t falter or be distracted by personal feelings, not when multiple lives depended on her coordinating teams across the city, the country, the globe. There was no time to worry about Nightwing or his radio silence. Too much going on to pester him. He got out, said he wasn’t majorly wounded, and she needed to trust him. After all he was Nightwing. Vigilante since he was ten. Dick didn’t need her worrying in his ear while trying to stay alive. They needed to be professional because anything else could end in death. ✦ to my word now I'll be true by theragingstorm, dick/ babs, NSFW, 4.7k     A chance night becomes something more. ✦ Scar Tissue by Smitty, dick/babs, 2k     Some scars heal more easily than others. ✦ Time Enough by Smitty, dick/babs, 1k     Barbara asked him for time.

BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE'S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ What a Hunk (Of Rock) by AelinSardothian, tim/kon & cast, 4.4k     Tim is pulling another all-nighter when an injured Kryptonian lands on his balcony, leaking blood and affection. ✦ Obligatory Nap Time by egg_thief, tim/kon, 2.6k     Tim hasn’t been sleeping lately. Kon’s determined to at least get him to take a nap ✦ GUY.exe by thebodydies, tim/kon, NSFW, 4.6k     “If you tell me what you want,” Conner said, “I’ll do the rest.”

BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT'S WHAT I'M HERE FOR: ✦ threadbare by inconstant_moon, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & donna & cast, read the tags, 53.8k wip     That's the thing. Dick looked right at the kid, broken hand and all, and nearly let him in. He nearly let him train. Because after all these years, he didn't process anything wrong with the image before him. (Dick, Bruce, and the implications of raising a partner instead of a child.) ✦ Kindness isn't Free by minnow_doodle_doo, bruce & dick & alfred, no powers au, 6.7k     “You need to love humanity unconditionally or else the world will beat you into the ground and you won’t be able to get back up again.” He said into Dick’s hand like a prayer. “And you can’t kill what you love and survive.” ✦ Home Assignment by librarylexicon, dick & bruce & tim & babs (some dick/babs), 6.8k     Blüdhaven police officer Dick Grayson is suffering the tail end of a nasty cough when he's summoned to work a stakeout as Nightwing with Batman and Robin in Gotham. As the night wears on, his worst fears are realised when three urgent pleas for help pull him in separate directions, forcing him to choose between members of his own family in a way that feels suspiciously intentional. ✦ How Sharp The Pieces Were (You Crumbled Into) by WinterSky101, dick & tim & damian & cass & bruce & alfred & steph & duke & cast, 14.9k wip     Dick is back, but scars like his don't heal easily, even with a new healing factor. (Thirteen stories of Dick and his family in the year after his return to Gotham.) ✦ Pain o' Chocolate by Anonymous, bruce & dick, 1k     Dick is in a coma.

[wosoloml]

From Rivalry to becoming Family || Alessia Russo x German!reader (Frankfurt!Reader)

Summary: When you and Alessia get engaged, you decide to celebrate this milestone with both of your national teams. What starts as a union between two people becomes a beautiful transformation from the rivalry of the Euros 2022 into a bond that feels like family.

a/n: throwback to the most painful day ever as a german. ich hoffe ich habe deine request gut umgesetzt <3 danke für deine worte!! i hope its okay i wrote also about how they got together.

wc: 1,4k | from this request

warnings : nothing just fluff except for mentioning the euros final

"Y/N! Are you finally done?" Alessia shouts through the house for the third time, trying her best to stay patient while waiting downstairs for her fiancée.

"Babe, relax. We won’t be late; everything’s going to work out," I reassure her, descending the stairs to join her.

Four days ago marked one of the best days of our lives.

After two and a half years of dating, Alessia finally asked me to be her wife. And, of course, I said yes.

It all began during the Euros in 2022. Alessia and I couldn’t be more different when it comes to our nationalities. Keeping our relationship private was tough, especially when we faced each other in the final. But at least we knew one of us would be celebrating that night.

The day after the final was when we finally told our teammates about our relationship. Since that day, the rivalry between England and Germany hasn’t felt quite as intense (even though we all know Germany is the better team).

"We’re going to be late if you spend another hour deciding which shoes match your dress," Alessia says, her impatience bubbling over as she watches me.

"I'm done! What do you think of my outfit?" I ask, turning to face her. Alessia’s eyes widen as she takes in the sight of me.

"Wow," she breathes, her expression full of admiration.

I feel my cheeks warm at her reaction. Even after two and a half years of being showered with her compliments, I still haven’t learned how to process them without blushing.

---------

When we arrive at the little beach house, everything is perfectly decorated, but no one is waiting for us. It’s a stark contrast to Alessia’s prediction that we’d be late because I took “so long.”

I can’t help but feel grateful that we managed to arrange this small party to celebrate such a special milestone in our relationship. Playing in different countries makes it difficult to maintain anything resembling a normal relationship, so it means the world that we were able to bring both of us—and all our national teammates—together for this one celebration.

----

The clock struck exactly 3:00 PM when the first guests arrived. Unsurprisingly, it was Alessia’s best friends, Lotte and Ella. My heart swelled with love as I saw how many people cared about Alessia enough to travel all the way to Denmark to celebrate with us.

"Ella! Lotte! I’m so glad you’re here," I exclaimed, pulling them into a tight hug. In the beginning of our relationship, spending time with Alessia’s friends felt a bit awkward—especially since they played for England. But they turned out to be the sweetest people, and I’d never felt more welcomed.

"I can’t believe she finally asked you," Lotte teased, rolling her eyes. "She must have called me a thousand times, asking if it was too early, too late, or what your answer might be. Honestly, thank you for saying yes!"

I couldn’t help but laugh as Alessia came over, resting her hand gently on my back and joining in to greet her friends. Moments like this reminded me just how lucky I was to be surrounded by so much love.

I could hear two loud voices singing and laughing with Alessia, and I immediately knew who had just arrived.

"Y/N, go get your girls before Laura starts drinking all the champagne before nightfall," Alessia teased, flashing me a grin.

"My girls! There you are!" I exclaimed as I rushed over to greet them. "I’m so happy you both are here."

We were used to speaking English with each other, but it still felt amusing, given our shared history.

"I can’t believe my little girl is getting married to the blonde English striker," Sara said, her voice full of mock disbelief. "It’s still unbelievable how you kept it a secret. We all knew you had a crush on her—like, who didn’t? And then secretly meeting her after games... and now here we are. My lovebirds!"

Sara couldn’t stop smiling as she looked at Alessia, her words filled with warmth.

"Okay, Sara, enough is enough!" I interrupted, my cheeks turning crimson.

Alessia caught Sara’s eye and gave me a playful wink, which only made me blush harder.

-----

As time passed, more and more guests arrived, until all of our national teammates were finally here. My heart swelled with love as I watched Leah chatting animatedly with Lena and Mary exchanging tactics with Merle. After years of playing against each other, it felt surreal to see everyone coming together like one big family.

I wrapped my arm around Alessia, unable to stop myself from smiling. It was hard to believe how perfect my life felt in that moment. I was the luckiest woman alive, with the best fiancée by my side. (And let’s not forget—she won Arsenal's Goal and Player of the Month! How could I not feel proud?)

----

My eyes caught Ella as she stood up and cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention.

"When Alessia first told me she had a crush on Y/N, I already knew," she began with a soft smile. "Her eyes never lied when she looked at her. It didn’t matter if it was during tactical meetings while we analyzed other teams or when Y/N crossed our path on the way to different games. That same look was always there—an expression full of admiration."

Ella paused for a moment, her gaze shifting warmly between us. "I’ll save the big words for their wedding speech, but what I can already say is this: no one has ever made Alessia’s eyes sparkle the way you do. Thank you, Y/N, for making our Lessi the happiest girl on earth."

Ella fought back her tears, just like the rest of us. I smiled warmly at her, holding Alessia’s hand tightly in mine.

"She’s not the only one determined to make us all cry tonight," I said, glancing over at Laura. My heart immediately swelled with emotion. Laura wasn’t typically one for big words or grand displays of sentiment, so her standing up to speak meant the world to me.

"We didn’t win the Euros," Laura began, her voice steady yet filled with emotion, "but we won something even more special—new friendships. And most importantly, my best friend found the love of her life."

She paused, her gaze flicking between Alessia and me, a gentle smile gracing her face. "Whether it’s singing ‘Sweet Caroline’ in a karaoke bar or cheering for you at the Emirates, know that it’s always from the bottom of our hearts. Alessia, you are the first person I trust completely with Y/N’s heart, and I know it’s safe with you. Here’s to many more memories together. Cheers!"

Her words left the room in a silence filled with love and admiration before glasses clinked together in celebration. I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up as I squeezed Alessia’s hand, grateful beyond words for this moment.

I stood up, taking a moment to gather my thoughts before speaking on behalf of both of us.

"First of all, I need to thank our best friends for making us all cry and for finding the perfect words. You truly know how to touch our hearts. Thank you." I paused, looking around the room, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

"And we also want to thank all of you for being here today. We know it’s no small feat to find a free spot in our busy schedules, so we really appreciate you making the effort."

I smiled and raised my glass. "Please, enjoy the day, and let’s not drink too much!"

The laughter that followed helped ease the nerves in my chest, and I couldn’t help but feel thankful for everyone here, sharing in this special moment with us.

----

Alessia had her arms wrapped tightly around my waist as we swayed slowly to one of our favorite songs. Despite Leah’s role in music, today’s playlist wasn’t half bad.

"Thank you for spending the rest of my life with me," Alessia whispered softly in my ear, her words sending a warmth feeling through me.

"It’s a pleasure to spend it with you," I replied, my voice shy as I glanced at her. "I hope you liked today."

She smiled at me, her expression full of comfort. "I loved it today."

I leaned in closer "I love you."

May our story continue, forever.

[girllblogging777]

OLD HABITS

slytherin boys x gn!teacher reader (platonic)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 2k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : you graduated three years ago, but the slytherin boys still talk about you like a myth. now you’re back… as their professor.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you were a legend.

not in the grand, historical sense. not the type to be etched into portraits or remembered in dusty school records. no, yours was a different kind of legend. one passed around in whispers in the common room. in smoke trails drifting out from the edge of the astronomy tower. in escape routes down secret staircases no one else dared to use.

so when word spread through the great hall that you were back : alive, employed, and walking the halls as the new magical beasts professor, it caused the kind of silence that could only mean something big was coming.

theo was the first to break it.

“you’re joking.”

“nope,” said blaise, who had overheard one of the hufflepuff girls talking about how hot the new professor was. “apparently they walked in with a hippogriff and didn’t flinch when it tried to snap.”

mattheo leaned forward. “didn’t they teach us how to charm open the back entrance to the owlery?”

“no, that was fourth year,” muttered draco. “third year was the time they found that wine cellar under greenhouse three.”

“that was good wine,” said lorenzo, almost reverently. “and they shared it. with us.”

pansy raised a brow, amused. “I thought they’d disappeared into some forest job in eastern europe.”

“they did,” theo said. “came back with a scar and a lot more patience.”

“and now they’re teaching,” mattheo added, mostly to himself.

draco just smirked and folded his arms. “they better not act all serious and authoritative towards us.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you walked into your first class five minutes early, boots muddy, sleeves rolled up, a little bit of wind in your hair. the creatures for today’s lesson : bowtruckles, nothing dramatic, were already perched on your arm like old friends.

and very familiar faces were waiting for you.

some taller. some sharper around the edges. but still the same underneath.

you took them in : mattheo lounging at the back with that practiced look of boredom, theo twirling his quill lazily, draco sitting like he ran the school, blaise leaning back in his chair with that half-smile, and pansy pretending she wasn’t waiting for you to acknowledge her first.

your mouth twitched. “well. Look what the castle dragged in.”

mattheo’s eyes lit up instantly. “I knew it.”

you raised a brow, setting the bowtruckles gently on the desk. “did you miss me, riddle?”

he shrugged with zero shame. “you’re basically the reason we survived until fourth year.”

“I was more of a cautionary tale than anything.”

“you were our hero,” theo said bluntly.

“I taught you how to siphon firewhiskey out of Slughorn’s reserves once.”

“yup. that’s what i call a heroic act.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “right, sit up. eyes front. you’re not fourteen anymore.”

draco lifted a brow. “youu’re not that much older than us.”

“three years is a lifetime when you’re a teenage boy,” you said dryly.

they laughed, and for a second it felt like no time had passed at all.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

the class was easy. you always had a knack for creatures and a talent for explaining things without sounding like a textbook. the bowtruckles behaved. the students (your old group especially) hung on your every word like they were waiting for you to pull a trick from your sleeve.

you didn’t. not yet at least.

but after class, when the rest of the students filtered out and the sky began to soften into gold, mattheo lingered.

he leaned against the side of your desk, arms folded, posture lazy but eyes bright.

“so,” he said. “you’re a professor now.”

“apparently.”

“didn’t see that coming. honestly? I figured you’d get arrested for breaking into the ministry. or disappear into a dragon preserve and send us mysterious postcards.”

“I almost did.”

mattheo laughed, low and real. you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed that sound.

you gave him a look, then jerked your head toward the door. “still use the second-floor corridor to sneak out after curfew?”

“of course,” he said. “your map still works.”

you blinked. “you still have my map?”

he looked smug. “theo kept it. said it was the closest thing we had to a holy text.

you shook your head, but warmth spread through your chest like firewhiskey. you hadn’t come back expecting much. maybe respect, maybe curiosity. but not this. this instant, easy pull back into the space you'd carved out years ago.

you were still part of them. in a way.

mattheo kicked at the floor with the toe of his boot, then said, more quietly, “it’s kind of weird, seeing you here. like… full circle or something.”

you nodded. “feels weird. but not bad.”

he glanced up at you again, and for just a second, he looked younger. not the too-cool seventh year with a devil-may-care grin, but the fourteen-year-old you once caught crying on the roof after a letter from home. the one you handed a cigarette to without asking questions, just sat next to until the shaking stopped.

and he remembered that. you could tell.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said, softer now.

you just reached into your pocket, pulled out a lighter. the same beat-up one they all used to sneak from your satchel, and held it up between two fingers. mattheo’s face split into a grin. “you brought it.”

“old habits.”

he chuckled and took it, turning it over once in his hands before slipping it into his coat.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

that night, you found yourself walking the familiar path to the astronomy tower. out of curiosity, maybe. or memory.

and you weren't surprised to find them there : your slytherin crew, sprawled out under the stars like they used to be. someone had brought snacks. someone else had smuggled up firewhiskey. theo had dragged a blanket out, and Pansy had already claimed half of it.

“well,” blaise said, lifting his drink, “look who still knows the way.” mattheo just smiled and patted the space beside him.

you sat, and it was like nothing had changed, except everything had. you were older now. a professor. a mentor. anauthority figure.

but to them, you’d always be more than that.

you were the one who taught them how to live a little. to bend the rules without breaking. to find their own way. and now you were back. maybe that’s what real influence was : leaving a mark so deep, even time couldn’t wash it out.

as the night stretched on and the stars spun lazily above the castle, someone passed you a flask. you didn’t ask where it came from. just took a sip, and passed it back, and let the quiet laughter of your old shadows fill the air.

“I should be giving all of you detention, you know that ?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : first gender neutral reader fic, hope i did okay !!!

[tangyneon]

it was over from the start

Gazes meeting each other is good, but not enough.

Gojo wants your eyes on him—and only him—preferably for all time.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader tags: teen!gojo; first meetings; love at first sight(??); lovesick gojo(??); mostly fluffy with minimal angst; you're in 1st year while gojo's in 3rd year of high school; gojo has a very 'unique' idea of romancing in his brain; heavy on the 'one-sided enemies to lovers' vibes; word count–3114. warnings: one small discussion on death. also, gojo himself. notes: not me rewriting and reposting one of my most popular works from my old blog—YET AGAIN!!!! anyway, babes... the fic title is from "You Had Me from Hello" by Kenny Chesney. hope you'll enjoy reading this!! ❤️❤️

The sky bleeds green, the first time Gojo sees you fight.

It isn't anything enthralling, though.

Your movements are far from well-practised. Your twisted expression screams moderate unease at best, and extreme discomfort at worst. You are definitely not one of the best sorcerers Gojo has encountered so far in his seventeen years of life—

Yet, the boy finds himself utterly transfixed.

His feet stay rooted to the earth as a much brighter green beam cuts through the forest, and the third mountain of cursed spirit turns into nothing more than wisps of smoke, your form slumping to the ground not long after—

Were he a better person at heart, Gojo reckons he would have rushed to help you. But he isn't.

Not really—perhaps, not at all.

Which is why, he keeps to his vantage point—blue eyes narrowing a smidgen behind his shades, as he watches you heave yourself slowly off the mud, your face growing a scowl as you trudge towards a tree and plop down with absolutely no ceremony in front of it—

When he suddenly hears a barely-there rustle from his left.

Followed by the appearance of the steady simmer of a cursed signature, all too familiar.

"Yo, Nanamin!" Gojo doesn't miss a beat to greet, cheeks stretching into a wide grin the moment the said kouhai comes before him, feet carefully and soundlessly treading the rugged terrain.

The latter's perpetual glower turns into a momentary flicker of surprise—but it's vanished before the older boy can comment on it. Nanami's face flattens back to its usual state of annoyed indifference.

"The tournament is already over. Yaga-sensei wants us all to report to him in another ten—" he starts conveying his teacher's instructions, only to stop—a little too abruptly, might one add. And Gojo's brows furrow a bit, considering how strange this is...

Oh.

Oh—oh.

So, Nanamin has finally spotted you in the valley below, huh?

Wrapping an arm round his kouhai's shoulders, he lets his gaze go to you—absently noting how cute you look while yawning—"She is from Kyoto, isn't she?"

"Yes," The younger boy replies, pinning Gojo under a curious look. But this too is gone all too soon, all too swiftly like the ones preceding. He drops the arm the other boy has been resting on his shoulder.

Gojo lets him, though. SImply pouting in response, before humming casually, "And do you know her?"

"Personally, no," Nanami is quick to answer, but then, his voice takes on a rare thoughtful tone, "But from what I have heard from others... she's somewhat peculiar, if I may say so."

This is honestly one of the best opportunities he'll ever get to tease this stoic underclassman of his, because since when did The Nanami Kento start gossiping like old geezers and grannies—but Gojo allows this chance to pass by.

Getting more deets on you is much more important to him.

He doesn't bother to hide his burgeoning interest from his tone. "You know her name by any chance?"

Nanami does know your name.

And as far as Gojo knows, your surname doesn't belong to any of the sorcerer clans—none of the major clans at least, he is quite sure of it. You might be from a minor one, or—according to what his intuition is telling him—you're from a non-sorcerer background.

It doesn't matter to him, however—the boy doesn't take even two full seconds to decide. He's far better than his clan elders.

"And which year is she in?" he finds himself asking.

"First year," Arrives the short reply, albeit it's a bit more visibly tinged with quizzical hues than before.

The older boy doesn't seem to mind it much, though. His brain is too busy going "wow!!" over this new piece of information—it hasn't even been a handful of months since you joined the kyoto high, still you've managed to make people talk about you!? Quite impressive, he thinks amusedly as he steals another glance of you—no longer yawning but just staring vacantly at your keds—

Except, those muddy shoes are no more the object of your attention. It is him—Gojo realises in a mere fraction of an instant but with not a very inconspicuous jolt—it is very much him.

Your bright, blinding, blindingly bright gaze—every little ounce of it—is focused on him, your back straightening, shoulders tensing, brows furrowing—

One thing—no, fact—which ought to be remembered is: Gojo Satoru does not run away.

He's one of the strongest duo of Jujutsu sorcerers. The boy does not, cannot, should not run away.

Yet, that is exactly what he does when his gaze collides with yours for the very first time.

Grabbing Nanami's hand, Gojo wastes not even one moment to warp them both to the school's rooftop—very much ignoring his kouhai's yelp of surprise which anyway goes with the ear-piercing whistling of the wind—releasing his hold on the other boy, the instant their feet touch the concrete.

And taking a tiny but very important breath, the young holder of the Six Eyes turns to his underclassman and asks—his eyes the calmest he can make them seem amidst the maelstrom he's facing within.

"Tell me everything you know about her—like, right now—or I will tell your dear Geto-senpai you were the one who finished his melon pan—quit glaring and start speaking, Nanamin!!"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Turns out, Nanami's heart sports a horribly soft corner for Gojo's best friend.

Also turns out, the Tokyo High third year need not wait until breakfast the next day to approach you—given how you amble into his life in an awfully washed-out set of pyjamas and a terrible hairstyle, a full eight hours before the time he has been planning to meet you at.

After a moment's deliberation, he decides he doesn't hate it, though.

Neither you coming into his life, without any preamble, when it must have been him who startles you with his dazzling and dramatic entry into the stage of your life. Nor your pale choice of attire and hairstyle; not when they don't make you seem anything even slightly inferior to an angel—especially then when you flip the kitchen lights on, making the clock appear like a halo-ey thing behind your head—

You suddenly stop, wrenching the boy away from his lightly poetic thoughts. And your eyes as wide as saucers, he watches you suck in a sharp breath.

A beat passes.

Gojo swallows the last bit of his mochi, and grins.

"Heeey!! You're the newbie from Kyoto, right? Heard a lot 'bout you!!"

Honestly, though? It was less of hearing and more of extracting info, but he decides against mentioning it. You have no business knowing that, whatever the case may be.

The case at present feels a little painful to him, however—what with you letting ten terribly long seconds tick by before returning the boy a response—

Which turns out to be nothing more than a stiff smile.

And an even stiffer bow.

Followed immediately by you turning on your heel.

Were Gojo any slower, he knows you would have slipped from the kitchen without any trouble at all. But, the thing is—he isn't. Which is why not even a couple of seconds can pass before he stills you again, albeit this time not by his tall figure lounging in a scarily dark kitchen, but by his fingers grasping your wrist—

His thumb pressing into the dangerously frantic pulse beneath your skin.

You try to snatch your hand away. He lets you—but one must know: he let you only because he was too distracted by the furious warmth of embarrassment creeping into your pretty face and not because of the way your skin felt too soft beneath the callouses of his palms...

Anyway. Whatever.

Drawing in a steadying breath, he moves to speak, throw back some quip—only to be beaten to it by you. You're the first one to break the silence this time, voice quiet yet astonishingly firm.

"I don't think I can help you with anything, Senpai," you say, your careful politeness betrayed only by the faintest furrow between your brows, "Please don't bother me this way. It's nearly midnight, and I need to be back in my rooms as soon as possible—let me go, please."

No way is Gojo 'bothering' you right now—the indignant retort is the first thing the boy can think of. But he resolves to bite it back anyway.

A stupid argument isn't how he wants his story to start with you.

Sure, there might and will be many of those later on, but not now. No. He shoots you his second grin of tonight.

"Aw, I don't need your help with anything," The boy chirps back with a smile, he supposes, is winning, "But, yeah—you are right. I should not stop you like this... You need to sleep enough before tomorrow's one-on-one duels, don't ya?"

"Yeah," you agree easily, eyes drifting to your shoes in a small nod.

Gojo feels his grin widen.

Maybe, like a Cheshire Cat.

Maybe, like a Victor Cat who finally got the rat right where he wanted: in his paws. He hums—

"But you won't needing much rest if you're already determined to lose the match tomorrow—will you now?"

No, you won't.

You obviously won't—the boy likes to believe he has learnt enough about you to predict this much accurately. But, maybe... he hasn't learnt quite enough, given how you don't show any sliver of shock or fear in response to his question.

The only reaction you deign him with, is a pair of raised eyebrows—which take only a moment to descend back to their original level. A small beat passes, before you break the silence yet again—although your tone feels much firmer this time.

"What exactly are you trying to tell me, Senpai?"

"Nothing too serious," The boy ekes out the light reply—silently cursing the way his palms have grown so cold and so clammy now of all times—"Just that it does not take a hell lot of work to maintain the image of an incompetent idiot, you have been so insistent on keeping all this time—c'mon," he makes his voice extra petulant to coax some reaction out of your still placid face, "You do know what I'm speaking of, don't you?"

In retrospect, there's a chance Gojo might think he ought to have handled you with greater care.

You're new not only to your school, but also to the whole world of sorcery in general. Pressing you this hard is bound to hurt you, if not break you downright into teeny-tiny pieces—the boy does not let his thoughts be this concerned for more than a beat, though.

Not when he wants to see something—anything—come to life in those big, beautiful eyes of yours. Not when he's dying to see a spark blaze into being in them.

You fold your arms across your chest, brows huddling close in a light scowl. Gojo feels his own lips curve into a light grin, absolutely loving the fact he could finally wring a reaction out of you—never mind that it's an annoyed one. A reaction is a reaction, no matter what.

"What exactly are you trying to tell me, Senpai?" your adorable voice repeats, much stonier than before.

He resists the urge to pinch your cheeks. Or worse—coo at you.

Removing his hands from his pockets, the boy mimics your stance as he says, "Nothing which you cannot already guess, Kouhai—I mean, you're really smart, aren't you? Almost as smart as me, I believe, what with tricking those stinking geezers into thinking you are just some weakass with no cursed technique or good fighting skills, despite the insane amount of cursed energy you have..."

He deliberately trails off for a moment, wanting the scene to be a bit more dramatic and heavy with a meaningful silence—only to disrupt the silence himself not even a couple of seconds later.

"Why did you never curb your cursed energy, by the way?" The query slips past his lips into the space in between. And it takes the boy but one second to realise just how horribly genuinely curious it is—much more than he's ever been about anyone—

The tone of the ask has unsettled you too a bit, he gathers easily from the way a shadow falls on your features momentarily, and despite the not-too-little reluctance marking your face, you return an actual reply to him.

"The higher-ups were aware of my cursed energy before I even knew what the hell it meant," you say in an awfully matter-of-fact tone, but if Gojo strains his ears, he thinks there might be a tinge of resignation somewhere in between your words—"And by the time I was informed about all this, it was very late. The higher-ups would have noticed if I tried to do anything."

The "And they would have harmed me or my family if I tried anything" goes unsaid—but the boy doesn't need to hear it to know it. He has been in this world of sorcery since the day he was born; he knows the way it works far too well.

Not entirely intentionally, his voice softens with the next question, "But you tampered with something no one was aware of yet—you lied about having no cursed technique, didn't you?"

Unlike the time before, your hesitation seems to overpower you now.

Brows furrowing for a beat before flattening again, you let the silence stew for a while before stating shortly, "But my horrible fighting skills weren't really a lie—you saw me fight today afternoon, didn't you? You must know I wasn't bluffing about it, then."

He knows.

He so knows.

But he also knows that, with a cursed technique as powerful as yours—not as strong as his, no, but you can easily hold your own in a tough situation—it isn't very necessary for you to be awesome at combat. It will do nicely even if you keep fighting how you were earlier today—

The sound of a yawn breaks Gojo's musings.

And he snaps himself out of his mind—only to be met with those big eyes of yours blinking up at him—so bleary yet so bright. Stifling the urge to pinch your cheeks again, he decides to shoo your drowsiness away by casting the next ask his brain has cooked up; one, he knows, has the biggest "YES" for its answer—

"You are very scared of dying, aren't you?" The boy hums, cracking a small but deep smile, "That is why you always make yourself seem so weak—so much so that you aren't assigned onto any mission—"

"Just how much can your Six Eyes see, Senpai?"

Startled into a sudden stop—it isn't every day that the young scion of the biggest of the Big Three Families is cut off mid-sentence, after all—Gojo's smile falls flat. Even more so when he watches your lips form an easy smile, the shape growing sharper edges as you speak, "Dying is rather easy and uncomplicated, Senpai. It does not really scare me, except, perhaps, the pain I might have to suffer before it. But, do you know what's scarier, Senpai?"

"No," he says back quietly, honestly, bringing forth a new hue in your smile. A new colour that seems awfully similar to that of pity—

The boy usually detests pity. Spurns it, spits at it the few times it has been offered to him. But now when it's coming from you... he'll take it, he thinks.

He'll take any look you're willing to give him, as long as it's you on the other side.

A minute sigh reaches him, quieter than even the soft breeze outside. You sigh once more before speaking, "What's more terrifying is what will happen to my loved ones, if I just die one fine morning—I mean, I know death is inevitable, but I just want to stave it off for as long as I can, you know? I want to spend as much time as I can with my family and friends, and have as much fun as possible with them—you know what, Senpai?" you interrupt yourself suddenly, your voice becoming the sharpest it's been in the last fifteen minutes.

A feeble sound escapes the boy—reasons for which, he doesn't have one clue about.

Is it because of the sincere little hum always accompanying your words? Or, is it because of the sweet glow the full moon is giving your already-sweet face? Or, can it be because of both?

Perhaps, it is both—he decides after a moment's consideration—it is very difficult to distinguish between the beauty of your inner self and that of your outer self, after all...

Your smile simmers down to a subtle twitch of your lips.

Something stutters and stumbles inside Gojo's chest.

Expression shifting into something far wiser than he's ever thought it to be possible for anyone your age, you state coolly, "I know you view me as nothing more than a coward right now, but I believe it is better to be a coward and alive, than to be a hero and dead—well, what do you believe in, Senpai?"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You're quite bold, though, for a self-admitted coward.

Far braver than he could have ever thought you could be, even if you had never called yourself a coward how you did before him then—

Gojo cracks a wry smile, thinking back to his conversation with you—only to wince the very next moment when he accidentally presses his hurt toe a little too hard by the ice bag, the poor thing all swollen and bruised and simply miserable from how utterly mercilessly the heel of your slipper stamped onto it earlier—

Okay, fine—the boy concedes to the imaginary angel perched on his right shoulder, an exasperated mix of a grumble and a sigh escaping—he shouldn't have asked you out on a date, in return for promising to keep your secrets.

It was wrong.

Extremely inappropriate, yes, he admits. And Gojo likes to see himself as a gentleman who knows how to treat people respectfully—at least, those who deserve it, and the boy genuinely deems you to be one from those deserving folks.

Still—still, still, still—

The need to see your placid smile crack—never mind it is by a glower and not by the smile he has been longing to see; the smile, he knows without seeing even once, will be just as lovely as you—this need was overwhelming too then. Incredibly so, in fact.

Shushing the annoying angel and fist-bumping his guardian devil, Gojo tosses the ice bag away and falls back into his bed, a very happy and unbelievably giddy grin splitting his face into halves—

You're one hell of a peculiar girl, heh!

find the sequel fic here!!!! © tangyneon 2025 || please don't plagiarise, translate or repost this || characters used here aren't mine || header is from pinterest || masterlist.

[cirphu]

Timelines, Jewelry, and Sex? Oh My!

Despite all efforts to keep myself from constantly overanalyzing love scenes on this site, here I am once again. And this time I've brought three (3) of them!

It was honestly inevitable because in a series like this where sex quite literally drives the plot, these scenes are necessary to understanding the story and characters, and in turn must be discussed. That said, walk with me lovelies. We have a lot to cover. Theories and takeaways are in blue, and questions and discourse are welcome.

Great and Tyme's love scene was so beautiful and truly a joy to witness which is why it pains me to say that it was not real. At this point, we can all agree that there are multiple timelines in play. That's why I think their love scene and the moments that lead up to it were what Great wishes their relationship was like if he had made all the right choices and met Tyme under different circumstances.

I think their relationship started with a one-night stand possibly initiated by Tyme to get closer to Great and his family.

Now before I attempt to provide evidence to support my thesis, I need to point out one thing about the timelines—they are parallel. Great's first 4-minute out of body experience establishes that point.

Sure, going back in time allows him to make a different, often better choice, but the timeline in which he made his initial choice continues.

That is why we see him wake from the "nightmare" of seeing Manee lying dead on the ground after he hits her and drives off. That timeline is still in motion and part of him has experienced and is still experiencing it.

The notion of parallel timelines is further supported by the final scene in episode 4 where we see two timelines seemingly collide as Dome returns home in one and is dead in another.

I highly recommend reading this post by @becauseimanicequeen which has an extraordinary breakdown of possible timelines and the differences between them.

Taking what we've seen so far into account, my theory is that each 4-minute jump creates a new timeline or a new branch in an existing timeline that later merges back into it's parent timeline while all events and memories remain intact. Lukwa provides a bit of insight on this during her interview with Dr. Den:

What I plan to discuss in this post is based on the premise that there at least 4 timelines in play for Great-Tyme's part of the story:

Great hits Manee and drives off → has his first 4-minute jump (4MJ) → a new timeline is created; this one continues with memories intact → ?

Great hits Manee, stays, and calls for help → visits her at the hospital and delivers flowers to her room where they talk for a bit → bumps into Tyme and tries to leave, but ends up having a 4MJ → a new timeline is created; this one continues w/ memories intact → ?

Great leaves the flowers he brought for Manee at the nurse's station → first instance of seeing visions of he and Tyme having sex on 2 different occasions → bumps into Tyme, says sorry, and helps him pick up the papers → Title kills Dome and Great has a 4MJ → a new timeline is created; this one continues w/ memories intact → (this is where Tonkla and Win would come in, but they're not my focus atm) → ?

Great saves Dome and takes him to the hospital → Tyme sutures his wound; Great recalls visions of him riding Tyme → Tyme saves him from being choked out/killed by Title in the garage → Tyme brings Great his favorite iced tea and is rejected when he asks Great out → Great has a 4MJ, explains what's been going on to Tyme and asks him out → claw machine date at the mall and almost kiss in the car (interspersed with another round of visions of his other self and Tyme from T2 sleeping together; I'll explain later) → Tyme attacks Korn looking for answers about Nan's whereabouts → Great confronts Tyme at the hospital → has a second 4MJ and promises to help find Nan → Great finds Nan, but hesitates and fails to save her → has a third 4MJ, manages to save Nan, and escapes with Tyme's help → they quickly drop Nan off at the hospital and skip town → sleep together

Since Great has had three 4MJs in T4 (the current timeline), it is plausible that 3 additional timelines may have been created but I don't think that's the case because (1) four is a thematic number in the series and (2) T4 is the timeline that offers the most continuity in sequence of events.

It's also interesting to note that Great's 4MJs have become more frequent and life-threatening which could mean that he's on the right track and/or nearing the end.

That aside, the timeline I want to focus on is T2, which is where I think one of their sexual encounters takes place. Let's take a look at the timeline as if Great's 4MJ does not occur:

Great hits Manee, stays with her, and calls for help

Great visits Manee at the hospital and delivers flowers to her room where they talk for a bit

Great, unnerved by his conversation with Manee, bumps into Tyme and leaves

Great meets Tyme at a bar and they end up having a one-night stand

This scene was the sole catalyst for this post because Great seems to be wearing the same outfit he had on when he visited Manee at the hospital—jewelry and all.

Our rich boy may like wearing black and white, but he is not one for repeating outfits.

While chatting at the bar, they're conversation indicates that they remember bumping into each other at the hospital. However, unlike in T3 and T4, they don't seem to know each other beyond that. It's possible that Tyme may have some info on Great because he is investigating his family, but they're essentially strangers both to us and each other. This Dr. Tyme (T2) is not the rizz-less one we know and love from T4 because he manages to charm his way into spending the night with Great (this is speculation; Great very well could have done the charming and Tyme got lucky). How do we know this? Great's visions from the first time he bumped into Tyme at the hospital (T3) and the almost-kiss in the car (T4) show us what happens next.

Great-Tyme are seen holding hands as they enter Great's condo. I will admit that this is quite familiar behavior for people who've essentially just met, but holding hands with your one-night stand is entirely possible. That aside, if you look closely you'll notice that Tyme is wearing a silver paperclip bracelet and Great is wearing his favored watch.

These are the same pieces of jewelry that they're wearing when Tyme kisses Great's chest on the pool table ... which is insane choice of a flat surface to start a romp on when the bed is literally a few feet away, but I get it. Where else would one serve a full-course meal if not on a table?

Anyway~ Tyme is also wearing a necklace which will be of note in a sec, but what I find interesting is the stark difference in this Tyme's gaze and demeanor in comparison to the one in episode 4. He appears to be more confident and decisive.

A man on a mission and who knows exactly what he's doing. That said, if we ever get the entirety of this scene, I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't kiss Great on the lips because there seems to be an emotional distance between them that is not present in the love scene we saw in episode 4.

Now back to Tyme's necklace. He appears to be wearing it in another scene from the trailer where he's standing next to Great's window so it's safe to assume that it's the same day.

I can't decide whether his gaze is menacing or not, but he is holding a rag and something black and shiny that looks like a switchblade a phone so we'll just have to wait and see.

So far we've looked at 2 of the 3 Great-Tyme love scenes shown in the trailer. The third, which also takes place in Great's condo, is one that also gives me pause because once again, Tyme's gaze is different.

Something about the way he looks at Great does not read as the Tyme we've been seeing over the last 4 episodes.

But what's most notable to me in this love scene is that neither of them is wearing any jewelry. Great doesn't wear jewelry at home, so not having any jewelry on in this scene isn't out of the ordinary. Tyme on the other hand, is NEVER without his smartwatch. And as I'm writing this, I've realized that we've never seen any indication of what time it is when Tyme is alone. The only instance we've seen a clock in direct relation to Tyme is on his phone when he exchanged numbers with Great at the skatepark.

So, is any of what we've seen so far real?

Yes and no. The only thing that has been real and consistent throughout Great-Tyme's storyline is the certainty of death; impending or otherwise. And because of that, neither Great's nor Tyme's perspectives are reliable.

It may feel like we are getting the full picture, but there is always something missing in between.

If you've made it this far, thanks for reading. Now off to episode 5 to see how wrong I am XD

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 04

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: In which y/n finally falls on Katsuki's lap

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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Somehow, you managed to sleep through the night.

After a relaxing bubble bath and a pint-sized cup of rocky road ice cream to make yourself feel better, you finally lulled yourself into a deep rest. That leads you to now: shrugging on your silky pink robe and sliding into your fluffy house slippers, ready to head downstairs and grab the boxes lined up at the door.

Yesterday’s manic spending spree? Worth it—because today, it’s like Christmas morning!

Since the dorms are practically empty, you feel comfortable enough to skip your usual habit of dressing up, strolling around in your teeny-tiny pajamas without a care. Your lacy pink shorts barely peek out from beneath the hem of your robe, and the matching top isn’t doing much better.

Normally, you’d never be caught dead like this. You’d have at least thrown on some proper pants in case someone saw you, but right now? Freedom!

Which you deserve, damn all of them!

Even your oversized reading glasses sit firmly on your nose—something you would never wear around your peers. They’re clunky, with thick crystal-clear lenses that magnify your eyes far beyond their actual size, framed by equally thick rims.

Honestly, the look is borderline comical, But hey! You’re too terrified of lasik surgery to seriously consider fixing the issue. You never see eye doctors getting it done, so… why should you trust it?

Sure, the glasses are practical—wearing contacts every day dries out your eyes like crazy—but the thought of walking into class looking like a bug is worse than any discomfort you may face.

Today, though, there’s no one around to judge, so you let yourself relax.

Humming softly to yourself, you make your way to the front door, relishing in the peaceful silence of the dorms. No awkward small talk, no side glances as you try to avoid eye contact—just you and your thoughts.

Your eyes light up as soon as you spot the pile of brightly colored boxes stacked neatly by the door. Designer logos flash proudly across the packaging, and some of the stacks are even taller than you.

Honestly, it’s a bit ridiculous, but who cares? Nobody’s here, so it’s not an inconvenience for anyone but you. Or so you thought.

Confidently, you bend down to pick up one of the taller stacks. You’ve got this. Balancing the pile against your chest, you steady yourself, sliding your glasses back up your nose.

And then—

“The hell is all this?”

A voice comes from behind, sharp and familiar, startling you so badly that you let out a scream like you’re being attacked. The stack wobbles dangerously, and before you can regain balance, you feel yourself slipping backward—your bunny-shaped slippers betraying you at the worst possible moment.

Boxes tumble down with you, but before you hit the floor, two strong hands grab your waist, steadying you—barely. The weight of the falling boxes sends both of you crashing down anyway.

“How are you so fucking jumpy?” Bakugou’s irritated voice rumbles from beneath you, disbelief coloring his tone.

You barely register his words, your brain short-circuiting from both shock and utter embarrassment. “YOU COULDN’T WARN ME, YOU FREAK?!”

“OI, WHO ARE YOU CALLING A FREAK?”

“Y-YOU! OH MY GOD!” you stammer, scrambling to swipe your crooked glasses off your face and adjusting your very revealing pajamas.

Bakugou snorts, his crimson eyes narrowing in amusement. “I think a freak would actually enjoy this. Can’t say the same for myself.” He jerks his chin toward your current predicament, and that’s when it hits you.

You’re straddling him.

Your thighs are braced on either side of his waist, your hands planted against his abs—which, feel more like carved marble than anything remotely human. The realization sends a fresh wave of heat rushing to your face, and you squeal in pure mortification, launching yourself off him like you’ve been burned.

Now upright, you press your back hard against the wall, silently begging it to absorb you and erase the last few minutes of your existence.

Meanwhile, Bakugou stands effortlessly, not even bothering to dust himself off. He towers over you, broad-shouldered and imposing, one blonde brow raised as he surveys the mess around him.

Boxes lie scattered across the floor in every direction, and there’s still a mountain of them waiting outside. Then there’s you—pinned against the wall like a cornered animal, clutching your oversized glasses in your manicured hands.

With an exasperated sigh, Bakugou pinches the bridge of his nose, voice low and rough. “Y’know, princess, if you’re this jumpy around me, I gotta wonder how you’re gonna survive out there when we graduate and you actually have to fight people.”

Your eye twitches at the condescension dripping from his words. “That’s not—! I’m not scared of you! You’re just… you’re not supposed to be here right now!”

He scoffs, crossing his arms in that infuriatingly smug way. “Hah? Pretty sure I live here.”

“You’re supposed to be with your friends! On that stupid trip!” The venom in your voice surprises even you, and Bakugou snorts at the sight of your composure cracking.

You, little miss head held high, president of the resting bitch face club, always pretty and quiet—

The sight of you now? Glorious material.

“Well, I didn’t go. Those idiots are slacking off. We already went somewhere before the year started. Decided to stay back.”

Your brain just can't catch up. “But Kirishima went, and he’s your best friend—”

“You think that means we’re glued together?” he asks, his tone sharp, crimson eyes narrowing as if you’ve just said the dumbest thing in the world.

You bite the inside of your cheek, the sting of his words hitting harder than you’d like.

Well, how would you know? You don’t have a best friend. You don’t have any friends. The realization sits heavy in your chest, but there’s no way you’re admitting that to him. Instead, you square your shoulders and pretend it doesn’t bother you, even as heat creeps up your neck.

“Whatever,” you mutter, crossing your arms and looking away, your voice quieter now. “Sorry for blocking your way with all these boxes. I’ll get them out of your way.” You turn, already crouching to start gathering the fallen packages, but you’re unaware of the way your lips pout.

To Bakugou, you resemble a pouting child.

Spoiled.

He again, lifts a brow, red eyes darting between you and the boxes outside.

"Sure you got that by yourself?" He doesn't know why he's still stood here and talking to you really. You look like you'll explode if he keeps talking, and on any other occasion, he'd want to leave the scene as quickly as possible.

All those extras he calls classmates would have to pick up their own fucking boxes.

But you?

He pauses, watching you gingerly pick up some of the boxes from the floor and stack them; on on top of the other. You're so delicate in the way you move, quiet by nature.

Watching you do this when he's right there and capable just feels so...wrong.

He clears his throat, waiting for your response. You pause from your crouched position, glancing up at him awkwardly. It's the second time in his life he's ever seen you from this knelt looking up position, and he can't say he hates it.

Damn...maybe he is a freak.

“I mean, I might... just take a moment, sorry,” you mumble, glancing back at the barricade of boxes blocking the door.

Bakugou watches you for a beat, jaw tightening. He knows you’re more than capable—hell, you wouldn’t have made it this far at UA if you weren’t—but something about the way you look right now, small and uncertain, sets him on edge. It’s not pity, not exactly. Just...something.

Something he can’t quite put a name to, and it irritates the hell out of him.

With a low, irritated grunt, he strides forward and snatches up an entire stack of boxes, balancing them easily with one arm. “Where’s your room?”

Your head snaps up, startled. “Oh! Bakugou, you really don’t have to—”

“It’s already happening,” he cuts you off, his tone flat, leaving no room for argument.

His crimson eyes are locked ahead, like he’s determined not to look at you too long. If he does, he might start questioning why he’s even bothering—and that’s a line of thought he doesn’t want to explore.

You blink at him, caught off guard by the gesture. Then, slowly, a small smile spreads across your face, soft and genuine in a way he’s never seen before. For a second, he forgets how to breathe.

“If you insist! It’s this way,” you say, your voice lifting just enough to betray a touch of relief. You gesture down the hall, and Bakugou follows without a word, the stack of boxes balanced effortlessly in his grip.

When you push the door open, he steps inside, his crimson eyes scanning the space with an unreadable expression. It’s all so... you.

The room is pristine and meticulously organized, with a soft, almost ethereal quality to it. Pale hues and delicate details catch the light—plush white carpet, glittering accents, and soft pastel tones scattered in just the right places. It’s clean. It’s pretty. It’s even a little sparkly.

There’s a small potted plant on your desk, its leaves vibrant but plain, unremarkable—until you step past it. The moment you cross the threshold, the unassuming bud unfurls, blooming into a radiant pink flower that glows faintly, its edges shimmering like a secret come to life.

Bakugou’s gaze flicks to the flower, then to you, and back again. He barely reacts, chalking it up to your quirk doing its thing, the way quirks do. He’s seen it happen before—flowers sprouting around you at random, dotting the ground like confetti whenever you’re near.

“What is it with you and flowers growing everywhere?” he mutters, setting the boxes down in a neat stack near your carpet. His tone is gruff, not unkind, but edged with genuine curiosity.

You let out a small laugh, awkward and breathless. “It’s just... my quirk. Happens sometimes,” you say, avoiding his gaze as you fidget with the hem of your robe.

He watches you for a second longer, his sharp eyes narrowing like he doesn’t entirely believe you but doesn’t care enough to press.

Meanwhile, you glance at the glowing flower, heart racing as heat creeps up back your neck. He doesn’t realize it, of course—that it only happens when your emotions bubble too close to the surface, when you’re too nervous or too something to keep them in check.

And right now, standing this close to Bakugou Katsuki? You’re definitely too something.

“Sorry about the mess, didn’t expect company,” you say with a laugh that comes out thin and shaky, like it’s trying too hard to break the tension.

It’s forced—awkward, even—but Bakugou doesn’t linger on it. What catches his attention more is how much you remind him of Deku: nervous, fidgety, and just one nudge away from stammering out an entire essay of overexplained apologies.

Except he’d never have guessed you’d be like that. Not you, with your perfect posture, pretty face, and quiet, composed aura that usually keeps people at arm’s length.

Now, though? You’re squinting all around the room, looking more lost than anything, even with your glasses clutched tightly in your hands.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, his tone blunt but lacking the usual bite.

You glance up, startled. “H-huh? Oh, nothing! I’m just, uh...” You gesture vaguely toward your desk, as though that explains anything at all.

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you can’t see, put on your damn glasses.”

Your face burns at his words, and you reflexively clutch the frames tighter. “I can see fine!” you argue, even though the way you just nearly tripped over your desk chair seconds ago says otherwise.

“Yeah, right.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, stepping past you to straighten the chair you’d bumped. “You’re squinting at nothing like a grandma. Just wear them.”

“It’s not that simple!” you shoot back, flustered now, your voice rising defensively. “They’re... they’re ugly, okay?”

He snorts, folding his arms as he leans against the desk. “Tch. Who gives a shit? Ugly glasses are better than looking stupid running into shit.”

The bluntness of his words makes you gape at him, your mouth opening and closing like you’re searching for a retort but coming up empty. He doesn’t look at you, though—his gaze drifts over to the glowing flower on your desk, his posture relaxed, as if none of this conversation is affecting him in the slightest.

“Seriously,” he mutters, almost to himself, “just put ’em on. Not like I care.”

That makes your breath hitch, and for a moment, you freeze. He doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just doesn’t let on if he does. But as the flowers blooming by the window’s edge glow a little brighter, you realize you’re probably not as subtle as you think.

You realize that you really can't do it, already so embarrassed for no reason at the idea of this gorgeous man seeing you look even more stupid than you already do.

In your big bunny slippers, barely there robe and pjs, tripping all over the place, these stupid glasses just can't go back on your face-

Apparently, though, his patience has run out.

Before you can react, Bakugou snatches the glasses out of your hands. You blink, startled, and barely manage to squeak out a protest before he shoves them onto your face. His fingers are firm but careful as he pushes them up the bridge of your nose, his expression completely unreadable, as if this is just another chore to check off his list.

His voice trails off as he leaves, muttering more to himself than to you, but you barely register the words. You’re too busy standing there, completely frozen, the warmth of his touch lingering on your face and your heart hammering in your chest.

Flowers bloom quietly at your feet, their glow soft and warm against the plush carpet, as you try—and fail—to pull yourself together.

“Am I gonna do all your work for you or what?!” his voice booms from downstairs, jolting you out of your daze.

You startle, a small yelp escaping before you gather yourself and rush down to meet him. As you descend, your slippers slap softly against the steps, your robe fluttering slightly in your hurry.

“I mean—you insisted on helping!” you retort, trying your best to sound firm but only managing a breathy laugh at the end.

Bakugou, standing at the bottom of the staircase with a box balanced effortlessly on his shoulder, levels you with one of his signature sharp glares. His red eyes narrow as if daring you to keep talking, though you can see the faintest twitch of amusement in his expression.

“And now I’m regrettin’ it,” he grumbles, though his actions betray his words as he adjusts the box without complaint.

Biting back a smile, you step up to grab another box from the pile. “Well, thanks anyway, Bakugou,” you say softly, not quite meeting his gaze.

“Tch. Just hurry it up, would ya?” he mutters, turning toward the door.

But as you follow behind him, you catch the faintest glance over his shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, you swear his gaze softens.

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[literaila]

sick

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru does not get the 'flu' that you have, or why you can't take megumi to the bookstore

warnings: symptoms of the flu, satoru is a bastard, cute kids

last part | next part

*

year two.

you:  can you take megumi to the bookstore? i can't make it 

"megumi wants me to ask you what you mean by 'i can't make it.'" 

your phone rings as soon as the message is sent, making you groan and roll over in bed. your palms are sweaty, and your body feels a bit like you got eaten alive. 

you probably shouldn't have answered, but honestly, how can you be expected to make smart decisions in this state?

you sigh into the phone. "it means that i can't make it, satoru." 

usually, his voice would make you smile but right now it just makes you want to die. and sleep for a couple... billion years, at least. 

"megumi wants me to ask what you mean by that?" satoru says again like you can't tell he's grinning. 

"just let me talk to him," you sigh, turning over on your side, which does nothing to ease the ache in your abdomen, by the way. you feel briefly nauseous like you might need the bowl you dragged under the covers, but it eases. you swallow bile. 

"what's wrong?" satoru asks, still teasing, and doesn't put megumi on the phone because he has never, not once in his life done anything without an argument. 

really, why do you put up with him?

"nothing." 

"well you just forgot that both of the kids are in school right now, like they are every day, so..." 

you close your eyes, pulling the covers up even higher. "oh. yeah." 

"did you get hurt, or something?" satoru asks, no concern evident in his voice, "going on another mission?" 

"no." 

satoru is silent, waiting. and you really truly do hate him. anyone else would just do you this favor. 

but not your best friend, no, he does nothing you ask. 

"i'm sick," you tell him, after a whole minute of silence. 

you can almost hear it as his brows furrow. "what?" 

"i have the flu or something," you cough into the receiver, hoping that it hurts his ear. 

"how?" 

"ugh," you groan, trying to rub the ache out of your jaw. "not all of us are immune to getting sick, you freak. will you take megumi to the bookstore for me? please?" 

"i don't think he wants to go with me." 

"satoru," you whine. 

"...and also i'm not allowed to enter the premises anymore." 

you sniff, wishing that you had more tissues, "what? since when?" 

"a couple weeks ago," he answers, nonchalantly. you can hear him moving around, probably wreaking havoc on the house you'll have to deep clean in a couple of days. 

not to mention your room. seriously, getting sick is the worst. 

"why?" 

"nuh uh," he says to you, very seriously. "that's between me and the children. they swore me to secrecy, and you're the one that's always going on and on about trust and how easily it's broken..." 

"you mean that you swore them to secrecy." 

"i bribed them," satoru agrees as if it's not an insane thing to say about your seven and eight-year-olds. 

"with what?!" 

"tsumiki took the offer of picking whatever takeout she wanted, and i think megumi was just glad i couldn't bring him anymore, the brat." 

you can hear his eyes roll, and the mention of the little boy's name reminds you of why you're having this discussion in the first place. 

"satoru... i really can't take him and i promised we'd go today," you groan into your pillow, voice feeling very sore. you shouldn't be talking to this insane man right now, you should be asleep. 

he pauses. "i can wear a disguise, i guess?" 

you groan again, hopefully, louder. "no, you're right about him not wanting to go with you." 

"rude." 

"i guess i'll just..." you attempt to sit up for the third time, feeling a bit dizzy as you do so. "i'll take some medicine and see if i feel better by the time they get out of school."

you're already mentally checking your medicine cabinet, not even sure if you have anything to help this ease by later in the afternoon. just some pain relief would be nice, but if you're contagious...

"what? no."

"well, you can't take him," you answer, still annoyed. 

"he doesn't need to go..." 

you hope that satoru can feel your scowl. "i promised." 

"he's a reasonable kid..." satoru says, clearly not remembering the brooding that happened the last time megumi had to re-read one of his books. "i think." 

you're silent. 

"look, i'll talk to him, okay?" he settles on, finally. "and i'll give him a couple hundred yen, it'll be fine. 

your mouth opens, and you cough, before, "no, satoru--" 

"get some rest," he exclaims, unpleasantly. 

"have him call me when you pick them up, satoru--" 

"don't die of the flu or anything." 

and then he's gone, and now you've got a headache, too. 

*

you think you might be dreaming when you open your front door.

the knocking had woken you up--you think--but with how long it took to walk from your room, into the hallway, and then the door, honestly, you might've fainted. or decided to take another nap against the wall. 

because once you open it, it feels like you've done this before.  

once again, three people are standing in front of you, two of them already arguing before you even take a step back to swing the door all the way open. 

the light hurts your head as you squint at the three of them. 

"it was my idea--" megumi is saying to satoru, grumpy, you know, from all day at school, and because he's talking to satoru.

"you're not taking all of the credit," satoru says back, "i bought everything." 

"'cause you're rich." 

"wow, so you're objectifying me?" 

"yes," megumi answers immediately, even though you doubt that he even knows what objectifying means (actually, you're pretty certain satoru doesn't even know). you cough, and it feels like something has died inside of you. 

the three of them turn towards you, tsumiki with a pleading look.

"it was my idea, okay?" megumi tells you before anyone else can say anything, and then he pulls tsumiki along with him as they move past you, through the door, into your apartment. 

yes, it's clear that satoru has raised them. 

"i said we should bring soup," tsumiki looks up at you, waiting for the praise she knows you'll give her. 

"our idea," megumi amends, easily. 

then they're out of your reach, going to sit on the very same couch they'd slept on a year ago, probably trying to escape satoru.

who you turn to, with a frown. his hair is so white it hurts to look at.

he points into your apartment, "those are devil spawn." 

you cough. "don't call them that." 

he raises a brow at you. probably at how soft your voice is, or the fact that you haven't hit him in the thirty seconds he's been standing there. 

it's a new record. 

"why are you here?" you rasp out, wiping some snot from your nose.

"no 'hello?'" 

"hello, satoru," your voice is retched, "why are you here?" 

"you look kinda rough, kid," 

you sniff, leaning against the doorjam. you could fall asleep here in an instant. "i'm sick, you jerk." 

"so this is sickness..." satoru says, intrigued, pretending to inspect you closely like you're some lab experiment. 

"i distinctly remember a cold that had you shaking on the floor of your dorm, begging shoko to heal you." 

satoru points a finger at you. "that was an uncurable illness." 

"and yet we're still stuck with you." 

satoru just smirks, pretending to be an angel he is not. 

you cough again and then sigh. it's cold with the door open. "are you just here to annoy me?"

"no," satoru shakes his head, giving you a ridiculous look, "well, i was telling megumi that you couldn't take him to the bookstore, cause of your disease or whatever," he ignores your weak protest, "and then i suggested that maybe we could see how you were feeling, bring you a little gift basket--" 

"no, he didn't!" megumi calls. 

satoru frowns. "devil. spawn." 

you snort, somehow amused at all of them, finally moving aside so he can walk through the door. 

satoru passes, suddenly brighter, but not before leaving an obnoxious kiss on your cheek--a resounding smack following. to which, you promptly wipe off. 

he frowns, and you push him so you can close the door. and then you trail into the kitchen, sitting down immediately before you fall. 

it's so embarrassing that just standing for too long has made you this lightheaded. 

satoru sets a bag on your kitchen counter and begins to unpack it. 

you try to see over his hands. "what did you bring me?" 

"you guys are so unappreciative," satoru tells you, pouting, "you only want me for my goods." 

"and the view," you answer, easily. "what'd you get?" 

megumi and tsumiki comes over to you, both of them giving you a short (megumi) and tight (tsumiki) hug. you've trained them well. 

"soup!" tsumiki tells you, grabbing the container from satoru's hands, despite his look. and then she walks over to your stove, looking in the cupboards for a pot to heat it in. 

because she's used to taking care of herself. they both are. 

"satoru," you nod to her, and he frowns, but reluctantly takes over, pushing tsumiki away from the stove. you're both familiar with this behavior from her. 

most days when you make dinner, tsumiki is trying to sneak into the kitchen, refusing to let you take care of it. 

she pouts a little now, but lets satoru handle the soup.

"gojo got you all of these," megumi tells you, bringing your eyes away from the other man, pushing a stack of pill bottles and medicine containers your way. "i don't think he knows what any of them are." 

"hey! that's a great selection," satoru pours the soup into a pot and sets it on the stove, returning to the counter with the three of you.

"this is a muscle relaxant," you tell him, frowning as you look at the packages--most of which are not for the flu. this is why he's not allowed to go to the store without you.

"well, your muscles need to relax, don't they?" satoru asks, dryly. "wish we could find some of those for your brain..." he mutters, afterward, and you throw the packet right at his face. 

"i found those little sour things you like," megumi continues, smirking just a moment at satoru. "they didn't have a big bag." 

"thanks, megs." 

"there's tissues, and chapstick if your lips get dry. and i picked out the cough drops because gojo wanted to get chocolate flavored or something--" 

"strawberry!" 

megumi rolls his eyes. 

tsumiki steps to your side again. "and we got flowers, but those are still in the car." 

"no, they're not," satoru suddenly has a bouquet of roses in his hands, almost covering his entire face. "they're right here." 

"when did you do that?" 

"when you guys were ridiculing my excellent taste," he pouts, white hair falling over his glasses. 

you laugh. 

"where's your vase?" he asks, going through every cupboard before finally listening to your answer. he settles on the other end of your kitchen, cutting and arranging the bouquet. 

tsumiki taps you. "are you feeling bad?" 

"just a little out of it, sweetie, don't worry." 

"did we get everything you need?" megumi chimes in, giving you a brief moment of eye contact before looking away. 

"yes. you guys did great, thank you both. you're very sweet." 

satoru ahems loudly. "and what about me?" 

"you could've done better." 

the kids both laugh and you push them into the living room, telling them to go sit down for a bit--knowing that satoru dragged them from school to the store to here without a break--and that you'll find a snack for them. 

and then you sigh, a bit nauseous from sitting up for so long. 

"do you need to lay down?" satoru peers at you, setting the bouquet on your table. "you look green." 

"thanks. how'd you learn to do that?" you gesture to the flowers which are arranged beautifully. honestly, you're surprised he didn't leave them on the counter for you to deal with. 

"i am a gentleman." 

"ha. no, seriously." 

"...i may, or may not have looked up what to bring someone who has the flu--and the flowers were extra, but!" he pauses as you laugh at him, resting your head against the cool counter. "i only had to do that because i don't get affected by stupid things like the flu or whatever you have." 

"of course," you whisper, closing your eyes. 

and then there's a hand on your forehead. "you're really warm." 

you press your head into his hand, which is also pleasantly cold. "yeah." 

"did you sleep all day?" 

you nod. 

"really? that's so lazy." 

you push him away, and he laughs, just loud enough for you to hear it. you open your eyes again when you hear him move away, watching him stir the soup on the stove. 

"you probably shouldn't have brought them here," you tell him, gesturing to the living room. "i don't want to get them sick." 

"they missed you," satoru shrugs. "you wouldn't want them to be sick alone." 

"yeah, but..." 

"i'm the worrier today," he interrupts, wrapping his hand around your wrist so he can pull you. "go lay down on the couch with them and i'll get your soup ready." 

"you'll burn it, you mean?" 

"as a punishment for all of the cruel things you say to me," and satoru smiles as he nudges the top of your head with his nose. 

his eyes are almost stern (almost, but not quite) as he watches you lay down on the couch, your hands gestured in defeat, and nods when you're settled in. 

when he walks away, you call, "bring us some water!" 

there's no response, but you know he'll do it. 

tsumiki just slightly nudges you with her hand and you smile, opening your arms for her to cuddle under. 

megumi doesn't do the same, but you don't fail to notice when he scooches just a little bit closer to you both, his thigh touching yours. 

your head still hurts and even the smell of the soup is making you a bit sick, but you'll deal with it as long as they're all here. 

*

you're arguing with satoru about dinner, several days later, when tsumiki and megumi sneeze at exactly the same time. 

it took a couple of days for you to recover, but now you're better than ever, happily fighting with satoru over the stupidest things and watching over both of the children for any defects that happened while you were out of sorts. 

they're mostly okay. 

but now the both of you look over to them, your eyes wide, satoru almost wincing. 

and then you look back to him, already scowling. 

"hey, it was just a sneeze," he tells you, quickly, already knowing what you're about to say. 

"i told you--" 

and then he sneezes, taking a step away from you. 

you groan, giving up on dinner. it looks like the next few days are going to be spent coddling all of your children. 

*

next part

[rninies]

dodging his kisses ⟡ dan heng

synopsis dan heng needs his daily kisses from you but march has other plans ^_^

warnings fluff, gn!reader, idk if dan heng might be ooc or not but </3

NOTES finally back with a dan heng fic + creating a taglist for hsr fics!! send an ask to my inbox to be added :3

you and march were an inseparable duo ever since you first joined the astral express. with that, march was the source of mischief and the number one person you can come to whenever you wanted to prank dan heng.

which is how we got here today. a bright sunny morning, dan heng is still fast asleep while you and march were busy talking with each other in the kitchen while making breakfast.

"hey y/n," march starts, munching on a piece of bread. "why not try dodging his kisses for a day? i'll treat you to tasty food in xianzhou luofu if you manage to do this for at least until 3pm."

you raised your eyebrows, giving march a confused look. "so suddenly?"

"what? i wanna see dan heng get frustrated for once! i've been traveling with dan heng for, what, 3 months now and i have yet to see a single emotion other than a blank stare on his face!" march complains, suddenly eating her bread faster. "you're curious too, right? to see dan heng get visibly upset."

"well, yeah but i feel like i would crumble at the sight of dan heng getting sad because i dodged his kisses. march, you know how much he loves kissing me," you replied, playing around with the spoon on the table.

"okay, how about this," march says, leaning forward. "you do what i just said, and i will treat you to tasty food and buy you that outfit you were eyeing during one of our missions."

this piqued your interest. "how'd you know i wanted that outfit?"

march gives you a smug smile. "of course i know! i'm your best friend, after all. so, up for the bet?"

you thought about it for a few seconds before agreeing to it with a sigh at the end. "okay, fine. you better keep your promise or else." giving march an intimidating glare, you left the kitchen to go back to your room.

dan heng was still fast asleep on your bed (he slept in your room because he said his bed was uncomfortable — but you knew it was because he wanted to cuddle with you). you sat down on the empty space next to him and just silently admired him, a soft smile appearing on your face as you see how cozy and relaxed he looks.

dan heng suddenly stirs, opening his eyes slightly. "g'morning, love."

"morning, baby! sorry, did i wake you up?" you asked, caressing his hair.

he shakes his head. "no you didn't, don't worry." he sits up and was about to give you a kiss but you immediately dodged which surprises dan heng.

"breakfast is ready!" you exclaimed, pulling dan heng out from the bed. "you can shower after breakfast, mkay?"

dan heng nodded slowly, still not understanding why you dodged his usual morning kiss. "...okay." he subconsciously has a small pout on his face, and you honestly felt bad for doing so.

when you entered the kitchen, march was no longer there, and you figured it was because she didn't want to third-wheel.

"here you are," you let dan heng sit in his usual seat, grabbed his plate, and placed the food on top. dan heng takes a bit out of the food and you looked at him with expectant eyes. "does it taste good?"

"mhm," dan heng hums, giving you a small smile. "you didn't burn it this time either."

you blushed. "w-we don't talk about that! i told you i forgot i was cooking! i didn't burn it on purpose."

"whatever you say, love," dan heng was about to give you a kiss on the cheek but you were quick to dodge, promptly backing away from him. dan heng raises an eyebrow at your move and placed his utensils down. "okay, what's going on? why are you dodging my kisses?"

"h-huh? what are you talking about? i'm not dodging!" you stuttered out, looking away.

with his eyebrows still raised, he leans forward. "mm, are you sure about that?" and before he could land his surprise kiss, you quickly covered your mouth, which was honestly a bad move because even if dan heng was a bit oblivious to certain things, he isn't when it comes to your actions. "seriously, what is going on?"

you frowned, dropping your hands with a disappointed sigh. "you just ruined my prank. march promised to buy me an outfit i saw while we were in the luofu if i completed the prank."

dan heng blinks and laughed. "really? just for that outfit? you know i can buy it for you when we go back there."

"REALLY?!" you exclaimed, turning your whole body to face him. "are you serious?"

"yeah, of course i am. i'd buy everything for you." dan heng says with the softest smile on his face you swear your heart just melted.

"thank you thank you thank you!" you say with a really happy tone and hugged him tightly. dan heng's eyes widened in surprise, but he returns the hug just as tight, a smile still on his face.

you swear you could hear a camera shutter, but thought nothing of it.

[pricegouge]

ugh i was at a hotel last night and something happened and all i could think of was ‘i HAVE to tell gouge!’

essentially i was in the hottub sipping a little cocktail by myself until i was joined by two older men. they kept their distance and kept to themselves (i assume to avoid scaring little afab me on my own) but ALL i could think of was Nik and Price finding cute little reader alone in a hotel hottub and doing the absolute opposite.

like each of them taking a place on either side and continuing their conversation as if reader isn’t there but squishing the poor lamb between them.

eventually they get handsy, maybe feed the sweetheart a few more drinks than they can handle. and of course they can’t leave the sweet little thing drunk and all on their own! the only responsible thing to do would to be take the little lamb back to their room with them😵‍💫

anyway i might be insane.

~💉

got yourself in hot soup :/

honestly, you should have known better, taking your third drink for a walk. you would have been fine - really- it's just, well, who are you to say no when a handsome man with a devastatingly hot accent offers you another?

he says his name's nik. he hadn't had his leg against yours at the time, borderline indecently cut shorts letting the fine threads of his copious leg hair grate against your thigh. you'd flinch away, but the man on your other side is almost worse. nik calls him john, but he introduces himself as price. where nik's soft, price is made of steel wool. denser. a little bit meaner, too.

not that either of them are rude, exactly. they're plenty charitable. in a sense; share their drinks with you when you run out. fix the straps of your top when they slump. it's just that you hadn't planned to drink with two strange men tonight, and they're a little bit too insistent, price's gruff bark just a bit too teasing whenever you try to pull yourself to your feet.

'nough already?

yeah, kinda.

you've had enough of their hands, at least, but weren't sure how to stop that, either - not now that you've let it go on so long, each touch more innocent than the one that followed until you're not even sure where it began. maybe when nik had first handed you that drink, blunt fingers lingering. maybe later, when he'd laid his arm across the back of the tub. ostensibly, it was an excuse to dig strong fingers into the tense belt of muscle that blanketed his mate's shoulder, but the crook of his elbow sat just a bit too snug against your neck to be an accident.

or maybe you were looking too far into it. there was no way two grown men who'd clearly come together were hitting on you, after all. not when their big hands kept churning the water, reaching across you to pet at one another. even if it kept you incidentally locked in their strong arms.

'just keepin' ya upright,' john winks, and you've half a mind to tell him off for thinking you need it, but next thing you know your tops come untied and you're clutching your chest, embarrassment boiling worse than the tub. sloppy. maybe you do need their help.

they're nice enough not to laugh, at least. nik tuts as he gathers your ties, big hands surprisingly gentle, matching his voice when he leans in close and asks if you think you're ready for bed yet. you don't trust yourself to speak so you just nod, hide your face in price's shoulder as he helps you to your feet with a warm hand spread across your back. you're so busy why your skin already feels familiar with his touch there that you barely notice as they corral you into an elevator, nik confidently selecting the top floor without asking for you input.

you're not sure why you apologize but you do, meek when you tell them you're actually staying on the fourth floor. nik says that's nice. john says it sounds like a good place to grab breakfast. neither of them select it.

"where are we going?" you try again, stomach falling out beneath you as the lift rockets up without it.

"our room, of course," john scoffs as if it should all be very obvious. his fingers toy with the strings of your top again. again?

nik's tone is final when he speaks again, a low rumble you can barely hear over the whirl of machinery. "said you were ready for bed, milaya," he reminds you, just as john gives one last tug to your strings.

nik is not as nice about helping you retie it this time. good thing they've got the whole top floor.

[haikyu-mp4]

Sly foxes

word count; 950 – f!reader

Not usually favouring sports, you’re in the journalism club to make use of your great eye for design and writing. After watching one of your school’s volleyball team’s official games last season, you took notice of the boring brochures they handed out with the players’ information. You hadn’t yet chosen what to do for your project this semester and decided to lend your talents to making a better representation of the team’s charms and talents. What you didn’t expect to get out of the project was a date.

You received permission from their coach and captain and set up some equipment to take your photos in a room adjacent to the gym during practice. Hopefully, you can encourage them all to pose confidently. In order to not disturb their whole practice, you ask one grade to join you at a time, starting with the first-years and ending with the third-years. Good luck!

Honestly, the coach was the least of your concerns going into this project. Everyone knew that Inarizaki’s volleyball team’s biggest defence was their captain, Kita Shinsuke.

You met with him for a lunch period, giving him a detailed explanation of your project and how you would like to proceed with it. He gave you some suggestions and rules, also making sure you knew that they couldn’t spent too much time on it.

Kita really liked how detailed you were and how you clearly came prepared to meet with him. You arrived at the precise agreed time and spent even less time than he expected, despite including all the necessary details. After he gave his two cents, he happily approved the project and asked you to spend the rest of the lunch period with him. Of course, you wouldn’t say no after he so kindly approved your project, but that wasn’t your only motivation. Their captain is really quite pretty up close.

D-day arrived and you started off with the first-years just like planned. Most of them were very sweet and seemed to appreciate a bit of attention even though they weren’t starting players. The problem arose when you got to the second-years. The ones Kita warned you about, even though he didn’t have to. You definitely heard of the Miya twins before.

Starting with Atsumu. “Yer taking up my practice time, pretty. Better make it worth my time.”

“I can skip you if you want, leave you out of the brochure,” you answered, not giving him much of a reaction. He begrudgingly posed for you and tried to casually flex his muscles, definitely not giving up on his first try of charming you. Still, to no avail.

Then there was Osamu. He was nice enough, trying to ask you about food you like, to which you answered normally. It was disturbing the picture taking and you wanted to stay on schedule. Unfortunately, the food talk made his stomach growl, so he ended up blushing and giving up his attempt so he could finally finish and leave to get a snack.

After the twins, you tried your best with Suna. When walking past you, he ghosted a hand over your hip as if on accident, and leaned down so he didn’t need to speak too loud. “How do you want me?” he asked, hoping to send some chills down your spine when his deep voice hit your ear, breath curling around it. You pointed to his spot and asked him casually to look like an intimidating middle blocker. Kita gave you a rundown of the positions beforehand.

“You look a little… bored,” you said with a careful smile, hoping he didn’t take it the wrong way. Suna deadpanned and sighed, realising his flirting didn’t work on you and he just couldn’t be bothered putting in too much work. So he sharpened his eyes and got the photoshoot over with, complaining to Atsumu about how stale you were and he totally agreed.

The rest had realised by then that there was no getting to you, and they all decided the bet was off. Yes, the second-years bet on who you would be most charmed by.

That’s why you sighed with relief when you got to the third-years. Kita smiled softly and patted your shoulder, reassuring you that your process was well planned and executed, which in turn means the result will be as well.

All the pictures came out really good, though you did have a special vision for Kita’s that made them your biased favourites. He had his jacket resting over his shoulders and you and Akagi agreed he looked pretty cool. After packing up your stuff and going back into the gym, you turn to the team with Kita by your side. “Everyone, please thank y/n for the effort. I’m sure this will help us show off our best sides at nationals,” he said, looking at you while your cheeks flushed red from his compliments. The team all bowed, but the second-years looked at you and their captain with a suspicious squint.

“Thank you guys for your cooperation! And thank you, Kita, for allowing it,” you said, bowing to the captain and then the team before finally taking your leave.

“Did Kita just smile at her?” Atsumu whispered in shock.

“Did she blush? He just said thanks?” Suna whispered with disbelief.

“What just happened?” Ginjima threw in there.

Aran huffed a laugh and hit Suna hard on the back, as he stood the closest. “What, you guys don’t think our captain has game?”

Kita had already asked to take you out for tea outside of school and looked forward to your date this weekend. The second years might just have gained even more respect for their captain.

the Flyer Series ║ masterlist

/taglist: @cottonlemonade @dira333 @cosmiicdust