#some family antics to make up for what's next

[gojoest]

a shape that could be ours — gojo satoru

synopsis: newlyweds are always asked the same question: “when will the babies come?” sometimes, the questions are harmless. other times, they get under your skin. you start to think and you start to imagine. maybe you tuck a pillow under your shirt one time, just to see. and maybe… your husband, gojo satoru, sees it too.

warnings: f!reader (she/her), established relationship (you are newly married), pregnancy/baby talk, pet names (pretty, baby), domestic fluff, not proofread, wc: 2.6k, dividers by @/cursed-carmine

“what? don’t you want a baby with me?” satoru asks as he sets the plates down on the counter and walks over to you. his voice is low and teasing. but not teasing in the usual carefree way; there’s something softer threaded through it, something almost serious. like it isn’t really a question he’s asking at all, but a quiet hope. a request. one he’s afraid to say out loud too often.

you blink up at him, unsure whether to be flustered or frustrated.

dinner had just ended. it was the first time you invited family over since the wedding. a small gathering, really, that still somehow managed to feel like a full-blown event. everything had to be perfect. you spent the whole day cleaning, organizing, cooking. and not just because you’re a perfectionist, but because…

…his clan is, well, intense.

polished and traditional in all the wrong ways where every smile hides a critique, every compliment is laced with a condition. you knew it wouldn’t be easy to deal with them tonight but it mattered to you for the dinner to go well.

and in many ways, it did. except for that constant baby talk. family pressure.

“so, when are we going to hear the pitter-patter of little feet?”

“you two are married now. it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“i give it three months.”

‘three months? i’m hoping to get good news by the end of this month. the gojo blood is impatient.”

the laughter at the table was warm and lighthearted on the surface. but all of it made you want to disappear into your bowl of rice. every eye was on you and satoru — some amused, others expectant. as if you two were a machine that could be activated at any moment to start producing the next generation.

throughout the entire dinner you could barely take a sip of your drink without actually chocking on it.

meanwhile, satoru was just grinning like the menace he is — relaxed, smug and completely unfazed as always.

“we’ve been practicing”, he said brightly, “when the time comes, you will all know. it will show”, while caressing your belly shamelessly.

you nearly dropped your chopsticks. that idiot.

no matter how many times you jabbed his elbow, perhaps at times hard enough to leave a bruise, he kept chuckling, leaning over to kiss your temple like the world’s most supportive husband, and carried on with his antics. entertaining everyone with far too much confidence and far too many innuendos. not embarrassed at all, not for a second trying to avoid the topic when it was brought up. in fact, he kept leaning into it. perhaps because he enjoyed the idea a little bit too much and loved making it known since it involved the two of you becoming even closer. or perhaps as a subtle way of signaling you that he’s ready even if you aren’t. either way, he was absolutely in his element.

you, however, were ready to crawl under the table and stay there until the end of time, embarrassed.

by the time everyone was finally saying goodbye, you could barely fake another smile. several relatives winked on their way out, whispering things like “go work on that baby now” as if they didn’t already do enough damage to your nervous system, but now this too.

hours later, you’re standing in the kitchen rinsing plates, trying to scrub both the dishes and your embarrassment clean.

satoru is still watching you. he tilts his head, eyes a little softer now, like he’s peeling back the layer of jokes he wears so well. he steps closer to you and reaches out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. then his hand tilts your chin upward, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

“i mean it”, he says quietly. “don’t you want a baby with me?”

as a reflex, you try to turn away, but his hand holds you steady. not forceful, but firm enough, like he’s not ready to let you run from the question again.

“i…” you mumble. “i never said i didn’t want that.”

and that’s all he needs. a slow smile spreads across his lips. not a cocky one, but soft. almost relieved. he lets you go, brushing his fingers along your jaw as he pulls back. “good”, he says. “because i already think about it way too much.”

indeed, satoru has been imagining this, fantasizing even, for far too long, before you even got married. and all of his earlier teasing wasn’t just for show.

but on your end, it starts slowly. quietly. like how you start noticing flowers blooming only after winter has begun to fade.

a toddler’s giggle catches your attention in the park. you weren’t even really looking, just sipping on your coffee and scrolling mindlessly on your phone. but the sound draws your eyes up. a little girl in pink overalls is running after bubbles, squealing with laughter. her parents sit nearby on a bench, watching with contentment.

you don’t even realize you’re standing until the bubble pops and the girl turns to look at you, grinning. you smile back.

and just like that, you find yourself looking more often. at playgrounds. at babies wrapped in slings. at tiny shoes lined up in store windows. at couples who walk slowly because they’re pacing themselves with the unsteady toddle of their child between them.

you tell yourself it’s just because everyone keeps bringing it up. that your brain is on autopilot, stuck on a topic you never gave much thought before.

but then, you catch yourself lingering in the baby aisle at the store. just a second too long and just enough to picture what it might be like… a tiny hoodie with a little bear face. a pair of miniature sneakers that could fit in your palm. but alas, you shake your head and move on like that’ll erase the softness creeping in.

of course, satoru doesn’t help.

in fact, he seems to notice the shift in you immediately, even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. one night, while you’re brushing your teeth, he appears in the mirror behind you, eyes sleepy but still, mischievous.

“if it’s a girl”, he says softly, “i want her to have your eyes.”

you pause, toothbrush still in your mouth. you look at his reflection in the mirror, he’s smiling. he says it so casually, like you’d been in the middle of that conversation all along.

pulling the toothbrush out, you gasp. “…what?”

“i mean it, pretty”, he says, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “your eyes. she’ll have me wrapped around her tiny little finger, obviously. but if she takes your eyes? i’m done for.”

you blink at him, unsure if your heart is skipping a beat from his words or because you brushed a little too hard… “satoru—”

“and i want to teach her how to fight”, he adds, grinning now. “so i can pretend i’m cool and strong before she decides i’m not.”

you stare at him. “looks like you’ve put way too much thought into this”

he shrugs, utterly unbothered. “of course i have. i think about it all the time.”

you turn away, rinsing your mouth, pretending your hands aren’t a little shaky from how serious he sounded underneath all the teasing.

another time, you’re curled on the couch, scrolling, when he flops next to you and plops a tiny onesie in your lap. it says: strongest baby alive!

“what— how— why do you even have this?” you ask, holding it up like it might detonate.

he grins. “came across it online. couldn’t resist. look, it’s perfect!”

“satoru.”

“what? just prepping for greatness”, he chuckles. but there’s something in the way he watches you after. like he’s waiting. measuring your reaction. seeing if your fingers linger on the fabric. and when they do — just a second too long — his smile falters. softens and turns quiet.

he doesn’t push it, though. doesn’t mention it again. instead, the next morning, you find your favorite mug already filled with coffee, and beside it… a baby spoon.

you roll your eyes. but you also don’t through it away.

and that night, while helping your friend babysit her toddler, you let the little boy climb into your lap. he has chubby fingers and impossibly soft hair, and he tugs at your necklace while babbling nonsense. at one point, he rests his head against your chest and sighs. you feel something in your chest flutter, crack open…

when satoru comes to pick you up, the boy doesn’t want to let go of your hand. satoru says nothing on the ride home. but he doesn’t let go of your hand, either. one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on yours, warm against your thigh.

a few days later, satoru was abruptly called by the higher-ups about something last minute. nothing new. he kissed your cheek, told you not to wait up and vanished with a sweet little wink before putting on his blindfold.

now hours later, the silence he left behind still lingers. there’s no hum of his laughter, no echo of his dramatic commentary from the hallway, no footsteps chasing you down for one more kiss. just you.

you’re folding the laundry — a pile of shirts, a few of his socks that somehow always get lost in pairs, and then… a pillow. an extra cushion from the couch that ended up in the wrong basket.

you pick it up absently, ready to toss it aside, but… your hands hesitate. your eyes lower, thumb smoothing across the fabric. your heartbeat shifts a little and almost without thinking, you press the pillow against your stomach. a little too high at first, then you adjust it lower. tuck it in and pull your shirt over it.

just to see, to feel.

you walk to the mirror, barefoot, and look at your reflection. the shape is awkward and lumpy. not real. but the illusion is enough. your hand rests on the makeshift bump and then, slowly, one starts to move, caressing lightly over the curve.

you know it’s silly, but something within you responds. your face warms. you start to imagine satoru’s hand covering yours. you imagine him kneeling in front of you, placing a kiss against your stomach, whispering some ridiculous name idea he’s already picked out. you imagine tiny clothes, sleepless nights, holding something small and warm that’s half you and half him… you let yourself smile.

fingers brush gently over the fabric again. this could happen — you think — it’s possible. it’s real — and for the first time, the idea doesn’t make you want to run and hide. in fact, it makes your eyes sting a little. you lose yourself so deeply in the fantasy that your ears don’t catch on the sound of the front door open.

satoru didn’t mean to get home this quietly. usually, he makes a noise on purpose — jingles the keys, sings something stupid in the hallway, says something lovesick as soon as he opens the door just to hear you laugh.

but tonight, something stops him. he’s got that feeling. a pull.

the house is dim, soft with the kind of stillness that suggests you’re somewhere in thought. then he hears the faint shuffle of feet — yours — and he follows the sound like a thread, guiding him toward a barely cracked bedroom door.

he’s halfway through taking off his blindfold when he sees it through the narrow crack. you, in front of the mirror. a pillow under your shirt. your hands on it like it’s real.

he doesn’t move at first. his eyes track the curve of your body with something close to awe and he forgets how to breathe, or perhaps he’s afraid that if he breathes the moment will vanish. something primal and visceral hitting him all at once. you’re not smiling in the mirror like it’s a joke. you’re dreaming. touching the false belly like you’re already connected to someone that doesn’t exist — but could…

he thinks he might die on the spot. this is the future he’s been aching for in silence. this is the image that’s kept him up at night, one hand over his eyes, the other gripping the sheets, wondering when (if) you’d want the same…

and then, you see him. in the mirror just beyond your shoulder. startled, you turn. your hands fumble the pillow, cheeks heating up from embarrassment. “i— i was just… you know—it’s nothing. i was just being silly—”

he opens the door fully now and steps in slowly as if he’s approaching a dream he doesn’t want to wake from.

“stop”, he says, his voice barely above a whisper. he walks over to you like he’s being pulled by something magnetic. his hands are warm when he places one over the bump. even if it’s fake, it doesn’t matter. his fingers tremble anyway.

“you look beautiful. so beautiful, baby”, he murmurs, eyes not leaving you. “like it’s already real”, he swallows hard.

god, what i wouldn’t give to make it real, he thinks. to watch you grow round and soft with his child. to see the way your body would change — carry the weight of something made by both of you. to feel your skin stretch under his palms, life blooming inside you because of him.

he would worship you. he already does. but like that? pregnant with his child? he wouldn’t survive it.

he plants a soft kiss to your temple, hand curling protectively around your back, the pillow pressing between you. “i want to give you everything, you know that?” he whispers, but his voice sounds strained like he’s holding back too much all at once.

you nod against him. but, it’s not enough. not when you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror like that, not when you’ve imagined it too…

“say it”, he breathes against your hair. “tell me you want it too”

you look up at him, eyes vulnerable. that same look you gave your reflection.

“i want it”, you whisper. “i want a baby with you”

…and that’s it. that’s the thing that unravels him. letting out a shaky breath, he presses his forehead to yours. eyes fluttering closed as he cradles your face in both hands. he’s barely holding himself from dropping to his knees and pressing his mouth to your stomach, kissing it until you forget every reason you ever hesitated.

“let me give you a baby”, he says it now. clearly. openly. reverently. “let me make you a mother”, his thumb stroking your cheeks as his voice falls like a prayer and a plea all at once. “i’ll take care of everything”, he promises. “you’ll never lift a finger. just be mine. just carry ours.”

his lips find yours into a kiss, slow and aching, full of thousand nights he spent dreaming of this exact moment. and in the back of his mind, there’s only one thought echoing over and over.

she wants it. she wants this. she wants me. she wants us.

…and that’s enough to break him, rebuild him, and start everything new.

he gently scoops you into his arms, carefully — like you’re already carrying something precious inside you. your hands fly to his shoulders, your face closer to his. and it’s one of those rare moments where there’s no teasing on his features. only something quiet, something tender. something that longs.

he carries you to the bed like he’s bringing you home, and when he lays you down, he takes a moment. just a moment, to look at you. the fake curve of the pillow under your shirt, the way your hands settle over it instinctively. the way your eyes never leave his.

satoru sinks to his knees beside the bed, presses a kiss low on the fabric over your belly. one hand slides over the curve gently, and then, looking up at you through his lashes, he murmurs,

“i’m going to make this real now.”

[myuviis]

FIGHT FOR LOVE

EPISODE ONE.

synopsis: sana, (name) and (name)’s brother used to be great friends. but something caused them to fall apart. (name) was a quiet kid while achieving high standards. but who could ever think that she would get into fights like this? this whole story is basically weak hero class but with a love interest.

pairing: minatozaki sana x f!reader

warning(s): based on whc (weak hero class), fluff, comedy, angst, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, lots and lots of fighting, blood mentioned, fighting techniques, stabbing (with pens only), lots and lots of injuries, parents neglecting children, siblings falling apart, drugs mentioned, misuse of drugs (putting fentanyl patch onto skin.), dizziness, detailed description of a fight, fighting with baseball bats. (if there are anymore pls let me know!!)

w/c: 3k

(lowercase intended!!)

“YOU CANT EVEN fight!” the boy laughed infront of (name). “shut up! i’ll be better than you at fighting!” (name) huffed. “yea right, girls will be girls.” he mocked and stuck his tounge out at her. “mama! big bro is bullying me again!” (name) shouted out.

“will you two be respectful? we’ve got guests over.” (name) and kang-dae clumsily ran over inside and looked at the small family of 3 at the door. there was a girl with black hair and looked like a foreigner. “mama what if they can’t understand us?” (name) looked at her mum nervously. “yea!” kang-dae agreed and avoided the black haired girl’s gaze.

the man behind the girl chuckled. “we do understand.” the siblings turn red in embarrassment and lowered their heads. they heard a little giggle that belonged to a little girl and looked at her. “you two are cute.” she grinned. the two of them turn red again as the girl giggled. “kids, this is mrs minatozaki and mr minatozaki. and the little girl is sana.” “nice to meet you mrs and mr minatozaki.” both of them bowed.

“no need for that. i’m sure we can leave formalities behind.” the man chuckled. “sana, how about you go play with them?” the woman softly spoke. sana walked over to the pair of siblings and dragged them outside.

“okay so you’re the monster,” sana pointed at kang-dae. “you’re my knight.” she pointed at (name). “and i’m the princess!” she puffed out her chest.

“that’s not fair how come she gets to be the knight?” kang-dae complained. “well that’s because you look like a monster and i can actually fight!” (name) puffed out her chest and grinned.

“tch, whatever.” he rolled his eyes.

“gosh you both are insufferable just start already!” sana huffed and crossed her arms.

“what does that mean?” the siblings asked at the same time.

sana blinked at them. “you.. don’t know what insufferable means?” she asked.

“well we’re only 6.” kang-dae rolled his eyes.

“yea! what he said.” (name) crossed her arms.

sana blinked and stared at them before bursting out laughing.

“you two are sure dumb.”

“SHUT UP!”

kang-dae moved to a dorm of his own. (name) stayed with her mum and with sana next door.

those were sure good times.

(name) scribbled her notes in her notebook with airpods in her ears. she had a cut on her lip that was bleeding but she didn’t pay attention to it. they were all 18 now, time flies past too quickly.

(name) was known as the quiet but smart kid at school.

sana was known as the prettiest and most popular kid at school.

and kang-dae?

he went to another school where he fought most of the times.

this was (name)’s life now and she had to accept it.

everyday is the same. she wakes up, goes to school, write notes, eat lunch, goes to class, walks home, make dinner by herself.

although (name) lives with her mum, she was always too busy with her job and rarely came home early.

(name) could only do what she’s best at, studying.

although, sometimes something changes.

too fast and too big of one.

(name) was at school with her airpods in and writing notes down. some people were mocking her and laughing at her “nerd antics”. she had walked up to them and gave them a warning. “stop bothering me.” she said coldly.

“psh, is that supposed to scare me?” her classmate laughed and looked back at their friends with their thumb pointed towards (name).

someone barged in the class with a gang of baseball players behind them. they all had caps and most of them even had baseball bats. “where’s park jihyo?” one of them asked. the bullies pointed at park jihyo. the person sat infront of park jihyo nudged jihyo. “hey, jihyo.” they nudged. “park jihyo.” they said louder. “park jihyo!” they nudged harder. park jihyo looked up with her eyes scrunched and said, “what is it?” she looked around (well not really because her eyes are closed.). “is it lunchtime?” she asked.

she rubbed her eyes. “it’s you?” one of the baseball players said. “my..” they started. they took a deep breath biting their lips to hold their tears back. “did you hit on my sana?” sana? (name) hasn’t heard that name in ages. “sa..na?” jihyo said before furrowing her eyebrows, obviously thinking and trying to recall. “park sana?” she asked. “kim sana?” she asked again. “minatozaki sana, you dick!” they shouted.

“oh.. she kept on DMing me, so we went out to eat once.” she said nonchalantly. she scratched her neck, “but she’s not really my type.”

the baseball player gritted his teeth. “hey, what’s for lunch today?” jihyo leaned back in her seat. “spicy pork.” the person infront of her answered.

she paused. “oh, nice.” she looked away and furrowed her eyebrows. “protein..” she said. “that’s good.” she concluded.

“yah!” the baseball player said. the gang of baseball players behind him began to step in front and walked towards jihyo.

“woah, stay back.” jihyo said leaning back in her seat with a hand out.

one of the baseball players smashed their bat into her desk but not before jihyo stood up and walked to the side. they followed jihyo as jihyo stepped backwards quickly. they slammed a bat into the lockers at the back of the room. jihyo swiftly dragged her body to the side and continued walking backwards.

they walked towards jihyo and swung a bat. jihyo dodged but almost didn’t make it as she was cornered into a table at the back of the class. most of them charged and once, she ducked and went past all of them as they swung hands and bats towards where she was.

she ducked one more and punched the guy in the face and rushed to the other grabbing their arm and tackled them onto the desk.

another one came towards her but she had waved them away with her arm. she swiftly grabbed their bat from the person on the desk and smiled.

one of the people tried to come towards her but she swung the bat and the person ducked and screamed in fear. the person backed up towards the desk. “you scared?” she threw the metal bat onto the ground. she barely had time to finish her sentence as another player came rushing towards her. she dodged to the side and pushed their back towards the front of the class. another one came infront of her and they swung their bat while jihyo stepped backwards.

they jabbed their bat into jihyo’s chest but she caught the tip. the person put pressure and pushed jihyo onto a wall while she held the tip of the bat one inch away from her chest. another one came from the floor and she used the bat in her hands to hit it away. she kicked their legs and moved to get a book. the person tripped as she used the book to hit their back.

“hey, come here.” she smiled enjoying this. she hit them once more as students at the sides recorded the fight.

she pretended to hit the baseball player who threatened her at first as they ducked and swore in fear. she backed up while her body swayed slightly to the sides. she smiled and winked. the same person swung their arm back. jihyo saw this and ducked and quickly headed towards their back and grabbed their shirt to pull them towards her.

she put her hand towards the back of their neck and pulled their ear. the other baseball players backed up in fear. “hey, are you really athletes?” she scoffed and kicked a desk.

“shit! i get it!” they surrendered under the pain of their ear being pulled. jihyo smiled and pushed them away to the side. jihyo patted dust off her hands and shirt.

the same person turned around, “you son of a bitch!” they swung their arms. once again jihyo dodges to the side, they swung their arms to jihyo side again quickly, jihyo swung her body to the other side and steps backward smiling. the same person swings their bat missing jihyo by a far distance. they grit their teeth and swung their arm behind them ready to attack jihyo again. but instead, they threw the bat but jihyo saw this and dodged once again. the metal bat hit the board and clacked against the floor.

jihyo’s sleeve got messed up. she turned around and looked at them. “you crossed the line.” she said. she fixed her sleeve and tucked in her thumb. “fuck you, asshole!” the person shouted before swinging their arms back. jihyo tilted her head just in time to dodge it and punched them in the face. the person fell to the ground with a thud following behind. jihyo breathed heavily. she turned to point at the person’s gang of baseball player and said, “take them to the nurse’s office.” she looked at the person on the ground. she looked at the gang again and pointed, “if you mention me, you die.” she threatened. “yeah?”

she turned and smiled looking around the class, her eyes landed on (name). (name)’s sad eyes creeped jihyo out but she never stopped smiling at her. (name) looked at her pencil case on the floor. jihyo looked up at her in realisation. “was this because of me?” she stopped smiling and looked concerned. “yeah.” (name) replied as everyone else walked out for lunch. “oh.” jihyo said before bending down to pick up the dropped pens and pencil case on the floor to put it on (name)’s desk. “oh man, sorry about that.” she held her hand up to her face with her fingers slightly curved. she turned around but was interrupted by a voice.

“why do that in a classroom?” (name) asked. (name) turned to her desk and continued on working on her notes.

jihyo smiled and rolled her tounge around the inside of her upper lip and lower lip. (if you get what i mean..🙂‍↕️) she nodded and had a bigger smiler than before as she walked away.

“did you hear? (l/n)(name) in class 1A beat up two kids yesterday.”

rumours spread really quickly. especially if you’re in an all girls school. all the girls would be gossiping, some would even fight during breaks.

sana’s eyes widened. she knew that (name) wouldn’t do such a thing. she didn’t even want to get involved in fighting at all. that’s what separated her and kang-dae.

“sana? why do you look so shocked?” nayeon asked next to her.

she shook her head and gulped.

“it’s fine nayeon.”

“did something happen?” momo asked. although sana were grateful for her friends, she wished they would disappear at this second.

“i said it was nothing.” sana snapped.

the two friends looked at each other with worry filled in their eyes.

sana sighed. “sorry guys.. i just.” she paused. “i need to do something, i’ll be right back.” she hastily walked over to class 1 with her friends confused behind her. she peeked inside the class and saw (name) sitting alone at her desk with a cut on her lower lip.

“ohh yea, that’s (name).” nayeon appeared next to sana. sana glanced at her with shock at how fast the girl is.

“heard she beat up two kids.” momo added with a whisper as if it was a secret.

(name) looked at the window at the girls. the girls quickly ducked and covered their mouths looking at eachother with shock.

nayeon let out a giggle.

“do you think she saw?” nayeon grinned. momo rolled her eyes at how stupid this girl is. “of course she did dumbass, she made eye contact with us.” momo slapped the girl’s back of the head. “owww..” nayeon pouted.

the trio slowly rose up and peeked at (name).

(name) rose an eyebrow at their antics. they quickly stood up and walked away.

“holy shit that was scary.” momo said.

“yea! she looked like she was about to kill us.” nayeon rubbed her arms as if she has goosebumps.

“she’s not that bad..” sana mumbled.

nayeon scoffed, “why are you defending that damn nerd? she’s creepy and you have to admit it.” momo gulped at the intense scene and took a step back. sana sighed. “i guess so.”

truthfully, sana never thought of (name) this way at all. but popularity split them up. (name) chose to stay on the quiet side. while sana chose to go to the lively side where everyone complimented and praised her.

you:

i miss you

please come back

i need you

i can’t survive with you.

(unsent)

regret fills (name) everyday. if she could, she would’ve chosen to stay with sana and go on the popular side. but she knows what fame does to people. she watched it infront of her own eyes sana changing and drifting away from (name). even if name tried to reach out sana would disappear like a shadow when it’s dark. it’s never visible.

how could her life get from being a good kid with two great friends into being a loner? she clutched the pen in her hand as her vision blurred. her mum isn’t here nor is her dad. she’s alone.

she wouldn’t let anyone know but she truly misses kang-dae. she doesn’t care what he has done, she already forgave him. she’s just too sacred to face it. the reality infront of her. she was becoming more like him. she doesn’t understand why but during that fight, she could hear kang-dae’s voice guiding her. it was like kang-dae was her mind and she was her own body, only.

truthfully she never meant to hit those guys. but what they did to her was irritating her. the bullies did this daily and she hated it. even when the bullies weren’t doing it to her. they thought they were all high and mighty because everyone’s scared of them.

so when they came for revenge, she did something much worse.

(name) felt a slap on her neck and she slowly turned her head around to meet the new student’s gaze. “sorry there was a fly.” (name) stared at them not wavering.

“(l/n)(name) turn around!” everyone’s eyes were on here as she turned around and continued her test. she suddenly felt nauseous and dizzy. she couldn’t think straight anymore and she couldn’t bring herself to write.

she stood up rapidly and slid the door opened aggressively before heading out. she rushed to the nearest toilet and gripped the sink counter. she stumbled on stalls and walls and stumbled to the sink once again. she turned on the tap and splashed water on her face until the hair infront of her face were drenched. what is going on? she looked at herself in the mirror with her face covered in water. what have you done? the words echoed in her mind as she looked at her reflection. but it was as if the reflection had clones. everything was spinning around her and she knows that it’s just her who could feel it.

she stumbled out the toilets and gripped onto the window stills and dragged her self towards the class while her hands slid up and down the stills. she stumbled to the opposite side and bashed into a wall. she breathed heavily while sweat mixed with water dripped down her chin.

after that, she sat in class stoic. she reached behind her neck where a fentanyl sheet was stuck onto it. she ripped it off and looked at it on her fingertips. she should’ve known earlier. she put it down slowly and raised her hand. she slapped herself as everyone turned to look at her with weird gazes. “oi! what are you doing?” the teacher asked worriedly. she put down her hand and simply said. “it’s nothing.”

everyone looked at her weirdly before returning their focus to their tests. she continued writing the answer for the last few questions.

(name)’s classmates were reading the test answers out. (name) watched as her hand with a pen gripped tightly glided over the paper to make a cross indicating she got a question wrong.

it was because of that damn fentanyl patch.

it’s all their fault. it’s always their fault.

the same words echoed in her mind as she abruptly stood up and turned to the people at the back. everyone looked at her with confused faces. she picked up a book for a random kid’s desk. she clicked her pen and stabbed it into one of the bullies’ hand. they screamed in pain and horror as she moved onto the next one. she slammed the book into their face a few times before using the curtain behind them to wrap around their face. she used the same book and punched their face with the book harshly hearing their screams. everyone flinched at each punch staring in shock. she kept going until there was no more screams and blood was seeping through the curtain.

still, she kept on going until the blood has seeped through entirely almost covering the bully’s entire face behind the curtain. she threw the book into their face and let go of the curtain. the bully fell backwards revealing their bloody face and passed out eyes.

“i asked you. i told you to stop.”

she almost landed another kick before she was thrown across the room by park jihyo.

“don’t cross the line kay? know when to stop.” she said with her hands in her pockets.

(name) pulled herself up while glaring at jihyo.

“what?” she asked.

“me? i’m like your guardian angel who just woke up from a nap.” jihyo slightly smiled. she grabbed a paper airplane from one’s desk and flew it while smiling.

jihyo laughed while swaying around lightly. “is this funny?” (name) asked with wide eyes.

“a little bit.”

(name) looked down at the floor she slowly turned her head to her classmate’s desk. she abruptly grabbed the pencil case on their desk and threw it towards jihyo. jihyo raised her arms up to defend any pens coming her way. (name) picked up a chair and swung it around while heading towards jihyo.

“knock it off, you nut case,” jihyo spat.

“or you’re really gonna get hit.”

a/n: sorry for not updating but like this will be in separate parts btw!!

[abi-renirk]

Thinking about Wymack putting up with Neil, alone, during his senior year. None of the other foxes are there to deal with his antics. Kevin isn’t there to talk about everything Exy related. Andrew isn’t there to keep him grounded and sane. Allison and Nicky aren’t pushing him out of his comfort zone with his style, appearance, etc. Matt isn’t there to be a friend. Dan can’t help him captain his team. Aaron isn’t there to annoy him. Renee isn’t there with her gentle, reassuring smile.

I know that some of the freshman from the EC become Neil’s friends, but it isn’t the same as the OG Foxes.

So, he turns to one of the few people he trusts, Dad Wymack™️. Neil joins him in his office for lunch and tells him all about Andrew’s most recent Exy game. “Did you see how many saves Andrew made last night?” 38. It was beautiful.” *heart eyes* Coach returns his attention to the paperwork he was working on when Neil walked in. He half listens as the striker explains a movie that Nicky said he needed to watch to understand current trends.

After a game night, Neil goes home with Wymack, who now lives together with Abby, and stays for dinner with the couple, yapping about everything that plagued him that day. “I talked to Andrew last night and he was telling me about this drill his pro team does at practice. He thinks it’s stupid, of course, but I think it could help us get through the other team’s defense easier.” He goes on to explain the drill between bites of pasta and sauce.

When Neil leaves, Coach looks at Abby, feeling slightly dumbfounded, “I never knew the kid could say so many words in such a short time.” Abby lets out a chuckle.

“I don’t get any paperwork finished anymore with him around so much.” He explains with fake annoyance. She gives him a soft smile, “He just misses Andrew and the rest of our Foxes. I think it’s says a lot that he trusts you with the details of his private life. We all know how hard that is for him.”

Dad Wymack sits in his thought for a quiet minute, thinking back to the locker room in Millport with the brown-haired, brown-eyed boy who was scared to live. To the airport before the new year with the red-haired, blue-eyed boy who was fighting for his family. To a cheap motel in Baltimore with a boy covered in scars who fought to stay and live. Neil has come a long way and Wymack’s chest swells with pride and love for the striker.

Two days later, on Monday, Neil shows up right on time for Wymack’s lunch hour, but the older man doesn’t mind the sound of Neil’s chattering over their shared lunch. “Allison told me my hair is getting too long, but the shampoo she sent me is making my curls look “delicious”. I don’t know what she means by that, how hair can look edible, but Andrew says not to worry about it. Speaking of Andrew, do you know how much he has been bench pressing in the gym? He’s up to—“

Wymack lets out a quiet, exasperated sigh as he leans back in his chair, accepting his fate for the next year as Neil continues talking. He may act annoyed about his new lunch time guest, but it means a lot that Neil feels safe with him, even if that means learning about pop culture and Neil’s distaste for broccoli.

[ccazimi]

cw: truform sukuna x reader, heian au, fluff

wc: 1.2k

a/n: wrote this to procrastinate on the neuroscience lab that i have to complete...

Sukuna simply does not understand.

He's given you the largest chambers, second only to his own, the best of anything to provide you with whatever comforts you could ever want.

However, you choose to sleep with him at night. This is still fine, considering his futon is so incredibly large that it could fit him while giving you more than enough space to sleep.

And still, even with this ocean of bedding beside him, he finds himself pushed to the fucking edge of the futon till he's nearly on the floor.

Why?

Because you insist on sleeping by him, sticking yourself next to him as close as possible.

Not in a normal way either, no, just body contact is simply not good enough.

You'll wrap your upper arm and leg over him so that you can cling to him as tightly as possible like a koala hanging onto a tree branch. Sometimes you'll even shift up in your sleep till you're basically wrapped around his head, pretty much holding him in a headlock to keep his skull secure against your chest.

Sukuna runs hot, he always has. So naturally he starts to get even more overheated with the warmth of your body pressed right next to him, rendering him unable to sleep comfortably.

He shifts away out of your hold while he's half asleep, still right beside you, but leaving just a little bit of room so he can cool off.

And somehow, even though you're literally sleeping, you instinctively shift right into that little gap to glue yourself to him again.

This cycle continues, him getting hot, moving away, you moving closer. Like this, you effectively herd him like cattle till he feels the uncomfortable edge of his futon and finally wakes up fully to realize that he's about a centimeter away from sleeping on the fucking floor.

Sukuna looks at you and then at the remaining expanse of the futon right next to you.

Unbelievable.

He tries to push you back into the Great Plains of bedding beside you but you grumble when he disturbs your beauty sleep, eyes still shut.

"Move, brat. I've got no fuckin' room."

Sukuna cannot believe that a human woman who is like a third of his size, has him sleeping at the corner of his own bed like he's the family dog.

You don't move.

He sighs and forcefully picks you up, placing you in the center of all that empty room.

This wakes you up, and of course the very first emotion you feel at having been disturbed is irritation.

"What are you doing?!" you whisper, scowling at him like this is all his fault.

Sukuna blinks at you incredulously, this creature that he could finish off before she could even make a noise, with an attitude that levels his own.

"Me? You keep pushing me to the side like we don't have this entire fucking bed. I will not sleep like a peasant in my own chambers."

"What does that even mean? You're just being classist."

One of Sukuna's eyes twitches.

"That's not the point. Just...sleep on your side of the bed, okay?!" he growls before turning away to go back to sleep.

You mutter some expletives under your own breath as well before also falling asleep.

It can't have been more than forty-five minutes when he finally fully wakes again to find himself once more at the edge of the futon.

Strangely though, he doesn't feel you stuck onto him like usual.

He turns to find you sleeping horizontally in that wide open space after having cornered him to the edge of the bed.

All in your sleep.

Sukuna has had just about enough of these antics, further agitated from the lack of rest. He moves over to flick your forehead with one hand, almost feeling bad about it, if it weren't for the current circumstances.

"Wha-" Your eyes shoot open before you glare at him. "Do you have some kind of problem?"

Well, that does it.

If you were anyone else he would've murdered you on the spot, but you're not, so your punishment is limited to him angrily telling you that if you do it again he's going to make you sleep in your own room.

In response you drop your mouth open, staring at him in complete offense like he's personally cursed your entire bloodline. "You do not mean that."

"Try me."

That's enough to have you huffing, getting up off the bed and storming towards the door.

Sukuna frowns. "Where the hell are you going? I said if you do it again, I'm not telling you to leave."

His words fall upon deaf ears, because honestly, he should know by now how stubborn you are.

You leave his room, and go sleep in your own bed.

Sure it's not nearly as nice, but it works just because you're fueled by pure spite, and soon you're fast asleep.

Sukuna, on the other hand, finds himself not able to sleep at all. He tosses and turns until sunlight peaks over the horizon and those damn birds start making a racket outside.

And though he's a bit miserable the whole day, he figures it's fine as you'll come sneaking into his room to sleep with him again tonight, like you always do.

Except you don't.

He waits, night falls, and still you don't arrive.

Finally with a sigh he gets up to go to your chambers, telling himself this is for practical purposes, and practical purposes only because apparently his body can't fall asleep without you right by him.

You're laying in your bed when he enters your room, seemingly asleep.

"Stop pretending to be asleep,” he states flatly.

You, with your closed lids, wonder how he knew that. Either way, you don't respond, continuing to feign sleep.

Sukuna remains unimpressed. "I know you're awake, woman."

He's slept with you enough nights to know that there's no way you would sleep so normally, laying perfectly straight in your bed, on your back, blankets tucked neatly around you.

Sukuna groans and simply walks over to your futon, bends over, and slings you over his shoulder like a burlap sack.

And just like he knew you would, you immediately start squirming as he hauls you back to his room, throwing insults at him that he's never even heard before, not even from you.

Still, there's not much you can do, and eventually he gets to his chambers, dropping you on his futon.

You land flat on your butt, before crossing your arms to glare up at him.

"I don't want to sleep with you,” you hiss.

"Don't care."

You grumble some more before resigning to sleep at the opposite edge of the bed from him, back turned his way. You feel the futon dip under his weight as he gets in and settles down.

A moment of silence and then-

"Come here,” he orders.

You don't move, and when you don't, he does, shifting over till he's pretty much spooning you.

"Asshole,” you mumble, though you let your body melt into his touch. "Move, I have no room."

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

But really it doesn't matter, because he'll wake up on the opposite side of the bed anyway in the morning, with you wrapped around him like usual.

[pizzapottah]

legitimacy

summary: “Vaemond Velaryon’s petition holds no sense,” it is said that the Wandering Princess reiterated once she heard of her uncle’s accusations. “My late father always recognised my brothers as his trueborn sons. Whether they look like him or the Baratheon and Arryn side of the family does not matter: they are legitimate.”

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: mentions of killing off someone🥰, reader is pro-blackwood, reader has some kind of anger issues, oscar is my babygirl and my babygirl only, language as always

author's note: an update of the heir and the wolf? in this economy? also pls don't comment about tagging, click here and join the taglist so that it's easier for me to tag everyone

previous | next | series masterlist

You’re sure you are going to kill every man and woman in the Riverlands till only their fantastic wine — without which you wouldn’t have made it this far — and vineyards remain, so that you can drink in peace without dealing with… the consequences. 

Lord Bracken has been sprouting nothing but insults and curses towards the Blackwood family for what feels like the last three hours. He surely hasn’t talked without being interjected, as Alysanne Blackwood has been responding to all his insults with doubled hate. 

You stare over at Oscar, sitting beside you, with an unamused expression. “Once we get out of here, I’ll make sure to break your legs in half as punishment for having me subjected to this torture,” you hiss, hand clenching around your goblet. He shrugs. “Didn’t you say to ask you if I ever needed anything? I needed help just this once, or else I would’ve cut my ears two hours ago.”

Of course Lord Tully had to fall ill when there were matters to resolve, leaving his eldest grandson in charge. You wish Kermit was born first, so that you wouldn't have to sit here and hear all of these people complain.

You huff. “Better your ears than my sanity.”

The thing that worries you the most is the fact that they seem to have no intention of stopping yet — and they’ve been going on for ages, accusing each other of heinous crimes committed by their ancestors or something. You’re not quite sure about that, as you’ve stopped listening to their rants about ten minutes in.

You glance at the servant standing by the door of the council chamber, who’s about to turn the hourglass for the fifth time now. When he does, it’ll officially be two hours and a half into them talking about their centuries-long feud. You have to do something, or else you’ll go mad. 

You cough loudly, and the two sides of the discussion shut up, looking at you. The table is rectangular and long, wide enough so that nobody can smack the person in front of them with ease. You sit at the end of it, a map of the Riverlands in front of you, Oscar sat to your right. “So,” you start, “have you all got it out of your systems? Can we start now?”

Both sides look at you puzzled, and for a moment you fear they might go back to screaming, but they don’t. “Lord Samwell, Lord Amos, could you both raise your hands for me? I forgot your faces when you started screaming because I thought I was back in Dragonstone with my younger brothers having a tantrum about a toy — they are six and three, by the way.”

Red-faced, both lords raise their hands; Lord Amos is a bit older than Lord Samwell, his face sickly and hair grey, a high contrast to the Blackwood's dark brown hair and plump face.  “Good. Now I would like you two to choose a spokesperson that will talk in your places.” 

Lord Samwell raises an eyebrow, “Pardon me?” he says, as Lord Amos raises from his seat. “This is an outrage! Why should we choose someone else to talk in our place? We can definitely settle this matter once for all alone!”

You raise an eyebrow at his antics, motioning over a guard to make him stand back down. “Well, if you could settle this matter alone I wouldn’t be there, would I?” you ask him with a short laugh. “Besides– don’t you still have the scar Lord Samwell kindly gifted you back in the days where my mother was looking for a husband? I don’t want the two of you to settle your matters alone if it means someone being stabbed again.”

“We would be perfectly capable of doing it now–”

“Choose a spokesperson or don’t speak, Lord Amos, as you have already talked enough for my likings. The choice is all yours.” 

The guard now stands behind him, hand on the pommel of his sword, and the lord begrudgingly sits back down. “I shall name my uncle, Ser Lothar,” Ser Lothar is an old man with white hair and no beard, who looks like he’s seen the rise and fall of all the Gods in the world and death herself. 

You don’t say anything, even if you’d like someone who doesn’t look like he’s a night away from dying. “Lord Samwell?” 

“My sister, Lady Alysanne,” is his resolute response. Ah, the lady who was screaming at Lord Amos earlier. She's young and thin — no doubt close to your age — with black hair to match a raven's feathers.

“Rubbish!” is Ser Lothar's not-so-smart response. You notice now that he’s missing three teeth and speaks horrendously — as if their accent already isn’t helping. “How old is she? Seven and ten? She should be in the birthing bed, not in this council chamber!”

Everyone stares at him, bewildered — even his own kind. Maybe if you weren’t there, the comment would’ve been overlooked, but seeing as the council was being literally held by a six and ten year old girl, it wasn’t the smartest comment he could’ve made. You can feel from your seat the murderous intent that comes from the Blackwoods — thankfully you made everyone leave their weaponry outside. You just hope nobody has a hidden knife somewhere in their breeches.

“For your information, Ser Lothar,” you speak up before things can escalate, “I am six and ten and perfectly able to run a council on my own. I’m sure Lady Alysanne will manage just fine.”

He squints his eyes at you, like he’s just noticed your presence. “I will be listening to no cunt!” 

You blink at Lord Amos, who’s red in the face, as calm as ever. “Would you like to change your mind, Lord Bracken? I’m afraid Ser Lothar will be too preoccupied with being my dragon’s breakfast to be here with us as we discuss this serious matter.” 

Lothar screams obscenities as the guards take him away to the courtyard, where Nādrēsy is staying for the time being, and Lord Samwell has a smug look on his face — no wonder happy that his sister has had justice. “Lyle!” Lord Amos roars, making a boy no older than twenty jump from his seat. “Y– yes, my lord!”

You intertwine your fingers in front of you. “Good. Now that the table has been cleaned we can actually start.” you ask them to take the seat of their lords, so that they’re near you and you three can talk more clearly. “I want to make sure that it is clear that I don’t expect your houses to be friends after this council. My only purpose is to end the brotherly blood shedding that in the last centuries has exasperated the Riverlands to the point that Ser Oscar Tully here had to ask for the Crown’s help to put an end to it. I just want your houses to stand each other.” 

You sigh, pointing to the map with their territories traced out in front of you; you push it towards them so that they have some reference. “This was the outline of the territories that King Jaheaerys’s ambassador drew the last time there was a council like this. Peace lasted only for about two years — my goal is to make it last at least twenty, so that when the Lords die their heirs are of age.” you darkly jest. Lord Samwell sends a glare to Lord Amos: he was six when his father was killed in a Bracken ambush. 

“Obviously, it is not. My goal is to make it last. So, I would like you two to outline the territories that are most important to your houses that as of now are owned by the other. Then we’ll see what we can do about it — see if we can make it a fair exchange to avoid spilling more blood.”

The two nod and immediately get to work. You are surprised to see that they do not speak to each other — not even a little nag or tease. They seem to be more mature than their elders, a thing that strangely you do not find weird at all. 

You didn’t expect for it to be an easy negotiation, but Seven Hells if you had underestimated it. They would be competing for the entire Riverlands if there weren’t any other houses, you’re sure about that. And before you know it, it’s been a sennight and you’re still staying in Riverrun, hoping that some god takes pity on you and strikes you down. Sure, you had them choose their spokesperson, but that doesn’t mean the others don’t protest when you say something they don’t like. 

“I’m thinking about arranging a marriage,” you say to Oscar one evening. 

You’re in the guest chambers, the ones you’re staying in. The chess match in front of you is basically forgotten, replaced by a discussion about peace treaties and ways to stop feuds. Your friend snorts, taking another sip of his wine. “My ancestors have tried before. It always ends up in a massacre before the bride can even receive the groom's cloak.” 

You shake your head. “I’m thinking about Olyver Bracken and Alysanne Blackwood.”

He raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “A drunkard and a hunter? Weird choice. Don’t know if I feel like ruining a lady’s promising future.” 

“Think about it.” you lean over, elbows on your knees. You take two pawns, placing them on the table. “He is Lord Amos’ heir, and he is useless. Meanwhile, she would be able to run Stone Hedge like it was the fucking Night Watch. We could make them marry, then maybe right after she already gave birth to a boy, an heir… a terrible accident could happen.” you knock down one of the pawns, “A tragic fall from the horse, a bad fever… you name it. And suddenly Lady Bracken is free from her preposterous husband and can raise his heir however she wants.”

You take two other pawns and place them near the others. “Then we marry small Benjicot Blackwood off to Cressida Bracken. They are still young, younger than Olyver and Alysanne; if Cressida is sent to live with the Blackwoods as soon as the engagement is announced, she may not feel the same hate towards him as any other Bracken would.”

You sigh, rubbing your hands together. “Give it twenty years, and the heirs to the Blackwood and the Bracken territories will all be cousins. What kind of cousins would ever start a war against each other?”

Oscar blinks at you. You blink back. “I mean what kind of cousins that aren’t in my family, Oscar.”

“Oooh. Oh, yes, that makes sense now.” he tilts his head to the side, looking at the pawns. “You plan on killing the Bracken guy?”

You shrug. “Only if Alysanne finds him annoying. I would never force the poor girl to stand him, knowing I wouldn’t even be able to wait to have an heir before I got tired of him, so if she manages to do it, I will gift her a new set of arrows and a bow. Closing an eye on his mysterious disappearance would be the least I could do, if the rumours about him are true.”

Hearsays say that he’s insufferable and that he spends more time in brothels than in his own bed, but ultimately he’s pretty defenseless and has gotten his ass beaten in pubs more times than his father is able to count. Oscar snorts, “Let’s see if there’s no carnage during the wedding, then we can actually talk about it.”

The next day comes, and you dread the moment you’ll be sat at that fucking council table again, and will have to announce not only one but two betrothals. It’s for the best, at least, or that’s what you tell yourself when Alysanne Blackwood looks at you like you just sentenced her to death. The whole table protests against your decision, but you’re unremovable, and you’re telling them beforehand just because you feel nice today. Your mother would’ve probably arranged the marriage without telling anyone anything until the day of the wedding. 

“You can’t just do that!” Samwell laments, red from anger. It seems he doesn’t like the thought of his sister being married off — quite thankfully, honestly. You’re happy that you’re not the only sister who has brothers who care about her. 

“The thing is, Lord Blackwood,” you reply, “that I can and I will. As ambassador to the King my word is his, and I’m sure he would agree with me in this decision. You lot have killed enough men, women and children in this feud of yours; the whole RIverlands are tired, as honestly am I, of hearing of your endless feud and your constant blood spilling. I say we put an end to it.” 

They don’t seem to care; they yell at you, then at each other, spitting venom and curses, talking over each other so loudly that you don’t understand anything. You clench your hands, rage rising inside you; you wish you could just make Nādrēsy burn their beloved castles down to the ground and call it a day, so that there aren’t any more territories to fight about, but unfortunately it isn't exactly diplomatic. Is this how your grandsire feels when he holds court? 

You stare at the map in front of you; the distribution of the lands has changed, even if the number of acres both families own has basically remained the same. You have either split the territories in question or gave one to the Brackens and another to the Blackwoods, trying to be as fair and equal as you could be — but of course none of them would be happy; they both wanted the other’s whole territory. 

You feel like you’re looking after all your little brothers who can’t agree for the life of them. Aegon will say that a toy is his and Viserys will reply that it’s actually his, even though they both have no idea where that toy came from in the first place nor that it was actually yours a decade ago. 

“Children!” you shout over the voices of the lords, shutting them up real quick. “You are behaving like children — except you are grown men! And I am disgusted by you all! Your families have been in these lands for centuries, and not only have you never managed to overthrow one another, but you also have to make it everyone’s problem! Aren’t you ashamed? Don’t you have just a bit of remorse for all the suffering your hatred is causing? How many men, women and children have to die before you–”

The door bursts open, a servant barging in, “Princess–!”

“What?” you yell, enraged, turning to look at him. He cowers, trying to make himself as small as he can, knees trembling under your furious gaze. “I… I–”

“Talk before I cut your tongue out and let her talk for you,” you spit. You would never do that, of course, it’s just that you have found in the last few years that a threat here and a threat there get the job done far more quicker and easier. 

The servant gulps. “A raven from King’s Landing,” he squeaks, “It’s from Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” He hands you the letter and opts to run as fast as he can, away from you, shutting the doors of the chamber behind him. 

You look at the letter, confused, only to rip it open and read it. The men at the table watch you intently, hoping that it’s some kind of good news so that your mood lightens up — maybe the princess is pregnant again? Maybe Prince Joffrey has managed to mount his dragon for the first time? 

All their hopes are crushed when they see you get redder and redder in the face from anger as you read; if your dragon happened to be in the same room, they are sure that the paper would be burned down to ashes. Oscar leans to your side, peeking at the letter and reading what he can, frowning once he understands what your mother has written. “Wha–”

“A petition!” you roar, outraged. “And they didn’t cut his tongue when he started talking about it!” 

“Madness,” Oscar sighs, “pure madness.” 

You tear the paper into pieces, making the lords flinch. “The council is dismissed,” you declare. “The terms of the negotiations remain the same; Lord Tully will make sure that you all agree and the deal will be sealed tomorrow. Or else,” you lean down, placing your hands on the table, “I’ll come back once my matters are settled in King’s Landing and make sure that you all agree, in one way or another.” The threat is subtle, but they all understand that if they refuse to bend to the treaty, you’ll visit them in their beloved lands — with your very hungry dragon, surely. 

As the lords start to leave the room, you look over at Oscar, “You’re coming to King’s Landing with me.”

He blinks, “I am?” 

You snort, unamused. “You are. Vaemond Velaryon’s petition holds no sense, as my late father always recognised my brothers as his trueborn sons. Whether they look like him or the Baratheon and Arryn side of the family does not matter: they are legitimate. I’ll need you to keep me sane during the whole ordeal, Oscar. My ears did not bleed without a price during the last sennight.”

“But I’ve had no time to prepare– gods, let me fetch the servants, they need to start preparing my bags–”

“Tell them to bring your finest dresses and gowns,” you grunt, “wouldn’t want you to make a bad impression to the whole court, my dear Lady Oscar. Where else will you go to search for a husband otherwise?” 

You shake your head right after, not in the mood to jest, “Be fucking serious, Oscar; bring a change or two and let it be done. We’re not going to King’s Landing to have fun, it’s a trial.” your expression is dark, stare truce. “And a death sentence, if we’re lucky.” 

Your mother will never make it out of the trial unscathed is the green wench sits or her father sit on the throne; she needs you. She made that very clear in the letter, and you have no intention in turning your back on her.

Oscar departs immediately, calling for the servants and his brother Kermit, and you follow right after, not surprised to find Lady Alysanne Blackwood out of the room, waiting for you. Even if she was half as smart and hard headed as you thought her to be, she’d probably still be waiting out the council room to talk to you about the half-wit she would marry per your orders. Poor girl. 

“If you wish to talk, we can do so as we head to my rooms,” you say before she can open her mouth, “I have matters in the King's Landing to tend to, and I can’t afford to waste time.”

She grimaces, “Didn’t you come here to attend this council? Weren’t you here to help our families?”

“First of all, I was ambushed by Ser Oscar,” you clarify, “Second, yes, I was. And I did.”

She looks downright haunted. “You are a woman,” she murmurs. “You are a woman and you have sold me as no man had ever dared to do before.”

“You were bound to be sold off, Lady Alysanne,” you reply, tone calm. You can imagine her rage right now, but she must know that with her place in her family, she could have never possibly found the freedom she surely wants. You understand that by not living in the Crownlands, she had more hope for her future, with the freedom she was clearly given growing up; but you have grown in the Crownlands, and you have seen younger girls being married off to worser men without being able to escape. “I just did the honors.”

“I will slash my neck open before that brute can even think of touching me,” she boldly says.

It makes you stop to take a better look at her. She’s tall, taller than you, and a tad bit older. It’s kind of sad to see her with tears in her eyes. “I know what an unhappy marriage is,” you inform her. “In the Keep we’re full of them. My own mother was in one with my father.”

You lower your voice, leaning your head, “But you have me on your side. And I wouldn’t be against… a little violence.” at her confusion, you explain yourself. “I wouldn’t refuse to turn a blind eye to a hunting accident, let’s say.” At her joyous face, you relent, “Not on the night of the wedding, Alysanne! At least we need one heir, or the feud will never end. Lord Bracken is old and sick, and it’ll be a year or two before he dies, hopefully — I'll see if I can help the process go faster. Then his son might accidentally die, too, oh, he was so young, leaving his pain struck wife and son behind,” 

She snorts, “A tragedy, wouldn’t it be?” 

You laugh grimly. “Ohh, you get it.”

“What’s this smell?” Oscar yells over your shoulder, trying to make himself heard over the sound of the wind and the flapping wings of your dragon. 

“That’s the capital for you!” you reply, already missing the fresh air of the RIverlands. “The weather doesn’t help Flea Bottom’s odour. It’s been like this since forever.”

He gags, “Don’t understand how you manage. Smells like piss.” 

You shrug, “You get used to it. Trust me, there’s lords in court who smell far worse than Flea Bottom does,” 

Nādrēsy roars unhappily: a full day of travel and it’s only to get back into the dirty streets of King’s Landing. You lightly slap his side, yelling over his laments, “Ilagon, valītsos!” Down, boy! 

Oscar, behind you, shakes like a leaf as your dragon replies by roaring with vigor — no doubt, that equals to at least ten curses in dragon’s language. “How can you talk to him like that? He’s going to eat you alive one of these days and you won’t be able to do anything about it.”

You snort. “I’d like to see him try.”

The Dragon Pit is more animated than usual: some Keepers are holding back Vermax, who screeches and spits fire, while others bring Syrax back in her cave, her belly swollen, her step slow and cautious. Caraxes follows right behind, shaking his wings to throw the dirt off of them. 

The Keepers greet you and your dragon, sending a weird glance towards Oscar. One of them — Kilya is her name, you believe — comes near, shouting so that you can hear her. “Īlin umbagon syt ao, dārilaros.” she says, “Aōha muña gīmēdegon īlva hen aōha māzigon.” We were waiting for you, Princess. Your mother warned us of your arrival. 

You nod; you had no time to reply to her raven, but she must’ve guessed that there was no way you wouldn’t have come. “Se eman māstan.” And I have arrived, “Gūrogon Nādrēsy naejot zȳhon ripo, eman gaomon naejot imāzigon.” Bring Nādrēsy to his cave, I have matters to attend. 

You help Oscar get off; he yelps as the chains around his ankles are unfastened and yells as you help him down, where the Keepers promptly catch him before he falls on his backside. You jump off your dragon’s back, landing perfectly fine, and opt to pat roughly Nādrēsy’s back, just as he likes it. “Sȳz sōvegon, valītsos.” Good fly, boy. He roars back happily.

“I’ll never understand that language,” Oscar mutters, standing back up straight, a frown upon his face. “It’s like you don’t want your secrets to be known. Why won’t you teach me High Valyrian?”

“Iksis ziry doru-borto?” the Keeper asks. Is he stupid? You shake your head, then think about it and snort, relenting. “Mērī mirrī.” Only a little. 

Your friend pouts, sticking out his tongue at you. “Is that what I get for being your bestest companion?”

You laugh, walking off the Pit and to the entrance, where a carriage is promptly and not surprisingly waiting for you. “My bestest companion? Didn’t know you had wings and were named Nādrēsy.”

He gasps, dramatically grasping his chest, “You wound me!” 

You both get in the carriage, and you look at him seriously. “Before we enter the Red Keep, there are some rules you must abide by.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Rules? I was raised well, you know, I shouldn’t need those. I hope the King knows that.”

You shake your head, “No, those are my rules for you. Let’s say that it’s what you’ll need if you want to go back home unscathed from the Keep’s snakes.”

Oscar gulps, “Go on.”

“First, don’t talk to the Queen. Then don’t talk to her sons unless I’m in the room. Avoid Larys Strong — he’s the guy with the crippled leg and the corpse face, you’ll know it’s him instantly — and avoid the councilmen.”

“What, you want to keep me a secret?” he asks, bewildered. “Is there someone I’ll be able to talk to? Is there a reason why I have to avoid all these people?” he gasps, “Am I your whore? Is that why you want to keep my mouth shut?”

“If you were my whore, I’m pretty sure I would want your mouth wide open and working,” you mutter, “but no, that is not why. Truth is I would rather make sure that you stay out of their claws; it’s better to keep away from their schemes.”

The actual truth is that you don’t want them to speculate something about history repeating — your mother was already rumored to have a lover from the Riverlands; the last thing this family needs is another princess said to have an affair with yet another lover from the Riverlands. They would wonder if it actually was some kind of preference that was passed down from mother to daughter, and even if the only thought of being attracted to Oscar makes you laugh, you’re sure the councilmen definitely wouldn’t be amused by it. 

“Besides, you can talk to Mushroom,” you add. 

“Who’s Mushroom?”

“The court’s jester. He’s insufferable, small and will try to steal your gold, but you can talk to him.”

Your friend grimaces, “Why do you keep him in the castle if he steals the lords’ gold?”

You shrug, “He makes me laugh.”

Slowly, the carriage rattles to a halt, a page opening the door for you. “Ready to see the Red Keep for the first time?” 

He nods, “Ready to face your evil step-grandmother?”

[arachnidseyesmoved]

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

KISSES AND PROMISES

A/N: Previous. Next. Reader & Damian are 19-20. Ignore the shitty title, pretend it's good. More batfam nonsense! wc: 2.2k

Damian Wayne x Constantine! Reader

The crowd is too loud.

The seats are uncomfortable.

The lights are too bright.

Of course, he's handled worse but Damian briefly wonders why he came at all.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, Distinguished guests. I am very pleased to announce, we have a brand-new act for you tonight!”

Right, that's why.

The audience eats up Zatanna’s showmanship as she ends her first act of the night with her usual dramatic flair.

“Please give a roaring welcome to my niece—"

Damian scoffs. What a lazy cover story.

"—The Amazing, The Magnanimous, The enchanting, Miss Constantine!”

In a poof of smoke, you appear right next to Zatanna. Your outfit looks much like hers, Magician's hat, white cloves, white top and all, except you have on boots instead of heels, a skirt over the trademark fishnets and a velvety cape. You give a little bow, tipping your hat.

“Helloooooo Gotham. Nice to meet you.”

The crowd is alive with anticipation. Hoots and hollers ring out. A few wolf whistles as well, to which Damian rolls his eyes. He shoots a harsh glare at Jason when he lets out his own whistle.

He knows he only came to see one act, and he hates that he knows that but he especially hates that his family also know that. His family, who completely coincidentally were also planning on attending Zatanna's big show tonight.

They could at least pretend not to take joy in his suffering, with how they all grin at him the moment you poof onto stage. At least his father and Pennyworth do a better job at hiding their amusement.

“Before we begin, a quick disclaimer: I am a professional animal handler.”

Damian scoffs. You wish, you simply have magical persuasion over demonic entities that can look like animals. He's seen you play with Titus, you have absolutely no handle over real animals.

“Under no circumstances should any stunts or tricks involving animals be attempted without a professional present… Now, may I have a volunteer?”

The crowd bursts into shouts and raised hands. You point towards a little girl in the second row, maybe around ten years old.

“You, with the pigtails, would you come on up please?”

The little girl sprints up to the stage at alarming speed. You reach behind your back and pull a microphone from thin air, holding it up to the grinning girl.

“What's your name, Sweetie?”

“Lizzie.”

“Lovely, Everybody welcome Lizzie.”

The crowd applauds and whoops. Lizzie’s grin grows wider as she fiddles with her dress bashfully.

“Now, What's your favourite animal, Lizzie?”

“Sharks!”

The little girl answers immediately.

“Oookay, I can’t do that one. Liz, can you pick another one?”

The crowd chuckles as Lizzie makes a thinking face.

“Ummmmm”

“Like…a rabbit, maybe?”

“Uhhhhhhh.”

“Perhaps a dove?”

The crowd keeps chuckling at your attempts to goad the kid into an easier option. Lizzie’s face lights up,

“A bat!”

“A bat?!”

The crowd cracks up, as you look at them with genuine bewilderment.

“Is that a Gothamite thing?”

They give you a few hoots and hollers in response. Damian rolls his eyes again as his brothers (and Stephanie) cheer louder than necessary with Cass quietly laughing at their antics.

“Ok, ok. I can work with that. Hold this.”

You pass the completely unnecessary mic to Lizzie and take off your magicians cape, placing it on a round table behind you so the velvety red fabric covers the table all the way to the floor.

You place your hat down on the table and start digging around in it, after a second you pull out a beautiful white rabbit.

Lizzie gasps and the crowd claps but you just tsk.

“No, that’s not right.”

You pass the rabbit to Lizzie and reach into your hat again, deeper than should be possible.

It’s clever, Damian thinks, placing your hat on the cape-covered table gives the audience the impression that they know the trick, but of course they don’t know it's actual magic. After some searching, this time you pull out a dove.

“No, not that.”

You pass the dove to Lizzie’s shoulder and keep searching the confines of your hat.

A pigeon, mouse, squirrel and parrot are all pulled from the hat one after the other and placed on a giggling Lizzie’s shoulders.

“Oh, a robin!”

Damian can’t help the hitch in his breath when your eyes meet his from where he sits in the elevated box. It’s only for a moment but apparently it lasted long enough for Dick to notice as he nudges Damian with his elbow and wiggles his eyebrows like an idiot.

“Is this close enough?”

You ask Lizzie, showing her the little bird and she shakes her head with a toothy grin as the robin perches on her head, due to her shoulders being occupied already.

“Alright, fussy kid.”

You peer down into the hat and then scoff loudly, placing the hat back on your head.

“Ah! Lizzie, we forgot the magic word!”

“Please?”

“No, Love. Abracadabra!”

With a swift lift of the table cloth, a rush of bats burst from where the table should have been. Shrieks, laughs and applause ring out from the audience. Lizzie squeals so loud, the ‘animals’ perched on her all conveniently flee backstage. The flurry of bats make their exit stage right as you give the praising audience a bow.

Damian's seen you smile plenty of times before but he's not sure he's seen you smile so wide. You look like you're glowing under the stage lights, soaking in the applause like you're made to be praised by an adoring audience.

─⋅⋆⁺.

You release a heavy breath when you get to the door of your dressing room. Zatanna, having walked you there after the last curtain call, huffs a laugh,

“Y’know for someone who’s just getting used to crowds, you really do a good job once you’re up there.”

“Yeah, well that’s cus no one can tell I’m shitting my pants the entire time.”

Zatanna laughs,

“It gets easier, more comfortable. The crowds, I mean.”

“Thanks… Aunty.”

Zatanna cringes and it’s your turn to laugh.

“Ugh, I told you to stop with-”

She stops herself looking over your shoulder,

“Looks like you have a guest~”

You already know who it is from her tone, exactly who you were hoping. Zatanna giggles rather childishly as you shoo her away.

“Constantine.”

You resist the urge to smile at the same monotone greeting he always gives you, turning to him,

“Wayne.”

You're both staring. You both look quite different from the last time you spoke in person, even if that was only a few months ago. Obviously your stage outfit makes for quite a difference but he’s dressed rather out of the ordinary too, in a well fitted suit that Bruce no doubt had to force him into, rich kid problems.

“I think you usually have to pay for backstage pass.”

You open the door to your dressing room and motion him inside.

“I should at least get a discount considering I’m the reason you’re here.”

You halt in your tracks.

“What?”

“If you hadn’t come to me that night, you wouldn't have taken my advice to stop fighting demons and almost dying all the time.”

Straight to the point. So matter of fact. You cross your arms, not really believing the audacity.

“I made the decision myself. You were just the catalyst. And I'm still fighting demons by the way, just less often.”

You sound childish but to be fair, he started it.

“I'm alright with just being the catalyst, I suppose.”

You scoff and turn around, checking your makeup in your vanity mirror, fixing the dark shade of lipstick you have on. He watches your reflection in the mirror and clears his throat after a minute.

“That's one hell of an intermission act”

You look at him through the mirror.

“Is that praise?”

You only noticed now how he's inching away from the door and closer towards where you stand. He clicks his tongue,

“Yes, it was an impressive performance.”

You turn around now to face him, grin lighting up your face.

“Careful Dames, I might get the impression you're flirting with me.”

He grumbles something unintelligible and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking to the side. He stops within reaching distance, looking at your face now, still with that frown. Like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

You lean against the vanity, the look in his eye has you nervous and you're not sure why. You decide to dissolve the situation in the only way you know how, being a cheeky bastard.

“And If you keep looking at me like that, I might even think you want to kiss me, Wayn-”

Before you can finish your irritating comment, he makes the split second decision to stop dancing around like a boy and be a man.

He kisses you. Simple and to the point, just like him. It's stiff and completely unexpected on your part.

You're still in shock when he separates, wide eyes looking into his unsure ones. He looks away, eyebrows furrowing like he's chastising himself and he backs away.

He doesn't get very far before he feels some magical force pull him back and you grab his stupid fancy jacket and kiss him again.

It's deeper, you pull him in and he accepts it. A hand on your back, his lips moving against yours. You can feel him ease into it more when you run your fingers through his short hair, palm grazing his cheek.

He huffs lightly against your lips, pulling away slightly, bringing your hand away from his cheek. You still a little, worried you did something wrong, but the way he looks you in your eyes says otherwise. He tugs on each finger of your glove and pulls it off, placing your hand right back on his cheek before working on your other glove.

You let out a breath, more like a wheeze, and bring him into another kiss. He holds your hand in his and brings you even closer with his other hand on your back. He’s leaning in so close, pushing you against your vanity. It's not rushed or desperate at all, but there's a shared feeling of deep need. A wanting.

You pull away to breathe, he tries to follow your lips, much to your amusement.

He's too busy staring into your oh-so-pretty eyes to notice the shit-eating grin on your face,

“You like me~”

You whisper to him, an accusation, a taunt. He sighs, tilts his head to the ceiling and says,

“Despite my better judgement.”

Not being one to waste an opportunity, you lay a kiss on his newly exposed neck. To which he flinches and touches the area like you've pinched him.

You laugh and lean back against your vanity. He moves back just a bit, so he’s not right on top of you. A shame.

He fixes his already neat tie, taking a deeper than necessary breath before asking,

“This is your last night in Gotham. The show, I mean.”

You hum in confirmation, not feeling the need to hide the way your eyes roam anymore.

“Where are you going next?”

“Metropolis.”

You answer simply, smug smirk still prominent. He clears his throat a little and nods.

“I can be there.”

To his annoyance, your grin widens.

“Oh, can you?”

You tilt your head a little,

“You could just call me. You remember I can teleport, right?”

His scowl has returned, sitting on his face like it never left.

“I’d like to avoid you being at the manor at all. Those imbeciles still won't let me live down the last time you showed up.”

You chuckle at his expense, to which his scowl deepens and his face warms. You very much did not help with that whole situation.

“So, It’s a date then? After the show, we can go somewhere nice…together.”

You shrug and he nods while fiddling with his cuffs, who knew Damian Wayne could be so fidgety?

“I’ll be there.”

With that he makes his exit and when the door shuts you both let out twin sighs of relief.

—⋅⋆⁺.

Damian spots Alfred waiting for him next to the limo the rest of the family are huddled in. As soon as he and Alfred are inside, the limo is off. He realizes how unusually quiet it is and only then notices how everyone is looking at him.

Stephanie and Tim look like two school girls, trying to stifle their laughter. Jason is just giving him a wider than usual smirk. Duke and Cass do a better job of hiding their amusement, covering their grins, pretending to look out the window. Even Alfred and Bruce share a knowing look.

Dick, not known for subtlety, has his phone out and is taking pictures with the flash on, the dumbest grin on his stupid face.

“You got a little something on your face there, D.”

Damian’s eyes widen and his shoulders tense.

You got your lipstick all over him.

Jason, Tim, Duke and Steph all burst out laughing as Damian kicks Dick's phone out of his hands and tries to rub your lipstick off his mouth with his sleeve.

“A wet wipe, Master Damian?”

Alfred offers, the saint. Damian snatches it up with a small thanks.

“You got some over here too.”

Jason remarks, pointing to his neck. The smarmy bastard couldn’t look more pleased with himself.

“Shut up, Todd.”

He hisses with as much venom as he can muster.

He knows exactly where you kissed him, he can still feel it, like it happened a second ago. Though he’ll keep that observation to himself, much like the soft smile he notices on his father's face.

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

[stellamarielu]

So I've had this Pope Cody fic idea swimming around in my brain, and I'm not sure what to do with it, so I'm dumping it on y'all. I'd love to really hash it out into a multi part series but I fear I won't be able to commit, so please just take this half assed explanation of the idea instead!

It starts when you move into the neighborhood, right across the street from the cody's. You inherit your grandmother’s house after she passes, and while it's old and could use a few renovations, you're just happy you don't have to pay rent anymore.

Then, just like she does anytime some new moves onto the street, Smurf invites you over for dinner. She's always mindful of her family’s appearance to the neighbors, trying to win them over and get ahead of any concerns they might have over the constant carousel of questionable visitors and over the top ragers taking place at the Cody household.

You accept the invitation and the whole night Pope watches as you fall for Smurf’s phony whimsy— fake smiles and compliments sent your way across the dinner table. While he would normally roll his eyes at the sucker on the other end of her antics, tonight he can’t help but watch the naive glimmer in your eye, and the way you sit so politely in your chair as Smurf attempts to woo you over.

He obsesses over it— the way you look so out of place in their kitchen. Your smile is real. Your laugh is genuine, and very pretty. He’s drawn to you, drawn to your novelty. Your innocence. Fascinated by your perception of life, and how pure everything must be in your eyes; your inability to see Smurf’s deception, the ease in which you giggle at Craig’s inappropriate jokes, the gentle way you avert your eyes, and the shy smile on your lips when you catch Pope’s stare lingering on you.

So after that night at dinner, he starts watching you. It's harmless really. Glancing out the window every so often to see if your car is in the driveway. Staying in his truck for a few extra minutes after he gets home, observing you through the privacy of his tinted windows. Noticing that you leave your blinds open far too long after the sun goes down, peering through your kitchen windows to watch as you do dishes, or eat alone at your dining room table.

One day he’s pulling into the driveway when he notices you across the street. The trunk of your car is wide open and your lugging groceries bags by the handful out of your back seat. He barely has time to contemplate his decision before he appears next to you, surprising you with his presence and almost making you drop the groceries in your hands.

He greets you abruptly. Taking the bags from you effortlessly, like the brown sacks filled to the brim with ingredients weigh absolutely nothing. He stands, waiting for you to lead him into your house, so you do, leading him up the porch and through the front door.

You show him to the kitchen, where he places the bags on a table, making a quick, simple comment about the house being nice. You reply with a "thank you" before rambling on about how it's your grandmother's old house and it could use a lot of work.

In an effort to prove the home is a bit of a fixer upper, you mention the handle on the kitchen sink broke clean off that morning and you still need to call someone out to fix it. He immediately brushes past you, inspecting the broken sink without a word. Then, with a simple, "I can fix it,” he’s lugging in a tool bag and repairing your sink in record time.

You talk to him in the few minutes it takes him to fix the issue. Asking him simple questions with each one earning you a curt response.

"Should I call you Andrew or Pope? I noticed your mom calls you Andrew, but your brothers call you-" "Andrew."

Nonetheless you get to know him a little bit. It's enough for him to offer help anytime you need it. The water pressure in your shower is shit? He's on it. You need to update a few light fixtures? He's there to make sure you don't have to lift a finger. Patchy drywall in the garage? Looks brand new in one afternoon. It becomes his new hobby— fixing your house— being around you.

He spends so much time at your place working on projects, that your relationship blooms naturally. It feels almost like taking in a stray dog; extending a hand just for him to sniff around it until he eventually warms up to you.

You ask him more questions until you realize he doesn't like answering them very much, so instead you tell him about yourself. You allow his reactions to your words, the way he watches carefully when you bring up certain topics, to direct the course of your conversations.

You learn the easiest way to get him to talk is by making him food, the company of sitting across from someone during a meal somehow makes him feel a bit more comfortable. He opens up to you little by little over home cooked meals at your dining room table, the ones you insist he eats because he's spent all evening working hard and the least you can do is feed him.

He never turns down your offer, always accepting with a kind smile and letting his guard down long enough to clear his plate.

There's a safety in the meals you prepare for him— the way you sit peacefully across from each other. It's different from the way Smurf cooks for him. When she does it, it's manipulative, a reminder that she holds power over him, that he needs her to take care of him. But with you, it's an extension of gratitude. An attempt to get to know him. It's so innocent— endearing. He becomes addicted to it, staying longer than he needs to while working on something just to ensure you'll invite him to stay for dinner.

He fills his time with quick meals in your kitchen and little projects throughout your house until the boys find a job.

He's busy scouting and planning, and you start to notice he's around significantly less. He's shown up on your doorstep like clockwork everyday for weeks, and now all of a sudden you haven't seen him in days.

Until he knocks on your door early one morning. It's the day after the job, and he's noticeably banged up. With an open cut on his cheekbone and a black eye he just stands in front of you, apologizing.

He's not really sure how to communicate why he hasn’t seen you in days, or why he’s even at your door. All he knows, is that he just wants to see you. To watch the way you smile at him— to be reminded that he's not all bad. That there's some kind of hope hidden in the way you make him lasagna and let him fix your kitchen sink.

Of course you ask him what happened. You ask him if he's okay, but he doesn't respond, just stares. And the next thing you know, you're inviting him in for breakfast. No more questions, just an offering of quiet connection over eggs and fresh fruit.

[pomefioredove]

Hii! I was thinking abt a fashion designer reader who has a bit of a wild side (if u happen to know cruella de vil). Imagine if they got sorted in Pomefiore nd started giving Vil headache for her fashion antics. Thanks!

taking a break from the event to do some good 'ol fashioned headcanons. this prompt has been sitting in the back of my mind for months... cruella de vil reader? crewel sibling reader!!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ crewel and unusual punishment

summary: professor crewel's much younger sibling enrolls at NRC type of post: headcanons characters: vil, rook, epel additional info: romantic or platonic, gender neutral reader, reader is not yuu

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

Vil's migraine meds upset his stomach

that's all he says to you after you nearly light the lounge on fire while experimenting with safe flammable fashion

...on the first day of school

there's something rather intriguing about you, or in the way your mind works. the other Pomefiore students are as daring as a Magicam model- that is, they buy what's expensive and they follow the example of trendsetters. you, you... well, you're experimental. you are the trendsetter

Vil just wishes you weren't such a safety hazard -_-

does flamboyancy and a flair for the dramatic run in the family? by your fifth run-in with fire and fishing line, he's starting to think so

...still (and he'd NEVER admit this), you're admirable. he thinks his favoritism isn't obvious, but it totally is

he's always peering over your shoulder when you're sketching, pleasantly surprised by your skill

maybe you'll design something for him someday, hm?

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

disaster duo. that's all I have to say

okay, listen: Rook would have liked you regardless. and not only because he likes everyone. Professor Crewel supervises the science club, and Rook seems to like nothing more than hounding him with hypotheses

...so, whenever Crewel shoos him away, he comes to you

you have such an interesting eye for design and detail, that's all! and he'd be happy to supply you with whatever chemical compounds or organic materials you need for your next daring design

he'd be happy to help, too- or just to admire the way you think and draw and breathe and- you get it

...as long as you don't tell Crewel, that is

𝐄𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫

being a first-year with Epel, he could never dislike you

why? because you take the heat off of him!!!

he complains? you complain. he blows something up? you blow something up. he throws a fit about wearing a frilly blouse? before Vil can even get a word in, you've set fire to a sofa in the lounge

you're like a matching set, you two

...even if he doesn't understand a lick of what you're saying

one time, he shows you how he carves apples, and you start rambling about the beauty of it, how you'd love to make a design based off of it, and as he's beaming, showing off the perfect little dove he'd done, you pick up the PEEL and run off with it!

...oh, well. if it's good enough for a fancy fashion designer like you, it's good enough for him

[invincibledc]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚𝑷𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑶𝑵𝑰𝑪 𝑫𝑰𝑪𝑲 𝑮𝑹𝑨𝒀𝑺𝑶𝑵 + 𝑴𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑮𝑹𝑨𝒀𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑿 𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑭𝑻𝑬𝑹!𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑫!𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹⋆. 𐙚 ˚

pt.1 || pt.2

☆〜 what a smart child, a powerful child that is a god in their own world. The power to shift through realities, the power to make things shift to your own amusement. But what happens when this simple child, this child in elementary, shifts into a universe of violence, landing onto a soft bouncy house.

Giggling wildly, they hop off the bouncy house, ignoring the shock looks of parents as some kids at this assumed birthday party had their jaw drops. But this child didn’t care but to explore! And explore they did, they found themself in a place called bludhaven. A man with some kinda suit with black and blue appears the next minute behind the child.

“Hey kiddo, where’s your mommy or daddy?” His tone soft and gentle. Turning around, the child shrugs, use to them being randomly teleported due to their powers. “Don’t know. I want ice cream!” They point to an ice cream truck, accidentally changing the topic as they rush at it. Nightwing could only panic as he rushes over to this hyper child.

“Hey! Look both ways before crossing!” After the small heart attack, nightwing lets the child get on his back. Going to the police station to see if there is any records about this random child that had randomly made the one scoop ice cream into a three scoop.

After seeing there were no records of the child’s parents, or at least the child at most. Nightwing didn’t know what to do, he didn’t want to give the small child up to foster care. Foster care isn’t the best option at times.

So….he took care of you. He made sure you didn’t know who he was. Dick started to take care of you like a father and an older brother. Not bothering to help you learn things you didn’t know before. But it was only for so long til he could keep the secret before you had found his suit in his closet. “Mr. Grayson!” Dick turns around with a smile. “Yes kid—” immediately drops the pan that held pancakes as you held the Nightwing costume.

“Hero! You’re a herooo!!” Your eyes widen as you put it down gently with small pats. “I wanna be one!” Dick puts the pancakes up with the pan and picks you up, shaking his head no with worry. “No! No! You are too young, and you still are in 3rd grade. You can’t just be a superhero” you pouted as you pointed to the pancakes which transformed into blueberry waffles.

“But.. I wanna help people.” Dick has learned about your powers since you turned broccoli into a chicken sandwich. “Yeah… but it’s not worth it. Believe me.” Haley barks at her owner, staring at him with those big eyes of hers. “But Haley goes out on missions with you!” Dick’s eyes widen as he sits you down.

“You know I went on missions!?” Pouting, you huff. “How can Haley go but I can’t?” “Cause you have school!” “Not on weekends!” The argument you both had left some heavy air for a few days. Mostly cause of your stubbornness, you held a grudge, and when you hold a grudge. You hold one. You reminded him of his younger brother, Damian.

Dick tried everything to get you to forgive him, as such as; ice cream, plushies, movie tickets to the new paw patrol movie. Hell even the newish SpongeBob movie.

Okay now you did talk to him and cling to him like you usual do. But that ended right after the movie ended. Then finally, you’ve won as dick had Bruce clutch in and made you a suit. The suit was very cute with pastel colors due to your love with sparkles. You even named yourself the “Sparkler”, but who knows how long that name will last when you get older.

Yes, dick intends to take care of you to the point you grow old enough to move out. He’s practically the only family you got… in his point of view not knowing you have an actual family out of this reality. But he feels like he actually has his own family, sure he has one with the batfamily. But with you around and your childish antics, he felt.. calm.

As if you were his charge. And he loves it. It’s been months, almost a year since you’ve been here and he would go to any rehearsal you have if you join anything. Hell, he was so happy to hear you call him dad at least. Not dick, not Mr. Grayson.

But dad.

You both already created such a family bond that Bruce even sees you as his grandchild. And his brothers see you as their [nephew/neice]. Damian even gifted you a tiny sword, and dick snatched it away the minute you started swinging it around.

But eitherless, you had fun with your parental figure! That was still a sparkly patrol arrived out of no where.

You were coloring as Dick was in the kitchen cooking your favorite meal, you turned at the portal, not interested as you only rolled your eyes. It was just some portal that would appear when your time limit in a reality has passed. But you loved staying here! Dick was better than your own parents at your own world… but you guess the portal said otherwise.

The portal made a weird noise, like it was growling as it started to suck in everything in your room. Eyes widen, you get up, ready to run. “Dad! Dad!” You yelled for him, the portal started to suck in the plushies like a black hole. You dodged some things that could’ve hit your head.

You were so close to the door! But then the portal got angry, starting to gulp in everything. Dick, who heard a loud scream, dropped whatever he had in his hands when he heared your scream. Haley was ready too as she followed her owner to the room of his beloved child.

But he was too late.. the room was empty of everything. Including you. The blue eyed male dropped to the floor, Haley whines, trying to sniff around. You were gone, your scream echoed in his head.

He was late… late.. late….

Late……

He felt broken. He couldn’t save you from whatever happened…..

Where did you even go?

☆

Mark was flying through the sky, patrolling the city bored as he frowned. “God this is more boring than usual…” then he gets hit with a flying child that fell from a sparkly portal.

Mark grunts as he held you tight to his body, not wasting time or fly to a safe spot. He would’ve thought you would be shaking, scared, crying. You looked no older than 8 or at least 9, yet you had such a soft look on your face along with nonchalance.

“Well that was fun!” You exclaimed as you jumped excitedly. “H-how..? What the…. Are you okay?!” Thoughts was running through his head, a kid, much younger than his half brother was standing infront of him, dusting themself off as if they weren’t close to even dying!? “Oh me? I’m fine! But i need to back to my dad.” You looked around the place that you landed by with this hero.

Seeing no sparkly portal, you frowned. You felt sad, usually you didn’t feel this sad when going through another universe or whatever they are called. Mark looks at you confused, “Hey uhm, buddy? What are you looking for?” He questions as he tries to gentle his voice. “Portal with sparkles! It’s my way back to my dad!” You grabbed mark’s hand. “You’ll help me right?”

Mark didn’t know if he wanted to, he should! Of course he should! But the way you aren’t worried about falling from the sky, yapping about some kind of sparkly portal, and you’re a child. This could ring into trouble. But you look so innocent, and scared.

“Listen, what does your dad look like?”

“Well he has black hair, blue eyes, and he has dimples.” You pointed to both side of your cheeks to make it seem like dimples. Doing so, mark almost laughed at how adorable you seemed. Okay maybe you weren’t trouble, but you definitely were lost.

“Alright, let’s find your dad.” He picks you up, having you smile thinking that maybe he could get someone to have you into the place you were in before…

TO BE CONTINUED

[yuulettte]

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫?!"

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✧ദ്ദി( ˶^ᗜ^˶ )

✰ Tags: gn!reader x various JJK men, fluff, reader has a cold oh NOOOO!!, sfw, just sugary sweet

✰Characters: Gojo, Yuta, Yuji, Geto, Megumi, Nanami

✰ A/N: I tested positive for covid so I decided to be self indulgent.. First time writing hcs for most of these boys ( ´ ▽ ` ) I apologize in advance

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You tell him not to come near you out of habit, but he reminds you about his limitless technique! Can germs touch him? Who knows~

Long movie watching sessions, he'll buy you whatever you want to eat. Shoko told him to make sure you're hydrated, so he might force you to drink. Good luck!

Still manages to make you laugh with his antics. He'll wave his hands over you, using that eccentric tone, "Get better~ get better~!" as if it'll magically heal you

One time you catch him reading articles online on how to take care of a sick partner. The expression on his face is that of pure focus

He eventually gets fed up and says something about how 'the strongest never gets sick!' And thus turns off his technique to cuddle with you. He catches your cold the next day LOL

Guess even the strongest isn't immune to flu season

𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚 𝐎𝐤𝐤𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐮 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Attentive in every way. Is absolutely unafraid of getting sick. He always ends up catching whatever bug you have because he takes care of you no matter what

Runs you warm baths. He'll help you wash, dry your hair, and get dressed.

Rubs your back if you're feeling unwell, even when you're not sick ( ´ ▽ ` )

"What do you need? I'll go get it for you. Is there a dish you'd like for me to cook?"

He's an insanely good care taker (no surprise)

Has a habit of buying you plushies whenever you get sick, so your bed is over taken by them after a few years of dating. It's an army.. Or so you call it!

Will give you that sad puppy look if you refuse to let him hold you, even if it's out of love. He just wants to make you feel better

Doesn't let anyone else enter the house unless it's your family, he's your boyfriend and so it's his responsibility to take care of you! (he's protective)

𝐘𝐮𝐣𝐢 𝐈𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Will show up at your place with a bag full of medicine and goodies

Also doesn't care about catching whatever you have.

"I've got a super good immune system, so it's no problem!"

It's true too, what takes you a week to get over he'll tank in two days. It's actually kinda scary

He'll do whatever he can to make you laugh. And if you can't, then he'll comfort you

You'll have video game tournaments in your bed, and by the end he's always curled around you like a guard dog. The both of you fall asleep like that often

He'll wipe the sweat from your forehead and give you a cooling pad when you wake up as an apology :'D

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He's not very good with germs, so he might keep his distance if you have a nasty virus

He still really cares! Just may approach you with a mask and some anti bacterial

Lots of praise. Reminds you that it'll be okay, you'll feel better soon and he'll make sure of it

"You'll feel better soon my love, don't worry. Just drink this,"

He'll sooth you with his voice to help you fall asleep.

Like Satoru, he'll ask Shoko for advice on how to care for you. He takes to it more naturally, though. It's the dad vibes! Care taking is in his DNA

You find yourself getting sick way less often when spending tons of time with him. He just has that sort of aura?

𝐌𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐅𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Not the most emotionally attentive, but he'll come over and bring magazines/books for you to read and some medicine

Will sit with you in silence. He doesn't want you to hurt your throat from forcing yourself to talk

If you'd like, he'll summon his shadow dogs for you to cuddle with. He'd do it himself but he doesn't want you to feel sweaty

He's surprisingly strict about what you eat. It has to be homemade and full of nutrients

He cooks recipes that Tsumiki taught him for you ✧ദ്ദി( ˶^ᗜ^˶ ) they're delicious!

Even if he doesn't show it outwardly, he's honestly extremely worried. He wants you to get better as soon as possible!

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He takes time off work, you're his number one priority. He WILL be the one nursing you back to health

Husband material. He knows all of your favorite sick foods and most effective medications

Firm about you getting rest. "Please, allow me honey," and it's you literally reaching for a cup of water

He cooks meals that are easy on your stomach. Took the time to educate himself on what vitamins to give you

Will likely also catch your sicky, but he honestly doesn't mind because that means more time off with you.

The two of you will be wrapped around each other in bed while he reads to you, both with wet towels on your foreheads <3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[ilguna]

☼ six feet below (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; after being swallowed into the ground during the quarter quell, you’ve found yourself claustrophobic ever since. and so when you find out that district thirteen is a bunker, there’s no stopping the panic attack that comes.

warnings; swearing, torture and death mention, illness, claustrophobia, panic attack description.

wc; 3.5k

--

There has never been a more disappointing moment in your life than watching yourself get reaped for the Hunger Games a second time in less than a decade. Only this time, it was for a Quarter Quell. Which was destined to be your own personal hell.

The way your lips pulled up in disgust at the sound of your name, not at all amused by the Capitol’s antics. When you looked off, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of making eye contact with the camera, your face had been reflected back at you, due to a projection on a nearby building.

It was highly gratifying to know the entirety of Panem would see the irritation, and they’d never be able to edit it to make your reaction some other way. Even if they were to try and cut your expression out later on if you were to win, it would never fit. 

You barely got reprimanded for it after. All your escort had to say was that it wasn’t very lady-like. As if there was a more graceful way to take the news you’d be fighting for your life again. You couldn’t help it when you asked her what the appropriate response would’ve been. Should you have thanked her?

She didn’t give you an answer, either because she couldn’t think of one or she knew if she were in your shoes, she would’ve broken into tears the moment her name had been called. Especially since she knows what it entails and just how brutal it can be.

From then on, you did your best to steer a wide path from her for the rest of the Capitol week. The last thing you needed was her correcting manners, when you could be dead within the next two weeks. 

The week was far from what you thought it would be, not that you were expecting it to be easy. You knew there would be a lot of familiar faces, but it took until the Tribute Parade for you to realize what you were dragged into. You had to interact with other victors as a tribute that you’d met as a mentor. Several of your friends found themselves in the same position you were in.

Not to mention, your boyfriend had been reaped, too. 

Finnick couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears that followed. When you saw the way the stylist had dressed him for the Capitol—you were inconsolable. He thought it was because you were scared, causing him to swear up and down he would protect you. When really, you were terrified if you’d make it out alive without him, and you’d be forced to live with his ghost.

The Capitol had you trapped, something they were never able to do before.

When you were announced the winner of the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games, you promised yourself you’d never let the Capitol get the best of you. If you could control it, you’d always stay one step ahead, sometimes two if you could manage it. It’d worked out so far, right up until that point.

You were sixteen when you won, and seventeen when you returned for your first year of mentoring. President Snow tried to negotiate a deal with you, but you’d already heard the rumors of what it meant. All the victors back home in Eleven warned you about what he would want from you, what it would mean going forward.

They weren’t wrong, and while you were ready for everything he had to throw at you, it was hard to keep a grip on your future. He threatened your family, only for you to tell him most of them had died due to the illness that was going around. Anyone still alive wouldn’t be for much longer.

He threatened your friends, all of which you’d lost following your Games. As glorious as the victor life is in the Career districts, it’s less so in District Eleven. And while the whole year of rations should’ve lifted a lot of spirits, it hardly worked in your favor. There weren’t a lot of congratulations to go around.

So, President Snow threatened your life.

You stared him in the eye as you gave him a shrug, telling him he was more than welcome to give it a go. Your quality of life had significantly decreased already, what else could he do? 

Nothing. Nothing was the answer. 

It was probably the first time a tribute has ever pulled one over on the president without having their hand slapped immediately after. Seeder was convinced he’d have something coming for you, but you were left alone. Maybe it was because he knew the Quarter Quell would be coming, and he’d have you then.

Well, he was right. The wishful thinking that you’d be able to escape them forever worked for a handful of years. As time grew on, it became harder to keep it that way, and when the Quell had been announced, you gave it up altogether. President Snow knew it was a matter of time before he’d get you under his thumb. And he had you good. 

The arena has been and always will feel like it’s targeted at you. You’re sure everyone thinks the same when they rise out of the podium, but your misfortune so far has been immeasurable compared to the others.

The jungle was no exception. 

You tried to regain your footing when it came to being a step ahead, by remembering how deceitful the arena had been for Haymitch. You figured it would be the same way, just by looking at how the arena had been sectioned out. 

The concentric circles seemed purposeful, with the way it had been the Cornucopia, the water, the beach and then the jungle. The only part that didn’t make sense were the twelve spokes that shot out from the center, but you shrugged it off, thinking the Gamemakers needed to add ground for the tributes who weren’t strong swimmers. 

The lightning, fog and monkeys should’ve been your clue as to what was happening, except you were too busy fighting for your life to be drawing up theories. So you can imagine your surprise when Katniss announced the arena was working like a clock, and that’s what Wiress had been attempting to communicate the whole time you’d reunited with the second half of the alliance.

It made sense for the next couple hours, the group of you had gone to the center to see it all play out. Then the Gamemakers spun that goddamn Cornucopia, confusing you all again. None of you had any idea on where to go, so you took a gamble on one of the spokes and decided to wait on the beach until one of the hours gave away what time it was.

At some point during this period, you thought you’d check out the jungle while you found a place to relieve yourself. Finnick wanted to go with you, but he got pulled away by Johanna when she began to argue with Katniss again. You promised him you’d be careful, and went off.

You don’t think you made it twenty feet in before you were swallowed by the dirt. It was as if you stepped into quicksand, only it was dry and you sunk much faster. You barely managed a scream before you were breathing in the jungle’s dirt. 

It felt like you were stuck in the ground forever, trying to claw your way out, holding your breath, but it couldn’t have been longer than a minute or two. By the time your hands broke the surface, Finnick and a few of the others were there, searching for you. As soon as you’d been spotted, they tugged you out and several feet away from where you’d been eaten.

You were choking on dirt while gasping for air, feeling the crunch of the soil between your teeth, the way it stuck to the back of your throat. You couldn’t help it when the first sob came from you, tears washing away the filth that was stuck in the creases of your eyes.

Finnick held you, rocking you as you cried into him. You couldn’t stop, you knew if they’d shown up a few minutes later, you’d be dead. Just another victor to be remembered but never forgotten. Anyone would’ve reacted the same way you had, even Johanna.

However, if you knew President Snow would capitalize off this moment, you never would’ve shown how vulnerable it made you. You would’ve just shaken off the experience and pushed through.

Instead, Snow exploited it. 

It was planned that at the end of the third day in the arena, what was left of the rebel alliance should meet at the lightning tree. Whoever was left in the area after the arena exploded would get rescued and brought to a safe place. The main goal was to make sure Katniss was there, since she’s the face of the rebellion. Everyone else was expendable. 

It worked out fine in the beginning, but the plan went to shit when what was left of the Careers tried to attack you, Johanna and Katniss while you were executing Beetee’s instructions. The three of you got split up, and while you were off fighting Enobaria, the arena went black, which meant the hovercraft would be appearing at any moment.

When you did get to the tree, it was far too late. The hovercraft had come and gone, and you were left to fend for yourself. You found you weren’t the only one left behind, because Johanna and Peeta showed up shortly after, accusations flying everywhere. 

It didn’t matter what you had to say to either of them, because you all wound up in Capitol custody. And all the pent up anger Snow had been containing was released on you for the next couple weeks. 

It was a good thing the rebels from District Thirteen rescued you when they did, because you were beginning to crack. Just a few more hours and you’re sure you would’ve started telling the Capitol anything and everything they wanted to hear—even if it would’ve been lies.

You’re just glad the people of Thirteen have been understanding of your situation so far. They’ve been so patient when it comes to interacting with the refugees—a bulk of them coming from Twelve. From what you heard, it’s been flattened by the bombs from the Capitol, following the abrupt ending of the Quarter Quell. 

You’ve slowly started integrating into their lifestyle after being in the hospital. The head doctor has finally allowed you to move into a compartment with Finnick, which means you have free reign of the building. You’re returning to normalcy, even if it’s taking forever.

Your favorite part about your newfound freedom is that you’re able to sit at a table with your friends, again. You never thought you’d be able to enjoy their presence after what happened in the Capitol. But it seems as if the doctors don’t care about the intermingling of the victors.

“How was your time in the Capitol?” Peeta asks you, stone cold serious. “Did you enjoy it?”

Although, maybe they should.

You stare at him for a long moment, not sure how you’d like to respond. You didn’t know Peeta super well prior to the Games, but he was always courteous in passing. If this is how the Capitol has left him, you can’t even begin to think of what they might’ve done. 

You’ve noticed that he’s lost his sugar-coating. Everything he says seems raw and unfiltered, which you can come to appreciate in the future. As of now, he needs to be reminded that sensitivity isn’t a weakness, even if the Capitol has taught him otherwise.

“Did you?” You shoot back at him. “I distinctly remember you crying for your mother, but maybe I’m mistaken.”

Peeta lets out a short laugh, a half-smile on his face. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about the Capitol so soon.” Finnick interjects, reaching over to rub your back. He raises his eyebrows, expression gentle as he watches your face. “It’s not the greatest subject.”

“Why not?” Johanna asks, mouth full of food. “Peeta and I can talk about it, right?” She nudges him with her elbow. Peeta gives a mechanic nod, causing your face to twist. “We’ve come to grow as best friends.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Peeta murmurs, looking away.

“Johanna, don’t tease him.” Finnick tilts his head. He stops rubbing your back, instead moving to hold your hand to squeeze it.

“I’m not.” Johanna says simply. “Would you rather me tease (Y/n)?”

“No.” He tells her, tone hard.

“Yes, absolutely.” You nod. “What do you have for me?”

She eyes Finnick, gauging whether or not it’s worth what Finnick will do to her. She must decide it isn’t, because she crosses her arms and leans forward onto the table, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Oh, come on.” You groan. “No snark? You’re going soft on me.”

“I would, but I’m mildly afraid of triggering Peeta in the process.” She says.

Peeta rolls his eyes, which is so unlike him that you can’t take your eyes off of him. 

“Okay, fine.” Johanna says. “Why do you always have Finnick walk in front of you? You never hold hands and walk side by side anymore.”

You look past her to the concrete ground, and all you picture is the ground opening up, a dark pit waiting for you underneath. It’s pretty self-explanatory on why you act the way you do. You thought she was more observant than this.

“The arena.” You tell her. “The sixth hour.”

“That’s it?” Johanna asks. “You let the jungle get the better of you?”

Finnick clears his throat, shaking his head at her. “Was the blood rain easy for you?”

“It’s not that the jungle got the better of me. Do you know what it’s like to be encased in dirt?”

“I do. We currently are.” Johanna waves her hand in the air.

Your face twists, eyes squinting at her. “What do you mean?”

She opens her mouth, raising her eyebrows as if it’s obvious. “Where do you think we are?”

“District Thirteen.” You say, not getting it. “Where else would we be?”

“Are you fucking with me?” Johanna asks. 

You two stare at each other for a minute. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Johanna. What do you mean we’re encased in dirt?”

“District Thirteen is a bunker.” Peeta tells you plainly. “Everyone knows that.”

No—no, not everyone knows that. You didn’t know that. You’ve been underground this whole time? You thought… you thought that Thirteen was just some building hidden in the woods, too far for the Capitol to reach. You never would’ve guessed it’s a bunker.

You can feel your heart begin to beat in your chest, room elongating due to the new information. You grip your silverware tightly in your hand, knuckles turning pale, swallowing hard.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick asks, trying to pull his hand free.

Your hands pop open, fork clattering against the metal table, fingers beginning to shake. You’re going to get trapped down here. The bunker could explode at any moment. It’ll be much harder to escape a cement chamber than it was to crawl out of dirt.

You can feel the air rapidly passing between your lips, a hand placed on your chest, which seems to grow tight with every passing breath. 

“Honey, breathe.” Finnick tells you, combing your hair out of your face. “What’s the matter?”

“I’ll never get out.” You gasp, shoving your food tray away from you.

You suddenly get to your feet, tripping when you try to step over the bench. You find yourself staring down at the floor, the same one that was opening up earlier. The only thing holding you up are your hands and knees, which are shaking so hard you can’t even see straight.

“(Y/n)!” Finnick shouts, sounding drowned and faraway.

Your hand forms a fist, which you slam against the ground, as if it’ll let you out of the nightmare. You’re stuck, though. You’re back in that box, body twisted in awkward angles to let you breathe, staring into the pitch black—into the unknown.

“Let me out!” You scream, bending your arms to push off. Nothing moves. Nothing ever moves. They won’t let you out, not until they’ve decided you suffered enough. You could be here for the next ten hours if they felt like it.

It’s always a box, and it’s never big enough to let you breathe.

“(Y/n), let’s go.” A voice says, grabbing onto your arms, pulling you to your legs.

You stumble, feeling the sweat dribble down your forehead, reaching out to stabilize yourself. Finnick’s face is in yours, too blurry to focus on. He’s saying something, trying to pull you along, but your knees have locked in place.

He just sweeps you up into his arms, hurrying out of the room.

“Please don’t take me back there.” You cry.

“I won’t, (Y/n).” Finnick places a swift kiss to your forehead. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” 

He takes you into the elevator, doesn’t bother shutting the safety door, and presses the button that will bring you straight up without stopping. When you reach what you perceive as the ground floor, you’re met with multiple unwelcoming faces.

“Please, she just needs to be outside.” Finnick begs, pushing through them. “She can’t be in there right now.”

“Let them through!” A voice calls, a man in black armor waves Finnick on.

He wastes no time, running through the space, straight to the nearest door. He backs through it, shielding you from the initial sunlight. As soon as it touches your skin, you break.

Finnick lets you down to your feet, only to watch as you collapse in the grass, crawling a few feet away from the door, sobbing into the Earth. You take handfuls of it in your hands, ripping the roots free from the soil, throwing them away.

Two weeks. 

You’d basically spent two straight weeks in a box. The only time you were let out was to relieve yourself, and then you were locked back in. It didn’t matter how much you screamed, how much you begged, how much you pushed against the walls. You could never leave. 

The spots that had been appearing over your vision are finally disappearing, but the lightheadedness isn’t. You lift your hand in Finnick’s direction, and that’s all he needs before he’s cradling you against his body, trying to console you.

“I’m so sorry.” He tells you, lips pressed to your hair. “I promised to protect you. I told you nothing would happen.”

“You never could’ve known.” You tell him, fingers tight against his jumpsuit. “He’s been trying to get me for years.”

“I know.” Finnick sniffs, holding you tighter. “I tried to stop it. I never wanted him to have you."

You sit in silence for a long time. He rocks you, humming a tune he learned from Katniss, gently massaging your head. You watch as the trees behind him seem to return to normal, no longer so far away. And there's a dull ache in your fingers from how hard you've been squeezing them.

"I need help." You murmur to Finnick.

"With what?" He asks, pulling away to see your face.

"I need to see the head doctor, don't I?" You ask, lips trembling.

Finnick brushes the sensitive skin on your cheeks. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, honey." He tilts his head to look at you better.

"I wanted to be fine." You tell him.

"And it's okay that you're not." He says. "Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Haymitch and I got help while we’ve been here. And we knew it was only a matter of time before you’d follow in our steps.”

Your face twists. “What do you mean it was a matter of time?”

“You started doing things that weren’t like you.” His eyes fall away. “You won’t go into small rooms. You touch the tips of your feet to the ground to make sure it’s solid. You ask people to walk in front of you. You stop in doorways to look inside rooms before deciding to go in.”

Your lips wobble, hearing your mannerisms repeated back to you… You can feel another round of tears coming, building in your eyes. When Finnick looks up to see your reaction, his face softens. He cups your face in his hands, shaking his head.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“We’ll get you help.” He tells you, wiping away the tears that fall with his thumbs. “Just like we did for Annie. You’ll get better.”

“But I’ll never be the same.”

Finnick presses a warm kiss to your lips. “That will never stop me from loving you.”

[aureatelys]

as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader w.c.: 6k a/n: inspired by that one gifset of hotch desperately needing some moisturizer on his neck im so sorry. also my first time writing hotch's pov, pls be gentle. c.w.: fluff! friends to lovers, kinda sunshine/girly!reader, mutual pining, alcohol mention, author pretending like they know about skincare, hotch is whipped and touch starved af, no y/n

summary:

You think Hotch needs to take better care of himself. Hotch doesn't know what to think. Or, 5 times you teach Hotch about skincare more than he wants to and 1 time he teaches you.

read below or ao3 here

one.

When Hotch first walks into the conference room ready to go over a new case, there’s something different that he can’t quite put his finger on.

Words dying in his throat, he sweeps his eyes over the entire room and doesn’t see anything significantly out of place. Then he’s passing over everyone’s faces, mentally keeping a note on how exhausted most of them are looking, and then landing on you.

Having only joined a couple of months ago, you were still fairly new to the team. However, with your sunny disposition and eagerness to learn, you blended right in. Hotch had watched in amusement as you were able to keep up with Reid’s ramblings, Morgan’s flirting, and Garcia’s antics. You were insightful, able to give new perspectives that Hotch would never have even considered, patient with victims and their families, and Hotch admired you for that.

Today, however, you look considerably suspicious as you give him a sheepish smile and a little wave. “Morning, Hotch,” you say, eyes sparkling, followed by a round of greetings from the rest of the team.

“Morning.” And then he spots a machine on the table near the wall, shaped and designed like a cat and spouting off what looks like steam at a steady and continuous rate.

Now that he’s noticed it, he realizes the conference room feels significantly stickier, the sudden humidity a stark contrast to the dry winter air outside. He can sense the slight congestion he’s been waking up to the past several months gradually disappearing.

“It’s a humidifier,” you explain after spotting the slightly confused expression Hotch was wearing, as if he’s never seen one before. To be fair, he doesn’t think he’s seen one in years as Haley was usually the one who dug it out of storage when Jack wasn’t feeling well. “I brought it from home, I thought it was a little dry in here. Is that okay?”

“I hope so, I was worried about getting a nosebleed the other day.”

“It’s good to have it around during this time of year, Hotch. Did you hear Anderson coughing this morning?”

“It’s also beneficial to have one on while you sleep, both with the white noise and being able to clear your sinuses and breathe easier with its optimal humidity levels.”

Truthfully, Hotch doesn’t care and he’s sure there isn’t some ridiculous regulation about not allowing a small humidifier, especially when Garcia has two space heaters in her office that you’ve had to ask to borrow at least twice a week.

However, the way you’re glancing up at him now from your spot at the round table, eyes wide and fluffy pink scarf wrapped around you because you apparently run colder than the rest of the team, Hotch would probably let you get away with anything.

He immediately sets that thought aside, not wanting to dwell on exactly what that means right now. He takes the only empty seat left that just happened to be right next to you, making sure to keep a respectable distance. “It’s fine. Just make sure to turn it off and empty it before we go.”

You give him a blinding smile that momentarily distracts him from the bubbling humidifier and the clouds of mist that are nearly falling into his face. “Sure thing. Did you know that it can also help with dry skin? So technically, we’re just taking care of our bodies if they ask why we need it.”

Although it makes sense now that he thinks about it, Hotch didn’t know that. He also doesn’t remember the last time he put on lotion or moisturizer, no matter how dry his hands felt.

Just then, Garcia wobbles in with her yellow heels and coffee mug, immediately launching into the brutal details of the case and where the team will be headed out to for the next couple of days.

When Hotch gets up to grab his go-bag from the office, he tries to ignore how it feels like he can breathe a little bit easier.

two.

“God, it’s freezing in here.”

Hotch glances up from his laptop mid-report to witness you taking the seat next to his with a resounding oof. You’re wrapped up in a blanket that you had brought from home that has somehow taken permanent residence on the jet, shivering despite the heater being on full blast. The corner of it lands on his knee, soft and warm.

The team had just finished a case in rural Montana, surrounded by mountains of snow and the wilderness. You had remembered to pack warmly at least, as Hotch had witnessed you struggling to take off the several layers of sweaters every time you arrived at the precinct. He remembers frowning in the car on the way to apprehend the unsub as you shivered in the passenger seat, having had to wear only a layer or two due to the bulky Kevlar vest and needing to be quick on your feet.

“It’ll warm up here in a second,” Hotch says, already wracking around his brain to see if there was another blanket hidden in a compartment somewhere. “A cup of tea will probably help.”

You slouch down further in your seat, cocooning yourself even further under the thick blanket. “I don’t want to get up.”

Hotch is almost tempted to lock his computer and get up to make you that cup of tea himself, however he glances around the cabin and notices several knowing pairs of eyes on him. He doesn’t have to be a profiler to know what the rest of the team thinks—that he’s gone soft on you.

You with your fuzzy blue blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cape and the thick socks that you put in your bag specifically for the plane ride home. He knows he’s not imagining the lingering glances you throw at Hotch or the way you occasionally stay late as an excuse to bother him in his office.

And he doesn’t necessarily mind. There’s a strange, innate pull that tugs in his stomach when it comes to you, causing him to watch you more carefully and seeking out your presence at almost every opportunity. The sheer grip of panic on his heart when you were shot after taking down an unsub by yourself and without backup several months ago had Hotch re-evaluating everything he knew about himself.

He’s aware of the possible repercussions, which is exactly why Hotch has learned to be patient when it comes to you, who has threatened him to forgo his patience altogether with every bubbly laugh he can hear from his office or knock of your shoulders against his in the conference room.

So he doesn’t get up to make you that cup of tea despite knowing how you take it with a splash of milk and two sugars, and instead turns back to finish the action report.

It’s only several minutes later when he notices you rummaging around in your bag out of the corner of his eye before you pull out a small and colorful lotion bottle with a triumphant noise. You pop the cap open and slather some on your hands before you’re turning to face Hotch again, the novel that Reid recommended to you untouched on the table. “Do you want some?”

The bottle in your hand looks somewhat familiar, most likely something he’s passed by at the store or on your desk, but Hotch balks at the pink flowers painted all over the bottle. He’s lucky the undoubtedly suffocating smell hasn’t hit him yet. “I’m fine, thanks.”

But you don’t put the lotion back in your bag, instead shifting in your seat until you’re fully facing him. Your blanket is nearly draped over Hotch’s thigh. “Are you sure? You know, it’s really important to make sure your hands are moisturized, especially with how cold it is here.”

He doesn’t know why you’re so adamant about this, peering up at him with bright and eager eyes and the open lotion bottle poised over his hands. He’s never liked putting on lotion, or any kind of creams, as it always made his hands feel uncomfortably greasy. He would eventually wash it off anyway.  

He turns his attention back to his laptop, yet wordlessly puts a hand out towards your direction.

He thinks you’re going to pour a generous dollop and let him rub his own hands together, but instead, he nearly jumps in his seat when you’re grabbing onto his hand with both of yours and slathering whatever’s leftover on your hands into his palms and the back of his hands.

Your hands are cold, even moreso than his, but the sharp tingle that runs up his arm at your touch causes something warm to bloom in his chest.

“I didn’t want to waste it,” you respond to the confusion on his face. You’re thorough; making sure to slather the cream in between his fingers and even down to his wrists. He senses the sneaking glances the rest of the team are throwing his way, maybe even smug, but he’s painstakingly distracted by the way your hands look in his, the way he can feel both of your hands gradually warming up.

And then you’re pulling away, and Hotch suddenly misses your tender touch.

Like he expected, his palms suddenly feel gross, unpleasantly slippery like he has oil all over them. He wants to rub his palms on his pants or go wash his hands, but your watchful eyes stop him.

And then it hits him—  the sudden scent of you, floral with some hints of vanilla, overwhelming his senses. It’s undeniably the same scent as your perfume, the one that seems to linger every time you stride past him at the office or when you’re leaning over Hotch to laugh at something Morgan said. Now, it causes him to sharply inhale, chest feeling unnervingly tight as he unconsciously marks it to his memory.

You’re still watching him with an expectant smile, bottle stored away in your bag for you to pull out again after you’ve gotten up to use the restroom and used the cheap hand soap that you’ve repeatedly complained about before. You look unfazed, as if your simple touch hasn’t sent Hotch’s brain reeling.

“It’s nice,” Hotch manages to say, voice only slightly strained. The smell is not as strong as he expected, but it’s still doing strange things to his heart more than he’d like to admit.

If possible, your smile widens. “Just nice?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s quite my signature scent.”

You hum and turn away, picking up your book despite Hotch knowing you’re not going to read a single page of it today, the spine already creased from where you’ve been laying it face down multiple times over the past month. “No, your signature scent already fits you.”

Hotch says nothing, not entirely sure how to respond to that, but your attention is already caught by the game of cards Reid and Emily are playing several seats away. You immediately set your novel down and scramble up and out of your seat to be their enthusiastic audience, leaving a trail of vanilla behind you.

Hotch immediately misses the warmth of your blanket.

three.

“What are you looking for now?”

You’ve been digging through your bag, your pink personal one that’s almost as big as your go bag, for the past five minutes. Hotch can hear the various items clinking around and the crinkling of multiple old receipt papers as you curse under your breath. He frowns, tempted to encourage you to clean out your bag if only to make packing more convenient for you. He couldn’t count the number of times you’ve exclaimed on the jet that you had forgotten something.

The team had gotten called to another small rural town in North Dakota for an unsub that’s been killing during the protective guise of blizzards, which is why Hotch was driving so painstakingly slow that Morgan would’ve surely had an aneurysm if he was in the same car. Despite the roads having already been salted, there was still a concerning amount of ice on the roads that had Hotch sitting ramrod straight in his seat and gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were nearly turning white.

Luckily, it was only you and Hotch in the car, heater on full blast. You’re wearing at least three sweaters today with your coat draped over your legs and haven’t even complained once about it being too cold, citing how you’ve never seen this much snow before in your life. Hotch found it all extremely endearing watching you nearly jump in your seat at how the evergreen trees looked covered in snow. Like a Christmas movie, you had said.

“Found it!” You pull out a travel sized bottle of sunscreen, hurriedly twisting the cap open to squeeze and draw lines down three fingers.

Hotch glances at you out of the corner of his eye, brow furrowed in confusion at your strange method. “Sunscreen? Are we going to the beach?”

“God, I hope not. I didn’t think to pack a swimsuit.” You roll your eyes while slathering the cream on your forehead, cheeks, down your neck, and even strangely over your ears before rubbing the rest on the back of your hands.

Hands tightening on the steering wheel, Hotch clears his throat. “I didn’t expect you to be so invested in your skin health.”

“It’s called skincare, Hotch,” you tease, screwing the cap back on but suspiciously leaving it out on your lap. “And it’s important to take care of your skin. Did you know that snow reflects UV rays, so even during winter you should put on sunscreen?”

Hotch chuckles before he could stop himself. “You’re starting to sound like Reid.”

“Did you want some?” You’re twisting your body again to face Hotch, eyes sparkling despite it being horribly dreary and cloudy outside.

The only times Hotch has worn sunscreen was during especially hot summer days when he took Jack to the park or to go swimming. He’s seen you apply sunscreen in the office even when it was raining outside and the sun wasn’t forecasted to come out that day. He’s grown to learn not to ask questions.

“I’m okay, thanks.” The answer’s immediate, partly because he doesn’t need sunscreen and partly because he is concentrating on not crashing into a ditch.

“Come on, Hotch, it’s good for you!” He knows this is exactly the same thing you said on the jet several weeks ago, and since then, every time you’re putting on lotion and he’s somewhere in the near vicinity, you’re already squeezing some on his hands before he could respectfully decline. Luckily, you haven’t tried to apply it for him again.

You’re incredibly stubborn and Hotch wonders if you’re persuading the rest of the team to invest in expensive and fruity-smelling creams in an effort to have everyone properly take care of their bodies like you are with him.

“Alright.” And then he’s pulling his foot off the gas pedal just a bit to compensate for the distraction of having to put his hand out, desperately hoping you’re not going to lean over to apply it to his own face.

You luckily don’t squeal in excitement like he expected, just silently squirting the cream into careful and meticulous lines on his three fingers. Hotch can tell it’s definitely more of an expensive brand than what he was used to during the summer—lightweight and smelling like nothing.

Hotch carefully slathers it onto his face, starting at his forehead, down his nose, and then out to his cheeks and his chin. There’s still quite a lot left on his fingers and he remembers how you made sure to spread some on your neck, so Hotch does the same thing. However, he is definitely not going to put some on his ears.

Satisfied, you put the sunscreen away and twist as best as you could underneath your thick layers to put your bag in the backseat, because the floor of the car was too wet from the snow from your shoes.

“Happy?” Hotch’s face inexplicably feels greasier than he would like, but it’s not as bad as the vanilla-scented lotion or the cheap sunscreen laying forgotten in his closet. It’s already absorbed into his skin and when he rubs a hand along his jaw, he realizes that it must have had some moisturizer in it as well because his face feels softer than he was used to.

“Ecstatic,” you say, turning your face towards the window to hide the wide grin spreading across your face.

four.

The fourth time Hotch learns about skincare from you was completely and utterly by accident.

It had been a long and brutal couple of days chasing a serial in Tennessee, one that had nearly as much technological experience as Garcia. He had been two steps ahead of them until tonight, when they had finally caught a break and caught him before he could take any more women to hold hostage.

The all-consuming relief was palpable during dinner at the hotel restaurant despite the underlying knowledge that the same thing was going to happen next week. Conversation flowed, drinks were had, and Hotch was adamantly ignoring the fleeting looks you were throwing his way across the table.

Hotch and you had been dancing around each other for months, tension so tangible that the rest of the team were starting to feel uncomfortable. He’s been able to brush off Dave’s sly remarks in the privacy of his office, Morgan and Emily’s raised eyebrows tossed in his direction at every interaction he had with you, and Garcia’s elbow jabs at every possible second when you were in the room.

It's been frustrating for him, to say the least. He can’t tell them that he can’t make that choice for you, that he’s too conscious to not cross any of those professional boundaries himself. If that means that Hotch has to wait for several more months for you to make the first move, if that even happens, then so be it.

When Hotch watches the way you throw your head back in laughter at something Dave says at dinner, eyes bright and face slightly flushed from the wine, he thinks he’d be willing to wait as long as you wanted.

After being nearly kicked out of the restaurant from being too rowdy and Hotch hinting at being able to take the rest of tomorrow off once they fly back in town early, the team quietly shuffles back to their respective rooms. He knows there’s about a 50/50 chance that most of them will sneak out to a nearby bar in ten minutes, but at least he warned them ahead of time.

“Night, Hotch,” you had said, giving him a little smile and wave before your door across the hallway clicked shut.

Something warm settled in Hotch’s chest at that, so he did the most reasonable thing to cope with the unfamiliar and turned the TV on to a random news channel. With the volume on low and his laptop and files laid out on the rickety table, he got to work.

Several hours pass like that as he throws himself into the fine print, going over everyone’s action reports from last week and shuffling through old crime photos to make sure everything matched. It was a familiar process, and almost concerning with how much comfort he’s found in it—the scratch of his pen, the drone of the city several floors down, and the growing smudge of ink on his hand from his thoughts running faster than he could write.

When he gets to your report and notices it’s missing several key points of the case, as well as your loopy signature, he frowns.

The immediate thought that comes to mind would be to just put the file aside and move onto the other one. It wasn’t as if the report was due this second and he knows there were plenty of others that required more immediate attention.

The other thought that emerges, almost reluctantly, was that Hotch could easily go across the hallway and ask you to take a look at it and finish the report rather than waiting for the following morning on the jet when the rest of the team was undoubtedly going to be hungover. Prentiss was most certainly going to be cranky and demand everyone to be quiet because the hum of the jet was already grating enough. He’d just be doing the team a favor.

That’s what Hotch tells himself as he stands up from the low desk, neck and back aching, and makes his way out his room and to yours across the hall.

He briefly pauses, straining his ears as if he could hear anything through the door and over the erratic thumping of his own heart. Hotch is suddenly aware that you may be sleeping, or even out with the rest of the ladies to a sleazy bar, and he’s about to turn back around with defeat weighing heavy on his shoulders when he hears the click of the bathroom door open and your humming, faint even through the thick wooden door.

Feeling confident that he’s not disturbing you and something else Hotch can’t name at the fact that he’s going to be seeing you in the privacy of your hotel room, he raps twice against the door.

“Just a second!” And then the door swings open.

Hotch’s attention is immediately caught by the fluffy headband you’re wearing, light pink and with a comically large bow in the center. You’ve clearly just gotten out of the shower, the scent of your body wash infiltrating Hotch’s senses and causing him to tighten his grip on the files he forgot he was holding in the first place.

You’re wearing a matching set of light blue pajamas, short and clinging to your body in a way that has Hotch immediately tearing his gaze away and back to your bare face. Your lips are glossy, slicker than normal, there’s a drop of water slowly trailing down the side of your neck, and a dab of cream on your cheek that you seem to have not noticed.

“Hotch?” you ask, confused, before letting out a squeak and crossing your arms over your chest in an effort to hide your modesty. Hotch ignores the fact that it just makes everything worse. “Is everything okay? Don’t tell me there’s a case.”

The droplet of water has disappeared underneath the collar of your shirt and the scent of vanilla nearly suffocates him. “No case. Just needed to get your final touches and signature on this report.”

He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as strained to you as it does to him as he remembers why he was standing in your hotel doorway in the first place, the files in his hand suddenly weighing like a ton.

You don’t seem to notice anything wrong, if anything, a slow smile spreads across your face that has Hotch’s stomach flipping.

You look radiant, the intimacy of being near you in your pajamas when you were clearly in the middle of your nighttime routine not going unnoticed. He peers over the top of your head to notice your go bag on your bed, clothes and your personal laptop strewn all over the comforter, and the TV being tuned to what you’d call an “entertaining yet trashy show.”

“You’re still working even though you’re the one who suggested having an early night? It’s late.”

Hotch blinks at you because what else would he have done if not attempt to catch up on the seemingly never-ending pile of papers and reports? “You’re still up late too.”

You roll your eyes. “I was just about to go to bed before you knocked, so technically I have better work-life boundaries than you.”

“Do you want me to come back tomorrow?”

You study him—still wearing his suit sans the jacket, tie only slightly loosened and sleeves rolled up his forearms. He hadn’t even bothered to put his shoes back on, comfortable enough with the hotel’s reputation to be in his room and take the two steps across the carpeted hallway in his socks.

“As long as you make it fast.” And then you’re stepping aside and opening the door further, the sweetness of the vanilla nearly pulling Hotch in.

Except he’s somehow distracted by the dollop of cream still on your cheek, right underneath your eye. Witnessing first-hand the twinkling of your eyes as you glance up at him and the way your pink headband has your hair pushed back, baring the most of your face he’s ever seen, has him sidetracked.

“You have a little…” He motions to his own face, hoping that you will take the hint.

And you don’t, not exactly, because of course you don’t. You immediately swipe at your face but on the wrong cheek and stare down at your hand when you don’t catch anything. “What?”

Hotch is a problem-solver, meticulous, and always thinks things through. That’s his job, to always be two steps ahead of anyone and everyone. So he’s not sure how or why he’s suddenly reaching a hand out to swipe at the cream on your face with his thumb, his touch lingering on the warmth of your cheek.

Whatever Hotch was going to say dies in his throat at the very audible hitch of your breath, the way your eyes widen at his close proximity. Your skin is smooth, softer than anything he’s ever felt, and he ignores the way you’re staring into him as he pulls back and absentmindedly rubs the moisturizer in the palm of his other hand. If he tries hard enough, the cream on his own skin nearly replicates the feeling of yours.

He's about to clear his throat to apologize, maybe even mention something about how the report can technically wait until tomorrow and turn right on his heel back into his room to ignore the adamant weight pressing down on his chest, when your expression changes.

Something almost akin to smugness tugs at the corners of your lips, the shininess inexplicably different and more distracting than your usual lipstick. Your bright eyes dance with amusement before your arms fall from where they were crossed on your chest to your sides.

“You know, I’m wearing a lip mask right now if you want some of that too.”

“Excuse me?”

If possible, your grin widens, causing Hotch to internally deny that he was suddenly feeling breathless. “I use a lip mask every night. They just make them look so kissable, right?”

Something in Hotch snaps, because if that wasn’t a clear invitation, he doesn’t know what is.

When he finally steps into your room, closing the door behind him, you’re slowly backing up until you’re pressed up against the nearest wall with that infuriating grin on your face.

You’re playing with him, you’ve been playing with him, but he doesn’t care and can’t even think about that when you’re peering up at him with soft eyes.

When Hotch brings a hand up to cradle your cheek, he thinks his stomach nearly twists itself into a knot at the immediate way you lean into him and the way your eyes flutter shut.

When he finally kisses you, he can smell the sweetness of the raspberry lip mask before he tastes it, seamlessly blending in with your vanilla body wash and making him feel more drunk than he’s felt in a long time.

You place your hands on his chest, your warmth seeping through the fabric of his shirt, and something about touching him has you unconsciously parting your lips to deepen the kiss, causing the smell of raspberry to become stronger.

Hotch can immediately feel the stickiness of your mask on his mouth, and he’s tempted to pull away at the unfamiliarity of something on his lips, but then you’re sighing into him and his hands are suddenly on your waist where the bottom of your pajama top has barely lifted. The warmth of your skin was intoxicating.

You have to be the first one to break the kiss, and when Hotch opens his eyes, you’re staring at him, your smirk having morphed into a smile of disbelief. His eyes flit to the almost imperceptible smear of gloss at the corner of your mouth.

“You have a little…” You trail off, your eyes drifting to his own lips, your smile doing nothing to calm the erratic rhythm Hotch’s heart has taken.

Hotch wonders how much you had put on yourself because the amount that he can feel on his lips makes him immediately want to swipe at his mouth. But that would mean having to take his hands off of you and he doesn’t think he has the willpower for that.

Instead, he rubs his lips together in an effort to spread the tackiness equally over his lips before he says “I like it, but I don’t think I got enough.”

You huff a laugh at that, your fingers tightening from where they’re gripping the lapels of his dress shirt. “I think I can help you with that.”

five.

“Are you okay in there?”

“Just five more minutes, I promise!”

That’s what you had said ten minutes ago. It’s not like Hotch is impatient per se, just content that you had agreed to sleep over again after another late date night and there wasn’t a looming case coming up.

You had only slept over one other time when the team had gotten back from a case late and Hotch wasn’t going to let you drive yourself home when you could barely keep yourself standing. You had dozed off the entire car ride home, head leaning against the window which caused Hotch to adamantly avoid all the potholes and tight turns, and yet you still managed to do your skincare routine in his ensuite bathroom before coming to bed.

After that night in your hotel room, you’ve become bolder. You’re now sitting next to Hotch on the jet, you make your way up to his office when there were still plenty of people milling about in the bullpen, and the way you peer up at him through your eyelashes during case briefings has him itching for a cold shower.

Neither have you said anything to the rest of the team, but at this point, Hotch doesn’t think he has to with the way both Dave and Morgan have patted him on the back the day after you laughed at something Emily had said and leaned against him, leaving his shoulder thrumming from your warmth for the next hour.

Another five minutes pass and Hotch can still hear the clinking of your serums as you rummage through your cosmetics bag. He silently sets aside his phone to get up from his extremely comfortable spot in the bed to pad his way over to the bathroom.

The sight that greets him has Hotch’s stomach plummeting all over again.

You’re sporting that same headband with the pink bow again, however this time, you’re wearing one of his old academy shirts that had mysteriously gone missing from his dresser several weeks ago. You’re freshly showered and you’re holding onto some kind of strangely shaped metallic instrument that you’re scraping over your cheekbones and then down your neck. The way it drags over your skin has Hotch cringing sympathetically.

You immediately spot him, meeting his gaze through the mirror, and the way your eyes immediately light up has a small smile forming on Hotch’s face before he can help it. “Hey you.”

“Hey.” Hotch leans against the doorway, content to watch the clearly practiced movements of you rubbing your skin with this strange contraption. “It’s been over five minutes.”

You pout. “Sorry, I’ve been holding this off all week and I need to do it tonight.”

Hotch was sure that “need” was a strong word, but he doesn’t question it. He stopped questioning your thorough skincare routine months ago.

And then you turn to him, something mischievous tugging at your glossy lips. “Wanna try it?”

Apprehension thuds in his chest, but he takes a step forward into the glow of the bathroom anyway. “And what is it exactly?”

Detecting your hesitation a mile away, you give him a warm smile as you hold it up to him. “It’s called a gua sha. It’s supposed to help with blood flow and getting rid of toxins and all that.”

Hotch may not be a beauty or skincare expert, but he has doubts that this piece of metal can actually do all of those things. To be fair, he’s had quite a few doubts about most of the items you use and not so subtly make him try.

The delight painted clear on your face though has Hotch tucking those thoughts away. He’s sure he has no right to question one’s own method on how to relax.

“Okay.”

You immediately muffle a squeal and turn to grab some other serum you left out on the sink, a light gold swimming around in the bottle.

“I’ll only do half of your face, I promise.” You squeeze some of the mysterious liquid on your hands and reach up to pat the left side of his face.

It’s thicker than your usual products, most likely some kind of oil that smells like roses, but the heat from your hand and your close proximity has Hotch feeling inexplicably warm all over.

“Okay, now you just use this side to run up your cheekbone like this.” You demonstrate for him and he adamantly makes note of the light pressure you’re using. “And then you run it down your face and down your neck.”

When he attempts to copy your movements with the warm metal, he doesn’t notice any difference in how his skin feels or the blood flow in his face, but you’re studying him so closely that Hotch is tempted to say he does.

It’s a strange sensation, but honestly it doesn’t feel any different than if he used his own fingers to rub up against his cheekbone or jawline.

When he puts the piece of metal back in your open palm, you’re nearly teeming with excitement. “So, what do you think?”

He pauses. “I don’t think it’s for me, sweetheart.”

You pout but he can tell that you’re not offended. “Boo. Fine, I’ll meet you in bed, handsome.”

Hotch is about to turn back to go to bed before he remembers the thick oil covering half of his face, evenly dispersed but still uncomfortable and will surely stain his pillowcase. He attempts to discreetly wipe at it with his hand as best as he can before quickly rubbing it off on your arm and escaping.

The screech you let out echoes in his bathroom as you try to swat at him and narrowly miss, and the way he feels heat tinge at the tip of his ears is better than any metallic contraption’s claim to improve blood flow.

+1

On his days off, Hotch much prefers spending as much time as he can at home, either with Jack, you, or, more recently, both. Even if Hotch technically sees you every day in the bullpen, you at work is much different than the you at home.

Or at least, he likes to think there’s a difference as you drag him to the grocery store during what was possibly the quietest afternoon he’s had in several months.

I just have to pick up a couple of things, you had said as you buckle your seatbelt in the passenger side. We’ll be back home in a jiffy.

Never mind the fact that the word home coming from your lips has Hotch’s mind reeling. You’ve been seeing each other for several months now and he’s almost sure that you haven’t stepped foot in your own apartment for at least a month. You’ve taken up half of his dresser, most of his closet space, and the entirety of the counter space in the bathroom with your multi-colored serums and skincare tools that don’t work no matter what you claim.

He follows you around the store, dutifully pushing the grocery cart, as you mentally go through your checklist on all the toiletries you’re almost out of. Which is why he finds himself in the cosmetics aisle when you exclaim “Oh, I forgot about tomatoes for taco Tuesday!” and scamper off before he could say there were plenty of tomatoes from last time in the fridge because Jack has suddenly decided he doesn’t like them anymore.

He's content to wait, maybe check his emails on his phone, when he spots the familiar label of his face wash out of the corner of his eye.

It’s a brand that Haley had recommended for him when they were in college and Hotch knew absolutely nothing about skincare then, so he just continued buying it. He’s gone through countless bottles over the years, having used it nearly every day, yet Hotch finds himself frowning as he stares at the bright orange bottle.

The large bold letters advertise the cleanser being able to effectively combat oiliness, but Hotch distinctly remembers you offhandedly mentioning how lucky he was to have dry skin and not a combination like you.

Honestly, he had no idea, but it would make sense with how you were constantly slathering him in lotions and creams any chance you got.

He browses through the available cleansers, keeping an eye out for those that treat dry skin, when you sidle up next to him with a bag of tomatoes that were undoubtedly not going to get eaten. He can hear the hesitation in your voice when you ask “What are you doing?”

“Looking for something different.”

“Oh yeah? I knew I was wearing you down, Hotchner. Soon, you’re going to be begging me to take you to Sephora.” You’re joking but Hotch can detect the underlying seriousness in your voice.

He continues as if he didn’t hear you. “I’ve been using the wrong face wash for my skin so I’m looking for a different one. I probably haven’t been doing my skin any favors all these years.”

A pause. And then, incredulously, you say “Who taught you that?”

Finding one that was a good size and affordable enough to try, Hotch grabs it and throws it into the cart. When he meets your eyes, you’re staring up at him with a disbelieving smile.

“You did.” And it’s true—Hotch would’ve never thought about the long-term benefits of having a humidifier in the bedroom or the importance of sunscreen everyday if it weren’t for you. Taking care of your appearance was clearly important to you, which meant it was now important to him.

You stare at him, lips parted as if you’re at a loss for words. Your skin is glowing even under the harsh fluorescent grocery store lighting. “You’re such a sweet talker, you know that?”

You toss the tomatoes in the cart, making him wince, and loop your arm through his to tug him along the aisle. You smell sugary sweet with maybe a hint of his cologne from where you had slept in one of his old shirts last night. Hotch remembers how he had felt lightheaded, fondness flooding his chest, when he woke to you laying on his chest this morning. He tugs you closer into his side.

“Does this mean that you’ll try that new light therapy mask that I bought?”

“One step at a time, honey.”

taglist <3 @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover @maeintree @pastelpinkflowerlife @storiesofsvu @actualdeemon

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 10

Added dividers because I felt like the time skip/scene change would become confusing without any indication of it.

I really need an answer on how y'all feel about Immortal x Dupli-kate cuz depending on the popular opinion stuff will change 🤐 I'm willing to split a lot of people up for the drama and/or miscommunication nonsense

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 10 >>next

Some place where the supernatural meets the normal, a little place called The Oblivion Bar, John Constantine simply sat shocked at the words he managed to hear and process through his mushed brain. Bobo closes his hung jaw, drinks his whiskey, and pats his friend’s shoulder as the man mumbles a sobering spell, cringing at the effects. “I should go. Good luck, John.” And so, the chimpanzee quickly makes his exit, leaving the Laughing Magician and Death of the Endless to their business.

“I need you to walk me through this again, luv- wasn’t quite paying attention.” Constantine shook his head as he fully turned to face the smiling entity. “You and who did what?!” He hissed, voice barely above a whisper as he tried not to bring attention to what they were saying. This was bad. Really bad.

“Lady Gotham and I took a liking to Batman’s youngest daughter and-“ John quickly interrupted her. “And gave her magical powers beyond my comprehension and immortality- yes, I heard that, did you?!” The man rubbed his face, the thought was making him want to get drunk until he dropped. ”Have you gone mad? Giving a mortal immortality is more of Dream’s style you should know better-“

Death only smiled at him, amusement filling her eyes as she gently laid a hand on his shoulder making him tense up. “She was lonely, she deserves every happiness those powers and eternity are bound to give her. You’ll understand once you see her.” And boy, did John laugh his gut out at that as he shook his finger. “No- no, no, no- there’s no way I insert myself into that mess- Bat’s family is already a mess and reeks of you without magic- No- There’s no way- that’s bonkers-“

Death gets up with a bright smile. “Thank you, John.” Her words make him stutter almost choking on his breath at the audacity. “Don’t thank me ya loon! I’m not going to help her, I’m not even going to see the moppet!” He can only yell and cuss as she leaves.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

 “Alright, Cecil-“ The old man immediately interrupted you, the little communication device in your ear buzzing with life as he told you to not use names. “… Dude… I’m miles in the air, first of all! Second, that was like a really common name once. it’ll take a while to find you specifically, and I doubt anyone could anyway- you seem like the type that would erase himself from the gov’s documents.”

“Anyway-“ You didn’t give him time to say anything else. “What house am I supposed to go to again? And why?”

The old man sighs at your antics, rubbing the side of his forehead as he feels the headache coming while he gives the address once more. “Your brother’s teacher, Mr. Hiles, has been the mall bomber. It took us a while, he was smart about it, kept his search into biological bomb-making off the internet but he wasn’t that thorough about his paper trail.”

“Be prepared for anything and a confrontation.” The older man cleared his throat. You always made him nervous; you were an unexpected equation in everything, something he couldn’t control without risking Earth. Donald and everyone else just took his weariness and suspicion as him being overly cautious, but Cecil could tell something was clinging to you that just gave him nightmares.

“And thank you- usually I would have sent someone from the Teen Team but…uh-“ His eyes followed the action on another screen. “They’re busy. Your brother and father are helping them.”

“You’re nervous. Yapping again. Chill, I’ll take care of it. Just because I don’t want to be your little puppet doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep people safe.” You found the man irritating, but for now, he was being sane, actually doing his job, so you couldn’t complain. “Getting closer to the target. Going dark.”  Was the only warning the man got before the com was powered off.

Finally ready to land you politely greeted the man, walking through the training both Cecil and Nolan provided at the start of your vigilantism. “I didn’t expect to get caught quite this early, and I certainly expected… more conventional authorities when the time did come.” Professor Hiles just sighs and welcomes you in by your birth name. “How did you-“

“Are you kidding me? Mark is unable to shut up about you. And you forget to wear your hood more times than you do wear it.” The man said as he took off his sweater. “Follow me, I’ll show you to the fourth missing student. I assure you, I have no intention of resisting.” Well… This was easier than expected.

As he started to confess about how he started doing this, he led you to his basement. “Mr. Hiles, while I understand the loss of a child to suicide, a divorce, and the loss of a job ruined you until you hit rock bottom, avenging your son like this-“

“I’m not avenging the death of my son. That would be far too cliché.” Your eyes landed on the teen strapped to the table once he turned on the light, breath hitching as you saw the skin of his arms merging sloppily with the metallic torso the professor modified. “It’s the destruction of my life that has me seeking revenge.”

“The domino effect of pain and sorrow that these monsters create. Children who spend too much time at the mall, attend parties, consume alcohol, and play sports when they should be studying and doing homework.”

“I understand your ire, I’m not one for parties or drunks, but not all kids who do that stuff go to extremes, that’s a flawed logic- it does not give you the right to play god and do-“ You tried to placate him, keeping your tone soft and even, to try and make him see reason. “What I did to all of them, turning them into living bombs, an instrument with which to exact my revenge… my crusade to end the pain and sorrow by these- ‘popular’ kids… I feel no guilt for.”

“I can’t think of a more appropriate end to my crusade-” Mr. Hiles ripped open the shirt he was wearing, revealing the same mechanism the unconscious teen had. “-than the death of a superhero!” You quickly acted, not letting him talk more beyond that as the timer set to 50 seconds started trickling down while you grabbed him, breaking through his ceilings and roof and flying high in the air.

“Is this really how you want to die? Suicide bomb? You still can make this right- you don’t have to die like this just tell me how to deactivate it!“ Your eyes remained on the clock. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen. The man just chuckled a dry, humorless laugh. “Do it. There is nothing for me anymore.” Five, four, three.

You couldn’t tell if what you felt was sorrow or shame, but you knew you were defeated. The man was going to get one final death, but it won’t be yours. As your flight came to a stop well above the clouds, you threw the man higher in front of you as the clock struck one second, and as it hit zero, the bomb detonated, the range and heat of the explosion destroying any remains while pushing you back a bit.

Your eyes remained on the cloud of smoke it created. If the cops found him before you did, the bomb would have wiped out the neighbors, too. That’s what hero life was, what it is. Sacrifices left and right that only made you feel more at odds with this job than before.

As you went back to the house, you activated the com, putting it back into your ear. Cecil immediately informs you that the police are en route as well as his clean-up team. “Get an explosive ordnance disposal technician, too. There is a teen in the basement, the bomb doesn’t seem active yet, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’ll send a report of what happened soon.” You stayed until Cecil’s people showed up, just to be sure the boy was still breathing and that the bomb wouldn’t activate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Helping Brit and the other heroes clean up the rubble from the alien attack helped keep your mind off things. The Brit enjoyed talking about his kid and wife, yapping until he needed to take a breath and then starting again keeping a smile on your face.

You enjoyed helping clean up, especially when there were no casualties, today wasn't that type of day. But it had become the easy, relaxing part of the job, pick big rubble up, place it into the waste trucks, pick another piece up, make sure to not hit the man in the trench coat, put it in the waste- wait…

Your head snaps back to the man, squinting as your eyes meet. You each take a second to take each other in before your eyes widen in surprise. “Hello, luv. I’m-“ You couldn’t help your excitement as recognition finally settled into your brain. “I know you-“ Your words made John cringe and tense up. When others said that it never ended well for him. “You’re Johnny Con-Job, the lead singer for Mucous Membrane, dude, your band got me into the punk culture.”

That… wasn’t what he expected. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of that or fight back the mental breakdown that was creeping up his spine. “You’re a bit young for that slop, no?” You just shrug. “Your songs got me to finally put myself first, to get the courage to sneak out, see other stuff beyond the walls of my first house, help others, and leave my neglectful family before they could seriously hurt me.” Her words worried him. John never took Bruce as the “lock his kids up” type, but the man was as paranoid as they came, he wouldn’t put that above him.

“It may be slop and shitty vocals, but it’s what I needed to hear.” You teased him while putting the rubble in the waste collector. He watched as you approached him with a soft smile and sparkling eyes. He could see what Death meant. “I need to talk to you. I’m not quite sure about what luv, but I think it’s about Batman-“ He didn’t get to finish, as soon as the name left his mouth, he was grabbed by the throat and lifted well above the clouds, way too close to the ozone layer. “Did he send you?” you hissed, giving his neck a warning squeeze.

Yup. He definitely saw what Death meant as your eyes glowed a Lazarus green. “Nno-“ He choked out. “Did Bruce Wayne send you?” her question was met with the same answer. Your grip softened, grabbing him by his coat instead of his neck as you brought him closer. “Then why are you here?”

“We need to talk in private…” He whispered as he realized the situation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

This was a whole mess that John Constantine knew he should have stayed out of- he knew! From Bruce to the whole family basically ignoring the kid, not even telling her about the vigilantism, to the rogues taking her in and doing a better job of raising her to her running away and getting adopted by another hero- a hero that John knew wanted to conquer the world, the whole fucking race wanted to, the fucking demons had a problem with that and wouldn’t stop complaining to him like he can fix it- he takes a deep breath in. “Why are you telling me all of this?” He whined, rubbing his face as he sat on the edge of some skyscraper with you.

“I’m not hiding my past, I’ll happily snitch and tell a reporter that Bruce Wayne is a shit father, they all just assume I’m Nolan’s actual kid that was in the hospital for a deadly something or whatever.” You shrug. “Please don’t- not because I care about the bellend- I just don’t want to deal with… Huh. Now that I’m thinking about it, that may be great blackmail.” His words only made you snicker.

He didn’t know where to begin. Did she know about the Viltrumite? Was she in cahoots with him? Should he tell her any of that? Would she even believe his ass? Maybe he should get the JL involved...

The scruffy man shook his head. “Not why I’m here. You said your hero name is Sorceress? Great, so you know you have magic powers, that makes it easy-“ John took in your shocked expression. Of course, it wasn’t that easy, it never could be. “If this was another world, I’d call you crazy.” You told him simply. “But Midnight City is cursed, and I guess that makes sense… Is that why I can hear the shadows speak?”

John nodded before doing a double take, asking you to elaborate on the shadows speaking part.  “They just speak, whisper, giggle the whole thing. They can also emit what they feel. They’ve always been present, they’re not as strong here, but I think that’s because they’re more tied to Gotham and Midnight City… or just- where there is more darkness.”

“Well, you’re not far off there, love.” The man nodded in agreement as his eyes drifted to the dark dome around the cursed city. He knew where to start. “This is going to be a long explanation, you better strap in, hen, and let me finish before you ask questions.”

“You remember the painting and murals you made of gods and other entities, demons, angels, the whole sort, in Gotham and here? Yeah, they brought the attention to you from the entities you drew. Some of the moppets took them as a higher form of offering than others, a few of them decided to stick around you.”

“Those have also decided to- ‘bless’ you with a few gifts, I’m not sure of all of them, but I know specifically that Lady Gotham offered the shadows as a companion and protector, and I know that Death of the Endless has blessed you with… well, immortality.” There was no way of walking around that fact. “I don’t remember if any of these two also gave you your powers, I was quite sloshed, but someone did.” John looked at the kit, taking in her shocked expression before he nudged you a bit. “Come on, kid, say something. You got me all worried here.”

“It’s all just- a bit much.” You mumble. “Yeah, I get it. A lot for you to shoulder, but I’m sure you’ll power through- oh, thanks love… Wha- How-“ John’s eyes moved from the beer in his hands to the energy can you were looking at. You just shrug. "I wanted to know if I could, thought…” You narrow your eyes at the can in your hands. “I’m not sure if this is made out of thin air or just- teleported or something.”

Constantine just slowly looks back at his beer mug… She was taking this better than most. He hoped it was because the shock hadn’t worn off yet. Well, he’s had worse things in his mouth, he's sure, so with a shrug, he takes a sip, humming with delight at the taste, muttering something about this being real beer. “You’re here to help me, right? Like- with my powers… I- I think I need help with this whole worshipping gods and demons- entities- thing, too.”

He knew the easy way out would be to say no, to just leave, she had done just fine without him… But that isn’t what came out of his mouth. “Sure, poppet. Just keep on giving me this fine beer.” Given his track record with people and magic, he shouldn’t feel this accomplished at your happiness, but he was always quite selfish, so he returned your hug, even if he was a bit stiff.

“Now- usually the normal thing is to go from small stuff to big, teach the basics, but I’m not one for rules. Have you ever wanted to teleport via portals?” The big mischievous smile you gave him was all the answer he needed.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You came home at the same time as Nolan and Mark, everyone’s first stop after greeting Debbie was their bedrooms to refresh themselves before going back to the dining area. “I’m going to be honest, Nolan, the longer hair and full beard fit you better than the silly mustache. Right, mom?” You couldn’t help the teasing as the whole family ate. Debbie looked at Nolan with a scrutinizing eye, before sighing and giving an amused smile. “I’ll definitely miss the beard.”

Mark snorted at the teasing as Nolan pouted, brows furrowing. “It’s not silly- it’s a rite of passage into manhood by the Viltrumite culture-“ you couldn’t help but interrupt. “It’s still a silly-looking mustache. What does the Viltrumite rite of passage for women look like?”

Nolan’s momentary displeasure at the mustache comment was overlooked as the inquiry about the Viltrumite women was brought forth. “Huh… I’m not sure, I never really paid attention to that. I think some cut their hair.” A puff of air escaped you in amusement before deciding to tease him some more. “Well, you clearly weren’t planning for a daughter that’s sure.”

Debbie just took in the chatter. She enjoyed the easy atmosphere, the laughter of her kids. “So, how was everyone’s day?” She asks once the chatter stops. “Oh, I met the Teen Team and helped them with the Flaxan attack, dad got kidnapped by them while I was trying to gather up survivors, made friends with Atom Eve, and met an alien called Allen who apparently got the wrong planet.” Mark shrugged.

“I spent the last eight months enslaved by an army from an alternative dimension, although it seems much less time has passed here. About a week ago, I led a revolt against my captors and regained control of my powers. Today, a team of scientists from the rebellion found a way to get me home.” Nolan lied as easily as he breathed.

“One of Mark’s teachers was turning his classmates into organic bombs in order to take revenge on kids he felt were like the ones who led his son to commit suicide. He turned himself into a bomb also and tried to take me out with him but clearly, it didn’t work in his favor. Helped clean up after the Flaxan mess, and met the lead singer of Mucous Membrane who apparently is a mage. He was here on behalf of Death herself to help me and tell me that my powers aren’t because I’m a meta, they’re magic. Oh, and also, I’m allegedly immortal.” You took a sip of water. “Lex also wants to know if anyone would be interested in attending one of his rich folk parties.”

At the quietness of the room, you lifted your eyes from your plate to look at everyone’s shocked glance. “What?” you ask with a mouth full of food.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

That night, the teens wanted to sleep with their parents, both needing reassurance. Debbie and Mark were already gone, sleeping deep and peacefully. “Dad… You awake?” your question was whispered as your head lay on Deborah's shoulder. He answered with a warm hand squeezing your shoulder and a quiet hum. “...How do you move past people you can’t save or the people we have to sacrifice?”

Nolan wasn’t sure how to answer that, he’d never felt anything for the people he couldn’t save. He knew that if he had to save earth’s people or his kids and wife… Well… Earth can be populated again. “You look at the people who you did save. We can’t always save everyone, that’s the sad reality. It’s… painful. But it’s a truth all heroes have to come to terms with. Even I can’t save everyone.” Nolan wrapped his arms around his girls and son tighter, pulling everyone closer. “If all you could save was a person, you still did everything you could. If you couldn’t save anyone, you just have to keep your head high and try again.”

You snuggled closer into your mom, feeling her arm instinctively wrap around you as you draped yours over her and Nolan’s stomach, your fingers laying on Mark’s wrist. The sad reality of being a hero...

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou

I'M REALLY SORRY IF I FORGOT SOMEBODY- MY DOC SOMETIMES FORGETS TO SAVE AND I HAD TO READD PPL

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝕭REAKING HEARTS ᝰ! S.L.

˚⟡˖ ࣪౨ৎ summary: girlfriend material sophia strikes again, and this time round, she has no intention of keeping how much she cares about you a secret. best be known you don't mess with sophia laforteza when it came to you... she'll be breaking a lot more than hearts thats for sure

disclaimers: obvious!sophia, mostly fluff, protective!sophia, younger member!reader, everybody simping for ya’ll

prev, next (so many of yall are threatening to kill my family if i don’t do more sophia content so here she is 🫶)

Y/N AND SOPHIA PROVING L/NFIZ DEFINITELY DOES (NOT) EXIST PART. 2

17.2k likes | 330k views | 18th Dec, 24

*Loud technical difficulty transition* [ WEVERSE LIVE ] join a y/nfiz hangout <3 You and Sophia started a live while waiting for the girls to come home from a schedule

You sat beside the Filipina leader, your collared shirt unbuttoned and creased, your hair a slight mess and your day-old make up still on your face. The fans loved the domestic look you always seemed to serve when you were at home, and it was safe to say they noticed Sophia was too.

Whilst she ranted on about some silly story you had already heard her tell a million times, you checked yourself out in the camera, the crease in your white shirt collar gave you an itch you desperately needed scratched.

Your hands came up to pop open the collar to your shirt more, revealing your bare chest down the low V cut of the button-up. The fans had begun tuning Sophia’s story out too, because gradually, the chat flooded with comments on your peculiar choice in styling, which caught the attention of the rambling woman. She glanced between you and the comments on the screen, her hand instinctively shooting up to grab your shirt.

user01 raw. next question.

user02 Omg she’s actually tryna kill us w the fit

user03 don’t be shy pop it open a little more ^^

user04 y/n baby save it for the bedroom

“Yo, watch it,” Sophia warned, adjusting your collar so you would be covered up to the base of your neck.

Your hands grab hers gently as you chuckled at the tense expression on her face. “Fia, calm down, I’m like twenty-one, I can wear an open-collared shirt if I want to.” You nodded towards the thirsty comments, smirking. “Besides, it sounds more like the fans want me to.”

Sophia grimaced, her face twisting into something negative before adjusting her sitting position so she was in front of you. She was in an oversized hoodie, so it shielded your body from the camera perfectly.

“Absolutely not if I have something to say about it,” she shook her head, moving her body so she would be shielding you away from the camera. “What’re you all looking at, hm?”

user05 dang baby ain’t nobody tryna snatch her😭

user06 It’s okay cuz if y/n was mine I would gatekeep too

user07 ntm on my girl sophia yall know damn well you’d do the same thing if y/n was your girlfriend

user08 SOPHIA SHARING IS CARING

You sighed, lips quirked at the older woman’s antics. “Can I talk to my people, Laforteza? Or are you gonna hold my shirt like this for the rest of the live?”

“Are you gonna button this all the way up?”

Your eyes widened, “All the way up? What am I, somebody’s Christian mom? Absolutely not!”

“Then yes, the rest of the live.”

user09 sophia confirmed brat tamer

user10 This is too much for my brain man

user11 Idk what’s crazier y/n’s fit or Sophia going all overprotective girlfriend

Eventually, Sophia would shed the hoodie she was wearing and drape it over you, despite your apparent protesting. The friends made note of the way she still seemed adamant on keeping you in the background as your hands peeked through the long sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt.

[ are they looking for a third to their marriage? ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* KATSEYE MANA Dance Practice; Sophia’s behind the scenes interview

All the members were asked to send you a message. You were out sick and couldn’t make it the day they filmed the dance practice (you did eat so hard at MAMA don’t worry), and as the girls were asked about their feelings, their experiences working towards an award show like MAMA and what they took from this opportunity. Sophia, as the leader, her interview was put last, and she got asked the most hard-hitting questions.

She knew you were getting some backlash from being sick that PR day, it made things much more exaggerated, as if you weren’t present for a lot of things.

[ y/n defender till i die. if i see one comment calling her lazy or untalented, i WILL be reporting you ]

The question: “How have you managed to keep yourself motivated and help support the girls through this journey towards achieving such a milestone?” Immediately, Sophia being Sophia begun ranting on about how every member did their jobs amazingly, how she could not be prouder, how she could not imagine herself fulfilling her dream with such a beautiful group of passionate artists. She then spun her rant away from Manon being a pillar behind the scenes to you, whom your manager had asked her to give a message to.

“It’s actually been really disheartening,” she sighed, her wide smile faltering just the slightest. It was obvious, the way you could see genuine emotion seep through the cracks of her pr training. “y/n’s been sick for about a week, she can barely get out of bed and she just—She’s been working especially hard for this, because this has always been a dream of hers. Most days, we have one of our phones on facetime with her at home. You can actually see her following along next to her bed, and she gets teased so hard for it.”

[ my poor baby, i’m glad she put health first ]

Sophia chuckled softly, “That girl—that girl is so stubborn. I’ve told her so many times to just stay in bed and get better soon so she can actually practice with us here, but I never win that argument.” The camera angle switches to a closer look at Sophia’s expression. Her eyes pan from her hands back up to main camera off screen, glossy and brushed with a tinge of melancholy. “It breaks my heart to see her cry. She loves doing what we do, and not being able to do it makes her feel like she’s disappointing everybody. And the girls do a really good job of making sure those thoughts eventually leave, but she’s just so hard on herself. That is… definitely part of what makes her such an amazing performer, but it’s also what we, as a group, as a family—as Katseye, stand for.”

She pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath. The words, “The members messages to their missing friend:” appear.

“y/n, if you’re watching at home, I love you. The dance room’s not the same without you here, we all miss you, and we really cannot hope any harder for you to feel better soon.” She blew the camera a kiss, “I’ll see you at home. Love you.”

[ she said i love you twice… SHE SAID IT TWICE ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* Katseye Christmas Video; a segment of the video had the members paired off and decorating their ugly sweaters, naturally, to atone to popular demand, you and Sophia were coupled up

“Yours is not looking good right now,” you teased, snorting at the third glop of hot glue yanking the little fibres off the sweater. You, yourself, didn’t have the most impressive artistic ability, but you enjoyed watching the older pout and grow fussy whenever you would make a comment about her struggling to bring her vision to life. “What is that supposed to be, Rudolph’s distant cousin Rude elf?”

Sophia rolled her eyes, letting out a whiney grumble. “It’s not even that bad, it has a good personality. Stop judging it!”

[ y/nfiz fans getting fed everyone say THANK YOU HYBE ]

You rummaged through the box of decorations you were provided, feeling your attention momentarily divert from the heat exhuming from the show lights. You pulled out a couple streamers, Christmas balls before you found a particular piece of decor that caught your eye.

Apart from the sweaters, you had to make a hat, and you knew everybody was in competition for the most ridiculous design. Inspiration struck, and you had the best idea.

When the sweaters were done, you slipped it on. Yours was a pastel shade of red, with the words “Wish list: Eyekons” spelt out with stickers. You looped the streams along the sleeves, taking the balls all over the sweater. As you stood in front of the slow-mo camera for your glam shot, you could see Sophia smiling at you in your peripheral. You smiled into the camera, blowing them a kiss with a cheeky wink.

[ she’s so fine i need her i need her i need- *gunshots* ]

Back at your table, you added the last touch of glitter before fully giving the camera another close look at your creation. You turned to the Filipina, who adjusted her on.

“Wait, Fia, you gotta look at this.”

She glanced at the camera, a nervous grimace sprawled across her face as you bent behind the table to pick up your hat. “You and creative genius do not mix, like I have a seriously bad feeling about this—!”

You set the hat on your head, a fedora you wrapped in Justin Bieber Christmas wrapping paper. Around the base tied a long rope of frills, strung at the very front a tiny, dangling piece of mistletoe flailing just inches away from your eyes. You beamed, proud of the hat. You eyed the cameras, before puckering your lips in an exaggerated manner. Your hands clasped together, eyes closed. “I’m waiting.”

[ #thisisthemostiveeverrelatedtoanidol ]

Sophia slapped a hand over her forehead, scoffing. “You’ve got to be kidding me, there’s no way you did that.”

“You gotta respect the tradition, Laforteza, come on!” you ushered, leaning in closer as you pouted. “I want my kiss.”

[ sophia’s stronger than me i would’ve folded right there ]

Sophia eyed something off camera, getting a sleek look of approval from your manager.

“Fine, come here.” She sighed, an amused smile on her lips. She cradled your face carefully, tilting her own head before pressing a gentle kiss onto your cheek. When she pulled back, the camera zoomed in on the lipstick stain nearly touching the corner of your mouth. “Merry Christmas, l/n.”

You shot the camera the widest smile, “I must’ve been a good girl this year, cuz my Christmas wish just came true.”

[ no cuz the editors knew what they were doing keeping this bit in for the starving y/nfiz truthers ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* [ KATSEYE VLOG ] Here are four separate occasions from the same video where Sophia just can’t keep her hands off you

Clip one: You stood up from your seat, second from the left and right in between Sophia and Daniela. You threw pumpkin guts at Lara, who wouldn’t stop making fun of the way you couldn’t balance on your heels earlier when you were filming winx club tiktok’s. Sophia’s hand cupped the back of your skirt, her own pumpkin long forgotten. She pressed the piece of clothing against your thighs, making sure you wouldn’t flash the entire world as you focused on dousing the Indian singer in your pumpkin’s insides.

Clip two: As the six of you waited for Megan to finish up in hair and makeup, Sophia’s arm wrapped around your neck. You, Yoonchae and Manon were deep in conversation about the last time the group was altogether for a schedule, with Sophia mindlessly watching you talk. Fans pointed out her apparent gaze switching back and forth from your eyes to your lips, a small smile perched on her own lips as she watched you joke around with your bandmates.

Clip three: The two of you were pulled aside, tasked to organize the girls into groups to set up a quick little jumpscare for Megan as a surprise to celebrate her official return to Katseye activities since her back injury. Though the video showed a wide are of the studio where you two stood, Sophia seemed adamant on staying just inches away from you, her attention solely fixed on the way your eyebrows furrowed at the ipad they had handed you. Fans noted this as one of the more subtle but iconic l/nfiz moments.

Clip four: As Daniela thanked the fans for tuning in to watch the special Halloween edition of Katseye vlogs, Sophia could be seen grabbing at your hip. Given, her other arm was around Yoonchae, but her hand merely dangled off her shoulder, unlike the sure grip you could see she had on your waist.

[ let’s play fanservice or just gay for the 193837th time ]

*Loud technical difficulty transiition* [ WEVERSE LIVE ] Manon and Daniela being big mouths ;)

“I’m pregnant with talent… I’m pregnant with star quality,” Manon announced confidently, earning a judgemental look from her roommate beside her.

“That’s one way to put it, that’s for sure.” Daniela mocked.

“Where are the others—Okay, hold up, I got this. Let me cook!” Manon set her brush down, raising a finger, the other hand pointing at that finger. “Lara’s out with her sister, Yoonchae’s sleeping next door right now, and… Megan’s still at home seeing her family.” Daniela hummed, “Yeah, her flight’s tomorrow.” Manon nodded, “Yeah, so Megan’s not back yet. And Laffy and n/n are out on their little date right now.”

Daniela squealed, slapped her in the arm, “Stop! People are gonna take that outta context!”

Manon faked a scared gasp, going back to fixing her hair. “Hybe, if you’re watching, I didn’t say that.”

user01 l/nfiz on a date… i can die happy now

user02 MANZ JUST CONFIRMED L/NFIZ LESGO

user03 never EVER pr train this woman

“Yeah, wait, I think Sophia posted it.” Daniela pulled up a Weverse post Sophia had put up not long ago of her in a movie theatre in front of a movie poster. “y/n’s been meaning to watch the movie for her favourite actress and Sophia, of course, agreed to go with her. They’re getting us dinner on the way home, so I’m praying y/n does the shopping. Sophia always tries to trick us into eating healthy.”

“Yeah, she thinks she’s slick too,” Manon snorted, “Let’s be so for real though, y/n opens her mouth and I ain’t ever heard Sophia respond with ‘no’, that’s all I’m saying.”

user04 Manon is so messy I love her

user05 so she’s a down bad girlfriend huh…

user06 manon is a mindset i want to embody

“Yeah, y/n just exists and Sophia’s smitten. Bro, last time they went out for a ‘quick grocery run’, they came back with bags on bags of shopping. I know this little gold digger did not pay with her own money,” Daniela chirped, “I was in the living room when Sophia’s dad called to ask why her card was maxed out.”

Manon sighed, “Chat, let me tell you, Sophia spoils y/n rotten. And I mean, rotten. This woman don’t need no sugar daddy, she done made a sugar momma outta Laffy.”

“Sophia plays favourites. I don’t appreciate it.” Daniela joked.

[ so basically sophia’s THAT type gf, ok, ok… taking notes for science rn ]

[ghostfacd]

WIRED AUTOCOMPLETE. | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. in which you and tom make a special appearance on wired’s autocomplete interview

installment of this au | recommend reading for more context

“Hi — we’re Y/N Avocot and Tom Blyth — and this is the Wired Autocomplete Interview!”

You’re both handed a white board, bigger than your face, and there’s a list of questions with some of the words covered.

“Do you want to go first?” Tom asks, giving you a small smile.

“Yes! I’m pretty excited actually,” you begin to peel off the first question. “Okay, first question: what was Y/N Avocot’s first role?”

You think for a moment, “well in terms of roles in general, my first acting role was very small and I believe it was for this ice cream commercial as a kid. I’m not sure if it’s still up but my mom had signed me up for it and they thought I was a really cute kid so they casted me.”

Tom laughs, “really?” He then retrieves his board from the crew. “Okay my turn. Why does Coriolanus Snow turn evil?”

That question makes you slightly giggle, because it’s so broad that it’s nearly impossible for Tom to narrow down exactly what it is that made Coriolanus suddenly switch. “I believe you should be asking Suzanne Collins, shout-out to her for making the entire trilogy and prequel. But honestly? I think he was always power hungry, and even though Tigris tried her very best to bring out the humanity in him, it was just never enough. Especially after Sejanus’s death, I think Coriolanus realized there was no going back.”

“Oh wow,” you say, very impressed with how he decided to answer it. “That was a terrific answer Tom.”

“Thank you m’lady.” You giggle at his antics, rolling your eyes jokingly.

“What role does Y/N Avocot play in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes?” You clear your throat, imitating one of your character’s iconic resting bitch face.

“I play Balleona Laurent, duh.” You joke. “Anyway, yes, I play Balleona, also known as Leona. She’s originally from the Capitol just like Coriolanus. They met at the academy and she automatically knew she had to have him. She comes from the Laurent family, which is a very very wealthy, well off, intimidating family that Coriolanus knows he just has to get into, which is why they start dating. I don’t wanna spoil too much of Leona and Corio in the movie, soooo you guys should definitely check it out!”

“Alright,” Tom adjusts himself in his seat, ripping off the paper for the next question. “Does Tom Blyth have a girlfriend?”

He pretends to think, which makes you bite your lip, suppressing a laugh. “Hmm, very complex question.”

“Oh give the people what they want!” You tease, “yes he does. He’s inlove with Jennifer Lawrence.”

“I am not inlove with Jennifer Lawrence!” He exclaims quickly, “although I greatly admire her work. My girlfriend is Y/N Avocot over here, sadly.”

“Sadly?!” You fake offense, “cut the cameras. I’m gonna beat Tom up.”

You peel away at your next question, the interview already being loads of fun for the both of you. “Is Y/N Avocot a good singer?”

Your head falls forward, and Tom’s automatic instinct is to catch you, not realizing you’re only joking. “Oh God, I hope so!” You say, laughing as you pick your head up. “I’m no Mariah Carey but I like to think I’m a pretty okay singer.”

“More than okay,” Tom chimes in, which makes you laugh.

“Aw, thanks Tom.”

Tom reaches to peel another question off. “Is Tom Blyth American?” This question makes you almost spit out the water you were currently taking a sip out of. “Well, a lot of people get shocked when I say I’m from the UK. I mean, is my American accent that good?”

“Guess so,” you shrug. “Okay next. Is Y/N Avocot in The Summer I Turned Pretty?”

You clasp your hands together excitedly, giving the camera a wide smile. “Yes! I play Maekella Fisher, also known as Ella Fisher, Steven Conklin’s love interest and sister to Conrad and Jeremiah. The first season airs out soon so please stay tune for that! I’m so excited to be apart of this amazing show with such amazing people.”

“I always come to watch her on set,” Tom says, “they’re all such funny and charismatic people. I swear I’ve became friends with everyone on Y/N’s cast.”

“Okay, my last question,” Tom peels off the paper, grinning. “Will Tom Blyth star in another movie soon?”

He smirks, eyes playfully looking into the camera. “Who knows? But I do know that something exciting will be coming out soon so prepare yourselves!”

“Way to tease the crowd Blyth,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Anyway! My last question, this was quick. What is Y/N Avocot’s skincare routine? Oh, I’ve been waiting for this one.”

You sit on the edge of your seat, and Tom finds it endearing that you’re so excited about something as small as this.

“First, I rinse my face with cold water and I dip my face in a bowl of ice and water for 3 minutes. Afterwards, I put on my dewy toner from Innisfree, it’s so smooth and nice. Sometimes I’m too lazy for this step but I also put on sunscreen, it’s important so I always remind myself to not forget— but I love to use Supergoop Unseen’s Sunscreen. I use drunk elephant’s bronze drops if I wanna go for a sunkissed look that day, but I usually don’t. And then I just shake my Tower facial spray and spray it all over my face. Usually, I touch up my eyebrows and do my eyeliner but that’s really about it!”

“It’s true,” Tom adds. “She asked me if I could go buy her the tower spray yesterday because she was almost out.”

“No need to expose me like that,” you say, clinging your arms onto his. “Well thank you guys for watching!”

“Thank you!” Tom and you wave at the camera, smiling brightly.

[mtsyik]

Masterlist

The first time shoto Todoroki sees you, you are a shy six year old girl. Trailing after your mother with every step she takes, clinging unto her long skirt to feel secure in the presence of the number two and his youngest son.

Shoto takes his time looking at you, how you seemed so much more frail and fragile than him. It was the first time he felt bigger than someone else, it was also the first time he was sure he could protect someone.

So with trembling hands, he lets go of his mother's hand and gestures at you to do the same. He tries to be sneaky so as not to alert his elders, but he doesn't miss his mothers smile as he takes your hand in his.

The second time Shoto Todoroki sees you, you are quite grown. Now nearing the age of ten, his mother's calming presence is nowhere around. He sulks next to his father as he sits on the fancy couch in the middle of your living room. He ignores the conversation that is happening about his future quirk marriage with you and rather focuses on the pattern of the fancy carpet that is laid on the floor. From the corner of his eye, he catches a figure peaking from behind the bookshelf on his far right. Then, he sees a small hand gesturing for him to come near. His heart decides before his mind gets a say, and with careful footsteps comes near you. You grab your hand in his and usher him to hide away from your parents' gaze. Shoto blushes madly when you carefully remove his eyebandage to apply some nurturing cream on his burn, with you shyly mumbling that you had been searching for it all morning. Huh. Maybe ending up with you wasn't so bad after all.

The third time Shoto Todoroki sees you, he is certain it is the last. At the prime age of fifteen, he is now more rebellious than ever. Finally sick of his father's antics to try and persuade him into following his footsteps. So with a heavy heart, and an even heavier tone, he is forced to look at you dead in the eye and proclaim that he would rather die than marry you.

He watches as you blink, clearly taken aback. The grip you had on the basket with baked goods (courtesy of your maid to offer to the Todoroki household) loosening. Your eyes glisten with tears that are threading to spill any second now. Shoto's face is as cold as his heart now as he decides to look away. He turns on his heel and walks away from you, satisfied that he hurt his father and his relationship with your family by refusing your hand in marriage. He tries to ignore the faint voice in his head that is telling him that he hurt you in the process as well.

But he figures that you would be better off without him as well, and hopes you end up marrying someone you are truly in love with.

It comes as a surprise to him that he sees you a fourth time as well. Now, being twenty-three years old, adult Shoto Todoroki is quickly rising in the hero ranks. He is surrounded by people he loves, both friends and family. His relationship with his father is strained, but the effort is there. His life since the beginning of UA has turned around for the better.

Still, poor Shoto can't help but think about you. Your older sister had kept in touch with Fyumi, and from what he is hearing, you have also been bettering your life. Not only did you defy your parents and end up living with your sister from the moment you turned eighteen, you managed to get into one of the top colleges in Japan, studying what you love. You are officially the first woman in your family with a higher education, and your parents hate that. Shoto admires it, though. He always knew you would end up doing great things indeed.

His thoughts had been racing, memories of you engulfing his mind, making it too hard for him to think. He wonders what would have happened if the two of you had met in different circumstances. Like bumping into each other at a convenience store.

He sighs as he walks into the local store his neighborhood offers him and greets the nice old lady (that almost passes out every time Shoto makes an appearance). The shop is not too big but not too small either; he smiles at the people that recognize him and waves at the kids that stare in awe at their favorite hero that is in their local convenience store.He makes a bee-line for the candy aisle, having memorized the shop by now, and crouches to get a candy bar from the bottom shelf. He is taken aback when a shopping cart bumps into him, and he turns his head to look at the person responsible.

"O-oh! Gosh, I am sorry. I-i didn't see you.."

Well, being on your phone while you're shopping certainly distracted you. Not only did you miss your favorite candy bar by being too slow, but you also happened to bump into your ex fiance with your shopping cart.

It is almost funny the way Shoto instantly rises and straightens his back, his tall build towering over you as you blink back your surprise. Gosh, he was even more handsome than when you remember him.

"I-im sorry." Hoping he hadn't recognized you, you bow (and keep your head down) as you attempt to flee from whatever k-drama this scene emerged from. Shoto grabs your shopping cart to stop you.

"I have been thinking about you"

My GOD, if Bakugou were here, he would burst out laughing by this God awful confession. But Todoroki is awkward, and he tries to ease some of the tension in your shoulders. Your eyes almost pop out of their sockets.

"You- what?"

"I'm- I'm sorry. I simply meant- how are you?"

Your grip on the cart relaxes a little bit. You raise your head to look him in the eye. A small sigh escapes your lips. It has been a long time since Shoto Todoroki managed to break your heart, and you swear you were over him by now. But his eyes brighten upon seeing you, and his cheeks have an innocent pink hue in them. It makes you giggle how, after all this time, he is still clueless about conversations.

"I'm good. How are you?"

"Good. I'm really good. By, many aspects "

Okay, mister millionaire at the ripe age of 20. You don't need to rub it in our faces. Defining your family had its perks, of course, but money definitely wasn't one of them (you assume that you've made that perfectly clear to Shoto, who is eyeing your off brand dish soap and fabric softener).

You smack your lips. You think this is awkward. Shoto thinks his heart might beat out of his chest by how pretty you are. Your features are now grown, your hair is longer, and you seem, relaxed. For the first time in a long time you truly are happy.

"Well, this has been -"

"Would you like to go on a date with me?"

Your shoulder abruptly slips from the aisle that you were leaning on. You smack your elbow on the shelf bellow and curse. You realize that Shoto pushed your shopping cart out of the way once you feel his warm hands on you. He is touching you with care; and just when you were sure that you had gotten over him, your heart melts at his thoughtfulness.

"You can say no if you don't want."

His tone is so genuine that it crushes you. If you were to look around, you would see the three older ladies gawking at the sight of Shoto holding you close, and you being putty in his hands.

"Wouldn't you rather like - die?"

"Oh." Your stomach is filled with butterflies at the frown on Shoto's face. He seems so utterly sad that you remember his last words to you; regret evident on his tone as he speaks.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I hope you can forgive me for my actions."

You sigh. Maybe it's the look he is giving you, maybe it's the months you haven't gotten laid, maybe it's the reminder of your shitty ex boyfriends on your mind, or maybe it's the fact that no matter how you put it, Shoto Todoroki was your first love.

So, with a purse of your lips and a small giggle at how easily persuaded you are, you smile.

"I would love to go on a date with you."

Shoto thinks he might explode at your laughter. He straightens up and clears his throat, his cheeks and ears a painfully obvious shade of red as he lets go of you.

"Great. I'll uh- I'll call you."

"Don't you need my number for that?"

"Well, it's on the information list of your citizenship."

"... you looked me up?!"

Shoto grabs your cart and starts pushing in towards the cashier while you're shrieking from laughter at his confession. He laughs too when you open up your phone to pay, and an image of him pops up from Google. Your laughter is cut short when you're trying to explain that it was for research purposes. Your cheeks are red, and your eyes are wide from embarrassment. Shoto thinks he could just eat you up.

-------

a/n: trying something new!! This has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I decided to finally upload it!! Hope it's an enjoyable read!!