#there has to be a better way to word this but it just genuinely makes me so fucking mad

[mostly-imagines]

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing, 

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

[osakanone]

Speaking as someone with a traumatic brain injury, I'm not sure that PSAs alone will never be enough. I do have an idea, and I am curious about your thoughts.

If you want effective change you have to reach out to the people either do not remember PSAs or more likely, don't read PSAs, who think they are good people but are actually terrible in ways they cannot accept and thus cannot grow from -- who chase respectability as social clout instead of making babysteps needed to get things done.

So here it is:

Your alternatives don't work for sociolinguistic reasons

Your chosen word of interest is an adjective form of a verb.

R-word can be used easily, interchangably and with little effort when someone is stressed because every form of it is grammatically correct and socially incorrect, which is what is usually craved in an insult.

Language is an ecology: A space of predator words and prey words based on which words replace each in their fashionableness.

As with any ecology, there are niches: pockets of success where a need exists and a word slips into the gap to fill it.

In Europe we didn't get your word of interest until the mid 2000's, and it was occupied by a form of the word spastic (the medical condition) shortened to the slur "spaz" (which I've been on the recieving end of many times).

Consequences create martyrs and those seeking to differentiate themselves will adopt waning or discouraged language to differentiate themselves (PSA culture got us edgelord culture).

When a word goes out of popularity is when another word which is significantly cleverer takes its place, which is more biting and more cutting.

A great example is how "the slur beginning in F ending in T" in many progressive circles is front-loaded with the expectation of one word, and then instead people say "fascist" and everybody smiles.

It is one of the ways of controlling language:

You take the second-association added to an instrinsic thing eg, the "other" meaning of gay used on xbox live) and you attach it to something else

You outsource sentiment to a different target.

You retire one word, and inject another which better aligns with your sentiment and intentionality.

You MUST do this in a way which punches up instead of down, or you risk watering down the perception of a word -- and you must likewise be able to answer the question "how is that <other word>?" on the spot with a single sentence and shut down a conversation.

Back to this context, I genuinely use

"mentally redacted",

This replaced my previous go-to

"mentally retired",

which I felt licked of ageism and made me uncomfortable.

Meaning, that something was censored or removed or deleted intentionally. I make this about thoughtless intentionality of action, not intrinsic nature of a person or their situation or whatever has happened to them.

It shifts from medicalism to mentality.

The imperfectionism of it is the scar-tissue of culture as words fall out of favour.

Maybe that's not good enough for Americans? I don't know!

Does it just read of hiding the word and playing slight of hand instead? Does it have some third other reason? There's no good answer here, I feel.

But it makes me personally feel one hell of a lot better about my slowness instead of slipping up when talking about myself and throwing a slur at the person I'm talking to.

I'd genuinely like to know your thoughts!

e:

There's a great bit in the notes by op about how swearing disrupts civility; disruption is the only way to make any protest get noticed. I will say, a slur is often just a culturally acceptable swearword, which again is miserable. I hate to say it but we do need to get meaner if we're gonna survive. We do need to invent our own words about the people who oppress us that are robust descriptors with ride recognition.

e2:

I came very close to using dysthymic as an insult to describe "I need more" greedy "more lanes bro" VC/corpo-brain types before realizing good people would be caught in the cross-fire despite the fact dysthymia is one of the major medical roots of their behavior and damn that is a hard one for me to figure out. The great thing about medicine is it gives us lots of great complex descriptors that are easy to look up. The downside is when we use medicalization as a callout or attack there is always friendly fire. An oppressor will never care about friendly fire, which means we are always stuck playing defense and its fucking bullshit and makes me so mad.

e3:

I really wish there was a way to make words which disrupted civility without... disrupting... civility... okay that's a paradox. Fine, then are there words which can disrupt anti-civility? I want those.

e4:

Found one. The crushing response. "human pet guy"

Since the r-slur is making a comeback (you know, the word that starts with R, has six letters, and ends in D), I'm gonna make a little PSA:

Yes, it's an ableist slur.

Terms like "asshat," "head-up-ass," "up their own ass," and "high on their own farts" exist. There's also words like crap, dogshit, half-assed, assclown, and chucklefuck. And on the less vulgar side, there are terms like ridiculous, nonsense, train wreck, pointless, insipid, self-absorbed, pretentious, annoying, boring, contemptible, vile, and disgusting.

Substituting words like restarted, poptarted, brain damaged, smoothbrain, etc. is still ableist, because either 1. you obviously still mean the r-word, or 2. you're still using disability as an insult.

[aewon]

ENHYPEN WHEN YOU…put your hands in their back pockets

pairing ✧ enhypen x f!reader g: fluff warnings: kissing, cussing, pet names, pda, groping, implied shorter reader in sunghoon’s ✧ note: inspired by the no doubt choreo !

LEE HEESEUNG

you’re sitting in enha’s practice room, watching them practice no doubt’s choreo. their choreographer calls for a break and they immediately disperse. heeseung turns towards you and open his arms, wanting a hug.

who are you to deny him? you make your way to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. he sighs in content, resting his head on your shoulder. you decide to be sneaky and slowly drift your hands downwards until they’re snug in his back pockets. you hear him giggle but he doesn’t pull away, “what are you doing?”

“nothing,” you say, deciding to play with him by squeezing his butt, making him let out a curse.

“shit!”

you laugh as he pulls back, looking at you incredulously.

“you are such a menace,” he says, but he doesn’t hesitate to return the favor, making you squeal.

PARK JONGSEONG

you’re in your shared apartment, laying on the couch while jay lays on top of you. your arms are wrapped around him, holding close to you.

an idea pops into your head, and you put it into action, sliding your hands down into his back pockets.

“why are you touching my ass?” you know he’s not mad, just curious by his tone.

“it’s a nice ass, can’t help but wanna touch it,” you end your words with a firm slap to his ass. jay yelps, looking at you with his annoyed face.

“that’s not nice,” he says, but you can see a hint of a laugh behind his lips.

he wastes no time in getting up and turning you around on the couch, giving your ass the same treatment. except he hits harder, with his large palms making it burn slightly.

“ouch! i didn’t hit yours that hard!”

“don’t hate the player, hate the game.” he continues to smirk while you pout, having been outplayed.

SIM JAEYUN

you and jake are standing in line for ice cream at the park. you’re standing behind him while he mindlessly scrolls through his phone.

you decide to be mischievous and put your hands in his back pockets, the position somewhat awkward but you couldn’t care less.

you can’t see it, but you can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he speaks, “you just love touching me don’t you?”

you hum, not moving your hands even as the line moves forward. you and jake don’t really care about pda or people seeing you in public. of course, you’re not animals, so you don’t take it too far but things like this don’t bother you or him.

“baby, what exactly is the point of this?” he asks, turning his head to look behind himself at you. you shrug, leaning into his back before taking his butt into your hands and squeezing hard. he jumps, almost comically, as you laugh quietly, trying not to bring too much attention to yourselves.

“you are so annoying! you’re gonna bruise it!”

you coo, mocking his whiney tone before rubbing it gently to fend off any oncoming injury. “better?” you ask and he hmphs, turning back around. you kiss his cheek apologetically, which makes him smile.

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon is very sensitive about touch. he doesn’t really like pda but he doesn’t dislike touch as long as it’s private.

you and the enhypen members are hanging out in your apartment. jay has chosen to cook to everyone’s delight. sunghoon is standing by the entrance, watching the tv with everyone else who’s situated on the couches.

you come up to him, looking at him with a pout.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, genuinely concerned. you do nothing but hold your arms out, indicating you want a hug. sunghoon hesitates for a second because he doesn’t like pda, even in front of his members, but one look into your eyes and he’s cooked.

he wraps his arms around you, you doing the same, hugging him tightly. he rests his chin on your head and sighs softly. he could never deny you. without him realizing, your sneaky hands make their way down, down into his back jean pockets.

sunghoon doesn’t even move, either he’s oblivious or he’s ignoring it for your sake, and his. what he doesn’t expect is for you to take his butt into your hands and squeeze, hard.

he jerks forward, taking you by the arms and pulling you away from him. he looks a mix between stunned and annoyed. you start to giggle, making grabby hands at him like you’re gonna do it again but he grabs them, now smiling.

“don’t even think about it, what’s wrong with you?” he asks quietly, not trying to alert the members.

you just stare up at him before surprising him again with a kiss to his lips.

“aww look at the happy couple, i got that whole thing on video by the way,” riki says from his seat on the couch. the other members begin to crowd him, even jay coming from the kitchen after hearing the commotion.

sunghoon breaks away from you, running over to try and wrestle the phone from riki’s hands while you laugh and watch.

KIM SUNOO

you and sunoo are very affectionate with one another, never hesitating to plant kisses on each others lips or cheeks, hug or anything else.

he’s standing in front of your full length mirror, getting ready to go out while you wait for him. as you come to stand behind him, you put your hands into his back pockets. he looks at you through the glass and smiles.

“whatcha doin?” he asks, though he doesn’t make any move to stop you.

“touching my favorite part of you,” you say, laughing as he gaps in offense.

“tuh, and here and i thought it was my personality!”

“that and your ass, i love it.” with that you take your hands out and give his ass a rough slap.

he swears, looking at you with wide eyes.

“okay, you’re done. no more ass privileges for you,” he says, dragging you around so you’re standing in front of him instead of behind.

you begin to whine, apologizing and saying you won’t do it again.

“that’s a damn lie and you know it.”

YANG JUNGWON

jungwon has brought you along to the recording studio while they prepare for their next album. you’re standing in front of him, his arm wrapped around you. you turn around in his arms, smiling at him, “you sound great babe.”

“thank you,” he says, bringing you in for a hug.

you hands rub his back up and down, before making their way lower and lower until they’re hovering over his ass. without warning you put your hands into his back pockets, and squeeze almost violently.

he jumps away from you, looking at you in pure shock. “what the fuck!” he says, laughing, “don’t touch my butt!”

“why?” you cock your head to the side, “i can’t touch what’s mine?” you ask in a questioning tone. he looks at you in disbelief.

“excuse me, it’s not yours.”

“yes it is, what’s yours is mine,” you say, smiling at him.

“oh really?” he raises an eyebrow, “so if that’s the case, what’s yours is mine?” you think he’s gonna go for your ass and bring your hands around to protect it but without hesitation his hands go for your front, squeezing your chest.

you gasp scandalously, “jungwon!”

he just smirks at you, “what’s yours is mine.”

NISHIMURA RIKI

you and riki have been dating for a few months now but haven’t really escalated to touching each other frequently. whether it comes to kisses or hugs, you’re still a bit awkward with one another.

you’ve decided to take your relationship up a notch in hopes he won’t oppose you.

today finds you with riki, alone in the dance studio as he practices their choreo. you watch him in amazement. how his body moves, its miraculous and you’re mesmerized.

he pauses the music, coming to stand in front of you, “so what do you think?”

“i think it’s amazing, you’re amazing,” you say.

you know riki likes compliments, he just doesn’t like to show it. he waves his hand, like it’s no big deal but you stand up and open your arms, “hug.”

“i’m sweaty,” he says, “you don’t wanna hug me.”

you shake your head, “don’t care, hug me!”

he can’t deny you, so he moves forward to wrap you in his arms. you rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. your hands make their way down, before finding comfort in his back pockets.

“oh?” he says in a questioning voice, “didn’t know we were at this point in our relationship.”

“can’t help it, i like being close to you.”

“and being close means touching my butt?” you know he’s not annoyed or angry because he’s laughing, so you hum in confirmation. without warning his own hands slide down to cup your own butt.

“now we’re even,” he says, grunting and laughing as you playfully squeeze his ass. and he doesn’t hesitate to do it back.

© AEWON 2024

[planetpedri]

Pau with a girlfriend who has a condition who makes her faint a lot? I feel like he’d be so attentive and caring

I can and I will — Pau Cubarsí.

Pairing: Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

Summary: Having extremely low blood pressure was the norm for you, but ever since you started dating Pau, he’d taken it more seriously than you had. And you loved him for it.

Word count: 700+

Disclaimer/s: Mentions of fainting , low blood pressure , accidents that’s happened from the condition , ect.

A/N: I didn’t want to write about something I couldn’t capture accurately buttt I used to have very low blood pressure and would faint because of it so I just went with this …

Pau was very… attentive. He noticed the slightest wobble in your step, the way your eyes seemed to go dull, or when you’d heat up. He’d taken every precaution to assure you wouldn’t faint. He worried a lot, and you hated to make him stress so much.

It was a particularly hot summer day, so the two of you decided it was best to stay inside. Pau had set his bedroom in the specific way you liked, almost like a cocoon of pillows and blankets. You’d planned on binge watching the new season of your favorite show, but you’d forgotten one simple thing.

“Shit.” You grumble, turning to your boyfriend. “I need to go get water.”

Pau nods in understanding, concern flashing across his face. “You sure you wanna go get it? I don’t mind—“

“Pau, babe.” You groan, “i’m fine. Sit back, chill out.”

Sometimes his protectiveness agitated you. It made you feel like you couldn’t do anything, despite knowing he didn’t mean to make you feel that way. You knew your words may have hurt him, so you compensate by placing a quick and tender kiss to his lips.

Sliding your legs over the side of the bed, you stand. Too quick. Your vision zooms in and out, spotting all around. Great. You were too slow to sit back down, your knees giving out beneath you.

Before you could fall, you feel Pau’s arms wrap around your torso, successfully stopping your tumble. “I told you I should’ve..” He trails off with a grumble, pushing the hair from your face as you collect your breathing.

“Don’t rub it in.” You grumble, the nauseating feeling pooling in your stomach as you allow yourself to slump into his arms.

“Lay down, i’ll go get you water and some crackers.” Pau frowns, planting a kiss to your forehead. He did that a lot, you’d noticed it was his way of checking your temperature without being obvious. “And some ibuprofen.”

Weakly climbing back into your cocoon, you toss the fuzzy blanket aside to let your body cool down. Your eyes remain closed even when you hear Pau’s heavy footsteps coming closer.

“Sit up.” He urges quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed with a glass of ice water and medicine in his hands, and crackers tucked under his arm.

You do as told, rubbing your temples. “What would I do without you?”

“Hit your head on a sharp object? Oh wait, you actually have already done that before.” He quips, the corner of his lip twitching, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Ha ha.” You mumble, taking the water and pills gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Always.” He says, giving you a genuine, but short smile. Every time you fainted or came close to it, he felt his heart stop. Sometimes, he felt like he could faint from concern.

Once you take the pills and drink your water, you get comfortable again with Pau climbing onto the bed beside you. He pulls you half way onto his chest, pressing play on the TV.

While you munch away and regain your strength, Pau’s fingers play with your hair, tucking strands behind your ear and repeating the soothing motion. When you finally feel better, you glance up at him.

“I love you, y’know that, right?”

Pau tilts his head down to meet your gaze, a smile forming. “Of course I do. I love you, too.”

Your lips form a tight lipped, almost shameful, smile, “I feel bad, you shouldn’t have to baby me. I should’ve thought about this stuff before we got into bed.”

“Hey,” his eyebrows furrow, “you don’t always have to do things on your own. I’m your boyfriend, I love you, and If I can help, I will. Always.”

You couldn’t control yourself. You loved this boy more than anything in the world. Setting your half eaten bag of crackers aside, you roll on top of him, placing kisses all across his face. All the while, you murmur dozens of ‘I love you’s’.

Pau chuckles through your burst of affection, putting a stop to it only so his hands could cup your cheeks. He pulls your face to his lips, greeting yours in a long, warm kiss.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any pau related posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby @unx100to !

[mazzystar24]

Breaks my heart how evil they are to them. I know they're grown men and can handle it and all but they shouldn't have to! Oliver has been so respectful and put so much care into playing buck. He's always been honest about this story being about BUCK, not tommy, and that nobody should be ringing wedding bells

The fact that even the 911 account isn't posting anything because bt fans flood things with hate... and we know oliver sees this shit, he even shut down his comments and DMs. It makes me so fucking sad. We're so close to exploring this beautiful story we've been waiting for and they ruin it over someone who was hired for 4 episodes??

No same the level of care and respect that Oliver has had has been unreal

I say this as a bisexual

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a presumably straight actor handle a queer storyline with this level of respect and understanding

And unlike their fav he hasn’t done it for fame or money or popularity

He has stood up for buck and buck’s bisexuality in cases he didn’t have to

He didn’t have to correct that reporter he didn’t have to make statements in his Instagram calling out bigots he didn’t have to show all this love understanding and excitement for bucks bi arc but he did it even when it’s put him in the firing line and he’s done it with words so well crafted you can tell he fully understands his character and also what bisexuality means to his character

Ik I make jokes but I’m not saying this in a parasocial way- truth is we never know what these actors or famous people are really like- but we still have to recognise good behaviour and the way he has handled this storyline does not elicit the hate and claims of biphobia against him in the least and it’s honestly sad that he has done everything right and is still receiving this from assholes who genuinely do not care or understand what biphobia is

Just because they can’t distinct what the story has been telling them AT EVERY FUCKING TURN and how Oliver tried over and over not to get their hopes up AT EVERY FUCKING TURN and what they built up in their head sometimes with the help of a man after their money. It’s ridiculous

Like not only did he have to turn off comments and DMs he also made a response apparently and probably second guessed himself and deleted it:

And everything he said both here and the interview I stand by, good bi rep doesn’t have to be only fucking if they’re your committed partner y’all are over correcting

Also the claims of biphobia - y’all learn nothing about not assuming sexualities or making these claims huh?

Well at least they’re consistent- when threatened they pretend anything and everything is somehow homophobia cos I (a bisexual ) have been called homophobic so many times by bt fans it’s insane

Rant over cos this is super long but they better leave Oliver stark alone cos that man genuinely doesn’t deserve this shite

[hannie-dul-set]

IT’S NOT WORTH TRYING TO LEARN OTHER PEOPLE’S LOVE LANGUAGES.

p — MYUNG JAEHYUN x fem! reader. g — humor, fluff, park sungho learns a lesson about minding his own business. w — swearing, death threats (as a form of flirting). 1.5k words.

requested by — @gluion “go kill yourself x “i’m pretty sure they have a crush on me”

note — part of my ship dynamics: insane edition gimmick. this is very the breakup soup coded. i just like writing about a bunch of idiots stressing about the dumpster fire love life of their friend. enjoy.

myung jaehyun’s friends are pretty sure he’s had a very stable, very loving, very normal upbringing.

“stop staring at me, you fucking creep.”

“sorry, i didn’t mean to make your heart flutter. can’t help it when you’re so pretty.”

“i’ll stab your fucking eyes out.”

“my eyes are all yours, pretty.”

so they can’t wrap their head around why he’s acting like he has not a single ounce of self-respect in his body. sungho and leehan watch as their pitiful friend gets shut down again by the most venomous glare, hostile sneer, deflected by the biggest pair of heart eyes in the world that’s ever longingly following your disappearing figure out the library door. “she wants me so bad,” he concludes with a self-righteous smile as he arranges his notes into one neat stack. sungho and leehan share a look. god almighty, please grant their friend wisdom and salvation.

“what...what makes you say that?” sungho attempts to prod. the first step to finding a solution is to figure out the situation. they need to know why myung jaehyun is so down bad for you, and why he’s so convinced that you feel the same way.

“huh?” jaehyun perks up. like he’s genuinely confused sungho has to ask that. “she was so flustered earlier. couldn’t you tell? it was adorable.”

“she threatened to mutilate you…?” 

jaehyun beams. “she sure did.”

there...there is no point trying to understand him, sungho concludes. leehan is, for lack of a better word, getting mildly frustrated. “hyung, what the hell?” he raises. “if telling someone you want them dead is an indication of romantic feelings, then my middle school bullies must’ve been head over heels for me.”

a silence. a pause. “we’ll unpack that later,” sungho tells him. then shifts his attention back to problem child number one. “you. you’re a grown man who has full autonomy over his actions and feelings, and i know that. but as your friend, i just can’t keep watching you being disrespected, jaehyun. i can’t help but get angry on your behalf when you greet her good morning and alll she does is tell you to go fuck yourself!”

admittedly, sungho got a little bit heated at the end there. but he has every right to feel this emotion on behalf of his dense and seemingly unaffected friend— who is still sitting there, a smile on his face, hands on his lap like a patient buddha who has learned the true meaning of peace and serenity.

“sungho-yah,” jaehyun starts with a pleasant hum. “there’s no need to worry. the feeling is totally mutual. i’m telling you, she likes me back.”

speechless.

in fact, sungho and leehan are beyond speechless. they have no idea where this ungrounded certainty comes from. they certainly have even less of an idea on how to fix his lovesickness, bordering on insanity.

so, reasonably— they call for backup.

“the only way for him to get his shit together is if he asks her out for real and finally gets rejected for good,” taesan declares confidently. somehow, they see a point. riwoo lets out an echo of agreement. woonhak asks why they’re all excluding jaehyun from this after school garage meeting. “do you guys know when he’s planning on doing that?”

“no idea,” leehan answers. “but maybe we can pressure him into it.”

“so, should we encourage him instead of telling him to give it up?” sungho raises. taesan affirms. sungho lets out a grunt and a huff. “god, that’s gonna be tough.”

a resounding voice of dissent arises from woonhak. “i don’t get why you’re all going against jaehyun-hyung!” he yells indignantly. “let hyung love whoever he wants! this is a free country! you guys can’t dictate his love!”

“he’s received fuck you’s straight in the face and swears she’s flirting, woonhak. you’re too young to understand.”

it’s four votes against one. woonhak can’t win against his hyung’s determination to save myung jaehyun from his self-dug pit of pitifulness that he’d been in ever since laying eyes on you at the freshman orientation. god, they never should’ve went. he never should’ve shot down jaehyun’s suggestion to just skip it. maybe then, myung jaehyun would still be normal.

but this is not the time to lament and regret. it’s time for sungho to right his wrongs. it’s time to bring jaehyun’s self-respect back, they decide. and it starts with a wake-up call in the form of your inevitable, brutal rejection. 

which, for some reason, does not happen as planned.

“what?”

“we’re going on a date.” jaehyun is as chipper as ever and sungho’s ears are starting to ring. “thanks for the encouragement, sungho!”

it’s ringing. it’s ringing so badly. “wait, what do you mean you’re going on a date?” he attempts to clarify, grabbing jaehyun by the shoulders because this is two-parts concerning, one-part kind of…proud? this guy actually succeeded? “she said yes? she didn’t tell you to fuck off and die in a hole?”

“she did. she looked pretty while saying it.” jaehyun answers with a bright grin. nevermind. this is all parts concerning. sungho “she also told me she’d kill me if i pick her up late after her class tomorrow. we’re going to have dinner at the thai restaurant that just opened. riwoo recommended it.”

sungho does not understand. he cannot understand because you, who seems to hate all of myung jaehyun’s guts for no discernible reason, agreed to go on a date with him? hello? has jaehyun been right this whole time? do you really reciprocate his feelings? or is this just some new form of torture? is his friend a masochist? is he the weird one for making a big fucking deal out of this? is this how relationships work nowadays?

a thought enters sungho’s mind.

hold on a second—

“anyway, i gotta go, dude. a pretty girl is waiting for me.”

—what if this date is a ploy for you to finally get the chance to kill him?

oh my god.

“wait!” sungho’s face is pale. his eyes are wide and frantic. “don’t—don’t go on the date!”

“hm?” jaehyun bats his eyes at him, taking a moment to think. then sparkles in realization. “oh! don’t worry. i’m not gonna show up looking like this. i’m gonna head home first to change.”

“that’s not the problem! jaehyun! no! no!”

this is it, his friend is going to die. that is, unless, he shows up on your date just in time to stop it. yes. there’s still a chance. he knows where the date is happening. he’s gonna tell the rest of them because there’s no way in hell they’d allow myung jaehyun’s cause of death to read stupidity by misconstruing your murderous intent as affection. they are not only going to save jaehyun’s life— but his dignity as well.

“remember, be quiet. be inconspicuous. they can’t figure out we’re here.”

hopefully, things go as planned this time. all five of them are gathered in a booth at the said thai restaurant, the eventual scene of the crime unless they do something about it. sungho is surveying the scene to find where you and jaehyun are seated. leehan nearly trips over his unnecessarily long trench coat while trying to cover more ground. woonhak is using the menu as cover but has since gotten distracted and has started to pick out his order with riwoo and taesan. “hyung, is the khao soi good?”

“yeah, we should order it.”

“what drinks should we get?”

this is hopeless. this is a mess. their best friend is about to die and all they can think about is dinner.

no matter. sungho can still take care of this himself. his eyes scan the main restaurant wing, from left to right, until his eyes double over in a screeching halt to the back of a very familiar round head—

“huh.”

the back of a very familiar round head that doesn’t seem to be facing the threat of decapitation.

sungho sees you and jaehyun sitting across from one another, jaehyun’s fairly loud voice raising over the music and utensils clattering, people chatting and passing by. “you’ve got something on your face.”

“touch my face, and i’ll kill y— hey!”

first of all, sungho wants to claw his own eyes out seeing his friend being disgustingly sweet. second, jaehyun did touch your face with a napkin and it does not seem like you’re attempting to murder him. in fact, you look flustered even. flushed despite the harbored glare, still seated despite your apparent derision and disgust. the back of jaehyun’s head looks exceedingly happy. the dots aren’t connecting. sungho is malfunctioning. 

“should…should we interfere…?” leehan asks, his nose barely peeking out of the trench coat collar.

“i think...i think we should just leave them alone.”

“but isn’t his life in danger?”

“i misunderstood.”

forget misunderstanding. sungho can’t even behind to understand in the first place and has settled that he wouldn’t even try so long as myung jaehyun is happy— happy with being on the receiving end of fuck you’s and go to hell’s in response to his you’re so pretty’s and see you tomorrow’s, happy with getting his advances swatted away and shut down, happy with whatever the fuck is going on between you and him that sungho really can’t just wrap his head around.

IT’S NOT WORTH TRYING TO LEARN OTHER PEOPLE’S LOVE LANGUAGES. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Their comfort zone

Jake Lockley x afab!reader

Summary: Jake tried to re-establish connection with Steven's former steakhouse date. She was mean to them and now Jake seeks comfort in you.

Cw/triggers: Comfort, fluff, one or two curse words.

This has been requested via pm and wishes to stay anonymous. :)

"Wait, Dylan. Give Steven another chance, he didn't–"

"No. Whatever freakshow goes on in your head, I've already told you. Lose. My. Number!"

Jake took a breath. "Come on, I just told you about us."

There was a short sigh, then the call ended.

-

Jake slumped back, taking a moment to process the nerve wrecking call.

After a minute he dials another number - yours.

"Hi Jake." came your soft voice which made him smile.

"Hey there. Listen... I just had a rollercoaster of a call.. can I come over for a bit to clear my mind?" Jake's voice was soft, almost broken.

You've never experienced Jake this sad, only his tough, calm and menacing side, so this is a surprise.

"Of course, Jake. Is everything alright?"

"I'll explain everything once I'm there. Thanks by the way." He had a genuine smile on his face for your understanding.

Jake ended the call, getting dressed in his usual attire and his trusty hat.

It wasn't long until Jake knocked on your door.

When you opened it, Jake had a small smile on his face, not wanting to come off too hurt.

"Hey, thanks for letting me stop by."

You smile. "You know I'm always there for you guys." you stepped to the side, inviting him in.

While Jake made himself comfortable in your living room, you were in the kitchen, making tea.

Once you returned, you put both mugs down on the coffee table. "I know you guys prefer black coffee except Steven, but I thought tea might be better." you chuckle softly.

Jake smiled widely at you, taking his mug. "No it's completely fine. The tea is actually the right thing I need rightnow."

You sat down beside him on the couch, sipping on your tea. "So, what do you wanna talk about?"

"Well," Jake started, "you know the woman Steven was supposed to go on a date at the steakhouse?"

"Yeah. The one he accidentally forgot." you nod.

"Exactly," Jake gave a curt nod, "so, I called her, wanting to make her forgive us and give Steven another chance."

"What did she say?"

Jake sipped on his tea. "She was a total bitch about it, not letting me finish talking."

He continued. "She was so mean to us. Poor Steven was so done with her and Marc tried reasoning too, but she kept insulting us." Jake sighed.

Putting your mug down, you scoot closer to him, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. "Jake, she wasn't worth it. You all deserve better." you smile softly.

Jake put his hat down. "Really? You think that? I just want to be there for Steven and Marc."

"Yes I think that," you began running your fingers through his hair, making Jake lean into your touch, "you three deserve nothing but the best." you say gently.

Jake closed his eyes, smiling. "Holy shit, hearing you like that... I think we are falling for you."

You giggle. "Even Marc and Steven?"

"Even Marc and Steven." Jake admits softly, wrapping his arms around you.

Jake pulled back, looking at you with a soft expression. "Hey, do you mind if we stay for tonight?" his tone was sincere.

You smile. "Yes, of course!"

"Thanks, mi amor." Jake hugged you tighter, the three of them are looking forward on spending the night with someone who could understand them - you.

-------------------------

Wanna get tagged?

Tags:

@nekoyin @steven-grants-world @iolaussharpe-24 @buckyssugarchick @sugarplumz100 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty @silvernight-m @lunaana-02 @ivystoryweaver @chaithetics @mooksmouse @heavydirtysoulsblog @faretheeoscar @deceasedream69 @sejanusxfan

[zephyrsobsessions]

TECHNOLOGY CONNECTIONS!

He just talks about technology. Like he just posted a video about air fryers and I'm so excited to watch it when I eat lunch! Last week (I think) he posted an hour long video about a massive, $3k freeze dryer he bought (not a very common thing for him to drop that much money on a video) and it was wonderful.

Also he takes the time to make the captions on every single video! They're genuinely so good, I've watched almost all of his videos and he's only missed a handful of words. Not only does he include everything he says (including stutters/messed up words in bloopers at the end), he also includes sound effects. So he'll put [thunk as it hits the table] or in one of my favorite videos of his on elevators chimes: Up [chime] and down [chime, chime] up [ping] and now down [ping, ping] up. [bing] down. [bing, bing] (I literally pulled up the video and took it almost word for word.) He also puts notes or jokes in the captions at the end of his videos, and they're so charming.

His videos are a mix of informative and entertaining in the best ways. You can tell he has so much passion for the technology he talks about. And if it sounds boring, yeah it does, but I promise you, this man will have you invested in lightbulbs and old lamps and HVAC systems and fridges and dishwashers. Literally some of my favorite videos are on the kind of technology that we encounter on a day-to-day basis, and just never think about how it works! And he explains everything in an easily understandable way. He doesn't dumb anything down (although he'll simplify concepts with physics or math or that kinda stuff), and he'll take the time in the video to explain the stuff you need to know, so that he can go in depth into everything! Plus, every year for a very long time, he posts a video trying to recreate the appearance of incandescent Christmas lights! I think there's 4 or 5, and I'm almost more excited for him to post this year's video than I am for Christmas itself!!

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE! He has never, EVER taken a sponsorship. All of his videos are funded by patreon, so you don't have to skip an annoying ad read or watch yet another person push better help. And it's not even like he rarely posts, I think he gets a video out every week or every other week! Sometimes it'll be longer when he's making a longer or more complicated video (like his series on an old pinball machine that's like 3, 1-hour long videos) but he's very consistent!!

Anyway, go watch him now please, and talk to me if you do, I know literally nobody else who watches his stuff. It's like an AuDHD HEAVEN!!!

do you have a 'safe' youtube channel that you can always watch without worrying if the content will stress you out? (I have two main ones: evan and katelyn and lilsimsie)

[killuakiru]

Hiii hru? I was wondering if I could request gon and killua (seperate) with a fem reader that is very girly? And I know it’s kinds weird but she kinda has pretty privilege and will literally get whatever she wants by winning at some other teenager. Shes very kind and sweet though so she doesn’t take advantage of it. Sorry if that’s kind of odd and if you don’t want to write it it’s ok🫶 love you!

HI ANON !! It's completely alright 🫡 I find this request rly cute as my other post was the exact opposite ! Thank you for making this request 🫰 Apologies if its ooc ( out of character ), but I had soo much fun writing this !

⊹₊⋆ IT Girl !ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⊹₊⋆ Girly!Reader x Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecss ( Separate ! )ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

༉‧₊˚. Let's Start !༉‧₊˚.

༉‧₊˚. Killua Zoldyck !ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

• Now let's all be honest ! The first time Killua met you, he probably felt so annoyed and kept grumbling how they were teams with a "girl." As the stereotypical boy he is.

• But despite Killua's comments, you were so unbothered and even excused his actions?! He was stunned! Because if that was him, he'd internally judge them!

• But honestly, Killua underestimated you. In Killua's eyes, you looked so.. fragile? Yet your performance in combat impressed him! You were pretty agile, and you had a smart mind— not to mention, you were pretty, too! Not like he would say that out loud.

• During the final examination, yk the time where he killed an applicant? He could see you from his peripheral vision, and he saw genuine worry and concern for him. HIM. He found that so odd that a girl like you would worry for him.

• When you rescued him, that look in your eyes just SCREAMED affection, and that just hit Killua in the gut, y'know? Who wouldn't fumble in their words when such a pretty and sweet girl like [Name] comes running to them with an expression like that.

• See now— in Killua's case, he's never been with a caring or sweet female since almost everyone is his household is literally fucked up. So you were a new case for him.

• Nonetheless, he was pretty honored and glad you came for him out of everyone.

• And so, he slowly warmed up to you, even growing comfortable to the point he'd randomly touch your hair, arms, fingers, just any where he thinks that looks odd or pretty.

• Yes ! He sometimes stares at your features and finds himself admiring them. Well who wouldn't?! The way you bat your eyelashes so innocently, the way your lip gloss reflects the sun in a positive elegant way when you smile, complimenting your teeth, the way your blush makes your cheeks so much more squishy he just wants to—

• "Killua? You okay? You're zoning out again." [Name] says in amusement with Gon just looked at the boy who was staring, Killua blinked twice and hummed in a nonchalant manner, placing his hands behind his back and shrugged. "I'm perfectly fine. Better than ever. Let's get going again."

• There was one time where there's this one kid around their age who was gatekeeping Killua's the store's choco robots and you came to Killua's rescue, using your very cutesy face card to convince the kid to at least have 3!

• After that, Killua looked at you like you're some kind of GODDESS. He's been trying to convince that kid and you did it so effortlessly?! Even snagging him an extra one?! Oh you're his favorite now.

༉‧₊˚. Gon Freecss !ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

• He found you SUUUPER cute and charismatic ! Like the whole time you two were talking, he'd always sneak in a compliment ! His words flattered you a bunch, too !

• He's like a natural smooth talker 'cause WHAT?! Every compliment / comment he makes about you leaves your heart beating!

• Instead of you making him flustered, you ALWAYS find yourself stammering over your words. Was it you who fell in love first or was it him?!

• Honestly with how smooth he is you're starting to think he treats every girl like this.. ( Spoiler, he doesn't )

• During the Heaven's Arena training, he was genuinely worried since you'd often wear skirts, but turns out you were already prepared! Introducing the.. skort! While it looks like an ordinary skirt, there were already built in shorts inside to prevent the creeps from looking!

• Similarly to Killua, he finds himself staring but is shamelessly doing it. When you stare back, he smiles. SMILES so charmingly, making YOU look away and he laughs.

• He loves the fact you get along with anyone you see or talk to !! It's probably because of your looks and personality, but nonetheless he supports you !!

• okay but I js know he's really vocal with your favorite features !! He probably loves your hair since it looks so silky, smooth, and soft to the touch! He also probably loves your nails too ! Almost having new and different styles monthly and he loves making guesses and predictions on what the design / style it'll be !!

• oh and, he absolutely LOVES how you do a wardrobe change almost everyday, you and Killua do a bunch of fashion shows together and Gon rates them :3

• His favorite fits are probably the ones with the very long skirts that reach the ankles with a comfy top, just anything that reminds him of Mito !

• He loves all the girls in his life equally :3 a lot of things reminds him of you and Mito ! So when he brought you and Killua to Whale Island to meet Mito, he was really happy that you got along well with his mother <3

• This was honestly his go signal to just shoot his shot, what could he lose? His mama loves you so much ! And he does too !! And so does Killua !! Everyone approves of you !!

༉‧₊˚. End !༉‧₊˚.

Thank you for reading ! This strictly belongs to me / killuakiru and I do not give permission for you to repost on other platforms, thank you !

[your-local-simp-writers]

Secret Santa

Word Count: 5615

Warnings: None

Headcanons: Inarizaki x Fem! Manager ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Day 1: The Name Exchange The excitement for Inarizaki’s first-ever Secret Santa was contagious as Y/N stood before the volleyball team, the Santa hat in her hands rustling with small slips of paper. She couldn’t help but smile at the eager looks and hushed anticipation around her as the team huddled closer, trying to catch a glimpse.

“Alright, listen up, everyone!” she called out, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Each of you has a name in here. Draw one, keep it a secret, and remember—two weeks until the big reveal! We’ll meet at my place the night before Christmas for the exchange.”

A few groans of playful protest mixed with laughter. Suna nudged Aran with a smirk, teasing him about what he might end up with. Atsumu made a big show of cracking his knuckles, promising he’d find the ultimate gift—“as long as I don’t get Osamu’s name,” he joked, earning a light shove from his twin.

Y/N went around with the hat, watching as the players reached in, each drawing their slip with a sense of mystery and excitement. There were chuckles, a few raised eyebrows, and Atsumu muttering dramatically, “Oh, the suspense!” as he held his slip close to his chest, causing the others to roll their eyes.

When Y/N drew her own name, her eyes lit up as she unfolded the paper. Aran! She’d always thought of him as a dependable friend, and she immediately wanted her gift to show how much she valued him. Her mind buzzed with ideas as she pictured his usual calm, steady smile, and the warmth he brought to the team. Maybe she could do something unexpected, something unique that would make him feel genuinely appreciated.

Kita, on the other hand, had approached the hat with his usual calm demeanor, but as he unfolded his slip and saw Y/N’s name, his heart skipped a beat. He rarely showed his emotions openly, yet the weight of choosing something that would resonate with her felt both daunting and exciting. As captain, he knew her value to the team better than anyone, her quiet dedication and the way she supported each player in her own way. He found himself already thinking of what might make her smile, what could show her how appreciated she truly was.

As the last names were drawn and the team dispersed, everyone left the gym with a bit of holiday spirit—and a bit of secret anticipation—in the air.

Day 2: Observing Clues

The second day after drawing names, Y/N was back in the familiar buzz of Inarizaki’s gym. The faint echo of sneakers squeaking against polished floors and the steady thud of volleyballs filled the air as the team warmed up. It was one of those crisp winter mornings where sunlight poured through the high windows, casting long, amber streaks across the gym floor. Y/N leaned against the wall, taking notes on her clipboard, glancing up periodically to watch the boys’ drills. Her gaze, however, kept drifting to Aran.

He was in the middle of stretching with Suna, the two exchanging banter over a missed shot from the last game. Y/N caught herself smiling, noticing how Aran’s laughter seemed to resonate warmly in the cool gym air. Then, as practice wrapped up and the team headed for water, she noticed the telltale sign—Aran reached for his headphones, that familiar gesture he did every day. His music routine. She watched as he carefully untangled the wires, placing one earbud in as he leaned back against the wall, eyes drifting closed, nodding subtly to whatever song he had queued up today.

Seizing the moment, Y/N approached him casually, making her way across the gym while dodging stray volleyballs. She leaned against the water cooler next to him, the sound of clinking ice and the hum of the vending machine filling the space. “Hey, Aran!” she called, trying to sound offhand. “Got any good songs lately?”

Aran cracked one eye open, pulling the earbud halfway out. “Oh, hey, Y/N,” he said, his grin easy and relaxed. “Just my usual stuff. You know, same ol’ songs on repeat. Keeps me grounded after a long practice.” He chuckled, clearly embarrassed about his routine, but Y/N could tell music was something he genuinely enjoyed.

She tilted her head thoughtfully, filing the detail away. “You should send me some recommendations sometime,” she teased lightly. “Gotta keep up with what everyone’s listening to, you know?”

Aran laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, sure. I don’t know if it’s anything special, but I’ll send a few songs your way.”

Y/N left the interaction with a grin, her mind racing with ideas. A custom playlist and a quality portable speaker—that was it. Something personal but useful, a gift that would fit seamlessly into his life. She turned away to note her thoughts on her clipboard, nearly colliding with Kita, who was silently observing her as he collected water for himself.

He straightened up, his posture composed as always, but his gaze lingered on Y/N’s bag. It was the same bag she always carried: large, slightly battered, with straps that had seen better days. He noticed how she constantly adjusted it during practice, the way she shifted it to one shoulder as she darted between players to pass out towels, check equipment, and manage schedules.

Kita cleared his throat softly, catching her attention. “Y/N, your bag seems... well-used,” he remarked, voice calm but attentive.

She glanced down at the worn fabric, smiling fondly. “Yeah, it’s seen a lot, huh? But it’s my good luck charm. I feel like I can’t do my job without it,” she laughed, giving it a small pat.

Kita nodded thoughtfully, making a mental note. The bag, he realized, was more than just a tool for her; it was part of her rhythm as the team’s manager. If he found something similar—something just as sturdy and functional but with a touch of style—it might be the perfect way to show his appreciation. He allowed himself a small, determined smile, resolved to find a gift that would support Y/N as seamlessly as she supported them.

As the players returned to the court, Y/N and Kita both fell into the rhythm of practice, but both kept a quiet, secret excitement bubbling beneath the surface, each imagining how their gifts might surprise and delight their Secret Santas.

Day 6: Ideas Taking Shape

The gym was alive with the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished court, the soft rhythm of volleyballs bouncing against the floor, and the occasional shout of encouragement from the players. Y/N stood near the bench, her clipboard tucked under her arm, keeping an eye on the practice while brainstorming her gift for Aran. The air smelled faintly of the gym’s polish and the chalky scent of the volleyball court.

She had been observing Aran more closely over the past few days, trying to get a better sense of what he might appreciate. As he hit a spike across the court, a slight grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, Y/N recalled a conversation from a week ago. Aran had been talking about his love for live concerts, especially the raw energy of the crowd and the unpredictability of those moments. He’d mentioned his favorite concerts, how he'd often play the recordings in his room, the sounds filling the space as if he were there, surrounded by that energy.

Her eyes sparkled with an idea, and she stepped aside, making a mental note. She could create a custom playlist for him, one with live versions of his favorite songs, capturing the essence of that experience. But she didn’t want to stop there. Y/N knew Aran well enough to understand that he appreciated quality, something that would reflect the effort she put into the gift. A high-quality portable speaker would be the perfect match for the playlist. She imagined him listening to the tracks, the sounds of the crowd flooding through the speaker as he relaxed after practice. It would be a gift that mixed both personal and practical, with a touch of thoughtfulness.

While Y/N was lost in her thoughts, the other players continued their practice, moving in and out of drills. She overheard a conversation between Sakusa and Atsumu, both arguing about which music genre was better for post-practice relaxation. Y/N chuckled to herself, but her mind remained focused on Aran’s gift. The idea was starting to take shape, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

Across the gym, Kita was also absorbed in his own thoughts, though his gaze was fixed on Y/N. He watched her as she worked, effortlessly moving from player to player, offering gentle encouragement and the occasional correction. Her usual energy was contagious, but today, Kita noticed something else—her bag. It was slung over her shoulder, worn from years of use, its edges fraying just slightly. As Y/N moved through the gym, her movements fluid but with a slight struggle as she tried to reach for something inside her bag, Kita saw the small zipper snag.

It wasn’t just that the bag had seen better days—it was a symbol of how hard she worked to balance everything, always carrying the weight of her responsibilities. Kita’s thoughts immediately went to the idea he had been toying with since day one: getting her a new, high-quality bag. He wanted something that would be functional and reflect her commitment to the team, but also stylish enough to suit her personality. It had to be practical, yet show that he saw the effort she put in.

The following evening, after practice, Kita found himself wandering through a nearby shopping district. The streets were decorated with twinkling lights, adding to the holiday spirit that seemed to be everywhere. He passed by a small boutique that caught his eye. It was quaint, tucked between a couple of cafes, its windows filled with elegant bags. As he stepped inside, the warm air wrapped around him, and the scent of fresh coffee from a nearby café wafted through the door. The store was quiet, peaceful, and had a soft glow from the lights hanging overhead.

Kita moved through the aisles slowly, inspecting the bags with a focused eye. There was a part of him that wanted to find the perfect one immediately, but he knew it was worth taking his time. The bags ranged from minimalist designs to bold, functional ones. He picked one up, tested the weight, and inspected the stitching. He finally settled on a sleek, sturdy leather bag with multiple compartments—large enough to fit all of her essentials, yet compact and stylish. It was just right. The leather was soft, and the color would suit her perfectly—elegant, yet not too flashy. He couldn’t help but smile as he imagined how she might react when she saw it.

On his way out, Kita passed by a small coffee shop, the warmth from inside making him pause. He decided to grab a coffee, sitting by the window, watching the busy streets outside as he reflected on his decision. The holidays always brought out a bit of sentimentality in him, but this time, his thoughts were full of Y/N. He wanted this gift to be meaningful—not just a token, but something that would show how much he admired her.

Back at the gym, Y/N had already started discussing plans for the big exchange the night before Christmas. The players were still buzzing with excitement about the gifts they would give and receive. The gym, usually echoing with the sound of volleyballs and sneakers, was now filled with talk of Christmas cheer and gift ideas. Y/N had started to decorate the space with a few simple holiday touches—greenery by the door, a small tree with lights twinkling in the corner, and a basket of wrapped chocolates by the bench. Even in the hustle and bustle of practice, the holiday spirit was palpable, and everyone was feeling the magic of the season.

As the players continued their drills, the anticipation for the gift exchange built with every passing day. Y/N couldn’t wait to see everyone’s reactions, but there was something special about the idea of giving gifts that reflected how much she appreciated them. The warmth of the gym and the holiday spirit only made her more excited to bring everyone together for the big reveal.

And so, with the days slipping away, the team continued their practice, the sounds of volleyballs bouncing, sneakers skidding, and laughter filling the air. Christmas was coming, and with it, the promise of new memories, laughter, and unforgettable gifts that would bring the Inarizaki team even closer together.

Day 6: Gifts in the Making

After the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Y/N found Suna Rintarō in his usual spot by his locker, unhurriedly gathering his things. Students were buzzing around them, but Suna remained as calm and composed as ever, barely glancing at the crowds. She approached him with a purpose, though aware that she might have to make a convincing case to get him to come along.

“Hey, Suna,” she greeted, offering a small smile as she sidled up to his locker. “You busy after this?”

He looked up, meeting her gaze with a hint of curiosity but his expression otherwise unreadable. “Not really,” he replied, zipping up his bag. “Why?”

She took a quick breath before diving in. “I need some help with Secret Santa shopping… specifically for Aran. You have an eye for good stuff, so I thought you’d be the perfect person to bring along.”

Suna’s brows lifted ever so slightly at her suggestion, and he gave a small nod. “Fine. But don’t expect much commentary,” he said, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Perfect! That’s all I need,” she grinned, motioning for him to follow her out.

As they walked through the bustling city streets, they exchanged small bits of conversation—mainly Y/N talking about how she wanted her gift for Aran to be thoughtful and practical. Suna listened quietly, chiming in every now and then with a hum or a short response, more interested in taking in the scene around them than actively engaging in chatter. When they finally arrived at the mall, the holiday decorations were in full force: wreaths, lights, and a massive Christmas tree in the center of the atrium that seemed to reach up to the ceiling.

Y/N marveled at the decorations, nudging Suna with her elbow. “You gotta admit, it’s festive,” she said, smirking as she looked at his typically neutral expression.

He shrugged, giving the slightest of smirks. “It’s a bit much. But I guess it works,” he replied, following her as she led the way toward the tech stores.

They wandered into the first store, where rows of sleek gadgets and electronics lined the shelves. Y/N browsed the portable speakers, occasionally glancing at Suna, who was studying the products with a calm and discerning eye. After a few minutes, he picked up a speaker with a simple yet sturdy design, turning it over in his hands.

“This one’s pretty solid,” he commented, passing it to her. “Good sound quality, decent battery life, and compact enough that he could carry it around easily.”

Y/N held the speaker, feeling its weight and inspecting it. “Do you think he’d actually use it?”

Suna leaned back against one of the displays, his gaze level as he watched her consider the options. “If he’s into music like you say, he’ll appreciate it. And you can personalize it—load up some live recordings of his favorite concerts or something.”

She blinked, a smile spreading across her face. “That’s actually a really good idea. I didn’t think of that.”

“Yeah, well,” Suna shrugged, glancing away as if downplaying his own suggestion. “That’s why you brought me along.”

After comparing a few more options, she settled on the speaker he’d suggested, finally feeling confident in her choice. As they made their way to the checkout counter, Suna waited quietly beside her, occasionally glancing around the store. A small group of teenagers passed by, their arms full of holiday shopping bags, laughing and chatting. Suna looked on with mild interest before returning his focus to Y/N as she paid for the speaker.

As they stepped out of the store, they walked by a kiosk packed with holiday-themed wrapping paper, bows, and tags. Y/N paused, staring at the selection, her expression contemplative.

Suna noticed her hesitating and smirked. “This part’s on you. I’m here for the gift, not to play decorator.”

She laughed, nudging him lightly. “Noted. I’ll take it from here.”

Suna waited as she picked out a tasteful roll of wrapping paper with muted colors, steering away from the overly bright designs that didn’t quite suit her style. After paying, she held up her bag, feeling accomplished.

“Mission accomplished,” she said with a grin.

Suna gave her a short nod of approval as they made their way back through the bustling mall. The holiday energy buzzed around them, but there was a calm ease between the two of them as they headed out into the chilly evening, each silently content with how the day had unfolded.

Day 12: Putting It All Together

On Saturday morning, Kita headed out to town, intent on wrapping up the final details for his Secret Santa gift. He wanted to make sure the bag he chose for Y/N was perfect, and the added charm with her initials was a small but meaningful detail he hoped she’d appreciate. He found himself moving with careful purpose, his usual calm masking his excitement to see this gift idea come to life.

After visiting a boutique to confirm the bag’s quality, he stopped by a nearby shop to search for a keychain. As he browsed, he saw someone familiar in his peripheral vision—Y/N, standing in front of a colorful display. She was looking at a pair of vibrant roller skates with teal and yellow accents, her gaze fixed on them as if they held a world of memories. Smiling to himself, he walked over.

As Kita approached, he noticed Y/N’s attention was completely absorbed by the pair of roller skates on display. A small smile formed on his face as he stepped forward, intending to strike up a casual conversation.

“Didn’t know you were a skater,” he said, keeping his tone light.

She glanced over, clearly surprised but managing a smile. “Yeah… well, I used to be, I guess,” she replied, not offering more right away. Her eyes shifted back to the skates as if the memory behind them was something only for her.

Kita took a slow breath, recognizing her hesitance. Y/N was always open and friendly with the team, but rarely did she talk much about herself. He chose his words carefully. “Were you any good at it?”

Y/N’s smile grew a little wider as she laughed softly. “Maybe not at first. But I spent enough time on those skates that I got pretty good.” She paused, as if deciding whether to continue. “I used to skate down to the park on weekends. It was my thing.”

He nodded, giving her a moment. “Sounds like you had a good routine,” he said, understanding how much routines mattered in his own life.

She seemed to relax a little, glancing over at him. “Yeah, I did. I really loved it. But my old skates broke a while back, and I… just never got around to replacing them. Guess I figured I didn’t have the time.”

Kita took that in thoughtfully. “It’s tough to make time when there’s so much else going on. But it sounds like it mattered to you.” He didn’t push further, but his steady gaze invited her to continue if she wanted to.

She hesitated, then nodded, her expression softening. “Yeah. These days, though, it just seems like… too much to spend on something that’s just for fun, you know? Especially when I could put that money toward something more practical.” She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable discussing it. “I’d feel selfish asking my parents for something like this.”

Kita listened carefully, piecing together her reasons without judging them. Her dedication to the team and her responsibilities was something he respected immensely, but he couldn’t help but think she deserved something just for herself.

“They look like they’d suit you,” he said gently, looking at the skates. “You deserve things that bring you happiness, too.” He gave her a small smile, understanding it was a sensitive topic. “And if you ever want to get back into skating, I bet you’d pick it up again just like that.”

Y/N chuckled, the wistfulness in her expression easing. “Thanks, Kita. Maybe one day,” she replied, a hint of warmth in her voice.

The conversation lingered with him as they parted ways, and an idea started to form in his mind. He’d originally planned to keep things simple, but seeing Y/N’s reaction to those skates gave him a different perspective on what his gift could mean. For now, though, he kept the thought to himself, leaving her with a subtle but encouraging smile before they each went on their way.

Christmas Eve: The Gift Exchange

The morning was filled with bustling energy as Y/N’s family worked together to turn their home into a holiday haven. It was the day before Christmas, and despite the excitement of the neighborhood Christmas party, Y/N was focused on one thing: making sure the house was perfect for the special Secret Santa event with the boys. The living room needed to be transformed into a cozy, welcoming space for everyone to gather, and there was no time to waste.

Y/N’s mom was the first to start rearranging the furniture, moving the coffee table to one side of the room with a sense of practiced ease. "Let’s clear some space for all the gifts," she said, giving Y/N a warm smile. Her dad followed suit, slowly shifting the couch to create a better flow in the room. Y/N eagerly joined them, her excitement spilling over as she adjusted the throw pillows on the couch and added little touches of decoration. The Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner, draped with twinkling lights and vintage ornaments, but it needed a little more magic.

"We should add a few more candles to the mantle," Y/N suggested as she busied herself placing candles along the fireplace. The soft glow of the lights would create the perfect ambiance for the evening.

Her mom glanced over at her with a smile. "I love how much you’ve taken on this year. It feels like a real winter wonderland."

Y/N’s dad, who was busy hanging garlands above the windows, chimed in with a chuckle. "Your mom’s right, honey. This place is starting to look like something out of a Christmas movie." He paused for a moment, looking around the room with satisfaction. "You really went all out this year. The boys will love it."

Y/N couldn’t help but beam at their words, feeling a warmth in her chest. Despite all the holiday chaos, the effort was worth it. "I want tonight to be perfect. I want them to feel at home."

As her parents finished the final touches on the house, Y/N stood back and surveyed the room, feeling accomplished. The room was cozy with soft, plush blankets scattered across the couches, and the flickering lights set a serene, holiday atmosphere. A table had been cleared in the center, ready for all the gifts to be placed on it. There was a small area by the window where they would later enjoy snacks and drinks, but for now, the focus was on getting everything ready for the boys.

Her dad stepped back and gave Y/N a nod of approval. "I think it’s all ready. Let’s get those gifts out."

Y/N's mom smiled, heading to the kitchen to start preparing snacks and drinks for the evening. "Don’t forget to get those cookies out! We need something sweet for them."

"I’ll grab them," Y/N offered, bounding off to the kitchen. She retrieved the freshly baked sugar cookies her mom had made earlier, carrying the tray with a sense of pride. The warm, sweet smell filled the house, adding to the festive air.

As she returned to the living room, the first of the boys began arriving, and with their entrance, the room began to feel even more alive. Aran was the first to step through the door, carrying a bag of chips and a wrapped gift. "It smells amazing in here," he said, grinning as he surveyed the space. "You really did a great job, Y/N."

"Thanks, Aran!" she replied, her voice practically bubbling over with happiness. "I wanted to make sure tonight felt special for everyone."

With Aran came the other boys—Suna, carrying a box of homemade cookies, a small smile playing on his lips; Kita, with his usual calm demeanor, bringing a neatly wrapped gift and a quiet nod of approval; and Atsumu, always the life of the party, carrying a large bag filled with snacks and a grin that could light up the room.

"Did I bring enough snacks?" Atsumu asked loudly, dropping the bag on the table with a dramatic flair. "Because I could always grab more!"

Y/N laughed, her heart swelling at the sight of her friends. "You’re always over-prepared, Atsumu."

Her parents, who were now finished with their preparations, stepped into the living room to greet the boys. Y/N’s dad shook hands with each of them, offering a friendly smile. "It’s nice to see you all here," he said warmly. "Y/N’s been looking forward to this night for weeks."

Y/N’s mom followed with a gentle, welcoming smile. "I’m so glad you could join us. This is such a special time for Y/N, and we’re glad to have you all here."

The boys all murmured their thanks, the warmth in the room only growing stronger. Y/N’s heart fluttered with happiness—everything was coming together just as she had hoped.

"I’m so glad we’re all here," Y/N said as she bounced excitedly from one guest to the next. "This is going to be the best night!"

With everyone settling in, her parents busied themselves by gathering their coats and preparing to leave for the neighborhood Christmas party. "We’re heading over to the neighbors’ party in a bit," Y/N’s mom said, giving her a soft, knowing smile. "You’re welcome to join us, of course."

Y/N shook her head, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I’m good, Mom. I want to stay here and enjoy tonight with everyone. This is my special event."

Her dad chuckled, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Alright, but don’t forget to take a few pictures for us before we go."

Y/N nodded enthusiastically. "I will! I promise!"

As her parents made their way to the door, Y/N handed them her camera. "Don’t forget to take some shots of you both at the party!" she added with a grin.

After her parents left, the atmosphere in the room shifted from the calm of her family’s presence to the lively chatter of her friends. The energy in the room felt light and happy, everyone eager to start the gift exchange.

When it was finally time to exchange gifts, the living room was buzzing with excitement. Laughter filled the air as each person carefully selected a gift to give.

Christmas lights twinkling softly against the walls as each person gave their present with care and excitement. Y/N felt a sense of joy watching everyone unwrap their gifts—each person’s reaction was more than she had hoped for. When it was Aran’s turn, he immediately began to unwrap his gift. Y/N had been nervously waiting for his reaction, hoping he would like it as much as she had thought he would. As the paper fell away, he held up the portable speaker she had carefully picked out for him. The soft, golden light from the fireplace illuminated the device in his hands, and for a moment, everything seemed to pause.

Aran’s face lit up with an easy grin, his eyes sparkling with delight. “You really know me, huh?” he chuckled, holding up the speaker for everyone to see. “This is perfect, Y/N. Thank you.”

Y/N couldn’t help the huge smile that spread across her face. "I'm so glad you like it!" Her heart soared at his response, a deep sense of happiness filling her chest. It felt incredible to see him genuinely pleased, especially since Aran was always so laid back and hard to surprise.

Finally, it was Y/N’s turn to open her gift, and the room grew quieter in anticipation. She smiled nervously, feeling the weight of Kita’s gift in her hands. Kita, ever composed, had remained calm, not giving away anything about his present. As she slowly began to unwrap it, the atmosphere shifted, the warmth of the room giving her a sense of comfort as she carefully peeled away the paper.

When the wrapping came off, her breath caught in her throat. Inside was a beautiful pair of roller skates—bright, sleek, and exactly the pair she had been eyeing for months. Her heart pounded in her chest, the surprise overwhelming her.

Her voice barely came out as she looked at Kita, her hands shaking slightly as she held up the skates. “Kita… you remembered…?”

Kita’s usual calm smile was present, but there was something in his eyes—something softer—that made Y/N’s chest tighten with emotion. “You’ve mentioned it a few times,” he said simply, his voice steady but kind. “I thought you deserved them.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Y/N’s eyes. The roller skates were a dream she thought she’d have to give up, especially after her old ones broke so suddenly. She hadn’t been able to replace them, too caught up in work and life to find the time or money. But now, here they were, right in front of her, a gift from someone who had truly listened.

“I don’t know what to say,” Y/N whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you… really.”

She could feel the warmth of the room around her—the glow of the Christmas lights, the laughter of her friends, the love that filled the air. And in that moment, she realized that it wasn’t just about the gifts. It was about the thoughtfulness behind them, the way each of them had made an effort to show how much they cared.

Kita, already back to his usual calm demeanor, stood up and gestured for everyone to gather. Y/N's eyes widened in confusion as the boys—Aran, Suna, and even Atsumu—moved toward her. Though they hadn’t been planning a joint gift, the boys had secretly coordinated. Y/N hadn’t realized, but they had been discussing her for days leading up to this moment, deciding as a group that they wanted to show her just how much they appreciated everything she did for them, and how much they admired her strength, kindness, and dedication.

As Aran reached into a large gift bag, he pulled out a framed photo, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. It was a picture of all the boys together, their goofy grins and relaxed poses showing off the bond they had built over time. The photo was perfectly framed, the black frame elegant yet simple, and a small, personalized note attached. Y/N’s hands shook slightly as she read the words:

“Thank you for everything you do. We’re better because of you.”

Her heart swelled, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill once more. She had never expected this. The boys, though each of them a character in their own right, had come together with such thoughtfulness and unity. The sincerity in their gesture left her speechless.

Suna stepped forward next, giving her a small but meaningful smile. "We might not always say it," he began, his usually quiet voice softening the mood, "but we’re all really grateful for you, Y/N. For everything you do. It doesn't go unnoticed."

Atsumu, always the energetic one, added, “Yeah, we know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but you still manage to keep everything together. We’re better off with you around.”

Y/N’s heart felt like it was overflowing. She had never expected such an outpouring of appreciation from them, and yet here they were, showing her just how much she meant to them. Her eyes welled up with emotion as she finally managed to speak, her voice a bit shaky.

“You guys… I don’t even know what to say to this,” she whispered, overwhelmed by their kindness. “This means so much to me. You guys really… you really do care.”

Kita, who had remained relatively quiet, gave her a small nod. "Of course we do. You’re family, Y/N."

The room fell into a comfortable silence, save for the soft crackling of the fire and the gentle hum of the Christmas music in the background.

With a happy sigh, Y/N finally said, “Thank you, all of you. I really… I don’t deserve this, but it’s the best gift I could ever ask for.” The boys, each in their own way, smiled back at her, their eyes full of affection.

[kimmie2me]

# 04. Crossed Lines

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✰⋆⁺⋆˙⠀⠀⠀⠀taglist ... chapters ... masterlist

note: hey hey!! sorry for the late chapter!! needed time to write this + a request ill post later!! enjoy!!

.....

After the short interaction wrapped up, you found yourself glancing over at the two other detectives standing beside Midoriya. Both were new faces to you, but the contrast was instantly noticeable—Ashido Mina, with her bright eyes and bubblegum hair, radiated an unshakable optimism, while Sero Hanta’s casual smile and relaxed posture somehow balanced the energy Bakugou’s relentless intensity brought to the room. Midoriya himself, ever the polite one, caught your gaze and offered a small, friendly nod.

You decided that if you were all going to be dealing with a case this serious, a little rapport wouldn’t hurt. But the moment you opened your mouth, Bakugou’s eyes cut toward you, a warning practically glowing in his glare.

“Is this a damn tea party?” Bakugou barked, arms crossed tightly. “We got places to be, people. Let’s. GO.”

“Lighten up, Kacchan,” Midoriya replied with a smile that was almost too casual for the tension between him and Bakugou. He pushed up his sleeves, looking genuinely unfazed by Bakugou’s attitude. “We’re all working together on this one. And a team that’s familiar with each other works better, right?”

Bakugou shot him a glare, muttering something about “wasted time” as he stormed past, but he didn’t outright shut you down again, so… small victories.

“So, you’re the new partner, huh?” Sero asked, flashing a grin as you all walked toward the bullpen. “Must be tough, dealing with Mr. Sunshine over there.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the groan slipped out before you could stop it. “You have no idea. Half the time, I feel like he’s about two seconds away from throwing me out of a moving vehicle. Or into a boxing ring.”

“Oh, trust me,” Mina giggled, leaning in conspiratorially, “he’s all bark… and bite. But he only goes full ‘attack mode’ if he respects you. Right, Midoriya?”

Midoriya, clearly having overheard every word of the conversation, nodded with a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, Kacchan... has a unique way of motivating people. If you can even call it motivation," he added, trailing off as though unsure of how to phrase it. And this was the same guy who'd gotten away with calling Bakugou a semi-affectionate nickname—in public!

You were still processing that when Mina gave you a friendly tap on the shoulder. “So, don’t take it personally if he’s a little extra harsh. You’d have to screw up pretty bad for him to really lose it on you.”

Sero grinned. “Yeah, we’ve all been on the receiving end of his ‘motivational speeches.’ Right, Midoriya?”

Midoriya again nodded, a hint of nervous laughter escaping him. “He’s been like that since high school. But he’s a good detective. If you stick around long enough, you’ll see why.”

Just as you were starting to relax into the conversation, Bakugou’s voice sliced through it like a razor. “Oi! Enough chitchat. If I wanted a damn pep talk, I’d ask for it.” He shot you a glare, then pointed toward the door. “Move it. Now.”

You exchanged quick, sheepish glances with Mina and Sero, who both gave you a silent “good luck” nod as Bakugou led the way out, practically radiating impatience. Even Midoriya’s friendly wave didn’t fully shake off the weight of Bakugou’s intensity.

As you moved into the hallway with Bakugou just a few steps ahead, you couldn’t help but think: that getting to know these new teammates was going to be a marathon in itself. And given Bakugou’s lingering glare, you were pretty sure he’d do his best to make sure you wouldn’t forget it.

.....

The air between you and Bakugou was thick with unspoken tension as he pushed open the door to a quieter side room, away from the chatter and energy of the other officers. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as you stepped inside, the soft thud of the door closing behind you magnifying the sudden silence. Bakugou’s back was to you, the crisp lines of his navy-blue police detective uniform sharp under the bright lights. The tailored fabric stretched over his broad shoulders, the insignia patch visible on his sleeve as he crossed his arms and let out a deep, controlled breath.

“Alright, listen up, rookie,” he started, voice low and rough but without the usual edge that could cut through concrete. His eyes met yours, stormy and electric, a mix of begrudging seriousness and irritation. It wasn’t quite the barking tone you were used to, but it sure as hell wasn’t gentle either. “This isn't some simple patrol. We’re dealin' with a syndicate—real, organized scum who’d sell their own mothers for a payday.”

You nodded, feeling the pressure coil tighter in your chest. He took a step closer, and you resisted the urge to flinch. He wasn’t intimidating by accident; he was all sharp edges and raw energy, a wildfire trying to behave like a controlled burn.

“I know you’re green, and I know you’re not ready for half the shit we’re about to face.” His eyes narrowed, watching for any sign of disagreement. “But that don’t mean you’re gonna slack off. This is your chance to prove you can handle bein’ my partner without draggin’ my ass down.”

You opened your mouth to speak, maybe defend yourself or say something witty to cut the tension, but he didn’t give you the chance. His hand flew up, pointer finger raised in warning. “No. Shut up and listen."

Great. The infamous Bakugou Katsuki motivational speech, part two.

“We’re runnin' recon. Stakeout. The works. This ain’t the kind of gig where you can afford to blink and miss somethin’.” He started pacing, his boots hitting the linoleum floor with a steady rhythm. The room was just big enough that his movements seemed to fill every inch of space, every stride of his reminding you that he was not just a man, but a force. “We watch, we wait, and we don’t move unless we have to. You don’t make a sound unless I tell ya to. You don’t play hero, you don’t get curious, and you sure as hell don’t run your mouth if things get tense.”

He stopped in front of you again, eyes flickering over your expression like he was reading every doubt, every hesitation. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might actually tone it down. Instead, he leaned in, the intensity in his eyes nearly crackling.

“I’m sayin’ this once, so get it through that head of yours: the second you act like this is a game or hesitate when things get messy, we’re done. Got it?”

The room felt a few degrees hotter, and it took everything in you not to shrink under his stare. You swallowed hard, steeling your nerves. “..Got it.”

His gaze lingered, scanning for any cracks, any sign that you were bluffing. Whatever he saw must have passed his test, because he straightened, arms folding back across his chest as he nodded once, sharply.

“Good.” The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smirk but something less hostile. “Now, don’t screw it up.”

Silence stretched between you for a moment, the words sinking in like lead. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or more anxious. You took a breath, the reality of it all pressing down on your shoulders.

“So, when’s the stakeout?” you asked, trying to mask the nerves in your voice with a false bravado. It worked well enough in theory—maybe not so much in practice.

Bakugou’s eyes darkened with the glint of a man ready for battle. “Tonight. Gear up and meet me by the west gate at 1900. And remember what I said, rookie—‘cause one slip, and we’re both screwed.”

You nodded again, the weight of the next few hours pressing like a vise on your chest. As you turned to leave, the thought flared back in your mind: Yeah, you were definitely doomed.

.....

The hours between the briefing and 19:00 were a special kind of hell. You sat at your desk, fingers drumming against the polished wood as your nerves twisted into knots that no amount of deep breathing could undo. The department buzzed around you, a chaotic orchestra of voices, footsteps, and the static crackle of radios. But all of it was muffled, like cotton was stuffed in your ears. Your mind was on one thing: tonight's stakeout.

Kaminari, bless his soul, had tried to lighten the mood, sauntering over with that boyish grin and the kind of confidence that only came from blissful ignorance. “Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You know, if this was a horror movie, you’d be the one who gets possessed first.”

“Thanks, Kaminari,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile as your leg bounced under the desk. His joke didn’t help, but at least it was something.

“And then Bakugou would probably shout at the demon until it left you alone,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows. That earned him a snort from Kirishima across the room, who was busy checking his gear. Even so, the tension in your chest didn’t let up.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if the demon just possessed him instead,” you said, only half-joking. Kaminari barked out a laugh before leaning in.

“Hey, you’ll be fine. Just, you know, don’t do anything Bakugou said not to do,” he whispered conspiratorially.

You wanted to laugh, you really did. But instead, all you could do was glance at the clock, counting down the hours and minutes until you’d have to face Bakugou’s exacting standards—and hope that you wouldn’t be the reason this mission went sideways.

…

By the time 18:30 rolled around, you were a bundle of frayed nerves. Every glance from Bakugou during prep was a silent challenge, his sharp eyes catching the tiniest missteps—your holster that wasn’t clipped properly, the radio you checked twice just to be sure it was on the right frequency. He didn’t even have to say anything; the weight of his disapproval was enough to make you sweat bullets. You could practically hear him in your head, shouting, “Rookie mistakes get us killed.”

The room felt like it was closing in, the anticipation coiling tighter with every second that passed. It didn’t help that the murmured conversations were peppered with glances in your direction. Even Kirishima, who’d shown up with a reassuring clap on your shoulder and a grin that promised camaraderie, couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom that had settled over you.

“Alright, everyone!” Chief Yagi’s voice cut through the room like a warm, steady beacon. The tall man stood beside Chief Aizawa, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here, his eyes half-lidded but sharp. The room quieted instantly, officers shifting from casual banter to focused attention. Even Bakugou, with his constant underlying intensity, straightened his posture.

“This is it,” Chief Yagi began, his voice even and calm, resonating with the kind of authority that settled nerves—at least a little. “We’re up against a syndicate that’s been one step ahead of us for too long. Tonight, we change that.”

Chief Aizawa’s eyes swept the room, pausing on you for a fraction longer than you’d have liked. “Stay sharp. This isn’t your average stakeout. Everyone needs to be on point. One mistake, and they’ll be gone before we blink.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze like an iron chain. Your heart drummed so loudly, you wondered if anyone else could hear it.

“Bakugou, you and your team are the first line,” Yagi continued, eyes shifting to the explosive blond. Bakugou’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smirk but was probably just his battle-ready scowl. “Be ready for anything.”

“Damn right,” Bakugou muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes flicked to you for half a second, a warning and an assurance wrapped into one.

You swallowed hard as the chiefs finished the briefing, a collective shuffling of boots and gear following as everyone moved out to their positions. The air crackled with anticipation, every officer a tightly wound spring ready to snap. The hallway buzzed with activity, footsteps echoing as your team gathered near the entrance.

And then it hit you, hard and cold like a wave crashing over your head: you were absolutely fucked. All the pep talks, all the reassurances in the world couldn’t quell the gnawing anxiety that twisted in your gut as you stepped into the night, the sky darkening into a canopy of shadows.

“Let’s move, rookie!” Bakugou’s voice cut through, snapping you back to the present. You glanced over at Midoriya, who shot you a small, nervous smile that did little to settle your nerves. Ahead, Kirishima flashed a thumbs-up, his own excitement barely contained.

The night was just beginning, but one thing was clear—you were in for the fight of your life.

.....

You, Kirishima, and Bakugou took up positions in the dense cluster of shadows outside the syndicate's hideout. The abandoned industrial park loomed like a hulking beast, its rusted metal structures catching the eerie glow of the moon. The cool night air should have been refreshing, but it only added a biting edge to the tension coiling in your stomach. Bakugou was already a taut wire, vibrating with his usual mix of impatience and adrenaline.

“Eyes open, no screw-ups,” Bakugou hissed under his breath, the snarl barely masked behind clenched teeth. His glare cut through the dark, landing squarely on you. Great, you thought. Just what you needed—his full, undivided wrath.

“Got it,” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of night insects.

Kirishima, bless his eternally optimistic soul, shot you a reassuring smile. “Hey, we’re gonna be fine, yeah? We’ve trained for this. Just remember the plan.”

You nodded, trying to channel even a sliver of his confidence. The plan was simple on paper: observe, gather intel, wait for the signal. But reality had a funny way of chewing up simple plans and spitting them out as complicated messes, and with Bakugou as the lead, nothing was ever just simple.

Bakugou shifted beside you, eyes narrowed and posture coiled tight like a predator about to spring. “Stop movin' like you’re an amateur on a school field trip. You make one wrong move, and they’ll hear us from miles away.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from snapping back. He wasn’t wrong, but damn if the delivery didn’t make you want to throw your boot at his head. Instead, you adjusted your stance, focusing on steady, measured breaths. Kirishima’s eyes darted between the two of you, his smile faltering slightly. He opened his mouth as if to say something encouraging but quickly shut it as Bakugou shot him a look that could’ve seared paint off metal.

“Focus, Shitty Hair. We’re not here for a group hug.”,” Bakugou growled.

Kirishima winced, but to his credit, he nodded. “Right, right. All good here.”

The quiet stretched out, an oppressive blanket that made every creak and rustle sound magnified. You kept your eyes trained on the entrance of the building, fingers flexing nervously at your side. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple despite the chill. You wanted to be calm, composed, the officer Bakugou didn’t feel like he had to babysit. But under the weight of his scalding gaze, the pressure sat heavy on your chest.

Suddenly, a small sound—a metallic clink—broke the silence. Your eyes darted to the source, and before you could register what it was, Bakugou had whirled on you, eyes blazing with fury.

“What the hell did I say, rookie?!" he hissed, barely louder than a whisper but fierce enough to make your pulse leap. “You tryin' to announce our presence with a goddamn megaphone?””

“I didn’t—” you started, but Kirishima interjected, trying to diffuse the escalating tension.

“Whoa, whoa, guys. Let’s just—”

“Stay outta this, Kirishima,” Bakugou snapped, never taking his eyes off you. "I swear, if you cost us this op—”

“Bakugou, I get it,” you interrupted, your voice sharp enough to slice through the static in the air. “I’m not here to mess this up.”

“Then act like it.”,” he shot back, voice dripping with impatience. His eyes were unreadable in the dark, but you could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying pressing against you. Prove yourself or get out of my way.

Kirishima shifted awkwardly, clearly torn between stepping in and staying silent. His fingers curled, the tension evident even in his usually relaxed frame. He gave you a small, apologetic look, but there wasn’t much he could do. Bakugou’s word was final.

You swallowed hard and nodded, steeling yourself. The sting of Bakugou’s criticism burned, but it fueled you, sharpening your focus. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking under his scrutiny.

The minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last as the quiet hum of the night settled once more. The weight of the mission, of Bakugou’s piercing gaze, of your own hammering heartbeat—all of it coalesced into a single, suffocating realization.

You were in it now, with no room for doubt or error. As Chief Yagi’s voice crackled softly through the comms with the final “All units, prepare to engage,” you exhaled shakily. The stakeout had officially begun, and there was no turning back.

This, you thought as you scanned the perimeter one last time, the shadows shifting and stretching like specters. Is the worst year of my life.

.....

The first half hour of the stakeout was suffocating in its monotony. Every creak and groan of the old industrial park seemed amplified, stretching the seconds into an eternity. Bakugou hadn’t taken his eyes off the building for a second, muscles taut and ready to strike at the slightest hint of movement. You tried to match his vigilance, forcing your breathing to remain steady as the cold air bit through your jacket. Kirishima shifted beside you, the only sign he wasn’t made entirely of stone.

Suddenly, a low whistle over the comms cut through the night: the signal. Movement at the side entrance. Your pulse spiked, locking eyes with Bakugou, who barely gave you a glance before snapping, “Stay close. Don’t screw this up.”

“Right,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. This was it. Time to prove you were more than just some rookie Bakugou had to babysit.

The three of you crept forward, Bakugou leading with steps too silent for someone with such a loud personality. You mirrored him as best you could, even as adrenaline threatened to unsteady your footing. Kirishima brought up the rear, eyes narrowed and focused.

Just as you reached the door, Bakugou’s hand shot up, signaling a halt. He glanced back, mouthing, On my mark. Your fingers flexed, nerves wound tighter than a spring.

Then, a figure darted out of the building, faster than expected. Panic flared as you reacted just a beat too late. Your foot grazed a loose pipe, sending it clattering against the concrete like a symphony of mistakes.

Bakugou’s eyes flashed with molten fury. “What the hell did I just say?!”

The figure froze, head whipping toward the noise—then bolted, vanishing into the maze of the industrial park.

“Move!” Bakugou roared, his voice slicing through the night.

All three of you burst into a sprint, boots pounding cracked pavement. The cold bit harder as you tore through tight corridors and rusted structures, Bakugou’s curses driving you forward.

Twisting around corners, feet pounding, shadows shifting erratically in the flashlights’ beams—you misstepped, just a fraction too slow on the slick ground. Your ankle twisted, and the world tilted. You yelped, slamming into a metal crate with a clang.

“Split up!” he barked, and you veered right, legs burning, lungs heaving to keep pace. You caught a blur of movement—a flash of dark clothing.

“Contact, west side!” you gasped into the comms.

But as you turned the corner, your target slipped into a corridor cluttered with debris. You leapt over a pipe, skidding on loose gravel, arms pinwheeling. Before you regained balance, a second figure shoved past, slamming you against the metal siding of a container.

“Dammit!” you choked, disoriented. The clatter had already alerted the team, but it was too late. Bakugou appeared from the opposite end, just in time to see them vanish through a gap in the chain-link fence.

He spun to you, fury sparking in his eyes. “Are you serious? One damn job, and you blew it!”

Kirishima came running, breathing hard, eyes darting between the exit and your crumpled form. “We can still—”

“It’s too late, Kirishima.” Bakugou spat, words cutting like glass. He yanked you up by the arm, not gentle. “Lost our best lead ‘cause of you.”

You winced as he let go, the cold fury in his eyes stinging more than the rough grip on your arm. Silence fell heavy, punctuated only by harsh breaths and the distant hum of the city.

Then Chief Yagi’s voice crackled over the comms. “Teams, return to base. We’ll regroup and assess.”

You couldn’t look Bakugou in the eye as you trudged back, the walk a slow march of shame. Kirishima tried a comforting shoulder pat, but it only made the sting worse. Bakugou’s words echoed in your skull, sharp as broken glass.

.....

Back at the precinct, Bakugou wasted no time, cornering you in the hallway, slamming a fist against the wall by your head with a sharp crack. You flinched. His eyes blazed, a cold fury simmering beneath the surface. His jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to shatter, and you could feel heat radiating from him, even in the frigid night air. This was beyond bad.

“What. The hell. Were you thinkin’?” he ground out, each word heavy with fury, barely contained. He was close enough that you noticed the scar slicing across his right cheek—a jagged reminder he was built for chaos. Right now, though, he looked like he was about to snap—and you were the reason why.

Honestly? You didn’t even know. No idea, and that was the worst of it. You didn’t know why you kept screwing up. Or why you couldn’t just…stop.

You swore you wouldn’t cry. Never. But after everything, you could feel it creeping up, your gaze dropping to avoid Bakugou’s glare, which burned with something harsher than anger—disdain. It was like fuel to the fire, but for your tears, if that even made sense.

The weight of his glare felt like it might crush you into the linoleum. Bakugou’s presence filled every inch of the hallway, every jagged line of his rage pressing in on you until even breathing felt like a mistake. But you forced yourself to hold it together, swallowing hard, refusing to crack under his gaze.

"Chief Yagi told me you had potential," he sneered, voice dripping with venom. "Thought I was wastin’ my time watchin' your back, but I guess you’re set on provin' him wrong." His eyes raked over you, assessing, but you could tell he wasn’t finding anything worth the trouble.

Your fists tightened, knuckles white, but you bit back any retort that threatened to slip out. You didn’t have a defense. You’d failed, and he was right to be angry. Still, the weight of his disappointment—and the sting of his words—cut deep.

"I fuckin' knew you'd be a shit partner, if I can even call you that," Bakugou spat, voice low and venomous. He stepped back, shaking his head in disgust. "You're not even worth the time I wasted, dragging your ass through this mess."

Your chest tightened, but you kept your jaw set, refusing to back down or give him the satisfaction of seeing your frustration boil over. You could feel the heat of his words, each one like a slap to the face. But you weren’t going to let him break you.

Kirishima rounded the corner, his face a mask of concern. He caught Bakugou’s shoulder, halting him mid-step. “C’mon, man, go easy. You know we all slip up sometimes. We were all green once, right?”

Bakugou shrugged him off, his glare flicking between you and Kirishima. "Green’s one thing. Getting a lead ruined ‘cause they don’t know left from right? That’s another."

Kirishima's jaw tensed, but he turned to you with a softer look, one that almost undid all your efforts not to crumble right there. "Hey, everyone messes up at some point. Even Bakugou’s had a few rough starts. Right, Bakugou?" he added, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Bakugou’s eyes flashed, jaw clenching tighter. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Shitty Hair.”

Kirishima didn’t back down, meeting Bakugou’s fierce gaze head-on. “But you’re the one who’s always telling everyone to learn fast, right? And they will. They just need—”

“Need to toughen up, yeah,” Bakugou snapped, cutting him off. He turned back to you, his voice low and lethal. "Next time you so much as breathe wrong on a case, I’ll make sure it’s the last time."

With one last, withering look, he stormed off, footsteps echoing down the hall. Kirishima stayed a moment longer, his hand landing on your shoulder, firm but reassuring.

"Look," he murmured, lowering his voice. "Bakugou’s tough on everyone. Hell, he was even worse with me when I started. But he’s all bark, yeah? Don’t let it get to you. You’ll learn. Just…keep at it."

You managed a shaky nod, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. “Thanks, Kirishima.”

He gave you a reassuring pat, his smile kind despite everything. "Hang in there. If you stick around long enough, even Bakugou’s gotta acknowledge you eventually." He offered a wink, trying to lighten the mood, before heading down the hall after his friend.

The quiet that followed felt hollow, the fluorescent lights humming above as you stood there, replaying every step of the mission in your mind, every slip and wrong move magnified a hundred times over.

You barely registered the footsteps approaching until a soft voice spoke.

"You okay?"

It was Chief Yagi, his tall frame looming gently over you, eyes soft and compassionate. The chief was a man of few words, but each one seemed to carry weight. He’d been the one who vouched for you, vouched hard enough to get Bakugou’s reluctant approval. You didn’t know why he’d stuck his neck out, not when there were dozens of rookies more deserving.

“Yes, sir. Just…reflecting,” you managed, forcing your voice to stay steady.

Yagi’s gaze didn’t waver, his sharp eyes searching yours as if reading every thought that crossed your mind. “Mistakes happen,” he said quietly, his tone gentle but firm. “They’re not what define you. It’s what you do afterward that counts.”

You nodded, hearing the wisdom in his words but not quite feeling it. The shame still burned, Bakugou’s words still echoing like a scar. You couldn’t shake the image of his furious glare, the way his words cut through you, sharper than any blade. You had one job. That’s all he’d said. And you’d screwed it up. Badly.

You weren’t cut out for this, were you? Maybe Bakugou was right—maybe you were just a waste of time. Everyone around you seemed to know exactly what they were doing, but you were fumbling through every step, like a toddler learning to walk. You could still feel the sting of his disappointment, his anger, like it was still seeping into your bones.

You weren’t good enough. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

A pit of self-loathing twisted in your stomach, deeper than it ever had before. You’d come into this job with so much hope, with the idea that you could prove yourself, that you could be something more than just another rookie. But every time you tried, it felt like you only dug yourself deeper. Every mistake you made seemed to stack up, making you a bigger target for Bakugou’s wrath.

Was this the best you could do? Stumbling through every opportunity, letting your partner clean up your mess?

You should’ve known better. You should’ve moved faster, been more careful, not tripped on that damn pipe. You shouldn’t have let the pressure get to you. But here you were, a failure in the eyes of your mentor, your team, yourself.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, and you blinked them away furiously. You didn’t cry. Not over something like this. But no matter how hard you tried, the ache in your chest didn’t fade. What if this was it? What if you just weren’t built for this kind of work? Maybe you didn’t belong here at all.

You pushed a hand against the wall, feeling the cool surface beneath your palm as your breath grew shallow. What if you just gave up? What if you walked out the door, out of this damn precinct, and never came back?

You’re not good enough, the thought whispered. And you never will be.

For a moment, you stood there, weighed down by that voice—by the truth of it. And in the quiet of the hallway, with only the distant hum of the building and the haunting echoes of Bakugou’s fury, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you were starting to believe it.

The silence stretched on, the oppressive weight of your own thoughts bearing down on you. The anger that had been bubbling in your chest before was now buried under a thick layer of disappointment—both your own and what you imagined Bakugou’s to be.

But then, a soft voice cut through the dark fog of your mind.

"Hey." Chief Yagi’s voice was gentle, but firm. You didn’t even realize he had entered the hallway until you heard him say your name. "You doing alright?"

You flinched at the sound of your name, dragging your gaze up to meet his warm, steady eyes. Chief Yagi wasn’t like Bakugou—he wasn’t harsh, wasn’t blunt or demanding. His presence was a quiet kind of strength, and it was that quiet strength that seemed to settle over you like a blanket.

“I… I don’t know, Chief.” The words came out like a confession, raw and hesitant. You couldn’t meet his gaze for long, instead focusing on the floor as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. "I screwed up. Big time. I… I don’t think I’m cut out for this."

The words tasted like ash in your mouth. They were the culmination of all the doubts you’d been carrying, every mistake you’d made, every misstep that felt like a chasm between you and your teammates.

Chief Yagi sighed softly, taking a step closer, his expression kind but knowing, like he’d seen this before. "Hey," he repeated, his voice reassuring. "Everyone messes up. Especially when they’re starting out."

You shook your head, unable to shake the feeling that you’d let everyone down. "I let everyone down, Chief. Bakugou was right. I—I had one job, and I blew it. You gave me a chance to prove myself..and I failed."

"Yeah, you made a mistake. But you didn’t ruin everything." Chief Yagi’s voice was calm, but it carried the weight of experience. "We’re not in this alone, you know? You don’t have to carry the burden of every single slip-up on your own."

His words were a balm to the self-inflicted wound that had been festering. But they still didn’t feel quite enough to wipe away the guilt. "But I keep messing up," you said softly. "Over and over again. I’m just... holding everyone back."

"No," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "What you’re doing is learning. You’re learning, and you’re pushing through. That’s all anyone can ask of you. I see it, you know? The way you push yourself. The way you don’t back down, even when it’s tough."

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to feel that tiny spark of hope flicker back to life inside you. But it was hard to see through the haze of failure that clouded your mind. "But what if I’m just not good enough? What if I’m just... a mistake waiting to happen?"

Chief Yagi let out another soft breath, and when he spoke again, it was with the kind of patience only someone who’d been through it all could have. "You know, no one gets everything right the first time. Or the second. Or the third, for that matter. It’s not about getting it perfect; it’s about getting back up every time you fall. And you will. I’m sure of it."

His words sank into you like a stone into water, rippling through the doubt and frustration that had been swelling up inside you. Chief Yagi wasn’t trying to erase your mistake, he was just reminding you that it didn’t define you. That you didn’t have to be perfect to be worth something.

"I’m not saying it’ll be easy," he continued, his voice steady, "but I’m here, and your team’s here. You don’t have to be alone in this, even when it feels like you are."

You swallowed hard, fighting the lump that had formed in your throat. For the first time that night, you allowed yourself a breath, a small sigh that felt like a fraction of a weight lifting.

“I won’t give up,” you said quietly, the words more to yourself than to him, but they still felt like a promise. “I’ll do better. I’ll keep going.”

Chief Yagi smiled, a small but warm curve of his lips that sent a little spark of hope through your chest. “That’s all anyone needs to hear. You’re gonna be just fine, kid.”

He turned to walk away, but before he did, he gave you one last, reassuring glance over his shoulder. "And if you ever need to talk, I’m around. Don’t forget that, okay?"

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. Maybe you weren’t a lost cause after all. Maybe you could get better. Maybe you were learning. And with that, you allowed yourself just a sliver of hope—enough to push through to the next day.

[gotwcird]

star looks at him, can feel warmth stirring all over her body when he laughs. she could hear him laugh all day. feels the sound of it stir something deep and lovely within her. at the same time, it makes her twitch with greed. jesus, she likes him so fucking much. she's never felt this before. "you're lying," she laughs, can't believe it because it has to be hyperbole, right? she's sure he's had better, even if the thought makes errant jealousy creep into her thoughts, the fact that there were women he's been with before. but the rusted hinges of her skills surely couldn't have been his best, right? "it's okay! i like swallowing . . . i mean unless you wanted to come on me? then we can do that next time?" is probably too earnest in her question, but is genuine in her interest to please him. as she learned moments before, she would let him do anything to her.

she feels safe like this too — his arms around her, him kissing her open-mouthed and wanton. can't help the mewl she lets out in response to his words, is embarrassingly pleased with herself from his praise. "we could make that happen," she whispers into his mouth, kissing back slowly and eagerly. he's technically off at least another week before they have to go to vancouver for her filming, and she had the script properly memorized from their weeks of not talking. they could do it, spend their days naked and together. she starts to indulge in the fantasy, that is until nico reaches down between her legs. "yes," gasps the response pathetically fast, almost forgetting how painful the pulsing between her thighs was. she'd been distracted by the bliss of his words and lips, but it comes crashing down back on her.

his hand cups her heat and she gasps. byeol is like clay in his hands, moulding and moving to every touch and desire, moulded into a perfect image of desire. whimpers when he kisses along her neck, shivers as he traces along the shell of her ear; pitifully weak and shaking for him like this. ( the screatch of his stubble keeps her grounded, keeps her gratefully in the moment. ) "fingers?" she murmurs, pushing her head back in to kiss him again, wiggling her hips to chase where his hand is. "i . . . i want to kiss you more." wants his tongue again, to feel him in every way possible. in all honesty, she wants his cock again, wants him to bury himself deep inside her and take root there. keep them connected and together. but she knows it's not realistic ( despite the haze of arousal ) since he just came — the taste of his semen still sitting heavy at the back of her mouth. but she can still ask, right? "can you fuck me again? i wanna feel you inside." feels herself clench at the thought alone, nuzzles into nico's cheek. "when you feel up to it again, of course."

he lets out a breathless laugh , moving the hand that was entangled in her hair to cover his face for a second as he tries to remember how to breathe . when he closes his eyes , the visual of her sucking him off , mouth full , lips stretched , eyes wide . MOANS ELICITING FROM HER . she looked like she enjoyed it - him - his cock in her mouth . it makes his pulse jump . nico nods so fast and hard that he feels the room spin with it . she truly has no idea what she's done to him . IS DOING to him . the feeling of her mouth around him is par to nothing else he's ever felt in this life . it's a horrible thing to get addicted to , and so quickly , but star has that effect on him . her words almost make him feel baffled , because OF COURSE IT WAS GOOD , saying it was 'good ' is an understatement .

nico reopens his eyes so he can meet hers. " your mouth . your tongue . " he lets out , weakly . " that's the best blow job i've ever had in my life . " the breathless laugh leaves him again , chest heaving . slowly , he can feel himself returning to his body , his mind becoming more sane and not just running rampant with filthy , desiring thoughts . " i'm - i came in your mouth . " nico apologises , because he feels he should never ASSUME he can even if she didn't seem bothered by it ( she sucked it all up . his mind traitorously remembers the image ) . as she slides up nico's body , his arms automatically wrap around her , pulling her closer . she presses a soft kiss to his mouth and he can vaguely taste himself there . nico's eyes drink her in , mouth redder than usual , eyes dilated . he pulls her back to him and kisses her again , opens her mouth with his own and breathes in it . " i felt amazing . you make it amazing . " he murmurs against her mouth . " it makes me never want to leave this bed . " it's more than that , though . it's HER . not just what her mouth can do ( albeit , incredible things ) . he just likes being with her . he never even imagined he COULD be with her . his nose gently nudges against hers and he kisses her again , this time more slow and languid . he doesn't know what the time is . he doesn't even know what day it is anymore . he finds that he doesn't really care .

" let me . . . " he breathes it against her , hand sliding down between her legs . to her milky thighs . his fingers cup her , trace along that soft mound that he could bury his fingers , mouth , and cock against . " if you want ? " because he doesn't want to push her even though he's insatiable . he doesn't care that he just came . he doesn't care that they should lie down and GET SOME AIR . he'll drown between her legs if she lets him . his brain ticks and remembers the way star rubbed her thighs together , wantonly , as she sucked him off . SHE NEEDED FRICTION . he can give her that . his hand slides lower , gently pushing her legs apart . his gaze finds hers and looks at her with meaning , with care , with desire - all packaged up with a neat bow . THE SILENT QUESTION IS THERE because it always will be , no matter how many times they do this ( and he hopes its many many more ) . he leans in closer to her and presses kisses down her neck , knows his stubble will rub against her skin . he reaches the shell of her ear and his tongue gently moves around it , carving out the shape . his breath is hot as he talks : " want my mouth or my fingers ? " because whatever star wants ( WHENEVER SHE WANTS IT ) , he will give her . nico hasn't just dived in . he's hook link and sunk right against her .

[transmascutena]

thinking about how akio sees his younger self in utena and wondering if there's any fondness there. doesn't change the horror of what he does to her obviously but i do wonder

[mokeonn]

Honestly, having multiple older customers at my job encourage me to vote by telling me that "it's between freedom (trump) or socialism (harris)" or some other "vote trump" talking point has genuinely encouraged me to vote far more than any "vote blue" posts on this hellsite ever have. Like fuck yeah I'll vote for socialism cheers comrade

[breadvidence]

Using this space to reply to both @blatherby and @fluentisonus!

@blatherby: right right right, "The time has come to journey on/And from this day he must be gone"—and I do think you're correct that standard fanon is he's going into this encounter with the intent to leave, though I suppose I don't know how much by percentage Valvert fic is actually based on the musical vs the Brick, and for the former it's not a misreading per se. I'm thrown, in any case! Really having to recalibrate my sense of the level of his self-harm and suicidality (which still sits at "very nonzero", but slightly lower than "dialed up to eleven", I guess—I think that the line "He was at his own request and through his own complicity driven out of all his happinesses one after the other; and he had this sorrow, that after having lost Cosette wholly in one day, he was afterwards obliged to lose her again in detail" signals that he wouldn't have been able to sustain himself on this course regardless of Marius' part in things).

@fluentisonus said in tags:

#yes!!!! this was something i was thinking abt a lot when i just got here on this last read#& i think contributed to my being more frustrated with/upset by marius this time around than before#i think the other line here is that really stood out to me is 5.8.2:#''He came every day because he had not the strength to take Marius’ words otherwise than literally''#<- which to me does Not speak to someone who is planning to stop visiting.#or at least to actually go through with not visiting#he's in fact willfully taking marius at his literal word re visiting rather than what i think he knows derp down marius would prefer#like he gave marius incomplete reasons & scared him badly (his (jvj's) fault!) but the m jean stuff is i think just intended as a layer of#separation to visiting & that last horrible wrench is all marius. & while not quite unexpected it's not what he (ivj) would have done#naturally if given the choice. in fact as we see it's incredibly hard to prevent himself from going#anyways really good post!#les mis#i think another thing though is that he asks marius to visit when he's quite literally at the door. like. he knows he can't bear#to not have this one thing. like he says all that & asks marius if he should see her again; takes his 'cold' no; gets to the door; & then#closes the door again & turns around to beg to see her <- tbc this is not a disagreement with your point that he always intends to visit#cosette just that both in-book & out of book it's easy to mistake bc it being at the end there makes it almost Seem like an afterthought#rather than i think one of the most genuinely earnest parts of his confession because to him he's been building up to something#he's not convinced he deserves & is asking against his better judgement#But i think this doesn't look good particularly to marius#it looks like he's backtracking on what he's set up#& marius gives in in the moment but it's one of the things he specifically regrets caving to in the next chapter#& i think is frustrated jvj couldn't fully follow through so he decides to force the issue#if that makes sense#hmm also (<- sorry op to come back & add more tags hours later) speaking of the m jean/vouvoyer thing i think you can very much read that#as being not a step towards a final separation but rather a way (to his mind) he can safely & perhaps even more honestly (?) Continue to#visit cosette. he can still see her without being connected to her in sn incriminating way . like you say#<- ofc this is not at all how it comes across to cosette

Yes!!! The level of my "jesus, you murdered that man" feelings towards Marius definitely dialed up a notch by reading the scene through this lens. As I said in responding above: re-reading further, I think it's a misjudgment on Valjean's part—that he can survive on black bread, but not on so little of Cosette—but I do wonder if, in the long run, as she once convinced him to have a fire and better food for her sake, whether she would've rekindled their bond and said to hell with this to the M. Jean and vouvoyer and cellar. Like, she's caught up in a new marriage, in learning what it means to love openly and fuck a man and live in the world, but I like to think given a few more months to settle into things she would've come back around to her papa—because she might not need him like she did when she was alone in the woods, but there's more in love than needing.

Which sidetracks me from "what did Jean Valjean mean to do?" to "what did Jean Valjean actually do?", and in the context of Cosette's happiness—it's always fraught! always makes me holler. Poor old man, and poor child.

I've dithered over making this post because I will feel incredibly silly if everyone else got this on the first go-through rather than the—Lord alone knows how many times I've read this particular scene, actually—but there I was, me and "The Seventh Circle and the Eighth Heaven"—as you do, for idle and entertainment, and I reach

If you will allow it, I will come to see her. I assure you that I desire it greatly. If I had not cared to see Cosette, I should not have made to you the confession that I have made, I should have gone away; but, as I desired to remain in the place where Cosette is, and to continue to see her, I had to tell you about it honestly. You follow my reasoning, do you not? it is a matter easily understood.

And realized that despite the character stating his reason right there in the text I have misunderstood badly. I took Valjean's intent with this confession and in his behavior afterwards to be separation from Cosette, that his desired outcome is to die alone, that he struggles against his love of her to reach that solitude, but it's—not. He says earlier that it's not, as well.

Stay, the unfortunate point is that I have a thread in my heart, which keeps me fast. It is when one is old that that sort of thread is particularly solid. All life falls in ruin around one; one resists. Had I been able to tear out that thread, to break it, to undo the knot or to cut it, to go far away, I should have been safe. I had only to go away; there are diligences in the Rue Bouloy; you are happy; I am going. I have tried to break that thread, I have jerked at it, it would not break, I tore my heart with it.

The thread—to Cosette. He can't separate himself. He would not have to make this confession if he could simply leave her. Therefore he has to confess to Marius for two reasons, as I see it: (1) a big dramatic compulsion to honesty about his symbolic status as one who cannot live in the family of men, sure, but (2) like, real literally, he cannot live in the house. Valjean is practical, he makes arrangements, he's smart, his confession draws from the saint but I think it's also the thief, and what does the thief need? A co-conspirator. Both morally and practically he's averse to living at the Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, and with both Cosette and her "master" Marius pushing him to move in, he'd have to move totally away, as he's certainly not going to give in—but now he's got Marius' backing to allow him to stay at the Rue de l'Homme-Armé, and he can exist in the in-between space he's always occupied, there in the back courtyard of Cosette's life.

I always wondered at Valjean's vacillation—that he says "To-day, Cosette passes out of my life; our two roads part. Henceforth, I can do nothing for her.", then begs Marius for the right to visit her. But he didn't change his intent at all; he was always keen to visit, to live on the crumbs that scatter from the table. He simply can't pull up a chair.

Marius' passive-aggressive attack on that thread, the destruction of Valjean's heart, Valjean is complicit in accepting that, yes. But he did not come into this parlor looking for that outcome.

🤦‍♂️

[birdricks]

getting sooooo emotional abt how like. when rick and bp meet again during the federation stuff its like theyre completely different ppl from who they were when they last saw each other. but it almost makes them become closer instead of driving them apart… until of course their values clash in the worst possible way