#this is such a fun idea. if something like this exists. please tell me

[scp-admissions]

Here is an idea for a SCP choose-your-own-adventure style book. The plot is quite standard, the protagonist is a D-class or a site guard, and there is a breach. They (I'm imagining the nameless gender neutral main character trope) are need to survive the breach or even stop it, and how that goes depend on the player's choices.

A few pages can be them meeting various famous SCP, like SCP-049 or SCP-035. But I would also like them to meet less known SCPs, leaving half of the readers say "what...", and half of the readers saying "Oooh it's SCP-1498, the sheep thing with a telephone head!"

A few routes will lead to the main character entering various extra dimensional SCPs, such as SCP-354(The Red Lake), SCP-2264 (In the Court of Alagadda), The Wanderers' Library, or any other nightmare dimension, really. If the first book does well, there would even be a follow-up book/spin-off that continues from one of these endings.

There was to be at least 10 endings were the main character dies in horrible ways. There is also one ending that is like, "go to page 1", implying that the main character is stuck in a time loop that is this book. There is one ending where they wake up and it was jus a dream, just for the breach alarm to go off. The happy ending is still bittersweet, because the main character survive but someone they cares for didn't.

Now there is just a teeny tiiiny little problem. someone has to actually spend time to make such a book, and I can't draw.

[novelmonger]

I'd like to gauge interest in a fanfic exchange event, inspired by Blind Date with a Book, if you're familiar with that. Please read the details below the cut before voting, and if you do vote, please reblog and/or send to anyone you think might be interested!

Option A: It's a monthly event where, during a certain period of time, people can sign up to put their name on a list, and also submit a fic that they recommend. (There would be certain guidelines that would have to be followed for everyone to have fun, like an upper limit on rating, a story that can be understood without context, etc.) On the specified date, I would randomly match up names to fics and send everyone the results, at which point everyone gets to read something and leave the author a comment!

Option B: This would be more of a Secret Santa-esque event, where people would sign up with a brief description of the kind of things they're not interested in reading, e.g. categories of pairings, tags for personal triggers, etc. On the specified date, I would assign everybody a partner, and everyone finds a fic for their partner that adheres to their guidelines.

Alternatively, either of these options could also work with each person presenting a selection of, say, three fics in the form of links that don't give anything away, along with a vague description like "a peaceful day at home" or "whump leads to an important confession."

[maddisandy]

Honestly if I ever need any proof to myself that I'm ace it's the fact that I've always thought of sex as a concept rather than an actual act people do. Like to me, yeah, that's a way of showing physical closeness between two people or otherwise some sort of relationship. I never mentally make that connection that oh right, people actually do this for pleasure. Because it is, but I never consider that because I've never seen the enjoyment in it. This is something people find fun. I forgot that.

Whoops.

[flwrkid14]

Please please please give me tim drake who has always wanted a little brother. Give me tim drake who was so excited to have damian as a little brother. Give me Tim drake who was heartbroken that damian hated him. Give me Tim drake who gave up on his dreams of being the best older brother.

But also give me Tim drake who was so happy when duke came into the family and was happy to meet him. Give me Tim drake who has to experience the awe and admiration Duke has for him because HE is Duke's robin. Give me a Tim drake who FINALLY gets to be the older brother he always wanted to be.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GIVE ME A TM DRAKE WHO TEACHES DUKE HOW TO BE A DRAKE, WHO TEACHES DUKE HOW TO ACT AT GALAS AND INTERACT WITH HIGH SOCIETY LIKE JANET TAUGHT HIM.

(No pressure, I love your work so much)

hi anon !! tysm for the ask and sorry it took me a minute to get to it, but I had so much fun writing this, and this was such a brilliant idea! <3

Tim always wanted a little brother.

Not to boss around or dump chores on—he just liked the idea of it. Someone to look after. Someone to share things with. To protect. He grew up alone in a house full of silence and secrets, and maybe he thought a little brother would make it all feel a little less cold.

So when Damian came into the picture, Tim was excited. Really, genuinely excited. Damian was younger. He was new. He was Tim’s chance to finally be the older brother he’d always wanted to be.

Except Damian… hated him.

From the start. Didn’t even hesitate. It was instant, razor-sharp disdain. Like Tim had done something unspeakable just by existing. Just—rage and rejection and contempt.

And Tim—he didn’t know what to do with that. He tried, at first. But everything he did just seemed to make things worse. So eventually, he stopped trying. He let the silence settle between them again, let the distance become a wall, and then a canyon.

And eventually, it just felt like—he’d never had a little brother at all.

Then Duke joined the family.

Younger than Tim. Bright. Smart. So much potential. And Tim didn’t let himself hope. Didn’t reach.

So he stayed polite. Friendly. Civil. He helped Duke when he asked, guided him when it was needed. But he kept that emotional distance. Just in case. Just in case Duke ended up hating him too.

Except… Duke didn’t.

Instead, Duke started standing by him at events. Letting Tim take the lead. Letting Tim show him the ropes of high society and backhanded condolences.

Tim noticed the way Duke mimicked his posture, his cadence, his etiquette. Like he trusted him.

And something in Tim—hope. It sparked again.

He started softening. Started doting. Just a little. Then more. Checking in. Saving him the good snacks. Making sure he wasn’t left behind in the chaos of everything.

And one day, Duke tells him— “You were my Robin. Not Dick. Not Jason. You. I always looked up to you.”

And that—Tim has to sit down. Because. No one’s ever said that to him. No one’s ever meant it like that. He’d never expected to hear it from anyone, let alone from Duke—the kid he hadn’t let himself hope for.

Duke likes when Tim teaches him how to be a Drake. When Tim smooths his collar and reminds him to arch one eyebrow when a socialite says something snide. Duke notices the difference, too. Damian learns how to be a Wayne. But he learns how to be a Drake.

And Duke thinks he might actually like being a Drake, even more than he would a Wayne, at least. There’s something gentle about it. Something warm.

Tim looks at Duke and thinks: maybe this is what it’s supposed to feel like. Maybe this is what having a little brother feels like.

And it’s not perfect. It’s not how he pictured it when he was ten years old and lonely.

But it’s real.

And he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hey. Hi. Hello. Today I learned about the existence of 15th century Welsh poet Gwerful Mechain and that she apparently has a surviving work of erotic poems.

Please. For Christmas. For Yule. Please tell me more because I can't read Welsh.

Heh heh. Oh, Gwerful Mechain is the absolute best.

(Quick housekeeping to keep the post manageable - I previously wrote about things like cynghanedd and cywydds and englyns and such here, so check that if you need an explanation.)

What's fun is that we don't know a ton about her, because not a lot got written down about people in her time. Her surviving work covers a 40ish year span at the end of the 1400s to just into the 1500s, but we don't know when she was born or died or anything like that. We know her parents' names? And that she was from Mechain, hence the bardic name. And that she married a guy and had a daughter, something which actually does mark out her body of work as different from her contemporaries; being a wife and mother, she couldn't do the usual bardic role of travelling the country to spread news and play at courts. This means she doesn't have any of the praise poetry that a lot of male bards produced about the lords that hosted them.

But, there's stuff we can piece together about her. For one thing, she was not just literate (not a universal skill for anyone at that point, but especially for women), but she was astonishingly well-read and had what appears to be a classical education, given her poetic references and traditional Welsh meters. For another, her work often had recurring themes of religion, sex, and women's rights, sometimes all at the same time.

At the point Gwerful was active, Welsh bardic culture heavily featured ymrysonau. An ymryson is like... well, I hesitate to say "sort of like a rap battle" after the way everyone and their dog now thinks that's what the Mari Lwyd does, but they were like a cross between a rap battle and the publication war between two rival academics. A bard would write an englyn and publish it in the local parish newsletter. Another bard would see this, and write their own englyn about how stupid the first bard's englyn was, and publish it in the same newsletter. The first bard would see this and retaliate. The second bard would retaliate to that. And on and on it would go, like a printed tennis match for all the parishioners to enjoy, until someone wrote a conclusive verse OR until someone went "Lol, you got me good there" and bowed out with dignity. Sometimes, these things were fucking vicious; but other times, they were just banter between two bards who knew each other and were enjoying the chance to keep their poetic skills in tip top condition.

Now, Gwerful was an active and enthusiastic participant in ymrysonau. We have many examples of her work from these. There are two of particular note that I'll list here, each against a different bard:

Dafydd Llwyd o Fathafarn. Mathafarn and Mechain are not so distant from one another, so no real surprise that these two locked horns a lot, but the impression I always got from their ymrysonau is that they were good mates, actually. These fell into the 'banter' category more often than not. Dafydd was a Welsh Nationalist who was hoping for a Welshman to rise up and throw off the yoke of English oppression, and most of his work is about that, but he turned up the filthy erotic shit for any ymryson with Gwerful because BOY HOWDY was that her specialty. IIRC she did occasionally poke fun at his Welsh Nash leanings, especially his obsession with Mab Darogan (OLD Welsh idea that translates to the Son of Prophesy - the Arthur-style figure that will one day drive out the English overlords), but mostly their ymrysonau were incredibly beautifully-written odes that could be summed up as "Dafydd, my man, my good friend, I mean this sincerely: suck my entire clit".

She often won.

Ieuan Dyfi. God, what a fucking asshole. This one was not banter. Gwerful played for blood with this prick.

We actually would know nothing about Ieuan Dyfi if not for Gwerful Mechain, because it was her poetic response to him that meant his only surviving poems made it to the modern day; that, and the record of him being brought before a church court where he admitted adultery with Anni Goch, a married woman. Oh, and the record of him being brought before the law courts at Liverpool, accused of domestic abuse and gambling? If I remember right?

Two things to know that set the scene for what came next:

One of Gwerful Mechain's surviving poems is an englyn considered to be possibly the oldest extant poem about domestic violence written by a woman: I’w gŵr am ei churo (To the husband who beats her)

Dager drwy goler dy galon - ar osgo I asgwrn dy ddwyfron; Dy lin a dyr, dy law’n don, A’th gleddau i’th goluddion.

There are a lot of translations for this one to try to keep its poeticness, but this one is pretty good:

Through your heart’s lining let there be pressed, slanting down, A dagger to the bone in your chest. Your knee smashed, your hand crushed, may the rest Be gutted by the sword you possessed.

She has others, too, that deal with sexual assault, and something scholars often note about Gwerful is her remarkable knowledge of the law as it pertained to women's issues. So she was not, you see, a woman with a high view of a man accused of domestic violence anyway.

But then Ieuan Dyfi wrote five poems about Anni Goch, the married woman he'd fucked, each more "Wow dude, she said no" than the last, culminating in I Anni Goch; a full cywydd of misogynistic Medieval-incel bullshit about how false and evil women are, which listed all the false and evil women of history including classical and mythological figures.

And. Well. Gwerful had some views.

Her responding cywydd - I ateb Ieuan Dyfi am gywydd Anni Goch - basically blasted the guy back into his own impact crater and disintegrated him. What she did with it, essentially, was to mirror his cywydd. Where he'd gone "Isn't it so true how great men throughout history have always been brought low by women, amirite lads? Here's examples", Gwerful went "Isn't it so true how 'great men' throughout history have behaved appallingly and fucked up through their own actions and then somehow managed to blame women, amirite lads? Here's examples." Where his examples had been historical figures, so were hers. Where his had been classical, so were hers. Where he went Biblical, so did she.

And what's so interesting about that last one is how pointed she was with it - for some reason, in his big list of evil women, Ieuan Dyfi did not go for the most obvious and low-hanging of fruit (no pun intended) - he doesn't cite Eve. In response, Gwerful also sidesteps the most obvious and low hanging of fruit - she doesn't cite Mary. In so doing, she makes it clear that she doesn't even need to.

There is no record of him responding to her. IIRC, there is a record of him doing three years in prison.

But! Outside of all of that, the big thing Gwerful was known for was her erotic poetry. You'll be unsurprised to hear that it wasn't written for shits and giggles - much like today, women of the time were told that most of their value was in their looks, and they had plentiful insecurities about their bodies. Gwerful wrote her erotic stuff to confront those insecurities and shine a light on the issue. There are so many examples of this, but far and away the most famous is definitely Cywydd y Cedor - roughly translated, 'Ode to the Vulva'. Though I have also seen it titled Cywydd y Gont - Ode to the Cunt. It's such a shame that the English language is literally, physically not capable of cynghanedd, because it means unless you learn Welsh you will never understand the beauty and the lyricism of the piece, and how it elevates and undercuts the content at the same time; but it's a joyful, masterful, irreverent work that uses the fancy language male poets were forever dedicating to the rest of a woman's body and applies it squarely to the vulva. In fact it basically opens with "Men are cowards, describe more cunts or gtfo" before launching into its main subject matter. The last line is pro-pubic hair, too, like I really must stress how much Gwerful Mechain would have to offer Tumblr if you could speak Welsh. This is probably her most widely translated piece, though, you can definitely find English versions. Although you can tell how blushing and reticent the translator is - and therefore how sanitised their translation is - by whether they've called it Ode to the Vulva/Cunt, or Ode to the Pubic Hair.

Needless to say, the original is not sanitised.

(Actually, I should also say - this one is also a response piece, probably, but in this case to a bard who lived a century earlier - Dafydd ap Gwilym, the absolutely legendary and uncontested king of Welsh romance poetry. He wrote a poem called Cywydd y Gal - Ode to the Penis. I have only just put two and two together on that.)

As a final note, I should say that my personal favourite Gwerful Mechain poem on this subject, mind, is actually I'w morwyn wrth gachu - to the maiden who is shitting. It's an englyn written in Gwerful's customary high poetic form, but it is what it says - it describes a woman taking a shit, and farting as she does. Beautiful and magical and disgusting and banal, all in one go:

Crwciodd lle dihangodd ei dŵr - ’n grychiast O grochan ei llawdwr; Ei deudwll oedd yn dadwr’, Baw a ddaeth, a bwa o ddŵr

Funnily enough, it's hard to find a good translation for this one lol.

My attempt:

She crouched where her water escaped - creased From the cauldron of her heat; Her two holes were arguing, Shit came, and a bow of water

Eh. It's so bland in English. Honestly, if you could read Welsh...

Anyway, if anyone reading this can read Welsh and wants to read some of Gwerful Mechain's stuff - including some of the pieces she was responding to in the ymrysonau - you can find a load here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!

[gatorbites-imagines]

I can vividly imagine sinister mark on his knees with a collar around his neck on a leash with a muzzle. I love this image so much and I wanna have this for all the marks. Why have one mutt when you can have way way more

I couldn't turn this into actual headcanons or anything, so just have me rambling for a bit about it, because I've had this thought for... a while. 

i will write smut about this if interested, i love this shit.

Me and my 16 evil boyfriends who do what I tell them to do... what Mark would even be the first to have joined the (harem...) group??? I dont even know what to call them all to tell them apart. Please let me know if theres like commonly accepted names, or should I just make my own names for them all. Cuz this is gonna get confusing. 

Like, if you hooked sinister mark first, I could see the others following suit, little by little. Like, theyd see him crawling on all fours, growling and drooling with his viltrum-level muzzle on. Cuz hes the type that would also need one of those bits, like you would find on a horse. Or maybe more like a gag of something. Something he can chew on and grind his teeth into, as he gets too excited and wants to start biting. 

If the other Marks make fun of his collar, sinister Mark beats the shit outta them. He doesn't kill them, only because he knows you'll praise him for holding back. They are all suckers for praise, I think that's just part of being Mark Grayson. They all act like tough shit, but theyll roll over and show their belly for praise, affection and something in their mouths.  

I think it's also part of being Mark Grayson that they're whiners and whimperers, when you get them that far. Some of them will act all tough and scary, but others will just start whining and begging almost immediately. And when the others see that this behavior gets rewards, well.  

It would be even more funny if you were just... a normal guy. Like, they just pulled up in your dimension and somehow you got sinister Mark in a collar, and one thing leads to another and suddenly your small apartment is filled with guys who could destroy earth if they wanted too. 

You have the world, and probably multiverse, in the palm of your hand. Only way to keep everyone safe, is to keep these guys collared, drooling and hard. How you get viltrum grade kink stuff, I have no idea, but you get it.  

I don't even wanna think about how you'll explain any of this to people. It's not like they can really work, since they technically don't exist in your universe, so you all live on your income. And no, you won't let them steal for you. Bad pets go in the crate and think about what they've done and why it was wrong. 

You dont want to explain to your universes GDA how you keep such dangerous guys under control. But hey, your planets gained new protectors, because your... boyfriends? Pets? Want to keep you safe and happy, and will bend over backwards for pets and kisses. Its extra awkward if your planet already has a Mark, and if that Mark is like the normal one.  

Imagine sitting in the GDA, because theyd wanna keep an eye on you and make an ally out of you at this point. One or two of your Marks are kneeling by your feet, heads in your lap, a third is draped over your back, nuzzling your neck. Your universes normal Mark has to pass through, maybe with the guardians, and you guys just... kinda look at each other. 

You swear you feel your Marks start growling and tensing at the sight of your universes normal Mark, like a pack of feral cats or dogs trying to chase off an outsider.  

Your universes Rex would have an absolute field day with this, and would pick on Mark with this fact. Seeing your Marks draped all over you also means people start underestimating them, until the GDA tries to hurt you or threaten you. Then everyone gets a reality check. 

I think most of the Marks keeps the steamy part of your relationship at home, but some of them would not give a shit that you guys are in public. If they notice you are turned on by something, they are ready to drop to their knees right then and there, or, bend over whatever there is to be bent over. 

Honestly, I'd feel bad for anyone with all 16 of them hanging off them, espcially if you are a normal person. There is no way you would be able to keep up with 16 viltrumites. But hey, maybe you can just watch as they please themselves, have them put on a show. Heck, you could probably have them help each other, if you are into that kinda thing, who am I to judge. 

I like to think they all wear some kind of collar. Some would be something as small as a necklace or choker, and others wear a straight up dog collar with spikes on it. One of those “DO NOT APPROACH” collars. Fuck it, put a shock collar on Mohawk Mark, guy needs it.  

Keep their favorite candy on you as small treats. Even funnier if you got one of those bags on your belt that you use for dog treats. Your universes normal Mark would lose his appetite for his favorite candy after seeing you use them to straight up train these guys to behave.  

Who knows, maybe you'll get a 17th Mark if your universes Mark is just a little crooked or different from normal Mark. The problem is your 16 Marks and if they would accept him, like a pack of wolves accepting an outsider. I love these guys. 

[jinxs-gf]

Black Cat!Reader x The Team Headcanons

Black Cat!Reader x The Team

note: just because you’re in place of Black Cat doesn’t mean this is fem!reader! this is very gender neutral besides the mention of lipstick briefly…even then that’s not lady exclusive :)

content/warnings: this is seemingly set during s1 like my other yj fics but I imagine everyone being way older 😔🙏🏽 it’s weird but just roll with it pretty please. also…a bit suggestive??

word count: 3.6k

a/n: I wouldn’t have done this but this anon gave me the idea and I HAD to expand on it unfortunately

THE TEAM (platonic)

Lots and lots of flirting from reader, OBVIOUSLY. do y’all even KNOW Black Cat????? it would be relentless. and no matter how annoying and probably overwhelming it got, you wouldn’t back down

with even the toughest/hardest to crack team members

it’s not even like you’re attempting to lure them in…or get romantically involved (unless…), it’s just how you are. who can blame you! flirting is fun

you started off as just another “villain of the day.” Someone they could take on easily. They thought of you as a pity mission. An bad guy as small as a simple thief? What fun was that?! They’ve taken down Gods, magicians, robots…and Red Tornado assigned them a thief??? It was a joke.

until it wasn’t. until Batman saw potential in you (because of course he did. Robin was not happy about this.)

You earned the nickname Cat, which was a nickname in itself for Kitty Cat (Wally's idea, not yours, you gave him hell for it)

your first mission with them was definitely something. messy, to say the least

it was weird, the whole mind link thing. you made jokez and flirted through the link as a way of coping because…well you felt out of place

everyone was so close with each other, not to mention they didn’t come from a background of “bad guy shenanigans”

you felt like an outcast for the longest time, until everyone was revealing vulnerable secrets with each other before a mission. you finally spoke your insecurities with your place on the team

you and Artemis had the same worries (more or less) and bonded over that

you finally were able to let loose and just…be yourself around them

you became soft

the flirting and teasing was still there, however it was saved for missions

you preferred to keep Black Cat’s reputation

individual relationships

ROBIN (romantic)

He was very much against the idea of you being on the team. Sure you weren’t a crazy villain that hurt people (maybe not physically…but you were definitely a heartbreaker, Robin concludes)

You were still a thief at the end of the day. A bad person. And he didn’t like that.

It was Batman’s idea—and usually Batman had great ideas. This was a very bad one. He hated every bit of it.

…until he got to know you better

Taking you down was easy. “Easiest job I’ve ever had,” Robin boasts.

You pout, “that’s not very nice.”

Ha. He knocked you down a peg. Good. You needed a little humbling-

“-How come you’re lying to me, Robin? I thought we had something.”

Uh oh. He absolutely hated when you used that sickeningly sweet voice on him.

Of course you didn’t believe his lie. Of course you could tell how difficult that mission really was.

It’s not apart of his proudest moments. He hesitated to stop you on the mission, completely caught off guard by your flirtatious behavior. I mean, who wouldn’t be?!

In a moment of weakness, he let you go. Awestruck by the kiss you left imprinted on his cheek. Something he got teased relentlessly for.

The rest of the team finished the job for him after that.

In the back of his mind he knows the only reason he didn’t like the idea of you being on the team was because he…knew it wouldn’t end well for him. He was sure to be on your long list of broken hearts (a list that was never confirmed to even exist)

It made sense in his mind…he was Robin. A bird. And you were a cat. A right recipe for disaster. You’d trap him in your greedy little claws and eat him alive.

Over time that perspective changed.

Robin hates to admit it, but he’s softer now. Softer around you. For you.

“I know who you are,” he says with that arrogant smirk.

“So why can’t I know who you are?”

“Only…really important and trustworthy people know. The only person who knows besides Batman is Wally. He’s my best friend.”

“Why doesn’t that include me?” you’re practically purring, rubbing a finger down his face, “am I not important enough to you?” You pout for show

He looks dejected, like he was having an internal battle with himself. And you could tell which part of him was losing.

Your fingers inch slowly towards his mask, ready to lift-

“Robin.” And the stupid, stupid monotone voice that belonged to Batman interrupted you.

You’ll get him back for that.

Robin was now being scolded, but he was having none of it.

“It was a moment of weakness.”

“It will not happen again. No more moments of weakness. You’re growing, your body is going through a lot of different things. Keep it in your pants-”

“Whoa old man! Whoa! That’s going too far. And what about Selina?! You’ve had many moments of weakness because of her. You can’t scold me for this one time.”

“It’s because of my experience with Catwoman that I know better. I’m trying to stop you from…getting hurt.”

Robin calls bullshit on that. What could you possibly do to hurt him? (Thoughts that completely contradict his first impressions of you)

The next time he sees you he’ll spill everything. He’ll let you know that he does trust you and that you do matter. That you’re important to him.

Just to spite Bruce. And maybe because he really likes you and wants you to know it.

It was his idea to bring you onto the team anyways…he’s just giving Bruce exactly what he wanted. A warm welcome to a new teammate.

WALLY (romantic)

Wally was so happy someone FINALLY reciprocated his advances. And especially with a catch like you? Black Cat?! He was over the moon.

At first.

It quickly came to be too much. He's been waiting, praying for someone to match his energy, but now that he's got it? He's not exactly sure how to handle it. He's gotten so used to being blown off, teased, and scolded for his flirting that it was weird when you flirted back.

He was of course the first to tease you when you officially joined the team. He gave your your nickname, Kitty Cat. You despised the name and him for the longest time.

Wally was annoying. Taunting you at all times. Calling to you as if you were an actual cat.

He'd click his tongue, "here kitty kitty."

And for that, your flirting was meaner towards him (compared to how you treated everyone else). Which is the exact reason why he couldn't handle the teasing from you. It wasn't the normal way Robin would, "oh yeah, Wally can't phase the way Flash does. Otherwise he gets a nosebleed. Right, loser?" Or the way Artemis would, "ugh, you flirt like a divorced 40 year old who's desperate for a rebound. Loser."

No, your teasing was quite different. You laughed cruelly, throwing your head back for show, "Come get it before it's gone, loser."

So. He was still a loser to you, but it seemed you actually liked that about him. Maybe.

Wally didn't like it as much as he thought he would. It ruined his cool guy facade (one that didn't exist, Robin would say). It was humbling, the way he suddenly tumbled over his words, face flushed red and all.

More than humbling. It was embarrassing.

You bring him down to the mat with a loud THUD. Much like the time Black Canary beat him during their first time training. Except you used your weight, tumbling on him (and straddling him in the process. Great).

Embarrassing embarrassing embarrassing.

The only person that was able to truly catch him was his best friend, Robin. And that's with years of experience with the speedster. You'd know him all of a few months and you're able to do it?!

"It won't happen again,” referring to his teasing of your name, naming you Kitty Cat and clicking his tongue at you.

“Or I’ll have to teach you a lesson. Much different from this one.” And you casually walk away.

Wally desperately wanted to get up, to humble you back. But he couldn't. He felt physically incapable of doing so.

You had really done it. You slowed down the (second) fastest man alive.

Wow.

"Wow. That was extremely painful to watch," of course Robin had something to say about it.

"Shut up man."

KALDUR (romantic)

It was "unprofessional," he said.

Unprofessional your ass. It was perfectly professional. A lot of people on the teams had partners within those same teams. Black Canary and Green Arrow, Superman and Wonder Woman (exes—but that still counts for something), Conner and M’gann acted like a couple and no one said anything! So what was the problem?

Well apparently there wasn’t a problem…seeing as this “relationship” was more welcomed—as in, Kaldur didn’t tell the Black Cat off when they made advances towards him. Besides when he called their behavior “unprofessional.” That was once. He didn’t say a word of it after that.

In fact, he allowed—dare anyone say encouraged it.

On missions you were attached to his hip. Even if he assigned you to be by Artemis’ side or assist Robin, you wouldn’t listen. And he didn’t say anything about it, instead informing the team to continue on with the plan.

His professional act as the team leader never faltered, not even you could break it down. He merely tolerated your flirting (his words, though you knew better. He loved it).

The team was each in their individual positions scoping out the area, ready to attack at a moments notice. Kaldur was squatted down and you decided it was the perfect opportunity to pounce on him (as you usually did). You wrapped your arms around his neck, now on his back.

“Does the team leader have time for some sweet talk?”

“I, we have a job to do, Cat. Focus.”

You hum, “What are we doing here again?”

He starts relaying the plan to you, you taking note of the way he doesn’t scold you (he repeated the plan to the team multiple times on the way over, he surely would’ve berated one of the other guys for not listening). You never had any intentions of listening, only wanting a chance to annoy him.

“Blah blah blah, is this your version of sweet talk?” You squish his face between your fingers and plant a kiss on his cheek.

He only sighs, “Later. After the mission is complete.”

For once, your find yourself surprised. He’s promising to reciprocate your advances?

This should be fun.

CONNER (romantic)

M'gann was more subtle with her flirting (not really, especially with the way she blushes), more timid and on the nose about her feelings. You? You got straight to the point. Kind of like how open Artemis was when she first joined the team. She had no shame letting the team know telepathically how attractive she thought Superboy was. Seriously, what was it with new recruits and taking an immediate liking to Conner? Why not the other three boys? What did he have that they didn't!

Although Artemis gave up on that crush at first sight almost immediately

You? Not so much. it was very noticeable that the Black Cat was adamant on cracking the boy of steel. it seemed like an impossible mission, but with a little determination and a couple sultry words? it was pretty damn easy

This is very much an enemies to lovers type relationship (kinda):

At the beginning, when you first met, he was open to new relationships. Getting to know people he could count on within the team, though that openness completely died down. Your flirting was nonstop. Even on missions! How was he supposed to concentrate on the task at hand when you found time to graze his arm or speak soft words to him?

You annoyed him, sosososo much it wasn't even funny. Even more than M'gann did. Both of you were insistent, that's for sure. But one was more bold than the other. He tried telling himself it was because he didn't like you: at least with M'gann he wanted a relationship to come from it (not necessarily romantic)

But with you...he hated you. No. He hated the way he reacted to your advances...he hated admitting to himself that your words affected him. That he felt something not so platonic for you. Damn you and your stupid flirting. It was surely going to be the death of him. And that's saying something: the clone of the man of steel actually breaking down? unheard of.

But you managed to do it. Unfortunately.

Conner finds himself thinking about you, more than he'd like. Another reason to dislike you. You take up his mind. Every waking moment and every dream. It's infuriating.

And now he was starting to worry about you during missions. He saw you get knocked down, away from the rest of the team. The fall looked nasty, and with the way you seem to lie there with no intention of getting back up, he's sure you've been knocked out

Conner tries to ignore the way his heart clenches at the sight, kind of like the way it does when concerning you in different context

It gives him the courage to voice his worries, he calls out to you, and as expected: he gets no response

The enemy leans down to your level, ready to do more damage. Conner is quickly snapped out of his daze and starts running over to you

Until he abruptly stops. Because you open your eyes to wink at him, jump up, and take the enemy down with ease.

It's right then that he takes back every thought of admitting he doesn't hate you. Because the stupid smirk you're sending his way reminds him of every reason why he dislikes you.

Everyone is home or in their respective rooms already, leaving you and him. You're behind him, massaging his shoulders gently (your touch wouldn't have persisted if he showed any signs of discomfort, he leaned into it in fact, allowing you to continue)

You bring your head down, cheek to his,

"Oh come on. You can lie to everyone and yourself. But you can't lie to me. I know you were worried back there. Just admit it, Loverboy."

He can only roll his eyes. And blushed. You were never going to live this down.

"I wasn't. Now leave me alone." If only his actions were as convincing as his stern words. Words that would've scared off the likes of M'gann had she been in your position. But you knew better, knew that his shaking hands and quickly warming face meant that his words had no meaning.

Your hand dragged from his shoulder to his chest, right over his heart. Yeah, his words were meaningless with the way his heart was beating for you.

Conner was finally warming up to you and you had him right where you wanted him.

And so you let go. "Whatever you say, Loverboy," and with a kiss to his pink cheek, you leave him alone to ponder his complicated feelings.

Feelings that were in fact not complicated at all. Because Conner was finally, finally ready to admit to himself and to you that he wanted you. So badly.

If only you hadn't pulled away so quickly, he couldn't reciprocated the kiss or two...it would've been an easier, showing you how he feels instead of saying it out loud.

He'll kiss you next time.

M’GANN (romantic)

The Martian can't hide her liking towards you for the life of her. She could’ve even if she tried.

It was near painful, you pitied her. You almost felt bad and stopped teasing her. Almost.

It was fun though, how could you stop?

M’gann would actively seek out your approval and attention when you joined the team. It was only natural, she did it with the rest of the members, so you were no exception.

Besides, the only teammate she was kind of close with was Artemis. Was it sooo wrong of her to want to get close to you?!

Nope! Though she does wish you weren’t so…forward sometimes. Not that it’s unwelcomed, she’s just unsure of how to act because of it. Is she supposed to reciprocate? M’gann has never seen nor experienced such a dynamic on Mars, much less on Earth. So she awkwardly blushes and smiles.

Eventually she gets used to it. And gets very much into it. She won’t vocalize her feelings, instead she’ll mind link and talk that way. Often times it’s easier to communicate through touch. Which says a lot, M’gann would rather use touch?? Not the mind link?? Which was the main source of communication on Mars? Whoa.

It was mainly because…she didn’t want to reveal all her feelings to you. She’s usually able to control what goes through the mind link, having done it since childhood, but you’ve made her mind a complete mess. She all but short circuits when you’re around.

Can anyone blame her?

"You know what I'm thinking?"

"No."

"Well you can read me, can't you Martian girl?"

She giggles at herself, how could she forget? "Hello Megan!"

Her smile turns timid once she reads your mind.

"Oh."

ARTEMIS (romantic)

It was honestly unfair how fast the blonde caught your attention. Her voice. Her stupid raspy voice.

Unfortunately for you, Artemis wasn’t exactly buddy-buddy with you at first. Well, she wasn’t really with any of her teammates. But with time she’s learned to get along with everyone.

“I just wanna get to know you, Blondie. What’s wrong with that?” You asked in the sweetest voice you could muster up, one that usually made everyone fall.

Yet she rolls her eyes.

So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Fine.

It was right after a mission, everyone was surrounding Red Tornado, relaying the events to your mentor.

“You know we could’ve took that guy down way faster had you not been on Robin the whole time.”

“Jealous Blondie?

“Stop calling me Blondie!”

You had sleepovers, movie nights, and other hang out outside of missions. With or without the rest of the team. They were fun, the first time you were alone with her is what really got her to warm up to you.

“Ugh! Of course literally everyone else canceled but Cat.” She really seemed to hate you.

You were outside her window, watching as Artemis complained to no one but herself. She once offhandedly commented on how her place was off limits for hangouts (refusing to explain why, which was okay with the team).

You were definitely crossing a boundary doing this, but she seemed upset in the group chat. You couldn’t just leave her by herself.

And then…the Sportsmaster walks in her room. One of the team’s enigmas. A thorn in their side. What the hell?

He does nothing but berate her for not “joining them.” Joining who? Then proceeds to say he’d be happier if she ever thinks to change her mind

“I’m never going to be apart of your messed up team, dad.”

Oh.

And then he’s just…gone.

You’re stunned, and only then does she finally notice you. She ushers you into her room, now berating you for your actions and spying and breaking her boundaries and…

“Your secret is safe with me, babe.” It was meant to be a term of endearment to reassure her,

Friends called each other babe, right?

“Babe?”

“You’d rather be called Blondie?”

She rolls her eyes, “whatever.” And as annoyed as she wanted to seem, she smiled and hugged you gratefully.

It was the only time you allowed yourself to be any kind of vulnerable around her. Or any of the team for that matter.

Once she got over her high horse, it was a very reluctant friendship turned…something more? That’s to be determined. But with the way she now flirts back? You’d say that was a good sign.

“Hey Blondie.”

“You calling me Blondie is the equivalent of Wally calling you Kitty Cat. Maybe I’ll have to teach you a lesson this time around.”

“I like the way you think, babe.” (You say not so platonically this time)

ROY (romantic)

You were on him as soon as he rejoined the team. How could you not be? He was even grumpier than Conner was when he joined, making him extra fun to mess with.

You had no chill when flirting with him, he decided immediately that was annoyed with you. And did not want to be friends.

Because his actual friends brought him joy, they made him laugh and they listened to him when he had bad days. You? You made a bad first impression, therefore he refused give you the chance to do any of those things.

Often telling you to buzz off and if you didn’t he’d “choke you with a hair ball.” Kinky, you replied.

He hated it.

Until you found out about his girl, his other Cat. Cheshire. That’s when things changed. You were less…on him.

"Me and her were never a thing!"

"Getting defensive there. Afraid I'll get jealous?"

"I could care less about your feelings."

“Oh really? Is that right?”

His eye twitched. He couldn’t believe he was trying to…reassure you? Was that what he was doing?

He was trying to make sure you knew he wasn’t with Cheshire. That her feelings were one sided. It’s something he shouldn’t be doing, he tells himself. In fact, he should be doing the opposite. Tell you that she means something to him, or maybe stay quiet and insinuate that they had something going on.

To get you off his back.

You seemed to back off completely when you found out Cheshire flirted with him often on missions when the goal was to take her down. Much like how the team’s predicament when they first met you.

It made you…upset?

And for some reason that made him upset.

“So you’re my Roy Toy? Mine completely?” Wally and Robin had originally griped about the nickname until it eventually made them laugh. They came to appreciate it.

“I’m no one’s. Not yours, not Cheshire’s, not the Justice League’s nor the team’s.”

“You will be mine one day, Speedy. And you’ll love it.”

Roy doesn’t respond but he feels like…there is some truth to your playful statement.

Maybe one day.

bonus:

THE TEAM

They all slowly turn towards you.

"...you've kissed all of us?"

You only shrug, “wasn’t that obvious?”

you can tell I got lazy lmaooo

I hate how I formatted this omg

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Reader is from the modern era, and Home takes place the early 70's when the show aired.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Acclimating to life in Home

★The simplicity of the world feels almost alien, yet it has a strange charm. Before, you could have the answer to any question in a matter of minutes thanks to the internet. Now, you need to ask Frank or search for a book on the subject.

★ Microwave ovens are rare, there’s no such thing as video games and you can forget about your phone. Because there's no way for you to charge it. Making the once necessary item practically useless.

★ Speaking of video games, when Julie walked up to you and asked "What’s your favorite game?" you froze for a second. Almost telling her the name of a video game you love, but stop yourself just in time. How would you even explain that to her? No, you'll just tell her you like tag, or something else of the sort.

★ Sure, the records in Home are nice and all, but the songs you love simply don’t exist. That's one of the hardest things to adjust to. You still hum the melodies sometimes. And every now and then, your humming catches the attention of one of the neighbors. When this happens you get the opportunity to teach them songs that they haven't heard yet.

★ Not being able to doom scroll is actually pretty nice. All the noise of your phone was weighing you down, and you didn't even know it! The closest you could get to scrolling is watching a movie with Wally. That, in your opinion, is infinitely better.

★ Thankfully there is plenty to do in home. You know what was popular in the 70’s? Pet rocks. Can you guess who tried to sell you a pet rock? Yes, it was Howdy. That’s a purchase you’ll never regret. He even helped you name your new companion!

★ One time, you told Sally to "pop off queen" without thinking. "Pop off queen?" she repeats, tilting her head in confusion. "Oh, darling, I love the sound of that!" Congrats, you’ve just given Sally her new favorite phrase for the foreseeable future. There’s no escaping it now. But hey, at least she's having fun?

★ Frank sometimes tells you things you already know, and you pretend you dont to be polite. You do, however, correct him when something he says is accurate for the time but was later found to be false. Though you’ve corrected him, he never seems offended. If anything, he’s fascinated by the idea of updating his knowledge. “There's always more to learn” he tells you.

[monzabee]

Hi!!! I know you're in Turkey, and therefore obviously can't work on requests, but I thought I should put on in for when you get the chance to write!!

I've been so hooked on the nanny series with hotch, and even more with the way you write his feelings!! I want to request something for it. Maybe she takes a day off, which is already pretty unusual for her, and is kinda secretive an vague about what it is. I'm imagining her going on a date and hotch somehow finding out about it and I just want to read all about his reaction.

Obviously if this isn't an idea you're super into, no worries! I look forward too reading more of your writing :)

- H

too late, too soon - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: you’re left wondering about your boss’ feelings towards you. unfortunately for you, aaron isn’t exactly an open book. 

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: they finally realize they are in love! jealous aaron! sad reader! not a happy ending i'm not gonna lie to you, angst galore 

Author's Note: hellooo!! this was very fun for me to work on and it feels so good to be working on some requests after coming back! this is a shameless reminder that my requests are still open! thank you so much for your request and i hope you like it!

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

You've realized that the work-life balance of a nanny is rather non-existent after the first few months you’ve spent with the Hotchners. Not that you’re particularly complaining, of course. Jack is probably the nicest kid to ever exist, and Aaron is... well, he is Aaron.  

So, when you tell Aaron you’ll be taking the day off, you notice the small furrow in his brow, the way his hand tightens slightly around his coffee mug. 

“Is everything alright?” he asks, voice even. 

“Yeah, of course. Just... taking a little time for myself,” you say, offering what you hope is a casual shrug. You don't mention the coffee date you’ve agreed to—mostly because saying it aloud feels strange, and you don’t know how you’d tell him in the first place.  

You thought he’d make a move after the way he looked at you at the gala. Or after you literally shared a bed after having a fight. Or better yet, after you looked after him when he was at the hospital last month.  

But nope. Zilch. Nada.  

So now you’re here, fumbling for casual lies, pretending you don’t care, pretending the tiny crack in Aaron’s professional façade doesn't make your heart pound louder in your ears. 

“Of course,” he says after a moment, nodding tightly. "You deserve it." 

You wonder if you’re imagining the strain in his voice. Maybe you want to hear it too badly. 

You leave early the next morning, feeling oddly guilty for stepping out. You tell yourself it’s normal — you’re allowed to have a life outside of this house, outside of Jack and Aaron and all the complicated feelings simmering beneath your skin. And a coffee date isn’t a date in the first place. It’s in the middle of the day, so in your mind, you’re not even going out on a date ‘date’. If anything, it’s just you testing the waters... and trying so desperately to get your mind off your very emotionally constipated boss.  

Still, you check your phone twice before the date even begins, half-expecting a text you have no reason to hope for. 

Lo and behold, it doesn’t come. 

You shove your phone back into your bag and force yourself to focus. The guy — Mark? Matt? — is sweet enough. He’s charming in a way that feels almost too easy, too practiced, but you let yourself laugh at his jokes and sip your coffee and pretend like you don’t feel like you’re waiting for someone else. Someone, who you’d consider the most stubborn man on this earth, but heart wants what it wants, you suppose. He's kind, easy to talk to, and you do your best to focus on the conversation instead of wondering what Jack’s having for dinner or if Aaron remembered Jack’s favorite bedtime story. 

What you don't know is that you’re not the only one at that café. 

Aaron hadn’t meant to find you. Honestly, he hadn’t even realized how close he was until he heard your laugh — soft and familiar, threading into him like muscle memory. 

He's frozen on the sidewalk, briefcase in hand, watching you from across the street through the window. The man you’re with leans in slightly, laughing at something you’ve said, and Aaron feels an unfamiliar prickle of jealousy claw up his spine. 

You look... happy. 

He should be happy for you. 

He should leave. 

Instead, he stands there too long, the scene burning into the backs of his eyelids even after he forces himself to turn away. And because he is a masochist, his eyes choose to focus on the way your hand brushes against your date’s across the small table—a fleeting, innocent touch—but it’s enough to make his chest tighten painfully. He tries to make himself believe that it is for the best when he’s walking to his car.  

He tells himself he doesn’t care. 

He tells himself you deserve someone who isn’t him. 

He tells himself that letting you go is the right thing. 

But the truth is, none of that is true. Because he knows you don’t deserve someone with all his baggage—but he knows you don’t deserve coffee dates either. You deserve more. And God help him; Aaron wants so badly to be the one to give it to you. 

He grips the steering wheel tighter when he gets into his car, his knuckles whitening. He sits there for a moment, head falling back against the seat, eyes closing briefly as if he can somehow will away the ache in his chest. 

But he can’t. 

Because no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise, the truth remains: he is already hopelessly, irreversibly in love with you. 

There’s a strange ache in your chest as you walk back home later that afternoon, the late sunlight catching on the sidewalk, making everything feel a little too bright and a little too sharp at the same time. You tell yourself it’s just the awkwardness of ending the date—Mark (Matt?) had asked if you wanted to do it again, and you’d said you’d think about it. Which was polite speak for no, and you both knew it. 

You tell yourself it’s normal to feel a little hollow after putting yourself out there, after trying so hard to feel something for someone else when you obviously have feelings for one named Aaron Hotchner.  

You don’t tell yourself the truth. 

You don’t tell yourself that you’d spent half the date wishing you were sitting across from someone else entirely. That you’d thought about the way Aaron listens when you talk, the way his mouth softens when he smiles at Jack, the way his voice always dips low when he says your name. 

By the time you reach the house, your feet are dragging, heart heavier than when you left. You find the door locked—not unusual—but the soft sound of footsteps in the kitchen draws you in. Aaron stands there, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, like he’s been pacing. He looks up the second you step inside, and for a moment, the air feels too thick to breathe. 

“Hey,” you say, voice catching slightly, and it almost makes you wince. It’s not natural, the rigid way you stand at the entrance. If this was any other day, you’d make a smart remark about how he looks with his sleeves rolled up, he’d give you one of the looks he has reserved for you, you’d flirt with him—shamelessly, and secretly hope that he feels the same way towards you that you do for him.  

“Hey,” he replies, but it's rougher, lower. Like he's been thinking about what to say for a while and still doesn’t know how to start. He doesn't move, and neither do you. The silence stretches just long enough to be uncomfortable. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but Aaron beats you to it. “I saw you today.” 

Your breath catches, just for a second. You don't know what you expected him to say — certainly not that. “You... you did?” you ask, your voice small, uncertain, and very out of character. 

He nods once, tightly. His hands flex at his sides, like he wants to reach for you and knows he shouldn’t. “You should go on more dates,” he says, each word slow, deliberate, as if he’s forcing them out one by one. “You deserve to be with someone who can give you everything you want. Someone who doesn't carry around... everything that I do.” 

You blink, feeling the burn of unshed tears. “Aaron—” 

He cuts you off, gentle but firm. “I’m serious. You’re young, you’re smart, you’re incredible with Jack. You shouldn’t...” His jaw tightens. “You shouldn't wait around for someone like me.” 

“Since when do you get to decide that for me?” The words splinter inside you, sharp and cruel even though you know he thinks he’s being kind. Even though you can see the truth of it written all over his face—the longing, the ache, the way he can’t quite meet your eyes because if he does, he’ll break. “So what? I should go date other people? Sure, do you also want me to tell you about the dates as well? Maybe you’d like details.”  

The muscle in his jaw jumps. For a moment, he says nothing. Just looks at you like you’ve ripped something out of him and he’s trying to piece it back together without falling apart. “That’s not what I meant,” he finally says, voice tight, low, strained in a way you’ve never heard before. 

“No?” You challenge, stepping closer before you can talk yourself out of it. Your heart is pounding, your hands shaking, but you keep going. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell sounds like you’re pushing me away and expecting me to just smile and thank you for it.” 

He exhales, sharp and broken, like he’s holding back something he doesn't trust himself to say. “I’m not good for you,” he says roughly. “I want you. God, I want you so much it terrifies me. But I can't be what you need. I have Jack. I have this job. I have all this baggage—” 

“Oh, trust me, I know,” you interrupt fiercely, voice rising. “I know all of that, Aaron. And I still—” You stop, chest heaving, the words threatening to burst free, terrifying in their honesty. “And I still want you.” 

For the first time, he meets your eyes fully. “I can’t lose you,” he says, so softly you barely catch it. “If I have you… and something happens… I couldn’t survive it. I’m already—” He breaks off, a pained breath leaving him.  

“You are a coward, Mister Hotchner,” you emphasize despite the shaking in your voice and all the aching burn you feel in your chest, despite how much you love him—God, you love him—and how badly you want to just fall into his arms and let this all be easy. 

“I’m not good for you,” he says roughly. “I want you. God, I—” He cuts himself off, like even admitting that much is dangerous. 

You stare at him, your heart aching so fiercely it feels like your chest might cave in. For a second, you wonder if you should fight it—if you should close the distance between you, say the thing that's burning on the tip of your tongue. But something in his face stops you. 

It’s not hesitation. It’s resignation. 

He’s already made up his mind. 

And maybe... maybe you should too. So you swallow hard, the weight of everything crushing you down. “I know you think you're protecting me,” you say quietly. “But you’re not. You’re just hurting both of us.” 

You pull in a shaking breath, forcing yourself to smile—a small, sad thing that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I should go check on Jack.” 

He nods, once, tightly, like it’s physically painful to let you walk away. His hands clench at his sides like he’s fighting every instinct to call you back. But he doesn’t. 

And you don't look back when you leave the room. Because if you do, you know you’ll break. 

[xdhluvrs]

Only if you say yes (pt. I) 𐙚⋆.˚

Pairing: non-idol Jongseob x Reader, coworker!Jongseob x coworker!Reader Tags: coworker au, afab reader, coworkers to lovers(maybe?), reader is a busy college student, potential fuckboy Jongseob, reader is just a little stuck-up, they work at a boba cafe <3 Warnings: sfw, suggestive content, no smut in this pt. but warnings will change for pt. II Word Count: 2.8k Synopsis: Working a closing shift at a boba cafe was supposed to be routine—wipe down tables, cash out, go home. But when your elusive coworker, Jongseob, suddenly takes an interest in you, the line between professionalism and temptation starts to blur. His charm is undeniable, his confidence intoxicating, and his attention to detail dangerously disarming. You know better than to fall for someone like him… but as the night unfolds, resisting him might not be as easy as you thought.

⭐️'s note: Hi all, this is my first fic ever! Writing this was so much fun - and it is absolutely dedicated to my Jongseob-loving bestie 🍇 <3 Please let me know what you think! I hope you all will stick around for part II. Any feedback, questions, comments, suggestions, etc. appreciated! Hope you all enjoy :D

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8:15 PM. Just a little over an hour until you’d be in your car driving home, finally able to rest your feet after a busy shift at work. The post-dinner rush had begun to ease, and despite the physical and mental exhaustion wearing you thin, you found yourself busy with pre-closing in hopes of leaving the store as quickly as possible. Working part-time at a boba cafe had to be the least demanding of your various commitments, but that didn’t make the eight hour shifts any less of a drag. Luckily, the gig paid well and was easy enough to balance with your busy class schedule and extracurriculars. You found yourself mindlessly wiping down tables, the lo-fi playlist left on by the morning crew fading into the background of your mind. Your coworker’s voice could be heard addressing a customer, obviously in the middle of a sale. Most nights you worked with just one other person, allowing one of you to manage the front while the other worked on various cleaning tasks. Tonight was lucky, because it was just you and Jongseob. Jongseob was your favorite closing partner for a variety of reasons - not that he’d have any idea, the two of you weren’t friends by any means. However, he had something that the rest of your coworkers lacked: work ethic. You knew that if you left him at the register, he’d be sure to have the kitchen cleaned in addition to taking care of any customers that stopped by. He was reliable in that sense; always hardworking, never late and he had even picked up a couple of your shifts in the past. Because of this, you respected him - but you knew the two of you were living completely different lives and therefore made little effort to get to know him. You were getting ready to matriculate into the graduate program of your dreams, and he was… well, he was a full-time employee at a bubble tea franchise. You didn’t look down at him for this, but you were more than okay with keeping him at an arm’s length - especially based on the way your other coworkers spoke of him.

“Did you hear Seob is back with Emma again? Yeah, I thought they had broken up too, but she was all over him at Stephen’s last night. Better not tell Vivian…” Even just earlier today, you’d heard the morning shift whispering about him as you were clocking in. They never spared any details in front of you, acting almost as if you didn’t exist. Not that this bothered you - if anything, you felt relieved to be spared from the drama. You were here for the hourly $18 plus tips, and that was about it. Nonetheless, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t listen when his name came up in their gossiping. Jongseob was undeniably attractive and it was a challenge to not be interested in him. He was as charming in his appearance as he was in his demeanor, and you weren’t surprised in the slightest that he had various women vying for his attention - though you did have enough self-respect to not join their ranks (or so you thought). He was confident and well-spoken, and you found his quirky sense of fashion to be unique and enticing. Even today, his perfectly-styled platinum blonde shag paired with a tee that barely covered his midriff could have him mistaken for an influencer in the wild. However, what was most attractive about him had to be his attention to detail. Jongseob never forgot a regular’s name or their order, often conversing with them about their personal lives with a look of genuine interest on his face. Despite barely talking to you, he always remembered to ask about your pets by name, and had been the only one of your coworkers to remember to ask about the status of your graduate school application. When you finally were able to tell him you’d been accepted into the program, he brought you your favorite drink from a nearby coffee shop you’d mentioned to him in passing. It was his ability to make people feel like they were special that made him so alluring and also so dangerous. Even in these small moments he had made you feel seen - and you were sure that the other women in his life held similar sentiments. 

Despite his attractiveness, you had been burned by charismatic men like him before and didn’t really feel like repeating mistakes of the past. Besides, you barely had enough time to get the proper amount of sleep each night - the last thing you needed was a workplace distraction to ruin your life. Pulling yourself from your thoughts, you check your watch after having successfully cleaned the dining room. 8:43 PM. Time flies when you’re busy thinking about the coworker you tell yourself you aren’t thinking about. You round the corner into the kitchen where said coworker was found scrubbing the emptied boba vats, his back facing you. You could see the slight protrusion of his earbuds from where you stood, and for a moment you listened to him quietly hum along to whatever he was listening to whilst scrubbing away at the sugar-crusted kitchenware. You mentally scolded yourself for staring and awkwardly snuck past him to reach the front of house, trying to think about anything other than how attractive he was when he was being a productive member of society. With the dining room all cleared out, you made the executive decision to turn off the open sign as well as the online ordering system. You couldn’t find it within yourself to feel bad for the potential customers who may have tried to come during the last ten minutes of operations - in your opinion, they deserved to be let down. Or maybe you were just jaded after having worked so many years in food service. You began to reconcile the cash drawer, thoughts drifting to what you might eat later tonight, when a familiar voice calling your name startled you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you there,” you turned to face Jongseob, who stared at you with a polite smile, his back pressed against the counter. His posture was relaxed, and your eyes followed the curve of his arms as they crossed beneath his chest, a silver bracelet collecting at the dip of his right wrist. “I’m all done with the back now. This might be record time for us.” Even just hearing him refer to the two of you as a unit flustered you, yet you made sure to show no signs of this.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” you said curtly while handing him his share of the night’s cash tips. “I just need to finish with the register and lock up the front, then we’ll be good to go.”

“I can finish up out front. I’ll be right back,” he responded, not missing a beat. You watched as he paced back through the kitchen and then into the dining room. If only all of your coworkers had his initiative. You noticed yet again that you were staring, and it took a moment to pull yourself back into the present and return to counting the bills in your hands. What has gotten into you today? Jongseob’s always been hot; tonight was no exception. However, it seemed like now - more than ever - you were distracted by it. In all fairness, you were having a bit of a dry spell at the moment, so it’s not like there was anything wrong with a pinch of lusting over a qualified candidate. Isn’t that what girlhood is all about? Your self rationalization was successful, and sooner rather than later it was time to clock out. You flipped the lights off and grabbed your belongings, heading to the back to punch your PIN code in before passing through the rear exit. You were usually the last person to leave the building, your coworkers seldom spending any more time at the store than what was absolutely necessary. Tonight was different - Jongseob stood blocking the door, the lack of light in the building disguising his face. At first, you thought there might be an issue with the PIN pad - but you soon realized he was staring at you with an unreadable expression. 

“Everything alright?” You asked inquisitively. You felt self-conscious; it was awkward to talk with him when there wasn’t a work-related reason to do so.

“Yeah,” he said plainly, “Just thought I’d wait for you to finish up. It’s late, want me to walk you to your car?”

Well, this was weird. You’re pretty sure you’d been just fine walking to your car every other evening you’d closed. The parking lot was within sight of the exit, and even after 9 PM there were plenty of people walking around the shopping center. Why ask now?

“I’m good, but thanks for the offer,” you said as you turned from him to clumsily jam your fingers into the PIN pad, designating  the end of your shift. Just as you turned once to push the exit door open, you felt Jongseob’s hand graze the back of your arm.

“Why are you in such a rush? You almost forgot this,” he said, presenting you with the half-finished green tea you’d been sipping on earlier this evening. In complete honesty, you’d forgotten about it hours ago and were more than okay with leaving it for the morning shift to deal with. 

“Oh thanks, almost forgot to toss that,” you said, taking the drink from his hand and chucking it into the trash bin just an arms length away. Now, you could finally escape from the discomfort, and you began to push open the door –

“Wait.” 

Jongseob placed his hand over yours on the door handle and you immediately flinched away from the contact, turning to face him instead with your back against the wall. Undoubtedly, this was puzzling behavior from him. Was he getting a kick out of your suffering? You stared at him, ignoring the newfound warmth on your skin from where he’d grazed you, waiting for an explanation. He still appeared calm and collected, but his actions suggested otherwise. He brushed a hand through his hair, fixing his posture as he began to speak.

“I feel like we’ve been working together for quite a while now, but I still know so little about you,” he said, softly smiling at you. “Let me walk you to your car.”

You had no idea how to respond to that, so you simply nodded in response and resumed opening the exit door. You heard him follow behind you, his steps increasing in volume as he joined you at your side.

“So,” he started, “are you busy this evening? I was thinking about grabbing something to eat on my way home…” 

You weren’t busy, but you also had zero intention of prolonging whatever was conspiring between the two of you.

“Yeah, I have plans,” you said, unconsciously quickening your stride. You hated how quickly your heart was beating.

“You’re not very good at lying, are you?” Jongseob was now smirking at you. “You can just tell me you’re not interested. I don’t mind.”

The two of you had reached your car at this point, and his gaze was becoming increasingly harder to meet.

“It’s not that I’m not interested, but I’m sure we both have better things to be doing,” you said, looking at your feet. You weren’t trying to disappoint him, and your interest in him was certainly present… but this was risky territory. You were no mind reader, so you couldn’t be sure of his intentions. However, if the rumors you’d heard about him held any truth, you were sure this would be a waste of time for the both of you. The only plausible reasons you could propose for his sudden interest in you were that he was A) secretly a serial killer plotting his next victim, or B) horny and reaching for the low-hanging fruit. Neither of these scenarios had an outcome you felt keen on exploring, so better to retreat as quickly as possible.

“What does that even mean?” He chuckled. “You act so preoccupied around me. Is it so unimaginable that I might be interested in getting to know you better?”

“Actually, yes.” You said, regaining some confidence. “You’ve had the past six months to do that. Why now?” 

“It’s not like I haven’t been trying,” he responded, “but you certainly don’t make it easy. You’ve never wanted to join when we hang out after closing. I kind of assumed you thought you were too good for us.”

Unfortunately, he wasn’t completely off. You genuinely had very little interest in your other coworkers. All they seemed to do was get drunk and start unnecessary drama with one another. It was a little too reminiscent of high school for your liking. However, his statement insinuated that you thought too highly of yourself to spend time with them - and you’d be lying if you said that didn’t sting a bit. 

“You assumed incorrectly,” you started, ���I’m just really busy. I don’t always have time to go out after work.”

“Yeah?” he said, “Busy being top of your class? Busy spending every moment as efficiently as possible?” His teasing made your cheeks flush but you held his stare. He took a step closer to you, and in turn you took a step back, feeling your car door behind you.

“I know it can’t be easy working as hard as you do,” he cooed. “You really deserve to celebrate your accomplishments, don’t you think? What’s the point of all this effort if you can’t find satisfaction in the process?” The way he spoke to you was almost condescending.

“I do find the process… satisfying.” You said, awkwardly. “What are you trying to imply?”

“I might not be as useless to you as you think I am,” he said, the same smug expression still present on his face. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good when it comes to providing stress relief, and you definitely seem a little -”

“That’s enough.” You cut him off. Yep, your intuition had been spot on. “Look, you’re hot but I don’t want to sleep with you. Can I go home now?”

“Who said I wanted to sleep with you? All I was trying to say is that you look stressed, and I’m a great listener. If you’d let me take you to dinner, I’m sure I could lend an ear to your troubles,” he replied without hesitation. 

You so badly wanted to give in, but your pride wouldn’t let you. You wouldn’t be this easy.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” You said coolly, and turned to unlock your car. Despite the lack of enthusiasm in your voice, you were sure the blush on your cheeks and the heat on the tips of your ears betrayed you. Nonetheless, you were committed to the bit, throwing your belongings in the backseat and preparing to say goodbye to the man who had gone to such lengths to pursue you. For a moment you thought that would be the end of your bickering, when suddenly you felt Jongseob gently place his hand over your shoulder. You spun around to face him, closer than you’d been to him the entire night. At this distance, you could make out the outline of each individual eyelash coalescing around his eyes and the soft freckles that decorated the bridge of his nose. His lips looked so colorful in contrast to his soft skin and platinum hair, and something about the way he held your gaze conveyed a sliver of yearning. Damn, he was good at this.

“Have a good night then,” he said, and proceeded to tuck a strand of your loose hair behind your ear. “But don’t expect me to give up so easily next time. You’re so obvious, you know? It’s cute…” He smiled at you once again before stepping back, allowing you to regain your sense of personal space. “Drive safe, Y/N.” 

And with that he turned his back to you and walked away, presumably to wherever he’d ended up parking. You found yourself still in a state of shock from the events of the past twenty minutes, trying to recalibrate and prepare yourself for the drive home. Sighing to yourself, you got in your car and began to drive, not even bothering to put on music with the current state you were in. When you got home, you noticed a text notification on your phone.

Jongseob (work): Hope you made it home safely

Jongseob (work): See you next week :)

Just seeing his name was enough to have you feeling butterflies. You left him on delivered and tried to remember what your life was like before whatever the fuck just happened with your coworker. Though it was painful to admit, you were already excited to see him again - for better or for worse.

[unabashegirl]

Love Island — part 8

AU. Based on the TV show.

Author's note: GUYS THANK YOU! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT! EKKK I AM SO HAPPY! Please, please don’t hesitate to send in your requests — whether it’s blurbs, one-shots, or even just a fun idea you want to see come to life. If you're feeling a little shy, no worries at all — you can always send them in anonymously through Tumblr! I’d love to hear from you and create more content you’ll enjoy 🌞💌

⭐️ Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

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⭐️ Love Island masterlist -> ML

The evening sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the villa in hues of gold and pink. Most of the Islanders were scattered around, some in the kitchen, others laughing on the daybeds. Harry and Y/N had slipped away to the edge of the pool, their feet dangling in the cool water.

Y/N swirled her foot in lazy circles, watching the ripples spread across the surface. She glanced at Harry, who was leaning back on his palms, looking unusually relaxed.

“You’re quiet,” she said softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Harry shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Rare, isn’t it?”

“Very. Almost suspicious.”

He chuckled, letting his head fall back to look at the sky. “Just thinking. This place is mad, isn’t it? Feels like a bubble. Like nothing outside of it even exists.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Do you miss it? The outside world?”

Harry considered the question for a moment. “Yeah, sometimes. But not for the reasons you’d think. I don’t miss my phone or the distractions. I miss my mates, the ones who know me properly, you know? And my mum—she’s probably yelling at the telly every time I do something stupid.”

Y/N laughed, her eyes crinkling. “She sounds brilliant.”

“She is,” Harry said with a fond smile. “She’s the kind of mum who’ll tell you when you’re being an idiot but then hug you so tight you forget why you were upset in the first place. What about you? Who’s out there rooting for you?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers skimming the water. “My sister, mostly. She’s younger but acts like she’s older. Always giving me advice like she’s lived through it all before me.”

“Bet she’s proud of you, though. You’re smashing it in here,” Harry said, his tone sincere.

Y/N smiled faintly. “She’d probably tell me to stop overthinking everything and just go for what I want. She’s fearless like that. Me? I like to think things through, plan it out. I’m a bit of a control freak, if I’m honest.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Control freak, really? You hide it well.”

“Do I?” Y/N chuckled. “I don’t know. I just… I like stability. Predictability. The idea of letting go and just… diving into something scares the hell out of me.”

Harry shifted, leaning closer. “You don’t seem scared. You’ve been holding your own in here, standing your ground.”

“Yeah, well, appearances can be deceiving,” Y/N said with a wry smile.

They fell into a brief silence, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses drifting over from the main villa.

“What about you?” Y/N asked. “What scares you?”

Harry exhaled, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Letting people down, I think. I’ve always felt this… pressure to be the guy who’s easygoing, dependable, the one everyone likes. But sometimes, it feels like I’m just going along with what people expect, instead of what I actually want.”

Y/N studied him, her expression softening. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It can be,” Harry admitted. “But it’s easier than disappointing people, you know? I don’t like conflict. Hate it, actually.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “That explains a lot.”

Harry turned to her, his lips twitching into a small smile. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re good at deflecting. Like, you’ll joke or charm your way out of anything uncomfortable,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder. “It’s clever, but not foolproof.”

“Touché,” Harry said, laughing lightly.

They fell quiet again, the weight of the conversation settling between them.

“You know,” Y/N said after a moment, her voice softer, “maybe being in here is a good thing. It’s forcing us to slow down, think about who we are without all the noise. I mean, when else would you sit by a pool and have this kind of chat?”

Harry smiled, his eyes meeting hers. “True. And maybe it’s not so bad, not knowing exactly what’s next.”

Y/N’s gaze lingered on him, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Maybe not.”

The sun dipped further, casting the pool in deep shades of blue and purple. The moment hung there, quiet and unspoken, as if the villa itself had paused to take a breath.

Harry shifted closer, the tips of his fingers brushing against hers where they rested on the edge. She didn’t pull away, her breath catching slightly as the small touch sent a shiver through her.

“You know,” Harry began, his voice quieter now, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She turned to him, their faces closer now, the light catching in his hazel eyes. “What way?”

“Like...” Harry paused, searching for the right words. “Like I can’t think straight when you’re around. Like nothing else matters as long as I know you’re good. I’ve never cared this much about someone this quickly.”

Y/N blinked, his confession washing over her, leaving her speechless. She swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “You really mean that?”

“Course I do,” Harry said, his gaze unwavering. “I know I can mess things up sometimes, say the wrong thing, but...with you, I don’t want to get it wrong. I want to get it right.”

Her chest tightened, a mix of emotions swirling inside her—vulnerability, hope, and something deeper she couldn’t quite name. Slowly, she reached out, her hand resting against his cheek. His skin was warm beneath her palm, and he leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“I’m not good at this stuff either,” Y/N admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “But I don’t want to mess it up either. And I don’t want to lose...this.”

“You won’t,” Harry said firmly, his hand coming up to cover hers on his cheek. “Not if we’re both in it.”

Y/N smiled softly, her thumb brushing along his jawline. “I’m in it, Harry. As long as you are.”

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he leaned in, his free hand cupping the back of her neck gently as their foreheads touched. His breath mingled with hers, the moment stretching out, fragile and perfect.

When their lips finally met, it was slow and tender, like they were savoring the connection they’d both been craving. Harry’s hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened, the world around them fading entirely.

Y/N’s fingers curled into his hair, her body pressing against his. The coolness of the water on their feet contrasted with the heat of the moment, a perfect balance that mirrored their emotions.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads remained pressed together, both of them breathing heavily but smiling softly.

Harry chuckled, his voice low. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Dangerous?” Y/N teased, her cheeks flushed.

“Yeah.” He kissed the tip of her nose, his grin widening. “You’ve got me completely hooked.”

Y/N laughed, her heart feeling lighter than it had in days. “Good. Because I feel the same.”

The sound of laughter and voices from the villa began to drift toward them, but for now, by the edge of the pool, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

"Well, folks, love is in the air—or is it the tension? Either way, someone’s about to get their heart racing faster than a lad in a Zara sale. Let’s see how this one plays out”

Sophia, who had been sitting on a nearby lounger with Amber and Chloe, suddenly felt her phone buzz in her hand. The familiar ding that sent a ripple of excitement and nerves through the group made everyone freeze.

“Oh, here we go,” Lucas said, grinning as he leaned back in his chair. “What’s the damage this time?”

Sophia stood up, clearing her throat as all eyes turned to her. She glanced at the phone and then at the group, a sly smile creeping onto her lips.

“Islanders,” she began, her voice ringing out, “tonight, there will be a recoupling.”

A collective gasp went up, followed by murmurs of speculation. Harry’s gaze darted to Y/N, who was already sitting up straighter, her expression calm but her fingers gripping the edge of her seat.

Sophia continued, her voice louder now. “And I have first choice.”

The murmurs turned into louder chatter, some Islanders exchanging wide-eyed glances while others sat in stony silence.

"Ooh, first choice for Sophia? That’s like handing her the keys to the fireworks cupboard. Let’s hope she doesn’t burn down the villa." Ian’s commentary echoed in the minds of the audience, no doubt stirring up anticipation across living rooms everywhere.

Sophia smirked as she lowered the phone, her eyes briefly scanning the group. “Guess it’s going to be an interesting night.”

The tension hung thick in the air, the Islanders already bracing themselves for what was sure to be a dramatic recoupling. Y/N, though outwardly composed, felt her heart racing. Harry reached over and brushed his fingers against hers for the briefest of moments—a silent reassurance that they were in this together.

"Recouplings, eh? They’re like Marmite—you either love ’em or hate ’em. But one thing’s for sure: someone’s going to be left with a bitter taste."

Y/N sat at the edge of her bed, twisting her fingers together as the chatter of the Islanders preparing for the recoupling echoed faintly in the background. Her stomach was in knots, the morning’s conversation with Sophia replaying on a loop in her mind.

Sophia’s smug words echoed, “You’re cute when you’re defensive. But let’s not pretend, yeah? Harry’s got options. And three days isn’t a lot of time to lock anything down. I’d be careful if I were you” Y/N hated how those words had burrowed into her thoughts, refusing to let go.

She glanced across the room to where Harry was standing, adjusting his shirt in the mirror. He looked calm—confident, even. That only made her anxiety worse. What if Sophia chose him anyway? What if he…

“Lovie?”

Harry’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. She hadn’t even noticed him cross the room until he was kneeling in front of her, his hands gently cupping her face. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks as his eyes searched hers.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his brows furrowed with concern. “You’ve been quiet since Sophia got that text.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her lips parting as she tried to find the right words. His touch was grounding, but the fear in her chest was still there, stubborn and heavy. She hesitated for a moment before turning her head slightly and pressing a soft kiss to the palm of his hand.

“It’s just…” She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I’m scared. About tonight. About her.”

His brows knit together further. “Sophia?”

“She’s not going to give up on you,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible. “Even though you’ve told her how you feel, I know she’s going to pick you. And I just…” She paused, blinking rapidly to keep her emotions in check. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Harry’s expression softened as he moved closer, his hands sliding down to hold her shoulders firmly. “Y/N, listen to me,” he said, his tone steady and reassuring. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I told you where I stand, yeah? I want to be with you. Not her. You.”

Y/N bit her lip, still uncertain. “But what if she doesn’t care about that? What if she tries to force your hand? What if—”

“Hey,” Harry interrupted gently, his hands sliding back up to cradle her face again. He tilted her chin so she couldn’t look away. “I’m not going anywhere. Not for anyone else. Especially not her.”

Her breath hitched as she looked into his eyes, the sincerity there easing some of the weight on her chest. She nodded slightly, though the worry lingered.

“I’m serious,” he added, his voice a little firmer now. “You mean too much to me, Y/N. Don’t let her get in your head. She doesn’t decide what happens between us—we do.”

Y/N felt a small smile tug at her lips despite herself. His words felt like a balm to her frayed nerves, and for the first time all evening, she allowed herself to believe them.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice steadier now.

Harry smiled back, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. “Good. Now, let’s go out there and show her she doesn’t stand a chance.”

Y/N nodded again, her heart lighter as she let him pull her to her feet. Whatever happened tonight, she knew she wasn’t facing it alone.

The Islanders gathered around the fire pit, the glow of the flames reflecting off their faces. The girls sat on the benches, their nerves visible in the way they shifted in their seats or smoothed down their dresses. The boys stood in a line, hands in their pockets or clasped in front of them, trying to look calm while the tension crackled in the air.

Y/N sat toward the end of the bench, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her heart raced as she tried to focus on her breathing, but her nerves were getting the better of her. Sophia stood in front of the fire pit, her phone buzzing in her hand.

She held it up triumphantly. “I’ve got a text!”

The group quieted instantly, all eyes on her as she cleared her throat and read aloud.

“‘Sophia, it’s your turn to choose which boy you want to couple up with. Please step forward and make your decision.’”

A murmur rippled through the group, but Y/N stayed silent, her stomach knotting. She risked a glance at Harry, standing toward the middle of the line. He met her gaze for a moment, his eyes soft but unreadable, before looking back toward Sophia.

Sophia stepped forward, her smile confident as she surveyed the boys. She let her gaze linger on each of them for just a second too long, clearly reveling in the attention.

“Well,” she began, “this hasn’t been the easiest choice, but I’ve decided to go with my gut. I want to couple up with someone I feel a strong connection with, and someone I can see myself building something real with.”

Y/N’s grip on her dress tightened, her knuckles turning white. She could hear Chloe whisper beside her, “She wouldn’t dare, would she?”

Sophia’s eyes landed squarely on Harry, her smile growing. “The boy I’d like to couple up with is… Harry.”

Gasps and murmurs broke out around the fire pit. Y/N felt her chest tighten, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Ian’s voice came in sharp and amused. “Oh, here we go, folks. Sophia tossing the grenade, and Y/N’s face says it all.”

Harry’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching as the group’s attention turned to him. He hesitated, clearly caught off guard. Lucas muttered something under his breath, and one of the boys patted Harry’s shoulder in solidarity.

Sophia raised an eyebrow, her confidence flickering slightly as she waited for Harry to step forward.

“Come on, then,” she said, her tone light but firm.

Harry glanced toward Y/N, who stared straight ahead, her lips pressed tightly together. Her composure was slipping, but she was determined not to let it show.

Ian’s voice added another quip. “Harry, mate, I’d move quickly before that fire pit gets even hotter.”

Reluctantly, Harry stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. He stood beside Sophia, his posture stiff and his gaze distant. Sophia linked her arm through his, beaming triumphantly.

On the bench, Y/N felt Chloe nudge her in silent support, but it didn’t help. The sting of Sophia’s choice, and Harry standing there beside her, was almost too much to bear.

This wasn’t just a game anymore. It felt like war.

--> part 9

...

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[batsandbirdbrains]

I want to read this so badly I’m begging someone to write some variation of it pls

The one where Dick isn’t the step-dad, he’s the dad that stepped up

Im fiddling around w the ages because it’s more fun that way. Also it’s in the yj cartoon universe but the timeline will be wonky bc I didnt care for seasons 3&4. So anyway let’s make it post season 2, Dick is 16ish, and like so many of my other yj fic ideas, he’s currently heavily disliked by most JL and yj team members bc of the whole deep cover thing. Also Artemis never went back to be Kaldur’s backup, she refused, so Dick did double time as both Nightwing and Renegade, Deathstroke’s apprentice. He and Bruce had a falling out bc Bruce didn’t like how he didn’t do everything perfectly while Bruce was gone.

So anyway Dick is living in Blüdhaven, his exhausted, he’s not taking very good care of himself, he’s running himself ragged as both Nightwing and also at his day job at a seedy dive bar.

And one night he comes home, ready to face plant on his dusty couch, only to be greeted by his arch nemesis: Talia al Ghul.

He can’t fuckin stand her. The feeling is very mutual.

Talia was very close with Bruce when Dick was younger. Dick was definitely not super jealous at the time. Also definitely didn’t let her words about him not being his real son get under his skin. That never happened.

And now she’s sitting in his couch, looking around and judging his non-existent decor. With a tiny kid next to her.

The tiny kid looks equally disgusted with the apartment. And way too much like Bruce for Dick’s comfort.

“Is this a hallucination or is there actually a succubus sitting in my living room,” Dick manages to say in a bored voice.

“Charming as always, Richard,” Talia says back at him. Before he can reply, she continues with, “I’m here on important business, so please for once drop the attitude with me.”

“And what’s so important you’ve dragged a toddler into my humble abode?”

“Tone,” she snaps at him, and he snorts at her. She’s not his mother, she doesn’t get to lecture him on his snotty attitude with her.

“Look, if you’re looking for Bruce, you’re way off target. We haven’t spoken in months. You’d think you and your little spies would know that.”

“Of course I know that,” she huffs at him. “That’s exactly why I’m here with you. I need you to do something very important for me.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that? Drop dead for ya so your little Bruce clone over there gets all my inheritance? I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear he’s cut me off entirely, so no need to worry.” He sways a bit as he turns around, and he only limps a little bit as he heads to his fridge. Not that there’s anything in there, but maybe if he rummages around and stares at it long enough, food will appear. He doesn’t pull his head out of the fridge before saying in a mocking tone, “You can leave now.”

“I need you to raise Damian.”

Dick stares at the flickering lightbulb in his fridge, the hum of it buzzing between his ears.

“I must finally be completely nuts,” he says, straightening up, hand still on the fridge door, “because I could’a swore I heard you just say you want me raising the love child you must’ve had with the man who kicked me to the curb six months ago.”

“Richard, will you take this seriously please?”

The way her voice sounds almost desperate is what gets Dick to finally turn around.

“Are you serious?” he asks. “You’re being forreal right now?”

“I’m being completely serious,” she tells him. “I don’t want my son anywhere near my father. I want him raised by a good man.”

“So take him to Bruce! What do you need me for?”

“Did you not just admit that Bruce kicked you out?” She said slowly to him. “You, his sixteen year old son-“

“Ward.”

“-who he once used to tell me was the light of his life? He turned on you, just like that. The boy he’d raised for eight years. Richard, you are still a minor-“

“Then why are you asking me to raise your baby?” Dick screeches.

“M’not a baby!”

“Oh my God, it talks!”

“Richard!” Talia is pinching the bridge of her nose. She looks like she’s regretting the decision to come here. Good.

“Richard,” she says again, softer. “Please. You are a better man than Bruce Wayne. You know that.”

“Do I?” he laughs, feeling so out of his league right now. He has no idea what’s happening.

“You’re a smart boy, Richard, I know you’ll figure this out.”

“You’re really leaving your kid with a kid?”

“You’ve graduated high school, haven’t you?” she says, as if that means anything. “Quite the achievement for one your age, considering all your extra curricular activities. Not to mention saving the world from an alien invasion.”

Dick’s face darkens at the mention of it, and for some reason, he doesn’t immediately want to shrug off the hand Talia lays on his shoulder.

“You’re a good man,” she says gently. “You’re bright. You’re resourceful. You will be good for him. Better than anyone else he might be able to go to.”

He’s overwhelmed. He’s still in his Nightwing costume. He’s covered in dried blood and mud. He’s tired.

But now Talia is leaving, and there’s a two year old mini-Bruce sitting on his couch staring into his soul.

“Okay,” Dick breathes. “It’s okay. We’re okay. Uh-“

Dick doesn’t know what to do. Damian is still staring at him. Dick’s not sure he’s even blinking.

“Do you like Frosted Flakes?”

Damian’s never had Frosted Flakes. Dick remedies that immediately. Damian’s smile after his first bite is enough to ease the tightness in Dick’s chest just a little bit. He ends up getting Damian safely tucked into bed, leaving the door to his room ajar so he can go have a breakdown in the living room so he doesn’t disturb him.

Of course Dick will raise Damian. He doesn’t really have any other choice, does he? Plus, he’s somehow already managing to worm his way into Dick’s heart. God, is this what Bruce felt like when Dick first came to live with him-

No.

He stops that thought immediately. He’s nothing like Bruce. He’ll never be anything like Bruce. Because now that Damian is his, he won’t ever let him go, he won’t ever make Damian leave just because he might do something Dick doesn’t like. Damian is his now, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Damian always knows that.

Except Dick is broke, and there’s hardly anything edible in this apartment, and his job doesn’t pay well enough to support himself and a toddler.

And Dick doesn’t have that many options on who to call for help.

So after a week of juggling his job and his new kid and a bunch of different possible outcomes, he makes a decision.

And the next night, he shows up on doorstep with Damian asleep in his arms and an overstuffed bag strapped to his back.

Slade only raises an eyebrow.

“What’s with the kid?”

“He’s mine,” Dick chokes out. “Don’t question it. Please.”

Slade just sighs, then steps aside to let Dick in the door. The house is familiar, Dick spent a lot of time here during his stint as Renegade. It used to feel so suffocating, being in Deathstroke’s home. Now it feels like a relief.

“What are you doing here, kid? Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Slade asks, sitting in a chair and swirling a half-empty glass of whiskey. He motions for Dick to sit on the couch across from him, and he does after a moment of shimmying the bag off his back without jostling Damian too much.

He sits there for a moment, Damian on his lap with his face tucked against his chest. He has one hand twirling Damian’s hair between his fingers, and he doesn’t look up when he speaks.

“You said I could come back anytime,” Dick says. “No questions asked.”

“I think you and I both know that didn’t apply to a situation like this.”

“Please,” Dick pleads. “I need the work. So I can take care of him.”

Slade’s face changes, but he doesn’t say anything. They’re both quiet for a long time, Dick trying to focus on the soft breaths from Damian as he sleeps. Eventually, Slade stops swirling the glass so he can bring it up to his mouth to empty the rest of it.

“You can stay in your old room for now,” Slade says, getting up. “But we’ll be relocating by the end of the week.”

Dick doesn’t know what to say, just stays rooted to the couch, hugging Damian a little tighter. Slade sees it and lets out a huff of a laugh.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll pick somewhere with good schools for the kid.”

Dick’s mind is moving like molasses as Slade walks behind the couch, grips his shoulder, and leans close enough to whisper in Dick’s ear, “Welcome back, Renegade.”

Dick waits until he hears Slade move into the kitchen to bring Damian and their stuff up to his old room. It still looks the same, not that it had many personal touches to begin with. A couple trinkets. Some souvenirs from jobs. A picture he and Slade had taken together, posing as tourists while they scoped out a target. If you squint, they almost look like a family.

Dick tucks Damian into bed, making sure he has the stuffed elephant he insisted he needed so he and Dick could match. It had been $30 - completely outrageous for a stuffed doll, in Dick’s humble opinion - but the way Damian’s face looked so excited at the prospect of having a similar kind of toy to the one he knew Dick had made him instantly cave. Dick had to beg off the cooks at the bar for a few free to-go boxes for a few days afterwards, but it had been worth it.

Dick shuts off the light, leaving the curtains drawn enough for the light from the moon to shine in just in case Damian woke up before morning, then collapsed into the bed next to him. He wrapped his arm around Damian, wanting to keep him safe, to let him know Dick was right there if he needed anything.

And Dick went to sleep trying not to feel like he just sold his soul. It will be worth it. It has to be worth it.

[yvesssssssss]

No way out(2)

Part 1

Nagumo Yoichi had always been a storm. Chaotic, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore. And just like that, he had swept back into your life, leaving a trail of confusion and nerves in his wake.

The Sakamoto store felt too quiet after he left, even though nothing had changed—except everything had.

Shin still looked like he was struggling to process what had just happened, arms crossed as he paced in front of the counter. “No, because I still don’t get it. You and Nagumo? How? Why?”

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples. “Do we have to do this right now?”

“Yes, actually.”

Sakamoto handed you a bottle of water before going back to inventory, acting like this was just another Tuesday.

Shin, on the other hand, was vibrating with secondhand stress. “Nagumo is—he’s Nagumo! You know what he’s like! He’s irresponsible! He’s dangerous! He pisses people off for fun! Do you really think he’s gonna be a dad??”

You didn’t answer. Not because you hadn’t thought about it, but because you had—over and over, until your head ached.

Nagumo wasn’t the type to settle down. He wasn’t the type to take responsibility for anything unless it amused him. The idea of him being a father was so absurd that you had convinced yourself it wasn’t worth telling him.

And yet.

He hadn’t run away. He hadn’t laughed it off as a joke. He had stayed.

That was more than you had expected.

Shin groaned. “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Not our business,” Sakamoto reminded him without looking up.

“You keep saying that, but it is our business! She works here! And if Nagumo’s gonna keep showing up—”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Shin.”

“What?”

“Drop it.”

Shin’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he huffed and muttered, “Fine.”

But you knew this wasn’t the end of it.

Not by a long shot.

|Later That Night|

You were exhausted.

Closing up the shop had taken longer than usual, mostly because you kept getting distracted. Your mind wouldn’t shut up, replaying the scene over and over. The way Nagumo’s smirk had flickered, the way his black eyes had darkened when he realized the truth.

You still didn’t know what he was thinking.

You locked the door to your small apartment, letting out a slow breath. Your place wasn’t much—just a one-bedroom with a tiny kitchen and a couch that had seen better days. It was enough.

At least, it had been.

You ran a hand over your stomach, biting your lip. Soon, it wouldn’t just be you anymore.

You had been planning for this, preparing for this. You had told yourself you didn’t need anyone else.

So why did it feel like your world had tilted off its axis the moment Nagumo found out?

A knock at your window nearly made you scream.

Your hand flew to the nearest object—a lamp—before you turned.

And there he was.

Nagumo Yoichi, standing on the fire escape like he had every right to be there, grinning at you through the glass.

You scowled, yanking the window open. “Are you insane?”

“Debatable,” he said, swinging a leg over the sill and slipping inside, landing with practiced ease.

You pointed at the door. “That exists for a reason.”

“But this way is more fun.”

You wanted to strangle him. Genuinely.

Instead, you exhaled sharply. “What do you want, Nagumo?”

He leaned against the wall, tilting his head. “Just checking in.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Bullshit.”

He placed a hand over his heart, mock-offended. “You wound me.”

You crossed your arms, staring him down.

For a moment, he just looked at you. The usual teasing glint in his eyes was still there, but underneath it, something more serious lurked. Something you couldn’t quite place.

Nagumo Yoichi was an expert liar. But right now, you had a feeling he wasn’t faking this.

“Look,” he finally said, his smirk softening. “I know you think I’m gonna bail.”

Your throat tightened.

He wasn’t wrong.

Nagumo had always been a wildcard. He came and went as he pleased, slipping through people’s lives like smoke.

“I’m not gonna bail.” His voice was quieter now. “I meant what I said, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

You hated how much you wanted to believe him.

Your fingers curled into fists. “Why?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Why are you suddenly acting like you care?” Your voice wavered despite yourself. “You don't do responsibility, Nagumo. You don’t even take yourself seriously half the time. So why are you here?”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

You should have moved. You should have put more space between you. But you didn’t.

Nagumo reached out, his fingers brushing your wrist. It was a fleeting touch, barely there, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You think I don’t care?” His voice was low now, almost dangerous.

You swallowed hard. “Don’t you?”

Something unreadable flickered across his face.

Then, to your surprise, he chuckled.

It wasn’t his usual mischievous laugh. This one was softer. Almost… fond.

“Y’know,” he mused, rubbing the back of his neck, “this is probably the worst way for you to find out, but—”

“Find out what?”

Nagumo smirked, stepping back. “You’re not the only one who’s been avoiding something, sweetheart.”

Your stomach twisted. “Nagumo—”

He winked. “Get some rest. We’ll talk later.”

And just like that, he strolled toward the window again, slipping out onto the fire escape before you could say another word.

You stood frozen, heart pounding in your chest.

Not the only one avoiding something.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

One thing was for sure.

Nagumo Yoichi was about to make your life very complicated.

[vaaaaaiolet]

Your seasonally available secret-agent roommate got too into the holiday punch this year, and he's bursting with a secret you're not too keen on coming to terms with.

secret santa fic for @crsssie!! roommates + mistletoe + one serving of cuddling <3

HUGE thank you for setting up Leon Secret Santa 2024 and a HUGER apology for messing up the time 😭 i love you LOADS cressie and i hope this fic has banter that lives up to the wonderful dialogue in your fics <3 MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

gn / m, romance, fluff, BANTER, leon is SO BAD at feelings, roommates au, angst / slight miscommunication trope + drunken confessions, close your eyes and ignore canon for me <3 no mention of pronouns but reader has bobby pins in their hair cw: alcohol / drunkenness

word count: 1.5k // read on ao3

“Shit, I didn’t-”

“Open your eyes, Leon! You’re going to fall, just hold on to me, we’re almost-”

“...don’t need you to,” he slurs, “I got it!”

Leon, of course, has got nothing at all besides shitfaced drunk. Your key is currently deciding not to fit into the convoluted lock he’d decided was absolutely necessary for your shared apartment. It was something about you having the fighting talent of a bedbound sloth (completely subjective opinion, you’d argued) and him being out of the country every few weeks.

The snow must’ve frozen it over while you two were out tonight, and between shouldering 165 pounds of muscle mass while manifesting a bobby pin into existence from your now-bedraggled hairdo to work into the keyhole, the start of Christmas Day is starting to look like Mission Impossible. 

“Don’t make this harder for me,” you plead to both your problems. 

The lock seems to be the only one to listen. Please, please – yes! The mahogany door to the apartment swings open, and you shoulder in your precious cargo, tracking snow all over the floor that’s sure to melt into sludge come morning. Luckily, the chore chart’s on your side tomorrow: Leon’s due for mopping. 

Once he wakes up from his alcohol induced nap, that is. And then you’ll have your fun. 

You deposit him on the couch faster than your paycheck, and your lungs inflate three sizes once his back makes contact with the cushions. “God, you’re heavy,” you pant, wiping your forehead.

“‘Cause you don’t go to the gym with me. Gotta get stronger.”

“I’ll quit my job and get buff once you start paying more than a third of the rent, yeah?”

Leon snorts. “‘m only here a third of the time anyway,” he says under his breath. 

He’s right, of course. The rent split was your idea, fair and square. But you pretend he isn’t. Pretend that it doesn’t hurt, either, like his punches when he tries to teach you self-defense whenever he’s free.

A cherub ornament must’ve fallen from the Christmas tree in the kitchen and crashed on your couch. Frosty blue eyes flutter open to gaze up at you from the cushions. There’s roses in Leon’s pale cheeks, flushed from the outdoors combined with him drinking his head off tonight, and when a wistful, angelic expression spreads across his face, you wish the snowstorm outside would’ve frozen over your heart instead of the door lock. 

He crooks a finger at you. Whispers like it hurts him, “Got somethin’ to tell ya.”

Your breath hitches. “Yeah?”

“‘s goddamn freezing in here.”

Unbelievable. You throw a couch cushion at his chest and he has the nerve to giggle while you stomp away to shut the front door. “You shouldn’t have gotten so drunk, Leon, what were you thinking?” you scold the subzero air. 

“I can handle my drinks!” he shouts back.

“Then why are you passed out on my couch?”

And despite having your back to him almost ten feet away, you can practically hear his brow scrunch at your words. “Thought it was our couch.”

You wave a flippant hand. “You know what I mean.”

“But you’re right,” he barks out a laugh. “Should be yours. All of it, I…I shouldn’t be here.”

He might be the one drunk tonight, but you’re the one feeling that telltale nausea all of a sudden. Leon’s laugh never makes your stomach roil like this. Screw all the little catches and springs – you twist the biggest one on the door’s lock closed and power walk back to the living room, taking a kneel on the couch next to Leon’s head. He’s turned to the other side now, broad back facing you. Tit for tat. 

“What are you talking about?” Digging your fingers into his right delt, you pry him back to look him in the eye, barely keeping the alarm out of your voice. 

“Uh, coins. Lotsa coins in the couch.” Leon fishes out a dime, shoots you a plastic excuse of a smile like you were born yesterday, “Yours?”

You shake his shoulder. “Don’t play dumb with me, come on. What did you say about you not being here?” 

“Mistletoe too, so much stuff in here…” 

You don’t even spare it a second glance, snatching the sprig out of his fingers. “What’s going on?” you ask, voice trembling. 

Because truth be told, security obsession and his pain-in-the-ass work schedule besides, you really can’t imagine living with anyone else. 

It’s been a year with Leon, your mysterious government agent roommate, the one who you’d spent nights hunched over the kitchen counter with corner store ramen. You’d gripe over your shitty coworkers, he’d threaten to tear them each a new one, and you’d half-pretend to beg him not to. And then you’d both couch surf until the sunrise, with you ending up cuddling into his chest and magically tucked into bed the next morning with your share of the chores done before Leon left for the day.

Leon’s shoulder was always there for you to cry on after failed first dates. It was the one favor you couldn’t pay back in kind; the man seemed to have zero interest in dating with a curious tendency to grow quiet whenever the question got brought up. But for him, you kept your first aid kit stocked. You’ve lost count of how many times you’d stayed up past two AM cleaning his cuts and icing his bruises upon his return home. 

It was a shared agreement. He kept his secrets, you got a built-in best friend. Or at least you thought you did before now.

Your throat stings. “Is this why you drank so much? You didn’t have the guts to tell me you hate living together?” You crumple the hem of his sweater in your fist.

The faraway look in Leon’s eyes clears instantaneously once he registers what’s starting to spill down your cheeks. 

Your next demand comes out riddled with cracks. “You have to be h-honest, Leon, promise me. Why don’t you want to stay?”

“Then you’ll stop crying?” 

Leon’s hands clumsily drift up to cup your cheeks, but the world’s gone full snowglobe through your haze of tears. You don’t pay them any mind, nodding fervently. 

“It’s you,” he breathes. 

You smell the mulled wine in his breath. Your holiday once-favorite, sweet and and now sickening. You’re a bruised peach, frostbitten and smashed under his Timberlands. Leon had it all wrong; it wasn’t the front door that needed to be padlocked, it was your stupid heart and the creeping realization that you’d tried to stave off with all those horrible dates and more excuses to fall asleep in his arms. 

The thing Leon did get right, though, was that you had no fighting chance. How could you let him break his way so completely into your life? He wasn’t even here half the time and here you are, fighting the clock to greet him home like he even wanted you there. 

You shake your head, interrupting the thumbs trying to wipe away your tears. “That’s fine. Yeah. Totally fine,” you sniffle, putting on your customer service brave face.

“No,” Leon frowns. 

“If I’m such a horrible roommate, we can sto-”

“No,” he repeats firmly. “Don’t…ugh,” he claps a hand to his forehead, the alcohol headache hot on his heels. 

“Don’t what?” you cry.

“Not helping,” Leon grits.

“Sorry for being sad that I’ll miss my best friend? I don’t know what you want me to-”

There’s a sharp pull on your wrist. With an exasperated sigh, Leon lifts the fist at your side with the sprig of mistletoe still in it above your head. You get one, maybe two seconds to wonder how he remembered it was there before his lips collide with yours, his calloused palm guiding your cheek towards his cherry-flavored mouth. The wind knocks out of you – more than that time you dared him to throw you over his shoulder.

The mistletoe falls out of your fingers. Leon’s thumb brushes the last tear out of the corner of your eye and mulled wine becomes your favorite again.

“Didn’t have the guts to say I liked ya,” he mumbles, and your heart skips. Leon’s smiling. 

“You’d rather move out than admit you like me?” you tease, breathless, arms circling around his neck the way they always do when he princess carries you. 

“Sweetheart, y’know me.”

And yeah, you do. Nobody else does quite like you.

“Stupid.” You let him kiss you a moment more before pulling away; you can’t help that his frowny face is your favorite expression on him when he’s drunk. “And you know what happens when you pull stupid stunts like that?”

Leon blinks at you, the consequences of bad backflipping flashing through his head. “Don’t want plunger duty!” he groans, flopping back onto the couch.

He’ll be wishing the toilet rats a Merry Christmas, poor guy. Your guy. You’ll just have to wait to cuddle him after he takes an hour-long shower.

@leonsecretsanta MERRY CHRISTMAS Y'ALL!! link to my masterlist lol

dividers by @/strangergraphics!

[bestruction]

hii could you make gojo x wife!reader. Reader is itadori's older sister. A special grade sorcerer and incharge of second years. She holds very strong cursed technique like psychic manipulation or she's a vessel of a cursed god (whatever you prefer it's your choice)

Could u please make angst/comfort oneshot. Reader help gojo in fighting against sukuna, they won but at the cost of reader. She went into a coma. She also had saved Nanami during Shibuya so nanami is also present. (Gojo is alive)

You can also show how everyone reacted specially Satoru and Yuji and recap of the memories they share.

Please let me know wheather your interested in doing it or not!!!!!!!

please don't mind my grammar. English is not my first language................

Warnings: none Notes: Thank you for your request. I had a lot of fun writing for Gojo and ended up with a few scenarios ideas for him in the store. Also, your grammar is fine <3 Don't worry (Plus, english is also not my native language so high five)

The hospital room smelled too clean. After so long, the usual white walls felt infuriating. Gojo hated it. The sharp scent of antiseptic, the way the light filtered too harshly through the blinds, and the flowers on the windowsill made the place feel like a shrine rather than a room where someone lived, breathed, and existed.

He sat slouched in the stiff chair by your bedside, one leg stretched out, hands dangling between his knees. The blindfold was shoved carelessly into his pocket days ago. He hadn't worn it since the moment they dragged him here, bleeding and laughing and terrified because you had fallen and you hadn't gotten back up.

"I told you not to fight," he muttered for the thousandth time, voice low, fraying at the edges. He raked a hand through his messy silver hair, tugging at the roots until it hurt. "But nooo, you had to be a hero. Had to throw yourself into the fire because you can't stand seeing me in danger."

Sukuna was gone, the Jujutsu world was finally returning to its tracks but he couldn’t care less. He met you while you worked as a teacher. He thought you were…infuriating at first. You had a special kind of cursed technique that allowed physics manipulation through your vital energy. Of course, something so powerful would have a high price. He lost count of how many fights you two had because he didn’t want you to get involved in missions anymore. He wanted you to work training the students and preserve yourself because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. 

Did that stop you from jumping into the fight against Sukuna the moment you saw him bleeding? Absolutely not. You would throw yourself in fire and turn into ashes before seeing something or someone you love disappear without doing anything. But being so damn stubborn was part of the reason why he fell in love with you. 

The monitors beeped softly, the only sign that somewhere, deep beneath the broken surface, you were still fighting. Gojo slouched forward again, reaching out to brush your hair back from your face with trembling fingers. You looked so peaceful, it made him furious.

“You better wake up soon,” He said, his words low as he tapped the back of your hand with his fingers “I miss you telling me to ‘shut up’ already” 

You didn’t move. He waited, watching your eyes, your fingertips, and nothing. He scoffed a bitter, fond sound. 

A gust of wind stirred the flowers on the windowsill, filling the room with a sickly sweet scent. Gojo's lip curled. He wanted to throw them all out. Rip the damn stems apart with his hands.

"They keep bringing flowers," he muttered. "Yuji, Megumi, even that moron Panda. I hate it. Makes it feel like I’m visiting your grave." His thumb brushed lightly over the back of your hand, seeking something—anything. "You’re not dead," he said fiercely, teeth gritted. "You hear me? You’re not. You don’t get to leave me like this."

Silence.

Outside the window, the city kept moving. Inside the room, time had stopped.

Day after day, night after night, Gojo stayed. He slept half on the bed sometimes, sprawling over the chair like a thrown-away doll, refusing to leave even when Shoko threatened to sedate him.

He told you stories. About the students, about how Nanami actually cracked a joke once (he didn't, but Gojo knew you'd tease him if you ever woke up to hear the lie). He told you how Yuji cried the first time he came in and saw you, how Megumi stared at your hand for half an hour without saying a word.

Gojo hated this helplessness more than anything — the sheer, brutal truth that for all his limitless power, he couldn't lift you out of that bed, couldn't force your eyes open with sheer will, couldn't heal what your soul had sacrificed. He was used to winning, to bending the world around him, to standing above fate itself. But now he could only sit there, every day, whispering his dreams into your sleeping ear like prayers he wasn't sure would ever be answered. 

Some nights, when loneliness wrapped too tightly around his chest, he told you about the future he had started to imagine — a small house tucked somewhere quiet, far from the blood and curses and endless wars. 

"I’ve been thinking about quitting," he confessed, his thumb stroking slow, trembling patterns along the back of your hand. "The kids can handle it now... Yuuji, Megumi, Nobara. They don’t need me hovering anymore or you." His voice softened, almost bashful. "We could get a place out in the countryside. Grow tomatoes, or whatever old people do. Maybe have a kid or two. You'd hate the names I've picked out, by the way. Like... 'Soichiro,' or 'Tamaki.' Imagine calling for them at dinner." He laughed — a hoarse, broken thing — because he needed to believe you would wake up just to roll your eyes at him, to punch his arm and scoff that he was an idiot. Needed to believe that somewhere inside the quiet shell of your body, you were still there, smiling, waiting to come back to him.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead — a soft, lingering thing like a vow — and when he pulled back, he saw the imperceptible flutter of your lashes. For a moment, he froze, his heart slamming hard against his ribs, his mind reeling, terrified that it was just another cruel trick of exhaustion. But then your hand twitched weakly against his, and your voice — raspy, barely a breath — broke the silence.

"I like the name... Soichiro."

Gojo stared at you, wide-eyed, breathless, his whole world tilting sideways. For a split second, he genuinely wondered if he had finally lost his mind, conjured you with sheer desperation. But no — your warm eyes found his. Your lips curved into the ghost of a smile. You were there.

A laugh — broken, beautiful — tore out of him, and before he could stop himself, he was kissing you again: your forehead, your nose, the corner of your mouth, frantic, reverent, as if anchoring himself to the reality that you were here, awake, alive.

"Breath, Satoru," you croaked out, your voice barely above a whisper, your hand weakly trying to push his chest away. "I need to... breathe."

He laughed again, wet with tears he didn’t even realize were falling, and rested his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your cheeks like you were made of spun glass.

"Sorry, sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking with a happiness so raw it hurt. "Just... don't go back to sleep, okay? Not yet. I’ve got a whole list of terrible baby names to tell you.’ 

[elodieunderglass]

Would you like to be sent other people's Killie headcanons? I wasn't sure if that would be welcome or like stealing your toys.

(Killie the jockey oc)

Thank you so much for asking! I’m going to say something wild - that it’s fine if you understand the risks and agree to the conditions. Sorry for writing an essay about the conditions, but it interested me a lot - I want to welcome this spirit, and am also conscious that published authors don’t do this (however, I don’t want their job.)

Long story short: you can, but it’s not legally advisable, but fuck it, we ball.

Grownups share toys, and Killie exists to be rotated - and, when he achieves sufficient velocity, thrown briskly into an obstacle. Sharing this burden with others pleases me. I’ve already said an emphatic GO AHEAD to fanart and AU fanfic, so worrying about this too much would be a case of shutting the barn door after the horse has eaten it. We do a lot of riffing and yes-anding each other, which is the ENTIRE fun of talking about Killie, and is the ONLY reason he’d get a book anyway. And my approach to intellectual property is more collaborative-Goncharov than the inciting published-authors-shouldn’t-read-fic-incident (1990s drama with Marion Zimmer Bradley.)

Killie’s intended to have a little self-published, non-commercial book that isn’t written yet. If I was already planning to do something similar to your ideas, it might lead to awkwardness for both of us. I’m not saying it would - we are too mature and kind - but that’s the risk I don’t want you to take unknowingly. I do mean to create 1 piece of fixed canon material (plan for that here), for which I plan to charge sufficient money to reimburse the cost of the editor I plan to hire for it. So you would have to decide whether you’d like to risk your headcanon being canon. I will say upfront that there is zero risk of Killie being commercially viable (CAN YOU IMAGINE) so there’s no chance of anyone (including myself) getting paid for anything; it’s more about the idea of intellectual property. Your headcanons belong to you, and by kindly sharing them with someone who hasn’t written the canon yet, you risk a lot more than someone writing about a closed, distant work.

You don’t need approval or permission for headcanons. You don’t need approval from anybody to enjoy them.

Of course, half the pleasure of sharing headcanons is sharing them for connection and communication ARGH.

It would be great if you could share them somewhere else, without worrying about me being involved, but Killie’s entire fandom is the 20 of us, currently housed here, in my living room.

I do want to encourage you to do that (posting without telling me/discussing with other people). you don’t need my permission, and are welcome.

But I do understand Killie’s fandom is housed in my living room at the moment. As much as I intend for him to move out in the future, ideally into a small kennel in YOUR living room, it’s very natural for current observations of him to take place in my living room.

(Could he please move into your living room, the kennel is very small)

Thus, here is my policy:

If you send me a headcanon, please understand that you are voluntarily and freely releasing your idea, in the spirit of willing sharing. There is a very slight risk that your headcanon will overlap with something in the unpublished Killie book, so you’ll have to agree that you understood this risk - and that I don’t owe you anything, if it’s similar.

If you have a very good idea that would be absolutely load-bearing, I’d like to reach out for a mutually consensual permissions statement to use it. You would have the ability to decline. Agreeing to its use would involve you getting full credit for the idea, my warm thanks for sharing it, a link to your blog in online material, the admiration of everyone reading the credits, and probably nothing else will be in my power. Payment is unlikely. Co-authorship is not on the table, as I can’t write checks I can’t cash (I.e. I can’t promise to pay someone with credit on a product that might not happen.)

submission of writing prompts is done freely in the tumblr context, and I’m going to make the formal statement that a prompt does not grant co-ownership of the resulting work. Submission does not mean co-ownership - if you submit a prompt, you’re giving me permission to use it in any way I like, with or without credit. At the moment, it’s all on tumblr and attached to usernames, but if the inspired work moves to another platform (I.e I include a comic in Killie’s book) I’ll endeavour to keep the credit to your tumblr handle. I plan to thank everyone who makes the work so possible and so delightful!

Once Killie has this completed piece of work out (working title Throw Your Heart Over) he’ll be fair game. Literally hunt him for sport with my blessing 👍

I would then put him in a hamster ball and kick him down the stairs step back a bit because I think it could be a bit oxygen-smothering when creators are TOO involved - I’d like to respond to asks, but would not want to know what people were saying elsewhere- but once moved out of my living room, Killie will no longer be my personal problem.

Death of the Author voluntarily. Pls.

I was thinking of licensing him as Creative Commons anyway, but he still needs to move out of my living room and get his own address for that. At any rate, then, it will be chill for all of us to do whatever. Intellectual property WHOMST. The only thing would be I don’t want him sold without permission.

The intention of Killie is mental freedom and growth of identity; if I hogged him all to myself, I’d break that intention, and he’d rightfully stop working for me.

In conclusion, by willingly sharing a headcanon WITH ME, you agree that you get: small but high-quality connection, engagement, my admiration, hoots of amusement, tears, maybe a comic in response.

You do not get paid, you don’t get co-authorship or have any ownership.

If your headcanon accidentally matches a canon statement that I haven’t publicly made yet, you’ll have done very well by guessing foreshadowing, but unfortunately receive nothing. Guessing canon in advance does not mean that you gave me the idea, and you have agreed that by sharing it willingly.

If your headcanon solves a plot problem, I might reach out for permission to use it, with the conditions that I can only realistically offer credit for the idea. You’ll have the right to decline, and the paper trail showing that you did.

You will have no way of knowing if I am lying, and by freely sharing headcanons, you accept that risk. (I don’t intend to steal and lie - I’m a goddamn grownup with a day job, I think we’re friendly and trust each other, I’m writing a novel as a present to you, specifically, @thethirdromana - but the risk can’t be ignored.)

If you share your headcanon with other people, I don’t need to know, and don’t need to be invited.

Once Killie’s published, you can eat him for breakfast.

Hope this all makes sense, and I’m sure published authors would be gnawing their nails in horror reading this, which they won’t, because it’s 20 people in my living room and won’t make any money.

Regardless of what you choose to do, I cannot thank you enough for joining me, sharing your heart and attention, and for the gift of your support.