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Batfamily X Batmom! Reader

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Someone Thought Of Meཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

I feel like Tim has very little love. So how does he feel in a family thats so weird?

masterlist

Timmy timothy tim likes to journal his problems

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Journal entry- Shes always there. Written from the point of view of Tim Drake. In Tim Drakes Journal. Which Is my journal… Tim Drake… because it’s my journal?

When people think of Bruce Wayne, they think of Gotham’s crowned prince brooding, rich, charming in a suit. Maybe they even think of Batman if you’re one of the few people that actually know him, the knight in Kevlar, Gotham’s relentless protector. They forget, more often than not, that behind the cowl is just a guy made of jagged edges. The kind that can cut even the people he cares about most.

But her?

She was warmth. A reporter with fire in her blood and sharp questions at her lips. That’s how Bruce met her chasing down a story she didn’t know he was part of yet. She wasn’t intimidated by his name or the shadows that followed him. And when she found out he was Batman, she didn’t run. She pivoted. She didn’t want to be used by the Gotham Gazette to milk a headline about their relationship. So she left. Started something new. Told the stories of villains not to glorify them, but to show their truth. The people they used to be. The cracks that made them break. That was her power.

I didn’t meet her until later, of course. But I always knew of her. I still stayed with my parents at the time and since she stayed at the mansion i never really saw her. she was the one everyone talked about. Not just in passing, but with reverence. Even Bruce, in his own quiet way, would drop her name like it meant safety. And to Dick and Jason? She wasn’t just a stepmom, or “Bruce’s wife.” She was Mom.

Dick talks about her like she’s the sun. When he visits he always visits, at least once a week no matter where he is you can see it. How his whole face lights up just stepping into the manor and hearing her voice from the kitchen. You’d think he was back in the circus and just found his net again.

“She used to stay up for me, no matter what time patrol ended,” he told me once. “I’d come in through the balcony, boots muddy, bruised up, sometimes bleeding and she’d be in the kitchen heating soup. Always that look on her face like I’d just come back from war. Never lectured me like Bruce. Never told me to be more careful. Just… held me. Like that fixed everything.”

Dick never stopped calling her “Mom.” Not even during the rough years when Bruce pushed him too hard. Not when he moved out. Not when the Batcave felt colder than the Gotham River in winter. If anything, she was the reason he kept coming back.

When she got that small publishing deal to write about Harvey Dent’s past, Dick flew back from Blüdhaven just to take her out to dinner. No press, no big celebration. Just a booth by the window at her favorite Thai place and a bouquet that barely fit through the door. He said he owed her everything. “I don’t care if I’m not hers by blood,” he told me once. “That woman taught me how to hold on to who I am, even when everything else was falling apart.”

Then theres my other older brother. Jason’s love is different. It’s quieter.

Harder to see unless you’re looking close. He’s not good at the soft stuff. Not anymore. But with her, he tries. He never says “I love you.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard the words leave his mouth. But he’s always fixing stuff around her house. Not the manor her place, the little brownstone Bruce bought her because she hated the echo of the mansion. The place with the bookshelf she filled herself, the mismatched mugs, the heavy desk where she does her interviews. Jason comes by when she’s out running errands. Patches the leaky sink. Replaces the light in the hallway. Leaves a bag of her favorite tea on the counter. No note. No credit. But she always knows it’s him.

“She used to sit on the fire escape with me,” he told me once, when we were staking out some arms deal in the Narrows. “I’d be pissed off at Bruce, just raging. And she’d just sit there. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t talk me out of it. Just sat and sometimes smoked a cigarette. One time I cried. Don’t remember why. But she didn’t flinch. Just put her hand on my back. Stayed until I fell asleep.”

He’d die before saying it out loud, but I think in a way… he’s more hers than he ever was Bruce’s. And when he came back when he was the Red Hood and he was full of grief and rage and bullets she was the only one who hugged him. Everyone else flinched. Even Bruce. But she opened the door, saw what he’d become, and said, “You look like hell, baby. Come inside.” And he did.

I remember the first time I met her. Bruce had just taken me in. I was still flinching every time he walked into the room, still unsure if I belonged in this broken, stitched up family. And then she walked in breezy and fierce, like she’d just come off a battlefield with coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. “You must be Tim,” she said, giving me a once over like she could see right through to my spine. “You eat?”

I hadn’t. She fixed a plate, sat with me, asked me about everything except my parents. I had just lost them at the time and that’s when I got it. Why Dick lights up around her. Why Jason will move heaven and earth to fix her sink. She’s home. Not the kind with walls and Wi-Fi. The kind with presence. With knowing how to say just the right thing without ever saying too much. With safety, and warmth, and late night soup and hair ruffles and sitting on fire escapes even when the kid next to you’s got blood on his boots. I think that’s why even Bruce… softens around her. She’s the one person who makes him feel safe.

When she got her first daughter, you can tell something changed in her. Cass didn’t talk much. Not in the early days. She was quiet in the way shadows were quiet always there, always watching, always slipping through cracks without a sound. Most people assumed she just didn’t want to talk. Or couldn’t. But I saw it different.

Cass spoke just not with her mouth. She spoke with her hands, her eyes, the way she’d tense or soften when you entered a room. But with her? With Mom?

Cass bloomed.

She’d lean on her shoulder when they sat on the couch. She’d grab her hand subtle, small, but full of meaning and lead her to the garden out back just to sit in the sun. I watched Cass laugh once, like actually laugh, cheeks lifted and eyes crinkled. I didn’t even know she could laugh like that. But it was because Mom had made some dumb joke about a rogue penguin at the zoo stealing someone’s purse. Cas used to flinch at affection. Now, she hugged her. Without hesitation. Leaned into her side. Signed things with soft smiles and the rare, quiet “Love you,” if no one else was around. She didn’t even say that to Bruce. Not really. But Mom? Mom got everything.

She knew how to talk to her. Never pressed. Never coddled. Just existed beside her with a kind of understanding that didn’t require words. I think Cass clung to that someone who didn’t need her to be anything but herself. Someone who didn’t treat her like a porcelain weapon. I’d never seen Cass so… safe. So full.

Then there was Damian. God. When Bruce brought him to the manor, I thought maybe we’d finally seen the worst of it. Turns out a ten year old assassin with an ego the size of Arkham was the cherry on top.

From the minute Damian showed up, he was a walking migraine. Arrogant. Condescending. Entitled in the way only someone born and bred to believe they were superior could be. But the worst part? He was cruel to her.

Not in the loud, tantrum way kids can be cruel. No. Damian was sharp. Precise. Calculated. His insults were surgical targeted and clean like a blade to the gut. “I don’t see the point in you,” he said once, arms crossed in the foyer, looking her dead in the eye. “You’re not my mother. You’ll never be her. Father had real women in his life before you.”

It wasn’t the first time he said it. Wouldn’t be the last. she….God, she just took it. Not because she agreed. Not because she was weak. But because that’s who she is. She let him be angry. Let him lash out. Let him burn himself on her because she knew what was underneath it all. But I saw it. I saw the way her shoulders slumped when she turned away. The way she stirred her tea a little too long in the kitchen. The way she lingered in front of Bruce’s old pictures of Talia that he put up for Damien. didn’t touch them, didn’t say anything, but looked like someone standing in a war zone, wondering if the ruins were prettier than she’d ever be. She never said it aloud. Never asked if she measured up. But we all knew the weight she carried. Bruce’s past wasn’t just shadows it was legacies. Legacies she was never meant to compete with. And Damian made sure she felt that.

I don’t know when that started to change. Maybe when she helped patch him up after his first solo patrol and didn’t say a word about the busted ribs. Maybe when she sat in the library and helped him with his handwriting because even deadly assassins have messy cursive. Or maybe it was when she found his sketchbook. hid it from everyone else, never mentioned it, just left him new pencils on his desk with a quiet, “You’re very talented.”

He stopped being so sharp after that. Still rude. Still Damian. But less… venomous. Like the poison had burned itself out and he was left kind of confused by the fact that she was still there. Because she always was. For all of us.

And then there’s me. The extra. The late one. I was never brought in because Bruce wanted to be a father. I was brought in because I figured out his secrets and then wormed my way into the cave, into the suit, into the family. I don’t know if I was ever really meant to be here. Not the way the others were. Me? I had parents. Not great ones. But they were there… until they weren’t. I didn’t grow up in an alley, or a pit, or the League. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I feel so… replaceable. But she never made me feel that way. She saw me. She knew I overworked myself. Knew I never slept. Knew I spiraled when I wasn’t useful. And instead of pushing me to be better or telling me to slow down, she just… met me where I was. Once, I found a note in my backpack. Folded between mission plans.

“Youre the most amazing boy that i know, You my boy are going to do amazing things. I love you so much!!”

I never told her I found it. But I kept it. Still have it, tucked into my journal like armor.

I don’t know if any of us would’ve survived this family without her. Bruce taught us how to fight. How to fall and get back up. But she taught us how to rest. How to breathe. How to love without blood and history binding us. She fixed all of us. Bit by bit. Even when we didn’t know we were breaking. I don’t feel broken enough to deserve that kind of care. But she gave it anyway. Because that’s who she is. Because she was always there.

I heard her once, talking on the phone to someone. Maybe a friend. Maybe a source. “They’re not mine by blood,” she said. “But God help the world if they ever needed me. I’d burn down Gotham to protect any one of them.” That’s when I knew she meant me, too. if I had to tell this story about the Batfamily, about the ones who wear masks and hide pain and throw themselves into the fire night after night I’d start with her. Because Batman might have saved Gotham but she saved us.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

Tim closes the journal with a soft thump, fingers lingering on the worn leather cover. His hand hovers just a second longer before pulling away. The room feels too quiet now like his thoughts are echoing louder without the scratch of his pen to distract him.

He pushes the chair back, the legs creaking on the old hardwood floors, and stands. His back cracks. How long had he been writing? Hours maybe. It’s dark out, the kind of heavy Gotham dark that presses against the windows like it wants in. The manor groans quietly in the silence, pipes murmuring and the wind brushing tree branches against the windows like fingers tapping to be let inside.

He walks out of his room, bare feet soft on the carpet as he pads through the hallway. The air feels heavier at night in the manor. Like all the ghosts that live in the walls are finally breathing.

I turned the corner after walking mindlessly and stared. There you were.

Back facing towards me, wearing one of those oversized, faded shirts Bruce always swore he didn’t miss. Standing in front of the stove, hair pulled up, humming something under your breath as you stirred with a wooden spoon like you were crafting alchemy and not just soup. And beside you, leaning against the counter, arms folded but eyes softer than I’d seen in weeks. Jason. He wasn’t wearing his jacket. Which was rare. His boots were off. Rarer. And he was smiling. Not the cocky half grin he used when he was about to pick a fight, but something quieter. Warmer. Something like a son sitting in the only place in the world where he felt safe.

You said something to him I couldn’t hear what but you reached up on your toes and smoothed his hair out of his eyes like he was five. He rolled his eyes, said something sarcastic, but didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it. that was when Alfred walked by, hands behind his back, chin tilted slightly in amusement as he passed me. “You know the rule, Master Timothy,” he said, low enough not to disturb the moment in the kitchen. “She is the only one allowed in there. The rest of you have forfeited that right after the last… incident.”

I groaned.

“That was Damian’s fault,” I hissed back.

He raised a brow. “Was it Damian’s idea to flambé a Pop Tart?”

“Okay. Fine. That part might’ve been me.”

It was one of our dumbest ideas maybe not the dumbest, but it’s a crowded race. It started with a challenge. Damian, fresh off a smug streak and newly obsessed with culinary documentaries, claimed that my “American palate” had “eroded my taste and motor skills.” I told him I could cook circles around him. Neither of us could cook.

It escalated quickly. An Iron Chef style duel. Secret ingredient: eggs. Only, I dropped mine. Three times. Damian misread the baking powder as flour. Then I panicked and tried to “smoke” the scrambled eggs for flavor using a packet of incense from the guest room and a lighter.

Within ten minutes, the fire alarm was going off, Alfred had activated the emergency sprinklers, and the kitchen looked like something between a crime scene and a culinary apocalypse. Mom was the one to find us.

Standing soaked, flour covered, blinking through smoke. Damian holding a spatula like a sword. Me covered in what I hoped was yolk. You didn’t yell. That’s the worst part. You just… looked at us. Long and hard. Then let out a breath, pinched the bridge of your nose, and said, “Alfred, I assume this is why you told me to ban them from the kitchen.”

“Indeed, madam,” he replied grimly.

And that was that. Kitchen rights revoked. Except for you. Always you.

Now I stood there in the hallway, watching you and Jason from the doorway, unseen. He was telling you about something he saw on patrol a gang trying to smuggle rare books, of all things. You were laughing, that full body laugh that makes your shoulders shake and your eyes close, like the world could still be beautiful if you just tried hard enough. And Jason?

He was drinking it in. Like he’d been starved of this kind of love for years. Ever since he came back, you were different around him. Not overly careful like Bruce. Not tense like some of us had been. You just loved him. Loudly. Freely. kisses to the temple, touching his shoulders like you had to convince yourself he was still solid. Like you had to remind him that he was still wanted. Jason never said it but he melted under it. His edges dulled. His anger slipped. When you held him, when you gave him that smile that said “you’re home,” he softened. He belonged.

I swallowed hard. Stepped back, just a bit. Let the shadows take me. Because I’d never had that. Not in the same way. You loved me I knew that. But it wasn’t the same kind of fierce, smothering love. And maybe that was fair. I wasn’t broken in the way Jason was. Not born in blood like Damian. Not carved out of grief like Dick. Not silenced like Cass.

I was just… me. Smart. Quiet. Stable, mostly. I’d always felt like a thread sewn into someone else’s tapestry. Useful. Strong, even. But not the reason anyone stayed warm. in moments like this seeing Jason melt under your hands, seeing you pour every ounce of your soul into making him feel alive I couldn’t help but wonder if I was ever going to fit here. So I stepped away from the kitchen door.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

The house was quiet again. The kind of quiet that only happens after everyone’s gone to bed or pretended to. I was curled up in the corner of the library, one leg slung over the arm of the chair, a thick old book cracked open across my lap. It wasn’t for patrol or mission planning. Just something to read. Something to fill the quiet so I didn’t have to think too much.

It was peaceful, until muffled voices filled the room. I blinked, tilting my head just enough to catch the low murmur threading in from the hallway. At first, I thought maybe Bruce had wandered into the Batcave again, but then I heard my moms voice. Whispering like someone trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Bruce responded, and you both laughed, low and secretive. I rolled my eyes and went back to my page.

I stopped caring about that kind of thing a long time ago. You and Bruce were always, in a word, gross about each other. Not the clingy, PDA gross… well yes the clingy PDA way but the kind where he’d brush your cheek mid conversation like it was instinct. Or the way you’d make him coffee without asking, and he’d pass you reports to look at because he trusted your opinion more than the board’s. It was… sincere. Intimate. Kind of annoying, honestly, when you were trying to eat cereal and Bruce kissed your temple like it was some kind of reflex.

But it was comforting too. Something solid. I was just starting to lose myself in the book again when

“Boo.”

“GAH!”

I launched the book about a foot into the air and nearly twisted my entire spine trying to figure out what demon had possessed the room. My heart rocketed into my throat as I whipped around, hand halfway to a batarang that wasn’t even on me. You stood there, grinning ear to ear.

“Tim,” you cooed, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh, “you should’ve seen your face oh my god, I think you levitated.”

“I almost hit you with Tolstoy!” I hissed, breath still catching up to my body. “Don’t sneak up on a guy in this house! I was ready to throw hands with a ghost.”

“Well,” you teased, “if it was a ghost, you’d be the only one I’d trust to outsmart it.”

I gave you a flat look, still massaging my neck. You sobered a little, stepping forward and tapping the top of my head gently. “Come on, kiddo. There’s something we want to show you. In the dining room.”

I blinked. “We?”

“I’m here too,” came Bruce’s voice from the hallway, in that terrible deep gravel whisper he clearly thought was somehow sneaky. You and I both turned to look at him as he peeked around the corner, trying very hard and failing to look inconspicuous.

I squinted at him. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly.

You sighed and gently smacked his chest. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m building intrigue,” Bruce said with what I assumed was supposed to be a straight face. “It’s part of the plan”

“You’re ruining the surprise,” you whispered, dragging a hand down your face.

“There’s a surprise?” I asked slowly, eyes darting between the two of you.

Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but I could see the micro tension in his brow. He was lying. For the world’s greatest detective, the man couldn’t lie to his children to save his life. Every time he tried, he got this weird stiffness, like someone who’d never used human emotions before. You groaned again and took my wrist gently. “Come on. Just come to the dining room. Please?”

I stood up slowly, abandoning my book on the chair. “What’s going on?” I asked again, warier now. “Is this, like… an intervention? Did Damian break into the Tower again?”

“Nope.”

“Did Jason get arrested for vigilante loitering?”

“Not this week.”

“Are you going to make me touch grass?”

You snorted. “God, no.”

I sighed. “Alright. But if this is a trap, I want it on record that i died saying my parents were weird.”

Bruce just grunted. So I followed them. These two weird, overly affectionate, semi cryptic parents of mine one with crows’ feet from smiling too much and the other still pretending he didn’t smile at all. Down the hallway. Toward the dining room. Still completely, utterly confused.

The hallway to the dining room wasn’t long. It just felt long. Partially because Bruce was still trying to act like this wasn’t suspicious at all, and you kept elbowing him in the ribs every few steps. Partially because my nerves were starting to twitch under my skin. mostly because I could hear whisper yelling coming from the dining room.

“I said put the banner up, not strangle the chandelier with it!”

“That wasn’t me! It was Damian! He climbed up there!”

“I was fixing your poor attempt at symmetry, Grayson!”

“Why is the pie we made lopsided Jason what did you do to the pie?”

“It’s good. Shut up.”

“You burned it.”

“I call it caramelized flavor.”

“…It smells like regret.”

“Can someone…. Cass, what are you doing with the glitter glue?!”

“Decoration.”

I paused just outside the door and looked up at Bruce and you with raised eyebrows. You just smiled softly and gave a little shrug, while Bruce tried to maintain whatever shred of dignity he had left. It wasn’t working.

You both looked so stupidly in love standing like that his arm around your waist, yours looped casually around his. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this was normal. Like this whatever chaos was waiting behind the doors was ours.

Bruce leaned in toward the doorframe like he was assessing a mission room, and I swear I saw his eye twitch.

“I gave them very simple instructions,” he muttered.

You patted his chest. “Your children are as smart and emotionally constipated as their dad”

The door swung open before anyone could knock. Dick stood there with his usual too big grin and remnants of glitter on his cheek like war paint. “Timmy! You’re late to your own surprise party!”

“It’s not my birthday?”

“Not that kind of surprise party!” he said, reaching out to drag me in with too much enthusiasm. “It’s Appreciation Day!”

“That’s… not a real holiday.”

“Sure it is,” said Jason, appearing from behind a mess of mismatched plates and aluminum foil wrapped disasters. “We just made it real. Sit down, Nerd Boy.”

Cass waved from the head of the table with a little toothy smile. Damian was on a chair next to her, arms crossed, already pouting like he hadn’t been helping just ten minutes ago.

The table was atrocious like someone had thrown a home economics final exam and a kindergarten arts and crafts project into a blender. The centerpiece was a crooked sign that said “WE APPRECIATE YOU” in bold, messy handwriting (clearly Dick’s). There was glitter on everything. The cups didn’t match. The pie looked like it’d been in a fight. it was perfect. All of it.

Dishes were stacked, uneven and mismatched. Cookies were slightly burnt on one side. Jason’s so called “caramelized” pie was visibly cracked. Cass had made what looked like finger sandwiches shaped into little bats. Even Damian had contributed begrudgingly with a plate of sliced fruit that had been carved into vaguely threatening shapes.

And in the middle of it all was a small card in your handwriting.

Tim,

We know things have been hard.

We know it sometimes feels like you’re overlooked.

But you’re not. Not here.

You’re brilliant. You’re loved. You’re ours.

Love,

Your Family (a bunch of idiots, but yours)

I couldn’t speak. Not really. Because what was there to say? This… this wasn’t some big show. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. it was for me. I glanced down the table.

Dick was beaming and already scooting over to make room for me. Jason was pretending not to look at me too hard, but his expression was softer than usual. Cass gave me a small nod, the kind that said more than words. Damian looked away when our eyes met but I could see the tiniest hint of awkward approval in the way he pushed a napkin toward the empty seat beside him. I took it. Quietly. Still blinking a little too fast. I didn’t cry. I didn’t. But I felt it thick in my chest. That weight. That feeling. Because my biological parents had never done anything like this. They didn’t see me, not really. I was a project. A prodigy. An obligation. But you and Bruce, in his awkward gruff way you saw me. You made this happen. I looked up once more and saw you and Bruce still standing near the door. Arms still around each other. Watching. Bruce’s eyes met mine. He gave the smallest nod. You just smiled. I mattered here. not always loudly. not in the same way the others did. But I mattered. And this this was home.

Sero Hanta | Cellophane X reader

𖤐⭑Pro Hero- SpiderMan 𖤐⭑

i spent so much of my youth loving this man only to live with the fact that bro is unloved by this fandom.

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HES SPIDERMAN OH MY GOD IS THAT SPIDERMAN

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑ You were sprawled out on his bed, arms stretched over your head as you stared at the ceiling. Sero, on the other hand, was sitting on the floor beside the bed, his back leaned up against it. His head was tilted just enough that it was right beside yours, close enough that if you turned your head, you’d practically be nose to nose. It was a little funny, actually kind of like one of those upside down SpiderMan moments.

“Man, I am so glad we don’t have any training tomorrow,” Sero sighed, stretching his arms above his head. “I swear, if Aizawa had us do one more combat drill, I was gonna collapse on the spot.”

You hummed in agreement, lazily tilting your head to glance at him. “I thibk that guy has it out for us. Training us is cool and all but I think hed rather punch us all out and then bring eri to get sweets.”

Sero snorted, shooting you a grin. “Okay, true. but if I was him I would also do that too. Its been what? 2 years since her bring here and shes still adorable”

You rolled onto your side slightly, resting your chin on your hand as you looked at him only to realize just how close your faces were. He blinked at you, mouth parting slightly in surprise before you smirked.

“Hey,you know spiderman? for that matter do you know that one scene,” you mused. “You know, the upside down kiss?”

Sero’s eyes widened slightly before he let out a short laugh. “what exactly are you plotting?”

You grinned, an idea forming in your head. “You should totally try it for real. Use your quirk, stick yourself to the ceiling, and we’ll reenact it.”

For a moment, Sero just stared at you. Then, as the realization of what you were suggesting fully hit him, his entire face turned red.

“¡WAIT pause for a a whole second and backtrack the hell out of that! You actually want me to?! No way, no way! That’s a whole different kind (y/n) dont play with me right now!”

You burst out laughing as he scrambled, hands flailing slightly as if trying to physically push the idea away. His mind was clearly short circuiting at the thought of suspending himself from the ceiling just for a kiss even as a joke.

“C’mon, Sero,” you teased, grinning. “What’s the matter? Scared of a little commitment?”

“I’m not scared of commitment!” he shot back, still very visibly flustered. “I’m scared of falling on my face! You think I got the core strength to hold myself upside down long enough for a kiss?”

You snickered, propping yourself up on your elbows. “You are a hero in training. I feel like i’ve seen you do this all the time”

Sero groaned, dragging a hand down his face before shooting you a look. “Are you absolutely sure about this?.”

“Absolutely,” you admitted without shame.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Alright, fine. but if I fall and break my nose, you’re paying my hospital bills.”

“Deal,” you grinned.

With a dramatic sigh, Sero lifted his elbow and shot a strip of tape toward the ceiling, securing it before testing its strength. He muttered something about how this was so not how he expected his night to go before taking a deep breath and pulling himself up.

It took all of five seconds for him to lose his grip and come crashing back down onto his bed with a loud, “¡Mierda!”

You barely managed to roll out of the way before he landed half on the mattress which also mean falling half on you, half on the floor, groaning into the sheets. You were laughing so hard you could barely breathe.

“You good, Spider Man?” you wheezed.

“Never ever making that mistake again,” he groaned.

“Aw, but we didn’t even get to the best part.”

Sero cracked one eye open to glare at you. “If you wanna do the upside down kiss so bad, you hang from the ceiling next time.”

You grinned down at him, your faces just inches apart again. “Oh, But i don’t have the quirk for that. You’re the perfect hero for this duty”

Sero sighed dramatically, but you could see the small smile tugging at his lips. “youre testing me lady.”

“And yet, you keep inviting me over,” you shot back.

He chuckled, shaking his head before flopping fully onto his back. “Yeah, yeah. Remind me to never talk to you again.”

“Never letting that happen,” you said, still grinning.

Sero just groaned again, throwing an arm over his face as you laughed. He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head before propping himself up on his elbows. “You know,” he said, giving you a slow, lazy smirk, “if you wanted to kiss me so bad, you could just do it now instead of trying to send me to the ER.”

Your laughter died instantly.

Your brain screeched to a halt, the words processing at a glacial pace. You blinked at him, expecting some kind of follow up maybe a laugh, maybe a “gotcha” to tell you he was just messing with you. But no. Sero just stayed there, eyebrows slightly raised, clearly waiting for a response.

Heat rushed to your face so fast it made you dizzy. “I what ?”

He tilted his head, still smirking, but you could tell by the way his fingers twitched against the sheets that he wasn’t as casual as he was pretending to be. “I mean, since you went through all that trouble, might as well, right?”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess. It was a joke, right? RIGHT? He was testing you, trying to fluster you. but two could play at that game.

Your heart pounded as you took a deep breath, then muttered, “Fuck it.”

Before he could react, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his.

The moment they touched, you felt Sero tense beneath you, his breath hitching in surprise. But he didn’t pull away. In fact, after a second, you felt him relax, his hand hovering near your waist as if debating whether or not to grab onto you.

The kiss wasn’t perfect, there was still laughter in your chest, and you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin like he was just as thrown off as you but it was good. It was Sero. Playful, teasing, and real.

When you finally pulled away, you barely had time to process the look on his face before he let out a stunned laugh. “Okay whoa. Didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

You shrugged, pretending your pulse wasn’t going a mile a minute. “You challenged me. What was I supposed to do? Back down?”

He shook his head, grinning wide. “Damn. if I dared you to kiss me until I cant think would that make something happen?”

You smirked, leaning back on your elbows. “hmm i think that would be abusing the rules.”

Sero just huffed out another laugh, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before glancing back at you, his expression softer now. “you’re a weird person. ill just use your words next time.”

Your breath hitched, but before you could ask what exactly he meant by that, he stretched out with a lazy yawn, as if he hadn’t just said something that sent your brain spiraling.

“Alright,” he sighed dramatically. “Let’s pretend I didn’t just embarrass myself and move on.”

You huffed, shaking your head as you flopped back onto the bed. “yeah id rather not relive you falling on me. I still feel sore”

Sero groaned. “Im sorry but thats your fault for proposing it.”

But when you snuck a glance at him, you caught the way he was still grinning to himself, the tips of his ears burning red.

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑

The tall black haired guy dropped onto the couch, arms spread wide like he had just survived the most harrowing mission of his life. Across from him, Mina and Denki were sprawled out in their usual morning slump, nursing their cups of coffee like lifelines.

It was too early for homework, too late to still be asleep, and just the right time for the juiciest gossip of the day.

And Sero had the juice.

“You guys,” he started, grinning like a fool, “I think I just had the greatest night of my life.”

Mina looked up from her coffee. Identical to a beggar on the street. No sparkle in her eyes at all.

Denki blinked blearily, rubbing his eyes. “Bro, it is too early for you to be tryna make fancy entrances What happened?”

Sero leaned forward, elbows on his knees, barely able to contain himself. “Okay, so you know how I was hanging out with Y/n last night”

“Y/n?” Mina echoed, eyes wide. “As in, Y/n her?”

“Her her,” Sero confirmed with a nod.

Denki sucked in a sharp breath. “Hoe we only have one Y/n in our class. I dont know what shit youre on.”

And then, before he could even react

Mina’s body moved on instinct. She swung an arm out blindly, her half asleep brain barely processing what she was doing, and smacked Denki square in the face.

Hard.

The sound echoed through the quiet common room like a gunshot.

Denki let out a choked noise of betrayal as he recoiled, nearly spilling his coffee all over himself. “What the hell, Mina?!”

Mina blinked slowly, still not fully registering reality. She glanced at her hand, then at Denki, frowning as if confused as to how he got there. “…Huh?”

Denki clutched his nose, eyes watering. “You hit me!”

Mina took another sip of coffee, completely unbothered. “…Did I?”

Denki groaned, dramatically slumping back against the couch. “This is abuse. I’m pressing charges.”

Mina squinted at Denki like she was still buffering. “Oh.” Beat. “Well, you’ll live.”

Sero was practically crying from laughter at this point. “Okay, but back to what actually matters Y/n.”

“Hanta… if you don’t start making sense in the next five seconds, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Hush now!” Sero grinned, practically vibrating in his seat. “So we’re chilling in my room, right? She’s lying on my bed, I’m on the floor next to her”

“Okay, okay, set the scene,” Mina said, waving her hands. “What was the vibe?”

“Vibe was immaculate,” Sero said, dead serious. “We were laughing, teasing each other, you know, the usual. And then she brings up the SpiderMan kiss.”

Mina gasped. “dude thats so lame and so cute .”

Denki’s eyes widened. “Dude. No way.”

“YES WAY,” Sero insisted. “She straight up suggests I tape myself to the ceiling and do the whole upside down thing.”

Denki immediately lost it, nearly spilling his coffee as he doubled over in laughter. “Bro. why cant women that i like suggest stupid shit like that to kiss me”

Mina was gripping the armrest, practically bouncing. “DID YOU DO IT?”

Sero groaned, rubbing his face. “I tried! And then I failed spectacularly! Fell right on the bed”

Denki wheezed. “My guy, you are so lucky you didn’t break your face.”

“Right?!” Sero laughed, shaking his head. “But get this, when I fell, I was joking like, ‘If you wanted to kiss me so bad, just do it now,’ you know, just messing with her.”

Mina’s eyes were about to pop out of her head. “AND???”

Denki was practically on the edge of his seat. “BRO, SHE DIDN’T.”

Sero ran a hand through his hair, grinning like a madman. “She did.”

Mina let out a shriek, grabbing a couch pillow and whacking Denki with it. “OH MY GOD!”

Denki was clutching his pearls like he had just been personally attacked. “Bro, bro, you actually kissed her?!”

Sero nodded, still riding the high of last night. “Well, technically, she kissed me, but yeah.”

Mina was absolutely losing it. “This is huge! Do you even realize what this means?”

“That I am the luckiest man alive?” Sero offered, waggling his eyebrows.

Denki pointed at him. “Absolutely not, you just admitted to eating carpet trying to be SpiderMan.”

Sero groaned, “i fell on my bed you dunce”

Mina grabbed his arm, shaking him slightly. “But, like, what now? Are you guys together?”

Sero’s grin faltered for a second, his brain scrambling. “Uh… I dunno? I mean, it was kinda sudden, so we didn’t talk about it yet.”

Denki let out a long, exaggerated sigh, flopping backward. “Damn. I am so proud of you, bro. But at the same time, I have never felt more single in my life.”

Mina cackled. “Denki, you are always single.”

“Yeah, but now it hurts,” Denki whined dramatically, covering his face. “All my bros are getting action and I’m over here third wheeling by myself.”

Sero rolled his eyes, throwing a pillow at him. “Dude, you can’t third wheel by yourself.”

Denki groaned. “Watch me.”

Mina sighed, shaking her head. “Denki, we gotta get you a girlfriend.”

Denki flopped onto the couch like a sad fish. “you act as if i haven’t tried”

Sero laughed, standing up and stretching. “Alright, you two losers, I gotta figure out what the hell I’m doing next. Wish me luck.”

Mina beamed. “You better keep us updated!”

Denki sat up slightly, pointing at Sero. “If you don’t make this official, I swear to God, I will actually fight you.”

Sero chuckled, giving them a lazy salute before heading toward the exit. Now all he had to do was figure out how to not mess this up. As soon as Sero stepped out of the common room, his grin dropped, and his brain immediately went into overdrive.

Oh, crap. Oh, crap. Oh, crap.

He had kissed you. Or you had kissed him. Either way, there was definite mouth on mouth action, and now he had no idea what to do with himself.

His heart was still doing that stupid, rapid fire drumming in his chest every time he replayed the moment in his head. The way you had leaned in, eyes half lidded, expression unreadable until suddenly boom. Lips. Soft. Warm. Perfect. He could still feel the ghost of it lingering on his mouth.

Sero ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. Okay, get it together, man. It’s just a kiss. A really good kiss. A potentially life changing kiss, but still just a kiss.

He needed a game plan.

But what if you regretted it? What if it was just a heat of the moment thing for you? What if you woke up this morning thinking, Wow, that was a mistake, better pretend it never happened?

Sero groaned under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. He couldn’t deal with that possibility. Not when he had spent an entire night internally combusting over how amazing it had felt.

“Dude, you good?”

Sero nearly jumped out of his skin as Kirishima appeared beside him, eyebrow raised.

“Wh yeah! Yeah, totally,” Sero replied way too fast, forcing a laugh. “Just, y’know… thinking.”

Kirishima gave him a knowing smirk. “About a certain girl in our class?”

Sero pointed at him. “i feel likenim not that obvious. I just left mina how did you you already know about this?”

Kirishima laughed, clapping him on the back. “Since our first year youve been obsessed with her.”

“stop spreading lies.” Sero sighed dramatically before groaning. “Dude, I don’t know what to do. I mean, I know I want to do something, but what if she doesn’t”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Kirishima said, holding up a hand. “First of all, did she seem into it when she kissed you?”

Sero opened his mouth, then hesitated, brain flashing back to the way you had looked at him, the way you had smiled after like you meant it.

“…Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Kirishima grinned. “Then you’re already halfway there, man. Just talk to her.”

Sero groaned again. “Why is that the hardest part?!”

Kirishima just laughed, shaking his head. “Because you like her, dude. Now quit freaking out and go see her.”

Easier said than done.

But standing around panicking wasn’t going to help, either.

So, with a deep breath, Sero nodded. “Alright. I’m doing this.”

Kirishima gave him a thumbs up. “That’s the spirit! Now go get your girl.”

Sero immediately turned around and walked straight into a doorframe.

Kirishima winced. “…Maybe start by watching where you’re going first.”

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑

you showed up, red faced and flustered, practically vibrating with leftover emotions from last night.

“I kissed him,” you blurted, gripping the sides of your head. “I we kissed! Oh my god, I actually did that.”

“Wait, wait, wait hold on,” Kirishima said, holding up his hands like he needed to physically stop you from overwhelming yourself. With his previous conversation with sero, It was so obvious how much you both liked each other. Very adorable type shit. His red eyes were wide with excitement. “You kissed Sero? Like, for real?”

“Yes! No wait, yes, but ugh, I don’t even know how it happened”

“You just said you kissed him, dumbass,” Bakugo cut in, scowling as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Make up your damn mind.”

You shot him a glare, feeling the heat rush to your face again. “I know what I said, but it happened so fast! He was being all smug, and then I said ‘fuck it’ and did it but then he just looked at me, and I think my soul left my body”

Kirishima gasped. “Dude.”

“Shut up,” Bakugo groaned, rolling his eyes. “You’re talking in circles.”

“But it was so sudden! I wasn’t thinking!” you continued, waving your hands around. “And now I don’t even know what we are! Are we together? Are we not? I left before we could even talk about it was that dumb?!”

“Yes,” Bakugo deadpanned.

“No,” Kirishima said at the same time, sending Bakugo a disapproving look before turning back to you. “Look, you’re clearly freaking out, but this is great news! You guys finally kissed! That’s huge!”

“Yeah, yeah, good for you,” Bakugo muttered. “Now shut the hell up about it.”

You shot him an incredulous look. “Excuse you?”

“You’re acting like a damn extra,” he snapped. “Freaking out over one kiss? You sound stupid.”

Your jaw dropped. “One kiss?! Bakugo, do you know how big of a deal this is?! This could change everything!”

“Then man up and deal with it!”

Your eye twitched. “youre such a dick, did you not learn manners or did your prissy rich boy ass never learn discipline!”

Bakugo’s face immediately darkened. “Oh, you little!”

Before you could even process what was happening, he lunged at you.

The next thing anyone knew, the peaceful morning atmosphere of the dorms was shattered as the two of you started brawling in the middle of the hallway.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” Kirishima shouted, hands on his head. “IT IS TOO EARLY FOR THIS!”

You ducked as Bakugo swung at you, his explosive palms barely missing your shoulder. “YOU WANNA GO, SPARKLER? LET’S GO!”

“I’M ALREADY GOING!” Bakugo snarled, throwing another punch.

Students peeked out of their dorm rooms, most of them sighing as if this was the least surprising thing to wake up to.

“Guys!” Kirishima tried again, stepping between you two. “This is not how we handle our emotions!”

“I’LL SHOW YOU HOW I HANDLE EMOTIONS!” you snapped, dodging to the side and attempting to kick Bakugo’s leg out from under him.

He jumped back, grinning like a maniac. “Ohhh, you’re dead now!”

“CAN WE PLEASE HAVE ONE NORMAL MORNING?!” Kirishima begged.

The answer was clearly no, because by then, you and Bakugo were full on wrestling in the hallway, ignoring the way half of Class was now watching with varying levels of amusement.

Kirishima sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before clapping his hands together. “Okay. Fine. You guys are definitely gonna work this out”

“BY ME KICKING HER ASS”

“LIKE MATURE ADULTS,” Kirishima finished, dragging both of you apart with his insane strength. “Now, breathe. Both of you.”

Bakugo huffed, still glaring at you. You glared right back.

“Good,” Kirishima said, nodding. “Now, let’s try again calmly. You, tell Bakugo why you’re freaking out.”

You crossed your arms. “Because I kissed Sero, and now I don’t know what to do!”

Kirishima gave Bakugo a look. “And you how would you calmly respond to that?”

Bakugo rolled his eyes but sighed heavily. “Man up and talk to him, dumbass.”

Your eye twitched again, but Kirishima shot you a warning look before you could lunge at him again.

“Okay!” Kirishima said, clapping his hands. “Progress!”

You huffed, finally stepping back. “Fine. Maybe I will talk to him.”

“Yeah, do that instead of screaming about it like a moron,” Bakugo muttered, rubbing his knuckles.

Kirishima let out a long suffering sigh but patted your shoulder encouragingly. “Hey, at least you got your first kiss, right? That’s awesome!”

You exhaled sharply, your frustration fading just a little. “…Yeah. I guess it was kind of awesome.”

Kirishima beamed. “See? Now go figure out what’s next!”

You nodded, turning to leave only for Bakugo to call out, “And next time, don’t start yelling at me at seven in the damn morning!”

You flipped him off over your shoulder. “BITE ME, BAKUGO.”

“WITH PLEASURE,” he yelled back.

Kirishima groaned. “Why are you guys like this?!”

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑

Sero had never felt more like a dumbass in his life.

He was pacing the dorm hallway, chewing on his lip, hands in his hair like that would somehow help his brain work better.

What the hell was he supposed to do?!

He’d talked a big game in the common room, but the second he was alone, reality hit him like a truck. The kiss had happened. You had kissed him. And now, every time he thought about it, his heart did this stupid, erratic thing, and his stomach felt like it was flipping over itself.

He wanted to talk to you. He needed to talk to you. But what if you were freaking out? What if you regretted it?

“Sero!”

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Kirishima’s voice called out to him.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Kirishima asked, raising an eyebrow as he walked up.

Sero immediately tried to play it cool, leaning against the wall like he wasn’t just spiraling five seconds ago. “Oh, y’know. Just… getting some fresh air.”

Kirishima gave him a deadpan look. “We’re inside.”

Sero groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright, fine! I don’t know what to do, man!”

Kirishima clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning. “So, I might have just talked to her.”

Sero’s entire body went rigid. “You what?”

“Relax, bro, she doesn’t know we’re talking.” Kirishima laughed at the absolute panic on his face. “But I do know she’s freaking out just as much as you are.”

Sero blinked. “…She is?”

“Dude, yes.” Kirishima squeezed his shoulder. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you what she said, but I will say this be a man and talk to her.”

Sero groaned again. “Why is everyone saying that?! I know I need to talk to her, but what if I say the wrong thing?”

“Then you say the wrong thing,” Kirishima shrugged. “But at least you’re saying something.”

Sero exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“Damn right I’m right.” Kirishima grinned, patting his back. “Now go before you start spiraling again.”

Sero rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. “Thanks, man.”

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑

you dramatically leaned back on the couch, arms spread wide, and declared, “Hawks is so fine, it’s actually unfair.”

Across from you, Ochako snorted into her drink while Iida sighed, rubbing his temples as if he could physically remove himself from this conversation. Deku, on the other hand, just looked mildly distressed.

“Again with this?” Iida groaned. “How many times must we discuss your questionable taste in Pro Heroes?”

The U.A. dorm lounge was a place of peace, a sanctuary for students to unwind after long days of training and classes. Though you cant help but say your thoughts in such a safe place.

“Uh, first of all,” you said, pointing at him, “there’s nothing questionable about it. Hawks is objectively hot. Everyone knows it.”

Deku cleared his throat awkwardly. “I mean… I guess I can see why people think he’s cool, but”

“C’mon, Deku,” you said, exasperated. “you’ve worked with him before AND you cant tell me that you didn’t even get a little nervous It’s giving angelic bad boy, i just need a day with him really ”

Ochako giggled. “You sound so gross. but i cant say youre not wrong”

“EXACTLY ,” you srespond. “But wait, there’s more! Present Mic? That man could ruin my eardrums, and I’d thank him.”

Iida choked on his tea, while Deku’s face scrunched up like he was in actual pain. “You live with him,” Deku pointed out. “Doesn’t that make it weird?”

“Absolutely not,” you said. “That just means I know exactly how amazing he is.”

Ochako bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Anyone else?”

“Glad you asked,” you said, grinning. “All Might.”

That was it. That was the breaking point.

All three of them stared at you. No words. Just judgment.

“What?” you said, looking between their horrified expressions.

Ochako covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. Iida, for once in his life, was speechless. And Deku? Deku looked like you had just personally offended him.

“Y you” Deku struggled to form words. “All Might?!”

You raised a brow. “And? He’s All Might. He’s strong, noble, heroic”

“He’s, like, 50!” Deku cried.

“Yeah, but have you seen young All Might?” You wiggled your eyebrows. “Tall, blonde, muscles for days? C’mon.”

Deku looked two seconds away from passing out. “I I can’t I don’t even”

Iida took a deep breath, composing himself before adjusting his glasses. “Y/N, while I respect your right to admire heroes, I must say, your choices are…bewildering.”

“Ohhh, bewildering, huh?” You narrowed your eyes. “That’s real rich coming from you, Iida. And you too, Deku!” You pointed at him accusingly. “You have All Might all over your room! Posters, figures you probably have All Might bedsheets!”

Deku turned bright red. “Th that’s different! It’s admiration!”

“And what I feel isn’t?” You smirked. “Sounds like projection.”

Ochako lost it, cackling as Deku sputtered, desperately trying to defend himself. Iida just sighed heavily, shaking his head.

What none of you knew, however, was that three other students were eavesdropping from around the corner.

Mina, Denki, and Sero were crouched behind the lounge entrance, trying (and failing) to hold in their laughter.

“Oh my god,” Mina whispered. “she makes me so proud, ive rubbed off on her so well.”

Denki wiped away a fake tear. “That was beautiful.”

Sero, meanwhile, his head tilted slightly as he listened. “Man,” he muttered, shaking his head, “she’s really out here confessing her love for only blonde heroes, huh?”

Denki snorted. “Right?” He nudged Sero with his elbow. “Sorry, bro, but it looks like you gotta join the blonde side.”

Sero rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, because that’s totally my biggest issue right now.”

Mina gasped dramatically. “Wait. Wait. What if we bleach your hair?”

“No.”

“Just a few streaks!”

“Absolutely not.”

Denki cackled. “Come on, man! It’s for the greater good!”

Sero groaned, rubbing his temples. “You guys are actually the worst.”

As the laughter from the lounge carried down the hall, Sero found himself stepping away from Mina and Denki, his grin faltering just a little as he leaned against the wall.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

He let out a heavy breath, knocking the back of his head against the wall as he stared up at the ceiling. It wasn’t like he hadn’t liked you for a while now he had. God, he had. But actually doing something about it? That was a whole different beast.

It should be easy. You two were already close, always teasing each other, always hanging out. It wasn’t like he’d never flirted before but this was you. It actually mattered this time. And after that kiss? His brain had officially checked out.

He dragged a hand down his face. “Alright. Think, dude. You’re not gonna go full Denki and make a dumbass move.”

Sero groaned, running both hands through his hair before letting them drop to his sides. His heart was hammering against his ribs, and he hated that it was just from the idea of telling you how he felt. He could fight villains, handle training, and deal with Bakugo’s explosive bullshit on a daily basis but this? This was terrifying.

Still, he had to do it. Kirishima was right. He had to man up and talk to you.

Pushing off the wall, he took a deep breath and nodded to himself.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Here goes nothing.”

And with that, he turned on his heel, heading toward the lounge toward you.

Sero had faced some pretty wild situations in his life.

He had been launched across training fields, nearly crushed by Todoroki’s ice, and once once had the unfortunate experience of getting his tape tangled with Kaminari’s electrical wires during a particularly chaotic mission.

But none of those moments compared to the sheer whiplash of what happened the second he stepped into the common room.

One second, he was approaching you, running through every possible way to casually bring up the fact that he really, really liked you.

The next, his entire face was in your hands.

He barely had time to process it before you yanked him down to your level, his knees nearly buckling as he stumbled forward. His breath hitched, and for a brief, chaotic moment, all he could do was stare.

Your fingers were squishing his cheeks, pressing into his face in a way that made his lips pout slightly. But you weren’t laughing. You weren’t teasing. You were staring, your eyes scanning his features with a level of intensity that made his brain short circuit.

Sero had never been a nervous guy. He was smooth cool, even. But there was something about the way you were studying him, your brows furrowed in deep concentration, that made him forget how to function.

“Uh,” he tried to say, but the way you were gripping his cheeks turned it into more of a muffled, “Whuh?”

You ignored him.

Instead, you slowly deliberately turned his head to face the three people sitting in front of you, all of whom were watching with expressions ranging from confusion to sheer amusement.

Ochako was biting her lip, eyes practically twinkling. Iida had a hand raised like he was about to intervene in whatever was happening. And Deku? Deku just looked utterly lost, glancing between you and Sero like he was waiting for someone to explain the rules of this bizarre situation.

You finally spoke, still holding Sero’s face hostage.

“This guy,” you declared, “gives the exact same energy as the heroes I just listed.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then:

“HUH?!”

Sero’s entire body went rigid. His brain completely shut down, the weight of your words slamming into him with the force of a cement truck.

“Oh my god,” Ochako whispered, covering her mouth in barely contained laughter.

Deku blinked rapidly. “Wait, Sero?”

Iida adjusted his glasses, clearly trying to keep his composure. “Y/N, I fail to see how”

“Tall? Check,” you continued, fingers still smooshed into Sero’s face as you tilted his head slightly for examination. “Effortlessly cool? Double check.”

Sero made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Kind of a little shit but in a charming way?” You smirked. “Yeah. This man is Hawks… well hawks doesn’t have the tall part.”

Ochako full on giggled. “Oh my god, you’re right.”

Deku looked bewildered. “Wait, what about Present Mic?”

“Oh, easy.” You dramatically gestured toward Sero’s usual lazy grin though at the moment, it was more panicked. “Loud, funny, and way too charismatic for his own good?”

“HEY”

“Textbook Present Mic,” you confirmed.

Sero opened his mouth to protest only to immediately shut it when you tilted his head again, considering.

“And All Might?” Iida asked, raising an eyebrow.

You hummed, tilting your head before nodding. “It’s the natural hero vibes.”

Sero sputtered. “I what does that even mean?!”

“It means you’re effortlessly cool, you make people feel comfortable ” you said, grinning up at him. “And you know it.”

Effortlessly cool. Cool. COOL. You felt… safe around him?

Sero was going to combust.

And then, as if to seal his fate, you finally let go of his face only for him to immediately lose his balance.

He had been standing behind the couch when you grabbed him, leaning slightly forward to accommodate your grip. But now that you had released him, his brain was still buffering which meant his body had absolutely no idea what to do.

His foot slid slightly. His balance tilted. And before he could catch himself

“Whoa!”

With all the grace of an inflatable tube man in a hurricane, Sero flopped forward, collapsing over the back of the couch with a truly undignified squawk. His legs stayed standing, but his torso draped over the cushions, his arms sprawled out as his face planted directly onto Ochako’s lap.

“Oh my god,” Ochako wheezed, shaking with laughter. Iida pinched the bridge of his nose. Deku just stared.

Your laughter rang through the room, your body folding in half as you slapped your knee. “Bro. Are you good?”

Sero groaned into Ochako’s lap, muffled by the fabric of her sweatpants. “No. I am not good.”

“You were trying to be cool, huh?” Ochako teased, giggling as she patted his back.

“Shut up, Uraraka,” he muttered, voice still slightly strangled.

You grinned down at him, leaning over the armrest. “Aw, c’mon, Sero. You’re still cool in my book.”

Oh.

Oh, he was so done for.

Still draped over the couch like a defeated man, Sero let out a long, suffering sigh before finally lifting his head to look at you. His face was red undeniably, traitorously red but he still forced his signature grin, resting his chin in his hand as he met your gaze.

“So, uh,” he drawled, voice only slightly shaky, “just to be clear… you do think I’m hot, then?”

Your smirk widened. “Sero. My guy. I’ve been saying this.”

Sero inhaled sharply. “Huh.”

He nodded once. Thought about his life choices. Then nodded again.

“Alright,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “Cool. That’s, uh… that’s good to know.”

You were just grinning.

Because at the end of the day, there was nothing more satisfying than flustering Hanta Sero.

On the other hand his whole life was flashing through his eyes, well all the embarrassing parts. Dangling from his own tape mid training? Yeah. Getting slammed into a wall by Kirishima during a sparring match? Absolutely. Accidentally sticking himself to the ceiling during first year combat trials? Embarrassing, but yes.

Now, Still draped over the back of the couch, he had tried to adjust himself tried being the key word only to realize that when he fell, he hadn’t just landed on Ochako’s lap. No, that would’ve been fine. That would’ve been recoverable.

Instead, in a cruel twist of fate, he had ended up sprawled across you.

Now, his upper body was half squished against your chest, his arms awkwardly pressed into the cushions beside you, and his legs were still somehow dangling behind him, propped up against the back of the couch in a way that defied physics.

He did not know how he ended up here. But what was worse? You weren’t moving. You weren’t shoving him off. You weren’t telling him to get it together. You weren’t doing anything except sitting there, your expression unreadable, as if you weren’t completely aware of the fact that his face was currently way too close to yours.

The silence stretched. The tension? Thick.

Sero gulped. “Sooo…”

Ochako snorted. Iida rubbed his temples like he was praying for patience. Deku who had been watching all of this unfold just shook his head and sighed.

“I think,” Deku said carefully, standing from his seat, “we should… probably go.”

Iida nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Agreed.”

Ochako stretched her arms over her head, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, you two look busy.”

Sero’s brain completely derailed. “Wait, wh”

Before he could even try to salvage his dignity, the three of them were already gone, vanishing around the corner with suspiciously amused expressions.

It was just you and him.

Sero slowly, slowly turned his head to look at you, eyes wide. “Uh.”

You raised a brow. “What?”

“You’re… not gonna push me off?”

“Eh.” You shrugged. “You’re warm.”

Sero nearly died on the spot.

His heart slammed against his ribs, his brain suddenly incapable of forming coherent thoughts. Warm. You liked this? You were fine with this?

He did not know what to do with that information.

“…You good?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

“Yeah.” He nodded quickly. “Totally. Totally good.”

A pause.

Then, as if this was just another normal conversation, you casually went, “Wanna go into town with me today?”

Sero blinked. “Huh?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you finally sat up, forcing him to shift slightly so you weren’t both in a tangled mess of limbs. “I was thinking of heading into the city for a bit,” you explained. “Figured it’d be fun to have some company.”

Sero’s brain, still recovering from the absolute whiplash of the last five minutes, struggled to catch up. “Oh. Uh yeah, sure.”

You grinned. “Cool.”

And just like that, you stretched, standing up as if nothing had happened, before strolling toward the dorm entrance.

Sero, still awkwardly perched on the couch, blinked after you.

It wasn’t until you were already halfway down the hall that realization smacked him in the face.

Wait.

Did I just… agree to a date?

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑

The moment you shut your bedroom door behind you, your entire body locked up.

Your reflection in the mirror stared back at you, wide eyed, mouth slightly open in shock.

Did I just?

You pointed at yourself accusingly.

“Did I just ask Hanta out?!”

Silence.

Your reflection, unhelpfully, did not respond.

You grabbed the nearest pillow and screamed into it.

What was that?! What possessed you to casually throw out an invitation like that? Sure, you wanted to hang out but you literally could have asked anyone! Anyone! But nooo, you had to invite Sero the same guy you’d been freaking out about all morning, the same guy who had landed on you just minutes ago, the same guy who had been so close that you could feel his breath

Your hands flew to your face as you let out a muffled groan.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “I asked him out. I actually asked him out.”

Your brain was short circuiting.

And worst of all?

He said yes.

He actually said yes.

And what did that mean?

Did he know what he just agreed to? Was this a date to him, too? Or was he just thinking of it as a casual hangout? Was he panicking as much as you were right now? Or was he just being all cool and Sero about it?

You groaned again, aggressively yanking open your closet. No time to panic. You have to get ready.

You sifted through your clothes at lightning speed, heart racing. What do you wear on a maybe but also maybe not date? You couldn’t go too fancy that would be too obvious. But you also couldn’t dress like a total slob that would be not obvious enough.

You finally settled on something nice but casual, throwing it on in record time before rushing to the mirror again.

Your hair A mess. You moderately fixed it.

Your face? Red. Ugh.

You slapped your cheeks lightly, taking a deep breath.

“Okay,” you muttered, staring yourself down. “It’s fine. It’s fine. You’re just hanging out with Sero. It’s totally normal. Not a big deal.”

Pause.

“…Except it is a big deal because you freaking like him”

You shoved that thought away, shaking your head furiously. Nope. Nope. Not going there right now.

Instead, you grabbed your phone, took one last deep breath, and bolted out the door trying very hard to ignore the way your heart was pounding at the thought of seeing him again.

By the time you made it downstairs, your nerves were still running wild. You had done everything possible to convince yourself this wasn’t a big deal this was just hanging out but the second you spotted Sero waiting by the door, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, your heart stuttered.

Because he looked jittery.

His hands were shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, his shoulders slightly tense, and his eyes darted around as if he couldn’t decide where to look. The moment he saw you, though, his entire body stiffened for half a second just barely noticeable before he forced himself to relax, throwing you a casual grin.

“Hey,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t give you away.

“Hey,” he echoed, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

For a moment, you both just stood there.

Then, at the same time

“So, uh”

“Are we”

Both of you stopped. Blinking.

Then, awkward laughter.

“Sorry, you go first,” Sero said, rubbing the back of his neck.

You shook your head, waving him off. “Nah, wasn’t important. What were you gonna say?”

His fingers curled tighter around the fabric of his hoodie. “Uh… just are we walking anywhere in particular? Or are we just kinda…?”

You shrugged, stuffing your hands into your own pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Let’s just go. See where the day takes us.”

A beat of silence.

Sero’s mouth curled into a tiny, lopsided smile. “Sounds good.”

Wandering aimlessly through the city turned out to be perfect. At first, the conversation stayed light harmless jokes and casual observations, your usual banter keeping things effortless. The tension from earlier? Gone. Neither of you had to try around each other, and that was the best part.

At one point, you both stopped at a street vendor selling taiyaki, and after a debate over which filling was superior (chocolate, obviously), you decided to split one.

Sero took the first bite, chewing thoughtfully before tilting his head.

“Actually” he took another bite, slow and deliberate, “no, this sucks. You should probably just let me have the rest.”

Your mouth fell open. “You little”

Before he could react, you lunged, snatching the taiyaki right from his hands.

“Not a chance,” you said, taking a victorious bite.

Sero gaped at you. “You thief.”

“It’s called justice!”

“You’re literally eating my taiyaki!”

“You didn’t even pay for it!”

“Details.”

You grinned, savoring the taste until suddenly, fingers dug into your sides.

You yelped.

Sero snickered, tickling your waist just enough to make you squirm. “What’s that? You say I deserve it back?”

“SER-STOP” You nearly choked on your food, smacking at his arm. “THAT’S CHEATING!”

He just laughed, stepping back with a smug look. “All’s fair in love and taiyaki.”

Your face flamed. “Excuse me?!”

He blinked. Then, as if realizing what he just said, his expression froze for a split second before he quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I I meant, uh”

“Oh my god, Sero.”

He let out a nervous chuckle, eyes darting anywhere but at you.

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑

Then came the shopping stalls.

You had stopped at a small pop up stand, sifting through a collection of keychains when Sero, standing beside you, casually held one up.

It was a tiny cat, hanging from a silver loop, its little paws outstretched like it was reaching for something.

“Hey, you like this one?”

You turned your head, about to answer, only to see Sero already pulling out his wallet.

“Wait, no” You slapped a hand over his. “Nope.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

In a flash, you grabbed the keychain from his fingers, shoved a few bills at the vendor, and smirked as you stuffed it into your pocket.

“Ha!” you said triumphantly. “Beat you to it.”

Sero stared at you.. “hey let me be chivalrous.”

“i can be a chivalrous one from time to time”

He narrowed his eyes. “Okay. It’s on now.”

The rest of the day turned into a battle to see who could pay for things first.

Sero managed to stealthily buy your drink while you weren’t looking.

You shoved money at a vendor mid Sero’s sentence, just to spite him.

He tried to sneak some money in your bag to pay you back for a snack you bought, but you refused to accept it.

It escalated so much that one poor vendor actually looked between you two, utterly confused as you both shoved money toward them, trying to pay first.

By the time the sun started dipping below the buildings, you were laughing breathless, exhausted, and completely out of small bills.

Sero let out a dramatic sigh, slumping against a railing. “You exhaust me.”

You grinned, nudging him with your elbow. “You love it.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah.”

The city lights flickered on, illuminating the streets in warm glows. For a moment, you both just stood there, watching the world move around you.

When you glanced at him, you noticed his fingers twitching just barely like he wanted to reach for something but wasn’t sure if he should.

You turned back toward the street, your pulse oddly fast. The way he looked at you? The soft grin on his lips, the warmth in his gaze? It made you think that maybe… just maybe… he didn’t mind so much after all.

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑

The city lights shimmered in the distance as you and Sero stood just outside the dorms, the warm glow of the entrance lights casting long shadows across the pavement. The evening air was crisp, a gentle breeze ruffling Sero’s dark hair as he shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight slightly. He looked… hesitant, which wasn’t like him.

“So…” he started, voice casual but laced with something uncertain. His dark eyes flickered toward yours. “Was today, like… a date?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I mean” He gestured between the two of you, his expression caught somewhere between amused and serious. “We went out, just us, got food, fed each other”

“You fed me too!” you cut in, arms crossing defensively.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said with a chuckle, “but that’s my point! It kinda felt like a date, but I don’t remember you actually saying it was one.”

Your lips parted slightly, your brain scrambling for a response. Then, after a beat, you muttered, “Wasn’t it obvious?”

Sero raised an eyebrow, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Usually you have to say it’s a date for it to be one.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it.…Okay, fair point.

The smug look on his face made your own heat up with embarrassment.

“So, what, you just accidentally took me on a date?” he teased, his voice light but his gaze fixed on you, watching your reaction.

You groaned, tilting your head back dramatically before burying your face in your hands for a second. Then, dropping them to your sides, you sighed. “Fine! Yes, it was a date, okay? You happy now?”

Sero beamed, looking very pleased with himself. “Very.”

You huffed, glancing away, but you couldn’t fight the small smile creeping onto your lips.

A thought struck you, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “Y’know, I really wanted to do the Spider Man kiss today.”

Sero, who had still been grinning at you, suddenly froze. “Wait what?”

You turned back to him, arms crossing again. “You know. The classic upside down kiss. Missed opportunity.”

He just stared at you, his brain clearly buffering.

Then, after a moment, he ran a hand down his face with a breathy laugh. “You really wanted to do that, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” you said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It would’ve been really… cute i think.”

Sero eyed you for a second, then, with a sudden spark of mischief, he took a step closer. His voice dipped, teasing yet playful. “Well,” he murmured, “no rule says we can’t do it now.”

Your heart skipped.

Then, you smirked. “Okay. But we gotta do it right.”

Sero rolled his eyes but still stepped back, already reaching for his arm. “Fine, fine.” With the ease of someone who had used his quirk a thousand times over, he shot a long strip of tape toward the awning above the dorm entrance, testing its hold before glancing at you.

“You better catch me if I fall,” he muttered, already pulling himself up.

You grinned. “No promises.”

Within seconds, he was suspended upside down, his dark hair falling freely as he swayed slightly. The angle made him blink rapidly, clearly thrown off. “Okay, this is way more disorienting than I thought.”

You stifled a giggle, stepping closer until his face was inches from yours. “You look ridiculous.”

“Yeah, yeah, are you kissing me or what?”

You rolled your eyes fondly before reaching up, gently cupping his face. His breath hitched slightly, his dark eyes flickering from yours to your lips.

And then, closing the gap, you kissed him.

It was soft at first, hesitant as you adjusted to the angle, but then Sero melted into it. His lips moved against yours, warm and sure, despite his upside down position. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation him suspended in midair, you leaning up to meet him only made it better.

When you finally pulled away, Sero let out a breathless chuckle. “That… was pretty cool.”

You smirked, poking his cheek. “Told you.”

He sighed dramatically, grabbing onto his tape to lower himself down. The moment his feet hit the ground, he stretched his arms above his head with a content grin.

“So,” he mused, rolling his shoulders. “Does that officially make this a date?”

You smirked, arms crossed. “I don’t know.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Seriously?”

You shrugged, teasing. “You usually have to say it’s a date for it to be one, right?”

Sero let out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, I get it!” Then, with a small grin, he leaned in just slightly, his voice softer. “So, you wanna go out with me? Officially?”

Your heart skipped, but you matched his grin, feeling the warmth of the night air between you both.

“Obviously.”

[In the dorm common room, the morning after the kiss.]

Denki: So, let me get this straight you kissed him?

You: …Yes?

Sero: She just couldn’t resist me.

You: Oh my god—

Denki: Bro, I’m so proud of you… but also deeply envious.

Mina: I cant even lie you pulled the baddie of the class, im so bummed on this

Denki: WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN?!

I can’t get this fic out of my mind. Thank you @mytanuki-kun 🙏🏻😌✨💕

MY BABY BOY NEEDS LOVE AND ATTENTION

FIVE TIMES NANAMI WANTED TO PROPOSE BUT DIDN'T - NANAMI KENTO

✴︎ summary: nanami wanted to propose to you so many times - but it was never the right time, and then, there was no time left. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, swearing, ANGST (major spoilers for jjk 120 (probably next week's episode, character death, exploration of grief, if you wish to avoid the major angst: stop reading after part 5), SMUT (fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), panty sniffing, semi public sex, nipple play, creampie, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms), pet names (love, sweetheart), happy ending (sort of?) ✴︎ wc: 10,121 (i have a problem) ✴︎ song: the archer - taylor swift (blame laney for this)

ONE.

The first time Kento Nanami wanted to propose to you shouldn’t count. 

And it won’t because it was when he first met you — enrolled into Jujutsu Tech along with the other first years, he first laid his eyes on you at a welcome party that the soon to be menace to his sanity, Satoru Gojo, had organized. Well, he could thank Gojo for one thing it was introducing you to the room — because he may have had to find the words to ask you himself. And he didn’t know if that was possible with his tongue in knots. 

But he managed to talk to you — mostly with Haibara leading the conversation. You were reserved, at first, but he saw the spark in your eyes whenever you spoke about something you were passionate about — reading was one, one thing you both shared a love for. 

“Yeah hauling my books to Jujutsu Tech wasn’t an easy feat, I had to ask Geto-senpai to have some of his cursed spirits help me haul it up to my dorm,” 

“By the way, you still owe me lunch for that,” Geto smirks as he slips past, and the flush that settles on your cheeks is one Nanami wanted to see — again and again. 

“Aren’t the upperclassmen supposed to buy lunch?” You grumble, pouting as Gojo interjected himself, resting himself on your shoulder with his arm, making you jump. 

“Not here, here the kouhais earn their keep,” he grins, tilting his glasses down, “can you?” 

And Nanami opens his mouth to reply, irritation creeping over his senses, before you brush Gojo off, “I’ll buy you lunch, but next time, if that’s what it’s gonna cost me, I’m going to have you two haul my books by hand up those steps,” You stick out your tongue, before your arms curl around his and Haibara, “let’s have cake,” you smile at both of them, gaze lingering on Nanami, “and we can exchange book recommendations?” 

That was the moment he wanted to propose — could see himself living in a home with you, filled with both of your books lining the walls of a personal library, but your living room as well. He could see himself falling asleep beside you as you read to him, your fingers carding through his hair. 

But no, no, it was irrational, he chided himself, as he talked to you, his lips curled in a smile that had damned him from the moment he saw it. He just had met you — he had barely been ever moved by another person, much less fallen in love. And it shouldn’t happen this quickly — it only happened this quickly in books — not in real life. 

But you — he watched you and Haibara chat and laugh — you were someone that might just be the thing of books.  

~~~~ 

TWO.

The second time he wanted to propose, he didn’t care to remember. 

And he barely did. 

He remembers the facts of the mission. It was supposed to be simple — exorcise a grade 2 curse, simple enough for him and Haibara to handle by themselves. Not that they had a choice. Jujutsu Tech’s resources were already far too spread thin — Gojo himself being sent all over Japan and even overseas to handle things himself that no one should be able to. But their mission? It should have been simple — dangerous still, but simple. 

But nothing was simple when it came to curses. 

He remembers sensing the curse — the manifestation had frozen him and Haibara for a moment — their bodies taut with fear and adrenaline — but they couldn’t move. Even as the cursed spirit screeched before them, he couldn’t articulate what was happening — it was supposed to be a grade 2, it was supposed to be a grade 2, but no — this was a grade 1. 

And then it struck — Kento barely had enough time to react, but he did, pushing Haibara out of the way when it did. 

He didn’t remember much after that. 

He remembered the squelch of Haibara’s flesh, the blood seeping through his clothes, the way his body crumpled on the ground, and he remembered the next moment was the first time he landed a black flash — stunning the curse enough for him to grab Haibara and escape. 

But not enough to save him. 

Haibara had made him promise if anything had ever happened to him — he would make sure his sister wasn’t recruited to Jujutsu Tech. And he had to make the call to his family — he couldn’t bear the thought of some higher up taking advantage of their grief to manipulate another into their clutches. 

No, he couldn’t let that happen. 

And now he sat in the morgue with his body, towel covering his eyes — Geto had come and went — and now he sat waiting for the body to be examined and taken away to be burned. Burned to ash with nothing left — that was the way all sorcerers bodies were disposed of. It was if they never existed in the first place - pawns in a never ending war that would have them piled like corpses on a sacrificial pyre. 

What was the point? 

Haibara had always told him — if there was something only he could do, he would do it. And for him it was jujutsu — but wasn’t there something else? Something else for him to do that didn’t let him up like this? A body on a metal slab waiting to be incinerated. What was the point? 

Was there even a point? People lived and people died. He had lived and Haibara died, but he didn’t know why. Why or how do people live one day and disappear the next? He had seen death before but not of someone so close — someone so precious to him. And the chaos was too much for him. To be killed by another’s twisted feelings manifested into a monster — it was almost poetic if it wasn’t so fucking tragic. 

“Nanami?” And he pulls the towel from his eyes, and sees you — your eyes glassy and red tinged — tear streaks you didn’t hide well left on your face, “Nanami—“ and you don’t know what to do with yourself — as you come to him, hesitating, “can I—“ 

But he’s the one pulling you into his arms, nearly into his lap as his fingers dig into the fabric of your jacket, “I’m sorry — I’m so sorry I wasn’t there—“ your voice breaks, and it’s enough to break him — he hadn’t really cried, not around another person, but tears well at your words, as your fingers card through his hair. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for — I’m the one—“ and his voice breaks in turn, as the words stuck in his mind going round and round, until they were nearly had shattered his sanity and skull along with it, “I’m the one who couldn’t save him,” 

And you pull back to look at him with tear stained cheeks, “that’s not your fault, Nanami—“ 

“How is it not?” His words are laced with more venom that he wishes them to be, a little more bite than he wished to chew, and the hurt in your eyes was enough to make him regret speaking altogether, “I’m so—“ 

“No, it’s not your fault, Kento,” and his eyes find yours, your lips twisted in a frown, and your gaze unwavering, “I know a part of you knows that — knows that…Haibara’s death is nothing but a function of this shitty system we’ve been funneled into. Nothing more. Nothing less. And you know,” your voice grows softer, “you know Haibara wouldn’t want you blaming yourself for this. You know what he’d say?” You almost chuckle, “he’d tell you not to sweat it. To keep going. That you got it, right?” 

He gives a terse chuckle in return, shaking his head, as his head tilts into your chest again, “How do we—“ 

“I don’t know,” you murmur, you don’t need him to say more, “I don’t know how we do this without him, but we have to. We have to for him,” and your hand cups his face, tilting his chin up so he looks up at you, “together?”

And he wants to ask you then — ask you to marry him. He doesn’t know when he would get a chance. You were the only thing that made his life make sense — the only thing that made him feel okay, feel safe, for once. He was so tired of never feeling that way. And he had just lost the one other person who made him feel that way. 

He knew you wouldn’t say yes. You couldn’t. You were both so young still, still reeling from Haibara, still stuck in this system that could kill either of you at any time. But still…wasn’t that all the more reason to do it? 

But as you pulled him into another tight hug, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer in the Jujutsu world. He couldn’t — he couldn’t take another loss like this. He didn’t know if he could bear it. But as his tears wet your jacket, surrounded by you — your scent, your soft breath, your warm presence — he would try. 

He would try for you. And his eyes slid to Haibara’s body covered by a sheet — and for him. 

~~~

THREE.

“After graduation, I’m leaving,” it was a late night, a couple days before graduation that he told you. The soft pitter-patter of rain was the only thing heard from int the silence before he spoke. You laid on the foot of his bed, reading a book, while he sat cross legged at the head of it, his eyes fixed on you. 

Your gaze lifts from your book, brow furrowed in confusion, “Leaving?” 

“I can’t be a jujutsu sorcerer,” his words are as plain as always, “I can’t do it. I’m going to go to college and pursue some other line of study—“ 

And you sit up slowly, putting your book aside, and he expects protests, expects you to convince him otherwise, expects you to try and stop him, but all you ask is one question, “are you sure?” 

It catches him by surprise — as you always seemed to. He could anticipate enemy attacks, analyze their next moves five steps ahead, plan three routes of escape, and even predict what garbage will come out of Satoru Gojo’s obscene mouth, but you — you always could surprise him. 

“I am,” he finally answers softly, “this society is shit, you know that. And these past few years have shown me that the difference I make isn’t worth the toll it’s taking, especially when I’m not changing anything,” 

“Kento, you do make a difference,” your fingers find his, intertwining with ease, such ease he can’t help but think that’s what it was meant for, “you do — even if you can’t see it, I just want you to know, you do. For the people you help, even if you don’t see them, for the other sorcerers you inspire, and for me,” 

And he chuckles, “even you?” And you roll your eyes, pouting — the same pout that makes him want to lean over and kiss you until your lips are utterly ruined. 

“Even me,” you toss a pillow at him, and he catches it with ease, and you scowl playfully, “y’know i’m gonna miss you, but I’m not gonna miss that,” 

“What? My quick reflex—“ and you smack him with another pillow and giggle, the noise making his lips quirk into a smile even as you laughed at him, hands covering your lips. 

“What was that, Mr. Ratio? Your quick—“ and he’s tossing a pillow right back smacking you in the face, making his lips curl in a rare grin (though not so rare when he was with you—“ 

And you pull the pillow off, your face grim, “Oh, it’s so on—“ you’re tossing a pillow, but it’s only a diversion as you lunge for him, assumedly to mess up his hair, but he’s caught you by the wrist, his other hand around your waist as he’s gotten you pinned to the bed. 

Time stops. 

He’s breathing heavily, and you are too — from the rise and fall of your chest, but he can hardly hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. Your lips part as you look up at him — you’re dressed in your sleep clothes, a thin tank top and shorts — and it would be so easy to lean down, let his palm slide under his shirt. He sees your eyes flicker down his body the same — climbing back up before pausing at his lips. 

It wasn’t a good idea. He was leaving. You both were graduating. Who knows when he would see you again — yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Not when this is what he wanted for so long, when he wanted you for so long. But maybe he should — maybe it would be easier, he couldn’t ask you to leave Jujutsu Tech. Just as you couldn’t ask him to stay. He knew you would stay to honor Haibara’s memory, to carry on his legacy — the one thing sorcerers could do for their fallen comrades. 

Sometimes the only thing. 

And sometimes it was the only thing they couldn’t do.  

“Kento—“ your voice pulls him from his reverie, as your fingers brush against his cheek, “are you going to hover over me forever, let me go, or…” and your teeth graze your lip, “are you going to kiss me?” 

And he’s blinking, cheeks most assuredly flushing, as your fingers graze the back of his neck, and his mouth is dry, as he looks down on you. 

But he doesn’t need to asked twice, as he leans even closer, delighting in how your breath catches, looming over him, “do you want me to kiss you?” And the telltale quirk of his lips makes you gape at him, drawing a laugh from him. 

“I hate you,” you murmur, as his lips finally brush yours, swallowing those playfully bitter words with them — and your lips are even softer than he imagined, your fingers settling themselves on the back of his neck, brushing the hair that rested there. 

And when he pulls away; his heart squeezes at the sight of your kiss ruined lips parted as you pant slightly, eyes fluttering open to look up at him as if to ask why did you stop? And he can’t help but smile. 

“It’s too bad because I love you—“ the words slip from his mouth — but he doesn’t regret it. How can he? When he might not get another chance. 

And he thinks his heart will stop at your silence again, the pitter-patter of raindrops ringing in his ears again, before your lips finally curl. 

“You love me, huh?” You’re leaning up and kissing him, lips finding his again and again — and how is it that he’s already addicted? You taste like honey, and sunshine, and something headier — sending heat warmer than liquor throughout his body that only made him crave more of you, and you finally pull away, and you’re smiling, “good thing I love you too,” 

And he can’t believe his ears, he can’t believe you love him too — all these years he thought it was one-sided, that he was deluding himself with all the times your fingers found his, your eyes met across a classroom with a smile, and the times he found himself falling asleep next to you all those nights neither of you wanted to be asleep, your arm curled around his.  

But you did. You loved him. And he loved you. 

And as your lips met again, he knew, he knew he still couldn’t ask you. Couldn’t ask you because he knew you maybe wouldn’t say no — and he couldn’t ask that of you. Not when it wasn’t what you wanted. Not when he knew you could do the good he couldn’t bring himself to do. And you would — because you were the best person he knows. 

He loves you. And therefore he had to let you go. 

But — as he lingered over you on his bed, his body hovering over his as he dragged his thumb over your red, puffy lips, before leaning down for another kiss — 

He didn’t have to let you go this second. 

~~~~

FOUR.

It’s years before he sees you again. 

It wasn’t purposeful. Not exactly anyway. 

It was just easier. Easier not to have to think of you still at the place he once was. Still fighting the same curses he would have been fighting with you. Still risking your life day in and day out. While he…he only had money to worry about. To think about. To obsess about. 

Money. Money. Money. Money. 

How was this somehow shittier than what the jujutsu world? He had considered going into a more humanitarian profession, but when his goal was to retire early, why waste time? If he wanted to help people…he glances at his phone — the one vice he allowed himself,  a picture of you that you had sent him when you got promoted to Grade 1 saved as his screensaver — he could have stayed by your side. 

No, he wanted to retire. Find himself a nice place to retire to — he hadn’t decided the exact location yet. Somewhere peaceful. With nothing but beaches and sky and sand and books for him to read, to reclaim his life page by page. But to get there — he had to slop through this shit work — making the rich richer. 

The same in the jujutsu world, and the same here as well. 

And it was one day after he had exorcised a curse from his favorite bakery’s worker, he had felt anything good — anything remotely good — in far too long. Your words rang in his ears — you make a difference. 

Was he making a difference by lining the pockets of the rich? Maybe his sorcery wouldn’t change  the world, move minds or hearts, pivot the course of history — but maybe he could have his own impact. And not feel like complete shit when he woke up every morning. 

And he wouldn’t — he knew he wouldn’t — if he could just see you smile again. Even if he could just see you again. He pulls out his phone, staring at your picture. And maybe…maybe even more. 

“Hello, Gojo? I’d like to return to Jujutsu Tech,” and he hears laughter on the other end, “why are you laughing?” 

“Kento?” You drop the pen you’re holding, as he steps into your office. And your lips are parted in surprise, your eyes fixed on his, “what are you—“ 

“I’m coming back, to Jujutsu Tech, I’m going to be a sorcerer again,” and he knows what you’ll ask, he knows you’re going to ask why — you’re going to ask him if he’s sure. And he doesn’t know how to tell you except by saying it’s because of you. 

But you don’t say anything, your chair screeches back as you get up, clattering backwards and suddenly as you’re running into his arms. Your face is buried in his chest, and he can feel the tears against his shirt, and his arms curl around you, fingers running through your hair, “I missed you so much,” you murmur, and then you look up at him, fingers tracing his cheeks, gingerly moving his glasses away, “you look tired,” 

“I am, but I’m better now,” he’s murmuring — and how is it that you send him right back to where he started, right back to where you always send him. It doesn’t even take a touch — only a glance, a whiff, a second — “I missed you too,” he adds, “a lot,” 

And you push him playfully, pouting up at him, “Could have fooled me. You barely ever called or texted me all these years. You talked more to Gojo than you did me,” 

“That’s only because that flippant idiot won’t stop calling until I pick up,” he grumbles — Gojo was the last thing he wanted to talk about in his moment — his fingers caress your cheek, tracing the line of your cheekbone, “I wanted to talk to you — I did, I just, I knew if I talked to you, I might say something I’d regret,” 

“And what would you regret saying to me?” You raise an eyebrow, and his eyes are sliding away from him. 

Asking you to come see him, asking you to leave Jujutsu Tech for him, asking you to be with him — every question that he wanted to ask, but never could. 

“It’s not important—” and your hand cups his cheek guiding his eyes back to yours, and he knew you weren’t going to let this go, “If I talked to you, I knew it would end one of three ways — one, I’d ask you to leave Jujutsu Tech; two, I’d come back to Jujutsu Tech; or three, you’d ask me one of these yourself — but I knew I couldn’t do that,” 

And your brows knit together, “Why not?” 

“Because it had to be our own decision — I couldn’t leave and you couldn’t leave, just because the other asked,” he murmurs, his gaze softening, “it wouldn’t be fair to either of us — or the other — to feel like the only reason we’re together was because of guilt or want for the other, not for ourselves,” 

You consider his words for a moment, “I would have left if you asked me,” 

“I know, and I would have come back if you had,” 

“But we didn’t,” and your fingers cup his face, “you remember what I said to you that night that we kissed?” 

And he swallows the lump in his throat, his heart rattling against his chest, “You said, you didn’t want to go further because it would only hurt more when we had to go our separate ways,” and your hand slides up his chest slowly, the other already resting against his neck, and his find their way to you — one hand holding your waist and the other cupping your cheek, “but we’re not separate anymore, are we?”  

“I hope the wait was worth it,” you smile, as both close the gap, lips meeting again and again — and you taste the same, but even better somehow — and he’s only pulling you closer, lips curled in a smile so wide that he hadn’t felt in so long, so long.

“Always, when it's you,” he murmurs against your lips, before his lips begin to trail kisses down your jaw and then your neck, his teeth brushing against your pulse, pulling a gasp from your lips, “good girl,” And he feels your knees buckle against his and he’s walking you backwards into the edge of your desk, “is anyone left on campus?” and you’re shaking your head, your eyes flitting to the door, as he makes you sit on your desk, thighs parted for him to settle between. 

“The door—” 

“Locked,” he replies, drawing back only a moment to take in the image before him — your lips red and ruined, chest rising and falling as you look disheveled at best, sexed at worst, and your eyes — your eyes swirled with lust, half lidded and desperate for his touch— “didn’t want any interruptions,” 

Just as he was. 

His fingers draw up a strand of your hair and kisses it, and your lips part, “Kento, please—” 

“Please, what, my love?” his voice is low and teasing, as his fingers peel back your jacket, pulling it off your shoulders, “you’re going to have to be more specific,” his lips find your neck, soft, wet kisses that has your body leaning into his, “I’m not a mind reader,” 

“But you are a tease,” you pout, and he only smiles, leaning down to do the thing he always wanted to — he kisses the pout off your lips, moaning lightly when your lips part for his tongue, his hands dragging down your sides, as your fingers loosen his tie, “I think you will be doing overtime with me today, Nanami-Sensei,” 

And he grunts, as your fingers free him of his tie, joining your jacket on the floor, “I’m not going to be a teacher, just a sorcerer,” his teeth graze right under your chin, nibbling, “so you’re the only sensei here — are you going to teach me what you’ve learned the last few years?” 

And you toy with the top button of his blue button-up, “Oh, I’ll teach you, Kento,” and you’re starting to undo his buttons, as he busies himself undoing yours, “the question is whether you can handle it,” 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs in reverence, and his fingers finally undo the buttons, sliding your shirt off your shoulders, eyes raking over your chest — sharp blue gaze lingering on the erect nipples poking through the fabric for your bra, “You’ve always been the one thing I can’t handle,” his mouth leans down, closing around one clothed nipple, while he teased the other with his fingers, and he delights in your gasp, the noise sending heat right down to his already aching cock, “but I’m willing to try, my love,” 

“You still love me?” You murmur, as he shrugs off his own shirt, perfect abs teasing into a v-line, all this muscle hidden under his business attire — and you knew he still must work out, and he did. He did in case he ever needed to come back — come back for you. 

“Who says I ever stopped?” His nose buried in the nape of your neck now, as his fingers teasingly snap the strap of your bra, “you smell so good, so perfect,” and his fingers undo your bra and it joins the pile of clothes growing on the floor, “there wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you — a night that i didn’t dream of you, that I didn’t want you,” 

“Kento—“ you whimper, as he tugs at your skirt, a quick glance for your nod, and he slides it down your legs, bunching at your ankles until you kick it off. Your cheeks burn as he’s kissing your way down your body, his mouth teasing the other nipple he had neglected, trailing hot kisses down your stomach, until he reaches the fabric of your panties, “I need—“ 

“Been wanting to taste this for so long,” and he’s kneeling between your parted thighs, still calloused fingers parting your plush flesh, tongue flicking over his dry lips at the sight of the dark wet patch at the crotch of your underwear. And you look down at him, eyes glazed over with unadulterated lust that is almost enough to have him cumming in his pants, “so sweet,” he’s murmuring as he noses your clothes cunt, and you jerk, as he pulls the crotch aside, “wonder if you taste as sweet as you smell,” 

“Kento—“ and his tongue drags over the length of your dripping cunt, nose bumping against your clit, as your thighs curl around him, pulling him closer, closer — “fuck—“ 

“Such a filthy mouth,” he tuts, smiling against your cunt as his tongue teases your folds, “almost as filthy as you are down here,” and his finger begins to part your walls, making your thighs shake and quake, his lips close around your clit, sucking. 

You’re a mess of moans and pants, hips grinding against his touch, as one hand tries to muffle your moans, the other is curled in his blonde locks, “taste even better than I imagined — just f’me, only for me,” You’re so close, as he parts your folds with another finger, sinking knuckle deep, as his fingers brush against that one spot that has you parting your lips in a silent moan, head thrown back — and the heat deep in your stomach is going to snap. 

KNOCK KNOCK. 

You both freeze, your cunt jerking around his fingers, as you bite your lip — maybe if you’re silent, they’ll go away— but Kento clicks his tongue, a smile on his glossy  cum covered lips, mouthing, “Speak,” and you gape at him, chest still heaving, as you shake your head, before he’s curling his fingers just right. 

Fucker. 

You hear Gojo’s voice, calling your name, “You in there?” 

You swallow thickly, meeting Kento’s gaze — he’s not backing down, “Yeah, sorry I’m in the middle of something — do you need something?” 

“I was just wondering if you heard from a certain salaryman, or should I say, ex-salaryman?” the very one that was burying his face back in your still sensitive pussy, slurping and licking, despite Gojo being right outside. 

You have to bite back your moans, swallowing them as you speak, “You mean Nana—ah—mi?” And you feel the very same sorcerer smirk against your abused cunt, a third finger finding its way inside you, “ha-haven’t heard from him, and what do mean ‘ex?’” 

You do your best at acting, but it’s hard when his mouth closes around your clit, sucking hard, as your fingers curl in his hair, biting your lip so hard, as he fucks your pussy in earnest with his fingers — how can Gojo not hear the nasty squelch of your cunt? 

“He left his job. He’s coming back to Jujutsu Tech,” and he takes a beat, “I’ll take my leave,” and he chuckles, “have fun you two, and Nanami?” You feel your face flush, “don’t be too rough with her — we need our best teacher available to teach tomorrow,” 

You hear his laugh all the way down the hall, and you’re covering your face — those fucking six eyes — but Kento’s tugging your hands away, “Pay attention to the one who’s filling you, love,” and he’s burying his face in your cunt, fucking you even harder — hitting that spot over and over, until you cum, back arching, as he’s pulling his fingers out to lap up the slick dripping from you, “delicious,” he murmurs, kissing your still sensitive clit, before he’s looking up at you — all fucked out, your chest rising and falling with every pant, your lips kiss ruined red — “and so beautiful,” 

His licks his lips clean of your cum, wiping the rest with the back of his hand, as he rises to your feet, “Kento, please,” you’re murmuring, his hands slide over your body, squeezing your hips, “I need you,” 

“What do you need—“ and his words are cut off by your fingers reaching for his buckle, the clink of the metal as you undid it, along with the button, tugging his pants and boxers down.

He hisses as his too sensitive dick slaps his stomach, your lips parting, eyes in a trance, “So pretty, Kento,” your fingers traces one of his veins to his already leaking tip, “and so fucking big,” you murmur, teasing the bead of precum on his slit, making him groan, “can’t wait to have this inside me — been waiting ten years,” 

And he’s sliding your hand away, pressing his hips flush to yours, as your legs wrap around his waist, “That long huh?” And his lips find yours again, letting you taste yourself, “and I thought I was the only one pining,” 

“So you admit you were pining for me?” And he laughs, as you smile up at him — like all the times he had hoped you would — “I had a crush from almost the moment I met you,” 

“You could have fooled me,” he presses kisses up and down your jaw, drawing a moan from both of you as he teases your puffy clit with his aching tip, “I thought you had a crush on Geto,” and you scoff. 

“Geto? So you were jealous of him — that’s why you always had that sour look whenever I studied with him,” you grin even wider, “well you had nothing to worry about - I had a crush on very gloomy boy and no one else ever caught my eye,” 

And he softly smiles, and it seems to ebb away the years — the trauma and the tiredness — and left only him, your Kento. 

“Is that right?” He asks before kissing you again, his fingers finding the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, as you moaned, muffled by his mouth, “I want—“ 

“I know, me too, please — don’t keep me waiting any longer,” and how could he refuse a request like that? 

He’s sinking into you, thick cock parting your dripping folds until he hilts himself fully in you, his fingers digging your hips — and you’re so full, too full. And you’re perfect — perfect walls wrapped around him, so warm and so tight — it’s enough for him to neatly blow his load then and there. 

But he can’t, can’t when he’s waited this long to do this. You’re whimpering, “S’good, Kento, too good,” your walls flutter around him as his hips shift lightly, “please, please move—“ his hands find your legs, lifting them higher to find a better angle, fingers digging into your soft thighs. 

And his hips slowly thrust into you, edging you with his shallow thrusts, and you’re whining, “Kento—“ 

“Look at the mess you’re making all over your desk,” he’s guiding your gaze with two fingers on your chin, making you watch where his cock is sunk into you, “taking me so well, practically swallowing me, good fuckin’ girl,” he grunts, “want it harder? Want me to fuck you?”

Your desk is already creaking under your weights and the movements, you’re nodding wordlessly, lips parted, “Kento, please, I need—“ and you watched his cock pull out only to slam back in. Your head falls back, moaning his name again and again. 

The squelch of your cunt rang in his ears over and over, as he grunts, barely keeping himself from cumming, especially when you begin to roll your hips into him, “You’re so pretty, and all mine — just mine,” and his lips find yours again, just as your walls flutter at his words, “like that? Like it when I claim you, love with my cock fucking you?” And his vulgar words only makes you tighter, and he grunts, “‘m close, sweetheart,” 

“Me too—g’nna cum—“ and his dick reaches that spot right as his thumb bears down on your clit, teasing it in circles, until you’re moaning his name as you cum. Your walls clamp down, soaking his cock, a white ring of cum around his base as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

His eyes meet yours as you do, watching your high overcome you, twitching and moaning — and he doesn’t last much longer. His hips stutter against you in shallow thrusts until he’s notching himself deep inside, groaning as he cums, hot seed painting your walls white. 

“So perfect,” he murmurs, as he kisses your sweat slicked forehead, “so good,” and he’s grunting as he pulls out, watching your mixed releases trickle out, leaking all over your desk and onto the floor. He drags his cock over your weeping cunt, watching it flutter around nothing. 

“Kento,” you murmur, gazing up at him, utterly blissed out as your lips curl, your legs slipping off his waist as he settles down on your desk, “I love you,” 

And his heart squeezes — is he dreaming? He must be dreaming — because nothing in his life has ever been so good. So wonderful. So perfect. It didn’t happen for him — it never happened for him. 

“I love you too,” he murmurs reverently, his fingers trailing over your jaw, “so much — you don’t know how much, darling,” 

“Think you can quantify it for me, Mr. Salaryman?” And he snorts, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Don’t call me that,” he kisses your neck — you smelled so good, were you real? 

“Then what should I call you?” 

And he wanted to ask you then — ask you to call him your husband, to marry you, to buy that ring he had looked at from time to time when he thought about marrying you. But you just found your way back to each other — hell, he had just slept with you in your office, not even a bed. It was too soon, but — his lips curled — he was closer than he had ever been before. And he wouldn’t wait, he wouldn’t hesitate, not when it was you. He wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers. 

He smiles, “Just call me yours.” 

~~~~ 

FIVE.

Today was the day. 

He was finally going to ask. That’s what he thought when he looked at you, still in bed, bathed in the dappled sunlight let in by his parted curtains. You were still fast asleep beside him, body curled up so your body was pressed against him. He ran his fingers through your hair gently not to wake you, “I love you,” he murmurs, as opens his bedside drawer, pulling a ring box and notecard from it — and he stares at it. 

He’d ask you. He would ask you to marry him — finally take you on that vacation to Malaysia you both had talked about for too long, read all the books you both had put off, and lounge on the beach — and do much more in your hotel room. And then maybe, maybe he could ask you to retire from jujutsu. 

He had always promised himself, promised that he wouldn’t be a sorcerer when he got married. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving a family behind to mourn him — but even more than that, he couldn’t bear the thought to lose you, to call you his wife, call you his soulmate — and have you fall away from him. 

He would rather be the one to die. 

But this way — he rises, grabbing his clothes for the day, and slipping the ring and the note into his coat pocket — neither of you would have to worry about losing the other. At least to a curse. 

“Where are we going?” You giggle as he drags you along the street, packed with people, more than usual. He keeps you close, an arm wrapped around you, especially for a Wednesday evening. What date was it? He had seemingly lost track of everything he had planned. 

“It’s Halloween,” you remind him without him asking the question, “explains all costumed people and the packed streets — we should definitely avoid Shibuya — the crowds there would be insane,” 

“How’d you know—“ and you tap his forehead with a smile. 

“I could see your gears grinding, Kento,” you smile, resting your head against his shoulder, “and it’s just like you to forget it’s Halloween,” 

“Is it?” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “well good thing I have you to remind me,”

“Very good thing, and I have you to remind me about everything else,” and he nods, and you elbow him, “you don’t have to remind me of that much!”

“You were leaving the house yesterday and you forgot your wallet, keys, and purse — you almost forgot to put on shoes—“ and you’re covering his mouth his your hand. 

“How about you remind me about where we’re going?” And he smiles against your hand, before kissing it gently, pulling it from his lips and kissing the back of your hand as well, making you flush. 

“Why ruin the surprise—” and then both of your phones ring — the two of you share a dark look, glancing at your phones and seeing the same message — Emergency: veil has fallen over certain areas of Shibuya. All available sorcerers report. 

“I guess we are going to Shibuya,” you sigh, running your fingers through your hair, “we should—” 

“We should stop by the apartment — we both left all our equipment there and I need to change,” and you nod, as his fingers toy with the ring box in his pocket, a sigh stuck in his throat. When will he ever get the chance to do this right? Finally, he had worked up the nerve and this—this had to happen. 

“Hey,” you cup his cheek, a soft smile on your face, “I’m sorry our plans are falling through, and just when I was going to make you give up this secret surprise,” 

His lips curl, as his arm pulls you even closer,  “I don’t recall agreeing to give up any secrets,” and you lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet quickly turning heady — neither of you were ones for public displays — but for some reason, it just felt right. And you part, breath warming his lips with a wide grin. 

“Oh, you would have,” and he laughs, squeezing your hips, as he rests his forehead against yours, “We’ll pick this up right after we deal with this problem.” 

He nodded, leaning down to kiss you again and again, his fingers still toying with the box in his pocket. And he wanted to ask right then, just drop to his knee in the middle of this packed street full of costumed weirdos and freaks, mission be damned, jujutsu be damned — but he didn’t want to do it like this. 

He wanted it to be a time where both of you were safe, where you could celebrate without the fear of danger beating down your necks, where he could talk to you, hold you, kiss you — without fear it would be the last. Because he always wondered when it would be the last. But it wouldn’t be — he’d do anything to make it back, to finally take that step with you, the one he’d been waiting for over ten years to take. Take that vacation you both wanted with his ring on your finger, and retirement from Jujutsu around the corner. 

And he squeezes your hand, “Promise?” and you lean into him, pulling him along the street back to your shared apartment. 

“Promise.” 

~~~ 

He wouldn’t be able to keep his promise. 

That’s what kept repeating in his mind with every step he took. He couldn’t really feel much — not anymore. That special grade curse had burned him — burned half of his body to a crisp, he could barely smell the burning flesh anymore. All he could do was keep moving. Moving. Moving. Moving. 

But he didn’t want to move anymore — he was tired. So tired. He couldn’t feel much, but he could feel the weight of having to keep going, even if he didn’t want to. 

And now, he stands before a swarm of…curses? Transfigured humans? He didn’t know — he could barely see at this point out of his one remaining eye — he could barely keep it open, still drooping even as the monsters loomed before him. 

“Malaysia…Yeah, Malaysia…Kuantan would have been nice,” the recommendation he had gotten from Mei Mei when trying to decide on a vacation for you and him to take — who better to ask than the woman with all the time and money in the world, a little brother who’d take her anywhere she wished. You both had settled on Malaysia, still panning out the details of when, but he had planned to surprise you with open ended tickets for the both of you — paid extra for them, in case something came up. 

He almost chuckles. Something always came up. 

Maybe if you both had liked it enough, he’d have a private home built for the two of you — with the little library nook you always dreamed of having, finally getting around to reading the countless books you both had bought and never read, go through page by page and take back the time you both have lost. 

But right now each step felt like an eternity as he walked. 

Where was he going again? Oh yes, to help Fushiguro. And what about Naobito and Maki? What had happened to them? There wasn’t much he could do about that. 

Tired. He was so tired. I’ve done enough, haven’t I? 

Hadn’t he done enough? He thought he had done enough when he left — left it all behind like a nightmare he didn’t care to revisit. Left the loss, the pain, the anger — the curses really — all behind him, in exchange for another set — greed, money, power. What was really the best option? Had he made the right choice? 

But then he thought about you. 

Your smiles, your touch, your kisses, your laughs — all the times he spent with you — slow mornings spent reading the paper together over coffee and toast from the bakery you always went out of your way to buy his favorites from; lazy evenings spent watching movies or reading, your legs intertwined as you did, his arm around your shoulders, until you plucked the book from his fingers made it so you were only thing his eyes were on; and sleepless but perfect nights spent in each other’s arms. The many times he wanted to ask you — the one question he never got to ask you still burned on the tip of his tongue like a curse unspoken, and he knew if he spoke it now, it would be one. 

And so he did what he did best, he dispatched the curses, quick and easy. And his lips curled despite himself — at the thought of you. He could almost feel your lips on his still from earlier, the sweet scent of you instead of the smell of blood or burning flesh, he could almost see you too. 

A hand rested on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. 

Mahito stared back at him. 

Oh. Oh. 

It was over. 

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I can’t keep my promise. I’m sorry I can’t propose. I’m sorry I can’t marry you. I’m sorry I can’t have the life we wanted. I’m sorry I came back only to leave you with the worst curse of them all. 

“I didn’t know you were here,” Nanami says, staring back at the curse — and it reminds of that time — that time Mahito had him in his domain, he truly had resigned himself to death. Resigned himself to die — and then Itadori had come crashing in, crashing in as he did his life, saving him. Saving him by not only by his very existence as Sukuna’s vessel, but by just his sheer strength. 

That kid had really grown on him — he didn’t want him to. Not when he had the same positivity, the same smile, the same kindness…as Haibara. It was illogical. He wasn’t Haibara — he was Sukuna’s vessel, and he wouldn’t acknowledge him, he wouldn’t until he proved himself. But he’d protect him, and he would do what he could. Because being a child isn’t a sin — but perhaps, being a jujutsu sorcerer is one. 

“Yup. The whole time,” Mahito replies, lips upturned in a slight smile, “Wanna chat? We go way back, after all,” 

Nanami’s eyes shift to the floor, the muddied and bloodied tiles underneath his feet — he didn’t care to divulge his deepest feelings to a curse. There were only two people he could talk to about this — and one of them, he supposed, was now closer to his being than the other. 

Haibara, what the hell was I trying to do? He asks in his mind, not even daring to say the words aloud, I ran. Even though I ran away, I came back with the vague reason of finding the work worthwhile. 

And then he sees him. Haibara appears in front of him, patented smile on his lips, as he points south — points right at— 

“Itadori,” Mahito says, his eyes narrowing. 

“Nanamin!” his eyes wide as he takes in his state — oh, he had hoped no one would see him like this, much less Yuji. He had already been through so much, so young — hell, he had already died once. He didn’t deserve to see this. He didn’t deserve to grow up like this — to have his youth ripped away. But, did any of them deserve it? 

It was a marathon, a marathon that they found themselves in that headed only towards a pile of corpses — but each time, they had to pass the baton before they stopped. 

Could he finally stop? 

He had dropped his baton so long ago, dropped and left the track, but he knew it would be picked up by another and another and another — but it was his baton, his baton that Haibara had handed him before he died in his arms. 

No, Haibara. That’s not right. I can’t say that to him. It’ll just end up becoming a curse for him. 

But it’s a curse every jujutsu sorcerer had to bear — made to bear until there were either no curses or no sorcerers left. 

But he couldn’t regret it now. 

“Itadori,” his lips curl, smiling for the last time, “you’ve got it from here.” 

He couldn’t keep his promise to you — but he kept his one to Haibara. 

And you’d pay the price. 

~~~

This wasn’t real. Was it? 

You stood outside your shared apartment with Kento. Finally a stop to the fighting for a month for everyone to train — enough time for you to retrieve some cursed weapons you had left behind — not knowing the fight would drag on for this long. You had considering sending someone — maybe not Ijichi but someone else to retrieve them, but right now, you couldn’t bear the thought of someone else rifling through Kento’s things. Moving the things that he had placed just so — the last remnants of his life, the marks he left that proved he was there, that he lived — that he had lived. 

Lived. Past tense. And now you were still living — living in a world without him. 

You inserted your key and turned the lock, opening the door. And it did, just like it had every day. Each day you’d open it — sometimes before Kento, other days after — but each time, there was always a meal Kento had prepped or bought waiting for you. 

And this was the first time that there wasn’t. 

Not only a meal — there was no one waiting for you. Not here. 

You closed the door behind you — no longer a home, just an apartment. You needed to remember the things you needed, your mind was nowhere to be found, and fled the country when you had heard the news. You didn’t cry. Not at first. 

Yuji was the one to tell you. He shouldn’t have been the one to see it. You knew it haunted his dreams, you knew he blamed himself, you knew — because Kento had done the same. So you hugged him, let him cry silently into your shirt, comforted him the best you could — because you knew that’s what Kento would have wanted. 

He loved Yuji — he loved Ino too, and the other students all held a special place for him, but Yuji — Yuji was a special case. You knew that from the moment he had spoken about him. 

“Gojo wants me to mentor Sukuna’s vessel,” he told you one night in bed, having returned from a mission and having a drink with Gojo — not a real drink, Kento had clarified, since it had no alcohol in it — but a drink nonetheless. 

“He has a name, Kento. Itadori. He’s sweet,” you smile, you had met him and all the other first years from teaching, “he’s a good kid — very new to all of this, but he has a good heart and some good skills under his belt.” 

“A vessel for the ticking time bomb has a good heart? Glad to hear it,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair, “I don’t know — he was a normal kid two minutes ago, and now he’s running around with Gojo feeding him Sukuna’s fingers every second,” he leans back against the headrest, “what am I supposed to make of this? I’m not even a teacher,” 

“And what have you been doing with Ino?” you raise an eyebrow, “that kid is constantly after you, dogging your every step — he looks up to you. “And I know a lot of the other students do too, the ones that know you,” 

“It’s—” 

“You should do this. It would be good for you,” and he’s hesitating, “Yuji needs a sorcerer to guide him — teach him the basics that Gojo has neglected to do, and show him how a proper jujutsu sorcerer who isn’t…a special case like Gojo, operates.” 

Kento’s lips curl, “You know you can call him a moron,” 

“Why call him that when I have you to call him that for me?” you snort, “now what do you say?” 

And he eventually agreed — and it was the best decision for him. It gave him more purpose, more drive — he seemed even more fulfilled — the most you had seen him professionally fulfilled in quite some time. 

“You got it from here.” 

His last words to Yuji. You almost have to scoff at the poeticness of it all — the same words Haibara had told him. The ones he hadn’t told you for nearly a decade, until one night he had told you what he said. 

“And why didn’t you leave any words for me, Kento?” you ask the empty apartment before you, “for so long, we didn’t have each other — we couldn’t. And we finally find our way back, we finally do all the things we said we would — you’re gone, again,” your voice breaks, “I wish, I wish you were here. I wish I could see you. I wish—” and you break off. 

There’s no point for wishing for things that can’t happen. You had things to do, and little time to waste. You needed to get stronger too. You needed to be useful. You needed to fight. You couldn’t tarnish Kento’s memory, or — you look at a picture that you had taken of him and Yuji a few days before outside a convenience store you had stopped by after a mission — his legacy. 

You searched for the things you needed, placing them in cloth bags and then paper bags for easy and inconspicuous transport, but you needed to label them. You searched your apartment for a pen — but apparently you had misplaced every single one that you had — where the hell were all the pens? A question you’d usually ask Kento and he’d produce one from thin air. No matter what you lost or what you needed — he had it. 

He always had it. 

If he did always have what you needed, then maybe…you walk into the bedroom, over to his nightstand — he often kept a notebook for thoughts and notes in his bedside table so maybe—-

And there it was — a pen, but it wasn’t the pen that made you pause — it was the two things beside it. 

A notecard and a ring box. 

A ring box. 

Your hands shake, and you almost want to close the drawer. Forget you say anything. Continue with the work you’re doing. It would hurt less. 

But you can’t. You can’t. 

You reach for the notecard first, fingers shaking as you gingerly pick it up — and you can tell this wasn’t the first he had written on. You could see the indentations from his pen, this card underneath the others as he had wrote. But his handwriting was neat, yet messy at the same time — his patented half print, half cursive scrawl that he hadn’t left. 

Your legs buckle and you sit down on the edge of the bed — the side he used to sleep on, his arm wrapped around your waist, face buried in your back, his lips brushing against your skin when he finally stirred. And now it was empty. 

My love, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to ask you this. I’ve thought of ways to ask for years — I had to write it down just so I didn’t mince my words or ramble — you know I’m not one to drag out conversations. I love you. I’ve always loved you from the moment I met you — I know you’d tease me for pining for you, but I did pine for you and I’ve pined for you every second we’re apart. The other times I’ve wanted to ask you, the timing never worked out. But we have the time now, don’t we? Will you do me the honor of being your husband? I’ll spend every second making you happy, because that’s what you deserve, sweetheart. Only the best. 

And your tears splatter against the corner of the card, before you put it down, as you let your sobs overcome you, screams you didn’t know you were capable of making— you didn’t even realize it was you, until your throat began to ache. 

Why? Why? Why? 

It wasn’t real, this wasn’t happening. 

And your fingers reach for the ring box now, opening it only to feel more tears well — it was the ring you had showed him. One you had showed him one late night when it had showed up somewhere or another — you hadn’t even thought about the ring again. Until now. 

You can’t bear to touch it. You can’t. Not when he wasn’t there to pull it from its box and slip it onto your finger. And he never would be. Not until you saw him again — one way or another. 

You snap the box closed, tears slipping down your cheeks as you placed the box and card back into the drawer — noticing something else underneath — a printout? And you pull the papers out, scanning it. 

You almost sob. A trip to Kuantan, Malaysia. The trip you two had talked about for months, but never had gone on. The trip was more for Kento than it was for you — and it was for you, in a way, because what you wanted the most was to just be with him. Time was all you wished for with him — all you wanted — but you knew you could have spent every moment with him for the last ten years and it wouldn’t have been enough. 

It would never have been enough. 

“I miss you,” you speak to the ghosts that fill your mind and haunt your dreams — Kento and Yu, “I hope you’re at peace. I hope you’re lying on a beach somewhere, reading the books you wanted to read, drinking an expensive drink, and eating the bread you love — I promise, I’ll find my way to you, someday,” 

And you place the things back in the drawer, and shut it. 

For now, you had other things to do. Other people to protect, other curses to exorcise. But — you stare at the picture of the two of you on your nightstand — his love was the one curse you could never give up. 

~~

Many months later. 

You take that vacation he wanted. Packing the books he always wanted to read. Pocketing the ring he wanted to propose to you with. You’d pack a few shirts of his to wear on the beach, and maybe he would be lying beside you in spirit. You would find that beach he wanted to take you to — the one he had written down and had looked up several times while booking your trip. 

You kept the seat beside you on the plane empty but you ordered a glass of wine and a sandwich for him regardless. You know you would have ended up ordering because he likely would have fallen asleep — old man he always was. And if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was sitting in the seat beside you. 

He wasn’t dead. Not really, you think as you sit in the beach in one of his deep blue button ups thrown over your swimsuit, reading one of his books page by page, taking back the time that was stolen from him with your own — minutes and hours and days you’d wish you could take off your own and give to him. 

He was alive, he was alive as long as you were, as long as the people who he was important to were alive. And he was alive — alive in your head and your heart and your very soul. 

You read his proposal aloud as the sun sets, tears slipping down your face as you slip his ring onto your finger. And there it would stay. 

Stayed all the seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years you lived -- lived in the house you built in Malaysia when all was said and done for you in the jujutsu world, just as Kento had wanted. Stayed until you finally saw him again. Saw him standing beside Haibara, softly smiling behind him, as your eyes fluttered open as he greeted you. Lips curled in that same smile that damned you from the moment you saw it. 

“Don’t keep me waiting, love,” he smiles, the same words you had said to him, “we’ve both waited long enough, haven’t we?” 

But neither of you had to wait anymore — as you run into his arms, warm and made of flesh and blood and real, so real — you had forever now. 

✴︎ a/n: first, i'm so sorry lol. i don't know how the spirit of gege possessed me but i decided to inflict some pain. i have to thank @laneysmusings for proofing this for me and having to endure this pain. I also want to credit @/tempenensis for their post on haibara / jjk 120 that helped inspire/inform the third to last scene (but they don't like self-insert so i am not gonna tag them, but you should check out their tumblr!

✴︎ taglist: @your-local-simplol, @renawithane, @grooveandshit, @aemondseyesocket, @nitskilanara, @yunchans, @ackermanbby, @luminouslateralup, @multi-fandom3, @idktbhloley, @minteaful, @malleusmybelovedd, @lighttism, @lemonpoppy-seed, @nitskilanara, @wshwshi, @rreborn, @reyy-chanx, @kiradoki, @uroldall, @madam-milf, @elusivemoon

˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗

“Bet you’re thinkin’ of me while he’s fucking you, huh?”

❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.

❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader

❧ Need To Know | This story was originally written by me on wattpad with different characters. It got deleted & I moved here.

❧ Contents | afab!reader, explicit nsfw scenes, college non-curse au, toxic altercations, angst, reader lowkey hops around between the two, jealousy, possessiveness, slut activities, gen z references, alcohol, fluff, 18+ scenes, porn w plot, etc.

| Chapters |

1 | Something about you

2 | draws me so close

3 | that it has to

4 | be true.

5 | My hearts light

| @kamiversee | ff status; ongoing | updates; spontaneous— I am on vaycay right now so they’ll be a bit slow. |

Imagine just kissing Astarion’s face for no other purpose than to just shower him with them?

No goals, no ulterior motives, no nothing but affection and love for your sweet, sweet Astarion.

Kisses across his cheeks, kisses when he smiles and his fangs show, kisses across his forehead and across his brows when they’re furrowed.

Any and every part of his face was blessed with your kisses because you felt like he needed them to feel better. The poor man could only stand their in stunned silence as you continued with your day after smothering him in kisses, asking non in return because you only wanted him to feel loved without feeling the need to having to pay it back, for that wasn’t what you wanted.

You just wanted Astarion to feel unconditional love, respect and support from you, he didn’t need to do a single thing.

You didn’t kiss him for superficial reasonings but because you loved him too much that words couldn’t describe properly of how much you cared for him, so much to the point it came out on the form of you kissing his face whenever he showed any and every expression he could muster.

You loved Astarion for who he was inside and out, he could be a worm or a fucking goose for all you cared, but that wouldn’t stop you from loving and caring for him all the same.

Batfamily X Batmom!Reader

⁺‧₊˚My Sons Boyfriend⁺‧₊˚

Continuing my tim appreciation, Have a silly overprotective parents to one of their youngest kid

masterlist

Jason tattles that his younger brother has a boy over.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ The TV played some noir film neither of you were paying attention to black and white shadows flickering across the screen, the occasional husky voice of a detective muttering something about dames and danger. It was background noise. Everything was background noise right now.

Your back arched against the couch as Bruce’s lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously along your skin. You let out a soft, breathy laugh, tangled up in him, your knees bracketing his hips while his large hands gripped your thighs beneath the hem of your oversized shirt.

His tongue slid against yours again, deep and slow, and the kiss had long since lost any sense of restraint. You tugged at his shirt, fingers skimming up beneath it, palms exploring every inch of familiar skin. Bruce growled low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your lips as he leaned further into you, pressing you back until your spine met the couch cushions with a soft thump.

There were no patrols, no emergency calls, no villains trying to blow up the city and a damn good excuse to indulge in weeks of pent up affection with no one around to ruin it.

“What the fuck?!”

A voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, and both of you froze mid kiss, mouths still a breath apart, panting and flushed. Well no one around to ruin might not work if you have a Jason Todd for a child (even though hes an adult it still applies).

You didn’t even turn around.

“It’s a lazy day,” you said flatly, lips still swollen, one hand still fisted in Bruce’s shirt. “Go away.”

Jason’s voice rose another octave, and you could hear the trauma in it. “Are you two seriously making out like that on the living room couch? In the middle of the day?! seriously making out like teenagers right now?! I’ve seen less tongue in French films!”

You rolled your eyes and finally sat up, sliding off Bruce’s lap with a groan and adjusting your shirt though it didn’t help much. Bruce just rubbed at his face with one hand, exhaling through his nose like a man trying not to start swearing. Jason stormed around the couch, eyes narrowed, nose wrinkled. “You were all over each other! That was full on pre bedroom behavior!”

“Which we would’ve moved to,” you muttered, “we only do stuff out here when you guys for sure aren’t.”

“TMI LADY!! I live here!”

“So do we.”

“I grew up here! Do you know how many times I’ve had to walk in on emotionally scarring things? And now I have to add this to the list?”

You gave him a pointed look and gestured vaguely to Bruce, who was still slouched and half hard under the sweatpants. “You’re twenty something and you’ve walked in on worse. Remember the time you accidentally opened the panic room during our anniversary trip?”

Jason gagged. “Why would you bring that up?! I had finally repressed it!”

You shrugged, completely unfazed. “That’s why I didn’t jump out of my skin when you yelled. You’re one of the oldest. You’re basically numb to it by now.”

“That’s not how trauma works!”

“You’ll live.”

Bruce finally stood, setting a firm hand on your lower back as he stepped forward. “Did you interrupt just to complain, or is there a point?”

“Oh, there’s a point,” Jason said, smirking now, even as he pointedly avoided making eye contact with either of you. “Tim’s upstairs. With Conner. Door closed. Voices low. Lots of awkward pauses and ‘I dunno, what do you wanna do?’s. Figured someone with authority should stop it before I need a bleach rinse for my brain again.”

You and Bruce exchanged a glance. You raised a brow. “You think they’re…?”

“I’m just saying, I’m not doing the awkward sex talk with either of them. That’s your job.”

Bruce sighed through his nose again, rubbing his temples. “We should’ve eloped in Fiji.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “You should’ve invested in a deadbolt and soundproof walls. You’ve got like fifty rooms. Go be gross in literally any other one.”

Bruce groaned, sitting up with the pained weariness of a man who just wanted five uninterrupted minutes with his partner. “I don’t know what’s worse,” he muttered. “You barging in, or the fact that you’re tattling like a six year old.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You can ground me later. But someone needs to knock before that kid goes full hormonal teenager with Superman’s clone.”

You rubbed your temples and slid off Bruce’s lap. “Can’t we just go one day without something weird happening in this house?”

“Nope,” Jason chirped.

Bruce stood, adjusting his shirt and shooting Jason a tired glare. “You’re not getting a thank you for this.”

Jason grinned. “I’ll settle for watching the fallout.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The carpet was soft beneath your knees as you crouched near the top of the staircase, one hand gripping the railing and the other latched around your husband’s wrist. Bruce was not thrilled. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, towering behind you in full grumpy dad form.

You shushed him. “Shh. This is important. Our son is dating.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow. “He’s not a child anymore.”

You gasped loudly and dramatically, a feeling attune like he’d just slapped you with a divorce paper. “How dare you say that to a mother’s face.”

“I feel like as a mother you should be letting him have space” he whispered dryly.

“It’s anything and everything for my baby,” you whispered back, “heartbroken.”

Bruce sighed, letting you pull him forward like some six foot tall human leash. He followed behind you, slouched and sulking like a teenager being dragged into a parent teacher conference. But he didn’t resist. Not really. At the end of the hallway, just far enough not to be heard but perfectly in view, Tim was standing awkwardly with his shoulder slightly bumping against the wall, halfway through some rambling sentence that didn’t seem to have an end. Across from him leaned Conner Kent Superboy himself smiling with the easy, confident charm of someone who knew exactly how good he looked.

You gasped again, softer this time. “He’s so nervous. Look at him. Our baby…”

“Don’t start crying,” Bruce warned.

“He’s got no game, Bruce.”

Bruce squinted. “…This is objectively better than his brothers.”

You nearly cackled. “Low bar, sweetheart.”

Tim fumbled again, scratching the back of his neck while trying to not look directly at Conner. Conner leaned in just slightly, arms crossed as he nodded along, totally relaxed. He said something with a grin, and Tim laughed clearly too loud, then looked down at the floor in horror.

You sniffled, eyes shimmering. “Look at our baby flirting…”

“He’s not a baby,” Bruce said, though his voice was quieter now. “He’s nearly eighteen.” And yet, he leaned a little more over your shoulder.

You smirked. “You’re watching.”

“I’m observing.”

“You’re parenting.”

Bruce sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, crossing his arms as he stared harder at the two teens.

“What’s Kent’s clone doing here alone with him anyways?” he muttered, eyes narrowing.

“Ohhh,” you grinned, “now you care.”

“Of course I care,” Bruce snapped, more defensive than he meant to be. “That’s my kid.”

You nudged him with your elbow, whispering proudly, “Our kid.”

He didn’t respond to that but the corner of his mouth twitched. Down the hall, Conner leaned in and brushed something off Tim’s shirt something that wasn’t there. Tim went red, practically short circuiting.

Bruce straightened immediately. “Okay. That’s enough recon.”

“Oh, now it’s enough?”

“I’m getting my Batarangs.”

You caught his wrist before he could march off. “No. No Batarangs. No Bat glare. You said he’s not a baby, remember?”

“He wasn’t getting flirted with then.”

You snorted, still holding his arm. “I think your overprotective thing is hot.”

He paused. “That a fact?”

You smirked, glancing back toward your bedroom door. “Yes. Now let’s go back to our room lights off, no clothes, door locked this time and let the kids be kids.”

Bruce gave Tim and Conner one last skeptical look, then sighed. “If they start kissing, I’m interrupting.”

“No you won’t,” you said, dragging him back down the hall by the wrist again. “Because I’ll be too busy making out with you to let you get up.”

Despite that, the minute you headed to the room. Conner and Tim were happily walking towards the kitchen. making you drag your husband again to watch your boy. The kitchen was dimly lit, the only real noise coming from the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of snack bags. You and Bruce had found your new favorite spot behind the kitchen island, crouching low and trying your best not to make a sound, despite the undeniable excitement of spying on your son.

You had your phone held up, recording through the cabinet doors like a proud wildlife documentarian. Tim and Conner were in the next room, chattering nervously while they raided the pantry for snacks.

Bruce was less than impressed with the situation. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, glaring at you as if you were the one causing trouble.

You smirked, eyes never leaving the scene unfolding in the next room. “I practically raised him. I have the right to witness his first love.”

He grunted, his voice tinged with mild exasperation. “You’re literally crouched next to the coffee machine whispering commentary like it’s National Geographic.”

You held your phone at a slightly different angle, zooming in on Tim as he fumbled with a bag of chips. “And you’re crouched next to me, so what does that make you?”

Bruce looked at you, deadpan. “An unwilling accomplice.”

You shot him a look, trying not to giggle as you saw Tim’s hand hover uncertainly over a box of cookies while Conner casually leaned against the counter, looking way too smooth for someone who was probably still a teenager.

“Conner’s definitely a pro at this,” you whispered, shaking your head in amused disbelief. “Look at him, just leaning there. Like it’s nothing what if he just wants to play woth out boys feelings.”

Bruce sighed dramatically but didn’t move. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“This is serious, Bruce. It’s parental responsibility.”

Bruce looked at you, his eyes softening. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Yeah, well, you love me.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve got a lot of regrets today,” he muttered, but his hand brushed against yours in the dim light, soft and reassuring. Just as you were about to comment on Tim’s awkward attempt at getting a cookie into his mouth without looking too desperate, the kitchen door swung open with a familiar creak.

“Are you spying on Tim?” Dick’s voice rang through the space, sharp and amused.

Both you and Bruce froze, immediately making eye contact in a way that could only be described as a guilty deer caught in headlights moment.

Bruce was the first to recover. He straightened up quickly, stepping away from the island and crossing his arms like he was trying to physically distance himself from the ridiculousness of it all. “No,” he said instantly, as if the word would somehow erase the whole scene.

You, on the other hand, didn’t try to hide it. You looked up at Dick with wide, unapologetic eyes. “Yes,” you said, shrugging as though this was completely normal behavior for a concerned parent.

Dick raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe with a smug grin. “You guys are so lame.”

You grinned back, unbothered by his teasing. “You think we’re lame, but when you’re a parent, you’ll understand.”

Bruce, clearly not keen on the whole ordeal, shot a look at Tim and Conner through the kitchen entryway. “I’m just making sure he’s not making any… stupid decisions.”

“Right.” Dick’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Because you’re both really qualified for that.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “Hey, we did the best we could. And this is where you come in. Don’t think I didn’t see you sneak a peek when you thought we weren’t looking.”

Dick’s eyes widened for a second before he cracked a grin. “You two are hopeless.” He turned his attention back to the other room. “What are they even doing, anyway?”

You and Bruce both turned to look through the cabinets again, slightly distracted now that Dick was standing right there. Tim was holding a cookie out to Conner, his fingers trembling slightly, and Conner took it with a grin that could melt even the iciest heart.

“He’s handing Conner a cookie,” you said, your voice dripping with awe and mild concern. “A cookie. They’re not even talking about something deep or meaningful, like… I don’t know, saving Gotham or discussing conspiracy theories. It’s literally just this.”

Dick raised an eyebrow again, his grin widening. “You’re really invested in this?”

Bruce was rubbing the back of his neck, clearly torn between indulging your parental instincts and the embarrassment of being caught in such an absurd situation. “Yeah, we’re not stalking them. Just… observing.”

Dick snorted. “Sure, sure. Watching them like they’re some rare, endangered species.”

You looked at him deadpan. “They are.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Look, we’ll stop when they stop… getting… weird.”

Dick gave the two of you an incredulous look. “You two are so ridiculous. Seriously.”

And with that, Dick pushed past you both to head upstairs, but not before he paused to make one last comment.

“If I ever catch you two creeping on me like this, I’ll start a family group chat called ‘Creepy Parents.’”

You and Bruce exchanged an amused glance. “We’ll take that risk,” you said,

Dick groaned, clearly not interested in sticking around for the ridiculousness, and disappeared upstairs.

You looked back at Bruce, who was still watching Tim and Conner, now in full parental protective mode. His brows were furrowed, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

“I guess we’re just going to wait this out?” you asked softly, leaning against the island.

Bruce nodded, but his tone was softer now, full of that deep, unspoken love only a parent could understand. “Yeah. But we need to be the ones to have that talk when they’re ready.”

You smiled, leaning into him, the whole world feeling a little less chaotic, even if the kids’ drama would never stop.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Tim and Conner were sitting at the kitchen table now, their snack raid completed, with Conner casually leaning back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the seat across from him. Tim, on the other hand, was picking at his cookie, his eyes occasionally flicking nervously around the room.

Conner noticed Tim’s unease and raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Drake?”

Tim cleared his throat, his gaze shifting quickly toward the hallway, and then back to Conner, hoping his casual demeanor would mask the slight panic he felt. “Uh, no, everything’s fine.”

Conner smirked knowingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You sure about that? ‘Cause I can’t help but notice your… parents have been acting a little weird.”

Tim froze. His heart rate quickened as the words hit him. He blinked at Conner, unsure if he’d heard him right. “What?”

“You know, they’ve been hanging around for a while,” Conner said, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “I can’t believe they’re still hiding behind the kitchen island.”

Tim’s face went white, of course he noticed it. his eyes darted toward the kitchen counter, his heart sinking into his stomach. His parents… They had been watching this whole time. He quickly looked away, pretending he hadn’t heard anything, his eyes shifting uncomfortably as if he could pretend that the observation had never been made. “You’re imagining things.”

Conner raised an eyebrow. “Right,” he said, unconvinced. “Maybe I am.”

But before Tim could settle into any sense of relief, he couldn’t help himself. His eyes glanced toward the cabinets, toward the hidden space behind the island where his parents had been crouched like secret agents, but the moment he saw something shift in the shadows, he quickly turned his head away. A blush spread across his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside him.

He heard a muffled whisper coming from the kitchen, the faintest sound of your voice saying, “Do you think they noticed?”

His heart skipped. He knew they were there. He immediately looked back at Conner, who was now wearing an almost triumphant smirk, clearly enjoying this entire awkward exchange.

Tim’s face reddened even further. “Ugh, I hate you.”

Conner’s grin widened, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed, looking like he was thoroughly enjoying the chaos Tim was going through. “your family is so weird”

Tim just buried his face in his hands for a second, trying to collect himself. It didn’t help that he could hear the whispering getting louder, still faint, but unmistakable. “No way. I think they didn’t notice. Maybe we can sneak away after they leave…”

“We?” Tim thought he heard Bruce’s voice this time. It made him stiffen.

His face was now a bright red, and he buried his face further into his arms, hoping it might all just go away. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, his pulse racing. This was so embarrassing. Why couldn’t they have just left him alone? Why did his parents have to be so… so overly protective?

As his embarrassment grew, Tim stole another quick glance at the kitchen, only to see a shadow dart behind the cabinets. His stomach flipped, and he quickly turned away, biting his lip to keep from saying something he’d regret.

Conner’s eyes were sharp. “Yeah… they totally noticed,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re lucky I’m cool with this. You’re lucky I didn’t go tell them they’ve been caught. That would’ve been funny.”

“Conner, shut up!” Tim hissed, but the laughter that followed didn’t make it any better.

Somewhere from behind the cabinets, you whispered again, louder this time, “Maybe they’ll pretend they didn’t see us.”

Bruce’s voice was closer to a growl. “We’re being subtle, right?”

Tim’s body stiffened again, but this time he was ready. He shot up from his chair and took a deep breath. There was no going back now. “I’m going upstairs. You’re all insane.”

Conner chuckled, watching him go, clearly having the time of his life while Tim fumbled his way toward the hallway.

As Tim rushed out of the room, trying to hide the heat in his cheeks, you and Bruce exchanged a glance from your hiding spot, then reluctantly peeked around the corner to make sure your son had left the kitchen.

“We should’ve just went in our room,” you muttered, sounding almost defeated.

Bruce nodded, glancing up at you. “This is why I wanted to go back to the room.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t let that go?”

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’ve been caught so many times.”

“But it’s worth it, right?” You flashed a teasing grin at him, clearly finding amusement in the awkwardness.

Bruce didn’t respond immediately, but he didn’t move either. He just kept watching the empty kitchen, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Finally, he said, “I’d still rather be making out with you right now.”

You grinned. “One thing at a time, Bruce. One thing at a time.”

Bruce didn’t waste a second. The moment the last of Tim’s and conner’s footsteps faded up the stairs, he was on his feet, his usual quiet intensity shifting into something more playful albeit with a touch of authority.

Without a word, he moved toward you, his hand reaching for your wrist. Before you could even fully register his intent, he pulled you into his chest, his other hand gently cupping your chin as he tilted your face up to meet his. His lips were almost on yours, just inches apart, but he hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if savoring the moment.

“As much fun as that was,” he said in a low, husky tone, his voice thick with amusement, “it’s time for mommy and daddy time.”

Your heart skipped. You had to admit, despite the awkwardness of everything that just happened, the sudden shift in Bruce’s demeanor made your pulse spike. The playful tension in the air was thick enough to cut through. You could see the flicker of mischief in his eyes.

“Bruce…” you whispered, half trying to resist, half already giving in.

“Our boy will be fine” His voice was low, but there was a firm edge to it, a reminder that your playful surveillance time had come to an end. “You and me. Upstairs. Now.”

Before you could protest or offer some sarcastic response, he was already guiding you away from the kitchen island, his hand firm around your wrist. The way his grip tightened made it clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer not that you really wanted to resist.

“Bruce, we can’t just…” you started to say, but you were quickly cut off as he kissed you, his lips catching yours in a brief, but intense press that stole your breath away.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “No more distractions. No more spying. Just us.”

You were about to make a snarky comment, but all the words caught in your throat when he pulled you against him again, his arms wrapping around your waist. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the way his strong frame seemed to draw you in closer.

“I’m not letting you get away that easily,” he said with a grin, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable.

Your breath caught as you felt his touch, suddenly aware of how much you’d been craving this intimate moment. The tension that had been building throughout the entire day between your kids, the spying, the ridiculousness was finally going to melt away, leaving just the two of you.

With a final, teasing smile, Bruce began leading you upstairs, his hand never leaving yours. The world outside your bedroom had faded into the background there was only him and you, and the quiet promise of some much needed time alone.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Tim was lying face down on his bed, groaning into the sheets. If he could dig a hole and disappear into it, he would. He’d half expected his parents to hover maybe ask a few awkward questions. But full on mission mode surveillance? That was next level.

The door creaked open, and Tim didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

“I knew they were weird,” Conner’s voice came, all smug and sing songy. “But hiding behind the cabinets? thats weird.”

Tim rolled over with a groan, face still half buried in a pillow. “Can we not talk about it?”

Conner stepped in like he owned the place, casually flopping onto Tim’s bed with zero regard for personal space. “Dude, your mom was crouched like it was recon. I think she even whispered something about your ‘game.’ I’m emotionally scarred.”

Conner, of course, wasn’t far behind. He opened the door without knocking and stepped into the room, his usual easygoing grin plastered across his face. But there was something different in his eyes something softer. Maybe he was trying to ease the tension Tim was still feeling.

“You good?” Conner asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Tim turned his head just slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… I dunno, everything’s just kinda weird today.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Conner chuckled, but it wasn’t a mocking laugh. It was more of an understanding one. “Your parents… they’re something else.”

Tim groaned and rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with his arm. “Don’t remind me. I didn’t think they’d go full surveillance mode.”

Conner moved further into the room, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Well, they’re just looking out for you, you know? They’re probably a little overprotective, but… I mean, I guess I’d do the same thing if I were them.”

Tim half smiled at that, finally sitting up. “Yeah, but it’s a little much. I’m almost eighteen, not, like, seven.”

Conner gave him a side glance, his smile still there. “Right. You’re allowed to… y’know, have a life outside of your parents’ radar.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Tim muttered, but it wasn’t with annoyance more like he appreciated Conner’s effort to lighten the mood. Tim glanced at Conner, his mind wandering as it often did when he was around him. Something about the way Conner carried himself, the way he was always so relaxed, so at ease it was easy to get lost in.

Conner seemed to sense it, his voice dropping a little lower. “So, uh… are you sure it’s just your parents that’s got you flustered? Or is it… something else?”

Tim blinked at him, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Conner leaned back against the headboard, looking over at him with a teasing smile. “I don’t know, just seems like you’ve got a lot going on in your head. And I mean, I did see how red your face was back there, so”

Tim immediately turned even more red. “Conner, I swear to God”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Conner laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t make it worse. But, uh… you do know you can talk to me, right?”

Tim let out a soft exhale, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t even realize how much he’d needed to hear that until now. “Yeah. I guess I just… didn’t want to make it weird.”

“Making it weird is kind of my thing,” Conner joked, but there was something reassuring about the way he said it like he wasn’t trying to force the conversation, but also wasn’t afraid to be open with him. Tim’s heart skipped a little at the casual warmth in Conner’s voice. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Conner was looking at him now, or just the comfort of knowing someone actually cared, but he found himself letting out a nervous laugh. “I’m definitely not the best at this… flirting thing. I’m just… I don’t know, overthinking it all.”

Conner’s eyes softened, and before Tim could protest, Conner slid closer on the bed. He nudged Tim’s shoulder lightly, his voice quieter now. “You don’t have to be perfect at it. I think you’re doing just fine.”

Tim froze, his pulse racing at the sudden closeness. “Wait, really?”

Conner smirked, but there was something genuine in his smile now. “Really. You’ve just gotta stop trying to be all… cool about it. Just be yourself. If someone can’t see how amazing you are, that’s their loss.”

Tim swallowed, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. “You’re… you’re the worst, you know that?”

But Conner just laughed, the sound light and effortless. “I know. But you like me anyway.”

Tim bit his lip, trying not to smile too much, but there was no denying the way his heart was beating faster now. Conner had always been the one to tease him, to make him laugh when things were tough. But this this felt different. The way they were sitting there, so close, the unspoken understanding between them it was the kind of connection Tim hadn’t realized he was craving.

“Alright, alright,” Conner said, standing up and giving Tim a teasing grin, “I’ll leave you to think about that. But you know I’m here, if you wanna… talk or whatever.”

Tim nodded, his throat a little tight, but he didn’t know what to say. Conner’s easygoing presence had a way of putting him at ease, and for the first time in a while, Tim felt like he was starting to understand what it meant to really be seen by someone.

“Thanks, Conner,” Tim muttered, his voice soft.

Conner winked as he walked toward the door. “Anytime, small bird. Anytime.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Tim sank back against the bed, his heart still racing, but now for a different reason.

Conner: So…

Tim: Please don’t.

Conner: Your parents have been following us for like… an hour. I swear I saw your mom dive behind a trash bin.

Tim: If I ignore it, maybe it’ll go away.

Reader, whispering from the kitchen: They didn’t see us.

Bruce, deadpan: They definitely saw us.

Hizashi Yamada X Reader Drabble/Crack

🖇️✩ +̊🎧 MOMMY?!?? 🖇️✩ +̊🎧

masterlist

a student calls you mom

·+̊🖇️✩ +̊🎧⊹♡ Setting up for Hizashi’s English class was something you did often as his TA, but today, you felt particularly playful. The classroom was empty, the morning sunlight casting golden rays through the windows as you arranged papers on his desk. Hizashi stood near the whiteboard, adjusting the projector settings, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose.

“You know, Y/N,” Hizashi mused, tapping at the keyboard, “I think these kids would riot if they knew how excited I was for today’s lesson.”

You chuckled, glancing over the syllabus. “They always riot when it comes to English.”

You smirked, stepping closer until you were right behind him. Your fingers ghosted over the fabric of his vest as you leaned in, breath warm against his ear.

“Oh, they always riot when it comes to english,” you murmured, voice dripping with mischief. “But lucky for you, I’m here. and the faster this lesson goes means we can finally have some… fun.”

Hizashi stiffened for half a second before he turned to you, eyes slightly wide behind his glasses. His ears, hidden beneath his wild blond hair, were definitely burning red. “Oh? Is that so?” His voice cracked just a little, and you bit your lip to hold back a laugh.

Before he could recover, the bell rang, signaling the start of class. The door swung open as students began filtering in, chatting amongst themselves. You took a casual step back, arms crossed, watching as Hizashi cleared his throat, adjusting his collar as if it would help hide his flustered expression.

“ALRIGHT, CLASS! LET’S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD!” he boomed, though you could hear the slight edge in his voice.

A collective groan cut him off.

“Not English…” one student muttered, resting their forehead against the desk.

Another let out a dramatic sigh. “Why do we even need to learn this? Can’t we just use our quirks in other countries and let a translator handle it?”

You smirked, stepping forward. “Actually, no. A lot of hero agencies overseas require their heroes to have at least basic conversational skills in English. And trust me, you don’t want to be that one hero who has no idea what’s going on in a mission briefing.”

A few students exchanged glances, though the enthusiasm was still lacking.

Hizashi nodded. “Yeah! Plus, how are you gonna do interviews with foreign news outlets if ya don’t know what they’re askin’?”

“That’s what subtitles are for,” a student shot back, earning a few chuckles.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Look, I get it. English can be frustrating. But it’s not impossible. And since I actually spent time in America, I know the best ways to help you guys get comfortable with it.”

One student perked up. “You were in America?”

You nodded. “Yeah. A few months, actually. Lived there, worked there, and had to use English every single day. Trust me, I made all the mistakes you could possibly make, so I know exactly what you’re struggling with.”

“Wait… So you were, like, an American hero?”

“Not exactly,” you admitted. “More like I was there for a temporary collaboration. But I did patrols, worked with some American heroes, and had to communicate with civilians. So if you want to hear some embarrassing stories about me messing up English in public, now’s your chance.”

That seemed to spark some interest.

“Did you ever say something really bad by accident?”

“Oh, definitely.” You smirked, crossing your arms. “I once tried to compliment someone’s shirt and accidentally told them they looked like a banana.”

A few students laughed. Even Hizashi chuckled beside you.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he said, gesturing dramatically. “Language isn’t just about books and testsit’s about communication! And sometimes, communication is messy, but that’s how ya learn!”

The class groaned again, but at least this time, it was with less resistance.

You smirked. “Alright, let’s start simple. Let’s go around and have everyone introduce themselves in English. Just a basic ‘Hi, my name is ____, and my quirk is ____.’”

The students groaned again, but one by one, they hesitantly began their introductions, stumbling over words and laughing at their own mistakes. You and Hizashi guided them through the pronunciations, offering encouragement where needed.

Midway through the lesson, as you walked between desks helping students with their pronunciation, a sleepy voice mumbled, “Mom, how do you say ‘speed boost’ in English?”

Silence.

You blinked, turning slowly toward the student who had spoken. The entire class went dead quiet as the realization hit them. The student, wide eyed with horror, turned an impossible shade of red.

“I I mean uh” They clamped their hands over their mouth, mortified.

The room erupted into laughter. Even Hizashi doubled over, his laughter echoing through the classroom. You couldn’t help but smirk, arms crossed as you arched an eyebrow.

“Well,” you said, grinning, “at least you said it in English.”

·+̊🖇️✩ +̊🎧⊹♡

The final bell rang, signaling the end of class. Students packed up their things, still chuckling over the earlier slip up. The poor student who had accidentally called you “mom” had bolted out of the room the second they could, face burning red. You were still amused by it, though.

“Alright, see ya next class!” Hizashi called after the last few students, waving as they shuffled out the door.

Once the room was empty, you sighed, stretching your arms over your head. “Whew. That went better than expected.”

“Oh yeah?” Hizashi drawled, turning toward you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You sure about that, Mommy?”

You froze. Then you turned to him slowly, narrowing your eyes. “…What did you just say?”

He grinned, far too pleased with himself. “What? I’m just embracing my student’s interpretation of our dynamic! I mean, you are helpin’ me teach, you keep ‘em in check feels pretty parental to me!” He stroked his chin dramatically. “Maybe I should start callin’ ya that more often”

You smacked his arm firm, but playful.

“OW!” He laughed, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “What?! It’s a term of endearment!”

You shook your head, grinning. “Oh, you think you’re funny, huh?”

“I know I’m funny.”

You crossed your arms, smirking. “Well… I could be a mommy.”

Silence.

Hizashi just stood there.

His expression froze completely like his brain had just cut out. He wasn’t even blinking, just staring at you with his mouth slightly open.

You bit back a laugh at the way his mind was clearly racing at a million miles per hour.

And then, just to mess with him even more, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before pulling away and sauntering toward the door. “See you later, Daddy.”

You barely made it out of the room before he exploded.

“WH WAIT! HEY! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

You laughed as he stumbled after you, his voice rising in sheer panic and excitement.

“Babe, hold on WAIT A MINUTE” He caught up, following you into the hallway. “Are you just messin’ with me, or ? ‘Cause, like, if you’re serious”

You threw him a teasing look over your shoulder. “What? You want to make me a mom right now?”

His face went completely red, but his determination didn’t waver. “I MEAN IF YOU’RE DOWN I’M JUST SAYIN’”

You only laughed harder, enjoying how flustered he was. you had no doubt this is going to be a topic of discussion when you get home today.