#//SPOILERS FROM HERE FOR ONE OF THE MASK DESCRIPTIONS! BE WARNED!\\

[wjbs-bonkle-au]

Some more but my deadline was the start of December, except I ran out of ideas so I'm posting it now.

Mask of Energy Blasts

It has a gun-barrel in the forehead, which can be used to fire blasts of pure elemental energy.

Kinda looks like the the protagonist's sniper-helmet from MDK.

Mask of Innovative Weaponry

A mask that allows the wearer to design a weapon from any resources in front of them, usually resulting in something bizarre.

Originally designed for the Vortixx market, though versions designed to be worn by other beings also exists (which still look a bit Vortixx-y in terms of shape and aesthetics).

Mask of Psychoanalysis

Allows the wearer to determine every aspect of the target's personality based on minor context clues. Or at least, that's what the mask's creator (and wearer of the only one in existence) claims.

Mask of Omens

At random times, the wearer loses all awareness of what is going on around them, and they have a vivid but esoteric vision hinting at what might happen at some point within the future.

The Noble version seemingly functions the same, but the wearer instantly gains knowledge of what the visions indicate.

Mask of Gifting

The wearer can create ornate boxes made of their respective element (or unflavoured Protodermis if they lack an elemental affiliation), which can then be used to hold a single object, provided it fits within the box; a target can then be specified, and the box will fly towards their location at immense speed. The larger the box, the more concentration is required to create it and allocate a target.

The Noble version requires even more concentration to use.

Mask of Lasers (Kanohi Naynu)

The user can manifest lasers. That's it that's the power. They aren't as strong as the ones that a Toa of Light can create, but they're still pretty strong.

Based on Umbra's non-canon Walmart bio.

Mask of Distance

The user is able to tell how far away an object is, regardless of if it's visible from where they are.

Usually equipped with a scope.

The Noble version can only judge the distance of things the wearer can currently see.

Mask of Constraction

Mandatory Bionicle Heroes reference (in this case a mish-mash of Hero Mode/Vezon's "assemble gold/black objects, respectively" from the PC/Console version and the Silver Toa's unlockable alt-fire from the DS version).

The wearer is able to "Constract" any loose mechanical (or biomechanical) components into simple automatons, which perform a single, simple task, and then remain dormant until commanded to disassemble.

It can also be used to "Deconstract" objects as well as living beings, which experience intense pain and are eventually killed; therefore, the mask is considered immoral (also because it was worn by a member of the Brotherhood of Makuta who would Deconstract her peers' Rahi, Constract them into new ones, and then bring them back to life using Viruses).

Mask of Encyclopedic Knowledge

Any knowledge the user learns while wearing the mask is stored into it and can be recalled at any time.

The Noble version can only recall information and not record it.

If one being gives their Mask of Encyclopedic Knowledge to another, it retains the knowledge that the original owner recorded onto it.

Mask of Survival

Lets the wearer survive a single lethal injury, but breaks afterwards.

Originally commissioned by a Steltian Aristocrat during an attempted class uprising, to prevent against potential assassination attempts; the mask was initially created specifically to fit onto the heads of Aristocrats, but versions shaped for use by Matoran-adjacent beings, Vortixx, and the current iteration of The Shadowed One's species are also available. Versions for other species can be custom-ordered, though the buyer has to go directly to the factory on Xia, and the price for even a single Mask of Survival is very steep.

Mask of Beyondsight

Causes the wearer to see realities beyond their own. Only one exists, in the private artifact collection of a Skakdi CEO on Xia.

Supposedly, it was created by a high-ranking crafter on Artakha (the island) who wanted to get onto Artakha (the being)'s council by creating a powerful mask, but ended up going mad after using it, and was sent to Karzahni (the island). There are many reasons why this story is obviously false (Artakha doesn't have a "council", Matoran can't use masks, and most damning of all, the back of the mask has a serial number and manufacturing markings that make it clear it was made in a factory; if it was actually used, the wearer would find it has the powers of a Noble Kaukau), but its owner still claims that it's true.

Mask of Sublimation

The wearer can instantly turn any solid into a gas.

Mask of Planning

While in use, the wearer can display any plans they have as floating white runes, representing every being, creature and object involved, along with lines that show the overall floor-plan of the parts of the plan's location that the wearer has seen, with unseen parts being filled in with what the wearer believes the rest of the area looks like.

The Noble version leaves out any areas the wearer hasn't seen, and makes the runes into generic circles that the wearer has to actively assign to someone while describing the plan.

Commonly used by the heads of sports teams, as well as corporate managers in regions like Xia.

Mask of Terror

The wearer is perceived as a more terrifying, eldritch version of themself by any nearby beings. The Noble version just makes the user somewhat more menacing.

Considered immoral.

Mask of Biopowers

The wearer can pull a portion of the life-energy from a recently-deceased being and use it to temporarily gain one of their powers, but also some of their memories.

Considered immoral.

Very obviously inspired by Bioshock.

Mask of Acid

Gives the wearer the same powers as a Lehvak.

Mask of Polarity Reversal

The user can reverse the polarity of any elemental abilities in a radius; fire becomes cold, water flows up things instead of down them, and magnetism is inverted.

While it can affect a Toa of Gravity's abilities, it doesn't affect regular gravity.

The Noble version has a smaller radius.

Mask of Diving

Makes the wearer more resistant to pressure, allows them to breathe underwater, and causes them to quickly descend to the bottom of any liquid they're currently in.

Mask of Seasons

Similar to the Mask of Weather Control, but it specifically simulates different seasons.

Mask of Voice-Throwing

Allows the wearer to make their voice come out of another object or being.

The Noble version can only do it with things in the wearer's field of view.

Mask of Hunting

The wearer can create chains and nets of energy, which can be used to trap Rahi and other beings.

Considered immoral, as it was worn by a member of the Brotherhood of Makuta.

Inspired by Umarak's mask from Bionicle G2.

Mask of Chains

The wearer can summon hooked iron chains, which tear apart their opponents' bodies and souls.

Considered immoral as it was worn by a member of the Brotherhood of Makuta and is also incredibly violent.

Obvious Hellraiser reference.

Mask of Duplication

The wearer can temporarily create duplicates of themselves; these duplicates aren't sentient, being puppeted by the being that summoned them, and immediately vanish after the mask is deactivated. While the theoretical number of duplicates is infinite, most beings lack the coordination to control more than four at a time.

The Noble version can only create one duplicate at a time.

Mask of Ballistics

Allows the wearer to both predict a projectile's trajectory, and also sense where a projectile was fired from. Unlike the Sanok, it doesn't actually increase accuracy or throwing strength.

Commonly fitted with a scope.

The Noble version can only tell where a projectile came from.

The mask's powers don't work on energy projectiles, but it does work on projectiles that break or explode on impact, since they leave physical residue; the individual components have their own trajectories, which appear as a "split" at the end of a projectile's trail. It would also theoretically work with most if not all modern firearms.

Mask of Battle Rage

Makes the wearer temporarily stronger and more physically imposing, but also forces them into a blind rage.

Only activates if the wearer is angry, scared or in mortal danger.

The Noble version is half as effective as the Great version.

While it isn't considered immoral, most Toa refuse to wear it as it could potentially injure their allies.

Mask of Infiltration

Basically a combination of a Volitak, a Ruru and a Mask of Alternate Passages.

Has a unique scope design compared to other masks, which can rotate, changing the type of vision on the left side between normal and thermal, which can be used alongside the mask's standard night-vision and pathfinding abilities; most mask-makers use a special process to make the scope assembly match the secondary or tertiary colour of the wearer.

The Noble version has both scopes fixed over each eye. The (non-scope) abilities work like their respective masks' Noble versions.

Mask of Banishing

The wearer can temporarily banish any being to a pocket dimension for as long as they retain concentration. If the wearer dies, the dimension stays locked unless another being puts on or destroys the mask.

While it isn't considered immoral, it is still rarely used by not just Toa but other beings, due to it being most effective if the wearer dies.

Mask of Mechanics

Like the Mask of Biomechanics but without the "Bio".

Mask of Withering

Any living thing the wearer touches slowly decays into a cloud of dark ash until there's nothing left. The time the target takes to fully disappear is determined by many factors, including how large they are, their species, and if they're wearing any masks that increase durability or vitality.

Considered immoral for basically every reason; it kills people, it's nasty, and it was worn by a member of the Brotherhood of Makuta (who had three heads and floated above the ground).

Minecraft reference.

Mask of Music

Gives the wearer high amounts of musical talent.

Has slots that accept music cartridges, similar to how Le-Matoran flutes work; the Great version has seven, while the Noble version only has three.

Mask of Repetition

Any action the wearer performs is instantly repeated. The action happens again immediately after it has first happened.

The copied action cannot include the activation of the mask, since that would cause the wearer to get stuck in an endless loop of activating the mask to activate the mask to activate the mask etc.

Mask of Elemental Transition

A mask that, while having no immediate effect, slowly alters the wearer's element as it is worn; it also changes their main armour colour, as well as the colours of their eyes, brainstalk and organic components, though their secondary and tertiary armour colours can only be changed by having the relevant parts replaced or painted.

Unlike most masks, it doesn't require activation, and works on Matoran. However, it has no effect on elementless beings.

Depending on where in the Matoran Universe you are, Masks of Elemental Transition can vary in how easy they are to get; in Metru Nui they're fairly easy to obtain, whereas on Xia you have to wait several decades before you can be approved to obtain one.

Mask of Object Conjuring

The wearer can create a solid projection of any object they can imagine, with some limitations: while an object can be used to channel elemental energy, it cannot create any form of energy or projectile, and it has to be a single object, meaning that it is impossible to make mechanisms. Only one object can exist at a time, and any existing ones immediately disappear

The Noble version's projections fade and become less tangible after a while, whereas the Great versions' are permanent as long as the wearer is alive.

Masks of the Great Beings

Several masks resembling the faces of multiple unknown beings, believed to be the legendary Great Beings. The Matoran who made the masks was found dead at the bottom of a disused protodermis-forging furnace, with several strange markings carved into his armour. The masks don't seem to do anything when worn.

Mask of Tactical Analysis

Allows the wearer to instantly generate a series of potential tactical strategies in case they are attacked, based on what they can observe in their current environment (e.g using those carving tools over there as improvised weapons, but making sure to wait for a few seconds because that Matoran behind the counter might reach for the lever next to itself and activate a machine that launches a spear, or worse, turn itself into a Toa and shoot fire or rocks or whatever); however, the wearer's assumptions about nearby beings or objects can also factor into this (e.g the lever is actually for a lift that allows access to the workshop's second floor, and also Matoran don't work that way, plus they're actually a Ko-Matoran), and potentially lead to strategies that take things into account which aren't actually present or true, or ignore things that are.

Often used by non-Toa species, as A. they don't have a weapon to hand at all times and B. they lack any elemental powers. However, at least one Toa who has cast aside their Tool is known to wear a Mask of Tactical Analysis.

Due to the imprecise predictions in regards to complex mechanisms, and how it uses its wearer's assumptions about potential threats, it is sometimes derisively known as the "Mask of Paranoia", which is also the name of an unrelated mask.

Inspired by xkcd #337 and also that one scene from Expiration Date.

Mask of Paranoia

Allows the wearer to inflict intense paranoia on a single target.

Considered immoral due to its psychologically-damaging effects, and also because it was worn by a member of the Brotherhood of Makuta.

Mask of Evocation

A mask commissioned by a mysterious Toa, who is said to have had strangely-coloured armour, long black robes, and was wearing what appeared to be a Noble Huna. This Toa was actually a member of the Brotherhood of Makuta who specialised in creating mimics.

The wearer can summon large biomechanical "fangs" from the ground, tipped with jaws filled with razor-sharp teeth. They can also conjure small flying creatures armed with swords.

Another Minecraft reference.

Mask of Evolution

Warning: the following description contains vague descriptions of body-horror.

Metru Nui Archives data log 12841: The Mask of Evolution is a Kanohi retrieved from a ██-Matoran village south of ██████ and delivered to the Archives shortly afterwards, for studying and preservation. Toa Mangai ██████ offered to test the mask; upon putting it on, he immediately morphed his right arm into a larger, stronger form, which seemed to contain more organic material than Class 04 Toa are meant to. Shortly after doing this, ██████ tried to morph it back, but rather than reverting, the arm became more and more mutated and organic. As ██████ kept trying to restore his arm to its original state, the rest of his body began to mutate; Archivists ██████ and █████ claim to have heard ██████ calling for his teammates, though I personally couldn't discern any words from his screams. Archivist ██████ chose to euthanise the creature that was once ██████, the corpse of which was then taken away for dissection; it was found that the mask had somehow rapidly and irreversibly evolved ██████'s organic components, which were constrained and damaged by his armour and mechanisms. All three of us have unanimously agreed to have the Mask of Evolution transferred to the secure containment sector, while ██████'s body will be kept in the "mutations and aberrations" exhibition on Level 4.

Bionicle mask ideas I came up with while on holiday (except the first one which I came up with beforehand but fleshed out while I was there)

Mask of Recording

Lets the user record whatever they are currently observing, which then gets stored in the mask and can be played back in the form of a projection.

If a being that can use masks puts on a Mask of Projection that has recordings currently stored on it, they can access those recordings.

The Great version can store up to five recordings, and any audiovisual modifications (e.g a Toa of Earth's natural night-vision; a Toa of Sonics' enhanced hearing; hallucinations/visions) are applied to the recording.

The Noble version can store a single recording, which is low-quality, has high amounts of rolling shutter, and lacks any audiovisual modifications.

Mask of Vision

An attempt at making the Vision Mask from VNOG work outside that game's mechanics.

Increases the resolution of the user's vision, letting them see distant objects more clearly.

The Noble version has half the effect of the Great version.

Mask of Chemistry

Lets the user combine substances to create new ones.

Has a built-in visor that can flip down to protect the user's eyes.

The Great version lets the user view every possible combination of any substances, whereas the Noble version only shows the outcome of the current ratio of whichever substances the user has access to.

Mask of Alternate Pathways

Highlights shortcuts, hidden passages etc. in the user's field of view.

Mask of Returning

Causes thrown objects to return to the user.

The Great version makes the objects automatically target whichever of the user's hands are currently free, whereas the Noble version just targets the user as a whole.

Mask of Excavation

Allows the wearer to pull up any underground object, provided it weighs less than twice what they could carry with their hands.

The Noble version only works with things that the wearer could carry normally.

Mask of Acceleration

If the user is piloting a vehicle, they can make it reach its top speed much faster.

The Noble version takes longer but otherwise does the same thing.

Mask of Distraction

The user can create small, noisy bursts of coloured light on surfaces, designed to distract other beings.

The Noble version can only create the visual or audio component, but not both.

Mask of Hallucination

The user can forcibly alter a target's audiovisual perception of reality, based around a"keyword" that the user thinks of when as activate it, along with the feelings that the target associates with that keyword (e.g if the mask was used on a Matoran with the keyword "Karzahni", they would see the world as resembling Karzahni (the island), their friends as post-modification Karzahnite Matoran, and their Turaga as somewhat resembling Karzahni (the being); inversely, if the keyword was "Artakha", they'd see the world as resembling Artakha (the island), their friends as ornately-armoured Artakhan workers, and their Turaga as somewhat resembling Artakha (the being).

Despite the intensity of the hallucinations, they can't physically affect the target, and the feel of an object wouldn't match up with how the target perceives it.

Considered immoral.

Mask of Many Souls

Stores the minds of other beings, who can then take control of the wearer's body if the wearer is willing to let them.

The Great version can store 48, while the Noble version can only store 12.

Mask of Hacking

Allows the user to hack into machinery and fully-inorganic beings by projecting their mind into the target's code-matrix, allowing them to physically interact with the code.

Lacks eyeholes, with the wearer's eyes being covered by a boxy "visor" that prevents them from being distracted while hacking (as they can still see).

The Great and Noble versions differ only in the amount of time that the hacking process lasts, with the Great version allowing the user to access the code for over an hour while the Noble version lasts about half of that.

Mask of Perspective

Lets the user adjust their field of view. That's it that's all it does.

[aliteralsemicolon]

I'll still be here

To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. You and Spencer plan to honour your vows at any cost, no matter how insignificant or difficult the situation seems. 

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is SFW but still intended for mature audiences. You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. Not proof read.

WARNING: Light descriptions of cuts and bruises, PMS/period talk. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 2.2K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

You never felt more at peace than when you were with your husband. He’s your solace, your other half, your soulmate. You also never felt more dread than when he was away. Since his return from prison, you’ve been increasingly anxious whenever he leaves, scared that he might not return for God knows how long again. You're always holding your breath, only releasing it when you see him walk back in through the front door and immediately into your arms.

The relief you feel is instantaneous. Until you pull back after a minute, just to be greeted by shades of green, yellow, purple and blue staining various parts of his visible skin. Your smile drops when you notice the condition he’s in. Messy hair, dirty clothes, two shallow cuts on his lip and temple…and the bruises. So, so many bruises. Most noticeably above his brow, on his cheek and a particularly large one from the side of his mouth to his jaw. 

The first time he came home like this was in the early stages of the relationship. He had offered you an out, stating that this was normal with his line of work and would most definitely happen again. You assured him that you weren’t going anywhere and that you’d be there every single time to nurse him back to health. True to your word, you were still here five years later.

You unintentionally sigh, slipping your fingers to intertwine with his and guiding him to the bedroom. You gently sit him on the edge of the bed and leave him there to retrieve the first aid kit. Spencer watches you disappear into the bathroom. You’d surprised him by choosing to stay, despite the many outs you were given. He’d come to expect being abandoned at one point or another, but you stuck by him through his worst times. Without fail or complaint, you were always there. 

Something’s different today. He can’t put his finger on it exactly, but he’s literally trained to pay attention to human behaviour, no matter how skilled you are at masking your emotions, he’s better. You emerge out, making your way over to him and climbing into his lap with your legs on either side of him. He leans back onto his hands, allowing more room for you to get comfortable. Using the base of your index finger, you turn his face to one side by his chin and begin wiping his cut with some disinfectant. 

He subtly winces at the initial sting, relaxing after the feeling passes. Not a single word’s been passed between you two since the initial greeting. He keeps his eyes on you waiting for you to meet them, but you don’t. You stay focused on tending to his injuries. You’d just finished with the butterfly bandages on his temple and had moved on to the cut on his lip. 

“What’s wrong?” He whispers.

“Aside from the obvious?” You joke, tilting his head to the other side to deal with the bruises. 

You begin rubbing some vitamin K cream, trying to be as careful as possible. His eyes are still locked in on yours. You nervously chew on your lip from the scrutiny. When you're done generously applying the cream you make quick work of stuffing it back in the first aid kit. You keep your gaze lowered and Spencer takes it upon himself to cup your face, tenderly demanding for you to meet his eyes. 

The ambient lighting brings out the golden that hides in the usual brown. It’s almost impossible to hold eye contact, especially when he’s got his compelling puppy look plastered on his face. You scatter your sights anywhere else, feeling flustered and push yourself off him.

“S–stand up. I need to check the other bruises.” You gesture for him to comply as you speak.

“There are no other bruises. The paramedics already did a full check up.” He stands regardless, towering over you.

You nod as you take a step back and rush towards the bathroom again. You feel Spencer snake his arms around your waist while you put away the first aid, your body automatically leaning into his touch. He’s patiently waiting for you to look at him through the mirror, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. You didn’t know why today was different from any other time. He’s come home in worse conditions, this was actually one of his tamer returns. 

“Can you at least look at me?” He kisses your parietal, rubbing circles on your skin with his thumbs.

You forcefully take a peek at his face, throwing in a weak smile, but immediately retreat and try to walk away. He doesn’t let you this time, only giving you enough room to turn around before entrapping you between the counter and his body. He takes hold of your hands and you stare at them, letting your fingers caress his palms when he loosens his grip. Spencer observes you, desperately trying to figure out what’s causing your repulsion. 

Was it the bruises? That doesn’t make sense, you’ve seen worse. Did something happen when he was away? You didn’t sound any different over the phone. He couldn’t recall anything strange about your behaviour until he got home. Something had to have happened between the last time he called you and now. 

“Hon–”

“You need to shower. I’ll heat up dinner for you.” You’re broken out of your trance when he breaks the silence and successfully push past him this time.

You race to the kitchen, but your husband doesn’t relent, pacing after you. He calls your name a few times, but you don’t respond. His gaining presence makes the room feel like it’s shrinking. It’s when you feel him pull you by the shoulder that you finally snap. 

“Spencer, please just stop!” You spin around to face him. 

He comes to a halt, just inches away from you. The pained look on his face makes you want to beat the crap out of yourself. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap…I just– please, go shower. I’m okay. Everything’s okay.” You plead with shallow breaths. 

“Neither of us are going anywhere until we talk about this.” He pushes, knowing that if he doesn’t get you to talk now you’ll just close up. 

You were much like him in that regard, always disregarding your feelings until they exploded on a much larger scale than necessary. He wasn’t going to let you avoid this problem. Tears welled in your eyes and you bit the inside of your cheek to try and evade them. You don’t expect the choked sob that spills from you. All the feelings you worked so hard to bottle, spill and sink you down to the floor.

“Hey, shh.” Spencer comforts as he puts his arms around your body, sinking down with you. “I’ve got you, my love, I’ve got you.”

He strokes your hair, offering you a safe space against his chest to cry into. He doesn’t stop with comforting stimuli, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head. The two of you stay there for sometime. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is muffled by his shirt, but still audible.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He reassures, a hand still in your hair.

You pull out of his embrace, still sniffling and look up at him through clouded lashes. You feel slightly pathetic, but there’s no judgement on his face. Only empathy and adoration. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m probably just PMS-ing.” You mumble.

“Premenstrual syndrome is very common, in fact 3 out of 4 women have or will experience PMS in some form. The physical and emotional changes you experience with premenstrual syndrome may vary from just slightly noticeable all the way to intense– I’m rambling, sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” You sadly chuckle. “You know I like when you ramble. Plus it’s a welcome distraction.”

“I know that…my point is that even if that’s the case, I won’t let you use that as an excuse to invalidate your feelings. Please, talk to me. Say whatever’s on your mind.” He speaks so softly, it makes your heart ache. 

“It’s not a big deal…” You begin and Spencer gives you a look to shut down the negation. “I guess it– the bruises, Spence. I don’t know why, but seeing you like this…it’s difficult today.”

“It’s not just today.” He exhales, shaking his head. “This is something that’s been going on since…I got back. From prison. We haven’t talked about it yet, but maybe we should.”

He wasn’t talking about the whole prison situation in general, the two of you had discussed that not long after his return. Spencer’s well aware of how antsy you get since then, even though you try to hide it. It’s why he texts you every chance he gets and makes time to call you, even in the middle of an investigation. 

“There’s nothing to talk about. I knew what I was getting myself into long before all of that.” You shrug, not wanting to give him a reason to offer you a chance to leave.

“Yes…but, that doesn’t make it any easier.” He counters.

“Spencer, I swear to god if you try to give me another out–”

“No. No more outs. You’re stuck with me. I want us to find a way to make this easier for you.” He chuckles lightly, rubbing soothing patterns on your forearm. 

He was so gentle with you, always finding some way to remind you that he loves you. If not with his words than with small touches. Though you didn’t see it as a small gesture by any means, knowing how he usually recoils from physical touch with others. 

“I honestly don’t know. I don’t think it can get easier, you know? Seeing the person you love more than anything come home like this. Especially when you don’t see them for days to begin with. I mean imagine if it was the other way around.” You confide, biting your lip from the nerves. 

His tongue darts out of his lip, an indicator that the gears in his head were turning. 

“That’s fair.” He nods. “Then maybe…it would be easier if I came home everyday? And not like this?” 

You pause, trying to comprehend what he means. 

“Are you implying that you resign from the BAU?” 

“If that’s what it takes.” He confidently replies. 

“Spencer, you love this job. I can’t ask you to leave it for my sake. I mean this is your life’s work.” You remind him.

“True, there was a time when the job meant everything to me.” He smiles, briefly reminiscing. “But that changed the second you took me as your husband.” 

Your heart threatens to leap out of your chest. At the same time you wonder if this is a cry for help. You never thought you’d ever hear him say he’d leave the FBI. Your concern must be plastered all over you, because Spencer feels the need to reiterate. 

“I love this job, I love you infinitely more.” 

“I only want you to quit when you’re ready to quit. Not for my sake. All I meant was that I want you to be a little more careful out there. I can’t lose you.” You’re dumbfounded by his admission and resist out of guilt. 

You never wanted him to choose between you and his work. 

“You won’t lose me. I’ll be by your side for the rest of our lives, the same way you’ve been by mine since I met you.” He drags you into his lap, pulling you impossibly close.

“That’s not a choice you can guarantee.” You scoff playfully.

“No, but it’s a choice I make regardless. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here for as long as you’ll have me.” 

He wasn’t going to budge. Spencer would do anything for you. He’d already given over a decade of his life to the bureau, the rest of it was yours. 

“I don’t want you to quit until it’s something you want for yourself. Just promise me that if things get too intense or dangerous, you’ll step back for a bit.” You throw out a compromise and drape your arms around his shoulder, prompting him to wrap his arms around your waist. 

“I promise. As long as you promise me that if it becomes too much for you to handle, you’ll tell me.” He’s looking at you as if you’re the most rare jewel on the planet, which to him, you are. 

“I don’t want to make you leave.” You oppose, running a hand through the base of his locks. 

“You’re not making me do anything. I want to do this. I’ve let myself lose a lot to this job. Let me be very clear when I say that I won’t lose you to it. I will not let it push us apart. Promise me.” He implores.

It’s so hard to refuse anything this man says when he looks at you with stars in his eyes and speaks to you in such a sweet tone. He’s your whole world and you’d do anything for him. 

“I promise.” You roll your eyes and giggle, the sound making him beam. “And by the way, I wasn’t going to let your job come between us either. Is it a pain in my ass at times? Yes, but I’ll still be here when you come home.”

“I love you.” Spencer blurts out, leaning in for a kiss.

“I love you too. More, actually” You contest.

“Whatever you say, my sweet angel.”

Spoilers: Established relationship, hurt + comfort, fluff.

AN - This is my most sleep deprived not-blurb, blurb ever. If this doesn’t make sense it’s because I wrote this without thinking about it or reading it over. There is no plot to this, it’s just a very self indulgent hurt/comfort fic that came to me in a dream (wish Spencer came to me (sorry)).  This is your reminder that I am not Spencer Reid and I do not have an IQ of 187. The facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of this story. 

Rumour has it that if you comment nothing significant happens but it makes my day because I enjoy reading what you have to say :0

Thank you for reading!

[grandline-fics]

I can’t get the idea of Killer having a crush on a Straw Hat out of my head. What do you think would actually make him act on it? Or I guess how would he? (Pretending he actually would) 💖🖤 thank you in advance

DESCRIPTION: You’re a member of the Strawhats and he has a crush on you

WARNINGS: some minor story spoilers but other than that, none

CHARACTERS: Killer

WORDS: 695

A/N: Thank you for the request. This was my first time writing for Killer and I don't know where I was going with this but hopefully you like what I came up with for this

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

When the Kid pirates first started making a name for themselves, they became interested in the other rookie rivals that they would be sharing the spotlight with. Naturally the likes of Law, Luffy and Zoro stood out the most to Killer as the ones to keep an eye on. Then the stories of Strawhat Luffy and his ever growing crew of unique and interesting members kept circulating and then when you joined the crew, Killer took note of your introduction bounty. While you weren’t quite considered among the Supernova’s it was still enough to pique his interest. 

It made him want to know more. It wasn’t exactly hard for his wish to come true; given who your crew was there was a story about you all and your adventures in the papers practically every week. Kid found his vice-captain’s interest in you amusing and even would go so far as to tease Killer about his crush, which was always furiously denied. It was just being thorough about the strength of possible rivals that they could run into in the future. Then the opportunity to see you and your crew in the flesh presented itself when they landed on Sabaody and all hell broke loose in the auction-house. 

You hadn’t really known much about Kid, Killer or the crew until that incident. In the middle of an attack, you flipped in the air and sailed down towards the masked pirate. To avoid hurting him, you hooked your leg around his waist and turned, knocking him to the floor with you landing on top on him. The impact was enough to lift his mask slightly and reveal his face to you and you grinned down at him. “Sorry about that, handsome.” You apologised while pulling his mask down into place. 

While you didn’t get why he’d hide his features, you guessed he had a reason for it. Suddenly you heard a Marine rushing towards you for a followup attack and threw your weapon up to block it. Quickly you dealt with them and got to your feet to let Killer finally stand. From behind you, Nami called your name which meant it was time to go. As you ran you looked over your shoulder to throw a lazy wave to Killer. “Let’s do this again sometime!” 

As appealing as that offer sounded to Killer, who was finally beginning to admit to himself after that meeting that he just maybe did have a crush on you the chance didn’t get to come up again until two years later when your paths crossed in Wano. Under the glow of the lanterns and in the middle of the lively atmosphere of a land finally celebrating their freedom you stood and watched in amusement as the captain of the Kid Pirates was in the middle of a shouting match with your captain and Law of the Heart Pirates. When you saw Killer about to approach the group in the hopes of calming his captain you subtly took his attention by stepping beside him. “You’re better leaving them to it. Those three are like little kids, they’ll tire themselves out eventually. Enjoy the night off for once.” When Killer turned to face him you smiled and handed him a drink. “Here, to make up for our less than conventional introduction in Sabaody.”

“You remember that?” Killer asked, slightly stunned. It had been two years and it had been so brief, he doubted the encounter had left such an impression for you. He could only watch behind his mask as your grin widened, your eyes sparkling at the memory, effectively proving him wrong. 

“Course I remember, definitely wouldn’t forget a face like yours in a hurry.” Killer tensed slightly when you winked and took a sip of your own drink. Killer considered your earlier statement and glanced to see the three Captains had finally calmed their squabbling at least for the time being. He supposed enjoying himself with your company wouldn’t be such a bad thing. After all, it had been two years in the waiting and who knew how long it would be before your paths crossed again after tonight.

[javigutierrez]

Are you alright, Honey?

Javi Gutierrez x afab!reader oneshot

Summary: You’re going on a long weekend with your gorgeous new boyfriend, and after a day of unresolved sexual tension out on a roadtrip you’re ready to jump him the second you get home. Unless he finds a movie at the gas station he had been looking for for years and he wants to watch it with you. Will you be able to mask your desire for him, to enjoy a movie that means so much to him? (Spoiler alert no you won’t)

Rating & Word count: Explicit | ~8500 words

Warnings/tags: fluffffff, freshly established relationship, pining like whoa, very explicit smut, f!oral, f!fingering, tons of nipple play, non-penetrative sex (sumata ig?), unprotected penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, allusions to squirting, pleasure dom!Javi vibes, tw alcohol, tw food mention, Javi is a major dumb of ass but he makes up for it, reader has female genitalia, some boobs, and long enough hair to tuck it behind their ear but no other descriptions (let me know if you find anything else!), no age references

A/N: Here it is, after years of contemplating I'm posting my first fanfic in 12 years and my first fanfic in English ever. Please be kind, English is not my first language ❤ This is a huge thing to me, and I wouldn't have been able to get there without the help and encouragement of my lovely friends - I owe a kidney to @psychedelic-ink and @shellshocklove for their tremendous help as my betas, and to @iamasaddie @perotovar @chronically-ghosted @wannab-urs for listening to my bitching and moaning along the way and still staying my loyal cheerleaders 🥺 The whole idea popped into my mind like a movie while editing this gifset (which was inspired by @prolix-yuy’s Javi story, so special thanks to LJ 🥰), that 5th gif corrupting my mind for the next 2,5 months and this was the only way I could finally get it out of my system. 🤡 I hope you'll enjoy it! ❤

This was quite an eventful day. You spent your whole day out with Javi, having a road trip at Côte d’Azur. After a little bit more than a month of dating you had decided to go on a long weekend together, choosing the French coastlines. You had been absolutely amazed by the experience; clear azure waves embracing golden shores, the streets of seaside towns winding through history with beautiful architecture and warm colours, mountain tops lurking on the horizon behind the town. After Javi had told you he would get you into the Cannes movie festival, you were already talking about coming back for a few days. 

The sights were unbelievable and the food was delectable, but what really made the trip unforgettable was your new boyfriend. Spending time with Javi was so easy. With him, all your anxiety washed away - his sweet and caring personality was like a soothing balm for your soul, and with his fun-loving side, you really felt like living your life to the fullest. Not to mention how he showed his true colors in the bedroom. Absolutely devoted to your pleasure, he could be worshipping you, making you feel like a goddess, other times he would make you beg, then shower you with praises while he was giving you exactly what you needed. Who would have thought only a few weeks before, when​ you had started chatting with a stranger waiting in line at the cinema, that he would sweep you off of your feet almost immediately and turn your life upside down in the best way possible? 

There you were right now, coming home from another amazing day spent with him, laughing with him, staring at his profile while he was driving, smoothing out his sun-bleached locks tangled up by the wind in the cabrio while he was looking at you all doe-eyed and dopey-smiled. You were holding his hand, feeling his hand on your bare thigh, resting at the hem of your bunched-up sundress comfortably and sometimes you had caught him looking at you with the same intensity. It was safe to say, by the time you got in the car to get home you were ready to jump him. 

There was only one tiny thing you hadn’t calculated for when you had been planning your night (or rather imagining it dreamily from all angles): finding a DVD at a gas station. When his eyes fell on the item, he’d looked confused for a few seconds, but then taking it from the shelf and reading the cover his face lit up like a child’s in a candy store. 

As it turned out, it was an indie French movie he had watched with his parents back when he was young and they had been on a holiday. They had rarely spent quality time together, so he cherished those few occasions he’d felt like he belonged to an ordinary, loving family. He remembered the time fondly and he always wanted to find the movie because of the nostalgia of it all, but he had forgotten the title and didn’t know the actors, so after a lot of unsuccessful attempts, he’d given up trying. 

“Can we watch this tonight? Please?” He looked at you with big brown eyes, enveloping the DVD in his hands, (dwarfing it, really) and pressing it to his heart. And how could you say no to him? If he looked at you like that, you would have agreed to watch a 10-hour-long film about paint drying on a wall. 

“Of course, Javi,” you smiled at him gently, your heart melting from his child-like joy as you watched him gallop to the cashier to pay for the gas and the DVD. You pushed the slight disappointment of not being able to climb this gorgeous goofball of a man as soon as you get home, to the back of your mind. 

At the end of the day, you were genuinely happy to just spend time with him. You blamed your hormones and the fact that you were still in the honeymoon phase for being pent up all day. You couldn’t help it, but you are a big girl in an adult relationship, you decided, you can have one night without having sex with this tall, broad, gentle but surprisingly strong, passionate, generous, highly skilled–

“Let’s go!” he urged you with an adorable grin and shining eyes, grabbing your hand and tugging you out of the gas station. Your heart swelled from the sight. Yes, you can have a peaceful night if it makes him happy, and you will be just as hyped to watch the movie as him. It did seem like a good movie based on the cover, and you knew it meant the world to him, so you wouldn’t spoil his fun with your neediness. 

By the time you got back to your rented house, it was already dark, and the early autumn weather had gotten a bit more chilly. Javi practically jumped out of the car (but still rushed to your side to open your door). 

You agreed that you would prepare the snacks and set up the TV, while he would start the fireplace and get a bottle of wine from the cellar. He gave you a soft peck on your lips, one hand resting on the back of your neck, then he pretty much ran to the cellar - you think you even heard him giggling on his way. His enthusiasm was infectious, even though you’d never even heard about the movie before, now you were excited to watch it.

When you found out how to get the DVD to work Javi was already tinkling with the logs on the fireplace, a bottle of wine with two glasses on the kitchen counter already. You let yourself get lost in the sight for a good minute, your cavewoman brain activated by looking at him focusing on his task with his arms flexing, but then you shook yourself from your reveries, going to the American-style kitchen to put a bag of popcorn in the microwave and wash some grapes, then putting the wine on the coffee table next to the couch.

You couldn’t help but steal a few more glances at him. His short-sleeved shirt was now unbuttoned, hanging on his shoulders and your eyes fell on his white tank top straining over his torso. He seemed especially broad like this, and you couldn’t wait to cuddle with him and bury your face in his chest, kissing over the constellations of freckles on his shoulders and chest you were so familiar with by now.  

Once the fire was lighting, he looked at you proudly and you beamed back at him. The more his eyes were on you, the more his look grew softer. His gaze full of adoration made butterflies whoosh in your stomach - you were overwhelmed by emotions for this man, sometimes it even made you scared of falling too hard. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with watching this movie tonight, cariño?” He asked tenderly, his voice raspy and deep. He walked up to you to put his hands on your waist, caressing you with his thumbs and lowering his head to really look into your eyes. “I know these four days are supposed to be about the two of us.” There was no hurt or any malice in his voice, he was ready to drop the plan the second you said so. It felt like he was staring into your soul and suddenly you felt guilty. You obviously didn’t try hard enough to support him if he felt the need to ask and that made your guts tie up in a knot. You put your hands on the sides of his neck, then lowered them to his shoulders, then his chest. You never broke eye contact.

“Honey, I’m absolutely sure. We had a long day so a movie night is perfect to wind down and this movie seems super interesting! I swear, I can’t wait to start it already!” You rose on your tiptoes and laid an innocent kiss on his lips. He didn’t let you go, holding your face to deepen the kiss and a zap ran through your body as his tongue slipped between your lips to taste you. 

You felt his little huff on your upper lip, and you couldn’t resist the quiet moan that escaped your throat. The sound somewhat sobered you up, and you broke the kiss, feeling a little dizzy. He opened his eyes slowly, looking a bit disheveled himself. You had a mission to accomplish, you couldn’t get distracted all the time… you went back up just to give a small kiss on the tip of his nose, which made him smile bashfully, his eyes crinkling adorably. 

“Come on baby, let’s start it!” 

You grabbed the snacks, but he took them from you with a kiss on your temple, and you both headed to the couch. He put the snacks down on the table and plopped down on the L-shaped furniture as you went on a quick round to light some candles around the room, bathing it in warm colours. You started with the candles in the back and as you worked your way back up you caught him pouring wine into your glasses, then he started to explore the menu of the DVD to set up an English subtitle. With a small sigh, you allowed yourself to indulge yourself in his sight one last time while you were finishing up the candles. 

He quite literally took your breath away. His lovely locks you adored to bury your hands into so much, his eyes sparkling from the TV’s light and crinkled with a smile he probably didn’t even notice he had on his face. Your eyes followed the curve of his prominent nose and fell on his lips under his neat mustache. Those pouty lips... you had some vivid memories involving them. The man might look innocent, but he sure knew how to do sin when he wanted to. 

He leaned back with his legs propped up and reached out to you. You climbed on top of him and nestled yourself into his chest. He held you close to him, situating himself so you were sitting between his legs, resting your back on his chest. 

“Ready, cariño?” He hummed into your neck, pressing a small kiss there. Your blood sizzled under your sensitive skin. 

“Never been more ready! Let’s go!”

Javi started the movie and scooted even closer to you, if possible. Strong arms resting on your stomach, caging you in, he nuzzled your neck with a low hum, leaving a trail of kisses up your jaw, finishing with the softest of kisses on your cheek. You felt intoxicated, despite the untouched glasses on the table. His warmth was making your whole body melt, the way his chest rose and fell rhythmically behind you soothed you, and his cologne filled your nostrils with something warm and spicy and citrusy. But below all those layers it smelled uniquely like him, perfectly complementing his perfume. You would recognize it anywhere, after so many times of tasting his skin all over his body – it was the perfect concoction.

He was none the wiser about your… rather delicate situation, eyes glued to the screen, hands absentmindedly caressing your hips and stomach. You tried to focus on the movie, and you were able to catch glimpses of it and laugh at the jokes, but his touches kept distracting you. More often than not you caught yourself looking at his sinewy forearms, the golden watch on his wrist, and the ring on his pinky catching on your dress from time to time. You slowly traced the veins on his arms, and as you tried to focus on the screen again you played with the edges of his watch and ring. He gently caught your hand, intertwining your fingers and raising it to his face for a kiss on your knuckles. 

“Some wine?” He murmured sometime later. 

You were grateful for the opportunity, slightly going mad from the tension as you were stewing in your juices. He barely finished his question, you were already leaning for the glasses, handing him one. “Oo-kay,” he chuckled at your enthusiasm, albeit a little confused by your behaviour. He paused the movie and sat up at the corner of the couch. You were still between his legs, but you both positioned yourself to turn to each other more at the corner. His left hand held the glass, and his right was on your waist, keeping you close to him. His eyes were glazed over looking at your face and you could only imagine how ridiculously smitten you must have looked like. 

“For this perfect day, and for the unexpected gifts it has brought us,” he said, raising his glass. 

“For this perfect day, that is about to get even better,” you answered, making him grin with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

You clinked your glasses and raised it to your lips, him barely tasting the wine through a sip, while you downed the whole glass. Leaning back against the backrest of the couch, you tried to look put together. The taste really was divine, and you had hoped it would help to calm your nerves a bit. Javi was visibly amused looking at you.

“You liked it, huh, cariño?” He asked, getting your glasses and putting them on the table leaning over your legs. 

You giggled in response, smiling shyly at him with a small shrug, “It tasted amazing, Javi. It was a great choice.” 

“I knew you would love this. Say the word and a box of these will be at my house by the time we get home,” he said, as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ears and kept his hand on the side of your face. 

“Consider it said.” You winked at him and he breathed out a silent laugh, but he tilted his head a little with a small frown between his brows, seemingly inspecting you. You had a feeling you had looked a bit nervous, only because you’d tried to clumsily mask your desire for him, wanting to give this night to him to enjoy a movie that meant so much to him but… you clearly weren’t succeeding. You knew he was about to ask you about it, so instead you grabbed the remote before he could speak. 

“Shall we?” You asked nonchalantly. 

His hand dropped from your face. “Of course,” he said. 

He shook his head a little, failing at figuring you out as he leaned back on the couch. You laid down in front of him so you could continue watching the movie while he spooned you, and pressed the play button. You’d hoped that with this new pose, there would be less temptation as you’re not laying on him anymore, but boy, were you wrong. 

He hoisted you closer to his body, his hand splayed out on your stomach, and kept you there, almost protectively. Staring at it, you dumbly wondered about how much smaller your torso looked under his hand than your own and that activated something primal in your mind again. You felt his crotch pressed up to your ass, and though he wasn’t hard, it made your cunt throb around nothing. It was so close, yet so far, and you weren’t allowed to do anything about it. Your guts twisted, and you wiggled every few minutes, pressing your thighs together, uselessly fighting the arousal that kept getting more and more suffocating. 

A few minutes later he nuzzled at the back of your ear, and the combined sensations of his breath in your ear and the soft tickle of his mustache and stubble made a shudder run through your body, followed by goosebumps everywhere.

“Are you alright, honey?” He murmured, looking at your profile. 

“Of course, Javi,” you said, not very convincingly. “Just trying to find the perfect angle.” You explained as you wiggled some more, still staring at the TV, as your thumb gently smoothed across his knuckles to soothe him. 

“Right…” he replied. 

Whatever he thought, he didn’t say anything else. 

However, a few minutes later the hand that had been on your stomach slowly wandered down, below the hem of your sundress, and he gently, but firmly lifted your thigh to fit his between your legs. The movement was so unexpected that you couldn’t hold back a small groan from the pleasure the friction gave you. 

“You sure you’re alright?” Javi asked innocently behind your back, his hand now smoothing over the bare skin on your thigh, leaving an electric feeling beneath your skin in its trail. Every single one of his touches made arousal pool between your legs. You silently cursed at your body for growing more and more sensitive, begging for him to come closer. 

“Yeah…” you practically squeaked. You were close to your breaking point. 

Javi only hummed, his hand stopping to rest it on your stomach again. You were fighting your instincts to rub yourself on his thigh for a few minutes, and you were proud of yourself for resisting, but then he moved between your legs a little, enough to give attention to your aching clit, and the hiss that escaped your lips made him come to a halt. 

It felt like the time froze for a few seconds, none of you daring to move. You, trying to take back control over your treacherous body, and him obviously assessing the situation. You mentally did a facepalm as you felt your wet underwear sticking to his pants. He didn’t say anything, but his hand moved down from your stomach and bunched up your skirt. He breathed out your name, almost admonishing, and it made your heart jump. His hand was dangerously close to where you wanted him the most, and as his palm covered your mound, thick fingers reaching your soaked panties, he buried his face in the back of your neck. 

“Oh, honey…” he choked. He took a deep inhale, smelling your scent, then suddenly sat up and paused the movie. 

“No, Javi, I was watching it!” You wanted to wince at yourself, your act was truly ridiculous at this point. 

“None of that, cariño.” He shook his head, turning you on your back with a firm hand on your hip. “You obviously need me, please let me take care of you.” 

“It really can wait, I don’t mind!” You protested. You wanted nothing more than for him to touch you, but you didn’t want to be selfish. 

“Well, I don’t want to wait!” He declared, his gaze burning you as it fell from your face, scanning your body splayed out in front of him. “What about this: I eat you out, then we can continue the movie. Would that be okay for you?” 

You stared at him like a deer caught in a headlight. Is he serious? But his words definitely affected you. 

“Please, cariño,” he continued in a gentler tone, his pleading eyes finding yours again. “Let me eat your pretty pussy, now.” 

That was the last nail in your coffin, you swore under your breath as you almost went cross-eyed from his words only. “Fffuck, okay… okay let’s do this” you croaked after a few seconds, your defenses crumbling like a house of cards in a tornado. 

“Atta girl,” he smirked, and in an instant, he was on top of you. 

His fingers found their way into your hair as he put his lips on you, the press of his body a comforting weight on you. His kiss was electric, hot, and sensual. He sucked your lips in with a primal hunger, his tongue licking against the seam of your lips, opening you up to him and claiming your mouth with dominance. You barely noticed the soft sounds coming from your throat, only when you felt the corners of his mouth curl up slightly in a smile. You felt like you had to anchor yourself as you gripped the back of his open yellow shirt so hard, it was protesting against your ministrations on his shoulders. 

“Mmmtake—this—off,” you whispered desperately against his all-encompassing kiss. 

Javi leaned back, his hair disheveled, to practically tear the shirt off of himself. With a huff through his nose, his eyes gazed at your kiss-swollen lips with hunger. You were out of breath from the intensity of the kiss, panting softly as you took in the sight of him. 

He still had his tank top on, your mouth already dropping from the show. His top only accentuated his wide shoulders and narrow waist, and his skin kissed by the firelight was glowing in a golden light, its colours and the way the lights and shadows exaggerated his features made you drool. You could never resist the freckles on his shoulders and chest either. If you weren’t already on the edge of insanity, you would spend hours kissing and biting along his torso, but now clearly none of you had the patience for that. 

He came back to you and started suckling on your neck, one of your hands flying to his back to weakly trace the ridges of his shoulder blade, while the other clutched his bicep. Keeping up his ministrations on your neck he gently bunched up your dress above your stomach. His thigh found its way back between your legs and this time you bucked your hips up shamelessly. He groaned as he felt your wet warmth staining his pants and his lips traveled lower. As he trailed your collarbone with the tip of his tongue between his lips, two of his fingers touched you through your panties and you moaned out loud. 

“Javi, please!” you whined as he trailed his middle and ring finger up your seam, and tapped on your clit through the soaked textile. You were so worked up, you felt your heart pounding in your ears. 

“Shhh cariño, I got you,” he murmured, his voice impossibly low and his breath burning your chest. 

His fingers never gave up, but he always kept his touches light, making you throb uncontrollably. You watched him move lower, and you couldn’t decide what to stare at: his lips and tongue molding against your fevered skin, or the dips and hills of his shoulders and biceps flexing as he kept himself up with one arm while torturing you with the other. He traced his tongue around your navel and he looked up at you as he licked over its valley, his fingers mimicking the movement below. He then had the audacity to send you a cheeky wink as your whole body shuddered.

“Fuuuck, stop teasing me, I can’t take it anymore!” you sounded pathetic, but you didn’t care at this point.

“Okay, baby. You earned it.” 

He consoled you quietly with a final kiss to your lower stomach, before hooking his fingers into your panties to slowly drag the piece down. If it was anyone else you probably would have felt awkward about how the fabric protested at first, sticking to your cunt, but with Javi, if anything, you felt powerful. 

He was visibly trying to compose himself as he gently helped you get both your legs out of the ruined piece and with a shaky exhale he scooted back. He shove a cushion under your ass as he laid down on his belly, navigating your thighs over his shoulders, eyeing your center with blown-out pupils. 

“I will never get used to this,” he mused to himself with wonder in his voice, as he splayed his hands across the crease of your ass to softly spread your cunt wide open with his thumbs. You felt his heavy huff on your pussy, and it made you twitch again. He looked captivated by the sight.

“Javi, I swear to go—oohhh my god,” Javi cut you off as the flat of his tongue licked a broad and firm stripe through your folds with a depraved moan.

Your whole body lifted up, and he hooked his arms around your legs, grabbing at the top of your thighs as he held you down, keeping you close to his ravenous mouth. He gave you a few greedy laps, slowly exploring all of your cunt before his tongue lazily went around your hole. Your muscles were twitching, your chest and neck aflame, and if his sight weren’t so hypnotizing you would have thrown your head back already. You felt boneless. 

Your abs shaking from the strain of keeping you upright, you grabbed a few cushions you could reach from your position, and shoved them under your head, angling yourself perfectly to watch him at work. He was licking at you tirelessly, mapping all your sensitive spots, before he started to fuck you with his tongue, slowly but deliberately grazing your walls all around. 

You let out a raspy moan at the sensation - he was the first person who had ever done this to you and you were still surprised by it every single time. The feel of his agile muscle prodding at your sensitive flesh made your vision blur and sweat gather around your temple. He went as deep as possible, and after an inhale he buried his nose in your clit, slightly moving it left and right. You felt him everywhere as if he was surrounding your entire body. One of your hands grabbed a cushion so tightly, it made your knuckles ache, your other hand finding purchase in his soft locks. 

You were scraping his scalp with your fingernails, and he practically purred, the sounds vibrating against your raw flesh, starting a fire in your guts as goosebumps erupted on your skin. You couldn’t help pulling at a handful of hair as your pussy spasmed around his deft tongue. His purr turned into a growl as he removed himself, gulping some air still a few inches away from your cunt. Your hands lifelessly plopped down around you. 

“Fuck, cariño, I won’t ever get enough of you,” his speech was slurred like he was drunk and he looked up at you with disoriented eyes. “You taste so good, I would happily drown in you.”

You wanted to react, you really did, but as he was talking one of his hands left your thigh and traced an invisible pattern down the apex of your thighs, fingers traveling through your cunt and gathering your juices, then reaching their destination, a thick digit slipping into you just when you wanted to answer him. Whatever you wanted to tell him, he rendered you speechless with literally a swipe of his finger. The cracking of the fire and the slick sounds of your pussy were the only noises around you, until you felt his mouth on you again. He lapped up the juices escaping you around his finger, sucking on your lips with obscenely loud noises. You wanted to cover your face because you suddenly felt self-conscious, but his free hand grabbed your wrist as you heard him call your name brokenly. 

“Please don’t hide away from me, I want to see your face as I bring you pleasure,” he pleaded, his accent a bit stronger than usual. 

The mere look of him was debauched, all messy-haired and shiny-faced, looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars in the sky. Your heart skipped a beat, and you held onto his hand, his thumb tracing reassuring circles on your knuckles immediately. Your other hand smoothed his unruly hair out of his face, and he went back, keeping eye contact with you. 

“Look at me,” he rasped one last time before diving in.

He dragged his tongue up between your folds as his finger started moving again. He looked up at you the entire time from under his lashes, eyes half-lidded. As he reached your clit you jumped a little, and he opened his mouth wider so you could see his tongue moving against the tortured little nub with a small wiggle. You had to compose yourself not to let your eyes roll back, the sight somehow multiplying the already devastating sensation tenfold. 

“You’re so fucking good to me, Javi,” you uttered, caressing his hair and you could see a shiver running down his spine. “I’m so—so—“

“I know, mi amor, I can feel it. Let go for me.” 

He groaned and sucked your clit into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. You squealed, not knowing if you wanted to escape from his ministrations or let him consume you. You tried to trash around but his hands came up and covered the bottom of your stomach, holding you down again. You had half the mind to notice him slowly grinding onto the couch, but then you felt his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, along with his finger rubbing that perfect spot inside you again, and you felt like a lightning struck you. 

All your muscles seized up as white-hot pleasure coursed through your veins. At first, you couldn’t even breathe, let alone make a sound, but then a groan tore out from the depth of your chest and you fell back on the couch lifelessly. Javi never let up licking at you, prolonging your catharsis, not stopping even when you tried to squirm away from oversensitivity. 

“No, no wait—“ you pleaded with a shaky voice to no avail. Everything was too much, but you couldn’t escape from his iron grip. Javi greedily explored all your sensitive spots around your swollen vulva and hole with firm strokes, before he found the button of your clit again, sucking on it harshly dragging you under the waves of ecstasy for a second time that night with a squeak. His mouth was sucking at you relentlessly through the helpless spasms of your body, draining all the energy from you and filling your brain with fuzzy cotton. You fell back limply, muttering nonsense while his mouth gently cleaned you up.

You had no idea how long you were just laying there uselessly, basking in the afterglow with Javi still between your legs. His face rested on the plush of your thigh, his breathing slow but heavy, his eyes closed and his hands flexing. 

Once your wits came back to you, you noticed a faint dent on your thigh from Javi’s ring, a thought of how you wanted to tattoo it on your skin filled your mind – to keep it there forever. 

You played with his hair again, curling a silky strand around your finger by scraping little circles on his scalp. As if you woke him up from a stupor, he looked up at you, breathing now almost normal, but his pupils were still blown out. He wiped his face on your inner thigh, then kissed and sucked off the remnants of your wetness there and you giggled, his facial hair tickling you. He crawled up your body with a smile across his face, before he laid next to you. You immediately followed him, decorating the hot skin on his shoulders and collarbone with lazy, open-mouthed kisses. He weakly pawed at your waist to bring you closer to him, then dragged the bottom of your dress over your thighs to give you some decency. 

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he pondered and gently pinched your ass. You snickered as you playfully swatted his chest, before laying your head on his pecs. His heart was beating wildly and it made you swoon, so much so that you had to lay a soft kiss between his pecs, just above the hem of his top before nuzzling even more into his blushed chest, as a content sigh fell from your lips. Your gaze couldn’t help but fall to his bulge - he was visibly affected by your previous endeavors. 

“Javi…” you whispered in his neck, while your hand gently caressed his stomach. You felt his heavy exhale under you. “If you want… we can continue…” 

“Oh! Of course, cariño!” he said, perking up, reaching out for the remote control and pushing the play button again, eyes immediately glued on the screen. 

You laid there, having a mental tantrum. Well, things weren’t going the way expected. How can he still be thinking about the movie? 

Squashing that ugly disappointment down, you turned in his arms to try to focus on the TV again. You weren’t allowed to complain, he said he would make you cum and you would continue the movie, and he did just that and more. You couldn’t help the ravenous hunger you had for this man though, it was never enough of him. You laid a soft kiss on his bicep below your head and your arm reached behind to gently shove him back against you. He followed you diligently, but he tensed as his bulge, now hard, rested against your ass again. 

“I’m sorry honey, I’ll just need a minute,” he apologised quietly, voice strained from embarrassment and barely veiled desire. 

The devil on your shoulder took over you as you rolled your hips against him slowly but deliberately. The filthy sound coming from deep in his chest melted your bones, making it hard to keep back your own needy whine. 

“Wh—what are you doing?” 

His strong grip on your hip felt like a warning, but his voice was so weak. That’s what made you throw all your culture out the window, giddy roiling in your guts from feeling him get fully erect against you. You barely registered your hand moving mindlessly, grinding your palm against him. His hand clenched around your forearm easily, but he didn’t move it away. 

“I need you, Javi,” you begged shamelessly, turning your head back in his direction as much as possible. 

“Fuck…” he breathed, eyes closed shut with a loud gulp. When he opened his eyes again his gaze was intense, one of his hands cradling your face as he propped himself up on his elbow to look deeply into your eyes. “I thought you wanted to watch the movie…” 

That made you freeze with confusion, even your hand stopped moving over him. 

“…me?” You asked incredulously. “I mean yeah, it does seem like a great movie and I’d happily watch it any other time, but I couldn’t wait to be alone with you the entire day. I’ve wanted to eat you up since we crawled out of bed this morning. But I’m happy to do anything as long as I’m with you– and you looked so happy to find that movie… I don’t know… I just didn’t want to ruin your joy with my neediness, I guess” you confessed hastily with warm cheeks. 

A soft sound of surprise got stuck in his throat as he looked at you with saucer eyes, gaping like a fish. It looked rather comical if you were honest. If you didn’t feel so sheepish about your clumsy confession, you would have giggled at his expression. 

He shook his head lightly, as if processing your words. “So that’s why you were acting so weird tonight!” He exclaimed, relief evident on his face. He breathed out your name softly, his thumb caressing your face ever so gently. 

“I felt the same way the entire day. I got distracted by finding the movie, I give you that, but up until that moment, I was contemplating taking you in the bathroom in every single place we visited. Even in the car, consequences be damned,” he huffed, and you had to clench your thighs to alleviate the need growing between them again from the mental image. 

“Cariño, I have the DVD now, I can watch it whenever I want!” He tutted, “I swear, one day I’m gonna write a screenplay for you to be the lead in it, you’re such a talented actress. You seemed so eager to watch this movie that I felt guilty for trying to distract you,” he smoothed a strand of hair behind your ear with a chuckle, “I suppose both of us were fools…” 

You couldn’t hold back a rather unsexy snort at that, but it made him beam at you with crinkling eyes. 

He cupped your jaw and leaned over to press a sweet kiss on your lips, but it immediately grew hungry. The stark difference between his precious face and the taste of yourself still on his tongue made a shudder run through your body. 

Javi can really do both, you thought dreamily, but you were quickly snapped back to reality when he rolled you on top of him and deepened the kiss as he slowly sat up, helping you to position yourself on your knees around his hips. He planted his feet on the couch and grabbing your bare asscheeks firmly he dragged your pulsing center down on his bulge. 

Your hands flew to his hair, arms resting on his shoulders, feeling like passing out when you felt his cock twitch against your bare pussy, tearing a low hiss out of him. He bunched up and gripped your dress around your torso. 

“This little dress was teasing me all day,” he groaned, slowly pulling down the zip on your back, the edge of his thumb caressing your bare spine in the process. “It looks fantastic on you, honey, but I need to see all of you, right now.” 

By the time he finished his thought, he already tugged it off of you, your breast jiggling in front of his face from the impact of falling out of the secure hold of the dress, his heavy gaze falling to them immediately, your body now bare in his lap. 

“Oh god, look at you… tan bonita,” he murmured as his hands slid over your ribs firmly, before they slipped under your breasts with a feather-light touch. 

He cupped the mounds gently as his thumbs smoothly explored the skin. The pad of his fingers traced your areola, then softly rubbed over your sensitive nipples. You arched your back, leaking some more wetness on his trousers as you rubbed yourself heavier on him. One hand molded a breast into his waiting mouth, tongue wiggling around the achy nub and the other slipping down your shivering stomach, across the top of your thigh and teasing at your seam across your ass. 

The suckling sensation on your nipple, while his hand was prodding teasingly at your swollen entrance made you go insane. You had to center yourself around something. You clasped the back of the couch tightly, using it as support as you pushed your chest more in his face. Without hesitation, you vigorously moved your clit against his bulge, your head arched back in ecstasy.

His wrecked moan was the prize, your breast slipping from his lips as you watched a tremor course through his entire body. Once he came back to his senses he doubled down his efforts, nuzzling the other breast and sucking the pebbled nipple in his hot mouth. 

His tongue started to swirl around the hardened nub at the same time as two of his fingers drowned in your slick pussy, finding your most sensitive spot with devastating accuracy. Your mind went blank, and your gasps came out in hiccups. Your instincts took over as you were riding his bulge with trembling legs, chasing your blinding pleasure. You only had enough wits to sit back to undo his belt, ripping off his fly, and with his help, you were able to push his pants down his thighs, freeing his erect cock.

His hand grasped the base and gently tapped it against your sensitive clit, and your hips started moving again, trapping his length under your pussy as you continued to slide over him. He softly bit on your nipple in response which blazed off fireworks in your lower stomach, his other hand never stopping its brutal pace grinding against your most sensitive spot. You were so close to cumming you could practically taste it on your tongue. 

“Feels so good—,“ your voice was desperate, and he let out a wrecked moan around your breast. 

The soft pulling sensation, coupled with the warm, wet caresses of his mouth on your nipple, the expert touch of his fingers on your g-spot, and the tantalizing friction of your clit rubbing against the ridges of his cock, quickly sent you spiraling into a world of ecstasy and pleasure. You came with a wail, your back arching and eyes rolling back. You faintly felt Javi’s hands at the base of your back and along your spine, keeping you close to him while his eyes feasted on you falling apart for him. You fell back on his shoulders, weakly grasping at his elbows as his palms caressed your back and he showered your neck with small kisses, humming quietly between them. 

“You did so well, you’re fucking amazing,” he breathed against your skin, as you felt your pulse slow down a bit. He kissed a path down your sweaty chest and came back the same route. After some blissful peace, you felt his cock twitch against you and you whined. 

“Do you have one more in you, mi amor? We can rest,” Javi asked gently, his eyes searching for yours. 

Bless his heart, he made you come three times and he would finish the night here and there, hard as a rock. Your body was still buzzing and you felt sore from his thick fingers but one look at his sinful state was enough to get you in the mood again. 

His lovely locks were now sticking to his face, the perspiration on his chest only making him glow even more. His mouth was agape, plush lower lip kiss-swollen, and his dark eyes silently pleading with you. Instead of giving him an answer, you gripped the hem of his tank top and peeled the offending item off of him as he held up his arms, helping you and keeping his lustrous eyes on yours. 

Resting your hands on the top of his chest you kissed down his neck, between his collarbones. Sitting back lower on his legs, you could trace your tongue between his pecs and down to his soft stomach. You couldn’t help but kiss around his little belly, giving him a playful bite which made him jolt with a small laugh. Your finger traced the soft patch of hair below his navel, and understanding your silent request, he kicked down the remaining of his clothes while you kneeled on the side. 

You were fascinated as you watched his cock in all its glory, shiny from your juices, precum already leaking from the angry, red tip. Your mouth watered at the sight, and you were already in motion to have a taste for yourself when he stopped you, gently putting his hands around your arms. 

“It pains me to stop you, but the second I feel your mouth on me, I would be a goner.” His husky voice was layered with desire. “C’mere, I need to be inside you,” he added, and you almost jumped on him. 

You crawled back over his hips while he pumped his cock a few times, his veins bulging in his cock and forearms. It was one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen and you filed the idea for later exploration. You went lower on him and he smeared his member over your slit, covering him in your juices generously again, then he prodded the head at your entrance. 

“Come on, cariño, let me feel you, please,” he growled, and you carefully descended down on him. 

You were over quite a few nights with him, but your pussy still struggled to accommodate his size, especially now that you were still sore and sensitive from earlier. The struggle felt like a pinch and you whined, but he cradled your face and kissed your forehead. 

“It’s okay honey, take your time,” he whispered and let you take the lead for the moment. 

He caressed everywhere he could reach. He sucked two fingers into his mouth and lead them to your clit, ever so slightly drawing circles around it. At first, it felt like a needle stab, but a few seconds later it turned into pleasure. You swallowed more of him with a quiver. You felt so full, even though you were still a few inches apart from sitting down completely. 

His tongue found your breasts again, laving at the skin with bites and kisses alternating between them, tongue chasing your puffy nipple with confident laps. When he sucked in your soaked bud to bite down on it your cunt bottomed out, swallowing his cock entirely as a fresh wave of slickness coated his base. He tore away from your glistening nipple, burying his face between your breasts with a heavy groan. 

“You’re so fucking tight around me,” he rasped into your damp chest. “You were made for me. And your skin is so fucking silky.” 

Just to prove his point, his greedy tongue made its way up your chest, across your neck and jaw and to claim your mouth in a hedonistic kiss, as his hands grabbed the meat of your ass; not to force you to move, but to ground himself. 

The kiss was a little clumsy, but no less toe-curling, his tongue exploring your mouth and teeth clashing as you started to rise and fall against him. You felt so full, as if he was in your guts. Your lungs burned as you felt more and more overwhelmed by the inferno in your body. You broke away from him only to lay back, hands grabbing his shins while continuing to move up and down on his cock. 

The new angle was exhausting, but it rubbed your insides from just the perfect direction, and your vision blurred from the sensation. From this angle he had the best view of his cock disappearing in your puffy cunt, then appearing again, covered in your juices. Javi was hypnotized by the sight, his mouth dropping, and eyebrows knitted tightly together. 

“That’s it, use me, just like that,” he grunted, trapped under your spell over him. 

Heavy-lidded eyes followed your every move, and as he reached out to touch your overworked clit again your thighs started to tremble so hard that you couldn’t continue gyrating against him. He swore under his breath as you throbbed around him another time, and you leaned over his body to grab his shoulders. 

He prompted you to rise higher on your knees above him as he secured his feet on the surface of the couch. One arm braced himself next to his torso, while the other slipped up your back to grab your shoulder from the back, and he started to pound into you mercilessly, stealing your breath. You could barely stay in place, so you grabbed the backrest of the couch as you felt tears pricking your eyes from the intensity. 

“Are you close, baby? I’m so close but I need you to come first,” he strained, seemingly every muscle in his body tensing from the exertion.

He looked like a sculpture of a deity from ancient times, especially when his head fell back, the thick column of his gorgeous neck on full display. You could only nod, not being able to even form a coherent thought anymore as your desperate whines became constant. He raised his head again - he couldn’t keep his gaze away from where you connected, his face almost looked angry from the concentration. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, rub your clit for me,” he roared, and you followed his order immediately. 

Almost as soon as you touched your clit, you started shuddering violently with a loud and raspy cry, tears running down your face as he kept grazing your g-spot with every powerful thrust. You felt possessed as your entire body short-circuited, and your ears started ringing. You faintly registered his load painting your walls as your throbbing core milked him dry, his growl echoing in your ears. 

You collapsed on him like a ragdoll, your sweaty bodies colliding as he kept you close to his chest. As you came back to your wits a few minutes later you felt raw and weak and vulnerable, but it was okay because Javi was there, embracing you with strong arms and gentle kisses across your face, swiping away your tears. His body was like a shelter as you clung to him with all your limbs and he kept you safe from whatever was happening outside of your bubble. 

“Are you okay?” He whispered, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as his hand smoothed over your hair while his body swayed you gently. 

“I’m… I’m more than okay,” you croaked, still feeling boneless as you weakly clasped into his body. “Thank you, this was a spiritual experience.” He huffed a small laugh at that. 

“You are incredible,” he cooed. 

You lazily nuzzled deeper into his neck with a hum, letting his scent calm your frayed nerves down. You stayed like that, limbs intertwined for a while, before Javi reluctantly pulled out of you, making the both of you groan as he gently helped you to lay on your back and he hurried to the bathroom in all his naked glory. 

He came back soon, but that little time was enough for you to realize that your thighs and mound were drenched. That explains the out-of-body experience. 

Javi sat down next to you, a warm and wet washcloth in his hand. He cleaned you up with reverence, eyeing the marks he had left over your body. He seemed worried, but you wore them with pride.

“That’s very kind of you, but I think we will need to shower anyway,” you smiled bashfully, and he placed a smooth kiss on your forehead.

“I wasn’t sure if you had enough energy for that,” he rasped.

“If you help me, it won’t be an issue,” you sat up slowly, your coordination akin to a newborn foal, his hand held out to help you to stand. 

“Of course, cariño.” 

His warm eyes made your knees buckle, this time not from your physical activities. As if on cue, the credits rolled on the screen with a blaring sound, and both of you jerked your head in its direction with alarm, obviously forgetting about the movie going in the background the entire time. You looked back at each other with wide eyes, laughter erupting out of you at the same time.

“So, you wanna watch the movie when we get back home?” He snickered.

“Definitely!” You perked up at the prospect of spending more time with him after your getaway. Besides, now it was your mission to finally really watch the movie. “Unless you’ll need me again,” you added, wiggling your eyebrows at him. He chuckled and smacked your ass gently.

“I was hoping for that answer.”

—————

THE END.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs & feedbacks are highly appreciated ♥️

[peachymilkandcream]

Movie!William Afton x Wife!Reader -> Scrapped

(A/N: Future Afton oneshots are going to be strictly x Reader, so we'll see how much you guys like this one. As usual this is spoilers for the movie so proceed with a bit of a caution)

WARNINGS: mentions of noncon, dubcon, violence, domestic violence, age difference, power dynamic, murder, yandere behaviour, yandere themes, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, descriptions of gore

==============================================

Agony, all that he could feel was pure agony, the metal digging into his flesh was beyond anything he ever thought he could endure. It had all gone wrong, it had gone so wrong. It was never supposed to be this way, he was better than this, a genius among men. Reduced to a hunk of flesh and wires. Springlocks pierced his skin, down to the bone as that stupid old suit turned against him. It had served him so well in the past, and now all of his sins had come back to bite him in the ass. He was going to die here, all of his schemes and success amounting to nothing.

At least that's what William believed until he heard the sound of crunching glass as footsteps came nearer, someone was in that accursed place with him. It didn't sound like an animatronic, it couldn't be. He didn't have the strength to call out, he didn't have the strength to do anything but lie there.

"William? William!" The voice was feminine, scared, he recognized it as his wife.

His voice couldn't get out, he was weak, so weak, barely holding on at this point. All he could focus on was the pain, he didn't even notice the steps coming closer until his wife stood in front of him, concern painted on her whole face.

"Oh my- William- what happened!? There's so much blood- oh what should I do-"

William reached for her, his costumed hand desperate to touch, to hold her, his one true comfort. After all he had done, he just needed her to save him once again, that was her job, she was supposed to save him whenever he required it, take the fall for his mistakes.

She removed the mask from his head, her hands trembling s she held his cheek gently, tears coming to her eyes, both of sorrow that he was in this state and joy that she had found him before it was too late. "I'll get you out of here my love, I promise. Just hold on a little longer for me." His wife stood, running around the back room like a chicken with her head cut off trying to find a solution and save her husband.

Eventually she returns with spare tablecloths, laying them on the ground. "Alright honey, I'm going to put you on this to drag you to the car, just bear with me, this might hurt." With all the strength her smaller body can muster she lifts him onto the cloth, trying to be as gentle as possible but each movement digs the metal deeper into him. Until finally she gets him on the cloths, taking the extra and dragging him with all her might. He was heavy, but the fabric made it easier to drag him across the tiled floor and outside.

============================================

Somehow she had gotten him into the car, focused on the road but taking a moment every once and a while to glance in the rearview mirror. Her feelings were conflicted about all of this, up until she hadn't known of his crime, she hadn't known of the monster he was deep inside. But she knew that there was nothing she could do but stick with him at all costs, he was her husband after all, and she had always been taught that no matter what he was in the right. Even in this, she couldn't just abandon him now, all of their children had, she couldn't do the same.

Even as rain poured and her dress was covered in mud and blood from dragging him around, she kept going with fierce determination, after all if you want something done right you just have to do it yourself. His basement workshop would have to do, she needed somewhere with a lot of space and where no one would look. She hadn't even been there herself.

It was dark and smelled something foul, rusted bits of metal taking up every square inch of the place. The hollow eyes of the prototypes of long since projects given up on staring back at her, the ones that haunted her dreams. With a brush of her arm the gears and wires clattered onto the floor as she tried to lift him onto the table, taking many failed attempts until he was laid on it. All she could do was roll up her sleeves and get set to it, gathering fabric scissors, a metal saw, and pliers.

First went the costume, cut off and discarded until they were in heaps on the floor, the fibreglass shell coming next. With those disposed of she could clearly see the damage, she had always been queasy around blood, so she had to cover her mouth to keep her lurching stomach in check. This wasn't about her comfort, it was about him living, and continuing to keep things the way they had always been, her at home, him providing for her.

Sparks flew as she cut through the metal, cutting the locks away from the exoskeleton. It made the most horrendous sound, and the smell was vile, she didn't know how William could spend so many hours here working on these things and ignoring his family. As each gave way, all she could think of is the pain he must be going through at this moment, struggling to breathe, each one causing him immense pain.

Even that was nothing compared to the disgusting sound of metal being ripped out of flesh as she pulled each one out. How could it have come to this, her proud and brilliant husband stuck like a pincushion because of his own design. Worry and love the only things keeping her hands moving as she struggling to put him back together again. He was no more than those discarded machines he had spent his whole life making, scrapped and left to rot.

============================================

"After all those murders, I don't know how you got used to all that blood William." His wife says after wiping the last of his blood off of her.

William was laying there, groaning and trying to process anything but pure agony. It was easier to breathe, and even now she had saved him from the fiery pits of hell. He was going to live, beyond all expectations, he was going to live, live to commit more crimes and slaughter more innocent people.

"I don't deserve you my dear.." He somehow manages despite the pain.

"After all you've done for me, this was the least I could do."

He bit back the urge to laugh, all he'd done was gotten her pregnant and had her keep it to make sure she couldn't leave him, made her drop out of her education so she had no option but him. "Whatever you say dear." He smirked, he knew even from then she was a keeper. "What would I do without you."

His sweet little wife.

[skykidsam]

Shard Memory: Shattering (and lots of unhinged rambling about lore implications)

Long read ahead - some Sky: The Two Embers spoilers in the block of text toward the end.

I really wanted to get more shots but I literally clipped into Tsadi's cape and couldn't escape ;-;

Anyway, here we go:

From left to right: Sa, Mekh, Lamed, Teth, Daleth, Tsadi (barely visible in the darkness on the bottom right), Ayin, and floating in the center above everyone else and directly above the shattering stone, the upside-down mask and fading silhouette of King Resh.

I got this closer shot of the mask. I should have gotten a screenshot while I was actually on it because the details don't translate from far away. The best description I can give is this: it seemed like mostly just the mask, no real substance to the head or body; the mask was two stars stacked on top of one another, the bigger being a four-pointed star with the longest point being the top (but in this case, with it being upside-down, the bottom), and the smaller star having many more points and resting directly on top of the bigger star. And in the eye of both stars is a single spot (a diamond, if I remember correctly), that looks like a small darkstone.

I find it really interesting that all of the elders were present for the Shattering. I can only assume they were there to stop it - but I wonder how much they were aware of. Darkness was already spreading through the realms for some time. The King had been corrupted. Was the Storm on the horizon? Was the stone already glowing red and showing its cracks? Could they tell what a monstrous catastrophe they were on the brink of experiencing? Or were they there simply to intervene and stop the King?

And then these guys. I know we still don't fully know what Winged Lights even are. But with the new extended preview of Sky: The Two Embers out, there's one scene in particular that this makes me think of. (I'll save hard spoilers for the end and will give warning beforehand.)

So, my take?

I think we're seeing the moment Resh sacrificed himself to save everyone. We're also seeing that it was too late.

We also know from devs that Elder cutscenes exist in a place outside space and time, but that they still have an effect on the world. I think we're seeing why. The moment this stone shattered, all those present were killed, but were also locked in their own limbo, living out their most notable moments over and over again across probably infinite dimensions (like watching the same scene over and over in the reflections bouncing off shards of broken glass... or crystal). They're stuck. Not here in Sky, not in Orbit, not with The Light - but somewhere In Between. Purgatory.

But... why? How?

Well, the path to Orbit was still blocked - both by the shattered crystal itself, and by the now-demolished castle infrastructure that was previously seated on and above the mountain peak. Even aside from that, most, if not all of the Elders had already been corrupted; aka, depleted of their natural light and/or filled with darkness - who knows if they even had enough internal light left to participate in the natural light/life cycle, even if they had survived.

What about the King?

We also now have confirmation in the art book that, "The Ruler would sacrifice themselves to share light back into the skies, and the light souls would then return as Descendants."

With that information, I have a few theories. He was certainly corrupted, and very likely the most corrupted of all the Elders. So, my first question is, what was his act of sacrifice?

We clearly see him upside-down, seemingly disintegrating or dissolving, with nothing but his (presumably darkstone-imbued) mask remaining.

Was his sacrifice the thing that destroyed the crystal? Had it absorbed too much light, started glowing red and attracting Darkness and Storm to it, and so the crystal is what needed to be stopped?

Or was the shattering itself the cause of the Storm?

Three things we know for certain:

There was already war, darkness, corruption, and pollution before the stone shattered.

The shattering itself caused immense structural damage.

The stone was harnessing light/souls directly from the sacred migration to The Light.

So my theories are:

A) The stone itself had been corrupted and had become volatile, so the King sacrificed himself to shatter the stone and make way for light to enter back into the light/life cycle.

B) The sheer density of light/souls was too much for the stone, causing deterioration over time that eventually allowed darkness to manifest, and that structural deterioration led to the Shattering. The King sacrificed himself to try to contain it/minimize the damage.

In either case, the Elders and King would probably be able to see visual cues that warn them things are about to get bad. In situation A, it would be a change of color from blue to vibrant, violent red. In situation B, it would be the progressive chips and cracks in the stone that would probably let them know when it's close to exploding. In either case, the Elders and King are likely gathering to decide how to handle it, when the King decides that it's ultimately his mess, so he ought to be the one to deal with it. He uses the last of his power to try to destroy or contain it (in whatever way he can), and then it shatters.

And then what happened?

Well, we know that unnatural deaths leave remains, as seen in Forest, Wasteland, and Vault. There are no remains.

Natural deaths mean your light gets recycled back into the soul cycle and you cease to exist as you once did, but that's not quite right either. This certainly wasn't a natural death. We also still see the Elders - not as memory projections like the mantas in Vault and not like the Spirits of our Ancestors - but as actual, tangible Memories, just like the Shattering Memories. When we meditate at their shrines, they still visit us and give us their warnings - the same warnings - time after time.

Like I said earlier, they're stuck somewhere Between, living out those key moments over and over for the rest of eternity.

They even both take place in seemingly the same type of greyed out void space. I hesitate to call it "a void" because Void could very well be its own entity. But also, there's a real possibility this is that entity. (Something like "The Empty" from Supernatural.)

And the King?

Again, I have more than one theory.

He could be trapped in the stone. This isn't my theory, I don't know where it came from, but even this theory has two sub-theories. 1a being that his consciousness is trapped in the Eden crystal, forever shattering and killing the Descendants who attempt to free the souls trapped in the cycle; 1b being that he's the Season of Shattering crystal, that he's reliving those memories and sharing them with us in a similar limbo as the Elders. (My thought, if this is true, is that it's both. I believe the Season of Shattering stone would be the largest piece of the King's consciousness, still capable of memory, and perhaps thought, but not much else - but that that stone is still stuck in the center of the ever-shattering crystal in Eden, simultaneously experiencing the Memories and the Shattering indefinitely.)

He sacrificed himself and returned what was left of his light, and that light became the Descendants. (Also not my theory, the idea that we're fragments of the King has been around a while, I'm sure.)

HOWEVER, upon re-reading the quote, some phrasing stands out.

"The Ruler would sacrifice themselves to share light back into the skies, and the light souls would then return as Descendants."

So... who did the Ruler sacrifice? Does "themselves" refer to both parts of the Ruler (Prince Alef/King Resh)? Or does it refer to himself and the Elders, who were all conveniently present? That theory gets dark fast.

If it's the Ruler sacrificing their own "selves", it may explain the two hugging WL on top of the crystal. Two halves of a whole, re-uniting in a post-mortem act of forgiveness. But that leaves the clip from recent leaks a mystery.

Regardless, I read that hug on top of the stone as a heart-wrenching "I forgive you" moment.

Another theory that I don't know how to neatly fit into all of this text:

The quote explicitly states that the Ruler sacrifices themselves to share light back into the skies.

It does not say whose light. If it was the King's light, you'd think they would have specified that (unless they intended for it to be vague, which would also make sense.)

We know the King and Elders hoarded light. One place we know they hoarded light was the powerstones/darkstones, so it's not a stretch to consider that by sacrificing himself to shatter the massive stone, he was then sharing the light (from within the stone) back into the skies and that light became Descendants.

Another place they could have potentially hoarded light is within themselves. (What if that's the reason they're so tall compared to all other Ancestors?) Especially if they were corrupted, their bodies may act a lot like Dark Creatures in the sense that they have an insatiable hunger for light. In this case, maybe it makes sense for the King to try to sacrifice himself and all of the elders. (Then the question becomes... did they know they'd be sacrificed? Honestly, probably. I suspect they understood their role in the way events were unfolding by that point. It's another question entirely whether they all went willingly.)

And FINALLY, what about those two hugging Winged Lights??

Well, I'm sure it won't surprise you that I have more than one theory. Both include at least one of the kids being the King's "soul."

Theory 1 is that both of the kids are the king, like I alluded to earlier. Two halves of a whole, reuniting and hugging in an act of self-forgiveness. Simple. Sweet. Only a little confusing.

- Hard Spoiler Territory -

The second is based solely on The Two Embers and the scene in Orbit, where a dark child that looks like Alef hugs a golden child that looks like Hopeful Steward.

Another moment of forgiveness, but between friends who shared a common interest. They both wanted life, light, and prosperity for their world - but they had different visions. One sought prosperity through community; the other sought prosperity through power and greed. Ultimately, they both paid the price.

But why is Alef dark in the video if, in this memory, he is light?

Well, it depends.

If the first scenario is true, where it's his own two halves becoming whole again, my assumption is that his light/soul was returned from the crystal once it was shattered. If this is the case, his soul likely returned to the soul cycle and we are all little fragments of him. (Which leaves me a little salty about the fates of the Elders, I can't lie.)

That scenario may explain the split between Alef (Prince) and Resh (King). Perhaps his childish innocence and sense of self was absorbed into the stone at some point, only to be freed in the Shattering.

If it's the second scenario, a forgiveness between friends, I believe the Hopeful Steward was the one to return his light - mirroring the scene of skykids in Orbit.

And if THAT'S the case, where is the King now?

I guess we'll just have to find out. Maybe he and the Hopeful Steward merged and were reborn as the first Descendent? Or maybe his soul stayed to contain the ever-shattering crystal, while Steward's soul went on to guide Descendants in their journey.

One thing we can say for certain is that they all die. Lovely. (But we already knew that.)

And we can also see that the Steward somehow found (or made?) Aviary, that they have some authority over/relationship to the Descendants, and that other Ancestors regard Steward with a lot of respect.

I know most of this will be answered in time, but I can't help it, my mind is still reeling with all the possibilities 💭

[dashielldeveron]

soulmate trope | dabi

Dabi’s route of soulmate trope.

"post-canon dabi? canon isn't even finished as of when this was posted on 30 july 2023!" to you. i know he's doing just fine. and obviously i will be wrong about some things. warnings: female reader. manga spoilers up to chapter 390: specifically about touya's body but vaguely about ~all of that~. sexual content. food mention/discussion. injury descriptions (burns) that aren't reader's. weeb slander. a note: part of the plot revolves around...analysing anime. i use hunter x hunter here, and if you are not into that, i have, to the best of my knowledge, included neither spoilers (aside from early story arc names) nor information that cannot be understood via context clues. additionally, there is a brief pokemon metaphor that also can hopefully be understood with context clues as well.

~27.7k

You’re being watched.

Or rather, you had the eerily intense inkling that you were being watched, or as if you were some sort of recently awakened sleeper agent—as if you were somehow the key to someone’s spying into U.A., even though the most secretive thing going on right now in 3-A’s common area was that Hagakure’s facial features were somewhat revealed by the drying face mask.

“Jirou,” you said, bookmarking your place, “Would you mind checking for—I don’t know, any kind of outside surveillance devices in here?”

Jirou bit the stem of the carnation she’d been about to weave into Yaoyorozu’s hair and shifted all the strands of the braid into one hand, and she tilted her head to jab the arm of the couch with her earjack. After a few moments, she unsheathed it, the hole in the couch sealing itself, and shook her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. What’s up?”

Furrowing your brow, you shoved your book between the cushion and arm of your chair. “I’m not sure. It’s—I have this weird feeling that someone’s looking at me. Or through me, really. Both? I don’t know how to describe it, but it feels like someone else is seeing what I’m seeing.”

“Do your eyes hurt, ribbit?” Asui asked from her spot on the floor, where she was sorting her m&ms by colour.

“No. More like I’m hyperaware of them,” you said, “But I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching all of this because of me.”

“What’s there to watch? It’s nothing but a Girls and Todoroki Night. There’s nothing worth seeing and or any big secrets being spilled. Well, spoilers for the New Year’s episode of Kamisama Kiss, but it’s been out for years already,” said Mina, gesturing towards the television, and Uraraka snatched Mina’s hand out of the air and laid it flat on the coffee table again, because she’s not done painting her nails, damn it. Mina sighed dreamily at the sheep whose wool fluffed enough to take up the entire screen. “What I wouldn’t give for my hair to have that much volume.”

“I guess you’re right,” you said, settling down into your chair, pulling Shinsou’s blue-pineappled blanket up to your neck (he was out on his bike, so he wasn’t attending this Girls and Todoroki Night [Shinsou and Todoroki were the only boys allowed, since their presence wasn’t obtrusive or contrary to the vibe. Additionally, Shinsou thought it was funnier if his name weren’t included in the title of these events]). “Y’know, in the manga, the New Year avatar isn’t a sheep. It’s a dragon.”

Mina blew on her hands as Uraraka rebottled the nail polish brush. “Whaaaaat?

“It was changed to a sheep to align with the year the episode was released,” said Todoroki, his thumb and index finger pinching his lower lip with his eyes glued to the screen, “I understand the change on a narrative scale, but I believe the dragon had more of a character arc than the sheep. The dragon didn’t think it was as appealing as other years’ avatars, and it had to learn to accept itself and accept others’ love for it. It was rooted in misunderstanding.”

For some reason, when you looked at Todoroki, you were doused with regret. Sharp and cold, followed by a splash of something more muddled: envy, maybe? Gratitude?

These…these feelings weren’t yours.

***

“I can’t believe I missed a Girls and Todoroki Night,” said Shinsou, grinning, his legs dangling off the dorm’s kitchen counter, “but alas! The night was calling, and I had to go out in it.”

“We will not spoil Kamisama Kiss for you,” said Todoroki. He was crouched in front of the oven, hands clasped as he stared through the tinted window at the browning potato wedges. “You will have to watch that episode on your own.”

“You should really read the manga,” you were saying as you scanned the inside of the refrigerator, looking for anything that might go well with the potatoes—ah, Aoyama’s got some bougie-looking sauce. Savoury, by the looks of it. “It goes farther than the anime covers, and it’s so sweet. The worldbuilding gets better, too.” You took out the bottle and gave it an experimental shake.

“Really?” Shinsou wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know; that villain guy isn’t very fun. Feels like too much time is wasted on him.”

Todoroki’s head snapped towards Shinsou at the same time you slammed the refrigerator shut. “No,” the both of you said at the same time, and you continued. “The anime hasn’t been quite as accurate in tone regarding that character, but he’s really wonderful, eventually. You really feel for what happened to him and for his past relationship to the main characters. Simple but effective job of deconstructing his villainy and granting him humanity.”

“Huh.” Shinsou propped his cheek on his fist, his ankle resting on his opposite knee. “I wonder how much nuance I’m missing because I’m only watching the anime.”

For a second, you felt as groggy as if you’d just woken up, your eyes focusing a bit more precisely, blurring the kitchen tiles for a moment before re-focusing, and it crept in again: the feeling that someone was watching you, that someone else was here.

“Hey, Shinsou, Todoroki,” you said, blinking several times, Aoyama’s brown sauce clutched in both hands, “Do my eyes look any different?”

Both of them looked you over. Shinsou shook his head. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’ve got—” You nodded towards Todoroki. “I have that same feeling from last night. Like someone’s watching. But Jirou said nothing was wrong.” Shrugging, you tossed the sauce to Shinsou and sat in front of the oven with Todoroki. “I guess Kamisama Kiss must bring out the voyeur in me. Or being voyeur-ed. Watched.” You crossed your legs at the same time Todoroki jolted because of a crushed peppercorn popping in the oven. “Maybe we should start reading manga alongside the anime so that we can judge how accurate they are. See how much character nuance is lost or preserved.”

Todoroki’s eyes bulged. “You have no idea how much that appeals to me. I desperately need to discuss the differences between the Hunter x Hunter 1999 anime, the 2011 anime, and the manga. Sero refuses to watch the 1999 version.”

Amusement. Condescension. Bubbling to the top of your consciousness.

Distinctly not yours.

Why would you be feeling these things in the face of something that sounded so wonderfully, uselessly pedantic? A project like Todoroki’s just proposed sounded like an absolutely ideal waste of time that would allow you to be more accurate than the vast majority of people when it came to plot, lore, and characterisation. Why would emotions you’d associate with making fun of someone pop up now? You didn’t want to make fun of Todoroki; you were enthusiastic about joining him in this pointless endeavour.

The timer on Shinsou’s phone blared, and he tapped it off, patting his pockets (?) for the oven mitt, which he spotted on the counter next to him. “Why would Sero refuse to watch the older version?”

Todoroki helped you stand and guided the both of you away from the oven. “To be fair, in the 1999 anime, the animators did take liberties with panel composition and brought in new angles and lines sporadically. Colours are also odd and inaccurate, and those are corrected, for the most part, in the 2011 version. More of the manga is covered, and the animation is smoother in the 2011 version as well.”

Why did you feel the distant sensation of laughing? Nothing about this has been funny, per se, but the…what was going on?

“Okay, I’ll bite,” you said, strangely heavy and hyperaware and surveying the tray of steaming potato wedges as Shinsou shuffled it to the stove, “I’ll do it with you, all this manga accuracy checking.”

“Me, too,” said Shinsou, shaking the over mitt off, “My suggestion is that we keep it to just the three of us, to prevent exhausting arguments, like we’d have in a big group the size of Girls and Todoroki Nights.”

“I can lend you the first few volumes,” said Todoroki, opening a cabinet to search for Aoyama’s sauce bowls, “After that, I have a link to high-quality scans I can send you.”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, reaching for a potato wedge that did not sizzle and screech as much as the others, “Should we watch the first episode tomorrow night?” When you retracted your hand at the burn, you felt your own pain and someone else’s sense of nostalgia.

***

You’d already been on the precipice of falling asleep during Present Mic’s lesson, but when a concentrated shot of fatigue pierced you, you set down your pen and reluctantly resolved to get the subsequent notes from Iida. God, couldn’t this wait until you were out of class? No one needed to see how terrible your own notes were. No one needed to see your drawings in the margins.

Burying your face in your hands, you dug the heels of your palms into your eyes, rubbing them as the lethargy kicked in, and you braced yourself for the uncanny sensation of being your own worst voyeur.

When you opened them, after the lightheaded dots blinked away, you weren’t in the classroom, instead entrenched in darkness. Well, wait—you groped around on your desk: physically, you still were upright in your desk at U.A., able to grasp your pen, set it down, able to faintly hear Present Mic, as if he’s in the next room over.

Blindly, you tapped Mina’s desk behind you, turning your head over your shoulder. “Do my eyes look weird to you?”

“No. Should they?” she whispered back—or maybe she said it at a normal volume, and the classroom had been so far removed the distance silenced her.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you faced the front again. Looks like you have to figure this out yourself, or else you’ll be sitting in pitch black for who knows how long.

A minute passed. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, shapes appearing—you’re inside. In a room with the lights off. Sideways, for some reason. One of the shapes was so rigidly rectangular that it had to be a shoji divider, and you were just trying to estimate its size when all of your mental facilities halted at a loud, rumbling groan.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” a scratchy, masculine voice said, “Must be my turn, huh?”

He flipped over, and barely cracked venetian blinds behind dark curtains just barely illuminated part of the scene: you were seeing this sideways because he was lying in bed, an out-of-place, opulent, Western-style bed in what you assumed was an Eastern-style room, judging what you could make out of traditional wallpaper and tatami flooring.

“Well, you’re not getting anything out of me,” he said, reaching for one of the many strewn pillows and hugging it—you lost half of your sight when his face sank into it (too dark for you to get a good look at his hands or arms), “Sucks for you, but I’m going back to sleep. Don’t care how curious you are. Not sharin’ anything with someone who can’t cook potato wedges right.”

No, get up. Get up. Say more right now. Who was he? It’s—it’s the middle of the day, anyhow; what is he doing asleep?

“Hah. You’re angry with me.” His laugh sounded more like a hiss, somehow. “Get used to it.”

He shut his eyes. After about a minute, the darkness faded, and Present Mic’s voice hit you at full volume, and you winced, clamping a hand down on your notes when the classroom came into view.

***

“You are not dropping out of school the semester you’re supposed to graduate,” said Aizawa, pinching the bridge of his nose, elbow digging into the puffy leather chair by Nezu’s desk.

“From my perspective, it does not appear you are a liability to U.A.’s security.” Nezu steepled his paws together, his pink toe beans preventing him from pressing them completely flat. “Simply seeing through each other’s eyes and feeling some of his emotions are no cause for the drastic security measures you are proposing. I believe that so long as you have some sort of indicator that either situation is happening, faculty can prepare for your temporary debility.”

“Don’t even think about abusing it to get out of class,” said Aizawa, propping his chin on his fist.

“You think I would? Shocked! Shocked and offended,” you said, “I’m gonna be in class; I don’t trust anyone else’s notes. I want my own interpretations of lectures.” You slumped down in your seat, tilting your head back to stare at the ceiling. “Principal Nezu, do you have an idea of why this is happening to me?”

“I do.” Nezu opened the top drawer in his desk to retrieve a stack of yellow-green papers, torn from a legal pad and crimped because of whatever was spilled on it. “Recovery Girl and Midnight have been analysing the results of Tainted Love’s quirk for some time now. The female rehabilitation centre with which Midnight works, Sakura Grove, has uncovered evidence of two other incidents that caused a soulmate bond with similar qualities to form.”

“What? No,” you said, letting a whine creep into your voice, “That means my soulmate’s a jerk. He was rude to me. He insulted my potato wedge recipe.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he crossed his arms. “You can’t expect there to be love at first sight, can you? Love is a choice. You work at it every day. You have to keep choosing it.”

“Yaoyorozu and Jirou were already dating when they got assigned soulmates,” you said, listing on your fingers, “Midoriya and Uraraka had been pining after each other for years—”

Aizawa scowled. “Stop that.”

“So, do you want me to report anything? Do you want me to duck out of class when he—checks in?”

“If you feel unsafe, let us know. Otherwise, it is of my opinion that you will be just fine,” said Nezu, and he reached for his paw-sized coffee cup to remove the melting stroopwaffle cookie off the top. “Report what you perceive as dangerous, but you deserve privacy. When you decide on your signal that the bond is active, please send an email to faculty members. Whether or not you inform your peers is at your discretion.”

***

So, of course, you told everyone.

Meaning no one batted an eye the next time the soulmate bond activated, which was in class. Feeling the exhaustion and the slight buzz from your soulmate popping in to watch through you, you made the phone call symbol, grabbed a marker from the whiteboard, and headed out into the hall, no questions asked.

“Hey,” you were saying, shoving your forearm against the concrete-block wall and popping the marker cap off with your mouth, “Good to hear from you. Didn’t know I could see through you, too. Excited to see how we’ll deal with that. This is my phone number.” You scrawled it across your arm, along with your given name above it. “If you can’t memorise it now, that’s fine. I’ll write it down next time, too, so you could prepare to have something nearby to record it with. I look forward to getting to know you.”

No strong emotions on his part. But he was there.

“Okay,” you said, and you turned to sink down against the wall to sit in the deserted hallway. “Some basic stuff: I’m a student at U.A., in my last year. I’m in that—uh, I’m in the class that’s gotten into a bit of trouble over the past few years. Midoriya, Bakugou, and all of them, if you watch the news. I’ve just ducked out of class with everyone.” You kept looking at your arm so that he could memorise it. “I don’t really wanna talk about my quirk, since that seems like such a boring, capital-A adult question, but I can tell you about it later, if you really want to know. Oh! I do not suck at making potato wedges. It was just a recipe that none of us had made before, and they were fine. They were good. I—”

And he’s gone, link severed.

Crossing your arms, you slumped against the wall. Did he choose to end it? Could he? He didn’t seem very receptive, so you wouldn’t put it past him.

***

You woke up from a nap watching through him play a video game, some non-discernible, first-person shooter. Again in the dark, but perhaps not in the same room. The windows weren’t open enough to let in enough light to tell.

Your soulmate never acknowledged you were there by gesture or word. Just played his stupid fucking game. You were trying to send him foul vibes of frustration and indignation, but he ignored you.

After a mere six minutes of the world’s worst Let’s Play, you decided you could be a little bitch as well.

***

“Oh! He’s here. Excuse me,” you said to Shinsou and Jirou, making the phone call gesture as you pushed yourself up from the lunch table, “I’ll be back in a moment. Please guard my gummies from Monoma.”

A flash of curiosity, finally, from your soulmate as he got the image of Shinsou and Jirou smirking to themselves and waving you off.

Once you were alone outside in the courtyard, you pulled out and unfolded the piece of pink construction paper, at this point every inch covered by doodles of flowers and increasingly shitty bulbasaurs. You tapped at the writing in the centre. “This is called a telephone number,” you said, “This one belongs to me. If you dial this number into a phone to call it, you will reach me. Then, we could have a conversation and arrange to meet up, instead of this unreliable, one-sided bond.”

You flattened your hand to smooth out the creases, halting midway when it struck you. “I’ve just realised you may be confused by this situation. Don’t worry; I am as well. But be assured, due to a quirk incident, we’ve been assigned soulmates. Yeah, I know they’re fake, but with this villain Tainted Love’s quirk, soulmates are real.”

He evidently was feeling like he wanted to walk straight into the ocean.

“I’m assuming you’re not a U.A. student, so—do you remember breathing in some sort of pink dust? Within about the past—I don’t know, two and a half years? That’s how long Tainted Love was active. She only got arrested about a month or so ago.” You couldn’t garner anything from him except for exasperation, so you continued. “And not, like, snorting a line of pink dust. It would’ve been in a dust cloud. A bit like fog. You would’ve noticed it.”

Staring at your phone number the whole time, you allowed him silence to think. Whatever he was feeling was very subdued, so you couldn’t really surmise what it was, but ten seconds before the bond broke, a livid, fiery ire consumed your whole body in the heat of recognition.

***

Shinsou, Todoroki, and you were all crowded around a laptop in Shinsou’s dorm to watch the beginning episodes of Hunter x Hunter the next time your soulmate spoke to you. He’d gone a couple of times ignoring you in silence, once outside on a walk during the day on a path uptown you didn’t recognise, and the other on some rooftop while playing on his phone and watching a meteor shower. Completely disregarding your attempts to give him your number or talk to him in real time.

It just figured that he bothered to spare you any information when you were trying to see what the next phase of the Hunter Exam was, so Todoroki and Shinsou paused the show for you and waited. With a stab of affection for your friends, you moved to the corner, waiting for your soulmate to say something.

And he was. Your soulmate knew more combinations of swear words and general filth than you’ve ever cared to consider, and you were almost impressed with the creativity of his vulgarity. Outside under the night sky, he was furiously ripping open some medium-sized, cardboard box as he stomped towards a carefully cultivated, lilypad-covered, manmade pond towards the back of a highly organised, traditional garden.

Eventually, non-profanity was added. “Goddamn fucking shit-ass fish and goddamn fucking shit-ass crusty motherfucking doctor can’t take care of his own goddamn fucking pet project.” Tips of his house slippers stopping at the pond only by way of running into the stone wall, he stumbled, growling in frustration, before regaining his balance and yanking out the plastic bag inside the remnants of the box. “Wants a goddamn gift for fucking Mom but can’t be arsed to do it him-fucking-self. Deserves every fish fucked into his respiratory system, clogging up his arteries to give himself a goddamn heart attack. And then I can’t be blamed for—” The plastic stretched, and he ended up tearing it in half above the water, pieces falling atop waterlilies. “Shit on a cuntbag. What the fuck. I don’t deserve this.”

He stretched to reach the waterlilies, cupping his hands to sweep the fish food off and into the water. And—the moonlight struck the gently rippling water, enough for you to see a flash of an orange koi tail break the surface tension, but not enough to see whatever was going on with his hands—not that he was doing anything strange with them (just picking shreds of plastic out of the water), but they somehow were strange. They moved stiffly and had some sort of bumps on them, but—does this guy live in darkness? You couldn’t tell anything about what his hands looked like aside from the shadowed bumps, which could be anything.

“I deserve a lot, but I sure as hell don’t deserve this.” He rounded the pond and punched a few buttons on a small, hidden, monitor, checking the pH of the pool and water levels. “Not my fucking job. Not my fucking job. Why do they think—why am I the one to do this shit. How come I can get in trouble with my fucking brother for him not taking care of his project.” He swatted at his wet bathrobe sleeve, pissed, and shook out some of the water. “Hey, you. I know you’re there.”

Back in the dorm, you jolted in your seat. In the distance, you could hear Shinsou ask what was wrong. “Nothing,” you said, sounding distant yourself, “He acknowledged me is all. Hasn’t done that for a while, so it felt like a fourth wall break.”

Your soulmate sat down on the edge of the pond, glaring out at the rest of the garden (wisteria heavy, vines swaying in the night wind). “Are you hot?”

You’d never wanted to be able to transfer direct words or actions to him so much, because he needed to be strangled.

“I’m not kidding.” He crossed his arms, covered by a dark bathrobe, sticking his hands in his armpits. “Are you hot? I don’t like the idea of being connected to some hideous fuckwad.”

Never mind. Now you have never wanted to be—

“This quirk shit isn’t gonna last long, but if you’re hot, you need to get on my dick before it goes away. I wanna see how it looks giving me a blowjob from your perspective.”

Kill. Destroy. Maim. Eviscerate, even.

“Ooh, watch out. We’ve got an uptight, prudish bitch over here,” he said, and he laughed—again, sounding more like a hiss than anything else. “Well, then. If you’re not gonna put out, then I’ve got no use for you. Don’t need anyone, especially not some goddamn lunatic who claims to be my soulmate. Too many people are interfering in my life, anyway. And to be honest, it seems like you’re dumb and irritating. I don’t like people like you.”

Maybe you’re soulmates because you’re destined to kill him on sight. Your soul, calling out for his to suffer extreme violence. He’d deserve it.

May all his potato wedges burn.

***

Monoma was at the next Hunter x Hunter anime viewing, because he’d been dying to know why you were wearing an actual and literal clown costume, wig and enormous foam nose included.

“I’m liking the new hero outfit,” Monoma said, flipping his hair back with a flourish, “but why are you wearing it during our off-hours?”

“Shove off,” you said, grinning as Shinsou tossed you a pillow to hold, “Did you bring your peach gummies?”

“I did,” said Monoma, sitting next to you on Todoroki’s tatami mats, and he pulled a massive bag of white peach gummies from inside his jacket, handing it to you to open. “May I ask if it’s seriously part of your new uniform, or—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Monoma,” you said, ripping open the bag at the notch, “I’m making a point.”

“Her soulmate,” Shinsou supplied, pulling up the next episode, “He wants to know what she looks like. So, she’s been dressing up in horrible, gawdy shit so that he can never really tell, even around mirrors.”

“He’s pissed,” you said, beaming, digging into the bag and popping a gummy into your mouth, “He wants me to stop playing around, but he was mean to me. Mean to me, unprovoked, and in a way that wasn’t hot. Tomorrow, I’m wearing a sheet and running around like a ghost. I will say nothing to him but boo.”

“I suppose that explains the influx of regular face masks you’ve taken to wearing during class.” Monoma scoffed, his incredulous, open mouth stretching into a grin. “You are impossible. If your humourless soulmate is worth his salt, then he should at least value the effort you’re putting into it.”

“Sero has sent me a message,” interrupted Todoroki, thumb swiping his phone screen, “He says that he has changed his mind and would like to join us. He’s started rereading the series and likes it more this time around.” Todoroki looked up and around his room, lips pursed. “There is not much space for five people. It is getter harder to see the laptop.”

***

The five of you started the Heaven’s Arena arc of Hunter x Hunter in Aizawa’s dorm apartment, seeing as he had the best television setup: for one, having an actual television instead of simply relying on his computer. His sound system held up, too, though you suspected Present Mic had something to do with that, instead of Aizawa’s own preferences.

You, Shinsou, Todoroki, Monoma, and Sero were scattered across Aizawa’s living room, all cosied under blankets and pillows and pointed towards his wall-mounted television, sitting on his cat-hair covered couch and armchairs, mugs and snacks on his coffee table, socked feet loose, and house slippers at the edge of the shag rug. The cats, Dango and Konpeito, chose to snuggle up towards Todoroki and you (beat that, Shinsou!), so you were careful not to disturb them from their slumber on your lap. No sudden movements, even when the tired dizziness of your bitch soulmate faded in.

“Spoilers for Hunter x Hunter, I suppose, even though it’s been out for decades,” you said under your breath, raising your hand to signal to the others that your soulmate was looking in. At your movement, Dango raised her head from her cocoon in your lap to yawn, her face nearly turning inside out, and she flinched, her pupils dilating, at the creak of the door.

Laden with groceries, Aizawa stepped into his own apartment, his brow furrowing at the sight of his students in his living room. “You have ten seconds to tell me what you’re doing here.”

“The fuck?” Sero whipped his head towards Shinsou and back at Aizawa. “Shinsou told us you were okay with it.”

“I said that he wouldn’t mind, which he can’t if he doesn’t catch us,” said Shinsou, bracing himself when Aizawa tugged at his capture weapon around his neck, “It’s my fault, Aizawa-sensei. Please don’t get angry at anyone else.”

Your soulmate seemed pleased that you were getting in trouble. Bastard.

Aizawa set his cloth bags on his kitchen counter, the insides shifting with the weight of the groceries. “Is this appropriate for Eri to watch?”

“Well, in general—”

A character onscreen chose that moment to seductively moan another character’s name, over and over again.

Aizawa winced, scrunching his eyes shut tightly. “Turn that shit off. Find another place to watch it.” Shaking his head, he unbagged the first of his groceries. “Shinsou, never bring anyone, including yourself, into my personal space again with express permission.”

“Damn it,” you said, reaching for the remote. You pressed the power button, watching the screen fade from the vibrant colours of Heaven’s Arena to black, with Aizawa’s living room reflecting back at you. Forlornly, you scratched the back of Dango’s neck, watching her mirrored reaction, before you realised what you were doing: giving your bitch-ass soulmate a clear view of your bare face. Eyes bulging, you gasped and bent over to hide your face, with Dango scurrying away at being disturbed.

The connection cut at the faint suggestion of intrigue.

***

YOU

hey i know we said we’d keep it small but. i think midoriya would really enjoy the battle analysis that the hxh characters are doing

YOU

bc they be doing some QUICK analytic work based on their opponents’ personalities

TODOROKI 💅🎏

Midoriya has been asking more questions than usual during our sparring sessions.

SERO 🧃🍊

ffs why isn’t he already in the group? should’ve thought of him

SHINSOU 💜🍡

want me to add him?

YOU

would that be okay, todoroki?

TODOROKI 💅🎏

There’s more than enough room at our new venue. We should invite him.

SHINSOU 💜🍡

why don’t you text him then? it’s at your place

MONOMA 🔇🎭

Midoriya CANNOT sit next to me

MONOMA 🔇🎭

I’d like to hear the onscreen dialogue instead of whatever he’s saying under his breath

MONOMA 🔇🎭

He CANNOT shut up

YOU

WHOMST won’t shut up??????

SERO 🧃🍊

don’t worry no one will sit next to you

MONOMA 🔇🎭

Good

MONOMA 🔇🎭

Wait

TODOROKI 💅🎏

Midoriya can attend! He’ll be a little late today, but I think we should wait for him, since it’s his first time joining us.

Startled by the waiter, you put your phone down on your notebook and accepted your coffee graciously. You shifted your laptop and notebook over so that you could cup the mug in front of you, its warmth seeping through the sides, and you took a tentative slurp. Interesting. You’ll finish it, but you won’t order this again.

You were killing time that Saturday by getting ahead on your work for Put Your Hands Up Radio: editing and fact-checking news segments that Yamada would read between songs towards the evening. Electing to get some sunshine on your skin before hunkering down with the group again to analyse some anime, you’d chosen to edit the articles outside at a café you’d discovered recently, one at which you hadn’t decided on a regular order yet and were shopping around the menu each time you came. Plus, if you’d stayed on campus, no doubt Shinsou or Monoma would’ve found you to distract you.

The café’s patio with scorching, cast-iron furniture and haphazard parasol installation led to most of its customers sitting inside, but that meant you had space to think, even with the hot groves of your seat imprinting patterns into your skin.

Your soulmate was probably being rude because he was scared, or perhaps he didn’t believe that Tainted Love’s quirk was legitimate. You’d have to assure him that it was, as you’d run through Nezu’s report with Midnight and Recovery Girl, fact-checking that. Either way. Some frustrated guy—living at home, apparently, and pissed about it—was paired out of the blue with some student at U.A. He might be scared that you were a creep.

Tainted Love’s team’s notes on her quirk that Midnight had confiscated explained that each soulmate bond, somehow, was moulded around the pair’s personalities and would fulfil a lifelong need. A lot of responsibility, it seemed, but if it were true—and other pairs proved it true—you would fulfil it naturally, and so would he.

So, even though your soulmate had been rude, you’d give him a chance. The soulmate bond existed for a reason. Plus, he might be a real-life tsundere, and wouldn’t that be fun to crack? To be the only one a rude, evil person was soft for was the ideal, wasn’t it? Someone so naturally cruel and heartless but learning to be kind for you—

Get a hold of yourself. He’s a real guy who will be in your life forever, not just someone you can throw away, like a celebrity/pro-hero crush. Treat him seriously.

“I’m…being serious,” you said to yourself, pouting into your coffee. You hunched in your seat to drink from the mug without lifting it, and you slorped away the neck of the latte art swan the barista had so carefully poured. “He’s probably not even be a sexy sort of cold-hearted. He’s just a type of bitchiness I haven’t learnt how to handle yet.”

Those boys in the anime analysis group? You could play their types of bitchiness like the world’s smallest fiddle. They were all so easy to handle (especially Monoma because of his predictability; Todoroki gave you the most trouble due to his complete non sequiturs), and it was fun bouncing off the petty parts of their personalities. Your soulmate spun things differently, but you’d learn his inclinations in time. If not, it’s not worth your time trying to “fix” someone who has no redeeming vulnerability.

You sighed. Now that you’ve lost your editing groove, you might as well do some last-minute reading before watching the next few episodes tonight. Closing your laptop, you reached down into your bag to get the next volume of Todoroki’s manga, and your vision blurred over, dizziness incoming. Well, at least you’re sitting down.

You held the manga volume in your lap and waited for your soulmate’s line of sight to appear. If he were in a darkened room yet again, you could buy yourself a little treat. The café’s display case had some sort of new chess square that you’d been eyeing. And—shit, sunlight was coming through. No little treat for you.

Well, maybe you’ll get one, anyway. You slumped farther down in your seat, blinking as dappled, sunlight-covered pavement and an empty terrace outside a business across a busy street came into view—your soulmate jumped back off the road when a car whooshed by, and after that, he jaywalked, horns blaring in his wake.

He did a little hop to get on the opposite sidewalk, hands in his pockets, and peered past the iron fence into the window of the shop—a packed coffee shop; maybe you could at least learn his coffee order, because then you’d have some shred of information about him. But no, he unlatched the iron gate and wove his way through the cast-iron patio chairs and tables, and—

You’re staring right at you: sitting, legs crossed, not taking up space, stuff spread out over your table, and he’s gaining on you. You flinched, watched yourself flinch, and your gaze darted around until you were able to meet his (your) eyes (your head making minor, nervous movements you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t seen them), expression cautious, curling in on yourself on impulse. When you saw how, through an outsider, that made you look small, you made the effort to sit up and roll your shoulders back, elbows on the table. You watched yourself recoil at the heat of the iron, and you had to use his perspective to know where your notebook was so that you could rest your arms on it.

He brushed past your table’s open chair, instead yanking the table by the edge away from your lap so that he could stand closer to you and grabbing your face. He first cupped your jaw with his whole hand, pale skin and leather of a fingerless glove cold to the touch, and then, when he seemed sure you weren’t going to protest (his vision turned slightly to the left—he must have tilted his head), he narrowed his grip in little jerks of his hand, sliding erratically from gripping your jaw to just tilting your chin upwards towards him. He turned your head to the left and to the right before returning to centre to stare you down (you’d been pliant under his control, because the doubling of you watching you do things was throwing off your senses of balance and direction).

“Not as hard as you fucking made it out to be, huh?” His thumb rubbed over your chin. His nail was cracked. “Now, are you gonna stop acting like a little bitch, or are we gonna keep playing your stupid game?”

“First of all,” you said, fascinated by the way your lips curled in under your teeth to shape the consonants, and judging by where your soulmate was looking, he was, too. “It’s not an act. I am a little bitch.”

“No more of that hiding shit.” He tapped your cheek a little harder than he needed to with his middle two fingers. “Don’t know why you’d wanna hide this, anyway.”

You wouldn’t’ve said you winced at his rough touch, but you noticed enough of an aggravated microexpression around your eyes that you could tell you didn’t like it. “You’re doing the same. Hiding what you look like from me.”

“And I’m gonna keep doing it. You get nothing. There is no us. Soulmates don’t exist, and even if some hack fraud’s quirk has paired us off, I don’t need anybody, least of all you.”

“Well, maybe you don’t need anyone,” you said, your eyes dipping to see more of his hand (hot damn, we forgot we can’t see through our own eyes that quickly?) and then raising them to look directly into your soulmate’s—hyperaware of the way your eyelashes fluttered against your skin, of the slight pinch of your eyebrows, of the way the sun struck your cheeks, “but you could want someone.”

A sliver of a cool breeze wove its way through the patio, some of your hair swaying with it.

“I won’t pressure you to do anything you don’t want,” you said, lying, “but at the very least, we could communicate enough for this to be easy for us. Please let me give you my phone number, and please save it this time.”

His thumb inched up to press into your lower lip.

“Please,” you said, eyes dark but slightly glassy, letting your tongue tap the tip of his thumb, so lightly wetting it that it was as if you hadn’t touched it at all.

Your soulmate tilted his head again, lurching to the side as he shifted his weight to lean on the table. He knocked your pen onto the ground, and when you made the slightest movement to grab it, he pressed his thumb harder against you to still you, and he shook his head.

Your throat ran dry. Your (his) eyes honed in on the bead of sweat dripping down it and into your blouse. “Give me your name, then. A name, if you hate me that much.”

“It’s Touya,” he grumbled, and he closed his eyes in the moment before he kissed you, cold lips open before even touching yours (both rough, but his lower lip was much rougher for some reason). Blind, you startled back at the initial touch, but he held your chin firmly near his, sliding his gloved hand to your cheek as his tongue did into your mouth, pressing against the roof of your mouth and along your gums, alternating pressure where he pleased, not seeming to care what you did with your tongue—not that you were doing much at all due to surprise, but you at least had the mind to press your lips back, because while yes, his style was unorthodox, it still felt good. He laughed through his nose, once, when you slid your tongue against his, but when you raised a hand to cup his cheek, he pulled away before you could do more than graze him.

“Touya,” you said, and now that he was looking at you again, you—well, you looked kissed out, leaning towards him to chase that feeling, to encourage him to touch you again, and you looked fucking hot (the hell? It took a lot for you to think of yourself that way, and today hadn’t even been a good day for you, but now, freshly kissed, saying your soulmate’s name, you found yourself thinking you were pretty. Uh. Could this be what he was thinking instead of you? You couldn’t tell; it felt like it was coming from somewhere deep in your gut). “Touya. Let me write—”

You watched yourself grapple for your pen for a while. He huffed, crossed his arms, and bothered to look down where your pen was for you, and when he did, you finally grabbed it.

“Touya,” you said, uncapping the pen and hovering over your notebook, and you paused after the first stroke. “Touya spelled like that Todoroki Touya who released that Endeavor video during the war?”

The ink bled through the sheet of paper from being pressed in one spot for too long.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, voice rasping, “Spelled just like his.”

“Okay,” you said, bending over your paper and writing based on muscle memory, and under his name, you wrote your phone number for him again, with your name written beneath it, just to hammer it in. You ripped the page out of your notebook with some difficulty before passing it to him.

Touya scanned it and rubbed his thumb over your name, the leather of his fingerless glove catching on the uneven tear.

Cute. Nerd. “Do the gloves have something to do with your quirk?”

“What? No,” he said, crumpling the paper and stowing it in his pocket, and he kept his hands there, hiding them, “I don’t have a quirk.”

Okay, so Touya spoke in a rush and concealed evidence. Sounds like a lie. Monoma took that route on occasion, so the obvious thing for you to say was “Oh, so you wear them because of Naruto? Do you run like him, too?”

“Fuck off,” he spat, and you watched yourself grin: you’ve got him. “As if I had time to be a fuckin’ otaku.”

“Good to know,” you said, “So, all the manga re-analysis I’ve been doing with my friends is new to you? I hope you’re not planning on reading or watching any of the works that we’re covering, then. Unless you wanted to read along with us?”

“I don’t need that shit to scorch my brain.” For some reason, he winced, scrunching his eyes shut for a moment, and you waited in the dark for him.

“You have enough going on?”

He pried his eyes open, blinking blearily at you, still grinning, still smug. “Yeah,” he said, and he dug his left hand out to stare at the back of it, leather shining in the sunlight while he wiggled his fingers. He bent across the table to grab your coffee, fingers spidering over the rim to grip it, and he brought it to his mouth. “This is fucking awful; what’s wrong with you?” he asked after an audible swallow.

“It’s not my usual order.” Closing your notebook, you crossed your arms, staring down at you and feeling more and more like you’re in a dream. “You can either tell me what your quirk is, because I know you’re lying, or you could stay? For coffee? I’ll buy you something better.”

(You would have asked what’s up with his appearance that he didn’t want you to see or feel, but considering how early in your first official meeting it was, the question may be too insensitive, especially if he were born with it.)

Touya glanced over his shoulder, saw something you couldn’t, and set your mug on the iron table with a quiet clink. “I’ve got to go,” he said, and he spun around, taking the first step away.

You slammed a hand on the table purely on guesswork based on where he left your mug, and the sound of shaking iron and tinkling porcelain resounded, distant when you heard it through his ears, yet feeling the vibrations travel through your own arms. “Tell me your goddamn quirk, you daft fucker.”

Touya paused, and he turned back to you. “That’s more like it.” He sat on your table, at the place over your lap, and he reached out towards your face. You saw yourself lean back, eyes wide, but he simply dug his fingers into your hair at your hairline, scratching your scalp and digging his nails in enough to hear the movement.

(You saw yourself frown the moment you noticed his skin was colder than the glove.)

“Barking at me like that is how information is usually torn out of me. Makes me feel at home,” he said, a bit too cheerfully for your liking, “You can be trained to be a bitch towards me yet.”

“Touya,” you said, raising your head to embolden more of his touch, “Who’s—who’s been treating you like that? You don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up.” Touya laid his hand flat atop your head, the weight of it pushing down on you. “Sure, I lied. Said I didn’t have a quirk. Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters.” Your tongue swiped over your lower lip, and Touya’s gaze darted to it. “I want any scrap of you I can get. Everything I’ve already learnt I’ve filed away in my heart: your name, the way you speak, your hatred of your brother’s fish and living at home—”

The hand on your hand slipped to slap over your mouth. “Jesus Christ, stop noticing things about me. Freak. Goddamn.” Touya lifted his hand off of you, and based on his perspective, he ran it through his own hair. “So that you don’t go making your own intrusive observations, I’ll tell you about my quirk: I effectively don’t have one anymore. I used it a lot, and it fucked me up. So, for my own self-preservation, which I’ve been told I should value, I can’t use it anymore. Good enough for you?”

“Great enough for me,” you said, “I’ll take care not to talk about my quirk or hero course stuff too much. I don’t want you to feel left out.”

“Holy shit,” said Touya, and he broke eye contact with you to stare at his boots (scuffed, black, but new, so the scuffing must be intentional), blinking rapidly before pressing—probably—his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids.

Something was deeply wrong with this man. You needed him to kiss you again. You opened your mouth to ask him to, but wooziness and your dry throat called; the ripped page of your notebook you’d been staring at dripped back into your own perspective at a glacial pace. You heard the scuffle of his shuffling off the iron table and the grit of his boot against the concrete, and when you grappled for him in the dark, your hand clenched around nothing.

You rubbed your eyes until the vertigo passed, and when you opened them, Touya was gone.

***

Later that afternoon, you were scrolling through your phone on the end cushion of one of Todoroki’s couches in the living room in a poor effort not to gawk at everything. You expected some of it could be excused, since it’s your first time at his house, but good God, rich people were insane. This was the biggest, traditionally-styled building (estate?) you’ve been in since you toured a castle preserved from the Edo period—but it was apt, you supposed, since Endeavor had been acting as a sort of daimyo of his own.

Dormer gables. Hip-and-gable roofs, with golden shachihoko shibi cupping the corners—though instead of the customary sea monsters, if your eyes weren’t deceiving you, they appeared to be made for flame-swimming instead of in water. A recessed entryway, its wooden flooring tiles hand-cut in tiny designs to make you aware of the space, with brand-new guest slippers already provided before you could ask. Todoroki’s house (estate?) screamed business, or at the very least, don’t touch anything.

At least the living room in which you sat stiffly had a touch of clear modernity—and so it seemed that the inner rooms actually revealed that they were living in the modern age, but the barrier of traditional architecture to get to actual living space heaved a hyperawareness of outsider onto your shoulders.

Todoroki himself, bless him, moved around like the elegant austerity didn’t even occur to him. Waiting for Midoriya with the rest of you, he’d helped everyone spread out their notes and manga over the short table and floor, gathering blankets for everyone when it occurred to him that not everyone’s body tolerated temperature like he did (since the house was kept oddly cold), and, instead of offering tea, like he’d said his sister would expect him to do, he provided a peculiar but pleasant combination of snacks: cheap-ass cup noodles, strawberry chardonnay-flavoured cheese on soup crackers, old mooncakes that had been in the fridge for a month but he declared were still good, and gummy worms for Monoma.

The bitch even bought everyone a fancy little drink according to personal preferences—and no one had even requested them or informed him what to get, but he’d gotten everything right, regardless (you suspected he’d asked Shinsou for help).

“Thank you,” you said, turning over in your hands the poshest bottle of pink lemonade you’ve ever seen, “You’re a very gracious host, Todoroki.”

He slurped his own caramel frappe. “I’m very excited to have so many friends over at once.”

“Of course,” you said, your weight jostling on the couch cushion as Todoroki sat next to you, “I can’t believe we didn’t think of going off-campus to watch this shit earlier. There’s way more privacy here.”

“Our doors are always open nowadays,” he said, and when Sero tapped Todoroki on his shoulder to help open another package of cheese, he held up a finger to pause your conversation.

Smiling softly, you twisted off the bottlecap of your lemonade, holding it up to your nose to inhale that pressurised burst of lemon scent, and—oh, hey, you felt a little lightheaded as you did so. Two times in one day? That’s new. At least it was from your perspective this time, so you didn’t have to worry about knocking anyone’s drink over.

“Hey,” you said, snuggling down into the couch, your palm atop the opening of your drink (when Monoma shot you a questioning look with the phone call hand signal, you nodded, and he relaxed and leaned towards you, his teeth cutting into his lower lip as he grinned). “Funny how we keep meeting like this, yeah?” you asked, feeling soft and full of love for this fucker, and you reached towards the coffee table to set down your drink and grab a flower-shaped mooncake. “I guess I can stop hiding from my reflection now, sweet boy.” You made eye contact with yourself in the reflection of the Torodokis’ enormous flatscreen, and you held your mooncake up in a toast before biting into it. “Hope you’re well. You seemed stressed earlier. I’m currently—”

Your phone rang in your lap, and you narrowed your eyes at the unknown number before answering it. “Hello?”

“Where the hell are you right now?”

“Wow,” you said, chewing, “No greeting, even? No mention of how much that you miss my voice or my lips now that you’ve—”

“Just tell me where the fuck you are,” said Touya, at the same time that Monoma’s eyebrows shot to his hairline at the kissing implication, and he thumped Shinsou in the chest for him to look up from his phone.

“Does it matter?”

“I told you my quirk shit when I didn’t want to, so fucking tell me,” said Touya, sounding muffled and, again, like he stood near traffic.

Swallowing mooncake in a rush and choking a bit, you cleared your throat and said, “Fine. I don’t know why it matters that much to you, but I’m at a friend’s house. Our anime analysis group has gotten too big for the dorms, so we’re trying out his place.”

You had to ensure the call hadn’t dropped due to his long response time. “What friend?” he asked.

You raised a brow, though he couldn’t see you. “I doubt you would know—shit!”

Struggling to tear the plastic covering the cheese, Todoroki had accidentally slammed his elbow into your collarbone.

“Geez.” You winced at Todoroki and rubbed the spot. “No, no, I’m fine,” you said when he reached towards your collarbone, his fingertips already icing over, “You may want to go get a knife to open that, though.”

Nodding soberly, Todoroki lowered his thawing hand and rose from the couch, tossing the cheese to himself. “I’ll do that. Anyone need anything from the kitchen while I’m up?”

While the others answered, you spoke into your phone again, hand on your chest. “Sorry about that. I guess if you paid attention to the news last year, you’d know him: one of Endeavor’s kids, Todoroki Shouto.”

The soulmate connection started to trickle away, but Touya stayed on the phone. “Do you not have any other friends who have a place?” Plastic crinkled on his end, along with a car horn in the background. “Hell, the library downtown rents out portable TVs—”

“Why should I be at another friend’s house?” Touya wouldn’t be able to see the reflection of your self-satisfied smirk now, but surely he could hear it in your voice. “Jealous that I’m at the house of another man?”

Touya gagged into the speaker. “Someone’s full of herself. Don’t wait up for me,” he said, and he hung up.

You pulled your phone away from your ear, pouting at the call screen before creating a new contact.

“You didn’t tell us you’d met your soulmate,” said Shinsou.

“It only happened this afternoon,” you said, saving his number under Touya 🐠🚷 (the fish for the koi pond he hated, and the no pedestrians sign for his apparent propensity to jaywalk), “and I’m not sure what to make of him. I was hoping to form my own opinion before telling all of you.”

Todoroki perked up and tilted his ear skyward at the sound of the front door opening. “I’ll get it,” he said, standing, “I bet that’s my brother. He’s back four hours late from physical therapy; I hope everything’s okay.”

Your eye twitched.

(Todoroki had warned everyone before coming over that his family would probably be in and out. Less so Fuyumi and Natsuo, because Fuyumi had recently moved in with her significant other and Natsuo had his own place near campus, but more of his parents and Dabi. Well. Touya, now, but you had your own Touya to worry about.

You’d met Dabi. Twice, during freshman year. When he’d been a villain, instead of whatever was happening with him in recovery. Rather formulative experiences for you, ones you only permitted yourself to think about in the hollowness of lonely nights—but you didn’t need those memories anymore, because you had your Touya now.

Remember? You have your own Touya. You don’t need another.)

“Do you want me to carry that for you?”

Todoroki’s voice trailed behind boot scuffing and a sliding door, and in Dabi/Touya shuffled—hoodie yanked up (layered over a longer coat?), strings pulled firmly around his face, plastic bags from the convenience store down the street on his wrist, very determinedly staring at the floor as he strode past behind the couch instead of at the four of you strewn across his living room, ducking into the kitchen as soon as possible.

You’d barely seen him for five seconds, and your heart was going to beat out of your chest. Or maybe that was just the bruise forming on your collarbone.

Todoroki nodded after his brother, standing behind your place at the couch. “There’s no ceremonial introduction, I assume. That’s my brother, Touya. You’ve all,” said Todoroki, scratching the back of his neck, “met him before. But! If you’re nervous, we will not be seeing much of him. He doesn’t spend much time in the main house; he lives in the old-fashioned teahouse towards the back of the garden. Privacy, you know, even though we’ve got to keep him close.” Todoroki wetted his lips as he looked towards the emptied shrine on the far wall. “He shouldn’t be any trouble, but I may have to zip out on occasion to help him. Not all of his skin grafts are taking.”

The doorbell rang, and Todoroki started towards it. “That must be Midoriya. Sero, would you please pull up the next episode?”

When Todoroki stepped into the entryway to greet him, you couldn’t suppress your curiosity. “I’m gonna go pour this over ice,” you said, gesturing with your pink lemonade bottle, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Shinsou—the only one whom you’ve told about what happened with Dabi back then—shot you a crooked grin, but he distracted Monoma from noticing exactly what you were doing while you sneaked away down the hall.

His back was to you. Water flowed out of the kitchen faucet while he yanked his hoodie over his head and tossed it over the back of a chair, and he did the same with a longer, black coat—similar in shape to the coat he’d worn as a villain but not the same one. Maybe he’d grown accustomed to having the weight of it on his body, so what he wore now was a type of security blanket. While he ran a spoon under the faucet, he fumbled behind himself for his plastic, convenience store bag and fished out a pudding cup.

Backtracking a little, you purposely made your footsteps audible so that you wouldn’t startle him, and you entered the kitchen, shaking your lemonade for more noise to alert him of your presence.

His white brows pinched when he saw you, and he hastily shut the water off and scooted off to the edge of the counter while he put his stuff away, his movements rigid and close to his chest.

“Hi,” you said (oh, my God, you were talking to Dabi; holy shit), “Where do the cups live?”

Dabi blinked slowly, unable to look at you, and he peeled the lid off of his pudding cup. He glanced towards the door and back towards his stuff on the table, and he pointed towards a cabinet, his finger returning to his fist in a rush to get back what he was doing.

“Thank you,” you said, opening the one he’d pointed to. Oh. Fancy. Lots of choices. “I hope we’re not bothering you. We can—we can always leave, if you need us to. Or you could join us, if you like.” You turned around in time to see the flat of his tongue lick pudding off of the lid, stitches showing at the back of his tongue, and in the moment where he ducked his head, the tiny, unblemished part of his skin near the corners of his eyes blazing pink, your brain short-circuited.

(Dabi had been your first kiss.

During freshman year, in the week of that first round of internships, you’d been planted in Hosu City, around the time Stain closed his fist around the public consciousness. On a night patrol, your mentor had slipped into a restaurant that the yakuza frequented and stationed you in a nearby alley to watch for other yakuza incoming from the employees’ entrance.

An official sidekick had caught up with you—late forties, spandex, unrecognisable. You’d been terse in your replies, since he’d been essentially blowing your cover, but he couldn’t take a hint.

It’d only occurred to you that he’d been hitting on you when he’d propped an arm on the brick wall above your head to dominate your personal space, and an all-consuming dread had erupted in your stomach when he’d said, moving to take your chin in hand, “You know, you remind me a lot of my daughter.”

Before he’d been able to touch you, something rabid and ravenous about the size of a labrador had tackled him to the ground, the force knocking him almost two whole meters away, and the thing ripped into the sidekick’s chest, blood spewing—and somehow having the sense to cover his mouth to stifle the shouts.

In the moment you’d moved to get a better look at what was, in retrospect, a nomu, another figure had stepped between you and the sidekick, his own arm resting on the wall to keep you from getting closer.

“Hey,” Dabi had said, an easy grin stretching across his face, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about anything. Just testing some shit out for someone. So long as you don’t go making any noise, I’ll let you walk away.”

Dabi hadn’t made his villain debut back then, but even so, it hadn’t seemed like it was just testing something out for someone; this guy had seemed his own brand of dangerous. Your gaze had started to creep towards the source of crunching, but he’d tapped your cheek, making you look at him. “Nuh-uh. Keep your eyes on me. If you don’t know anything, I don’t have to kill you, do I?”

“I, I’m—” You’d steeled yourself somewhat, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “I’m not just gonna let you kill a hero while I stand here.”

Again, Dabi had stopped you before you could take a full step, this time by gripping your jaw, letting it rest in his palm while his fingers dug into your cheeks. “Can’t call him a hero. Was comparing you to his daughter—didn’t you hear? And it looked like he was gonna assault you. Some guys aren’t meant to be fathers.” His syrupy gaze had fallen to your neck, and he’d squeezed your face. “Jesus, your heart is beating like crazy.”

“I don’t normally calm myself down to the sounds of someone getting maimed,” you’d said, blood splattering in the air behind him, “Oh! Fuck.” You’d scrunched your eyes shut and curled in on yourself, trying to block out the sound of bones snapping.

“Some hero you are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you’d said, “You’re more of one than I am, tonight. Thanks—?”

“Dabi,” he’d said, and at the time, it had just been a name. When you’d pried open your eyes, he’d been smiling, mouth closed, head tilted at being called a hero. You’d smiled back, but at an enormously strident crack from behind him, you’d had a full-body jolt. “Fucking hell, calm down,” he’d said, his arm sliding from the wall to your upper arm, “For once, you’re safe with me.” Seeing you try to look over his shoulder again, Dabi had dragged you forward by the jaw to kiss you, closed-mouthed but hot, leaning into you, his mouth overwhelming you with hardly any effort on his end, and he’d kept kissing you, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand, until the nomu slinked into silence.

Dabi had broken off when the nomu scuttled farther down the alley. “Right.” He’d taken a deep breath. “You gonna tell anyone about me?”

You’d shaken your head, confused as to why he seemed more concerned about descriptions of him rather than descriptions of the murder. But he’d been nice to you. Had given you a hell of a first kiss. “I can say someone in the yakuza killed him.”

He’d roughly patted your cheek and dropped away from you, stowing his hands in the deep pockets of his coat. “His death isn’t worth reporting, but I’ll take it.” He’d spun on his heel, raising a lazy hand in a wave as he disappeared into the night. “You’d better hope you never see me again.”)

And now, here he was, hunched over shitty gas station snacks in his family kitchen, a spoon hanging out of his mouth while he stowed things away. His naturally white hair showed now, and…he seemed terribly shy. Dabi, shy. Fucking ridiculous. But, you supposed, there’s guilt and shame around, uh, doing what he did. And—and his body was horribly, horribly mangled and mottled. He might not think anyone should look at him.

Todoroki (Shouto, you supposed you should think of him as, since Dabi was a Todoroki, too) had mentioned not all of Dabi’s skin grafts were taking. It was obvious. He’d burnt up during the war, and while you’d heard Recovery Girl and Eri had worked on him, despite outside protests that he wasn’t worth it, he still was very clearly cobbled together.

He still had a lot of staples, though faded stitches filled in new gaps, and those that remained had been replaced with medical-grade staples that wouldn’t get infected. Patches of successful grafts left a waning diamond pattern, particularly around his neck. Very little purple, overall, but going by the scars, you could still tell where it had been. Based on his appearance, he shouldn’t be alive, let alone able to walk around.

But he scooted with such speed out of your way when you got ice out of the freezer. “But really, you could stick around with us, if you wanted to. No pressure, though, if you want to be alone.” Calmly. You were calmly popping ice out of a tray and letting them clatter into your glass. “We’re watching Hunter x Hunter right now, if you’re interested. Have you read or watched it before, either the 1999 or 2011 version? Do you have a favourite character?”

Dabi clutched his snacks and discarded clothes to his chest, almost at the door, with his eyes darting all around the kitchen except on you.

Yeah. Must be shy. You were one of the U.A. students who fought in the war, after all, even though you didn’t personally fight him in the end. Probably feels guilty about the whole thing. Shy could be refreshing, after those bitches in the living room and your cunning soulmate.

Finally, tentatively, Dabi shifted his belongings to his right arm, and he raised his left to pat his throat, swallowing so that his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Oh,” you said, ice melting in your hand, “I’m sorry. Are you on vocal rest? Vocal cords messed up somehow?”

After a moment, Dabi nodded. He edged towards the hallway.

“Okay. I hope you feel better soon,” you said, and you poured your lemonade over the ice. “I’ve kept you long enough. Please go rest; I hope we don’t disturb you further.”

Before you finished, he’d already skibbled off, his house shoes slipping on the wood.

***

(The second time you’d met Dabi hadn’t been as hands-on, but it’d still left an odd impression.

It’d been in an urban jungle-type battle, after knowing his involvement the League but before his backstory reveal, and you and some classmates had been fighting a handful of PLF-aligned villains.

You’d slithered underneath a lean-to created by a partially collapsed building to catch your breath, along with shielding yourself from an explosion Bakugou had been building up. You hadn’t even known Dabi was in the group you were chasing, but he’d slinked underneath the same, protective ruins as you had, barely slipping underneath the cover before Bakugou’s explosion had shaken it.

Dabi had braced himself on the crumbling entrance, scrunching his face away from the explosion, and once it’d stopped, he’d noticed you were barely two paces away from him, sweat dribbling down your face the same as it’d been down his.

You still didn’t know if his startled, constipated expression had been of recognition or simple surprise to see someone else taking cover under something that could collapse and kill them. He’d taken in your U.A. gym uniform—your personal hero costume had been in repairs that week—and there’d been a couple of heavy seconds where neither of you had done anything besides pant and let sweat drip onto the rubble.

He'd slipped out first, since he’d been blocking the entrance, and you’d left soon after. You hadn’t been five steps out of the lean-to before someone on the PLF side had destroyed it, and in the privacy of your heart, you liked to think that Dabi had waited until you were out to raze it.)

***

You made it a habit to call Touya whenever the soulmate bond activated. Though he never initiated a call, he answered most of yours. What else was he going to do, if it were on your side, besides sit there in the dark? He continued to be hold information about himself like a miser clutching coins, but you found it refreshing to have a charismatic grouch of a pseudo-pen pal.

You’d closed the door of a library study room behind you as you called him this time, setting your stack of books on the table.

“You’re finally reading something besides manga? I thought your brain was gonna rot,” he said upon picking up.

You slung the strap of your purse over a chair. “No greeting? No admittance of missing the melodious sound of my voice?”

“Why in the hell would I do that,” he said over the screech of pulling out your chair.

“Because you missed the melodious sound of my voice?” You pulled out your notebook, flipped it to a new page, and fossicked around for a pen. Clicking the one you found, you reached for the first book in your stack, a rudimentary sign language dictionary, and you jotted down a list of common words as they came to you, such as thank you, help, and, of course, the all-important cat.

Touya clicked his tongue. “Are you seriously gonna make me study with you?”

You made the final stroke in the word pudding. “I don’t expect you to absorb the information. If you rather I read manga, I can go to that section for a while. Pick out a shoujo.”

“Get fucked with that otaku shit,” said Touya, and—he must have had his phone on speaker, because a couple of people were speaking to each other nearby about what must be the latest Assassins’ Creed, and the sound changed after some scrapes, with Touya sounding closer. “Why study sign language?”

“There’s someone in my life who recently became unable to talk all of the time,” you said, “and I’d like to help give him some way to communicate.”

“Just text him,” said Touya, “Well—never mind. Who’d wanna text you, anyway?”

“Sometimes, people put away their phones, Touya. Have you heard of it?” You drew a line down the half of your paper to make a new column, one sorting the words in groups—places, family members, requests, and the like.

“What are you getting out of it?” Touya must have scratched somewhere on his face, the sound coming over the phone. “You makin’ fun of him? Making him feel bad? If he wants to talk to you, he can just write shit down.”

“I think he might hate it because of how slow it is. And what if I luck out, and he knows sign already? Then half of my work is done for me,” you said, listing off all of the terms for family members, “Text-to-speech may be okay, but I don’t know. Still slow.”

“He probably doesn’t even want to talk to you,” said Touya, “let alone learn something for you. That’s a lot to ask for someone you ain’t fuckin’.”

You hummed and ignored him. You titled a new column Body, and the first word under it was burns. Followed by healing, surgery, hands, skin, hurt, and rest. For the first time in a while, Touya’s emotions were strong enough for you to feel, but you couldn’t name them. More like some pitiful, fearful soup, if anything, and other stuff you couldn’t put your finger on.

His voice still came in confidently derisive, though. “What kind of fucked up guy are you spreading your legs for, since those are what you’re writing down for his body? Seems like you’d be better off as a cocksleeve for someone else actually capable of fucking you.”

“Oh, rude! Rude!” Scowling, you set down your pen. “That’s rude to both me and him. I’m not talking to you anymore. Enjoy studying, asshole.” You flipped to a random page in the dictionary and started memorising, a bit too pissed to be productive for real, and you kept it up—if Touya were going to be here, then he’s not learning productive sign language, either. Try using marble and mare in everyday conversation, jackass.

Later, you caught yourself zoning out while staring at an entry, only shaking yourself out of it when Touya grumbled under his breath for you to turn the page already.

***

Todoroki paused the episode when the pizza arrived.

Moaning way too sensually, Kaminari stretched his arms above his head and arched his back. “My electricity is cooler than Killua’s, right? I have more swag than him?”

“No.”

“In your dreams.”

“Yikes.”

“Wrong,” said Shinsou, pelting him in the face with a popcorn kernel.

Kaminari picked it up off the floor and ate it mournfully. “I’m getting beaten by a fictional twelve year old.”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you announced, pushing yourself up from your seat between Shinsou and Monoma (which was just as well, since they were comparing scans of the current manga chapter over your lap), and you set off with the intention going to the farthest bathroom to increase your chances of bumping into Dabi.

No such luck, even though you deliberately stomped your slippers as loudly as you could to try to draw him out. Sighing, you backtracked to a tiny bathroom you’ve used before, one that wasn’t as intimidatingly wealthy as the rest of the house and therefore actually felt like it was meant to be used, and you opened the creaking door onto an exhausted, shirtless Dabi trying to rub some sort of cream on the back of his neck, a massive jar open on the sink, blood seeping down his biceps at the strain around his staples.

Both of you froze. He took a quick glance to the gobs of cream on his hands and managed to kick the door shut from his seat on the closed toilet, but your foot caught in the door, which struck your nose and cheekbone, with you yelping and clutching the area.

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” you said through the crack in the door, shakily dragging your bruised foot out of it, “I didn’t know anyone was even in this side of the house. Are you okay? No, wait, sorry again—you’re bleeding; of course you’re not okay. I’m sorry.” You checked your nose for bleeding of your own, but nothing leaked out of your nose. “Can I—may I help with whatever you’re doing?”

No answer. But he hadn’t shut the door.

“Fine,” you said, and you spoke into the crack, only able to make out the granite on the near side of the sink. “I don’t know what’s going on with you nowadays, but I hope you’re doing okay. Or that you’ll be okay soon, at least. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, and I’m sorry you had to go through it. But I can grasp, I think, that having a bunch of your brother’s friends over can be intimidating and isolating. If nothing else, I’d like to get to know you better—or you could just get to know me better, if you don’t feel like sharing—so that having all of us over isn’t as terrible. I’m sorry we’re bursting into your life when you’re working out a lot of stuff in recovery—”

Dabi yanked open the door, brow furrowed, and instead of looking at you, he clamped his slimy hands on the sink and stood on his toes to arch towards the mirror, opening his mouth wide to breathe hot air onto it, teeth bared, as if he were roaring. In its fleeting fog, he traced out kanji, streaked with lotion and hidden by his left hand as he wrote, and he blew over it a final time before stepping back and jabbing at the message.

Stop apologising.

“Ah—oh,” you said, while Dabi squatted and rooted through the cabinet under the sink, “Okay. I’ll try. Thank you for saying so.” How do you talk to someone who was formerly 1) an S-tier villain and, more importantly, 2) your longest-running crush?

Dabi plopped a meagre first-aid kit on the counter and pointed to the source of bleeding on one of his arms, the inside bicep where two staples had come loose.

“I don’t know shit about first-aid,” you said, reaching for the kit anyway, “I know you have to keep pressure on it, and stuff, but—”

And so the first time Dabi looked you in the eyes was to shoot you an incredulous, suspicious glare that accompanied his snatching the kit back from you, clutching it out of your reach. Relaxing once it was in his hands, he hesitated a moment, shifting his jaw, before nudging the open jar of lotion with his knuckle, reverting to his fixed gaze on his feet.

“I can do that,” you said, heart racing, “You wanna—why don’t you sit back down?”

Not lotion, you noted, as Dabi pulled out disinfectant wipes and a roll of gauze near its end, burn cream. Aw. You dipped your first three fingers into it (heavy, roll-around slimy, like holding a frog) and hoped to God that your soulmate didn’t tune in during this. Touya didn’t like a lot of things you did, but he’d probably loathe your gawking over the scarred back of someone who wasn’t him.

Yeah, Touya would probably hate how you would hone in, laser-sharp, each time Dabi’s muscles flexed as he wrapped his wound, how the space between his shoulder blades with the tiny dent along his spine (well, his spine indented at the top of his back, where he was broader and still held muscle, and poked out towards his lower back as he bent over) held your focus far too long to be impersonal—and you got to touch it. You kept the contact to your fingertips, because as much as you wanted to flatten your hands to feel every moving tendon, you didn’t want to scare him. He’s probably not used to outside touch, and you shouldn’t come on too strongly, especially when someone else’s soul was fucking bound to yours.

But as your fingers smoothed over the marks around his shoulders where burns used to be, skin cold to the touch, as Dabi turned his head to the side just barely so that he could watch you out of his periphery, you found it hard to remind yourself that you already had a Touya. Can’t have two.

“I know it’s none of my business, but, uh, if you’re on vocal rest this often, I could—I could help you learn some sign language?” You scratched underneath your eye in a nervous gesture and smeared some of the burn cream on your cheek. “Nothing intensive. Only simple, everyday stuff, like—well. I don’t know what frequents your vocabulary. You don’t have to, but I’m offering. Just in case.”

In the mirror, Dabi halted in tying the gauze to glare up at you, his lip curling up in flash of a sneer.

“Okay, that’s cool. That’s fine. I can—I can leave a sign language book with your brother, if you—if you ever change your mind.” You nodded, just to have some sort of reaction he could see, and he tucked away the disinfectant wipes and tossed the empty roll of gauze into the trash bin. “Hey,” you said, noting how he’d only bled at his left arm, which was covered with mottled patches of skin, staples, and stitches, along with the faint diamond-pattern of skin grafts, while his right arm needed no medical attention, pale and unblemished without any sign of damage, “What’s up with—if you’re comfortable with sharing, why doesn’t your right arm have any scars? Was Recovery Girl able to heal that more effectively, or something?”

Holding your gaze in the mirror, Dabi raised his eyebrows, nearly vanishing under the drooping, white spikes of his hair, and he reached over with his left hand to rub his thumb over his right shoulder and curving down into his armpit.

He actually laughed (a laugh through his nose, yes, and one without the humming sort of vocalisation usually accompanying a laugh through a nose, but a laugh nevertheless) at how hard you jumped when he popped off what was apparently a prosthetic.

***

“If you hate gardening this much, why keep doing it?” you asked, once again trapped in Touya’s perspective late at night while he tended to a traditional, Japanese garden. You lay flat on your back in bed, hands and phone resting on your chest (laptop closed to the side. Your essay was due at eight o’clock in the morning. Would Present Mic accept late work due to soulmate interference?).

“Lots of dumb fucking reasons that all fold in together,” said Touya, shovelling gravel out of a wheelbarrow and into the man-made brook he was trying to shape, “One: my stupid fucking family has decided that doing this earthy shit would calm me down. Zen gardening, or whatever.”

“Oh, do you have issues controlling your anger, Touya?”

“Stop that. Two.” Gravel pittered off the shovel blade, falling into the trickling water with a series of tiny plops. “One of my brothers brought up how Mom always liked the garden but was stopped from taking care of it herself, and since I did some shit to—it’s not like I could’ve helped it; they were keeping stuff from her, too. Anyway, Mom’s fucking sad nowadays. Better, but sad.” Touya sank the shovel into the gravel to lean on it, tracking the flow of the water for a moment, twisting through the previous path currently being overtaken by moss and fallen stone. “And my brother thinks the garden being fancy again will make our mom happy, especially if I’m the one to do it. Dick. Saying if we hired people to do it, it wouldn’t be the same. Started with just the damn fish, but now the whole fucking thing’s my job. It’s fucking shit. It’s blackmail and family obligation and rent all at once. It’s a fuckin’ nasty trick.”

Touya dug into the wheelbarrow again. “And my fa—that guy had the nerve to suggest that I needed something to do during the day. As if I’m not busy enough.”

“During the day? Touya, I’ve only seen you garden at night.”

“Because it’s too damn hot outside all the time. And I don’t want anyone watching me. I’m no one’s business. But I bet they’d like staring out of a window at me, while I break my fucking body again moving all of these shitty rocks and shaping Mom’s fucking evergreens.” He shovelled with deep malice. “Did you fucking know that there’s goddamn symbolism in these shitty gardens? That you can’t just put things anywhere without it meaning something? Somehow ponds are supposed to be oceans. Rocks are supposed to be mountains. Forced perspective shit, paired with tenets of Zen and Shinto, and it’s the pettiest, most unnecessary bullshit I’ve ever had to deal with, and I dealt with a friend’s abominable driving for years. Never got any better at it, even though I got fucking motion sick.”

He knelt, and when two, fat glops of Touya’s sweat dripped onto the stone at the impact, you rather enjoyed the gentle wafting about your dorm room at the blades of your ceiling fan.

He must have felt your appreciation. “Stop that. I’m making a point. Look at this shit,” he said, gesturing to the brook and then up at the three-quarter moon, “I’ve gotta change the course of the water, because it’s better to face towards the moon to capture its reflection, and I’ve gotta make it somehow cascade or waterfall at some point over there.” He pointed far across the garden towards a flickering pair of stone lanterns. “How am I supposed to do that? I can’t even make it flow through gravel right. I might have to move some of the stepping stones again. I fucking hate those things. They’re too heavy for one person, and I’ve already had to rearrange them because some of them weren’t fucking weathered or natural-looking enough.”

“Sure. Death to aesthetics,” you said, blindly feeling around for a pack of gum you kept in your bedside table, “I’d come help you if I could, but somebody—”

“You’re not getting a location out of me, princess.”

You paused, hand on the knob of the first drawer, and a wide, smug smile broke across your face (Princess, Touya? You’re gonna call me princess? You sure you don’t care about me?).

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“I could feel it,” said Touya, flexing his fingers on his knees, “so shut up.”

Gloved hands clenched into fists, he glared at the brook, the gravel, up at the moon, and back into the water.

“You know, it looks like if you moved most of the gravel to one side, the water might flow the direction you need it to.”

“Who’s the one busting their ass here, me or you?” But he plunged his hands into the water, grabbed heaping fistfuls of rocks, and patted them onto the far side of the stone bed.

“Touya,” you said, feeling around in your drawer for the pack of gum, “Take your gloves off! You’re gonna ruin the leather.”

“Like I care.” He dragged more gravel underwater. “If I took ’em off, you’d see my hands.”

“Come off of it, Touya. I bet they’re perfectly fine,” you said, successfully grabbing gum and sliding your drawer shut, “Hands are often the most attractive part of a man.”

He paused, water flowing around his arms up to his elbows (he wouldn’t roll up his sleeves, either. Stubborn boy. He must hate whatever’s going on with him). “Not the dick?” He sounded like he was grinning.

“Not always. Some of them look like sad, sea creatures,” you said, unwrapping your gum into your phone’s speaker to annoy him, “It takes talent to have a pretty cock. Hands, however, can easily be lusted over because of what they’re capable of. Or what you know they’ve done.”

(Hee hoo hah, like burn down a city. You’re so normal about it.)

“Not how they look?”

“Appearance can help, but it’s not the whole cow,” you said, chewing while the flavour faded fast.

Touya scoffed, his fingers sinking into gravel. “You makin’ fun of me?”

What? “Of course not. Why?”

“Don’t say shit like that to get on my good side. I’m more than aware I ain’t got anything besides my shitty personality goin’ for me.” He cleared his throat. “That sign language guy got anything I don’t?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You sure seem obsessed with him,” said Touya, leaning more deeply into the water, soaking his hoodie even more, “even though he sounds pathetic. You tryin’ to fix him to make yourself look good?”

“Of course not. I know no one can fix anyone else. He has to choose to do that himself,” you said, “Not that there’s anything about him that merits fixing.”

Laughing (oh? hot), Touya scooped a handful of gravel out of the wheelbarrow to add it to the far side. “Yeah, you’re fucking obsessed with him. Am I not your soulmate?”

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it (and…you…couldn’t see it). “You haven’t given me anything to obsess over, unless you want me to research gardening tips or how to breed carp.”

“I would love for you to be obsessed with breeding, sweet—”

“Oh, my God, you have to ease into that sort of thing, Touya.”

He pulled his hands out of the brook, drenched sleeves gushing water back into it. “D’you want me to start with how much I wanna suck on your perfect tits?”

“Touya,” you said carefully, shoving the gum to one cheek, “Is everything okay? You’re acting—strange.”

“What do you—”

“Where’s the blind hatred for me? Where’s the disdain?”

Sitting back on his knees, Touya shoved his leather-wet-dripping hands into the damp, double pocket of his hoodie with a muted slosh. “You think I hate you?”

“You’re that rude to people you don’t hate?”

Water seeped through the pocket and through his jeans, visibly darker in the moonlight and soaking his thighs. “Fuck off. I mean—what I mean is that I’m not used to people like you. Who don’t talk like me. Who aren’t mean to me back. Or who don’t seem to want anything from me. Didn’t know you really thought I was rude.”

You screwed up your face. “Who have you been hanging out with? What the hell is wrong with you? Spend time with people who like you, please?”

“No one likes me—”

“Get your head out of your ass, edgelord,” you said, sitting up in bed and holding the phone up to your mouth, “Newsflash, dipshit, it sounds like lots of people like you. Your brother, who wants to help you make your mom happy, in an easy, physical way that you’re more than capable of. Your mom, who sounds like she’s happier now that you’re back in her life. The rest of your goddamn family, who want you close by so that they can help you if you ever fucking accepted it. Your stupid friends who are into Assassins’ Creed.”

“Stop fucking noticing things about—”

“And me. I like you, dipshit. Get over yourself. You’re digging yourself your own lonely, self-deprecating hole, where I guess you’re at your most comfortable. But tonight alone you’ve shown in your garden that you fucking hate digging holes. They mean unnecessary work.”

Inhaling sharply, you threw your phone into the bedspread, but all that came through was a distant deer scare, bamboo hitting rock.

“Since when do you like me?” he asked, pushing on his knees to stand.

The artificial-yellow light from your lamp starting creeping in around the rim of your vision, blotting out parts of Touya’s silhouette in the moonlight. “I talk to you, don’t I? I wouldn’t even acknowledge the bond if I weren’t open to—we’ve been hanging out. You didn’t know?”

“Like I would know what that looks like,” said Touya, the walls of your room coming into view while Touya pulled his own phone out of his inner pocket, tapping the screen to see how long the call has lasted, “Like I would know how someone like you would behave when they like me.”

“Stay on the goddamn phone,” you said in the moment his thumb hovered over the end call button, the last thing you made out before fully sinking back into your dorm room, “If you don’t know what I—well, what does your love look like, Touya? What do you do when you like someone?”

“Sexually? Romantically?”

“Not necessarily,” you said, pissed to have the connection severed and sliding off of the bed to turn off the lights, “Just when you care for someone at all.”

“Gimme a minute,” came Touya’s voice, and after you flipped the lights and the ceiling fan off, you wandered over to your window, switched your phone off speaker, and held it to your ear as you stared up at the same moon Touya was under, and you waited.

“Right, I don’t know for sure,” he said after a while (but it sounded like he’d stopped dealing with the gravel to think about it), “but this is the only thing that’s coming to mind. Before I was living at home again, me and some friends didn’t have consistent sources of food. Don’t interrupt to say you’re sorry. But. So, whenever I’d, uh, buy stuff. From a store. I’d make sure I got some sort of snack for whoever I was with, even though we were all too proud to ask for shit. Didn’t really think about doing it on purpose. But I guess I did.”

“You are deliciously, delightfully, tender as fuck,” you said, clenching a fist over your heart, your boob jostling with the fervent impact (and it pleased you knowing that Touya would’ve laughed if he’d seen), and you kept talking over his sounds of disapproval. “And I am gonna cook for you. I am going to set you a table so vast that you’re gonna be eating off it for a long, long time. You’re never gonna be fucking hungry ever again, Touya.”

When he didn’t answer, you worried you said the wrong thing, but you stayed on the line, listening. Two minutes later, he hung up, and you could have sworn he cut off in the middle of a wet sniffle.

***

What can you cook? What were you good at cooking that actually constituted a filling meal?

Start small, you supposed.

Fuyumi kept the Todoroki kitchen much more well-stocked than the kitchen to which you had access, and so, with welcome permission, you headed over to the estate earlier than the scheduled viewing time to prepare, with Shinsou and Todoroki hanging out in the kitchen with you.

“Jirou says she can attend,” said Todoroki, thumb swiping across his phone screen, “Turns out her tipping point was stating the merits of studying Melody’s music powers. She’s asking if Yaoyorozu may attend as well?”

“It’s your house.” Shinsou was folding his napkin into an origami frog. “If there’s a need for excuses, you can always say Yao might like—I forget his name, but he’s that character in the Phantom Troupe whose hair looks like a mop? She might like analysing how his power lets him copy anything, even though it doesn’t have the same limitations like her quirk.”

“I will mention that,” said Todoroki, nodding sagely.

The plan was simple: with a captive audience of anime nerds, you could get feedback on your cooking until it was good enough for Touya (a small part of you still cringed thinking about how he reacted to your potato wedges). You would lure your friends into a state of complacency with your smaller dishes—baked goods, and the like—until there was no escape when you served them something more filling, like soups.

Today, you were making teeny little lemon ricotta pancakes (the recipe called for them to be regular-sized, but if you made them around the size of a potato chip, it would be more accessible to eat with fingers in the living room) that gave you the air of being fancy but were actually mindless to make, it turned out, and right now, you were stirring the stewing blueberry syrup that you’d decided would be a dipping sauce rather than drizzled over—the Todorokis had an excess of white furniture, and you would like to be invited to use their kitchen again.

“I think,” you said, once the syrup was behaving like syrup when you let it dribble out of the ladle back into the pot, “I’m gonna take some to your brother. I don’t want him feeling left out, if he comes through. He’s home right now, yeah?”

“He’s in his teahouse. It’s towards the back of the garden.” Todoroki got up from the table. “Do you want me to show you?”

“I’m sure I can find it, since it’s the only building not connected to the main one,” you said, but you did accept his help finding a tray and sauce cup for the syrup, and once it was set, you picked up the tray and strode with purpose towards the garden.

Walking through its seemingly-natural landscape while balancing food and liquids proved to be miraculously easy. Their hired gardeners must be doing insane upkeep to ensure its deliberate, natural-but-not cosiness. You made a mental note to ask Touya what some of the structures symbolised, like the recurring patterns of three rocks of different heights close together. He’d know, reluctantly, since he did stuff like this, and you considered his work to be superior to this, anyway.

In the blistering sun, you had to narrow your eyes to slits, regretting that both of your hands were full so that you couldn’t shield them from the light, and you found a gated, stone path to the teahouse. Clearly, it had once been slightly dilapidated but had since been worked on; another room had been latched on to the side to double its size, judging by the change in architecture styles, and the roof reflected sunlight a little too well for its polished, stone tiles to be less than a year old.

Bracing the tray, you took the steep step onto the neatly swept, bamboo engawa running around the edge of the teahouse, and you—was the door around to the side? Around the left side of the original part of the tearoom, two shoji panels had been spread to let in sunlight upon an empty room with an actual fucking sunken hearth, unlit, with one of the same fire-fish as on the estate’s roofs for the crank’s lever. Behind what would have been the seat of honour stood a dishevelled tokonoma, devoid of scrolls or incense burners but instead housing an unzipped backpack atop a long coat, its sleeves trailing onto the floor outside the tokonoma, with sticky notes taped to its inner wall. A red-tinted wood dresser had been pushed into the corner, tissues and hand sanitiser atop it and a single stack of books propped next to it.

A pair of boots was tucked inside the open shoji. Maybe he’s asleep.

At your first step inside, you jolted so hard you had to struggle to hold onto the tray—the floor had chirped at you. Dead ringer for a bird call. Tentatively, you took another step, and it chirped again, this time with a bit of a wheeze, more artificial-sounding.

You jumped and stumbled again at another wall sliding open, giving the impression that a flock of birds had flown inside, and Dabi poked his head through the gap (you could make out the gleaming pause screen of a gaming system in the newer room behind him). His face had relaxed when he’d seen it was you, but it pinched into a strange, unnameable expression when he saw what you were carrying.

“Hi,” you said, holding out the tray, “I’ve made too many snacks for the anime group today, so I thought you might like some? I can take it away, if you don’t want any.”

Since he probably didn’t know the amount of people attending nowadays, he probably didn’t recognise your lie. Dabi held up a finger for you to wait while he exhumed a short table and two floor seats from storage in the walls, and he waited for you to sit before he did, slowly, crossing his legs on the cushion, his joints creaking.

“They’re little lemon ricotta pancakes. Todo—Shouto told me you didn’t have any food allergies, so it should be fine. That’s blueberry syrup,” you said when he pointed at it. “I’m—I guess you could say I’m practising recipes for cooking for someone else. If you don’t like it, please let me know. I’ll make it better next time.”

Dabi fiddled with two of the tiny pancakes before selecting one, inspecting it in the sunlight, and dipping it into the syrup (you went a little crazy when it dripped onto his tongue stitches, but you managed to suppress it). As he chewed and swallowed loudly, Dabi’s eyes bulged, brow furrowed, and he, panicked, fumbled around for probably his phone, patting the pockets on his jeans. Hands pausing after slapping the empty pockets on his ass, he sprung up, grabbed a pen off of the dresser, and snatched a sticky note off of the inner wall of the tokonoma. He returned to the table and knelt half on the seat, scribbling furiously, and when he pushed the sticky note to you, under a crossed-out potting soil, sledgehammer, he’d written fuck you marry me NOW.

There’s a moment in which you forgot, a moment in which you laugh, head tilted back, flooded with endorphins at your long-time, pseudo-celebrity crush liking something you made to even joke about being in a relationship with you. You opened your mouth to make some joke about how you’d like to go on a few dates first, to have some sort of courtship, but you stopped at the first word: “Touya.” You cut yourself off, brow pinched. You can’t have two.

Not that…not that Dabi/Touya could ever genuinely like you, who fought against him and now witnessed his debasement, but in the far-flung chance that he could, you should clarify about your Touya.

“Touya,” you said again, this time sober and grim, hands folded on your lap, “I know you were only joking, but I was in a quirk-related incident a while ago, and it assigned me a soulmate. So, even if you could like me, I’ve got someone waiting. Presumptuous of me to say, I know, but. I want to treat you with kindness and not make you wonder, in the case it arises. Funnily enough, his name is Touya, too—”

Your phone rang loudly in your back pocket (you kept it on loud nowadays so you could easily feel around for Touya’s call, but it’d led you to awkward moments like this, too). Dabi scowled when you brought it out to silence it and dipped another pancake in the syrup, letting it absorb what it could to tinge it purple.

“It’s him, actually. Odd timing.” Lying flat in your palm, your phone flashed an incoming call from Touya. Leaning across the table, Dabi grabbed it out of your hands to answer it, put it on speaker, and lay it in the centre of the table while he ate his soggy pancake, shaking his head when you moved to undo all of that.

“Hey,” came a tinny, raspy voice that was very much not your Touya’s, “You’re the soulmate, right?”

Dabi shouldn’t have to hear this. Before you could tap the speaker button again, Dabi swatted your hand out of the way, gesturing for you to answer.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, shifting in your seat, “Who are you? Where’s—”

“Tell Touya he left his phone at my place the next time you see through him.” A repetitive, techno instrumental played in the background (video game music?). “At Shiiiiiiiimura’s place. Yeah.”

“I can do that, Shimura,” you said, unsure if you should hold out the vowel as long as he did, and perhaps you can take advantage of the situation for a brief moment, because Dabi was staring at your phone with a constipated sort of expression as he listened. “I can’t control when the bond activates, but I’ll let him know. Do you know what sort of food he likes?”

Shimura barked out a laugh, filling the room in a wide, cleansing way you wouldn’t expect from someone with his scratchy voice. “I heard your potato wedges are shit.”

You sputtered, “He didn’t even have any—”

Dabi ended the call, frowning, shaking his head, and tipping your phone off the table to gently bounce twice when it hit the tatami. He held up a tiny pancake and made a show of looking at it, at you, and back at it, and he shot you an aggressive thumbs-up.

***

Uraraka spent an entire patrol gushing about how she would fuck the author of Hunter x Hunter if she could, so she showed up to the next get-together, along with Asui, whom everyone already thought would be friends with the story’s protagonist if he were real. When you Aoyama caught you in the act of stealing one of his posh cookbooks, you explained the situation to him, and so he tagged along to taste what you were cooking, along with supplying some of the fancier ingredients you wouldn’t’ve known how to obtain. Then you’d asked Sato for advice on how to make the swirl in a strawberry swirl loaf not go to shit, and then the group had spent a few hours discussing the good relationships with animals that Hunters are inherently supposed to have, so Kouda was summoned for his opinions.

The long of short of it was that there were many more spectators than necessary to when Dabi strode into the viewing room, drenched in sweat from his walk back home, to pelt the back of your head with a two-pack of Sakeru cheese. As you rubbed the back of your head, pulling the cold plastic from between your shirt collar and skin, he at least had the decency to drop the single-wrapped fish bread into your lap.

“Hey, Touya,” you said, grabbing his hand before he could skitter away as usual (his wide eyes couldn’t decide to look at both of your hands or at your face), “I’ve set aside slices of both strawberry swirl bread and garlic bread for you in the kitchen. I recommend heating the garlic bread up so the cheese gets all melty again, but it’s good at room temperature, too. Thank you, by the way. For these.”

Nodding hastily, Dabi tore his hand away from your in two, spasming jerks, and he slithered into the kitchen.

Though the rest were watching the show, Shinsou was turned towards you, his head tilted with an incredulous sort of smile. You stuck your tongue out at him and crinkled open the cheese.

Dabi returned with both slices on a paper towel and stood behind you at the couch for a minute, watching the episode. Shifting his weight, he pulled out his phone. “This is garbage,” came a droning, text-to-speech voice from behind.

He stood behind the couch for three more episodes.

***

Through another moonlit, soulmate connection, Touya was failing to prod stray ducks out of the koi pond with the skimmer.

“They’re tenacious little bastards,” you said, sitting on the counter of the dorm kitchen and praying to God that the oven timer wouldn’t go off while you couldn’t see.

“Why. Won’t they. Move.” Touya nudged a duck with the flat of the skimmer, its width as long as the entire duck, and the duck kept gabbing to its friends. “I have no idea if ducks upset the chemical balance of the water enough to kill koi; I’ve never seen them in here before ten minutes ago. Goddamn.” He waved the skimmer over the water’s surface, filtering some debris, and he flipped it onto a duck, who remained vexingly apathetic at the new source of wet. “Tonight was gonna be easy; I was only gonna put up windchimes; I was gonna get to go to bed early. Now I—no, no, no, don’t—!”

One duck bit at the skimmer net, and having pierced it, the duck led the rest of them to the centre of the pond, where the skimmer couldn’t reach, no matter how Touya strained.

“I fucking hate birds,” said Touya, slamming the skimmer on the ground, “and I fucking hate fish. They’re not even good when they’re alive.” Seeming to have a change of heart, Touya picked the skimmer up and took care to lean it against the stone wall of the pond. “Tell me something good, won’t you?”

Does that imply you don’t have to work on any fish dishes? “You’ll be thrilled to hear that my little anime analysis group is almost through the Hunter x Hunter anime, probably. We got to the end of the 1999 version last night.”

Touya sat and splayed his legs on the koi pond stone, watching the moon’s reflection ripple as koi tails broke surface tension. “That’ll only make your process more streamlined, since you’re not watching two episodes covering the same chapters in conjunction anymore. The Chimera Ant arc takes forever, though. You’re not almost done.”

Groping around for your oven mitts, you smiled. “How do you know that, Touya? Thought you hated—”

“What are you going to watch next?”

Stupid boy. Shy boy. “Well, Sero is pushing for Pokémon since there’s so much of it.”

“God, no,” said Touya, leaning back on his hands, “Iconic, yeah. Fun, not really, because in the games, you’re the one getting to battle and bond with the things. It’s not fun to watch someone else get to do it.”

“I can rely on you for negative reviews of everything.” Oven mitt? Oven mitt. Now, where’s its pair? “You want a pokémon, Touya? Which ones?”

“You are such a fucking child—”

“You want a pikachu, don’t you?”

“Hell, no,” Touya spat, “None of that cliché shit. Pikachu isn’t even that good. I—” Cutting himself off, he hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his gloved hands together. “You’ll shit on me for it. Forget I said anything.”

“Should I let you make fun of me first?” You slipped on the other mitt. “I’m cliché as hell. My top choice is either a certain starter or an eevolution.”

“No, I—”

“All right. How about you tell me your favourite as a kid and the one you would choose now?”

“You’re pushy as hell. When I was a kid, I wanted a Ninetales. I was—my mom had read enough for me to know about traditional kitsune,” said Touya, and he ducked his head to stare between his legs (crotch unfortunately hidden in shadow), “and Ninetales is immune to fire. It can use it and not burn up, and it’s not affected by outside fire attacks.”

The memory of rubbing burn cream across Dabi’s shoulders and how delicate his skin looked surfaced. You wouldn’t wish that on anyone. “You scared of being burned, Touya?”

Touya kicked the stone beneath his boot, scuffing it. “Just seems like it’d be neat.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” you said, wrapping your muppet-y, mitted hands around the oven handle in preparation for whenever it would go off, “and a perfectly logical pokémon to latch onto. It’s fairly popular. I don’t see how I’m supposed to make fun of you for that.”

“Sure.” Touya bent farther to re-tie his bootlaces. “I like my current choice for a dumb as hell reason, though. Shiiiiiiiimura,” said Touya, yanking the laces tightly (and he dragged out Shimura’s name, too. Was that the proper pronunciation?), “was trying to hype us up for something stupid we had to do that some of our friends were scared of. Shimura’s teacher—’scuse me, abusive fucking manipulative shithead of an adoptive father—wanted him to make a speech to show leadership, or some bullshit. Instead, Shimura pulled out his phone and showed us someone’s video of playing one of the early Pokémon games, for the battle at the end to win the game. And to defeat the last boss’s toughest Dragonite, the player used this…this fuckin’ weak-ass, all-around insignificant pokémon picked up from the beginning of the game, and it fuckin’ won. It won against the toughest opponent, and—and Shimura was saying, oh, the Venomoth is us, and we can win against our big-ass enemy, oh, ho, ho—”

“Excuse me. A Venomoth? You only use them temporarily at the beginning of the game, when you don’t have anything cool yet. They fucking suck.”

“See, you’re making fun of me. I’m not going to say anything else.” Touya leant back on his hands again, this time crossing his legs to prop his ankle on his opposite knee.

“No, I’m—I’m sorry. Sorry. First impressions. But you’re convincing me. Go on. I’m listening.”

Touya flicked water towards the ducks. “Are you gonna keep insulting—”

“I won’t! I won’t,” you said, sliding off the kitchen counter to stand directly in front of the oven, “So, Venomoths. I hear they’re fantastic.”

Touya rolled his eyes, and it was cute, you thought, how you had to follow the motion, seeing the moon at the upwards roll and back at its reflection in the pond. “Yeah. I bet Shimura’s forgotten all about it, but it stuck with me. Not immediately—at the time it was stupid, and to be fair, it’s still stupid. But now that I’m back here, living at home, it’s—it’s stupid. It’s, like, if that stupid fucking bug can defeat a goddamn dragon, then I can tend the garden. I can keep that stupid tsukubai clean. I can hang out with my brother. I can fucking—” He cut himself off again, this time striking the water hard enough to splash one of the ducks (it quacked at him with disdain and simply swam a couple of centimetres away).

“Do what, Touya?” The oven timer started beeping, and you tensed. “Hold on; don’t say anything. Don’t say—I have to concentrate; I’m getting stuff out of an oven.”

Touya stirred the pondwater with his ring and middle fingers while you blindly approximated the logistics of getting the tray out of the oven, and by standing at the oven’s side inside of reaching into it from the front, you were eventually able to remove the tray and rest it on the counter above it—you’re not going to bother feeling around for the pot holders.

When you sighed in relief once you’d closed the oven again, Touya asked, “What are you cooking?”

“Strawberry cheesecake muffins,” you said, frowning in the tray’s general direction, “They’re supposed to have a marbling effect, and I’m supposed to be putting on some sort of streusel-type sugar on top right now, but I’m not gonna risk it. I hope they’re done. You have to trust the recipe’s bake time with cheesecakes exactly, so I’m hoping it’s the same for—”

“I am gonna make you come so hard,” Touya was saying in a strained sort of way as he ran his hands down his face, “I am gonna fuck you so hard that you leave in a permanent dent in my mattress. I am gonna hold you and kiss the back of your neck and make you cry out as you gush around my fingers. You’re—you’re so fucking per—I am gonna take care of you back.”

“Cool.” Right, so bake the muffins again at some point. “Do you have any food allergies?”

“I’m allergic to you not saying anything hot in response to what I just said.”

Sure, Touya. “I’m also gonna make you this really sexy tomato soup with what the recipe calls a grilled cheese top. It’s got cheesy bread cut into chunks that coat the surface so that you can’t even see the red, and it melts into the soup—”

“Stop, I can only get so hard—”

“Show me your cock, then.”

“No,” said Touya, deliberately looking at a trio of fish convening near the pond’s surface, their o-shaped mouths blorbing and blobbing underneath the water towards Touya’s waving fingers, “I meant—well, first, you are gonna make that soup, pl—please—but I meant that—I mean.” He twirled his finger under the water, and the koi were fascinated. One of them kissed his finger. You were feeling a similar impulse—and perhaps that’s what prompted Touya to continue. “I came the first time someone stuck their tongue in my mouth.”

It occurred to you that anyone could be walking by the dorm kitchen to overhear. Now that the muffins were out of the oven, you elected to turn off the speaker setting to hold you phone to your ear. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I was sixteen and insane with hormones, and it hadn’t been long since I’d woken up from—well. When someone kissed me with tongue for the first time, I came in my pants. Taken completely by surprise that someone was even kissing me, that someone could even want me when I look like—and then that. We were outside, on a public bridge, during the day. I haven’t seen that fucker since.”

You had been contemplating whether it’d be worth fumbling around for a knife to ease the muffins out of the tray, but all cogs stopped at Touya’s story. “Why are you telling me this?”

“So you’ll tell me something back. I already told you some embarrassing shit about pokémon and shit, so you have to embarrass yourself back. You’re the one who brought up cocks, anyway. So—so you have to share something back,” said Touya, allowing a fish to rub up against his hand in a pseudo-sort of petting it, “Something about when you were young and stupid.”

“And preferably sexual, right? I know what you’re about, you shy, baby boy.”

“Ffffffuck that.I ain’t shy—”

“You won’t show me your face, Touya. You’re scared for me to see it. Shy boy.”

Touya scratched along the side of the koi like it wanted, and another nudged the back of his hand to be scratched, too. “Fuck off.”

“I’ve only told one other person about my first kiss,” you said, moving to sit on the counter again, “Wanna hear that story?”

“Fine,” said Touya, and he pulled his hand out of the pond, flicking water off his fingers and into the open, mournful mouths of the koi he’d been petting. “You had better be about to tell me about seeing through me at that coffee shop.”

“Come off of it, Touya; isn’t it better for me to have outside experience and still choose you regardless? My first kiss was way before that,” you said, hoping how pleased you were at his mild possessiveness was being transferred to his side of the bond, “and I didn’t even know the guy’s name at the time. And it was—it could’ve turned really bad, really quickly. Because my first kiss was with Dabi, before he made his villain debut.”

“Do—huh?” Touya shook his head, causing you to wince and steady yourself at the dizziness. “Beg pardon? Beg your fucking pardon? I didn’t—know that that Dabi guy went around kissing people.”

“He did at least once. It was back in freshman year, and I was out at night during my hero internship.” Getting comfortable on the kitchen counter, you crossed your legs and leant against the cabinets to support your back, exhaustion kicking in. “Some older sidekick hit on me in what was an exceedingly creepy way—he made it pseudo-incestuous by saying I reminded him of his daughter. In retrospect, the interaction could have gone much, much worse, if Dabi hadn’t inadvertently rescued me—scratch that, it may have been intentional, looking back, because he’d said stuff about the sidekick being a shitty father, and now he’s, uh, let us know about his own dad.”

It took Touya a moment. At least he wasn’t shaking his head anymore. “Are you saying Dabi burnt some guy to death in front of you, and you still kissed him?”

You sucked in through your teeth. “Not exactly. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was testing out a nomu, and that ripped the other guy to pieces. And—this is gonna sound wild—I think Dabi may have kissed me to comfort me? I know it was a distraction from the gore and from getting a good look at the nomu, but I think he may have also done it to calm me down. It was—oddly sweet.”

Touya gripped the edge of the stone wall, his fingers dipping into water (but not deep enough to remoisten his leather gloves) and koi swarming. “What did the nomu look like?”

Even though you couldn’t see it, you held your phone away from your ear for a second to shoot it an incredulous look. “Wha—Touya, weren’t you going to ask if he were a good kisser, or something?”

His knuckles popped when he clenched his fingers and asked flatly, “Was he a good—”

“You’re better.”

“Thanks,” he said, not sounding like he cared about that at all, letting a koi drag his hand into the water by biting his finger, “What did the nomu look like?”

“God, I don’t fucking know. That wasn’t important to me. I, uh—it was around the size of a good-sized dog, like a golden retriever or a lab. I don’t—I guess it walked on all fours,” you said, wondering why the fuck—oh, the dizziness must not have come only from Touya shaking his head, because it’s sweeping over you again, waves emanating from the bond. “Now that I’ve seen other nomu, I can recognise that its head looked whacky because its brain was exposed, and I think its skin was more green-tinged than the others who had that navy-black colour going on. Honestly, Touya, I wasn’t—”

Through the phone came such a strident, alarming crack that you halted mid-sentence to listen for it again. It’d come from Touya’s side, clearly, but nothing in his line of vision betrayed its source, although—and you would not have noticed this if you hadn’t been scanning his environment for any hint—something that looked like split glass frosted the inside of Touya’s fist before he unclenched his hand a second later, any illusion of something there melting into the water.

But something was wrong. “Touya?”

“You still see that Dabi guy when you watch anime at Shouto’s house, yeah? Stay on the line,” he said, darkness of the bond fading drabbling at the edges of his vision from your perspective.

“I am,” you said, uncrossing your legs, “I do.”

“What do you think of him? Ugly fucker, isn’t he?” Touya fell still as a duck approached him as it navigated through the water lilies, and Touya’s outstretching his hand to its head was the last thing you saw before the bond gave out. “Still as pathetic as he was in the war? Think he should be in prison?”

“Negative reviews of people, negative reviews of television, negative reviews of potato wedges—so cool, bro. Now say something true and beautiful.”

“Answer me, damn it.” A disgruntled quack.

“You’d better not be strangling that duck.”

“You think so little of me? Do you want me to put the duck on the phone?”

“I don’t think it could sit comfortably,” you said, pushing yourself off the counter and walking to the knife drawer now that you could see, “I see Dabi every once in a while when I’m at Todoroki’s house. He’s shy. I don’t mind. It’s not my place to assume anything, but. I don’t think he’s doing okay, since it seems like he’s spent a good part of his life wanting someone to look at him, to pay attention, and now he’s getting that in a way he probably didn’t anticipate, and I want him to be okay. I think I’d like to help him get there, if he’d let me. But I know I’m nobody important to him, and that’s fine.”

“Sounds a lot like pity,” said Touya, and when you made a noise of protest, he kept going. “Or maybe you’re fucked up enough that you like him? From when he kissed you?”

You couldn’t exactly tell your soulmate that you’ve been suppressing naïve, celebrity-crush-type feelings for someone else. “Well,” you said, grimacing as you slid knife edge between a muffin and the tray and started to remove it, “He’s very babygirl-coded.”

***

TOUYA 🐠🚷

looked it up. definition of babygirl does NOT help

TOUYA 🐠🚷

incidentally

TOUYA 🐠🚷

what should a guy wear to impress someone

YOU

a guy? or you specifically?

YOU

because i am, of course about to suggest the golden standard of rolling up thy sleeves to thy elbows, but you won’t even showing your fucken hands asldkjfa;

TOUYA 🐠🚷

gloves necessary.

TOUYA 🐠🚷

but think formal. formal setting.

YOU

why are YOU going to a formal event?

TOUYA 🐠🚷

have to. blackmail/family obligation/rent.

TOUYA 🐠🚷

open to suggestions. about style more than brand, because if I go too expensive, my dad will think I’m making him pay a lot as sabotage.

YOU

and here i was about to recommend that you go skinny-dipping in a vat of liquid gold

TOUYA 🐠🚷

you just wanna see my cock, don’t cha

YOU

what makes you think I’D be invited to some shitty formal event

TOUYA 🐠🚷

I’m betting you’d hear about it on the news

YOU

i think i’d be more interested in what food is provided

TOUYA 🐠🚷

…

TOUYA 🐠🚷

no, I shan’t say

YOU

is this a cum joke

TOUYA 🐠🚷

but seriously. what should I wear. assume I will do something awful and evil and that you will see the outfit on the news when I get arrested.

YOU

touya, how would i recognise you. idk what YOU even look like. not that it matters, i guess. all that matters is that you wear something that fits you well. you don’t need to impress me; you’ve already won me over

TOUYA 🐠🚷

i what

TOUYA 🐠🚷

wait what do you MEAN it doesn’t matter

YOU

does it help get it through your thick head if i tell you that you are also babygirl-coded? perhaps not even coded but genuinely babygirl??

TOUYA 🐠🚷

it does not.

***

Adjusting your lace shawl, you gripped Shouto’s arm as the both of you furtively sneaked away from the hordes of pro-heroes, industry workers, and flashing press to slink back to the enormous table of hors d'oeuvres to see how many of them you could pack into your purse and his strategically planned inner coat pocket, sewn into the inside of his lapel for the occasion.

When Shouto had invited you to this ghastly awards ceremony for Endeavor, he’d claimed his motivation was that so he could talk to you about how the 2011 Hunter x Hunter anime was wrapping up, since he (flatterer!) said you had the best interpretations of certain characters, unlike some of your classmates, and Shouto tempted you with how you could stake out whatever posh food they had for you to try to recreate later. So, you’d dug out the dress you’d only worn to All Might’s official retirement party and agreed to attend.

Those present were a strange conglomeration of people, since the public opinion of Endeavor has been odd and tenuous lately. Essentially, the handful of attendees you knew were busy ingratiating themselves to people you’ve never seen before but they evidently were acquainted with, so those with whom you could hold an actual conversation with were scattered and few.

However, you didn’t even need to bring a book, because once you and Shouto had settled at a back table with both of your plates stacked with the most variety you could fit on them, he deadass pulled out his anime analysis notebook, which was starting to resemble Midoriya’s quirk analysis notebooks in terms of extensiveness and insanity, with lines crossing several pages to connect ideas. As you discussed where the two of you thought the characters were going, you had your own notebook—a new one, this one for recipes, and whenever either of you thought one of the appetizers was interesting, you wrote it down.

You were chewing on what Shouto had informed you was a water chestnut when the chair on your other side was pulled out with a screech against the tile, and Todoroki Touya plopped into it, his legs hardly having the time to spread before swiping a piece of candied salmon from your plate. The instant he bit down into it, his nose scrunched up.

“It’s fish, Touya,” said Shouto, dipping his own crudité in a tiny bowl of raspberry vinaigrette, and he passed his napkin to him. Touya spat the salmon into it, bunched it up, and edged it underneath the edge of your plate.

On your list, you wrote no fish! at the top, but before you even lifted your pen from the paper, you froze. The list wasn’t for this Touya; it was for your Touya. You crosshatched it out, trying to remember if your Touya had ever said anything about liking fish. He’d said he hadn’t, right? He didn’t like them alive, at the very least.

Shouto chomped down harshly, the crunch of raw celery distinct even through his closed mouth. “What brings you over here, Touya?”

He already had the text-to-speech function pulled up on his phone, and he held a parmesan palmier between his teeth as he typed. “People were asking Natsuo and Fuyumi about what they’re doing with their lives. It was only a matter of time before they got to me. Don’t wanna hear anyone else describe the nothing I’m doing. At least I know you guys are too busy talking about nerd crap to shit on me.”

“Oh, sweet boy,” you said, pursing your lips, “You’re in recovery. That’s enough. You don’t have to do anything to be worthwhile.” Wait. Fuck. You don’t talk to this Touya this way. Reel it back.

Crumbs fell from his mouth to the tablecloth. “The hell is wrong with you?” he typed.

Yeah, reel it way back. You elected not to respond, instead biting with difficulty into a brie/fig/prosciutto crostini and not being able to taste any of it.

“Would you like to discuss some so-called nerd crap with us?” Shouto arranged his notebook father across the table to be more in the middle of the three of you. “I know it’s been a while since you read Hunter x Hunter, but it’s been on hiatus so long that there’s not much new information that you need to know.”

“Hey,” you said, rushing to swallow, “You’ve read this before? How come you haven’t been sitting in to watch stuff with us?”

Touya shot Shouto a dark look, tongued a chunk of palmier into his cheek, and furiously typed on his phone. “I’m not interested in that shit anymore. It’s for kids.”

Shouto looked taken aback. “This is news to me. Do I have permission to take your manga volumes out of the house, then?”

“Fuck you,” Touya had already typed while Shouto was talking.

You bit back a smile. You’ve been borrowing a former, major villain’s manga? Cute. “But if you read it a while back, that means you’ve had more time to think about the characters,” you said, resting your elbow on the back of your chair as you shifted to face him, “Most of us are absorbing the story for the first time. It’d be cool to hear what you think.”

That parmesan palmier had looked good. Trusting this Touya on his taste, you wrote it on your list to investigate later, while he typed his response.

His expression fell flat enough to match the robotic tone. “Do you just want to hear me project my daddy and mommy issues onto the characters in the Zoldyck family?”

“No, Touya,” you said, laughing, “You have valuable things to say across the board, and I want to listen.” You almost nudged his knee with yours, but you had to stop yourself, something dark swirling in your chest. This wasn’t your Touya. You’re not allowed to.

His eyes flicked down towards the movement, but he didn’t comment. Shifting his jaw, he slipped off his white tuxedo jacket to drape it over the back of his chair, and for some reason, his gaze kept darting to you while he rolled the sleeves of his button-down up to his elbows, but he tried to give the appearance of being very focused on whatever skewered meat and pineapple was on the rim of your plate.

You were frowning. Fuck this. Fuck him. Touya was probably one of those guys who knew their effect on women, so he would know about the rolling-sleeves-to-elbows move. And fucking hell, was it effective for him, because the way he’s lost a lot of weight but was currently gaining it back made the tendons in his forearms much more noticeable when they tensed and strained, and the asymmetry of the burns and scars up his left arm in comparison to the smoothness of his prosthetic right only made him even more horribly, horribly attractive, and you were pissed about it, only getting more furious as he wrapped his tongue around the base of the first pineapple chunk and used his teeth to maneuver it off of the stolen skewer, hooded eyes staring you down. This Touya can act like a fucking slut, sure, but your Touya won’t even show you his goddamn hands.

“Hey, watch out.” You scratched your forehead in an attempt to conceal how enraged you were. “I’ve already had one of those. That lump at the end is an overly-breaded coconut shrimp. So—fish—be careful,” you finished lamely.

Touya’s hands and mouth were full with the skewer. Unable to type on his phone, he shifted the skewer to his left hand, flattened his right, and tapped his left wrist with it—the JSL sign for thank you.

You nodded and didn’t think anything of it for a moment, but when it hit you, you seized up and stared at him, chest swelling, proud and confused and frozen. Getting a little lightheaded, actually, but oh, God, who wouldn’t at the sight of Todoroki Touya, quiet and subdued but still suave as fuck, sitting so close to you in a freshly dishevelled white tuxedo that fit like it was custom-made for him, smelling so, so good and smiling with his perfect teeth (how are they that good when he was with the League for so long?), leaning towards you to steal your food and showing that he’d been paying attention to you, that he’d taken the JSL book you’d left with Shouto, that he’d thought about you when you’ve been apart and cared enough to try to learn something new with you, and you were going to kiss him; he deserved it; you were going to grab that stupidly adorable face and—no, that lightheadedness was also stemming from the soulmate bond activating.

Nausea swept through you for more than one reason. If your Touya discovered you were fighting the urge to kiss someone else, let alone the other Touya, then—you didn’t know. You didn’t know how you’d ever recover. Please let this be from your perspective, so he can’t feel your feelings, please.

“I have to go,” you said, pushing up on the table to stand, not even bothering to flash Shouto the soulmate hand signal. You had to get away. No matter if it were from your perspective or his, distance would help you suppress your fucking shameful crush on your friend’s older brother.

Good God, you were crossing the streams, you noted and fumed as you escaped onto a vacant alcove. Because they have the same goddamn name, your brain has been conflating the two of them. Shut up. You’re only allowed to have one Touya. Two would be greedy and dismissive of the soulmate bond in the first place.

Vertigo struck you so severely that you had to brace yourself against the nearest column, but you swopped to the balcony railing because you could grasp it and put most of your weight on it, and because your brain was swimming, you hand to get on your knees to wait for it to pass. “No, you can’t,” you said, trying your hardest to push thought of that Touya out of your head in case your Touya could feel them, “You can’t—that one doesn’t need to be in a romantic relationship right now. He’s working on himself. It’d fuck him up.” And ohhhh, you left your phone at the table, so you couldn’t call your Touya, and fuck, you didn’t want him to feel confused or betrayed because you weren’t calling him—

“Whose future are you deciding, here?”

Your Touya. He was here?

You opened your eyes to the sight of the balcony and the garden below, thank fuck. Okay, you could work with this. You could work with this; he’s not supposed to be able to feel—

His voice came from close behind you, as if he were leaning on another side of the column. “What’s got you feeling this guilty?”

Holy shit holy shit, has the bond evolved? Can feelings be felt from both sides regardless of perspective? “Hey, Touya.”

“Don’t turn around,” he said, even though you’d made no movement to.

“Can you see?”

“Only through you, angel. Otherwise, I’m in the dark.” With the sounds of clothes shifting, Touya must have crouched behind you, joints cracking. A fingerless-gloved hand brushed down your arm, and he moved your lace shawl out of the way to stroke your bare skin. Your mind was already going haywire at your betrayal, and his cold, gentle touch was not helping. “What’s wrong, hm?” He adjusted himself again behind you so that he could wrap his other arm around your waist, pulling you back into him, and his cool, rough lips pressed against the curve of your neck as he rested his head there.

You were going to cry. You’ll do it. For real, this time.

“Did that Todoroki Touya guy bother you? I saw him sitting at your table.”

God, no, he brought up whom you were trying to avoid, and you cringed, hating yourself as Touya’s hand sank down your arms to entwine his fingers with yours, rumpled shirtsleeves grazing your bare skin and leather gloves curbing the maximal skin-to-skin contact.

“He’s so fucked up that I wouldn’t be surprised if you hated him,” Touya was saying into your ear, “I could grind him into a pulp for you. He’d deserve it, wouldn’t he, for what he did to everyone? And I was burning up with jealousy from across the room; someone as pretty as you shouldn’t have such a hideous thing by your side.”

You made a noise from the back of your throat. You didn’t know, and you especially didn’t need the one person you were trying to hide your internal conflict from while you were actively trying to work out the internal conflict. First things first, you supposed. “Touya’s not fucking ugly.”

Your Touya snorted against your neck, hot air washing down the hollow of your throat. “I forgot how twisted you are. But there’s no way you could actually like him, right?”

“I can’t,” you said, releasing the balcony to clench your fists on your knees, “I can’t like him. He needs to discover who he is as an individual before he finds out how he functions in a relationship. He doesn’t need romance—or me, at this point in his life.”

“Interesting,” he said, more clearly now that his mouth wasn’t muffled against your skin, “Sounds like you think something’s wrong with him. Like he’s not whole. And isn’t he broken? You’d have to be, if you pulled the shit he did, burning cities to the ground and murdering—”

“Shut up,” you said, hunching in on yourself, “You’re don’t know. You’re believing what other people have told you about him. You’re just—you’re just like people who talk about that nerd shit you hate without checking the source material. They’ll talk about certain characters in terms of false narratives they’ve crafted, and they’ll talk about them for so long that the false information becomes conflated with the characters, with everyone thinking the wrong stuff is real. I—fuck.” You winced, but he was listening, his free hand winding around your neck to adjust the migrant clasp on your necklace to the back of your throat. “I know my ideas of Touya stem from propaganda, but I want to learn about him from him. Just based on what I’ve seen, there’s so much out there that’s wrong—it’s even subconsciously perpetuated in his own home, since the shrine where his family mourned him is still there. And I hate it. I hate it, because he seems so lovable, but so are you, and I hate myself because I want to love only you, because you’re my soulmate, and I’m so, so, so goddamn terrified that you’re gonna reject me and leave me alone forever now that I’ve betrayed you. By feeling stuff for someone else.”

You were crying. You were crying, nose stopping up, and Touya kissed your throat, over the clasp of your necklace. “Rejection’s a bitch. I know that,” he said under his breath, “So, I’m not gonna do that to you, even if…” He trailed off, instead latching his mouth to your neck again, letting his tongue flick over your skin once, as if it were an afterthought. “You really like him?”

“I’m scared that I do,” you said, taking a corner of your shawl to daub at your tears.

“The only thing to do is feel it out, I guess.” Touya settled at last, shifting weight and moving his legs so that they’d be on either side of you, and his left arm joined the other around your waist to hold you close. “Or let it die, if you want. The soulmate bond doesn’t matter in the end. You don’t have to love him or me.”

“But Touya,” you said, sniffing, dying to look back at him but restraining yourself, “I do.”

***

Later that night, you were researching how to make little cheese balls that were shaped like pumpkins like they’d had at the awards ceremony when you felt the familiar wooziness. Funny. It’s not often that the bond activates twice in one day. You closed your laptop and set your notebook aside, waiting for the slow, drowsy fade into Touya’s eyes.

Tonight, it’s a jarring, instantaneous slam into his perspective, and you felt like you’d been knocked about in the baggage rack of a train. You threw out your hands to balance yourself, even though you hadn’t been physically moved, and the queasiness made it hard to concentrate, blackness blotting at the edges of your periphery.

But the darkness of Touya’s bedroom wasn’t helping, with only partially drawn curtains letting in moonlight, and—and oh, my God, he’s flat on his back in bed, tousled bedsheets, cock out, and it’s so pretty, unfairly pretty, thick as hell but thicker at the head than the base, blushing deep pink, leaking onto the faint lines of re-developing abs and a vaguely red trail of hair, and—

The hand touching it has skin grafts.

“—ugh, darlin’, fuck, you know what I’m gonna���gonna do to you, angel?” Touya was muttering to himself, too caught up to realise you were there. “You don’t—you don’t know what you do to me.”

You’d registered his pubic hair as vaguely red because, now that you were staring, only the very tips of the untouched hair trailing down his stomach were red, with what he’d probably shaved at some point lower on his body snowy against whatever unburnt skin could still grow hair. He’s gripping himself at an angle that doesn’t make him rub against a strand of load-bearing staples on his upper thigh (did someone say load?), connecting a stretch of familiarly burned skin to a healing graft, diamond-speckled and twitching with his cock the closer he drew to orgasm (from the back of your mind surfaced a questioning thought of if he’d advocated for healing his hands first, since staples would hinder smooth masturbation). His prosthetic arm lay unattached at his side.

“Hahh, I wanna,” said Touya, drawing in a ragged breath, “wanna make a mess outta you, y’always too put together, too fuckin’ pretty for y’own damn good, fuck.” He rubbed his thumb over his tip, the skin there giving everso slightly at the pressure, with another bead of precum swelling before it dripped onto his stomach. “Gonna find wha—whatever I can do to make you fuckin’ whine, and I’m gonna, hah, follow that sound for the rest of my goddamn life, and, oh—fuck, fuck, how, how sweet you’d feel wrapped around me, how much I don’t fuckin’ deserve—”

He cut himself off to take a deep, stuttering breath, and you saw the gates of heaven in the way his chest surged forward when he arched his back, lines of burns and scars carved into his skin like a roadmap. And Touya moaned for you, and you didn’t know how much you’d needed to hear both Touyas do that until now, but before he could finish the first syllable of your name, you were lurched out of the bond and back into your room, just as abruptly as it had begun.

Your hands were shaking as you tied your shoelaces, aware of the leak into your underwear when you bent over, and you dashed to the nearest train depot, navigating in fervent, distant buzz all the way to the Todoroki estate. You must have appeared sufficiently crazy, because the only vacant seats on the train were next to you.

(In your heart of hearts, you had known.

If you’d put it into words, consciously, where both Touyas overlapped, it would’ve been too hard to bear if they’d been different people, which was, regardless, the most logical situation. Getting excited for your soulmate to be your former crush and then being disappointed when it wasn’t him felt like a betrayal to your soulmate. You hadn’t wanted to set yourself up for disappointment or betrayal, because you shouldn’t feel guilt when you look at your soulmate. Someone who holds your heart in his hand should never be second best to you. Touya’s had enough of not being enough in his life.

Surely the random chance of a stranger’s quirk wouldn’t be so kind to give you whom you’ve been wanting. You haven’t allowed yourself to hope.)

You didn’t even go in the front door. You clambered over the garden wall and berated yourself for not recognising Touya’s garden earlier, even though you’ve usually been around the kitchen and living room when you’re here. It took you longer than it could’ve to get to his teahouse, because you were deliberately staying on the garden path instead of walking on his hard work, but you didn’t even take off your shoes at the entrance, the nightingale floors chirping out in the night as you surged towards his bedroom door.

Touya lay facing the window in his very Western bed that took up most of the room—and much of his bedroom was like that, with his modern belongings scattered across other outdated furnishings, clean but cluttered, thought it startled you to open the door onto a Naruto poster taped in the space designated for a hanging scroll.

You only had time to absorb poster and lived-in before you saw the face of God in how Touya stretched and groaned in bed, arching his back and holding it until his back popped (a little too fixated on his moonlit nipples, like seeing them would fix you, flip you back to your factory settings). “Natsuo,” he said, coming out of his groan, eyes scrunched shut, “Don’t say you’re here to make me re-hang the windchimes. I spent all day tracking how air flows through the garden.”

You sat at the foot of his bed, mattress dipping slightly, still in your coat and shoes and hesitant to spread dirt, but the need to be near Touya, even if it were through blankets, consumed you. Hands folded behind his head, Touya cracked open an eye at the weight, and he froze.

You hadn’t prepared any confession on the train. You’d been too focused on the memory of his thighs. So, what garbled nonsense that came out of your mouth was “I figured your dick would be pierced.”

Touya appeared to snap back into reality, and he sat up in bed, pulling the blankets up to cover more of his bare chest (mourning for his nipples. Inconsolable about it, even) and quite obviously tried so hard to be chill (the way his leg started jiggling underneath the covers and how he wouldn’t look you in the eyes for more than a couple of seconds gave him away, though). “Is that what they say about me?”

You folded your hands in your lap, bent over for a swift escape in case he wanted you to leave “Jirou conjectures that you have a Jacob’s ladder.”

“Just what I need. More holes in my body.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip—much more scarred than the upper one, clarifying some things about kissing him. “Don’t know how to take that a bunch of kids who resent me talk about the state of my dick. You a part of that crowd?”

“I was shown a picture of what was advertised to be a very realistic dildo,” you said, scooting your ass farther back onto the bed now that he wasn’t going to send you away, “It had many, many piercings. It wasn’t as thick, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does not,” said Touya, brow pinched. He brought his legs up to hug them to his chest, but he must have changed his mind, instead just letting them block your view of him, hiding behind the cover of the lumpy comforter.

You waited for him to elaborate. His tuxedo was thrown over a wicker trunk, bowtie tossed onto a kotatsu, even though it wasn’t cold enough outside, with his gaming controller next to it and an open can of black tea. Two floor seats were haphazardly tucked underneath the kotatsu’s blanket, the one facing the TV flatter and duller than the one nearer the door. His only bookshelf had the illusion that it was constantly being added to, with the first shelf arranged neatly and the rest completely shoved together, the lowest one still mostly empty—your sign language book lay horizontally on it.

He should’ve said something by now, right? Antsy, you shifted your weight, staring down at your shoes. To have something to do, you slowly took them off, lining them up with Touya’s house slippers (with seahorses on them?) next to the bed, and you swallowed your pride to break the ice. “I’m glad it’s you, by the way. Very glad.”

Touya grunted and draped an arm over his knees. “Did you know?”

“I will be generous and say not really,” you said, shuffling off your coat to hang on the bedpost, “I didn’t permit myself to make the connections.”

“Eh.” He shrugged with one shoulder—the left one, the natural one. He’d reattached his prosthetic in the meantime. “There are around one hundred Touyas in Japan, according to the last census.”

“Sounds like a prepared statistic,” you said, holding back that the name frequency has probably plummeted in the last few years, “I’m serious, though. I wanted my Touya—soulmate, you, Touya—to be Todoroki Touya. So badly.”

He covered his mouth, thumbing at his lower lip and simply staring at you. In the moonlight, his eyes were as fucking bright blue as—well. As his flames. More things were clicking into place.

“Really, Touya,” you said, desperate for him to believe you, “I liked you as the stranger in the alley, and I liked you as Dabi, and when my soulmate seemed to share some traits with the other Touya in my life, I didn’t give myself permission to think about it. Because I was growing fond of the you that spoke to me, that I was getting to know, and while my feelings for the other you were being rekindled, too, I wanted to love the soulmate you more, because it's become fucking evident to me that I was made to love you, even without this soulmate stuff. You’ve been scattered throughout my life, anyway. It just happened to speed things up, since it forced you to talk to me. Otherwise, you’d probably still be at the point where you’re the brooding-older-brother figure who isolates himself in his room when his brother’s friends are over.”

Touya was frowning, but you waited it out entirely this time. “You saw…all that,” he eventually said, gesturing down himself, “and you still want me?”

Biting back a smile, you lifted your knees to the bed, moving slowly to gauge his reaction before getting closer to him. “I saw you decapitate someone, and I still want you.”

“You’re insane,” said Touya, tensing up as you neared him but twitching into a nervous grin, eyes falling to your boobs, away to the window, and back to your face.

“Correct,” you said, and you knelt next to him, taking all of your restraint to keep from reaching out the final few centimetres to run your hands down his chest. “Don’t you need someone a little insane, though?”

The comforter fell a few inches down his chest, and you throat ran dry at the long line of fading stitches and staples.

You raised a quivering hand to his face, and it’s strange: both of you flinched in the moment your fingertips felt the tiniest bit of body heat emanating from his cheek, and it’s strange: it’s the first time you’ve felt any heat come from Touya at all, and it’s strange: you could see yourself so clearly waking up next to him every day, putting your chin on his shoulder while he picked out fruits at the grocery store, feeding the koi late at night together while you lured the ducks away, watching his eyes soften in the same way both when he sinks his teeth into something you’ve baked and his cock deep into you while he cradled you closely to his chest, but at the moment, it might be too much for you—and perhaps Touya as well, judging by the nearly incomprehensible, jumbled sort of expression—if you even touched his face.

Perhaps the prospect of romance was too much for him at this point in his life. The last thing Touya should be feeling about that was guilt.

“I don’t mind being on the backburner while you figure things out,” you said, returning your hand to your lap and trying very hard not to look at his nipples, “I’ll wait for whatever you need to do. I’ll—”

“No,” said Touya, shaking himself out of whatever spiralling dive he’d been leaning into, “Hell, no. No fucking—” He snatched the hand you’d almost touched him with and clenched it hard, smushing your fingers together (startled by the physical contact, even though he’d initiated it), and after a flash of frustration at his prosthetic arm, he passed your hand to his left. “You’re fucking sticking around. You—you don’t just look at me; you see me, in such a different fucking way than anyone else, and you did it immedia—it took my family so long to look, and you—you’ve been watching. Been paying attention. It’s all I’ve ever—” He frowned, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “It’s good to have you around while I dig myself out of this hole,” he said, squeezing your hand harder but glaring outside through the window, “I wish I had known you sooner.”

“I’m here now, and I want to get to know you better. I want to hear more about you, things that are true,” you said, “and don’t start with anything self-deprecating, Touya. The next time the bond lets you see through me, I’m gonna show you what you look like through my eyes. And I’m not lying to you when I say you are so very, very pretty.”

Grunting, Touya fidgeted in bed, the covers slipping down to his stomach, drawing your hand closer to him, with your body leaning in to follow his pull. “Shit,” he said, “Don’t say shit like that right now.”

“Touya, I am gonna tell you how gorgeous you are until you believe it, and that starts now.”

“Not tha—well, yes, that, but I—” He sucked in through his teeth (also sucking in through a tiny hollow in his cheek caused by a loose staple, with a faint, wheezing whistle) and threaded his fingers through yours, pulling your hands towards his shoulder so that you loomed over his chest, “I have a hell of a refractory period now. It’s fuckin’ hard for me to get hard a lot, and you saw me; I just—” Inhaling sharply, he jerked his hand away from yours and frantically started wiping it on the blankets.  The new skin around the tips of his ears bloomed pink. “I haven’t washed my hands.”

“Touya,” you said, “Like I care.” You took the hand he was trying to hide in the folds of the blanket and licked up his palm, holding eye contact and relishing the way the blush spread to the untouched skin around the corners of his eyes. “I want all of you. Both sides you’ve shown me, and more. So long as it’s real. So long as it’s you.”

“All right. First step is getting on top of me,” said Touya, and, palm wet, he took your hand again, and he tugged on it, guiding you into his lap, other hand sliding down the thigh you swung over him. “Makes it easier to talk, y’know. To look at you.”

“Oh? Are we starting with your tragic backstory? If you’re taking requests,” you said, sliding your hand up and over his shoulder to run your fingers over his collarbone (jutting out from under both burnt and new skin), “then I’d like to hear your perspective of when you first kissed me.”

Touya lift his prosthetic hand to your cheek, just as cold and strong as his real one, and he placed his thumb at the corner of your lower lip, tip breaking the seal of your lips to press in just barely. “Actually, I think we’ll start with this pretty mouth of yours.”

***

Iida was shouting and gesturing from the living room that you only had fifteen minutes before the episode viewing was scheduled to start, and Shinsou shut him up by reminding him that Tokoyami had to pick up Ojiro and Hagakure from the floristry across town and that they’d start watching whenever they started watching, so chill out, Iida. Go help Mina pick the bugles out of her hair, or something.

You and Touya crouched together in front of the oven, staring through the glass at the rows of potato wedges—the recipe he claims his mother made when he was five, but surely a woman as sensible as Todoroki Rei wouldn’t put that much fucking cayenne pepper or paprika or chili sauce or—listen, it was a lot.

“C’mon, pretty boy, tell me something else true about you,” you said, nudging his shoulder with yours while you made eye contact with him in the oven’s reflection.

“Hm,” he said, scratching the underside of his chin with a bare hand (the gloves lay folded back on the teahouse dresser), “I hate fish.”

(Here you sighed dramatically, because you obviously already knew this. His loathing was intensified at the moment, though, because he’d had to get up and leave you in the middle of the night last night because the koi pond monitor was blaring at a stupid clog in the filter.)

“Tastes fuckin’ gross dead. Bitch to take care of livin’.”

You pushed on your knees to stand, and you held out a hand to help him up. “Enough with the negativity, dickhead. Tell me more about what you like.”

“Besides you?” He took your hand and grinned, putting all his weight into it as you strained to lift him, and when the oven timer beeped and you’d shot a few choice words his way, he had mercy and stood up by himself. He grabbed the oven mitts and tossed them to you, and while you removed the tray from the oven, he ran his hand through the sharp, white spikes of his hair, inadvertently wiping specks of paprika into it.

You set the tray on a cooling rack. “C’mon, Touya. No need to be so cheesy.”

“I can be worse,” he said, winding his arms around your waist before you could even take off the oven mitts, cradling you close to him, no room in between, and he propped his chin on your shoulder. “I can even incorporate—you call me cheesy; you’re the one who called me pretty boy not a minute ago.”

Blindly, you raised a hand to run it back through Touya’s soft, soft hair, and you gently bumped your cheek against his. “I am not being cheesy by simply stating the truth. You’re gorgeous, Touya.”

“Bet I’d look even better throbbing inside you.”

“Please follow a logical flow in conversation like the rest of us,” you said, and when you couldn’t grasp the spatula you were reaching for, Touya grabbed it for you, scraping up some of the first row, having to release you during the process.

Leaning on the counter to face him, you flinched at the heat before pinching a potato wedge between the tips of your fingers, but Touya held one like it was completely cool. It had almost touched his tongue before he paused and waited for your reaction to his recipe.

His potato wedges were bad. Too crunchy on top because of the odd broil time and not-fully-ground peppercorns and too soggy and soft underneath, especially in the part where it’d stuck to the tin foil and peeled off, and the combination of spices didn’t quite mesh together well. With a sliver of quiet triumph, you swallowed a bite of potato wedge decidedly worse than the ones you made.

But Touya was looking at you, eyes brimming with hope despite his otherwise carefully cultivated cool exterior, watching, waiting for you—and it was Touya, after all; Touya was the one who cooked these—made them for you, deliberately, on purpose—and so that made what words were about to come out of your mouth true and beautiful.

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair, @tiredkittykat, @cheshireshiya, @90s-belladonna, @infjsnightmare

[pedrospatch]

the truth l a safe haven drabble

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: Tommy and Joel have a talk about you at the Tipsy Bison; Joel finally tells his brother the truth about what really happened with the Fireflies in Salt Lake City.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. spoiler ish for the beginning scene in tlou part II; slight deviation from the canon game plot to fit the series. reader is not in this scene, she is only mentioned. minor descriptions of canon violence, concerned Joel, kind of angsty.

word count: 2.2k

The next evening, Joel finds himself at The Tipsy Bison after dinnertime—he’d needed a drink, and a fucking stiff one at that.

Ellie had holed herself up in her bedroom for most of the day, and she’d refused to come out and eat. Joel had left a plate for her outside of her bedroom door, but he knew just how goddamn stubborn she could be when she was feeling upset. He knew that when he went back home, her food would still be sitting outside of her door, cold and untouched. 

Sarah often used to do the same thing to him whenever she’d had a bad day at school or was just in one of those moods. 

Between Ellie’s behavior and what had happened at the party the night before, Joel’s mind is all over the fucking place—he’s worried about Ellie, but now he’s worried about you too. 

He hadn’t seen you all day, not even in passing. 

For a while, Joel had contemplated going into the stables to seek you out after patrol duty, but he’d decided against it, knowing good and well that Tommy would probably be keeping tabs on him over the next few days to make sure he was steering clear of you.

“Here you go, Miller.” Seth places a glass in front of him, the bourbon on the rocks he’d ordered. “I made it a double. That look on your face tells me you could use it.”

“Thanks,” Joel mumbles, accepting it without protest. He notices Esther behind the counter, on the opposite end of the bar. For a minute, he’d worried that she would be the one to serve him, but thankfully, Seth had beat her to it. Not wanting the woman to get any ideas about coming over to talk to him, Joel grabs his drink and leaves the counter, making his way over towards a small, round wooden table nestled over in the furthest corner of the bar, away from other patrons. He sits down, his broad back facing the entire room—his way of telling people that he’s not seeking any kind of company tonight.

But one person hadn’t gotten the hint.

“Mind if I join you?” Tommy’s voice comes from behind him.

Joel shrugs his shoulders, but says nothing.

He walks around, dropping into the chair across from him. He offers a joking smile as he drawls, “Ain’t you at least gonna offer to go and get your sweet little baby brother a drink?” 

Joel glowers at him, completely unamused. What he wanted to do more than anything was give his sweet little baby brother a good knock upside the fucking head.

Tommy’s jeering smile fades and he sighs. “Look, Joel. I wanted to talk to you ‘bout last night—”

Joel cuts him off, his voice curt. “Relax. I ain’t even seen her since yesterday, alright?” He doesn’t even bother masking his bitterness. “Got your message ‘bout her real loud and fuckin’ clear, Tommy.”

“I’m just tryin’ to look out for you,” he states with a small shake of his head. “I don’t want you makin’ some stupid mistake that could get you in trouble, or worse, thrown out of this place.” He lets out another sigh and leans back into his chair. “But I’m sorry for bein’ such a dick ‘bout it, okay?”

Mulling over the apology, Joel gripps his glass tightly in his hand, and after a minute, he finally brings his dark eyes to meet those of his younger brother. He lifts his glass up to his lips, taking a long sip of liquor before asking, “What all do you know ‘bout her and Luke?”

Tommy glares at him. “Really? I just fuckin’ apologized to you, asshole. Don’t make me fuckin’ take it back.”

“Just tell me what you know.”

“Joel why the hell do you—”

“Tommy, just fuckin’ tell me,” he all but demands through gritted teeth. “What exactly do you know ‘bout her and Luke?”

Tommy’s expression suddenly shifts from annoyed to confused. Against his better judgment, he starts to explain everything to Joel. “We brought Luke and his two nieces to Jackson a few years ago, and she and her father came along not all too long after that. Her and her old man were both in pretty bad shape when they first got here, but she was worse off. We honestly didn’t think she was gonna make it—but Luke, he took care of her, nursed her back to good health.” He reaches up, raking one of his hands through his jet black curls as he shrugs his shoulders. “Guess sparks flew or somethin’ because within a couple months, those two were a serious item—a few weeks later, they were exchangin’ vows and rings at the altar of the commune’s old church with Maria as their witness.”

“They ever have any problems?”

He hesitates. “Well, when her dad got sick, it put a strain on their marriage for a while. She just had a lot of shit to deal with, y’know? Her dad wanted her to take his place as the community’s vet and it was a lot of pressure—havin’ to learn all she had to learn in so little time. All the while, the poor man’s fuckin’ dyin’ right before her very eyes. Can’t imagine what that kinda stress would do to a relationship.” He shrugs once again, crossing his arms over his chest. “It was real rough, but after her father died two summers ago, things changed for the better in a weird way. Luke stepped up. He was there for her and he supported her through it all, y’know? Her father’s death brought them closer together.”

Joel chooses his next words as carefully as possible, although there’s really no subtle way to ask his next question. “He ever mistreat her?”

Tommy’s eyes widen and he whips his head around, as if making sure that nobody was around to overhear the nature of the conversation. “Joel, why in the fuck are you askin’ me this?” he hisses through clenched teeth. Suddenly, a worried look flashes over his gaze and he asks, “Where is this even comin’ from? She say somethin’ to you last night?”

“No, she didn’t,” he admits. “But there’s just somethin’ ‘bout Luke that doesn’t sit right with me, Tommy. Somethin’ ‘bout those two, it just ain’t right. I can feel it.”

“What do you mean?”

Joel hesitates once more. “Somethin’ ‘bout the way she just changed around him. It was like someone flipped a fuckin’ light switch. One minute she’s smilin’ and she’s enjoyin’ herself—but as soon as Luke came around, her smile was gone, Tommy. She didn’t look all too happy to see him when he showed up. She looked real uncomfortable.”

His brother peers at him. He doesn’t seem angry or upset. If anything, Joel could detect something a little closer to empathy in his expression. “Did you ever stop and think for a second that maybe, just maybe, it’s your jealousy talkin’ and makin’ you see what you wanna see?”

Joel stares at him, unsure of how to respond.

Of course he was jealous of Luke, because he had you and Joel didn’t—but he wasn’t stupid, and he sure as hell wasn’t fucking blind.

He knows what he saw.

“If there was a problem with Luke, she would tell me,” Tommy assures him with confidence. “She’s close to me and she’s even closer to Maria. I know for a damn fact that if he wasn’t treatin’ her right, she would come to us right away. She would tell us if somethin’ bad was goin’ on at home. But as far as I know, those two are fine. They’re happy.” He pauses briefly, searching for words of comfort for his brother. “I’m real sorry, Joel. I can tell you really like her and I don’t blame you. She’s a beautiful woman. She’s also as sweet as can be, so kind even after all the shit she’s been through—people like her are rare in a world like this one. Any man can fall in love with someone like her real easy if he ain’t careful.”

Tommy expects Joel to deny any kind of feelings towards you—part of him hopes he will. Much to his surprise, and his dread, he doesn’t. Leave it to Joel to develop some kind of affection for the one person, the one goddamn person he couldn’t fucking have. Hell, Esther, along with several other of the single and available women in the town had their sights on Joel. He could have his pick of the litter—and he fucking had eyes for you. The one woman who was already taken. 

“She’s off limits, big brother.” Tommy’s voice is firm. “She’s happily married to Luke. I’m sorry.”

“If you say so,” Joel mutters, taking another long sip of his bourbon. He doesn’t believe that you’re fine, not for a single fucking second. You weren’t fine, and you sure as hell weren’t fucking happy.

“Hey, I saw Ellie at the party last night. She looked like she was havin’ a real good time,” Tommy offers a change of subject. He smiles at him. “Seems like she even made herself a new friend, too. You must be pretty happy ‘bout that.”

Joel snorts into his glass. “That was short lived.”

“What are you talkin’ ‘bout?”

“She’s been actin’ strange today,” Joel confesses, feeling a dull ache in his chest. “Ellie’s been locked in her room all goddamn day and refuses to come out and talk to me. Her survivor’s guilt is too much for her sometimes, Tommy. As much as I try to be there for her, I don’t always know what the hell to do or even say when it rears its ugly fuckin’ head.” He quickly swallows the emotional lump rising in his throat. “She was so happy last night. She was enjoyin’ that party like any normal kid her age would. But as soon as we made it back home, I just knew she was feelin’ so bad about havin’ fun. I could tell her guilt was eatin’ her up alive. S’almost like Ellie feels like she doesn’t deserve it.”

“It ain’t her fault they gave up on a cure, Joel.”

“That’s the thing. They didn’t.” Joel whispers, so softly that the younger Miller almost hadn’t heard it. His throat bobs harshly. If he crosses this line, there’s no going back. “There’s somethin’ that I gotta tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know what happened,” Joel starts to say, a nervous edge to his tone. “I was s’pposed to take her to the Fireflies and then walk away.” He stops, looking down into the rich amber hues of his bourbon as he muses, “You go halfway across the country with someone—”

He trails off, shaking his head.

Tommy waits in silence for him to continue.

“Ellie needed her immunity to mean somethin’. It was her purpose, at least that’s how she felt.” Joel shrugs, fingers lightly tapping the sides of his glass. “Maybe I was startin’ to buy into that whole cure business. Maybe I just wanted to do right by her. I don’t know. Then we finally made it and we found the Fireflies. And because of Ellie, they were actually gonna make a cure.”

“Wait, what?” Tommy hisses in disbelief.

Meekly, he nods.

“The only catch was that it would kill her.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” Tommy murmurs. A sudden realization hits him and when he speaks again, his voice is strained. He knows where this is going. “What did you do?”

His reply is simple as he meets his gaze across the table.

 “I saved her.”

Joel takes a quick glance around, making sure that not a single soul is within earshot before he starts recounting the story of what had actually happened at the Firefly hospital in Salt Lake City. He spares no details, doesn’t try to sugarcoat how it had all gone down—he tells him the truth about how he had taken countless lives, including Marlene’s, in order to save Ellie. He confesses to mercilessly killing the one person who could have developed a cure and saved the world by putting a single bullet right through his skull.

“Goddamn,” Tommy utters quietly. “That’s—that is a lot. What does Ellie know?”

“I told her they just ran some tests on her.” Joel’s voice becomes thick with emotions as he admits, “I told her that her immunity meant nothin’ at all. I told her that there were dozens more like her.”

“And she believed you?”

“Didn’t say otherwise,” he replies. He sees it in his brother’s face— that he knows the real answer to that question, just like Joel does.

Tommy opens his mouth, then clamps it shut.

For once in his life, he’s at a complete loss for words.

“Listen, I know what kind of fuckin’ monster that you must think I am for what I did—”

“I don’t think that.” Tommy leans forward and he places his hand over Joel’s. “I get it, brother. Look I might know fatherhood yet—shit, my kid’s only the size of a fuckin’ peanut in my wife’s belly right now. But I get it, alright? If that would have been my child on that table in that operatin’ room, I would’ve made the same exact choice you did. I would have done whatever I had to in order to save my kid’s life.”

Joel’s eyes glisten with hot tears and he furiously blinks them back.

“I already lost one daughter, Tommy,” he chokes. “I wasn’t gonna lose another.”

Tommy firmly squeezes his hand. “I know, Joel.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Joel says after a minute or two of silence. “Not even Maria.”

Tommy hesitates, not liking the idea of keeping yet another secret from his wife, but he agrees. “Alright.” He stands up from the table and nods over towards the door. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

[addicted-to-dc]

Spider-Man 2099/Miguel O’Hara X Spider!Reader - Twice Bitten

I just saw Across the Spider-Verse and I NEEDED to write for Miguel. Just DAMN it was so nice to see my fav spider grace the screen.

This will most likely be a series, maybe friends to lovers, but we’ll just see where this story takes us.

(Part 2 out now!)

Warnings: Descriptions of pain, fighting, angst. typical spider stuff. Slight spoilers for the movie?? Nothing plot related.

1,400 word count. Enjoy!!

Okay, maybe you’ve introduced yourself one too many times, but this time couldn’t hurt.

You’re (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the one and only Spider-Woman who thwips and quips all over New York, protecting innocents from bad guys. It’s a rough job, you’ve lost more people than you can count, but you always get back up. Being good, and doing good is in your DNA. You can’t stop now, not even when your body refuses to listen to you. 

It comes out of nowhere as you swing towards a reported disturbance, your spider-sense warning you too late when something hard slams into your chest. Your web disconnects, sending you crashing into the nearest rooftop. 

You force yourself to recover, lifting your hand to see black ooze spreading all over your body. Your eyes widen, recognizing the symbiote instantly. It spreads all over your body, seeping into you as your body seizes. Your body meets the ground once again, your screams morphing into something monstrous. The roof below you cracks under the pressure of your strength, even more so as you feel pain shock your entire body. It feels like you’re glitching, your atoms falling apart and being put back together in a matter of seconds.

Forcing yourself up, you grab onto the symbiote, uselessly attempting to rip the creature off of you. With another scream, you feel a final snap. Your body freezes, your mind at a standstill as you feel something invade your mind.

You’re not my spider, but you’ll do.

You gasp as the symbiote bonds even further to you but stops when you resist. The glitch happens again, making you fall to the ground once again. Something is wrong, extremely wrong. 

“Get. Off. Of. ME!” you scream, finally getting a grasp on the symbiote and pulling. It feels like you’re pulling a piece of yourself with it. You stop, groaning when the pain subsides. Your hot breath in your mask nearly makes you pass out, but you’re able to stand once again.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your thoughts run wild as the symbiote nestles itself further into you. It can’t be your symbiote, no, that one is locked away for good. 

You can feel the symbiote react to your thoughts, but you have no time to recover when you suddenly slam into the ground. You take the hit like a champ, opening your eyes to see someone in a red and blue suit. His claws dig deep into your chest as he roughly places a device onto you. 

A high-pitched noise emits from the device, causing the symbiote to scream. Despite the device, it remains bonded to you. You writhe in pain until you manage to rip the device off, accidentally sending your attacker flying off the roof. Your legs nearly give out on you as you stand, but you remain strong. You always get back up.

The figure returns, swinging back onto the roof with a neon red web. You raise your fists. Another wannabe spider? You feel your emotions blow up, your mind clouded as you try to figure out what is going on. 

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here for the symbiote,” he says with raised hands. “Let me help you.”

He’s not going to help you. He’ll rip us apart.

Anger floods your system as you lunge forward, attacking him blindly as he narrowly avoids your attacks. He plants another device on you, then another. They both go off at the same time, briefly separating you from the creature. It gives you enough willpower to stop fighting, but your body doesn’t let up.

“I c-can’t stop,” you whimper, trying to hold yourself back as your fist meets his face. “Please, end this.”

He lands a punch in the center of your chest, sending you flying. Another device goes off, but it still doesn’t work. This symbiote won’t let you go. 

It takes everything in you to stop moving, your muscles straining against themselves as you grasp onto your head. The symbiote urges you to give in, to let them take over until you finally feel a hand on your shoulder.

You move to push him away but feel a sharp sting in your neck. Gasping, your hand moves to find purchase on him, but your arms limply fall to your sides. The symbiote finally detaches from you, glitching until it moved into one of the traps he set on the ground. It pops up, trapping the creature.

The pressure lifts, only for you to realize that it was his teeth that just did that. You weakly turn your head to look at him, your blood on his lips as he pulls away. Your body aches in more ways than one, feeling yourself slowly begin to burn. Soreness seeps into you, making it difficult to even move a finger. You haven’t been like this since you were first bitten by that spider all those years ago. 

You stare into his red eyes, unable to read them as he lifts you up. He removes your mask, finally allowing you to breathe the fresh air. You flinch as soon as a bright light flashes, a portal of sorts opening in front of you. The symbiote goes in first, then the two of you. 

Your eyes close and your body goes slack. As soon as his feet meet solid ground he’s running. His movements jostle you awake. You must be hallucinating because you see hundreds of… you? Different spider suits flash around you until you’re set down on a cold table. 

Your neck burns even more, forcing you to roll to your side as you curl into a ball. You feel the heat spread through your body, your muscles so tense you think you’ll snap them. That’s when you feel it.

Your muscles growing in size. Your teeth expand to sharp canines. Just as someone goes to restrain your arms, your hand slams into the table and claws cut through the metal like butter. When one of your arms were finally free, you shoot a web and pull yourself away from the group. One of them goes to move forward, but the blue and red one stops them. 

You greedily suck in air, sticking to the highest point in the room as you recollect yourself. The red and blue one dismisses everyone, keeping his eyes on you as everyone filters out. You finally catch your breath, confusion clouding your mind.

“What did you do to me?” you ask, shuddering when your new fangs made speaking awkward. 

He removes his mask, letting you see those red eyes again. They’re hypnotizing, reassuring you that he means no harm. He crawls up the wall slowly, closing the distance as he gently examines his bite mark. He’s lost in thought, running through different possible explanations that could shed light on why the hell his venom… changed you?

“I don’t know,” he replies, dragging his fingers along the bite. “It’s nearly healed already.”

You hiss when his fingers trace over a sensitive spot, your hand instinctually grasping his wrist. He doesn’t say a word as he opens your fingers, comparing your new claws to his. He removes your gloves. You don’t protest, especially when your new talons have ripped them to shreds.

His claws retract back into his hand and he begins to gently trace his fingers in your palm, “They go away when you’re relaxed.”

“Kind of hard to do that when I’m freaking the fuck out,” you quip.

Your body betrays you, taking in his immense warmth as he gently brushes against your claws. They finally disappear as if nothing was even there in the first place. Your fangs do not change.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, holding your hand tightly. “It was the only way to-”

“All a part of the job,” you chuckle, your fangs on full display as you flash him a gentle smile. 

His eyes immediately hone in on them, his index finger lightly tracing the point, “You’re just like me? My venom has never done this before.”

“Maybe I’m just that special,” you mumble tiredly. “Didn’t expect to get bitten twice by a spider.”

A small, tense laugh escapes from his lips. He watches as you doze off, nearly falling off the wall until he gently guides you to the ground.

“What’s your name?” you mumble out, sighing when you feel a soft bed against your back.

“Miguel,” he responds, placing a blanket over you. 

“You owe me dinner,” you mutter before letting your exhaustion finally win. 

You always get up, but you’ll do that after a quick nap.

[spnjediavenger]

I Need My Brother (Chapter 4)

Title: I Need My Brother (Chapter 4)

Type: multi-chapter; matt murdock x sister!reader, foggy x teen!reader (platonic!), Claire x teen!reader (platonic!)

Warnings: canon-typical Daredevil situations/injuries, blood, angst, run-on sentences

POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS: panic attack description

Spoilers: MAJOR S1 SPOILERS

Notes: The panic attack description is a mix of my own experience and some I read online - this is not how ALL panic attacks are experienced.

As always, love and/or constructive/friendly criticism is welcome and encouraged!

Word count: 1491

Need to catch up? (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3)

Y/n was sitting in the living room of the apartment late one night. Matt, again, was chasing down a lead. Y/n was thankful they at least had a little break as promised before Matt started getting back into everything again. Her nerves were a bit on edge tonight, however. She couldn’t put her finger on it but something felt wrong. 

“Matt!”

Y/n jumped as Foggy yelled from outside the apartment, pounding on the door and jerking her from her worried thoughts. He was clearly upset…and drunk…

Y/n rolled her eyes as he ranted and went to let him in when there was a crash coming from Matt’s room, making the girl jump a second time.

“Matt?”

Y/n ignored Foggy’s call and grabbed the pepper spray in her pocket. She got up and steadily made her way towards Matt’s bedroom. As soon as her eyes set on the ‘intruder,’ she screamed.

From outside, Foggy sobered up instantly and called to the girl. When he didn’t get a response he ran up to the loft of the apartment to get in.

Inside, Y/n ran over to her brother and caught him before he could hit the ground, the girl almost falling over from his weight. Dropping the pepper spray, she took her phone out and dialed Claire.

“Claire, CLAIRE! I NEED YOU NOW! IT’S MATT!” she threw her phone aside and lowered her brother to the floor, tears streaming down her face. “Matt, Matty please, PLEASE don’t do this to me again. Matt, I need you!”

Foggy stepped on the broken step from the loft, alerting Y/n to his presence. The man was stunned at what he saw.

“Y/n? What the hell is going on?!” Foggy yelled in shock.

“Foggy, there’s no time right now! Get rags from the kitchen and the first aid kit above the sink, quick! He could die!” she cried, putting pressure on the worst of Matt’s wounds until Foggy came back. “Matty,” she begged quieter as she pulled his mask off and lightly slapped his face to try and get him to wake up. “Matty, please don’t do this to me, you promised, you promised. I’m begging you. I can’t do this. FOGGY HURRY!”

Foggy ran back, items in hand, nearly falling to the floor. Y/n scrambled to grab the items and instructed Foggy to unlock the front door and come back to help her. He did as he was told and came back in a daze. “Y/n…I’ll repeat…what the hell is going on here?”

Said girl was shaking from head to toe as she tightly wrapped the lacerations on Matt’s arms and legs to stop the bleeding so she could start stitching up the ones on his torso if Claire didn’t get there first. “F-Foggy, please. I-I can’t-”

“Ok ok, sorry. Just take a deep breath, tell me what to do.”

Claire soon burst through the door and ran in, medical bag in hand. “Alright, everybody move back, give him room.”

Y/n’s eyes moved frantically to Claire at her request. “N-No, I-I can help.”

“Y/n you’re shaking and his wounds look deep,” at this, Y/n let out a sob. “And you’re emotionally compromised. I promise, I got this.”

When Y/n made no motion to move, Foggy gently grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back. When Claire cut Matt’s shirt off to reveal his wounds, Y/n immediately turned around and bolted to the bathroom to empty the contents of her stomach, Foggy close behind her to hold her hair back. When nothing else came up, Y/n collapsed to the floor, gripping her hair in her hands, and sobbed hysterically, rocking back and forth on her knees and hyperventilating.

“Sir, you need to get her to calm down before she passes out,” Claire called from the living room, having heard from Matt that Y/n had a history of panic attacks. 

“How do I do that?!”

“Distract her mind or have her hold something cold to distract her body from the symptoms of the panic attack,” Claire called again, trying to keep focused on the dying man in front of her and simultaneously make sure his sister didn’t knock herself out.

“Ok, come here, kid,” Foggy grunted as he scooped Y/n up bridal style. He took her into her room and set her down on her bed facing away from the doorway. “Stay here one second.” He ran into the kitchen, trying not to look at the carnage of his best friend on the floor, grabbed some ice from the freezer, and ran back to Y/n. “Here, hold this,” he said, handing over the ice to the hyperventilating teenager.

She shakily grabbed the ice and looked up to meet Foggy’s eyes. “Wha-what am I g-gonna do, Foggy?...He-He can’t-...I-I need my brother…”

“Hey, look at me, he-...he’s gonna be fine, alright? You have your friend here and she seems like she knows what she’s doing. And something tells me she’s done this before,” he said the last part more to himself than anything. “Just…I don’t know, focus on me, ok? Can you do that?”

Breaths sawing in and out, Y/n nodded, still meeting Foggy’s eyes as tears fell down in rivers from her own.

Foggy offered a smile and grabbed her hands, giving them a squeeze and feeling the melting ice between them. “Focus on what’s around you in this room. Talk to me about what you see.”

“Y-You…Your hair’s messy…and you’ve b-been sweating…and crying…how much did you drink at Josie’s?”

Foggy chuckled and playfully pushed her shoulder, making her chuckle a bit as well.

“Sorry,” she continued, sniffling. “I know it’s been a bad day for all of you.” Her eyes flashed to the doorway and Foggy turned her back towards him.

“Hey, focus on me, remember? Focus on this room”

She nodded. Y/n looked past him to the window in her room; it wasn’t nearly as distracting as the others in the apartment. “I can see faint flashes of colored lights from the billboards outside…less cars are out now than earlier in the night but…but I can still hear sirens-”

“What about your room, kiddo?” Foggy redirected her, knowing the sirens might set her off again.

She sniffled a bit before continuing. “It’s cooler. But that’s ok.” She ran a wet hand over her bed beneath her. “My blankets are soft…I like it to be colder so I can snuggle with more blankets…it comforts me…”

“Hey, the more blankets the better if you ask me,” Foggy said, sensing a little embarrassment from her. Y/n smiled a bit.

Finally feeling calmer, and all the ice melted from her hands, Y/n pulled her sleeve down to wipe her mouth from the leftover vomit. Foggy used his own sleeve to wipe the tears from her face, using one hand to hold her head so he wasn’t too rough.

“Why don’t you go rinse your mouth out, wash up, and get changed? I think you’ll feel a little better,” he suggested, noticing Matt’s blood on her shirt and hands from where she had carried him. 

Y/n nodded, got some pajamas, and let Foggy lead her to the bathroom to keep her eyes away from Matt. He waited outside the door and watched Claire as she finished up. They had a short conversation before the nurse tapped on the bathroom door.

“He’ll be ok, Y/n,” she said in finality, releasing a tired sigh. ”You can come out and see him if you want. You know the signs to look out for and how to change bandages.”

At this, said girl exited the bathroom looking fresher, but wouldn’t look at Matt. She hugged Claire and thanked her, a couple stray tears falling down her cheeks.

“Let me know if anything happens or if you need to talk, ok?” Claire said, hugging her back and smoothing a hand through her hair. The girl nodded against her and Claire left, giving one last glance at Matt before sighing and walking out.

Y/n looked up at Foggy. “Foggy can you- I mean…I just…I want to sleep. Can you…can you stay with me, please?”

Foggy smiled. “How can I say no to those doe eyes, huh?”

Y/n giggled a bit. She and Foggy walked back to her room; Foggy took his suit jacket off and climbed into the bed, allowing Y/n to cuddle up to him. It took him back to his college days with Matt, when his friend would be out for the night, presumably with a girl, and he was watching Y/n for him. She had been in her early teens at the time and, despite insisting she didn’t need a babysitter, she came to enjoy Foggy’s company and began seeing him as another brother. Things hadn’t changed. And they were both thankful for this.

(Chapter 4.5) ->

[httplilyyy]

𝐆𝐎𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐊 || 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: it all comes down to this

warnings: descriptions of violence, gore, blood (lots of it), knives, guns, swearing, scream vi spoilers, bad writing as i wrote this with a broken hand so i apologise if there is any mistakes

word count: 3.2k

a/n: due to the original chapter nearing 8000 words, and due to your feedback, i’ve decided to split this into two parts, so after this there is only one more to go. i also wasn't planning on writing an epilogue, but if it's something you want, i’ll write one :)

scream masterlist | prev. part | next part

006. goo goo muck - the cramps

‘you better duck, when i show up.’

“Are you sure calling Sidney was a good idea?” Tara questioned, watching as you rounded the counter to stand behind it.

“Well, I didn't tell her to come here. I just informed her about what was happening.” You shrugged, picking up some old milk duds and shaking the box.

“But what if she does come here?” Tara wondered, leaning against the counter, her fingers drawing shapes in the dust.

“She won't.” You said, turning to face Tara. “She needs to keep her kids safe.”

“Okay, if you say so.” Tara said, not fully believing you.

“What, you don’t think I can handle myself?” You said, tilting your head to the side, a small smirk making its way onto your face.

“I mean, you have been stabbed twice...” Tara trailed off, a smile of her own forming.

“Okay, smartass.” You chuckled, moving back round the counter to stand in front of Tara, her eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m only stating the truth.” Tara replied, a small laugh bubbling from her stomach.

“Oh really?” You hummed, walking closer to her causing Tara to take a step backwards till she felt her back hit the counter.

You placed your hands on either side of her waist, pulling her close to you so your chests were touching. You leaned your head down, your lips hovered over hers, unsure, a million thoughts running around in your mind.

“I thought you were waiting for the perfect moment to kiss me.” Tara teased, her lips almost touching yours.

“Who gives a shit about what I said.” You whispered, your grip tightening on her waist.

You leaned down, just a little more, closing the gap between the two of you. Tara’s eyes fluttered shut as your lips grazed hers, melting into the kiss. Her lips were soft against yours and when she pulled away, you found yourself leaning forwards, chasing after her for more.

“You’re eager.” Tara muttered, moving her hands up to your chest.

“Can you blame me?” You smiled, resting a hand up to cup her cheek.

She stared at you, her lips quirking into a small smile. When you leaned in again to kiss her, Tara felt her body erupt with butterflies.

You poured in every pent up emotion into the kiss, and she gave you everything and more back. Your brain short-circuited as her hands went around your shoulders, playing with your hair.

After a few seconds, you slowly pulled away, your noses touching as you looked into Tara’s eye’s deeply.

“I could kiss you forever.” You whispered, your foreheads resting against each other.

“So do it.” Tara replied, leaning back in.

Just as your lips were about to touch, Tara let out a loud yell. You pulled away with wide eyes, seeing a Ghostface behind her, pushing a knife into her shoulder.

“Shit, Tara!” You shouted when the masked killer pushed Tara into the counter causing her to fall to the ground.

You looked at the Ghostface with a new found anger bubbling up inside of you. They charged towards you, swiping their knife haphazardly, hoping to hit you.

Dodging another attack, you stepped back before punching the Ghostface in the jaw, sending them falling to the ground. You ran over to Tara, helping her up from the floor with a supportive hand around her waist.

The two of you rushed towards a door when Sam and Chad came bursting through, startling you both.

“Come on!” Sam yelled, eyeing the Ghostface on the ground, helping you pull Tara out of the room.

Chad closed the door behind you, running back into the main theatre. The four of you stopped, looking around trying to find a way out.

“It’s Kirby,” Sam spoke up, “she’s the killer.”

“No shit!” Chad yelled, going to run out of the theatre.

“That’s locked!”

“Fuck!” He exclaimed before running back to you, Tara and Sam.

“She made this whole theatre a kill box for us.” Sam said, disbelief in her voice.

“Hey, how about that? There's an exit door! Maybe it leads to the roof or something” Tara said, pointing up, causing everyone to follow her finger.

“There’s only one way to find out.” You shrugged, looking back at Tara.

You each ran towards a ladder, but you spotted the Ghostface running towards you out of the corner of your eye. You pulled Tara behind you as the Ghostface jumped off the stage, landing in front of you.

The Ghostface swiped their knife at Sam, the woman dodging the attack. Chad tackled the masked killer to the ground, quickly getting up, grabbing a camera from a table and swung it at their face.

“Smile for the camera, mother fucker!” Chad knocked the Ghostface down and followed as You, Sam and Tara ran onto the stage to find another way out.

“Over there!” You pointed out, seeing a hallway.

Sam nodded, taking the lead as you all ran through the hallway, the Ghostface hot on your tail. Tara yelled when she bumped into the wall, trying to run as fast as she could.

Chad threw the camera he was still holding back at the Ghostface, slowing them down slightly. You had done a full circle and you were back in the room you and Tara were in together.

You waited for Chad to run past you, pushing a popcorn machine over to stop the Ghostface. Standing face to face you waited for the Ghostface to make the first move.

They tried to stab you with their knife but you dodged it, stepping back as you calculated their next move. Sam and Tara took a hold of the Ghostface’s arms, pulling them away from you.

Chad ran forward and punched the masked killer, sending them to the ground once again. Tara kicked them in their face, making sure they wouldn't get up.

“Tara, come on.” You pleaded, taking a hold of her hand and pulling her away.

You walked back to Sam when Chad picked up a small bubblegum machine, stalking over to the Ghostface, going to throw the machine down.

When Chad went to throw the machine another Ghostface came up behind him and stabbed him in the back. Chad let out a scream causing everyone’s heads to snap towards him.

Tara gasped, going to help him, but you held her back by the waist. The Ghostface on the floor got up and started to stab Chad in the stomach too, the boy telling you three to go.

“No!” Tara shouted, fighting against your grip.

You watched as the two Ghostface’s pushed Chad’s body to the ground. The two killers stood beside each other, swiping their knives at the same time, getting rid of Chad’s blood.

“Go!” You said, handing Tara over to Sam as you pushed the sisters towards the door.

“No, y/n!” Tara screamed, watching helplessly as she was pulled back by her sister.

You gave the younger Carpenter one last look before you closed the door and faced both the Ghostfaces.

“Hello, fellas.” You said, waving your hand.

They looked at each other before looking back at you. One of them walked back, exiting the room as another stalked towards you.

You held your ground, watching as they got closer and closer but they walked past you, exiting through the same door Sam and Tara exited only a few moments ago.

“What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself.

Sam and Tara tried to get away, heading onto the stage when a Ghostface appeared, jumping down, pointing their knife towards the sisters.

The two turned around to go the other way but the other Ghostface blocked them, moving their knife from side to side as a way of saying ‘no’, the two killers blocking them from going anywhere.

Sam took a hold of two bricks, handing one to Tara and keeping the other to herself. They stood, watching as the Ghostface’s made their way closer to them, the sisters tightening their grip on the bricks.

“Sam.” Tara sobbed, looking around frantically.

“Ready?” Sam asked Tara but she didn’t get a response. Sam turned around to face her sister, taking a hold of her shoulder gently. “I need you to be ready. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.” Tara nodded, closing her eyes for a moment before turning around to look at a Ghostface with her sister doing the same thing.

The two sisters took deep breaths in, calming their nerves before putting on their game faces.

“Come on, mother fucker!” Tara shouted.

As the Ghostface’s were about to attack them a gunshot rang out in the theatre causing them to scatter away. Tara and Sam ducked, covering their heads.

The two thought they were alone when they heard footsteps coming from the stage. Kirby appeared looking rugged as she held her gun in her hand.

“It’s okay!” Kirby reassured, walking down the steps to Sam and Tara.

“Stay the fuck back!” Sam warned, pulling Tara behind her.

“We know it’s you, Kirby.” Tara said, taking a step forward.

Kirby shook her head as she limped forward, pointing to the stage as she tried to not let the tears fall.

“One of them knocked me out.”

“Kirby, stop!” A voice shouted, causing Sam and Tara to turn around to see Bailey, his gun raised at Kirby. “Get away from them.”

“What are you doing?” Kirby asked the man, pointing her own gun at him.

“Did you kill Quinn? Did you kill my daughter?”

“Jesus Christ! Whatever he has been saying to you, don’t listen to him. He’s probably the killer!” Kirby muttered before pointing her gun behind him, seeing the Ghostfaces reappear. “Behind you!”

Bailey didn’t look all that surprised and he pulled the trigger, shooting Kirby in the stomach. Sam and Tara watched as she fell to the floor, their mouths dropped open in shock.

Bailey smirked, the two Ghostfaces coming to a halt behind him.

“Great job, both of you.”

“You?!” Tara gasped, looking at the man.

“Eh, of course me.” Bailey replied, tilting his head as he looked at the two sisters. “Frankly, I expected more from the two of you after what you did to us!”

“What do you mean ‘us’?” Tara asked, confusion written on her features.

The taller Ghostface took a hold of their mask, pulling it over their head, revealing themself.

“Mindy was right.” Ethan laughed, a manic smile on his face. “It was easy to juke the roommate lottery. I mean, all I had to do to meet you was room with a conceited, condescending alpha, literally named Chad! Fuck, it felt good to kill him!”

Ethan held up his mask beside him, tapping his knife against it as he looked at Sam.

“This was your grandmother’s Sam, Nancy Loomis. It really runs in the fucking family, doesn’t it? Speaking of family…”

“Wait for it.” Bailey smirked, bouncing on his feet.

“My name’s not Ethan Landry!” He laughed, looking over at the man beside him. “Isn’t it, dad?”

“Dad?” Tara questioned.

“Wait, if it’s you two, then that just leaves… Mindy?” Sam wondered, looking at the second Ghostface.

They grabbed their mask, slowly pulling it off to reveal themself.

“Hey, roomies.” Quinn smirked. “Didn’t see that one coming, did you?”

“Yeah because you died!” Tara exclaimed.

“I kinda didn’t.” Quinn shrugged. “Though it was a good way to get off the suspect list. Stabbed Gale Weathers, and y/n, and stabbed Mindy on the train. That sort of thing.”

“Yeah. I just made sure I was first on the scene so I could switch her body out with the fresh one. A little fake blood and prosthetics, you’d be amazed at what a grieving father could get away with…”

Sam and Tara looked at the Man with shock and hatred but their gaze soon turned onto something moving behind the three.

“Oh and one more thing.”

Another Ghostface came out from the shadows and stood behind him. The two sisters soon realised who that person could be.

“Y/n.” Tara whispered out, heart breaking as she looked at you.

“What?” Bailey questioned, tilting his head to the side.

“Boo!” You said, from behind them. Quinn, Ethan and Bailey jumped out of their skins, turning around to face you.

You swung a knife at Quinn, slicing her arm causing her to real back in pain. You kicked Bailey in the chest and he fell to the ground, not getting up as he looked at you in shock.

Ethan threw a punch towards your cheek but you took a hold of his arm, twisting it till you heard a loud pop, the boy letting out a scream of agony before kicking him to the floor too.

Your chest heaved up and down, when you took off the Ghostface mask. You looked up at Sam and Tara and when you were about to walk towards them you heard a laugh along with slow claps coming from behind you.

“Well, well, well. Look at my baby sister following in my footsteps.”

“Wha- what are you-? But-” You stuttered, turning around to find the source of the voice.

“You’re all grown up.” They said, finally coming out of the shadows to reveal themself.

“Jill.” You gulped, watching as she walked closer to you.

Everyone else stopped to look at you. Tara and Sam held expressions of confusion and sadness whilst Ethan, Quinn and Bailey had looks of mischief and glee.

“I never thought I’d see the day.”

“What the fuck?!” You finally managed to spit out, backing up from the woman only to come in contact with Ethan’s chest, the boy holding you still as Jill continued to walk towards you.

“Surprise, y/n.” Ethan whispered in your ear, tightening his grip on you.

“What a lovely family reunion.” Bailey chuckled as he got up from off the floor, making his way over to you.

“Get away from them!” Tara shouted, trying to get to you but Sam held her back.

“How?” You questioned, looking at Jill. “Sidney shot you. She killed you!”

“I guess I'm in the clear.” Jill shrugged, stepping closer so she was only a few millimetres away.

“Mhm, great.” You said through gritted teeth.

“Oh come on, y/n. That’s no way to greet your sister after a decade.” Jill said, pouting as she lifted a hand to touch your shoulder.

“You are not my sister.” You said, hardening your grip on the knife in your hand.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Jill shook her head, her gaze tilting to the knife.

“Do what?” You asked, faking innocence, your knuckles turning white as your grip tightened.

“I think you forgot who I am.” Jill said, her hand shooting out to your forearm. “You’re not going to get away this time.”

Jill pulled you from Ethan’s hold, tugging you so your back was against her front. She took the knife from your hand and held it against your throat.

“One sudden movement and I slit your throat.” Jill whispered in your ear, pressing the knife harder against your neck, not enough to draw blood but enough to halt your breathing.

“Now I wonder why Sidney was the favourite.” You muttered sarcastically.

“Watch your mouth.” Jill said harshly, nicking your neck as a warning.

“Where were we?” Bailey asked rhetorically. “Oh yes…”

“I got Stu Macher’s mask.” Quinn said as she moved around the theatre and over to the mannequins. “He was my favourite.”

Ethan placed the mask he had been wearing on a mannequin. “That’s number three.” Bailey explained, holding up three fingers as he slowly made his way towards Sam and Tara, sparing a glance at Quinn who placed her mask down as well. “That’s two.”

“Which leaves your fathers.” Bailey said, pulling out Billy’s mask from his bullet proof vest. “This is what we’ve been counting down to, Sam. I'm gonna need you to put it on.”

Bailey held out the mask to Sam, slowly making his way towards her.

“Fuck you!” Sam exclaimed, slapping the mask out of his hands.

Ethan leaned over and swiped his knife at Sam’s arm, creating a large gash where blood immediately poured out.

“Ooh.” Ethan taunted as he heard his dad laugh at his action.

“You stay the fuck away from her!” Tara sneered, placing a protective arm around her sister.

“What- what is this?” Sam questioned, looking back to Bailey. “You did this as a family?”

“Oh yeah, bitch. You should know better than anyone.” Quinn responded angrily, walking closer to the two girls, standing next to her brother.

“They’re still not getting it.” Ethan chuckled.

“Look, I don't know what you believe. But I didn't commit those murders in Woodsboro, it wasn’t me.”

“Oh we know that.” Bailey scoffed. “Of course you didn’t, what d’you think this is based on some bullshit conspiracy theory? Come on, who do you think started the rumours about you in the first place?”

“You know how easy it was to turn Sam, from the hero of Woodsboro, into the villain.” Quinn said, raising her knife. “How easy it is to convince the world to believe the worst in people, rather than the best.”

“Because it’s not enough to just kill someone these days.” Ethan spoke up, going into further detail. “You have to assassinate their character first, so when dad here discovers your horribly mutilated bodies, posed with Sam wearing her fathers mask. He'll say some poor dumb bastard read on the internet that you’re the real Ghostface and took matters into their own deluded hands.”

“Exactly, that’s why it’s a perfect alibi and all the best lies are based on the truth.” Bailey said, pointing at Sam. “You’re the killer, just like your father.”

“No I'm not!” Sam shouted, her voice breaking with anger.

“Yes you are, you mother fucker!” Quinn yelled, anger pouring out of her. “You killed our brother.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said your brother died in a car accident.” Tara pointed out.

“No, no, no you sweet dumb thing.” Ethan said lowly. “He died in woodsboro, in the hands of your bitch sister.”

“You're Richie's family.” You said, as it all finally clicked inside your head.

“Well done.” Jill chuckled, moving the knife up from your neck to trace the side of your face. “I always thought I had the brains in the family.”

“I’m not nine anymore, Jill.” You scoffed, moving your head away from the knife.

“What did I say, hmm? Shut. Your. Mouth.” Jill tutted, adding a little pressure to the knife, cutting along the side of your face.

You let out a toe curling scream, the pain being unbearable but Jill just laughed, enjoying the way you squirmed in her arms.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Jill said condescendingly, “did I hurt you?”

You didn’t respond, gritting your teeth as you created a fist with your hands, trying to push through the pain.

“I asked you a question!” Jill snapped, creating another cut through your eyebrow.

“Stop!” Tara shouted, watching as you shook in Jill’s arms, tears welling up in your eyes, immediately feeling as if you were nine again.

“What was that?” Jill questioned, tapping the knife to the back of her ear, acting as if she couldn’t hear. “Keep going? Well, if you say so.���

“She said stop.” Someone said but it wasn't from anyone you could see.

Jill turned her head around, her grip on you faltering as she saw who the voice came from. You stumbled out of Jill’s arms and looked in the same direction as her.

“Sid.” You said breathlessly, looking at the woman in shock.

tag list: @andsoigotabutterfly @dksjskx @dreifhraniquo29 @karsonromanoff @btay3115 @bananasplits-world @youralphawolf72

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Control | William “Case” Calderon

Summary: Case’s nightmares have started getting worse. Marshall grows concerned while Adler warns him.

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: Panic attacks, nightmares, zombies??, graphic descriptions of violence, rotting, torture, implied brainwashing, disassociation, Bo6 spoilers under the cut

A/N: this is just an expansion of how it’s mentioned that Case screams during the night in the Rook requested by a lovely anon, also yes, I might’ve taken advantage of the opportunity to make Adler shirtless, shhh, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

He didn’t know why he was here again.

Harsh lights flooded his eyesight, the sterile smell of plastic gloves and white tiled flooring filling his nose. He was walking somewhere.

These halls were familiar. Red paint lined them, a phone sitting on a round table, and ahead of him—there it was.

The bathysphere.

Case tried digging his heels into the ground, the scratchy texture of the strange hospital-like gown they had him in. He couldn’t do this again. Not after the first trials, the first experiments, they had ruined him.

“Behave, Case-One.”

The men at his sides, soldiers, Pantheon, dragged him along regardless of his protests, right into the center.

An overwhelming sense of dread overcame him. He knew what happened here, what would happen. They’d let the water surround him, he’d be trapped, and they would—

He wouldn’t let it happen again. Couldn’t.

Case, or William, wrapped his hand around one of the guard’s arms, yanking forward and slamming his fist into the man’s head. He’d been carrying an AK-74. He lifted the gun, pulling the trigger, only for the man—soldier—thing in front of him to shatter into pieces like a poorly constructed doll.

He took a step back, turned, and tried to run only for the floor to melt beneath him. He was sinking, falling into some sort of abyss, and then she was there.

Harrow.

Everything was solid again, and now he was in a room. Bulletproof glass separated him and Jane Harrow as she looked through with cold precision.

She was a liar.

A traitor.

She’d taken everything from him and given him what he owed his life to all in one fell sweep.

“Good to see you again, Case.”

She smiled, but there was nothing warm behind her expression. He knew it was just a mask, like a plaster covering for the rotten thing that lay underneath. Case had seen what she wanted for the future of her little project.

A side door opened, and they dragged a small bearded man in, the gas surrounding him, the guard having a gas mask on to protect himself.

Just a few minutes of exposure, and Case knew what would happen. His pulse would start hammering, every fight or flight instinct kicking in as his body tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with him, searching through his past experiences to find a way to fix this, to fix him.

Except there wasn’t a cure.

His vision would start blurring at the edges, turning different shades of television static as the man in front of him turned into a creature of rotting flesh and peeling skin, ripped clothes, and undead eyes that knew nothing but hunger.

He would be terrified. Again. And he’d attack the thing. Again.

It had happened over and over, this gradual decline into madness and being completely out of control, watching his body act from the outside.

He tried resisting it, and he always failed. Still, he tried this time, even as his blood boiled beneath his skin, a creature trapped in his ribcage begging, demanding to be let out as he tried keeping the lock together.

But one more glance over at her, her sadistic smile, the knowing glint in her eyes, her poisonous lips, and her tongue that was made of a noose, and something in him shattered.

The lock.

He had lost control.

There was no resisting now, he knew that as the resounding screams of the man bounced around the inside of his head, his eyes pressing into his eyes, gouging, hands and nails shoving and ripping, maiming the poor man like the animal that they’d made Case into.

The creature he was.

Blood was everywhere, under his hands, his fingernails, in his eyes and staining the floors and his body, things he couldn’t scrub away, burning brands onto his skin and mind that not even the brainwashing, the torture, could make go away.

He opened his mouth, maybe to bite, maybe to yell, maybe to scream at the hand that fed him a poisoned apple, and absolutely nothing came out.

His body thrashed, clawing at itself as if his very bones were outgrowing his skin, tears of anger and sadness and confusion at himself and someone else—he couldn’t remember it now, who’d done this to him, but he wanted to hurt them.

William wanted to hurt them. Case didn’t know what he wanted.

“Stop him—“

Hands were on him, gloved, rough, trying to pull him around, restrain him, but he wouldn’t let them. He pulled, punched, anything he could, he couldn’t let them do this to him again.

Then their dark, near-void black helmets fell off, and he was greeted with bloodied pale skin, peeling and revealing the stringy, bloody muscular system underneath, the near glowing eyes with something otherworldly in them, something beyond hate and agony.

They growled and slammed their teeth together instead of speaking, and it was then that he was able to scream, and he knew it because he heard it echo around the room as they held him down, and began clawing into them with their blood-caked nails.

Who had they been before?

What were they now?

Would he turn into this?

Desperation turned to pure terror as he tried battering them away, feeling his skin rip and shred beneath them, every bite, every hit, going deeper and deeper, infecting him.

His vision blurred around the edges again, this time he assumed solely from tears, as he imagined—hoped, he was blacking out.

“Hold him down—“

A blurry voice faded in and out, hands still holding him down. But this wasn’t the rough, scratchy feeling of elastic gloves or excessive force on his battered body.

“Jesus, Case, snap the fuck out of it!”

He opened his eyes.

He was in his bed, Adler was on his right, Marshall on his left. Both held down an arm, maybe a leg if they could reach it. Sevati walked through the doorway of his room, rubbing her eyes.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Her accent rolled thickly off her tongue as she analyzed the situation, their Case laying on a bed, forehead covered in sweat, pupils dilated and panting for breath, with Adler and Marshall holding him down.

“Case here is clearly experiencing some…issues.”

Adler said, a cigarette tucked neatly between his lips, a hint of smoke rolling off the end. He was wearing nothing but some tan cargo pants and the hint of boxers peeking out from there. He tried not to look too closely at the tiny hint of stomach chub followed by muscles with a thin layer of fat over them.

Marshall had been up late, wearing his work clothes, but missing the glasses he usually let himself wear when not on a mission. He had some turtleneck on that had to be itchy, and a pair of random military-grade pants.

They both eyed Case warily, clearly not knowing when the next complete breakdown might be.

Sev stood in the doorway, leaning against it, clad in only some shorts and a t-shirt, probably having just woken up.

“Let him go back to sleep. We have things to do tomorrow, and this can wait until morning.”

Her word seemed to be final, with Adler giving a noncommittal grunt and taking his cigarette between his fingers. There was a knowing look in his eye as if he recognized whatever he’d seen. The cigarette smelled like the expensive kind from where Case was.

His body slowly loosened and relaxed as whatever the hell had been in his dreams faded, as did the memory of it. He didn’t even know what had scared him that badly, into attacking his allies while in a safe location.

As the others walked out of the room, he just hoped he might remember the next one. Maybe write it down, to make sense of it.

Next time. He hoped there wasn’t a next time.

Some things were better left unknown.

~

“You can’t deny it now.”

Marshall watched as Adler flicked his cigarette, taking it out of his mouth, the scar on one side flexing as he let out a deep breath of smoke, eyes almost closing.

“Sure, something’s wrong with him. We’ve all got something wrong with us, his problem is just more…noticeable.”

He tried reasoning. Case was a good man, he was useful, did what he told, and did it very damn well, at that. They couldn’t afford to lose someone as valuable as him, which made the issue of his…problems even more troubling.

The screaming at night had been normal, or normal for someone in the military. But then it had turned to screaming about Harrow, her betrayal, about Pantheon, too specific to be nothing.

Now this, the fighting? He’d heard the floors creaking at night but assumed it was nothing, maybe someone going to get water, but knowing Case was this unstable wasn’t very reassuring. Hell, he nearly took Marshall out while not even conscious, what might he do if he caught one of them off guard at night?

Marshall had seen the man perform silent takedowns. He had a freakish amount of strength, and you didn’t hear a thing until the body hit the ground. Sometimes not even that.

“Look, I’ve seen something like this before.”

Adler’s raspy voice interrupted his thoughts, as the older man shifted to lean against the desk in the room they were now in. He took his cigarette between his fingers once again, hands waving in the usual expressive motions he had when talking.

It was a Russell Adler Trademark at this point.

“It was an old experiment, nothing you need to know too much about, but the kid’s showing symptoms. Not good ones.”

Another puff of smoke. The old snake probably knew more than he was telling Marshall, in fact, he almost guaranteed it.

“He hardly has any records, all blacked out or mysteriously ‘missing’.”

Adler took another puff of smoke at that information, rose from leaning, and moved to walk out.

“Find them.”

Simple words, a nearly impossible task.

Marshall didn’t know how Woods had put up with Adler so long, his attitude, his personality, hell, everything about him was just infuriating.

But he’d figure it out. He had to.

For Case.

[animestsstuff2]

Twitterpated

ProHeroHawks x VillainFem Reader

This lil story/fic will involve depictions of Hawks primal needs. I kinda feel with mutation quirks its pros and cons for all things and with that Hawks having a mate and a heat. Ya know he’s all twitterpated for you. This is a lil slow burn! You are a villain for the L.O.V. There will be character description but mainly on things like (light eyes glistened or hair fell over your face) otherwise up to you guys

Content warning: pretty chill first chapter just an intro really, some fighting, mention of injury, burning flesh. Potential spoilers if you haven’t watched to season 4/5 i think

Hawks stood on top of a large telephone pole knocking back his coffee as he suppressed a yawn. He was on night patrol and this was only night one. His eyes watching over night life below. It wasn’t too busy after all since it was Monday but his eyes stayed narrowed as he scanned the lit streets and shadowed alley ways. His feathers out fluttering about for something..anything to give this ProHero something to do.

He tipped his head backwards body following as his wings bristled, something was going on and it excited him. His wings stretching out as they flew him forward to where he felt it where the rest of his feathers were gathering. He made his way to a lesser part of the big city his eyes scanning the smaller houses with overgrown gardens. His eyes scanning the area when he seen it. A bright blue flashing to his left and he swooped round, landing on the roof and stepping to the edge.

“L-Look! I-im sorry but I don’t have it right now!” Two people, a criminal and a civilian. Hawks crouched low as he watched the palm of the mans light up in blue flame. Hawks chewed his lip debating whether to step in as they hadn’t noticed him.

As a hero he should step in but as a double agent he should leave Dabi to his business. He decides on the latter giving a quick glance to the guy being threatened only to see hes already staring at Hawks. He feigns a look of care as he presses his index finger to his lips, getting up from his position he pulls a long feather from his wings. The fluffy plume now taut into a red blade. He moved to step off the roof when a hand reached round his mouth and the feeling of something sharp prod his back.

Hawks eyes widened genuinely as his body stilled. The feather in his hand fluffing out as he finally registered the person behind him. His brows furrowing as his own wings puffed out on instinct trying to grasp who this was and how they slipped by him. It was almost impossible not with his senses.

“Hey there birdy” He sucked in a breath as the sultry voice just giggled in his ear. He was no longer as sleepy as he was earlier. He opened his mouth not knowing what to say as his eyes fell back to the man only to see a blue flame lick him up. Hawks nose crinkled at the smell of burning flesh as the raven haired man spun round.

“Hey there pro” he grinned sending a nod most likely to whoever was behind Hawks. The hand was removed as the person stepped back and on instinct Hawks spun. The long feather once again pulled as sharp as a knife as he pushed the tip under the persons chin.

His hand faltered as his eyes met yours. A white cloth mask was pulled up over your nose but the bright moon made your eyes glow. His feather reduced to fluff as his mind for a moment drew blank and you only giggled at the supposed ProHero. You lifted a gloved hand up and gently pushed the feather aside. The action sending a tingle down his stomach and he straightened up. His wings were never sensitive, why now.

“Hey Angel, not a very nice way to act towards our dear friend here” Dabi’s voice broke Hawks from his thoughts as his head turned back to the scarred man who already had a cigarette in his mouth. Hawks watched as the girl before him jumped from the roof his preying eyes not missing the white that appeared when her cloak shifted from the fall. That white looked like feathers, like wings.

Hawks followed putting his bigger feather back as he sent out smaller plumes to survey the area and ensure no one was watching. His narrowed eyes watching the two villains before him.

“Did you really need to burn him Dabi? It always smells so bad” you whined as you crossed your arms moving closer to Hawks whose feathers bristled again.

“Stop whinin’ now especially after you begged me to let you come with” Dabi snapped back taking a drag of his cigarette.

“You gonna tell me what that was about? Save me n’ the commission some paperwork” Hawks asked, watching as Dabi’s mouth stretched into a humourless grin.

“Yeah? Yano, just cause the boss wants ya doesn’t mean im your buddy too” He grumbled and Hawks rolled his eyes at the mans antics.

“At least gimme a name and why you did it. You need me to kill another pro just so you’ll spill?” He hummed. His eyes flicking to the girl beside him, more specifically her hand that was reaching for his wings. He pivoted on his heel turning his body completely towards you as he grabbed your wrist tightly, narrowed eyes and slit pupils staring at you.

“Calm down Birdy. I just wanted to know if they were really as soft as everyone says” You teased sending him a wink. Hawks brows furrowed at your behaviour and just shoved your wrist away frustrated a villain was toying with him.

“His name is Ito Takashi. He owed the boss some money and wasn’t able to pay up so I took care of it” Hawks eyes glanced over to the embers of what was once a man, what once was a life and felt guilt chew at his heart. He, however, remained stoic and only rolled his eyes.

“Bit far burning him though” he observed and Dabi just shrugged as he eyed his companion. Her eyes focused on Hawks this entire time.

“Hmm, suppose I coulda used one of your little feathers to slice him huh” Dabi muttered as he reached a hand and plucked a red feather from Hawks wings. The mans bird like eyes honed in on the feather that sat in Dabi’s palm.

“I don’t think you’ll miss this one”

The blue flames swallowed it whole and Hawks suppressed the small sting in his back and rather focused his attention on the shove Dabi received from the all too quiet girl.

“What? You feel bad for the guy just cause you share the same quirk as him?” He teased as you shoved him again and slapped his arm. Hawks attention shifted as he stared at her now. You averted your gaze but Dabi only chuckled, reaching over and snatching the cloak from you. The metal broach snapping as the fabric lay on the ground.

Hawks eyes widened at the white wings that emerged from your back. They were almost the size of his own. His heart quickened as something stirred in his chest. The wings stayed tucked behind you but it was obvious how big they were for the curled far over your head and the bottom feathers lay on the grass at your feet. You were quick together the cloak from the ground and pull it back over your shoulders, clicking the broach back together as your eyes met Hawks.

“Get a good enough look little Bird?” You hummed but he could sense the anger in your tone. He relaxed his previously tense shoulders and glanced at Dabi.

“Yeah we got another you Hawks. Shes a beauty, names Angel, well obviously I can’t tell ya her real name. I wouldn’t let her wings deceive you..Shes far from holy” Dabi chuckled as he moved his attention to his phone and sighed.

“Alright Dove, crusty wants us back” Dabi turned and began waving his hand for you to follow. Your eyes finding Hawks already staring at you.

“Till next time Hawks don’t miss me too much” You chirped as you followed after Dabi. Hawks paused momentarily before taking to the sky, eyes scanning for the two villains only to find you both gone. His brows furrowed as he continued to fly over the city finding himself landing on the roof of a tall building.

A strange feeling was building in his chest as he crouched low. His eyes watching the city below but not really paying attention as his thoughts trailed back to you.

Who were you?

There was no way the commission didn’t know about you, especially with a quirk similar to his. If they did have information on you it most likely is old. The commission has intel on almost all of the criminals in Kyushu and surrounding areas, even if it was limited like Dabi’s or Shigaraki’s they would have something, so why didn’t he know about you? Why wasn’t he warned of someone like you, someone like him. The U.A student Tokoyami is one of the only other individuals Hawks knew to have a similar based quirk.

“Hmm..Angel” The name didn’t ring any bells either aside from church ones as he mulled over his thoughts, trying to distract himself from the continuing feeling in his chest.

This feeling only dragged further throughout Hawks night shift and when 8AM rolled round he was immediately through the balcony doors in his office. His body warm and feverish, feathers puffed and wings twitching as he headed out of his office, finding his assistant already at his desk with a pile of paper work. His head snapped up with a smile that dropped upon seeing the hero.

“Hawks! You don’t look so good are you okay?” Hawks waved him off. He could feel the sweat along his forehead. He didn’t need a mirror to know how bad he probably looked.

“Yeah, don’t worry just think chugging a bunch of coffees has got me all wired up. I left some documents on my desk of reports needing sorted. I’m on nights this week so i’ll leave anything for you on my desk each morning” his assistant only nodded slowly as the pro headed by and down the elevator, leaving his agency and taking to the skies as he quickly flew home.

He couldn’t strip fast enough. His boots kicked haphazardly off, next was his belt that got slung over the sofa. His gloves chucked in the hallway along with his cargos. His jacket shrugged off as he peeled his tight black shirt from his warm body and hit the shower button. The warm water that usually comforted his sore muscles made him recoil as he turned it to cold.

His forehead resting along the tiles as his wings stretched and continued twitching. His feathers unable to keep still as some smaller ones plucked themselves off and flew mindlessly around the bathroom. Hawks just sighed as his eyes closed, trying to ignore this feeling. He could be sick but he rarely ever gets sick, though its not like there isn’t medicine available to deal with this. His thoughts continued as he decided he’d call the doctors before he went to sleep. His hand running through his wet hair as his mind kept buzzing, skin stayed hot and wings tweaked.

Angel..

[lilyinavalley]

Sinners Damnation

CHAPTER I - Encounter Il dottore x female oc

-SPOILER WARNING! This story happens after Scaramouche erases his existence from Irminsul, so even if the events are not happening in the current timeline of the game the 6th harbinger position is still vacant :) -TAGS: isekai but the mc doesn’t know about genshin, scientist mc, angst, eventual smut, fate, dubious morals, dubious ethics, canon divergences, no description of body features other than the characteristics of a general female body

Ao3 link

It is said that love brings the best out of people What if it does the opposite? What happens when two lovers bring the worst out of each other? When their most selfish and disgusting desires come to light?

This is the story of a man and a woman that should’ve never met

Red sky, no stars, crimson wet soil, no grass. I walked, walked and walked, bare feet stained with the dark fluid that came out from the ground every time I took a step. I was completely naked, limbs hurting from the cold and fatigue, hollow eyes always looking ahead, legs that couldn’t stop, as my will was no more.

This is a warning from the Gods above, the appetizer of what my after death is going to be if I continue to stay by his side, such is the conclusion I came to.

Every night I have this dream and every morning I wake up with a bone chilling sense of  dread.

But saying that he is the only reason behind this is an absolute naivety, for I am also a sinner.

Pain, it spread from the tip of my fingers, slow and cold.

I opened my eyes wide and with a moan of pain I looked at my hands, it was snow, the little particles of ice were slowly freezing my skin, the violet color of the phalanxes the proof.

My clothes were in complete contrast to the environment that was around me, a light sundress was covering my aching body, sandals at my feet, a straw hat a few meters from me, strange, considering the unnatural stillness of the air. 

How did I get here? What was I even doing?

Apparently I woke up in a pine forest, no village, human or animal in sight, in the snow there weren't any signs of footprints, not even mine, it looked like I fell from the sky.

The pain was unbearable and apparently at that moment I couldn’t recall the events that led me in that place, nor I had any memories of my past; but giving up wasn’t an option, so with extreme fatigue I stood up and started to walk in a random direction.

The cold pierced my bare skin, the soles of my feet started to sore and bleed from the direct contact with the snow, my lips gained a violet hue, but still, I didn’t want to stop.

As I went forward, the surroundings didn’t change one bit, it was like I wasn’t even moving.

Is it some kind of punishment? What did I even do to deserve this?

At some point one leg didn’t answer my will to go forward anymore, my sight also started to blur, probably my brain was getting frozen too.

After a couple more steps everything turned black.

The young woman fell lifeless on the carpet of snow. Maybe because she didn’t give up, or maybe for sheer luck, a few moments later a group of masked soldiers on their way for a mission saw her body in the distance. Alarmed, they got closer, one of them checked her breath, she still had a pulse, weak, but present nonetheless. He took her gently in his arms, covered her with a greatcoat and laid her in the seats of the coach. The soldiers looked at her curiously, everything about her was strange, she gave off an odd vibe, like she wasn’t even from that world. They also noticed the fact that her body was completely abandoned,  without footprints around her, considering how she was dressed and the fact that she was also alive and that it wasn’t snowing, it was impossible that she was laying there for so much time that the traces were covered by a snowfall. 

The men looked at each other and came to the same conclusion.

“Let’s bring her to our Lord harbinger”

The regular ticking of a pendulum clock, the soft creaking of fire, a reassuring and enveloping warmth, these were the things that I heard first as I slowly woke up from a dreamless and deep slumber. My body was covered with a heavy and soft duvet, only my head uncovered, my limbs weren’t hurting anymore.

I got into a sitting position, the blanket fell to my waist, I was wearing a plain nightgown with a very thick fabric, I bared my legs and I noticed that my feet were completely bandaged.

I got lucky I guess

The precariousness of my situation made me anxious, countless questions and doubts started to swarm in my mind.

Where am I?

Am I in danger?

I’m so scared 

I just want to sleep and go back to where I was

But where was I before waking up in the snow?

Why did this happen to me?

Who even am I?

I took a deep breath and I closed my eyes to clear my mind. When I gained control of my thoughts again I started to analyze the situation: for some reason I had no memories of my life, giving the circumstance I woke up in, I probably didn’t come to that forest willingly, I had no idea of where I was and there was literally nothing that gave me even a faint sense of familiarity. 

The room I was staying in was very spacious, it was square shaped, everything, from the walls to the furniture, was in shades of white and light blue. 

On my left there was a giant English style window, through the glass was reflected a raging snowstorm, other than that I could only see a never ending plain of immaculate white, beautiful and alienating at the same time.

I stood up, the bandages on my feet slightly protecting them from the cold of the marble floor, I cautiously walked towards the fireplace, the only source of warmth of the room, I crouched down by keeping a safe distance, the soft yellow and orange hues painted my face. When the heat imbued my body, I stood up to search the room. Parallel to the window there was a large fir door, on its right a full body mirror that reflected the sight of the snowstorm. I went for the door first, I lowered the handle and tried to pry the door open, but it didn’t move an inch, so I walked to the mirror and stood straight to look at my reflection. The woman in front of me was both familiar and foreign at the same time. 

I’m very pretty I have to say, a bit shabby, but I quite literally escaped death, so that’s reasonable I guess

Then I heard a light echo of footsteps, someone was walking in my direction.

Anxiety and panic rose once again, a piercing sense of chill went up to my brain passing through my spine.

My body was completely frozen on the spot, I looked like a lamb patiently waiting for the inevitable doom. The steps got closer and closer, until they stopped at once. I could feel the loom of danger even through the closed door.

The squeaking sound of keys forewent the slow opening of the light colored door.

The wolf deprived the lamb of any chance to escape

A tall man entered the room, and as soon as his foot landed on the floor, the temperature seemed to drop by a few degrees.

That was our first encounter, the image of his dreadful figure shook me to my deepest core; -even if it happened in the distant past, I still remember it like it happened yesterday. My reaction was normal though, even with my current understanding of the man I wouldn’t say that I was silly, at the time he was no different than a blood driven monster, blindly following his every whim, everything and everybody else just props to his play-

He was wearing a strange shaped mask that covered the upper half of his face, it almost looked like a beak; even if his eyes were covered, I could feel him gazing intently at every inch of my body.

-I wonder what he was thinking at the time, seeing such a proud looking lady, terrified by his dreadful appearance, but looking at him straight in the eyes nonetheless- 

He opened his mouth, a string of incomprehensible words reached my ears.

What the hell is he saying, I can’t understand a word of this language, I don’t even think I ever heard that before

I frowned in confusion and as soon as he saw my dumbfounded expression he halted his speech. His lips suddenly curved into a devious smile and he said something with a satisfied tone.

Scared by his ominous stare, I took a few steps back.

After thinking for some seconds, he took out a small object from his pants pocket, it was a metal object, shaped like a eucalyptus leaf.  

He held his hand to me, the strange object in his palm.

I was still wary of him, but both for curiosity and lack of other options (more the second) I cautiously got closer.

In his eyes I’m sure I looked ridiculous, I was completely defenseless, but I kept up a fierce and intimidating look, as if I could really scare him or react in a possible dire situation. -How amusing-

Seeing that I trusted him enough to get a little bit closer, he held out his fingers even more and out of nowhere the object began to emit a light green light, it also started to float. Is it magic that I’m seeing?

It became smaller and smaller until it was no bigger than a breadcrumb; then it moved so fast that my eyes couldn’t even perceive the movement and entered one of my ears, the tickle gave me goosebumps.

“Don’t worry it’s not harmful”

And right after he said that a head splitting headache suddenly blackened my vision.

“Not harmful?!” I said with clenched teeth and a reprimanding voice.

“It seems to work” He stated proudly.

After a few seconds the pain subsided and I looked at him with a hateful glare.

“I understand what you are saying now, and apparently I can talk your language too. What is this?”

He grinned and gave a satisfied scoff.

“It’s one of my inventions of course, it injects the information I put inside directly into your brain, quite interesting isn’t it? The headache is just a little side effect”

I wouldn’t call it “little” but nevermind, at least I can talk to him

“What is this place?” I asked and turned to the window again, the snowstorm was still raging, white snowflakes were hitting the glass, the contrast with the warm temperature of the room let them melt, but the iciness of the air outside prevailed, so the droplets of water froze once again.

“This is the country of everwinter, Snezhnaya”

I’ve never heard of this place, where the fuck did I end up?

Uneasiness enveloped my heart like thorns.

“But it's useless information for you, am I right?

Without me noticing, he got closer and with his towering height he looked down on me.

I felt so small, both physically and mentally.

“You are not from this world”

I widened my eyes, but I still kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t surprised, deep in my heart I already knew it, call it gut feeling.

“You are not the first one to come to Teyvat, we call them descenders, but usually they are powerful beings, capable of changing the fate of this world. That’s not your case though, I checked your body and you have the anatomy of a common mortal with not an ounce of strange otherworldly power”

He did what?!

“I wonder what was the trigger that made you come here”

He rubbed his chin with one hand, he inclined his head and some peculiar pendant earring popped up from his light blue wavy hair. It looked like a test tube, a fluorescent liquid rattled inside.

The man was probably a scientist of some kind.

As soon as I had this realization, countless memories flashed in my mind, causing my head to spin. 

Images of me in university attending lectures, me in a white lab coat preparing histological slides, me analyzing microorganisms with a microscope, me doing a presentation in a conference.

I seem to have gotten part of my memories back

Overwhelmed by the sudden surge of memories I put my hands on my hair and crouched a little. 

That behavior also surprised the apparently all knowing scientist, as he knitted his eyebrows.

“What’s going on young lady?”

Still shaken, I gasped.

Can I trust him? There is something deeply wrong about him, even with his eyes covered I can feel the glare of blind curiosity towards the unknown, as a scientist myself I understand what it means to have something you have never seen to study. 

So I put all my fate to his hunger for discovery .

“I lack a great part of my memories”

He looked at me a bit dumbfounded and crossed his arms.

“Right now I got some of them back”

I stood up and looked straight to where I thought his eyes were.

“What do you want to do with me?”

A snort escaped his lips, then a subdued laughter, and in the end he started to laugh uncontrollably, he looked like a complete psycho.

I’m done

As if a switch had been flipped, he stopped at once, he put his hand close to my ear and with a finger he curled a lock of hair.

“Tell me, do you remember your name?”

“I do not” I said sternly.

He hummed in thought, let go of my hair and stepped back.

“I will help you with your memories, for now, you don’t have to worry about anything else”

He turned and walked towards the door.

“Wait”

He stopped and turned slightly.

“What is your name?”

“Just call me Doctor” 

He went out and closed the door without turning back.

Really, what did I do wrong to end up here?

[broodwoof]

Fen’Harel / Andruil / Ghilan’nain

Content warnings: Rape; jealously; possessiveness; canon-typical violence (via codex entries/stories)

A couple of notes before I dig into this: first is that Andruil/Ghilan’nain as a ship is based off of the now-discontinued TTRPG canon, but it’s something I enjoy and have retained as part of my personal network of HCs. Second, I will be referencing the one story I do know from The Masked Empire, Fen’Harel and the Tree. I will attach the description of that story from the wiki for those who are unfamiliar, but I’m noting it here as a spoiler. Aside from these two sources, everything I’m about to say—including some alterations to these sources—are just my HCs and not to be taken as an argument towards what is “true” or “canon”. It is a playground and I am currently telling y’all how I like to play with my dolls.

Fen’Harel and the Tree:

"In the story, Fen'Harel was captured by the hunting goddess, Andruil. He had angered her by hunting the halla without her blessing, and she tied him to a tree and declared that he would have to serve in her bed for a year and a day to pay her back. But as she made camp that night, the dark god Anaris found them, and Anaris swore that he would kill Fen'Harel for crimes against the Forgotten Ones. Andruil and Anaris decided that they would duel for the right to claim Fen'Harel.

He called out to Anaris during the fight and told him of a flaw in Andruil's armor just above the hip, and Anaris stabbed Andruil in the side, and she fell. Then Fen'Harel told Anaris that he owed the Dread Wolf for the victory and ought to get his freedom. Anaris was so affronted by Fen'Harel's audacity that he turned and shouted insults at the prisoner, and so he did not see Andruil, injured but alive, rise behind him and attack with her great bow. Anaris fell with a golden arrow in his back, badly injured, and while both gods slumbered to heal their wounds, Fen'Harel chewed through his ropes and escaped."

     —Felassan, to Briala

Now, I won’t pretend that I’m not a fan of messy, complex, and unhealthy dynamics, but I want to make it clear that I don’t think the Solas/Andruil element of this ship is based around rape. The argument can be made from the above story, but I suspect it is a lot more hyperbolic than it is literal and that interpretation is a cornerstone of the rest of this meta. 

So! The meta at last!

Ghilan’nain was inducted as one of the Evanuris, presumably by Andruil. While there is the story about Andruil transforming Ghilan’nain into a halla (the first halla) (codex entry listed below), I do not believe she literally spent the rest of her life as a halla. The story could be hyperbolic or metaphorical. So what I take from all this is that: Ghilan’nain was saved—or sees herself as being saved—by Andruil. And another codex entry about Ghilan’nain states that “Pride stopped her hand,” where Pride is capitalized. Given Solas’ statement of “I was Solas first,” and given that Solas means pride, I find this to be a pretty straightforward reference to Solas staying her hand (codex listed below, emphasis mine).

So what we have so far is Andruil and Ghilan’nain together, Andruil interested in Solas, and Ghilan’nain and Solas having some kind of connection. Looking back at Fen’Harel and the Tree, Solas angered Andruil by “hunting the halla without her blessing,” which, in the context of the rest, seems to me to be a statement towards Solas and Ghilan’nain having been involved at some level. Perhaps they slept together, perhaps they flirted, maybe they were even close friends and Andruil was simply jealous. Still, Ghilan’nain was supposedly the first halla, so the idea that hunting halla could be a normal passtime and thus this statement being literal seems unlikely, reinforcing the idea that it was Ghilan’nain who Solas “hunted”/pursued/was seen as pursuing. 

Now, I do have a heavier read on all this, and one I have touched on tangentially through my Merry Whump of May series. In this read, Andruil’s actions towards Solas does constitute rape, or attempted rape. Andruil and Ghilan’nain are together, and whether Solas was involved with Ghilan’nain or not matters less than the fact that Andruil perceived them as being together and decided that a fitting punishment was to get Solas to warm her bed for a year and a day, thus taking Ghilan’nain’s lover—or “lover”—for herself and punishing the both of them at once. I think this is a valid read as well! But in terms of an OT3, I don’t see this as being a feasible basis, so it’s not the read I’m focusing on here.

So, let’s take a look at Solas now. I’d wager that this is the “hot-blooded and cocky, always ready to fight” time of his life that he references in conversation with Blackwall. The Solas we see in the game is quite calm (with a few reasonable exceptions), thinks before he acts, doesn’t yearn for battle but sees the necessity of it, so on and so forth. Very different from the image he paints of himself when he was younger. He’s focusing on certain aspects of his youth, but there would have been other differences, too; overall less experienced, perhaps more impulsive. I’m pulling a lot out of a single line, but the characteristics that lead someone to being 1) hot-blooded, 2) cocky, and 3) always ready to fight seem to be characteristics that would also lead to a generalized intensity.

So, Arlathan era Solas was young, rash, intense; hot-blooded, cocky, quick to fight. To me this is the kind of man who could easily pursue someone who is dangerous and thrilling, someone who is glorious and threatening all at once. Given this, a relationship with Andruil does not seem far-fetched, for she is powerful, bold, skilled, and likely beautiful. (The last because lbr, a videogame is not going to make would-be gods anything other than attractive. But also I view Solas as demi, so if he’s interested in who someone is, attraction and desire would follow). 

Solas and Ghilan’nain make sense in a similar vein, where Solas appreciates Ghilly’s unique power and capability. She also creates life rather than destroys or controls it, as the other Evanuris do. I can see Solas being drawn to Ghilan’nain’s power, and according to the codex she kept herself apart from the other Elvhen, which could be extrapolated to mean that she does not behave like the other Evanuris do, or like the other Elvhen do, and I think that Solas always has been drawn to people with unique outlooks and points of view. I imagine even then he valued learning for its own sake and would have seen the possibility of learning a great deal from Ghilly.

So, the OT3 dynamic. I do view Andruil as possessive and jealous, just my personal read on her character, and I think she would bring those characteristics into any relationship, whether one exclusively with either Ghilan’nain or Solas or the three of them together. In the latter, she would want them both, but I think she would be wary of letting them spend time alone together. And this is prior to exploring the Void/the Abyss (I can never remember which is which and honestly some codex entries seem to use the terms interchangeably which does not help matters) (codex entry below). After her explorations and the way those impact her, I think any potential dynamic with them would be much worse, far more strained, and would likely end up breaking apart dramatically. In that case, I suspect Ghilan’nain would stay with Andruil, in no small part because of what she feels she owes Andruil for having saved her.

Aside from his intensity and the easy way that can lead to infatuation and fascination, I suspect that Solas would get to a point where he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could fix them. Could pull them to his side. Ghilan’nain would be easier because she was not part of the family, not as mired in their ways and their corruption, and her power was so formidable that the Evanuris were wary of it. If he could have gotten her to openly join his side during the rebellion, things may have gone very differently. And Andruil’s connection to Ghilan’nain might have been something he thought he could pull on as well, could hone in on this connection with someone outside the family, someone different from the Evanuris, someone Andruil had learned to value, and guide her towards valuing more people outside the family.

Of course, it did not work out that way. I suspect he did not try to bring either of them into his rebellion, because to do so would be to announce his rebellion, but I imagine he got to a point—particularly after Andruil changed—that it felt impossible to turn them to his side. Even if not impossible, far too great a risk. 

Codex Entries:

One day, Ghilan'nain came across a hunter she did not know. At his feet lay a hawk, shot through the heart by an arrow. Ghilan'nain was filled with rage, for the hawk is an animal much beloved of Andruil. Ghilan'nain called upon the goddess to curse him, so that he could never again hunt and kill a living creature. Ghilan'nain's curse took hold, and the hunter found that he was unable to hunt. Ashamed, the hunter swore he would find Ghilan'nain and repay her for what she had done to him. He blinded her first, and then bound her as one would bind a kill fresh from the hunt. But because he was cursed, the hunter could not kill her. Instead he left her for dead in the forest. And Ghilan'nain prayed to the gods for help. Andruil sent her hares to Ghilan'nain and they chewed through the ropes that bound her, but Ghilan'nain was still wounded and blind, and could not find her way home. So Andruil turned her into a beautiful white deer—the first halla.

—From Codex entry: Ghilan'nain: Mother of the Halla

Ghilan'nain kept herself apart from the People. She used her power to create animals none had ever seen. The skies teemed with her monsters, the land with her beasts. Andruil hunted them all, and after a year of killing, approached Ghilan'nain with an offer: the gods would share their power with Ghilan'nain, but only if she destroyed her creations, for they were too untamed to remain among the People. Ghilan'nain agreed and asked for three days to undo what she had made.

On the first day she struck down the monsters of the air, except those she presented to Andruil as a gift.

On the second day she drowned the giants of the sea, except those in deep waters, for they were too well-wrought, and Pride stopped her hand.

On the third day she killed the beasts of the land, except the halla, whose grace she loved above all else.

This is how Ghilan'nain was made youngest of the gods.

—Story of the elven god Ghilan'nain, author unknown (emphasis mine)

One day Andruil grew tired of hunting mortal men and beasts. She began stalking the Forgotten Ones, wicked things that thrive in the abyss. Yet even a god should not linger there, and each time she entered the Void, Andruil suffered longer and longer periods of madness after returning.

Andruil put on armor made of the Void, and all forgot her true face. She made weapons of darkness, and plague ate her lands. She howled things meant to be forgotten, and the other gods became fearful Andruil would hunt them in turn. So Mythal spread rumors of a monstrous creature and took the form of a great serpent, waiting for Andruil at the base of a mountain.

When Andruil came, Mythal sprang on the hunter. They fought for three day and nights, Andruil slashing deep gouges in the serpent's hide. But Mythal's magic sapped Andruil's strength, and stole her knowledge of how to find the Void. After this, the great hunter could never make her way back to the abyss, and peace returned.

—Translated from ancient elven found in the Arbor Wilds, source unverified

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Fill the void

!!Contains mild spoilers from TGCF Book 6!!

Warnings: some gory descriptions as metaphors, yearning, pining and suffering

Summary: Xie Lian's sad evil girl arc ft Wu Ming and stargazing

Let me know what you think! <3

---

It’s strange – everything is, of course, the world turned upside down, tilted wrong on its axis like it has fallen off its rhythm, spinning aimlessly into a dark abyss – but this is a different kind of strange, darker, desperate and demanding. Xie Lian feels it like a restless, hungry snake coiling angrily against the walls of the too small enclosure of his ribcage, attacking aimlessly with the purpose of tearing its cage apart.

He doesn’t know what to make of it, how to quench it enough so it’s bearable – so he tries to suppress it, to starve it for attention enough for it to wither away, to cram it into the darkest corners of his heart and seal it away like an unwanted creature.

He cannot. Not when the feeling electrifies inside him like lightning every time he lays his eyes upon this impossibly devoted, loyal man that’s attached himself to Xie Lian for reasons only he knows the depth of.

Xie Lian hates this, the feeling in his chest, writhing around his heart like it’s trying to squeeze it until it breaks into a mess of blood and pulsing veins – he hates it, he doesn’t want it, doesn’t understand it, doesn’t need it, not right now, not like this, not ever-

He’s become angrier, it’s made him more irritable, quicker to bloodshed and yet less satisfied with it. No matter what he does, the feeling inside of him will not accept it. There is no loophole this time, nothing that will work except the one thing Xie Lian has decided he will always deny himself.

Lust.

Love.

The night sky glitters impassively above them, endless, an expanse of darkness dotted with flickering lights, the faded image of the Milky Way stretching like a band of jewels against black velvet.

Xie Lian stares up at it, as if trying to peer behind it, into the heavens, past the glamor that hides the heavenly capital from the mortal realm. He knows they’re there, all of them impassive to the happenings of the world below, gathering merits for the lowest of favors granted in return, unwilling to leave their glittering palaces and expensive layers of silk to walk the cursed earth that rose them to the skies.

Not that Xie Lian has much mercy left for this plane either. He can still feel the phantom of a sword – of a hundred swords – digging into his innards sometimes, cruel, relentless, unforgiving, tearing into soft tissue and a loving heart.

His body has healed, as it has always done. But nothing was left of the kindness, the paroxysmal selflessness and need to help the powerless. All Xie Lian feels instead is at best apathy, at worst rage. Most days, he’s consumed with the need for revenge and most nights he fights that unnamed feeling gnawing at his chest.

He doesn’t remember the last time he slept, or ate, or drank anything – yet he doesn’t feel tired, famished or thirsty, walking the planes of existence much like a restless ghost, haunting and wrathful.

He rests against the large trunk of an old tree, time and the beasts of the forest having dug a sizeable caving in the wood. It feels almost like a little nest, tucked away from the world, with only moonlight to shroud it in a delicate veil of light.

His fingers grasp at his mask and he finally removes  it, the cool night air a benediction to his sunken features. Lately, he has not been able to be without his mask, as if ashamed to show himself, warring with his past and the present, his features reminding him too much of how he used to be for it not to feel revulsive.

But now, here, in this hidden abode, with only the moon and the dark silhouettes of olden trees, he allows himself some freedom. It feels more stifling than freeing, and he nearly reaches for the mask again when he hears the rustle of leaves and footsteps.

But he knows who it is – and for some reason, he decides he won’t hide right now.

Wu Ming stands a little a-ways, as he always does, close enough to be at Xie Lians disposal but not to the point he’s intrusive. Keeping a respectful distance, a guard standing watch for his prince, a servant ready to attend to his master’s orders.

Somehow, this is not what Xie Lian wants tonight.

“Come here.” He says, not bothering to look towards the other or to check whether he heard those two words, spoken in a quiet, monotone voice against the low hum of the forest. He always does what he’s told, loyal to a fault, and Xie Lian does not need confirmation for anything he asks Wu Ming to do. It is comforting as much as it unsettles the nameless thing curling insistently in Xie Lian’s chest.

 It is moments later that Wu Ming sits next to him, the opening in the tree trunk enough for both of them. Neither say anything for a while, staring up at the sky, eyes fighting against the brightness of moonlight to look at the distant stars in the background.

Xie Lian feels strangely…comfortable is too much to say, but the feeling is similar to that, a placid, uncharged atmosphere. If he were to compare it to something, it would have to be the undisturbed surface of a lake reflecting the sky like a mirror.

The dark canvas of the night moves imperceptibly with the rotation of the planet as both Xie Lian and Wu Ming stare at it. Like the blade of a precise spiritual sword, a shooting star draws a momentary linbe of bright white against the muted colors of the distant stars.

Something soft, mournful almost, passes over Xie Lian’s features, the mask of neutral indifference giving way to melancholy.

“Have you ever looked up at the expanse of the stars and wondered how many of them are dead?”

The words hang heavily into the air, the soft tone in Xie Lian’s voice almost foreign to his own ears. He sounds… vulnerable, almost. It grates his ears, that raw, unfiltered emotion etched into every syllable – but he’s said it already and so he can now do nothing but await an answer. Though he would be strangely alright with none at all as well. Companionship is enough for him right now, even if it is silent.

“Most of them probably are.” Wu Ming replies at last, “By the time their light reaches us, so far away into the distance, perhaps their source has already extinguished.”

It is a heavy piece of knowledge to the unexpectedly fragile state Xie Lian finds himself in this night. To think even the stars above are little more than ghosts, impressions of themselves trapped onto a canvas like a child’s fingerprints in ink on a funerary portrait.

“You’re right…” he murmurs quietly, a long pause following. “But there is a part of me that wants to think that some of them are still alive. I want to be selfish and hope that a few – even one, hasn’t died yet. Just one.”

Though Xie Lian cannot properly see it, he could swear he saw a smile pull at his face, the visible side of it rippling slightly where his mouth is.

“Which one should it be?” he asks, his voice just a tiny bit lighter, almost playful as he points towards a bright, shining star above their heads. “That one?”

Xie Lian looks at it, a brightly visible dot that stands out almost too much against the night sky. He frowns slightly – no, that one cannot be alive, not with how powerfully it shines, it must have burnt out by now. The most beautiful, the brightest of stars fade the quickest, leaving behind dying embers. Xie Lian knows best.

“No, not that one.” He replies, with a hint of sadness in his voice despite the small smile on his lips.

Wu Ming nods imperceptibly and points towards another star, smaller than the first but nonetheless bright, surrounded by a cluster of other little ones, like followers swarming to their favorite god.

“No, not that one either.”

Wu Ming stares up at the night sky for a longer time after that, searching. Xie Lian finds his little game rather cute, the way he’s taking it so seriously though it is so silly. He knows this is just Wu Ming trying to give him some hope, the way he does with every one of those white flowers Xie Lian always refuses.

Eventually, Wu Ming points to another star, so small and faded Xie Lian must narrow his eyes in concentration to see it. Its light flickers like a candle fighting against a powerful wind, surrounded by darkness – but it appears to be fighting against the void, refusing to be swallowed, wanting to be seen with every pulse of light it emits. It has not been granted brightness like the others, instead it must work hard to be noticed, to fulfill its purpose.

“How about that one?”

A small, soft smile pulls at Xie Lian’s lips, this time not shadowed by sorrow or bitterness – instead, it seems nearly hopeful.

“Yes, that one… that one’s perfect.”

“Then may that one be alive, wherever it may be in the heavens.”

He sighs wistfully, looking at the small, struggling dot in the sky. Hope feels strange as well, most of everything does these days, but this is not the kind of discomfort that Xie Lian finds unpleasant.

The silence returns between the wo figures sat in the hollow of that tree trunk as their gazes return to the infinite canvas of the night sky.

Xie Lian finds himself drawn to that star no matter how far his gaze wanders.

--

“Do you believe in wishes, Wu Ming?”

The reply comes after a few beats of silence. “I do, yes.”

Xie Lian looks at him, for a moment wishes he could see him, without the mask, without any barriers. It is an invasive, selfish thought and Xie Lian is quick to admonish himself for it. It is not his place, nor is it his business.

He yearns for it still, though.

He’s quiet for a moment more, before he asks, “If you cold have any wish granted to you right now, what would you ask for?”

This time, he is quite sure Wu Ming is smiling beneath his mask as he talks, his voice so much softer than usual. “I would wish to be allowed to always be by my beloved’s side.”

The answer is simple and straightforward in the same way that it is both complex and elusive. For a split second, Xie Lian feels that unnamed thing inside his chest tighten unpleasantly, like it has been angered. The thought of Wu Ming standing by another’s side makes that feeling swirl like poison in Xie Lian’s mouth.

He doesn’t want to confront that feeling, not even acknowledge, let alone understand what it is.

“A good wish…” he replies distantly, his voice again monotone.

“What about you, your highness? What would you wish for if you knew it would not be denied?”

Xie Lian pauses at that, as he has always done whenever asked about what he wanted. What did he want? He used to think he knew. The first thing that pops into his brain is revenge. For himself, for his family, for his people, for his kingdom. For all the pain endured, for all the losses and the despair, for the lost grace and the rotting carcass of the person he used to be.

The second thing, he cannot say it. His body fills with a sense of shame so great it is nearly overwhelming, so he refuses to so much as think it a second time.

“I do not believe in wishes.” Xie Lian replies instead. “There is nobody to grant them.”