#Help I can't tag all of these villains

[sweetevoltrap]

Sylus saying "...don't run" to MC when they're finally being openly honest about their desire for one another and their trust and shared spaces.

[sunshine-and-her-ikevil-stuff]

I hate that the more I learn about Alfons, the more similarities I see between him and me

[beevean]

A more fleshed out idea of how I would have ended the Lenector story in the most balanced way I can think of.

Lenore is Hector's prisoner, as per canon. He still treats her as nothing happened, like a good friend, but Lenore is sulking and angry and not even bothering to keep up the façade like Hector used to do in her position. It's unfair, after she treated him as her only confidant, and she couldn't care less, that's what the traitor gets. Hector thinks he should be happy, to have reversed the roles on her... but he isn't. Unlike Lenore, power over another person doesn't satisfy him. He can't help but see her as a depressed animal in a cage... much like he used to be.

He wanted to protect her, he really did, but only now he's seeing how much hurt he caused her. Much like she said she meant to do with the ring, although to this day he doesn't know if it was a lie or the truth. There is no joy in inflicting her the same fate she inflicted upon him, even if it comes from a place of well-meaning and not selfishness. He has seen what that kind of "eye for an eye" mentality brings to the world, and he wants none of it.

So, he finally takes a decision for himself, and repays the one debt he has with her. He helps her flee from the castle. He is, for the first time, showing empathy to a person and not an animal.

(I don't even think Isaac needs to be kept in the dark. Lenore on her own is harmless, nothing like Carmilla who became a danger to the world. Hector and Lenore are dangerous tools in the wrong hands, but they lack the ambition that makes them solid threats, as they are mostly concerned with feeling safe. If Isaac truly wants to do good to everyone, he has no reason to keep Lenore as a prisoner, not even to force her to work for him. Same for Hector, since the two might have "forgiven" each other, but they have no relationship whatsoever. Perhaps him heeding Hector's request could show more how compassionate he has truly grown.)

Lenore is confused as to why, and Hector more or less explains that he couldn't bear watching her drinking herself into a stupor. Lenore snaps, and yells at him that he has no right to feeling sorry for her after what he has done, after going behind her back, after ruining her life... and is promptly shot down by Hector flashing his mutilated hand. Every ounce of ire Lenore directs at Hector is actually directed at herself, and they both know it. She is deeply regretting everything she did for the sake of people that didn't even respect her, she is just too proud to apologize. And her pride, her insecurity, her need to be the one in control, was what prevented her from truly being the good person she wanted to be. The very reason Hector wasn't happy with her despite her best efforts, and destroyed her life.

She really thought something so paltry as a slave ring would tame the human spirit. She really thought humans, like vampires, would care more about safety than freedom. For a diplomat who set herself to bridge humankind and vampirekind, she let her basic instincts get the better of her.

"Why didn't you just kill me back then?" she yells, attacks, it feels so good to blame Hector rather than herself. "At least I wouldn't have known how little I matter to you!"

(He had considered it, as his stump was bleeding all over the floor, his freedom painfully regained. That now Hector was free to hurt those who had hurt him. But what would be the point? He is so tired of needless death.)

(More selfishly, he still needed Lenore as an anchor to not feel alone or lost. Isaac may have forgiven him, but that doesn't make them friends.)

"I'm no longer that child," Hector responds. "I'm no longer the boy who believes to have the right to punish others. Besides, shouldn't you know the desire to spare someone's life no matter what?"

They had never breached that subject again, not after Lenore dismissed it in a fit of denial. It still weighs on her. He can no longer care.

"All this time," Hector says at last, "I expected an apology, but I think I don't need it anymore. As much as I don't need you anymore. I'm grateful for your efforts to protect me from your sisters' ire, so now I'll use them to live for myself. I'm sorry it had to be this way."

He holds no grudges anymore, and he has genuinely come to appreciate the real Lenore behind her masks and the way she took care of him during the previous six weeks, when the world would have chewed him and spit him out; but at the same time, he can't bear staying with her. She makes him too sad. It reminds him of how low he allowed himself to be brought for the sake of some scraps of love. She reminds him too much of a version of him he doesn't want to be. There are too many conflicting feelings in him. He can't help but think that, in another life, the two could have been genuine friends, if not more... but not this one. Too much baggage, too much shared misery. He is done with it. No more will he seek safety and love in other people, as if he wasn't strong enough. He deserves better.

Lenore doesn't know what to think anymore. She wants to die so badly, she is almost tempted to not hide herself from the sun: she can't concieve her existence as nothing more than a black hole, unworthy of living. She is nothing more than a disgusting monster doomed to spread misery to the world, she thinks, and she should die like one. She has nothing left, no allies, no home, and the one person she fell in love with is pulling away from her, and she can't bear being abandoned, and she completely understands why he's doing so. At the same time, however... Hector too has nothing left, and yet he wants to live. After everything he went through, after himself desiring death at Isaac's hand, he wants to experience real life, not survival like he has done since he was born. Lenore pretended to praise his strength when she was manipulating him, but now she has come to genuinely admire that trait. Can she, a vampire used to nothing but comfort, be as strong as a human being?

She wants to ask Hector if he thinks she's a good person. A glance at his mutilated hand answers her more than any word could. Lenore, all this time, had no idea what being "good" meant, she was only good at putting up a façade of gentleness, and she thought it was enough. All this time, she behaved like a vampire pretending to be human... so now, she will learn from the best human she has ever met. The best person. The only one who saw her as a person as well, behind her masks, behind her usefulness.

Even if Hector is now walking towards the dawn, with nothing but his resolution. For the first time, he will live for him, for himself.

They will never meet again, but in a twisted way, they gave each other what they needed to grow.

[mathewton-cl]

As An IzuOcha Shipper…

…them not ending up together isn’t the problem.

Horikoshi taking the “leave it up to interpretation” approach and then proceeding to COMPLETELY AVOID ADDRESSING their relationship status is the problem.

Horikoshi failing to tie up that one last loose end for Uraraka’s character arc (not closing off her feelings) is the problem.

Again, I ship IzuOcha. Still do, because I’m stubborn. Would I have liked for them to end up together, even if it was only a somewhat blatant implication that could be handwaved? Obviously. But you know what? Maybe I would be upset if the story went out of its way to explicitly de-confirm any chance of Midoriya and Uraraka being a romantic pairing, but I’d at least respect it and understand it a lot more if the story let Midoriya and Uraraka actually talk about this, or at the very least SHOWED US them talking about this. I’d understand if Uraraka completed her character arc by having a heart to heart with Midoriya and telling him that her feelings have changed, her priorities have changed, and Midoriya understands and they remain good friends. Let’s be real, romance isn’t Horikoshi’s strong suit, despite his many attempts to leave romantic implications throughout the series. I’d completely understand if he just had Midoriya and Uraraka talk and they didn’t end up together, because at least then it still provides both of their characters with closure.

But no, that’s too simple. Let’s just “leave it up to interpretation,” because it clearly wasn’t that important, right?

Well, as many people on the internet have already brought up, if it wasn’t so important, why did you spend so much time putting emphasis on it? Why did you have Uraraka, up until the FINAL WAR, have her crush on Midoriya be a crucial part of her character (it wasn’t her only character trait, mind you, but it was still important)? Why did the penultimate chapter have the class come to comfort Uraraka and tell her that they can talk to her… and then come the next chapter, Uraraka apparently hasn’t done anything regarding her supposed crush on Midoriya? For literal YEARS!?

…see, this isn’t even a shipping problem anymore. This is a character problem.

Horikoshi, for whatever reason, chose not to include a romance for the main character and his supposed love interest. And again, that’s fine, not every story needs to be a romance. Two problems with it here though (well, one problem and an observation):

1) Choosing to not at least address the romantic subplot with a “I think we’re better off as friends” encounter, thus actually concluding the subplot and providing a sense of closure, not only leaves the result feeling underwhelming and frustrating, but also actively damages Uraraka’s character arc. We can have her address the problem that caused people like Toga to exist, but heaven forbid she talks about romance with Midoriya.

2) Despite his supposed aversion to romance, Horikoshi still went out of his way to give Gentle and La Brava wedding rings… he’s willing to establish a side romantic pairing without bringing too much attention to it, but he can’t be bothered to do something similar for the arguable MAIN pairing? It’s the “Togata has special clothes so he doesn’t end up buck naked, but Hagakure’s still gotta go commando” debacle again…

I’ma go ahead and wrap this up ‘cause I don’t wanna keep y’all much longer, but like… being optimistic, this ending was… functional. I’ve got my problems with it, obviously, I don’t think it was BAD bad… but it certainly wasn’t good. It works. Barely. And it’s ‘cause of stuff like this.

Midoriya and Uraraka didn’t need to end up together, truly. All Horikoshi had to do was put the smallest amount of effort and give us something of substance, something with closure. Instead, we got what we got.

I get that he was exhausted and wanted the manga to be over… but that excuse only holds up for so long.

[starboy-squeakers]

Again not a dungeon meshi reader/watcher but every time I hear about that laois guy I get reminded of how my system had/has a hyperfixation on dragons so intense that we got that big fancy dragonology book and we treated it like the damn dragon Bible for like years

Now, obviously, we understand that there's different interpretations on mythical creatures, and no one interpretation on a dragon is necessarily gospel, but that multiple interpretations on the classic tale of beasts of scale and fire are completely valid and to be expected!

however if you call an Eastern dragon a coatl I'm going to come to your house and slaughter your family

[helloiamacashier]

It's a travesty that I can't reblog gifsets of books.

[whirlybirbs]

— CAN'T WE BE SEVENTEEN? ; shoto todoroki ; 焦凍

summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen. pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings wordcount: 5.6k a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.

You never did go pro.

Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development. 

The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and the world. But, through it all one thing stuck with you:

What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?

How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun? 

You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago. 

Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide. 

You see it differently.

Your quirk allows you to manipulate emotions — anger, sadness, betrayal, love, hatred. If you can feel it, you can sink it into another's psyche deep enough to drive them to act. You can even imbue things with feelings. For example, a cup of warm milk can transform into more than just a simple comfort, now it can hold the feeling of home and safety, or even exhaustion strong enough to put even the biggest foe to rest. 

You could easily use your quirk with nefarious intent. 

You could steep hatred in someone's bone so deep it drives them to harm themselves. You could sew fury so solid into someone's mind it drives them to violence. 

Just a touch and you can control others with something so intrinsically personal it only exists within themselves: their feelings.

What makes you any different from little Asuke, a shy little girl with a quirk that allows her to see people's greatest fears, and then manifest and control them? You're convinced she can use this for good, if only with practice. In your mind, her future is bright and glimmering. Perhaps she will become a therapist, focusing on exposure therapy? Or, maybe the most prolific horror novelist in their time? 

Or, bright and sunny Tao — a transplant whose parents sought out Chiba Prep's specialized education — whose heteromorphic quirk makes his bodily fluids, namely saliva, eat through nearly anything but his own biologics. A sneeze is quickly the most dangerous thing in the world for the cheery, lizard-bodied class clown. 

He's just a boy given a quirk that needs more care. 

He isn't a villain-in-training. 

None of them are.

It's important to teach them that young — and as their teacher for Year 3 of their elementary schooling, you aim to hammer that in as much as possible. They deserve to feel normal. To feel loved and supported. They aren't scary, they're children. 

So, you take it upon yourself to insist on pushing for privileges like field trips. There aren't many public spaces that welcome the classes of Chiba Prep with open arms. Over the years, there have been plenty of incidents. But, a day trip into the city to visit Tokyo's Hall of Heroes is green-lit with bubbling excitement from both faculty, the children, and their parents. 

You usually keep your history as a graduated member of Class 1-A quiet. 

After all, you never did go pro.

And even still, Shoto Todoroki never stopped thinking about you.

He remembers that weekend everyone moved back in for their last year before graduation. He remembers you smiling at him, and helping him drag up a duffel of luggage from the common room to his dorm. You made a joke about how you're sure he got taller over the summer, and how his hair is longer now. You said you liked it. 

It was the beginning of the end, then.

His crush was a silent, smothering thing. It made it hard to think. Shoto had enough on his plate thanks to Touya's acceptance into the Villain Rehabilitation Program and his father's insistence on staving off retirement. Not to mention his parent's divorce — no matter how amicable, it was still a separation. Add on training, tests, studying, finals, and j-term classes... And a desperate, writhing, burning crush on the nicest girl in class? 

Touya's elbow digs into Shoto's side.

It drags him back to reality — to the stifled quiet of the historical Hall of Heroes. 

Suddenly, the doors to the wing squeak open, and a tour guide ushers in the elementary school class. The buzzing excitement and wonder are visible on each of their faces as the attendant — one of the HoH's lead tour guides — excitedly explains the newest, in-progress addition to the Hall:

Endeavor's wing. 

There's a whisper of awe that ripples through the children as their teacher and co-teacher follow, and as the class moves through the large, open space. They're staring up eagerly at the gilded statue in the center of the room. It's larger than life and intimidating. Years ago, Shoto might have had to fight the odd tremble in his knees at the reminder it brings: to be small in his father's shadow again. But, things are different now. 

Very different.

Touya scoffs. "I thought this wing wasn't open to the public yet."

"They're just children," Shoto hums, turning his back on the gaggle across the way to inspect the large mural winding along the back end of the installation, "I'm sure it's—"

"Oh, ho, no way!"

Shoto quirks his brow at his brother's outburst. His elbow digs into Shoto's ribs again. 

"Ain't that the pretty girl you never got the balls to ask out your senior year?" comes the rasped drawl of his older brother's voice. Touya is clearly amused, his white hair hanging in his eyes as he leans forward to squint, "She is cute, Sho'—"

"Shut up," Shoto grits, turning his head over his shoulder; he tries to bite back the flurry of nerves that ignite in his gut, "Stop talking."

It is you.

You look... good. 

Happy. 

You're crouched by a small, timid girl in the back of the crowd. Your hand is in hers, and you're pointing upwards at the large paneled screens replaying Endeavor's most historic fights. You're explaining something to her, your knees bent as you squat. You look... the same. As if in the six years since they graduated, you sat still in time. 

For a second, it's like he's seventeen again.

It's his senior year, and he's stuck at the corner of the gym's edge with a half-empty glass of punch in his hand. The lights are low, and there's slow music playing. His tie feels too tight. Bakugo keeps telling him to 'ask her to dance already', and Kirishima is considering bashing his head through the wall. Even Midorya is trying to persuade Shoto. 

"It's prom, man! C'mon, this could be your last chance—"

Touya is about to be a real pain in the ass — his favorite pastime — and make some comment about your ass, but when he turns to lob the one-liner at his baby brother, Shoto's gone.

Shoto is on the move.

The crescendo of gasps draws your attention first.

Then, the cry of "WOAH, IT'S SHOTO!" leaves you dumbfounded. The rippling murmur of excitement bleeds into the children as their eyes — and the eyes of the tour guide — widen at the sight of the approaching Pro Hero. 

Shoto Todoroki.

He looks... good. 

Really good.

He's a bit older, and a bit more filled out than when you were both teenagers. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders — it's a distant echo of his father's physique, though Shoto is so much more elegant and much... prettier. He's always been.

For a second, you're seventeen again.

It's your senior year, and you're sprawled across Momo Yaoyorozu's bed.

They had finally wrangled out of you who your crush was: something they hadn't been able to do in all their years as classmates.

There's a sticky, Miss Midnight-themed face mask clinging to your expression as you try to flip through the large magazine in your hands as nonchalantly as possible. Mina's voice, as she paints Ochaco's nails a bright pink on the floor, is sweet and saccharine as she looks up at you.

"I think you and Shoto would be, like, the cutest couple ever." 

You're still crouched when the tour guide nervously — like she was caught doing something naughty — introduces The Pro Hero Shoto to the already-aware crowd of elementary school students and their teachers. It's like igniting a match; the uproar of excitement leaves you laughing as three of your boys push forward to bombard him with questions about his quirk. 

Asuke is smiling shyly, now. That's a small win. She's intrigued by the appearance of a real hero, not the "scary statues" — and her big, fat tears stopped rolling the moment you laid a gentle hand on her to quell her anxiety over the new environment with a push of comfort through your quirk. She unhooks her pinkie finger from yours as you guide her towards your co-teacher. 

"Boys," you call with a crisp air of authority as you stand and lead Asuke toward the bulk of the field trip group, "What have we learned about personal space?"

"It's fine, really, Insight," comes Shoto's voice; as warm and placid as you remember. 

"Insight?" mutters your co-teacher at the presumed hero-name; a look of confusion plasters itself on her face, and her big, feline ears perk up. She leans in to whisper in a way that borders on conspiratory, "Do you two know one another?"

"Old classmates," you confirm, not daring to get into the finer details.

Shoto's attention is entirely rooted in the way you manage the kids. There's something beautiful about the ease with which you handle the bouquet of students; you quell the excitement into a manageable decibel like it's as easy as breathing. 

"Shoto," you start as you gesture to him, "Has a very special quirk — Toyamai, he has ice like you. And, fire like Tojiro. He can regulate his temperature. Can anyone tell me what that means?"

There's a wave of hands shooting up, a few me, me, me's rise from the gaggle. 

You're using him as a teaching moment.

Shoto's smile is soft.

You nod at Ogomi, excitedly nodding as the reserved child speaks up. Normally, he hates public speaking. But, recently, he's started working with the speech pathologist during lunch. The boy bounces a little as he answers. "He doesn't g-get too hot, or too c-cold."

"Exactly! Isn't that cool?" you grin at the lazy attempt at a pun, "This is why it's important to learn about our quirks as much as we can!"

Touya thinks this whole thing is just too cute. 

You're different than he remembers — but, granted, things were sorta different last time he saw you. He was a little too busy tryna kill his old man and lil' Shoto. He's different now, too. A changed man! A real licensed hero. Support items and all. 

He hangs back. 

He... I mean, he is a jack-ass but he isn't gonna ruin this for Shoto. 

...It's kinda cute.

Just about as cute as Fuyumi said it was. 

Apparently, Shoto had opened up to her and Natsuo about his feelings after graduation — about how he regretted not doing anything about it. Fuyumi then told their mum, who then off-handedly mentioned it to Touya... and well Touya dug in because, duh, he is a whore for good gossip. He might be the family's black sheep, but Shoto is the glue that binds. 

And he deserves to be happy.

Your co-teacher is ushering the kids to the next installation — a viewing of All Might's Legacy, a new documentary following the retired pro's teaching career. It will be a good wind down for them, in comfy seats and the dark. It's hardly the sort of content an elementary school student would find riveting, but it is All Might. And they love him.

You hang back. 

Shoto's heart is hammering in his chest.

"Hey."

"Hi," you greet back, closing the door to the theater and stepping forward as you weave your arms around you, "Long time no see."

"Yea," Shoto breathes, his hands in his pockets as he meets you halfway across the museum's marble floors, "I... I see you're teaching."

His eyes are as pretty as they were back then. Slate grey and piercing turquoise. "I'm in my second year," you confirm softly, fiddling with the material of your sweater, "Congrats to your old man."

You gesture up at the statue, then wave around to the rest of the installation.

Shoto inhales, then nods; he's staring at your face, blissfully realizing you're just the way you were all those years ago. Kind. "I'll pass it along."

"How's he handling it?" you ask, your eyes raking across his expression and trying not to stick to the sharp slope of his jaw, or the bob of his Adam's apple, "Retirement, I mean."

"He's happy, I think. Touya and I are working together and... things are...  good."

Last month, Endeavor finally retired. He cited his age, and his dedication to passing his legacy to his two sons: Shoto and Touya. Shoto has planted himself firmly within the Top Ten in the last year or so, and shockingly, Touya isn't far behind. People love an underdog's redemption story, you suppose. 

And the underdog in question can read a room. 

This is getting a little too sexually tense for even him.

"Heeeeey, girl," he rasps out, staggering backward with a thumb over his shoulder, "Nice t' see ya. I'll let you two catch up, yea? I'm gonna go pop my head into the theater, see how the kids are handling the snooze fest on screen—"

You jump.

How long has he even been there?

"Hi, D— Touya," you strain, wincing a little; the rehab'd villain doesn't seem to mind.

"Hi, teach'. That cool with you?" he asks, wobbling his thumb and quirking a pierced eyebrow; it's comical, like he's trying to disarm you with humor, "Don't want you thinkin' I'm corrupting your youths—"

"It's fine," you breathe, ignoring the sting of age-old mistrust. You know better. Shoto wouldn't be here, with him, if Touya Todoroki hadn't changed. Endeavor wouldn't be entrusting his legacy to the ex-League of Villain member if he didn't believe in his capacity for good, "Just don't be disruptive."

Casting judgment on someone whose life was nearly destroyed by his own non-conforming quirk would go against everything you taught the kids anyway.

"Touya's whole thing is being disruptive," Shoto grits as his oldest brother slips silently through the doors, "I apologize for him—"

"No," you wave him off, laughing a little, "Don't. It's... nice to see you two together."

Shoto's expression is soft as he wanders a little closer. "It took time — and a lot of therapy — but we've all managed to come out the other side."

"That's great to hear, Shoto," you breathe, your eyes flitting across his face, "I'm really happy for you."

There's a long silence, then — and you can't help but ignore the roil of butterflies in your stomach. The eye contact is heavy with some unspoken thing, and both of your tongues are weighted by secrets-never-turned-confessions. 

It's like finally this dance you've been doing around one another for years breaks — and the two of you throw caution to the wind at the exact same moment. 

"Would you like to—"

"Are you free—"

Hesitant, slow grins bloom on both your faces.

"Dinner?" is all he manages after a sweet moment of soaking up your soft smile, "If you're available...?"

You make yourself available.

Yaoyorozu almost dies when you call her that night — winded from tearing through your entire wardrobe. You explained you had nothing to wear a-and you needed something nice, and you only have an hour to get ready, because Todoroki — yes, stop screaming, Todoroki — is picking you up at 8pm.

Little bro is nervous. Touya can tell. 

From his spot on the sofa, the white-haired ex-degenerate scoffs. Natsuo is digging around for some cufflinks in Shoto's dresser.

"Seriously, Sho'? A suit?" 

"It's a nice restaurant," his brother says tightly, adjusting the collar of the black button-down, "I booked the upstairs dining room for privacy." 

"Who the hell told you t' do that?" Touya quirks a skeptical brow.

"Father was the one who suggested it."

"...That old dog." 

Natsuo rolls his eyes at the exchange before throwing his hands as he emerges from the closet. "Do you have any links that aren't emblazoned with U.A. High School's crest?"

The ones in Natsuo's hands have his graduation year on them.

Shoto winces.

"Want me to ask dear ol' dog of a dad?" Touya snarks from the corner, his posture becoming less and less upright as he scrolls on his phone.

"Already did," comes the soft voice of Fuyumi; she's smiling, padding into Shoto's room with a velvet box, "He offered up his nicest pair. He also says not to screw it up with Insight. He likes her."

Of course, he likes her. You worked under Endeavor for a brief work-study period during your third year. Shoto remembers hearing grumbled praise over dinner one night about your talent for de-escalation.

"You told him who I was seeing?" Shoto asks incredulously, taking the box and working the cufflinks on. He's starting to feel exasperated.

Fuyumi nods, popping down beside Touya. 

"He asked. I'm not gonna lie to him."

"Did y' tell ma?" Touya rasps, peeking up over his phone to inspect Shoto's outfit. Not half bad, honestly. He looks good in all black. A man after his own heart, "M'sure she's gonna be real excited—"

"Yes," Shoto grumbles, "I called her earlier—"

"Chiba Prep is a really good school, y'know," Natsuo buts in as he tries to find a tie that matches Shoto's outfit. Ultimately, though, the middle brother decides against it and tosses the options over his shoulder, "They're, like, on the leading edge for quirk therapies."

"Hey, nerd? Quiet down. The big kids are gossiping," Touya shirks, turning back to Shoto, "What did mum say?" 

"She wants me to call her after—"

"One, you're gonna call mum the morning after," Touya raises a finger, "Because if you don't get laid, I'll be so fuckin' disap—"

Fuyumi slaps Touya's chest. He lets out a pained yelp at the solid smack.

"Uh, ow," he rubs his sternum. "An' two, take a deep breath. You look like you're gonna shit yourself. Those are my pants and they're expensive."

Shoto lets out a long breath. 

Fuyumi's smile is sweet like honey. "Aw, Sho'! It's gonna go great. You two have known each other for such a long time, and catching up is going to be amazing. Just be yourself! Confident and kind—"

"—Hold the door open for her, and pull her chair out," Natsuo adds as he adjusts Shoto's collar for him, "Car door, too—"

It's Touya's turn. He's dead serious. "—And do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night. I swear to god."

Easier said than done.

You never did go pro.

Those years of hardened battle instincts have lost their edge. You try to remind yourself this is just Shoto, not The Shoto — but you're a little lost in the whole celebrity of it all when he picks you up in a very nice, sporty little car with ENDVRplates. 

You answer the door and he forgets how to breathe.

He has flowers for you. They're blue and blooming and beautiful. 

Fuyumi's contribution. 

You settled then you were going to kiss him at the end of the night.

The restaurant is... nice. Really nice. The sort of nice you could never aspire to experience on your teacher's salary. Even the valet is a concept that has your head spinning. But, Shoto handles it all with cool ease. The entire time, his hand is settled on your lower back. 

It feels like you've been lit on fire.

You're glad Momo was able to create a dress fitting for the occasion. It's sleek and black. Comfortable, too. Not much can be said for your heels on that front, but it's fine. 

Somehow, Shoto managed to book the entire upper floor of this place in all its glimmering glory — it's just the two of you alone in a sea of tables. 

The waiter is pouring you a glass of the chef's suggested pairing of sake.

You thank him, smile, and take a sip as Shoto unbuttons his suit jacket and watches you. 

For a second, you're seventeen again.

Sero and Kirishima were always in cahoots when it came to parties back then — somehow, between the two of them, they always managed to smuggle enough booze onto campus to obliterate any semblance of promised sobriety from even the most stoic members of 1-A. 

You remember one night, after a lot of hounding, you finally gave in and joined a few of your classmates on the back lawn for a few drinks. 

A few beers turned into a cup or two of wine, and then another big gulp of whatever deranged jungle juice concoction Kaminiari managed to cook up. It tasted terrible, but you were too drunk to really care. Shoto was no better. He was nursing his fourth drink of the night — a rarity he was even drinking at all — and seemed completely fine with the way your arms brushed as the two of you sat close in the grass. 

He was always so nervous around you. Now, he just seemed... happy. 

"I can't believe there is only one week left until graduation."

Graduation day was the last time you saw him. 

Until this morning, that is. 

You smile into your drink. 

"What?" you ask when his eyes never leave your face.

His fingers twitch towards his own glass. Shoto blinks, then rolls his jaw. He was caught staring. He clears his throat, looking a bit shy. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" you press playfully, cocking your head to the side.

"You..." he starts, then bawks. You're stunning, and it's making it hard to even think straight. He thought these feelings might have mellowed out over the years but seeing you again has just reignited everything. He feels like a hormonal teenager again, "You look beautiful."

Your expression falters into something lovesick. You chew your lip. "You're not so bad yourself, Todoroki."

He manages a half-smile. "Touya had me worried the suit was a bit much."

The idea of Touya offering him advice on his outfit strikes a chord in your heart. It makes you smile even bigger than before. "Well, you can tell Touya that I like it. A lot."

You rake your eyes up and down him. On purpose.

He notices.

Shoto's face feels hot. 

He tries to shake the bone-deep want that has swept his entire body up in its grip, but it's difficult when every single word out of your mouth reminds him just how in love he was with you back in school. You explain, excitedly, why you chose to teach at Chiba Prefectural Prep and catch him up on where you've been living since graduating. He's pleased to learn you're still in the area, living in the city, and decidedly in love with the commute to the school. 

Shoto's always been a good listener — but you can see how much he's changed when he begins to speak about his career. He seems so much more sure of himself than he was all those years ago. It wasn't that he was... unsure... but, no. He was shy. Quiet.

Now, less so. 

It's adorable. 

Dinner comes and goes with conversation over sushi that is far too good for you to even process. It's easy talking to him. It was easy talking to Shoto back, then, too but... Things are different. You're both different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels like coming home. 

While you both wait outside for the valet, Shoto shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders without a single word. Suddenly, you're cradled in a warmth that's very Shoto — his cologne clings to the collar and you bury yourself a little deeper into it. 

Shyly, you step closer and steal his hand. It's calloused and warm. He laced his fingers with yours as if practiced. You bite back a grin. You give his hand a little squeeze when you spot the car coming around the corner.

His silence is calming — and he squeezes your hand back. When you look up at him, you realize he's already looking at you. 

His face is close. It's so... intimate. Very. Nearly better than a kiss. 

But, you've wanted to kiss Shoto Todoroki since you were seventeen. 

The valet driver interrupts the moment with a respectful call of Shoto's name and offers the keys with a shake of the hand. With a little bit of hesitancy, Shoto remembers the thing Natsuo said — the car door, too — and moves around the passenger side to open the door for you. 

It's sweet.

Really sweet. 

The car ride back to your apartment is punctuated with easy conversation — you ask him about Bakugo and Midorya, and you're pleased to hear they're both doing well. He asks about Momo, and if you still keep in touch with Mina and Ochaco. He smiles to himself when you admit you did call Momo for help with an outfit. 

"She did a beautiful job," Shoto breathes, a palm moving from the gear shift to brush over the dress' fabric on your thigh.

His hand settles there. 

Your stomach does a flip. 

You chew your lip, swallow down a sudden burst of nerves, and let your hand rest over his. You squeeze it. Shoto tries to focus on the road. His gaze drifts for a moment at a red light, his heterochromatic eyes dancing across your figure. 

Keep it together. 

He isn't seventeen.

He's twenty-five. He's a Professional Hero. One of the Top Ten in all of Japan. He's more than capable of keeping it together in the face of physical touch from the woman he's dreamed about for years. 

...Right?

Green light.

His hand is still on your thigh when he pulls up to your apartment. 

The touch is relinquished in favor of putting the sports car in park. 

It makes your chest ache.

Shoto swallows thickly.

Do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night.

He'll never forgive himself. But, admittedly, he's bad at this. He's not good at reading body language, or even knowing himself enough to realize he looks mildly terrified as you blink up at him in the passenger's seat. His heart is hammering a mile a minute.

What if you don't want to kiss him?

When would he even kiss you? Now? Or at the door?

Why does he feel like he's going to die?

"This was really... Shoto, are you okay?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt; you pause, your brows knitting tightly. 

"What?" he asks, blinking back to the present moment. The look of fear disappears, "Sorry. Yes. I'm fine."

You're working his jacket off your shoulders, gently leaning to fold it neatly in your lap. Your voice dips low, into something playful. "You didn't look fine..."

"I—" Shoto clamps his mouth shut as he leans an elbow on the center console, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just nervous."

"Nervous?" you grin, a little giggle punctuating your words as you wriggle in the red, leather seat, "Why?"

Your expression makes his expression crack. He ducks his head as he huffs out a laugh. You continue to egg him on via expression alone. "I... Stop it."

"Stop what?" you push some more, your back pressed to the door as you face him in the car, "You're the one being weird—"

"I'm not being weird—"

"Then what's wrong, Shoto?" you tease in a sing-song voice.

"I'm nervous because I want to kiss you."

His words are punctuated by a slow look that takes in every inch of your face. Butterfly wings kiss your stomach walls. And your knees. You feel a little tremble in your chest. 

It feels like someone has sucker punched you square in the sternum. Shoto's no better. He isn't entirely sure what the expression on your face means. Is that... good? Are you happy?

Your voice is a little quieter now. You duck your head and fiddle with his suit jacket as you lean back against the seat, a little closer now. 

"You don't need to be."

Shoto's breath catches at that.

So, he makes his move.

His hand comes first — his calloused palm settles nicely against your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as his pointer finger brushes the underside of your jaw. Shoto is slow. Methodical. It's like he's trying to ground himself in the moment. 

Truth be told, he thinks he might be blacking out.

Your eyes flit up his wrist — a dark leather band around his wrist with an expensive watch face, a dark dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks, strong arms and a broad chest, and you can see the dip of his collarbone where the top two buttons of his shirt remain undone. 

He looks so damn handsome with his sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and his trademark white and crimson hair. Even his scar is beautiful. 

The touch pulls you in like he's got his own personal orbit.  

Your elbows are braced along the center console, your eyes flicking across his face as his fingers continue to brush along the soft expanse of your cheek. You wring your fingers together. 

Then, his eyes stick to your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers, his breath fanning across your face. 

You never did go pro.

But, Shoto did. 

It shows. 

Because, at this moment, all you can do is nod feebly before you're swept into the sort of kiss people go to war for. It's the sort of kiss that sticks to your ribs, that feels like warm, fresh food. It's the sort of kiss that would drive you to the brink, that would make you nod and agree sure, let's get married and have three kids, let's name one after your father, and paint the house blue like your mother's favorite flower—

His mouth is eager, but not in an overbearing way. It's gentle. Slow. As if he needs to remind himself this is real and not some midnight fiction that leaves him aching and alone. Shoto reminds himself to be tepid, pliable, and easy, which is easier said than done when somewhere deep inside of him there's a seventeen-year-old screaming in victory. 

It's better than anything he could have ever imagined. 

And then you whimper. 

It's a sound tied between bliss and relief and it's muttered against his mouth as you lean in and let your fingers brush the fabric of his dress shirt. The tips of your fingers brush his abdomen and he flexes, the feeling foreign and warm. It warrants his other hand to drift to your face and you break for a breath; he doesn't care that there's lipstick smeared across his mouth. He's kissing you again — this time a little bit more feverish, a little bit more aching. 

You melt against him, this time your hands trembling to grip his wrists.

He needs to slow down.

He is not having sex with you in his father's car.

That's shameless.

He needs to slow down.

He has to, or he'll lose himself in this and he refuses to fuck this up. 

Shoto's breath is ragged when he finally peels himself away, his lip parted and eyes half-lidded. His grip on your face is still so soft, so gentle. It's very him. 

You're glad you didn't do this when you were seventeen.

It would have permanently altered your brain chemistry, you're sure of it. How could you ever kiss someone else again after that? 

He's rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You swallow, and try to level out your breathing. It's hard when he's still so close, when he's so... perfect. 

"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your cheek, "Since our last year at Yuei."

A well-kissed smile breaks across your face. You reel back, your nose wrinkling as you shake your head in disbelief. Shoto is smiling. A real smile. The sort that's so rare you can count on one hand the amount of times you've ever seen it in person. 

"Are you serious?"

"Very," he says, chastely pressing another to your other cheek as he leans back.

"Me too," you admit shyly, "Can we... do it again sometime?"

Shoto's eyes widen incrementally. Then, his smile eases back onto his face. 

"Are you free this weekend?"

"I can be," you reply easily with a honeyed look, "And I will be. For you."

"I get off patrol on Saturday around seven," he explains before asking timidly, "We could... do dinner again?"

"Works for me," you breathe as you move for the handle of the car door, "After all, I never went Pro. Weekends are free."

Shoto scoffs. 

Then, as you open the door and swing a leg out:

"Oh, and tell Touya I thought the suit sexy."

Shoto's laugh is dry. You leave his jacket on the seat and scurry into your apartment with a lovesick wave. He swears he sees the silhouette of a familiar ponytail greet you at the door, but he doesn't dwell on it. He waits until you're inside and the lights to the front door are shut off.

Then it hits him. He has another date with you this weekend. 

Not so seventeen anymore, Shoto Todoroki. 

[moon-ttokki-x]

oh my god I’m stupid I requested 8, 9, and 39 for the SKZ prompt list but I forgot to ask for which member. Bangchan pretty please 🥺👉👈

hihi this took so long sorry >< . . . this is a lot more angsty than anticipated but i hope it works. i wrote it a little differently that i normally would, but here you go, love~~

stupidly perfect - (best friend!bang chan x reader)

pairing: best friend!bang chan x reader

summary: chan has never noticed how you feel for him, and one fateful evening, you let it all spill.

genre: angsty as hell, idol!au, reader lowkey enters their villain era, mentions of eating and drinking, overexcited maknaes, chan is kinda oblivious in this fic ngl, supportive felix, itzy mentions (yeji, ryujin, chaeryoung if that counts ig), this is super sad tbh

a/n: this took a while tbh . . . div by @ferretmilkshakezzz

⛓️ prompts: 8. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." / 9. "You can rest now." / 39. "I can't keep pretending I'm fine."

skz masterlist | skz prompt list | part two

"Y/n, do you wanna come to that ramen restaurant with us later?" Jisung tugs at your arm, skipping alongside you. "We've been wanting to go for ages, and we all finally have schedules off tonight."

"Yeah, come with us," Jeongin adds. "It'll be fun."

The maknaes are tagging all around you as you walk down the hallway, trying your best to keep a hold on all the papers you're carrying. It's difficult when they're fluttering around you like overexcited birds.

You'd taken the job at JYPE around four months ago; it was decided after a very long period of doubting and worrying that it wouldn't work out after what happened at your last workplace. But your best friend, Chan, had been super supportive throughout the whole thing, even offering to help you move into your little apartment down the road from the company. He'd brought some of his friends to help with the heavy lifting, and from there, you'd pretty much been adopted into the group he'd formed and was the leader of.

Not like you had a choice in the first place.

But you didn't mind; you'd been worried partly because of the fact that you wouldn't have any friends when you'd moved to this part of Korea; Chan had managed to inadvertently solve that issue without trying. Now, the four excitable boys skipped and bickered around you as you set down the papers on your office desk. Wiping the minimal sweat from your forehead, you sighed and pried Seungmin away from the trinkets neatly lining your bookshelf.

"Who else is going?" You ask as Jisung whines about you coming to the restaurant for the umpteenth time.

Seungmin shrugs, interrupting his friend. "All of the members, you, and a couple of the girls from our dance crew."

You feel your heart sink just as your brain tells you to agree; it's been ages since you went out with the guys, and you honestly couldn't wait for a break. Work was always stressful around comeback season, but you'd all settled into the rhythm of it soon enough. Spending an evening out with eight of your best friends eating some soul food sounded like a good idea. A better idea than spending the evening on the couch in your apartment, eating ice cream in complete silence. Alone.

You bite your lip, anticipating. "Which of the dance crew girls?"

Jeongin shrugs from the sofa, swinging his legs over a disgusted Seungmin's lap as he lounges back. "The usuals; Yeji, Ryujin, Young-hee, and Chae. Why?"

"No reason," you say, turning back to the bookshelf to unnecessarily reorganise something, fiddling with the solid fabric spine of one of your books. "I'll let you know if I'm coming. Now, clear out."

Your last comment doesn't bother the maknaes at all; they know you don't like your office being messed up, so they call goodbyes, and Jisung sneakily pokes your side as he filters out the door. Felix, however, remains.

You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest and keep a neutral expression as you turn the dark-haired boy. He looks so different from his usual blonde-haired countenance; however, no less beautiful, and not for the first time do you hold yourself back from carding your fingers affectionately through his hair.

You exhale. "Do you need something, Lix?"

He sits down on your chair, swinging it backwards and leaning his forearms across the back. An air of resignation flows around him. "You're not coming tonight, are you?"

You bite your lip. "I'll see."

His voice is quiet. "You've said that since Chae started hanging around us. Is it because of her?"

You scoff, dropping a pen. "No. Why would you think that?"

Felix leans forward on the chair, nosy. "It is because of her, isn't it? Do you not like her? Is it because of Chan-hyung?"

You whip around to face him, exasperated. The explanation bubbles out of you like molten lava from a temperamental volcano. "Okay, fine! I just- I can't stand seeing her around him. They're so close, and they always seem so wrapped up in each other-"

You cut yourself off then, not wanting to say anything you might regret. Chae is nice enough; she's never done anything explicitly hurtful towards you, though you secretly have suspicions that she doesn't like you at all. But you stay quiet, trying to dissipate the rising frustration blooming in your chest.

Felix is quiet.

You know he knows; he's known for ages about your little crush on his leader. You were afraid to tell him, once upon a time; but all you got in response from the affectionate chicken boy was a hushed giggle and a gentle encouragement to tell Chan how you feel. He hasn't told anyone else about your feelings, and you know he would continue to keep his mouth shut. But you wish, even just a little, that someone else would notice and find a way to get Chae away from your best friend.

"No wonder she likes him too," you say quietly to yourself, sinking into your office chair.

And it isn't a wonder, really. Chan is sweet, and gentle, and kind, and so, so, supportive and admirable. There's not a single flaw about him, except perhaps his slight dislike towards himself and his irritation when it comes to those soft, dark curls that frame his perfect face so perfectly-

You shake yourself out of it. Felix is still looking at you quietly, his head tilted in thought.

"You do know," he says carefully, "that you're closer with Chan that Chae is?"

"But still," you groan. "He always seems so much happier around her, and he always only talks to her when you all go out-"

"How would you know?" Felix cries, throwing his hands up. "You're not even there half the time, and Chan only talks to her because you're not there for him to talk to. He has to settle for her because he's fed up of us, and he's not close with Yeji, Ryujin, or Young-hee."

You sigh and hop up onto the desk, swinging your legs over the side. "I just can't stand it, Lix. Seeing them together..."

His expression softens. "I know, Y/n, and I know how frustrated you get when they're all over each other, but you have to at least try. Come with us. If not for him, then for us. We miss you."

"I'm right here."

Felix sighs softly. "That's not what I meant."

You rub two fingers along the bridge of your nose, trying to think straight. You can't get the images out of your mind; Chan and Chae giggling to each other, her touching his arm, him reciprocating the affection... no one said it would hurt this bad when you watch your best friend fall for someone else.

No one said it would hurt this much when you realise that you're in love with said best friend either.

"I can't keep pretending I'm fine," you say, so softly you're not sure Felix hears it. But he does.

"Then don't pretend," he urges gently. "Get him to fall for you. You're halfway there already, I'm pretty sure. But it's not gonna happen if you're always at a distance from him."

He has a point, you think. But, being as stubborn as you are, there's still that nagging doubt in the back of your mind that Chan will never feel the same way that you do, whether you're with him or not-

"Y/n," Felix says, a little more firmly.

You know exactly what he's thinking; sighing, and then bending down to pick up the pen you dropped earlier, you slot it back into the holder on the desk.

"Fine," you say quietly, trying and failing to hide the tiny smile twitching at the corners of your mouth. "I'll come."

Felix lets out a whoop.

.

You pull your jacket a little closer around yourself as you head round the corner, the evening wind whipping your hair into a state of extreme disarray. Sighing and then spluttering as you pull strands of it out of your mouth and eyes, you duck around people and head to the restaurant, its warm, golden light drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

You're not late, so to speak; you spot the group sitting at a large corner booth with comfy seats, mingling and chattering, and you notice Felix immediately. His face lights up when he sees you, half with relief and half with something else you can't quite decipher. He makes to get up before you're almost tackled to the floor by Jisung and Jeongin, who are pretty much hollering at the top of their lungs.

Minho shushes them insistently as he tugs them off you, bowing before shoving both maknaes back into their seats.

"Y/n," Jeongin says happily. "We didn't think you'd come."

You chuckle awkwardly and settle into the spot next to Felix, trying not to look around for Chan like you always do. "Yeah, I needed a break. Besides, you two would have come for my throat if I turned the invitation down one more time."

"Damn right," Jisung interjects, all three of you dissolving into giggles.

You look around then; not everyone is here. Hyunjin and Yeji are still missing, both Hwangs late as per usual, and you know Changbin will come by a little later, having decided to work out before treating himself for the evening. You make a mental note to stick to your work ethic as well as he does, but it's interrupted by the familiar tone of someone speaking your name.

"You look nice, Y/n," Chan says from next to Felix, who is sitting in between both of you.

Chae is sitting next to Chan, you notice with some sadness and displeasure; her long, pinky-blonde hair is straight and neat, long acrylic nails coming up to brush strands of it off her perfect porcelain cheeks, flushed with the cold. At least, you hope it's the cold and not the effect of Chan's probably flirting before you arrived.

Despite the indignance rising in your stomach, you can't help but notice how Chan looks tonight; his hair is slightly damp from the chilly weather outside, the adorably messy strands of it curling against his temples and nape. His eyes are crescents as he gazes into yours, and you fight the urge to reach over and wipe the faint remainder of strawberry milk off the curve of his plush bottom lip.

You know exactly where he'd bought the little drink carton of it from; there's a vending machine just down the street, one that the boys always buy drinks from before eating out. It was their tradition, and one that you gladly partook in, that is before you became too shy to be around the boys.

Because of Chan and his stupid perfectness.

You suddenly come back down to earth and realise that Chan is still gazing at you; Chae is laughing obnoxiously loud in the background behind him, no doubt to recapture his attention, but all you can focus on is the fact that you're locking eyes with the most beautiful person on earth. And also the fact that you haven't replied to his little indirect compliment, so you just nod and turn back to the table to fiddle with the menu in front of you.

Felix exhales discreetly and you fight a grin, watching as he unpeels himself from the corner of the table. He'd been bending over it so you could lean back to talk to Chan, and he pokes you affectionately in the side as you thank him quietly, clearing your throat in an attempt to get rid of the flush painting your cheeks.

"Could've warned me about how pretty he looks," you mutter to Felix under your breath. He just chuckles and touches your knee as everyone begins to order.

The food arrives just as Hyunjin, Yeji, and Changbin make their dramatically late entrance; they clatter noisily into their seats, and you bump fists with Yeji just as everyone begins to dig in.

There's brief silence as everyone begins to fill their stomachs with soul food, and then the chatter eventually rises again as the members turn to each other to bicker and laugh. You almost snort a noodle out of your mouth as you watch Hyunjin take a hairclip out of his bag to clip his hair back, before realising it's not there. Seungmin, sitting next to him, runs his hand through the boy's kiwi-like hair before turning back to his ramen.

You almost start to enjoy yourself, but there's still that lingering tension that you feel rests in the air between you and Chan; if anyone else has noticed it, they're not saying anything. Felix, noticing your quietness, tries to fill the space between you with small talk and jokes, but it doesn't seem to help. Once or twice, he even brings Chan into the conversation in a bid to try and get you two to converse, but Chae interjects more and more frequently until you quietly tell Felix to stop.

You feel bad because of it; you know he's just trying to help, but it isn't working. And it's beginning to make you feel worse, the fact that it seems not even the dark-haired sunshine boy can get his leader to try and talk to you. And you realise, all of a sudden, that maybe it's not Chan that's the problem.

There are two possible reasons that Chan doesn't seem to want to talk to you; you thought maybe he would talk more with you tonight, considering it's been so long since you've been out with them, but you're crestfallen as you realise that not more than a few words have been exchanged between the two of you tonight.

And it strangely breaks your heart.

The other reason is that Chae might have been badmouthing you behind your back to Chan, or it could be because of the fact that Chan genuinely likes her. You're not sure, but that belief is confirmed as you look across to see Chan holding out his chopsticks to her, bringing a piece of tempura to her perfect, pink lips.

Watching in horror and completely forgetting about the cooling ramen in front of you, you watch as Chae accepts the tempura with a little giggle, batting her lashes at Chan as he reaches up to wipe a crumb off her lip. The sight is so equally disgusting and upsetting that you immediately stand up, moving out of the booth as tears blur your eyes.

"Where are you going?" Jisung calls after you, Felix looking up from his food.

"Bathroom," you call over your shoulder, your voice surprisingly strong considering the fact that tears and beginning to stream down your cheeks.

Not wanting to make a fuss or arouse suspicion from the group, you do actually head to the bathrooms, locking the cubicle door behind you and sinking down against the door. You couldn't care less if it's dirty right now, the only thought in your head the mental image of your best friend and Chae giggling and flirting all over each other, blissfully unaware of your misery.

It's not fair.

"Maybe it's me," you whisper to yourself, sniffling as you rip off a piece of toilet paper, scrubbing at your face. You feel so pathetic and unworthy; what kind of person hides out in the bathroom crying over a guy who probably doesn't even care about them?

Standing up and checking you have your phone and wallet, you sigh as you feel the weight of them in your pockets. Good. You can just leave without having to go back to the table. The last thing you want right now is to talk to anyone, or have to put up a fake cheerful front.

Heading to the back of the restaurant, the once-inviting golden lights now feeling like a spotlight, you emerge out into the street, the cold wind soothing the hot, sticky tear irritation on your cheeks. You head to the parking garage down the street and try to walk as quickly as you can past the opening of the ramen restaurant, lest any of the group notice you walking away.

And they don't, not least until you cross the street and head down the dimly light footpath.

Someone grabs your wrist suddenly and you cry out, whipping your head back so fast to see who it is you think you might have whiplash.

Chan is standing there, his hand solid and warm around your wrist, the wind ruffling his dark hair back from his bare face. You can see the glint of his silver earrings under the streetlights.

"Wait," he pants. "Where are you going?"

You can't fight the hot, wet tear rolling down your cheek and inwardly curse it for escaping. "Home."

"Why?" He asks, concern and worry painting his expression. "Are you not feeling well?"

You fight the urge to slap him; it wouldn't be fair, however much you want to do it. He just doesn't understand. He doesn't understand any of it. And you want nothing more to run into his arms and spill all your thoughts and feelings like you have so many times before, but you can't.

Not this time.

You can't tell Chan that you've loved him since who knows how long; that seeing him makes your heart feel lighter, the way a high schooler might feel seeing their crush in the sunny hallways. You can't tell him how many times you styled your hair to look a little like his, hoping the curls that make him look so handsome might make you a little more attractive too. You can't tell him how many times you ran late for schedules just because you took a detour to his studio to talk with him, even if it was just for a minute.

Even if all of it was a waste in the end. Because he likes someone else, and that someone else isn't you.

So you just shake your head as the tears come streaming down, and rip your wrist out of his grip before turning and walking away. The earth feels like it's shattering around you.

Or maybe that's just your heart.

But Chan doesn't give up; you hear his footsteps continue behind you, hurried and irregular, like he's trying to decide whether to let you go or make you stay.

"Y/n," he pants. "Wait, just- will you stop walking so fast? Please, wait, slow down- What's wrong?"

"Everything's wrong!" You cry out, turning to face him as you throw your hands up. A sob rips through your lungs, face contorting with the force of your tears. "Okay? Everything's wrong."

Chan is silent, one hand out in an unsteady attempt to calm you. "What are you talking about? You're worrying me."

You scoff and kick a stone across the footpath, harshly rubbing a hand across your cheekbone.

"Y/n, please," he pleads, his voice quieter. "Felix noticed you were gone for too long earlier, and I saw you walking out of the restaurant. Please, tell me what's wrong. You look so upset."

"Then stop looking."

He recoils, looking slightly hurt, before it's overtaken by a look of determination. You know that look; it either results in an all-nighter to finish a song track, an attempt to wrangle seven naughty kids, or a hard-to-have conversation. You know it's the last one.

"Please," he says, even quieter. "Tell me what's wrong. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

"It's you," you say, broken with utter resignation.

He takes a step forward. "What?"

"It's you," you repeat, looking away as another hysterical sob brings the wind inside your body. It's sharp and biting, and it brings back some of your courage. But only some.

You raise your eyes to look at him. Maybe this is the last conversation you'll have with Chan, before he decides he doesn't want to be around someone who's in a one-way love story with him. Even if that person is his best friend.

"You don't realise, do you?" You whisper brokenly. "You never realised I was in love with you, Chan. But that's just who you are. You may be kind and compassionate and intuitive, but you never realised why I do what I do, or why I act the way I act around you."

His face is contorted in utter disbelief; whether it's from shock or disgust, you don't want to know.

"I realised around the time you helped me move in," you continue. Might as well get all of it out now. "I looked at you differently after a while. I didn't see my best friend anymore. I saw someone else, someone stronger and more clever and more dedicated and more perfect and flawless. And it was strange, because I realised that you changed so much. Maybe I changed too, but it was different seeing you walking around at the company and going about your schedules, because I felt different about it all. I felt different about you. And I couldn't let it go, not least when we actually talked. I used to be late for most of my meetings and events because I would take detours to see you. Some days I would think about canceling my schedules just so I could be around you more.

"And I love the boys, I do, Chan. So much. But I have to admit, I wouldn't be around them half as much if you weren't there. I felt so drawn to you, not like the way I did when we were friends. I figured that if I didn't want to lose you, I would have to discipline myself. So I did.

"I threw myself into my work; I gave myself so much to do, partially to distract myself, partially to use work as an excuse whenever I was invited out, like tonight. Just because I knew you would be there, and I didn't want to end up spilling it all to you, because I knew it would ruin everything between us. Forever.

"And when Chae started hanging around us, I didn't mind at first; I sort of liked her. But I started hating her because of how close she would get to you, how much you two would secretly talk between yourselves, and it made me upset. So I ended up spending much more time by myself so that I would be able to forget she existed. So that I could forget that she ever entered the picture, and that it was just me and my secret that I kept from you. For so long, Chan. You have no idea how much I had to hold myself back from you.

"Did you assume that I never wanted to go out with you guys? That I never wanted to buy drinks from that vending machine the members always go to before eating out, or that I didn't want to spend time with you? Because I did, Chan. But I forced myself not to, because I couldn't bear to see you, and most of the time I didn't know if Chae was going to be there. I told myself I wasn't going to sit there and watch you be with her, not while I felt so invisible and unseen around you.

"Let me tell you something, Chan," you choke through sobs at him, pointing a finger at his chest as though it were a gun. "Every time Jisung or Jeongin or one of the boys invited me out, I did actually show up. Even if you never saw me. I would watch from a distance to see if Chae was with you; if she was, I would turn around and leave, and go home. If not, I would smile from around the corner as the maknaes begged you for money to buy drinks from that vending machine. And then I would turn around and go home anyway.

"I know every single one of their preferences; even if you didn't know I was there to observe them bickering and choosing, faces lit by streetlight. I would go around to the vending machines at the company and randomly buy their favourites for them, even if you didn't know how I knew. I would buy them for you too, and debate leaving a little note for you telling you how I felt alongside it, and I never did.

"Because, despite all of that, it was all a waste," you snap at him. You're not sure why you're angry; you suppose it's the result of feeling unheard for so long. "It was a waste, Chan. Because you never even noticed how I felt. So don't come chasing after me in the night like this like you care, because it was Felix who told you to come after me, Felix who noticed I had been gone for too long, not you of your own accord. And don't look worried or concerned either, because I've told you what's wrong, Chan, just as you asked. You can rest now."

You can barely see him through the blur of your tears.

"Y/n," he whispers, broken as you feel. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't care," you cry out at him, turning and storming in the other direction. And this time, he doesn't follow, still standing under the streetlight with his hand out, though you're not there to take it.

You sob bitterly as you almost flee around the corner, breaking out into a full-on run, like sprinting can fix the problem, fix your heart and your tears. It doesn't, however, and you feel worse as you bolt pass the crossing light, not caring about its colour. Later you will realise that running with blurry vision and a hysterical, heartbroken mindset was not the wisest idea.

You don't see the car speeding towards you until it's too late.

a/n: *laughs in writer*

[zerocoded]

summary: what is like to date idol!txt.

author's note: i wish i could turn this into an idol!series where i portray them as our boyfies because i have SO MANY ideas like this but i'm can't tell if anyone would enjoy this lol. also, not me writing this while i'm studying for my finals and trying not to die from burnout. but hey! at least my winter break is close teehee. txt is here to help me with my delulu and ALSO I'M SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT COMEBACK, I FEEL LIKE IT'S GOING TO BE BIG. this work is part of our moa net here on tumblr, you should check it out! @onedreamnet.

warnings and tags: sfw content • ot5!separate x reader • fem!reader in mind • fluff • domestic txt • est. relationship • the boys are so soft here i want to cuddle them • one kissy kiss scene on taehyun's.

word count: 3.1k (500~700 per member).

my kpop masterlist: here.

★˚๑🎐％﹒choi yeonjun﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

the duality drives you insane.

in public — on stage, in photos, under the lights — he’s confident in a way that borders on unfair. head tilted, eyes half-lidded, body moving like he owns the air around him. no hesitation. no nerves. just pure, deliberate charisma.

but offstage?

you catch him sulking in the kitchen because he dropped his dumpling on the floor and “no one will ever understand that kind of grief.”

you’ve learned his patterns by now.

the morning of a performance, he’s quiet. not because he’s nervous — not exactly — but because he’s already thinking about the camera angles. the formations. the fans. the five-second part where he gets to smirk like a villain and cause cardiac arrest on a national scale.

you sip your coffee across from him in the early morning silence. he’s still in pajama pants, hair pushed back with a headband, eyes unfocused as he mumbles his lines under his breath between bites of toast.

“you’re going to burn a hole through the table,” you say softly.

he looks up, blinking. “was i being weird again?”

you nod.

he smiles.

and when he gets up, he kisses your forehead like it’s the one part of him not too busy to love.

later, you visit the music show set.

he’s already in full styling when you arrive — velvet jacket, smoky liner, lip tint sharp enough to cut. he looks nothing like the boy who fell asleep face down on your laundry pile two nights ago.

“don’t look at me like that,” he says as you approach. “you’re going to make me trip on stage.”

you hold up the bag you brought. “you forgot your vitamins.”

he blinks. you raise a brow.

he pouts.

“thank you, baby,” he says, voice soft and dramatic all at once, like he’s the main character in a romance film. he holds your hand for half a second too long. “will you cheer for me?”

you smirk. “only if you wink during your center part.”

“that’s illegal.”

“do it.”

he does.

after the show, you find him sitting on a folding chair in the corner of the dressing room, head tipped back, chest rising and falling with exertion.

you crouch beside him, hands gently brushing his thighs. “hey.”

his eyes flutter open. “did i do okay?”

you almost laugh. “you’re joking, right?”

he smiles sleepily. “just wanted to hear you say it.”

you press a kiss to his shoulder. “you killed it.”

he leans into your touch, the heat of performance slowly melting into something tender.

“can we go home?” he murmurs.

“you still have a fan call.”

he groans, flopping dramatically. “they don’t let me rest.”

“i’ll wait,” you say. “we’ll eat after.”

his eyes light up. “can i pick the place?”

you roll your eyes. “you always do.”

that night, you fall asleep with him tucked into your side — his hair damp from a late shower, his breathing slow, one arm curled around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

he always wants to be babied after a stage. wants back rubs and snacks and quiet praise whispered into his hair.

“you were perfect,” you murmur against his temple, fingers tracing his spine. “i’m proud of you.”

he exhales, almost asleep now, and whispers:

“you make it all feel worth it.”

and you hold him a little tighter.

★˚๑🎐％﹒choi soobin﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

you didn’t expect soobin to be this… domestic.

the first time he spends the night at your place after promotions end, he shows up at your door with a tub of strawberries, three different types of cereal, and a full-size body pillow he carries like a briefcase. no suitcase, no overnight bag. just snacks and sleep gear.

“don’t judge,” he says, stepping out of his shoes. “my brain is too tired to pack properly.”

he immediately lies down on your floor like his bones have dissolved. doesn’t even make it to the bed. you poke him with your foot. “you good?”

“i live here now,” he mumbles.

being with soobin means you never know what version of him you’re going to get.

sometimes he’s the shy, blushing leader who asks “can i hold your hand?” even after months of dating. other times he wraps himself around you on the couch like a weighted blanket and says “you’re mine now” while chewing crackers like a menace.

he kisses the top of your head when he’s proud. gives you a thumbs up when he’s too shy to say “you look beautiful.” and tries to act cool when he walks into a door frame because he still forgets how tall he is.

idol life with soobin is not as glamorous as you thought.

he practices so hard his neck sounds like bubble wrap when he turns it. sometimes you massage his shoulders while he’s half-asleep on your lap and he lets out a noise so pained you almost cry laughing.

he loses his phone in the fridge. he forgets to eat. he falls asleep mid-conversation, still holding his chopsticks, because rehearsals went until 2am. and you tuck him in, clean up, and never say a word.

when he wakes up the next morning, guilt in his eyes, you just hand him a warm can of coffee and say, “don’t even start.”

he hugs you for five full minutes.

when you visit him on set, he pretends not to notice you at first. just nods politely, like you’re staff. until you pass by his chair and whisper, “your mic pack is crooked.”

then he turns pink. very pink. and immediately fixes his posture. his members don’t say a word—but they’re smirking. especially beomgyu.

later, during a break, he sneaks over to where you’re sitting behind the monitors and plops down beside you with a sigh.

“missed you,” he whispers, forehead bumping your shoulder.

you pull out a protein bar. he lights up like a golden retriever. “you know me so well.”

“you only like this one because it tastes like cookies.”

“exactly. healthy cookies. it’s good for my image.”

you raise a brow. “your image?”

he leans in, voice low and teasing. “you mean my boyfriend image? the one where i’m tall, sweet, and snack-efficient?”

on tour, he texts you only when it’s quiet.

after the stages, the chaos, the screaming fans and interviews, he always finds a few minutes in the hotel room to send you something real.

sometimes it’s a photo of the ceiling with “i wish you were here.” sometimes it’s “what if we just lived in a cabin and raised rabbits.” sometimes it’s just “i’m tired. but i love you.”

you never pressure him to call. you know his body hurts. you know the silence is sacred after giving so much of himself away.

so you send back things like “drink water, stretch your legs, think about my face.” and he replies with a sleepy selfie and a peace sign.

he gets back after two weeks on the road and the first thing he says when you open the door is:

“do you still have the cereal i left here?”

you do. and he kisses your cheek like it’s the biggest act of devotion he’s capable of.

★˚๑🎐％﹒choi beomgyu﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

dating beomgyu is like having a cat that bullies you all day but sleeps curled into your side every night.

he says things like “you’re obsessed with me” when you ask if he’s eaten, and then posts your shared playlist on his story with no caption. he makes fun of your hair when you wake up, then ties his hoodie around your waist if you ever mention feeling self-conscious.

he flirts like he’s joking, but stares like he means it.

the first time you visit his dorm (unofficially, when the members are out), he spends the entire afternoon pretending he doesn’t care.

“this place is nothing special,” he says while literally dusting the keyboard of his PC with a microfiber cloth. “i didn’t clean for you,” he adds, minutes after you catch him color-coding his sock drawer. “and that candle was already lit. it’s not for ambience or anything.”

you raise a brow. “is that… a cheese board?”

“shut up.”

idol life with beomgyu is unpredictable. one day he’s writing songs with raw vulnerability. the next he’s sticking googly eyes on the studio whiteboard and pretending they’re his A&R team.

you’ve seen both versions.

you’ve seen him hold a guitar like it’s a shield. you’ve seen him nearly cry because a take wasn’t perfect. you’ve seen him rip his in-ears out after a recording and say, voice flat: “i’m not good enough.”

you sat with him on the floor, forehead to his shoulder, and said nothing.

he doesn’t need cheering up. he just needs to know you’re there.

later, when he’s back in his element, screaming about a pizza discount code, he throws himself onto your lap and says, “you always bring me luck. you know that, right?”

he texts you like a menace.

🧍‍♂️: i saw a dog today and thought of u 🧍‍♂️: but in a cute way 🧍‍♂️: actually nvm i take it back 🧍‍♂️: are you free tmrw or do you hate me

he also sends you voice memos where he sings badly on purpose just to make you laugh.

but sometimes, right before bed, he’ll send a 12-second clip of a guitar riff he’s working on. no words. just sound. soft, warm, intimate.

you save every single one.

when you visit him backstage during promotions, he tries to act unfazed—but his entire face lights up when he spots you. he’s mid-hair touch-up, blush still fresh on his cheeks, mic taped to his jaw.

“you came,” he says like he didn’t remind you of the schedule twice and send a location pin.

you hand him a snack. he looks at it like it’s priceless. “you get me.”

“it’s literally just a peach tea.”

“and yet… from your hand?”

you roll your eyes. but when he walks back to the dressing room, he takes the tea with him. drinks it in every behind-the-scenes video. holds it like it’s good luck.

you don’t realize how much he talks about you until taehyun tells you, deadpan: “if i hear one more ‘my baby did this cute thing’ story i’m blocking him.”

“you’re just jealous,” beomgyu says. “my baby has rizz.”

he calls you that too—my baby. unironically. constantly. even in front of staff.

but then you catch him watching fancams of you (he took them himself) on the couch, face soft and unguarded, and he quickly shuts the screen. “wasn’t even watching anything,” he lies.

you don’t bring it up.

he buys you matching keychains. he “accidentally” leaves a stuffed animal on your bed. he begs you to stream his comeback and then says “actually don’t, it’s cringe,” even though he secretly checks if you listened.

he pulls you onto his lap when you’re sitting too far. he tucks your hair behind your ear when you’re ranting. and when you cry—really cry—he doesn’t joke. doesn’t speak.

he just wraps his arms around you and says, “i’ve got you, baby.”

and for once, you believe him completely.

★˚๑🎐％﹒kang taehyun﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

you don’t remember when exactly it happened, but somewhere along the way, you started treating taehyun like gravity.

he doesn’t ask for your attention — doesn’t need to. he’s just there. solid, steady, magnetic. he listens more than he talks, watches more than he reacts, and loves in the way most people overlook — in water bottles handed to you without a word, phone batteries at 78% because he charged them while you slept, and texts that say “lock your door tonight. i saw the news.”

he doesn’t say “i love you” that often. but he acts like it constantly.

he wakes up at 6am even when he doesn’t have schedules. works out in silence. tracks his reps on a crumpled post-it you keep trying to replace with an app. tells you, deadpan, “the gym is my therapy,” and then does squats to BLACKPINK like it’s nothing.

and he’s hot. obviously. but not in the loud, performative way — more in the how is your side profile even legal way.

he ties his hair back and opens water bottles with one hand. stares at contracts on his laptop like he’s about to buy out the company. walks around shirtless after practice like it’s your fault for looking.

you once called him “CEO boyfriend” as a joke. now he uses it to get his way.

“i can’t carry your groceries today,” you mutter. “would a ceo let you lift things?” “…you’re holding an iced americano with two straws.” “exactly. for us.”

idol taehyun is a different beast.

you see it when you visit the studio — the switch. he nods at staff, reviews choreography videos, calls out adjustments to their stage formations like a perfectionist who knows he’s right. and he is. he always is.

he’s not cold. just focused. a little intimidating.

okay, a lot.

you sit in the back, thumbing your phone, and watch him work like he was born for it. no wasted words. no wasted moves. the others tease him for being a robot, but you know the truth.

he just doesn’t half-ass anything.

and that includes you.

he’s the kind of boyfriend who remembers your schedule better than you do. who texts “wear a jacket” before the weather even shifts. who watches your reactions when you eat something new because he wants to know if you like it before you say anything.

he brings you home vitamin packets and high-protein snacks. then lies with his head in your lap for two hours while you scroll through reels and read fan comments out loud. he pretends he doesn’t care. but every time you read one that says “taehyun’s the boyfriend type fr,” he smiles. just a little.

after performances, he’s quiet.

not in a moody way. just… cooling off. energy still simmering under his skin. you help him undo his mic tape. he watches your hands like they’re fragile things, even though you’re tugging pretty hard.

“good show,” you murmur.

he shrugs. “i messed up the angle on the chorus.”

you raise a brow. “literally no one noticed.”

he looks at you then — really looks at you — and it’s like the whole room stills.

“you did,” he says. softly. honestly.

your breath catches. “i’m not a critic.”

“you’re my person,” he replies. “it matters.”

he doesn’t do PDA in front of staff. never kisses you in dressing rooms. rarely even holds your hand where others can see. but every now and then — in the hallway, behind the black curtain before a show, in the elevator after press — he’ll lean down and whisper, “come here.”

and when he kisses you?

it’s slow. confident. the kind of kiss that says i’m not afraid of anyone knowing you’re mine — i just like keeping it between us.

when he’s away, he never says “i miss you.” he says things like:

“don’t forget to eat protein.” “i’ll call after the shoot.” “send me a picture. just you. no filters.”

and when he comes back?

he pulls you into his arms like he never wants to let go. buries his face in your neck. sighs like home is finally real.

“missed you,” he says, once. “i know,” you say back. and he smiles.

★˚๑🎐％﹒huening kai﹕ᘏᘏ୭₊˚

you realize you love him the day he apologizes for looking at you too long.

“sorry,” he mumbles. “i didn’t mean to stare.”

you’re sitting across from each other, legs tangled under the kotatsu table. his hoodie sleeves are pulled over his palms. his cheeks are pink. and he’s looking at you like you hung the moon and forgot to tell anyone.

you blink. “kai,” you say, gently. “you’re allowed to look.”

he shrinks a little, but he nods.

he doesn’t know what to do with attention — not really. not when it’s personal. not when it’s you.

you’ve heard it in passing before — in interviews, old livestreams, articles that fans have archived and translated — that kai has always been quietly unsure about his looks.

it doesn’t make sense to you. he’s so striking in person it almost hurts. luminous eyes. impossible bone structure. a smile that feels like finding your favorite song after a bad day.

but insecurity isn’t about logic. and kai isn’t the kind of person who wants praise just to hear it.

he wants to feel seen.

you learn how to love him in his language.

you send voice notes when he’s on tour — your voice soft, half-asleep, saying “i’m proud of you.”

you leave sticky notes in his backpack with doodles and stupid puns and reminders to stretch.

you call him pretty only when no one else is around. and he smiles every time like he’s hearing it for the first time.

his love language?

unlabeled. sideways. soft.

he leaves you little things: guitar picks in your coat pocket (“that one’s lucky”), a folded napkin with your name written in tiny hearts and a playlist titled “for when it rains but you still have to smile”

he doesn’t like big declarations. but he’ll hug you from behind when you’re brushing your teeth. hum into your neck when you’re washing dishes. whisper “i dreamed about you again” like he’s sharing a secret.

and then there’s the stage.

you never get used to that version of him — the one with a guitar strapped across his chest, a reed in his mouth, eyes glittering under the lights.

it’s not that he becomes someone else. it’s more like he steps into himself.

his body moves differently. his presence shifts. there’s this subtle confidence — not arrogant, just rooted. he plants his feet. commands the space. owns the note. and you, watching from the side curtain or through a screen, forget to breathe.

he finishes with the reed between his lips, hair slicked to his temples, and walks off like he didn’t just rearrange the earth’s axis.

you stare at him, stunned.

he looks back at you and says, in the softest voice:

“did i look weird?”

when he comes home, he doesn’t talk much. he curls into you on the couch, hoodie zipped all the way up, and plays chords on an unplugged electric guitar while you read. every once in a while, he’ll glance up — make a face — and go back to playing.

sometimes he lets you sit in his lap while he composes. sometimes he dozes off mid-layer, one headphone in, fingers still resting on the frets.

you kiss his forehead and tuck a blanket over him. he murmurs something you don’t catch. and you think — if this is love, then it’s the kind that doesn’t need to shout.

check out more works like this on here @onedreamnet !

author's note: first time writing for other members except soobin kinda nervous lol. send me a request • my masterpost

[ladyrosemone]

The Other Side Of Paradise

Using Google Translate here! 🗣‼️‼️ This is an intermediate of part one, as the Batfamily's point of view just like you had yours, official part two coming soon! Also my question box is open (I think) and without further ado, enjoy the read! (Thanks for enjoying the read 😭🫶🏼)

Tw!: Profanity (use of prostitute as a derogatory insult), murder, murder scene described, negligence.

Tag List: @tsuniio, @simpingpandas, @dakotali, @softycheol.

Dick is always first.

The first child acrobat of the circus, the first son of Bruce Wayne, the first Robin, the first brother, the first everything.

And he was proud of that, from being an orphan to the pride of Gotham it was not an easy path and much less a happy one, but amidst so much pain and loss he is grateful for having a constant; his family.

Dysfunctional and somewhat shaky, where violence and beatings are the language of love, they find comfort in knowing that they have each other.

He has Alfred as his honorary grandfather, who is the wisest person he will ever meet again.

Bruce, who even with his flaws is his father, who gave him a chance and never abandoned him, making him the man he is today.

Jason, the most distant but beloved of his brothers, knows that he can always count on him and his strength at all times.

Tim, his chair boy, his best confidant, and the best detective in the world, trusts him with his life over anything he can't find.

And Damian, his little brother, his favorite boy in the whole world, the Robin to his Batman, what he wouldn't do for his sharp-tongued brother; even when he came to the mansion threatening and stabbing everything, never gave up on him and the result was completely worth it.

His sisters are also dear to him; Stephenie and Cassandra are strong and independent, but also loyal and loving. Barbara may not be a sister -she still has her father- but she has earned a place in the family and is considered sister as much as Steph and Cass.

Of course he will never leave Duke behind, the newest, the ray of sunshine among them all, he expects great things from him.

Dick is always first.

Dick is the last one to remember you.

Jason hates remembering his life before the well.

He doesn't want to forget, there are memories that still keep him sane; his mother, when Bruce adopted him, his first patrol as Robin. You.

But if it were up to him, he would never talk about them again or even acknowledge their existence. They are chains that bind him, quicksand that make him sink whenever he tries to move forward and personally he is fed up.

Because no matter how many villains he catch and how many more kill, how many people save, nothing will take away the guilt of not having saved that person. Don't save you.

Of not finding the strength in himself to look for you now, because for you, there is nothing but shame and shame for himself. The first friend he had, the first brother he had, his first great loss, his only great regret.

Jason hates remembering his life before the well.

Jason hates being the first to discover your new identity.

Tim is a genius.

Genius falls short, his brain works like a computer within a computer within another; Wires instead of neural conduits and electricity instead of energy is what happens in that brilliant brain of yours.

He was never an ordinary person, he is ambitious and resourceful, intelligent and determined to get what he wants.

That started with the mantle of Robin.

When Jason was still in the portrait, he wanted to be part of the duo; He trained and prepared, ready to help from the Batcave until the Joker thing happened. And even when it felt bad to carry the title of the bat's henchman, he felt proud that his perseverance took him to the top.

And it was the beginning of his destiny.

Robin, Red Robin, the robin's mantle is and will be a part of him that he will never let go, but he is also the one who remembers every detail of every case of every villain of every attack in Gotham, is the one they turn to when they need to confirm exact information. Nothing escapes him, ever.

Tim is a genius.

Tim passed you by and lost.

Damian is the perfect heir.

His father is the most powerful man in Gotham and Batman himself, his mother is a skilled and lethal assassin, daughter of a dynasty of the world's fiercest assassins, and he is the result of the cross between the two.

He is perfect.

That is why he will never deign to look down on the unworthy; Richard is fine, Jason is worthy because served his mother and grandfather, Tim still doubts it, women are strong allies and that new boy has potential. Alfred and his father, of course, are worthy of his obedience.

And you? You are worse than a disappointment.

A stain, a mistake, someone who should never have existed, rotting his perfect legacy, you should be thankful he didn't kill you when he had the chance.

It's not that you deserve it, you don't deserve anything from it.

You are so insignificant to him that not even in his dreams did he worry about your whereabouts, of course he knew that you were no longer there, he had to watch you in case you stole something when you left like the thieving prostitute who was probably your mother, but when you did not return, he felt triumphant for having taken care of -without killing- the family problem.

Damian is the perfect heir.

Damian feels like his throne means nothing in front of you.

Bruce is a father.

He never considered himself one, maybe he wanted it once, when his own father was alive to learn from him, but that dream died when his people did it in the alley.

Despite everything, he tried to be a father to Dick, and his efforts, although questionable, worked. Then Jason with his bright eyes and bubbly personality, taken away too soon, let go too soon.

Even now, so near and so far, it is his greatest loss as Batman, as Bruce Wayne.

Tim was...complicated; arrived when he had not overcome his grief and treated him in the most atrocious way he had ever imagined treating his children. Still, he proved to him time and time again that was more than expected.

Damian was unexpected of an unexpected union; son of Talia Al'Ghul and grandson of Ra's Al'Ghul, he awaited a bloodthirsty and indomitable child. Which started badly ended well, his youngest son is on his way to writing his destiny far from his ancestry, and in his heart knows that did the best he could.

Barbara, although not their daughter, is part of their family, Stephenie and Cassandra are their beloved daughters, and Duke is officially their new son.

Bruce is a father.

Bruce is not your father.

Do others really have a voice in this narrative? You barely remember them, you barely knew them, much less you care about them. Yes, even Alfred.

"I don't understand, there's nothing more" Tim murmurs, looking at the images on the Batcomputer, reading the documents at the same time, his eyes bloodshot and his fingers trembling from the coffee laced with an energy drink that just drank "There must be more"

"You searched enough, you should get some sleep" Barbara intervenes, in her wheelchair "I'll cover you"

"No, there's something I'm overlooking" he insists "I know, I just have to look carefully"

"Tell me it's not that thing again" Jason complains, arriving at the Batcave with his Red Hood suit on, barely removing his helmet.

Dick nods, his usual smile not drawing his face, just a grimace "We're close to finding it, just...something's missing"

The image is clear; a party room, with people dancing and laughing, as precise as a painting but recent that appeared in the newspaper. All of these people are families of dangerous underworld groups.

Lords of drugs, weapons and human trafficking, ex-convicts and people who work for villains are...enjoying the party.

It wouldn't be relevant if it weren't the photo before the tragedy.

⚠️ Description of crime scene, bodies and blood under the cut ⚠️

All of them, women and men, young and old, nothing more than a combined mass of blood and bones, guts scattered on the walls and decorations of the room.

The floor, the stairs, everything contaminated, women's bodies -which were getting smaller, then only limbs such as arms, hands and finally, fingers- arranged on the main staircase. They all point to something;

⚠️End of scene⚠️

A painting.

In the two photos, the painting of a house is what steals the attention; nothing special, nothing grand, just a painting of a gray wooden cave house, with the background of a distant city and without a signature, almost overlooked as another photo if it weren't for the canvases and the paint under his fingers when he touched it.

In both photos the painting is at the top of the stairs, in both the light was shining on them and in both it draws attention before anything else.

Why? What does it mean? What does it tell them?

"There must be something more than that, hidden among the corpses" says Damian, the most obsessed -besides Tim- in discovering the identity of the one who, for months, has left them clues after helping them anonymously, only a pseudonym in your name; The Savior.

Or that is how those who bring your messages to them have referred to you, speaking of you as a Saint, a savior among men, God himself who came down to protect them.

And they can't let that continue.

They must know if you are dangerous, if you are a potential threat or potential ally. They must discover you.

Alfred arrives with more coffee, because he knows his words won't be heard at that point; When the family becomes obsessed with something, they hardly let it go until they get their fill of it.

His eyes pursue that house; small and misaligned, painted in a very specific way, too specific.

Jason doesn't like to remember the past.

"Wasn't there a phantom surcharge on the accounts months ago?" He says in a low voice, almost lost if the echo of the cave had not returned the word to him.

"There are many like that" Tim murmurs without thinking about the matter "Hey-!"

Jason pushes him aside, typing furiously and searching through files, searching and searching remembering remembering until...A contract, simple and almost empty, with a late date and an unknown signature, the name blank but with an address and a photo; the photo of the painting.

The house.

"How did you...?" Tim was surprised, looking at that contract as if he had never looked at it before, reading carefully, sleep and fatigue fleeing his body.

Bruce looks on without speaking, but those who know him know that a war of insecurities is raging inside him; How did it happen? Who was it? When did do it? Has access to all he private accounts? Do has know their identities?

The clue has been revealed, the answer discovered, and the game is just beginning.

"I think it's time to arrange the pawns on the chess board" you say in your luxury suit, the highest in the tallest building in Gotham, looking at the flashing lights that fill the streets, looking at the outskirts of Gotham, looking at your next move, looking at the wide-screen camera that's embedded in the painting's window.

[coldilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

I got this idea from another Tumblr post and I'm pretty new so, ion know how to tag and stuff, pls tell me

______________

"So... My mom just disappeared?" A little 6 year old (Name) asks Alfred about her mom

Alfred turned back like he was reminiscing "The Gala was for three nights, the first night she mesmerized all, the second night she befriended everyone, the third night she slept with your father"

.....

"then she disappeared, then you were dropped on our little doorstep! We were skeptical at first then we DNA tested you, you're Bruce's kid so you are the Wayne Manor's baby! And you and your Daddy are one big happy family"

That was lie. That a big lie

You know Alfred was just trying to make you feel better

It wasn't working.

________________________

You feel like shit, they look so fucking happy, for years and years have passed, your 12 now for God sake

Every year a new family photo was taken and as the years pass more and more people are added to the photos

And the phrase "the more the merrier was always said to you" like they were trying to drill it into your head, but it seemed like every year, you were being pushed farther and farther back into the photos till you're barely noticeable

It sucks at home and it sucks at school, at home at least you only had Damian to worry about, he would torture and bully you, remind you of how unloved and unwanted you were here, but at school?

It was everyone.

It doesn't help how you're unable to focus that much either, always getting called by teachers when you're not paying attention, and then them ridiculing you

Also, with the fact that your entire family are vigilantes except you.

Except you, you tried, and you were good at it, the problem was, why did it seem like a lot of villains were after you

So you were stuck at the manor

"hello" a woman inside the Manor spoke

This shocked you, she looked too old to be another kid adopted by that... But you can't be too sure

"new kid?" You asked

She seemed taken aback, but then it was like a veil was lifted and she transformed into this ew

Wtf did she just turn into?

Suddenly she had this donkey leg and snake tongue and fire for hair, her eyes slit and she hissed at you

Then she attacked

"OH WHAT THE FUCK"

With no weapon and no Alfred in hand, you ran

She ran after you and lit the hallways on fire in the process

You ran fast and far, to the outskirts of the mansion and straight into the garden, now when you thought your day could not get ANYMORE weirder, a voice calls out in the bushes

"I knew it! I knew you were a half-blood!I wasn't sure, but now I am!" You turn around and see a full ass tree transform into a beautiful lady

You're sure that Gotham Prep once talked about the side effects of drugs, and even if you haven't taken any drugs, you feel the side effects

"don't be scared, I'm a nymph! Me and my friends will help you run away from the empousa!" She grabbed me and threw me in the lake

A hand grabs you and pulls you further underwater, as much as you struggled, the hand kept pulling you and pulling you till your deep and then changed direction

Like you guys were heading somewhere, it felt like days, the hands alternating, first hands were blue and the lady whom the hands belonged too sounded worried, second hands were green, the lady was surprised

Third hand was light bluish purple, she expressed concern and kept pulling

The last hand was of human skin tone, pulling you up to shore

"Sir Chiron! There's a camper! The Naiads bought her here! Sir Chiron!"

He turns to look at you a bit worried, he looked from 13-14

He said "My name is Percy Jackson, and yours?"

_________________

Empousa: haha an unsuspecting demigod!

(Name) thinking that Bruce adopted another one: new kid?

Empousa: :o

_______________

Who do y'all think (Name)'s mom is?

Also the lack of Batfam dialogue is meant to represent their neglectful behavior, too bad their not gonna have a kid to return to

[the-trash-site]

My favourite type of fanfiction at the moment has been 'y/n is reincarnated into fandom to save the characters from canon!'. (currently mainly reading for JJK and MHA as that's what I'm obsessed with.) There's something so pure about the plot and how the author has fun with it. With scenes where yn is lowkey simping or the actual character of the fandom being dorky.

I think the appeal (besides the amazing writing and passion given into each chapter of these fanfic, rec list below) of this is how straightforward it can be. You already know the characters, you know the canon. All you learn when first reading is what ability you get and how you fit within the world. Which is usually attending the school or growing up with the character.

But mostly, what I love is seeing the butterfly effect and the new dynamics it can create. But lately, I can't help but wonder about a fanfic that has the vibe of 'careful what you wish for'. And seeing what ripples that could make. (I write mostly of JKK and MHA but these ideas could be apply to AOT or Demon Slayer or any other fandom.)

I find it hilarious if instead, the y/n is older than the main group. Imagine being the milf/dilf of MHA. Being the same age as All Might or old enough to adopt characters like Shigaraki.

Or being the in-between age of Deku and the teachers. Where your options are; hanging out with the League of Villains, working hard asf to be a top hero to be around Hawks/the plot. Or becoming a teacher/assistant to watch over class 1A to change canon. I mean, what else are you meant to do in your early twenties? You literally have to force yourself into the plot lol

Oh, you have a favourite character, like Nanami, Gojo or Choso you want to meet? Here you go, a new life as their child! (probably be a sibling for Choso lol) Oh you met you wanted to rizz them up and treat them right? Nope, sorry, you're forced to tag along and face any challenges that would come as being a child to a; Jujutsu sorcerer/ the strongest/ a half-curse spirit.

Oh, this time you specified the thought of being dating/married to Aizawa/Geto/Toji as you died? Kinda weird but here you go! Your new life as their spouse! But only, you don't gain memories from this new life, as you only remember about the canon. Don't mind the grief and odd looks the character is giving you, their amnesia darling. It's not like you can't remember the wedding you two shared. (for maximum angst, they have the kids and you're just clueless about being a parent and saving the canon. yikes)

Okay, but what if you get super lucky? You get to be with the main character and do real help! Everything is fine in JJK but Sukuna is dead set on killing you. Every chance he gets, he uses until he kills you. But it's only after he brought you back that you learn it's because he actually loves you. After all, you're the reincarnated of his reincarnated dead wife. (not confusion at all, lol) He was just pissed that you dead centuries ago and couldn't have the life you two planned. It was his way of getting even. Definitely not annoying when trying to save characters.

Okay, for real now. Everything is perfectly fine...But what's this? Yuji and Izuku are actually yandere for you? Oh, that wouldn't change canon that much, right?

Anyway, here are my favourites fanfics;

Otherworldy attraction by Kilkyo851 JJK | on AOE and Quotev | multiple pairings | warning: yandere content

Tomorrow's sake by Kilkyo851 JJK | on AO3 and Quotev | multiple pairings

When I catch you Gege by Quinnyundertow JJK | on AOE | multiple pairings

Daybreak by sexy-captain-rexy (smolkatsudon) Star wars | poly Obi-Wan, Anakin Skywalker and reader pairing| on AOE

Promise: Thorin x Fíli x reader Hobbit | love angle with true pairing haven't been shown | on AOE (this one is interesting as reader has more visions than knowledge from media.)

Changing History [MHA! Various F!Reader] by summerblack | MHA | on Qoutev

The Future's Keeper [MHA!Various x F!Reader] by summerblack | MHA | on Quotev

[anothertimdrakestan]

Batboys Toxic Traits Headcanons

because no one is perfect, i wanted to get a little dirty with it and imagine what the boys are like when they're a little... too obsessed with you.

tw for romanticizing possessive, obsessive, jealous, aggressive actions haha xoxo

Jason Todd

- scary dog privileges wherever you go with jace, but he is ALL bite with one and only one warning bark.

- when a hand that isn't his brushes your thigh in a club, fingers get broken. when a cat caller thinks his compliment just has to be said to you, he most likely won't be able to speak again for weeks. And god forbid any villain try to use you as bait for jason, they've all learned if they value their life to never touch you. He's all for justice not vengeance until anyone tries to mess with you, then those words always get mixed up in his head.

- sometimes you cant even complain about people, they end up getting randomly harassed by a certain someone until they just move town

- jason is adamant as long as he's alive there won't be a problem of yours he can't solve with a little violence

- your biggest problem is that he struggles to let you have guy friends, obviously the ones he knows especially fellow heroes are more than fine, but he's been known to burst blood vessels when he sees you up close and personal with men he's never met

- he's proud of it too: "let another man try and touch y/n, it's been a slow night for me." or "i just don't get why you need him as a friend when you have me, myself, and i"

Tim Drake

- tim gets... obsessive.

- he tends to fall hard but with you he brought the house down with him

- before you were officially his he had hacked every security camera in the city to have eyes on you at any given moment

- both for your safety and his own maniacal flirting strategy: you admire shoes but frown at the price tag? tim's buying you the matching bag to go with the shoes he bought the second you looked at them.

- before you knew how insanely in love with you he was, you truly thought he was a mind reader

- well he kind of was, seeing as he scrolled through your search history every night to know which talking points to bring up with you

- once you finally fell for him and set some stronger boundaries he still occasionally found himself double checking your location when you weren't by his side, or lazily purchasing every item on your pinterest boards, he just can't help but dote on you

Damian Wayne

- damian doesn't really get close to people, but as always you were his exception

- however, this means his list of people to hang out with is extremely short, and he saw no problem in wanting to be around you wherever you went whenever he could

- like a kind of tall, dark, and brooding puppy, he quietly followed you everywhere, and when you strictly told him he couldn't follow along, you always noticed a perched shadow just a few building away

- eventually you got used to rolling over to damian coolly watching you sleep or patiently waiting to pick you up from your classes/job, happy just to walk you to your car

- just like jason, damian had a brutal and heartless style of problem-solving when it came to anyone giving you trouble

- too often you found yourself standing in between his rage and massive mistake whether it was nearly assaulting a friend of yours who tried to ask you out or threatening to buy out your entire workplace when you didn't get the promotion you wanted

- forever cooling his rage was worth having his adoration though, and you were happy to have your overbearing shadow follow you throughout your days

Dick Grayson

- for such a bubbly leader, dick often struggled with communication

- always used to bearing his problems alone you'd spent too many nights tracking down your own boyfriend only to beg him to tell you what's wrong

- he never understood that you didn't always want to solve his problems, but hold his sadness or hurt with him

- it was the worst when he was upset with you, whether it was jealously or insecurity that crept into his mind

- he'd take off in a rush hoping you wouldn't notice but you always did, either hunting him down or simply waiting with open arms for him to come home

- it would take years to teach your traveling-circus-raised boyfriend that you weren't going anywhere, ever.

- but, this made for many heartfelt nights where he held you and promised you the world, as if you'd opened him up in a way no one else could, pulling forward the most magical and loving side of your sweet boy

[the-kr8tor]

A Regular Spidey Valentine's day

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: Hobie's valentine's day plan goes awry when Spider-Man duties call.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, CW suggestive, CW food mentions, lovestruck! Hobie, canon typical violence, fluff.

Requested by @thesevenofstaves -- had to double check the master list but i don’t think there’s one similar to this? but if there is feel free toto discard—hobie trying to have a great valentine’s day with his partner, but everything keeps going wrong. we’re talking villain attacks, we’re talking culinary failures. you get the idea!thank you love you 🥰

Navigation

You open your eyes to a cold valentine's day morning. But the cool wind barely nips at you when you've got your very own furnace holding you close under the thick blankets.

Hobie embraces you from behind, soft snores escaping from his parted lips as he finds his place on your nape. You feel his breath fanning across your skin, goosebumps appearing on your arms as he lets out an exhale. You wonder what he's dreaming about, you only hope it's good things as his arms subconsciously squeezes you in his sleep.

His legs are tangled with your own, socked feet rubbing along your cold leg as you feel him stir when the light from the windows beam through the curtains. His hands wiggle their way under your night shirt, holding your stomach and letting his warmth ebb from his palms. Smiling, you hold the back of his hands, thumbs running along his knuckles as a soft and gentle way to wake him up.

“We need new blinds.” Hobie murmurs against the back of your neck, lil piercing brushing along your raised skin. His voice is still deep and rough from sleep, it single handedly makes your heart flutter.

“Good morning to you too.” You chuckle, voice soft amidst the early morning fluttering of dust. “Maybe that'll be your valentine's gift from me.”

He laughs, a deep rumble in his throat that reverberates through you. “Make it blackout, love. ‘m startin’ to think that people can see through and see our nightly—” you crane your neck to give him a side glance as a warning, only to find that he has already cracked an eye open, waiting for your reaction. “—Activities.”

Humming, you're satisfied by his use of the word.

“‘m talkin' ‘bout makin’ love, by the way.”

“Hobie!” You giggle, and the sound immediately has Hobie moving to detangle himself away from you and lift his body atop your own in quick succession and fluid movement. His lopsided smile has your words stuck in your throat as you look up at him through wide eyes.

“Hearts day today, hm?” He pokes your cheek, arms enclosed around you and legs trapping your thighs together. “The most capitalistic time of the year.”

You try to tamp down a laugh but can't help giggling when he tilts his head and tries to look all flirty with you when he's still wearing his pink silk bonnet and with crusts still in the corner of his eyes.

“That's true,” lifting your hand up to rub away the sleep in his eyes gently, he closes his eyes whilst you do it. “But you always go all out during the holiday.”

“Yeah, but it's for you.” He leans against your touch, sighing longingly as if you're across the sea from him. “And only for you, love.” Dropping down, he places his head on your shoulder, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck as he gives small pecks on your skin. Your heart feels full in the moment as you hold him close and tangle your legs with him. “Says you who made me a whole bloody outfit from scratch.”

Laughing, he continues to kiss your neck and up to your jaw. “And I loved making it for you,” you say breathlessly as he kisses deeper and you move your neck to give him more space to cover. “Just say you love the holiday, Hobs.”

Hobie pauses from his barrage of kisses, lifting his head up to look you in the eyes. He fixes your unruly brows that still bear sleep, and rubs your cheek lovingly with his knuckles.

“No.”

“Is it because you have to go on patrol today unlike last year?”

“The world is tearing us apart, lovie.” He leans in, kissing the corner of your lips, cheeks and the tip of your nose.

“Maybe just London, Hobie.” You gasp as he presses a sweet kiss on your lips. You reciprocate wholeheartedly, hands balling his pajama shirt and smiling through the kiss.

“London can wait a few more minutes.”

—

“Hobie, be careful, please?” You hug yourself tighter, wrapping Hobie's cardigan around you. “I have plans for us tonight so please come home in one piece.”

Hobie, in his full regalia of spandex and leather sits in-between the window sill as if he’s thinking whether he should stay or go.

“You know I always will, love.” Holding up his arms, you park yourself in the space as he curls himself around your form, face scrunched on your belly, and with you hugging his head. “I'll be on time, hm?” He whispers against you, placing a heavy kiss atop the cardigan that you both share.

“I'm not worried about that.” Craning your neck, not worried about the crick you're about to surely have, you kiss his temple sweetly. “Just come home, okay?”

Hobie reluctantly lifts his head away from you, smiling up at you. If he doesn't leave now, he'll never get out of the flat. “You want wine for tonight?”

“If you're coming home all beaten and battered, you better have something stronger.” You joke as you caress his cheek.

“I'll get you the good stuff, hm?”

“Anything from you is the good stuff.” Leaning down, you kiss him on his waiting lips. “Now go, the city needs you, Spider-Man.”

Hobie gives you one last smile before placing the mask on his head. Now face to face with the famed vigilante. Taking your hand, he kisses your knuckles and lets you go to jump off the window and swing away into the bustling city.

Watching his form retreating away, you sigh and start preparing for tonight's meal, that's for sure would be so bountiful that it would send the vigilante to a food coma.

—

Hobie heaves in place as the lizard lays unconscious by his feet. It's barely noon and he has stopped seven disasters already. There goes his plans to swing by and hand you a bouquet that he gathered himself that's now slowly floating down to the dust covered pavement. Fragrant flower petals come down from the sky, and a few people stop by and watch as the colourful flowers grace the cold London street.

“It's a Valentine's miracle!” A bystander exclaims happily, dancing around the floating petals.

Hobie shakes his head, rubbing a gloved hand across his masked face. He should've seen the lizard coming but he was too enthralled by his own mind that was playing what your reaction would be after he gives you a visit and hands you the flowers.

“Fuckin' hell.” He stretches his aching shoulder, already thinking of a faster route to gather all the flowers he needed to make a new bouquet. Whilst he thinks, a fire alarm blares in the distance, making his senses go off. With a sigh, the flowers have to wait.

—

You swirl the final touches on the red velvet cake you just finished. Smiling happily at the result even though it's your first time baking one. As you check the time, looking over to the clock on the wall, you have plenty of time to finish up dinner. Now with dessert out of the way, it's time for the main course.

You wonder what Hobie's up to and if he has eaten lunch yet.

—

“You wanker! That was my lunch!” Hobie screams at the cackling Rhino. Real fury in his veins whilst he glances at the sandwich you packed for him this morning that's now flattened under the villain's metallic foot.

“Oh poor spidey lost his sandwich?” The Rhino mocks while doing a crying motion at him. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Hobie cracks his neck, jaw tightening and walking slowly at the humongous suit of armour. He has no quip nor a joke, just silence; making the Rhino fear for his life.

—

“Shit!” You yelp, dropping the smoking metal tray into the sink. Opening the faucet, the tray hisses and lets out steam whilst the whole kitchen is covered in smoke. “Damn it.”

Maybe taking a short nap while the oven is on wasn't such a great idea. Good thing you have a plan b just in case something like this happened.

Checking the time, you're starting to worry that you won't finish before Hobie comes home now that it's well into the afternoon. With a groan, you start again.

—

“No, Ned, not a bloody yellow one!” Hobie yells into the phone's receiver, which he only uses for times like these. He's on call with Ned who owes Hobie big time and whom he asked for help in buying ingredients from the store. He dodges the Scorpion's stinger, balancing on a metal railing just near the end of the docks. “Not blue either! It'll look like it's for a baby shower—!” The stinger gets too close for comfort. “Do you fuckin' mind? 'm on the phone.”

“Drop the call, Spider-Man!” The scorpion says in his scratchy tone as he hangs upside down on a lamp post. “What's more important than saving the bank?”

“The bank can fuck off for all I care!” Hobie jumps and webs the stinger to a building. “It's the hostages you've got inside, you knobhead—! No, not you, Ned!” Groaning, he has had enough and quickly somersaults over the second stinger that was aimed for him. “What's up with you animal themed villains today? Got no dates?!”

“That's harsh.” The Scorpion's shoulders deflates sadly.

“Guess it's hard to find a date when you dress like that!” He pounces, punching the guy right on his jaw.

Hobie looks at the sun slowly setting on the horizon and he focuses on the task at hand. The faster he defeats the Scorpion, the faster he can get to you.

“Pink or red only, Ned, and get the good chocolate and please don't forget the thing I told you.” He closes the call and tucks the phone back in his vest pocket. Cracking his knuckles, he hones in on the villain. “Maybe you'll find a date in jail, yeah?”

—

You set up the dinner table all pretty like with red roses, a fine tablecloth, and gilded utensils that you got a deal on at an estate sale last week. Looking around, the pretty string lights and the strawberry scented candles have you smiling and patting your back for a job well done.

Your phone pings on the kitchen counter, and you race towards it to check if it's Hobie telling you that he's on his way. Your brows knit together when it's Ned asking you when your birthday is and if you're allergic to nuts. A weird combination of questions but you still open your phone and answer him.

—

“C’mon, blackcat, not today.” Hobie sighs, the marks from the previous fights is evident on his soot and scratch covered suit. The sun has fully set, and the clock ticks close to seven pm as he stands on a rooftop with blackcat, who's carrying a duffel bag full of jewellery.

“Why? Got something to do, handsome?” She says in a sultry tone, sharp claws glinting in the moonlight. Hobie subtly tilts his head in annoyance. Nothing seems to be going his way today. “Oh, I get it, you've got someone waiting for you tonight, hm?” Her heels click on the rooftop as she walks closer to him. Hobie smacks his lips together, fists tightening.

In the distance, the famous jewellery shop she just robbed empty has its alarms blaring loudly. Sirens go off around the area, and Hobie just wants to go home.

“Y’know what?” Hobie starts, exasperated. Blackcat tilts her head, her silver eyes under the domino mask narrows at him. “That place was owned by an arsehole, go.”

She blinks in place, a smirk slowly appearing on her painted lips. “Really? Just like that?”

Hobie nods, “promise not to tell anyone what you deduced and give thirty percent of the money you get from that to a charity and I'll let you go.”

“Shit, Spider-Man, why didn't you say so in the first place?” She chuckles, reeling her claws back in.

“Fuckin’ say it, Felicia.”

“Damn, you don't have to call me by my government name, man.” She rummages through the bag and tosses him something shiny which Hobie catches effortlessly. “Here, for your special someone. And I promise, spidey. Cross my heart, hope to die.” She draws a cross over her chest.

“I'll know, don't lie to me.” His voice falls into a dangerous timbre.

She visibly stiffens from the threat, not forgetting what he did to Osborne a few years ago. “As if I'd lie to my favourite spider.”

As blackcat tumbles away, leaving Hobie alone, he opens his palm to see a shiny diamond tennis bracelet. Maybe he can detach the diamonds and make something else.

“Shit!” He needs to get to Ned’s real quick.

—

You've been sitting pretty on the dining table for four hours now. The candle is dwindling and the food is getting colder while the clock ticks on the wall. For the umpteenth time tonight, you fix your clothes as if there's even a crease or a speck of dust on it. You don't mind waiting for him when you know the nature of his work, but you're starting to worry when his last text to you was hours ago. You've even turned on the telly in the background just in case he pops up in the news.

With a yawn, you decide to lay your head on the table. “Just closing my eyes.” You mumble to yourself as you drift in between slumber and wakefulness.

Hobie's heart breaks when he sees you asleep on the table with your head tucked in your arms. The candles are fully melted on the candelabra, and the smell of food is fading away. He's sure that it might've smelled heavenly hours ago, if only he got there earlier.

He quietly takes off his heavy boots by the door, the crinkling of the paper bag has him cringing. But when he glances at your sleeping form, you're still sleeping soundly. He curses himself internally as he roams his eyes around the living room and the decorations you've put out. You've even got new pictures of you together with him inside pretty frames to place around the shared place. The flowers on the vases are still fresh and blooming, and you look absolutely stunning.

Gently placing the paper bag on the table, he kneels next to you, hand grasping your bicep while he wakes you up.

You stir, sniffing the air as you lift your head up. Your face lights up when you see him smiling softly at you.

“Hi.”

“Hello, love. Sorry ‘m late, let me carry you to bed, yeah?” Hobie rubs your thigh lovingly, chest feeling heavy and guilty. “I tried.”

You immediately know what he meant. “I know, Hobs.” Reaching for his cheek, you let your touch warm him. His face still feels chilly from how he might've run to get to the flat. “You okay?” He nods, eyes shining as he moves closer and places his head on your lap. “Bad day?”

“A shite day.” He hugs your waist, face nudging you.

“Sounds like you need a Valentine's meal, hm?”

Hobie lifts his head up, palms holding your hips. “It's cold.”

“That's why microwaves and the stove were invented.”

A smile curls on his lips until he's laughing against your stomach. You giggle with him, fingers kneading in between his shoulder blades.

“What did you make?” He asks, still holding you in place and in turn holding him down to the present.

“Baked chicken with lemongrass just like how you like it.” You whisper to him while the pads of his fingers draw circles on the small of your back. “Some mashed potatoes, so many buttered vegetables.” You chuckle and you feel his smile atop your skin. “Fish fillet—”

“With the garlic and cream sauce?”

You nod, gazing down lovingly at him. “With the garlic and cream sauce of course. Some tomato soup, and cake.”

“We feedin’ a whole town now, lovie?” He smiles up at you, stomach rumbling from the menu.

“Yeah, you,” you joke, earning a squeeze from him. “I rarely cook for you these days so I went all out.”

He beams at you, eyes gazing at you lovingly. “I got you flowers.” He says in a small tone. Your heart flutters. “It's all over downtown now though.”

Your laugh is music to his ears. “I bet it made someone's day though.”

“There was a bloke who looked like he was in the sound of music.” He places his chin on your thigh, staring at you with heart shaped eyes. You laugh, hands cupping each of his cheeks. “I made you chocolates, but Neddy got coconut fillings in most of ‘em. And the sprinkles are green, sorry.”

“Is that why Ned asked me if I have any allergies and when my birthday is? He helped you make them?”

“I can't make it ‘ere when you were cookin’ up a storm. Wait, he asked you? Idiot.” He curses Ned's name and you giggle. Hobie bites his lip, suddenly nervous. “And he was askin' when your birthday is so he could get your birth stone.”

“My stone?”

“I just told him to pick it up so I could set it myself and the wanker forgot when your birthday is just because I just said your birthstone.” You squeeze his cheek to stop his nervous rambling. He sighs, rummaging through his jacket pocket and procuring a simple bamboo box. “Made and designed by yours truly.” He chuckles nervously as he opens the box, revealing a simple platinum necklace that has your birthstone set in a guitar pick shaped locket. “Sorry that the stone is so small. The old lady who owned the place got me a good price though.”

“Hobie,” you softly sigh out, tears prickling your eyes. “You could get me a candy necklace and I would still love it.”

“Should've gotten that then.” He laughs, mirroring your smile. “I thought, ten fuckin' years together, ten Valentines, I have to get you somethin' nice. You deserve nice, love.”

“The chocolates and the pavement flowers were nice too. Anything from you is nice, Hobie.” You don't hold yourself back anymore, leaning down and kissing the corner of his eye as he holds onto you. “Amazing even.”

“You like it then?” He says as he gets a barrage of kisses.

“I love it. Come stand up and help me put it on like in the movies.”

Hobie reaches for your cheek, a calloused palm holding you close and keeping you warm. “Kiss me like in the movies then.”

So you do.

Banners by @/cafekitsune

Photos from Pinterest

[megamagimugi]

He's-a Gone

Luigi time! To suffer, that is.

(CW: character death)

This is obviously a sort of comlementary piece to I Was-a Too Late. But it's more than just that as it also illustrates a certain fun, dark what-if idea I had. Please keep reading if you're intrigued!

Lore:

Luigi's Mansion, the first game. Everything goes the same as in canon until the final boss fight, when Luigi defeats King Boo in his Bowser costume. After King Boo comes out and Luigi intends to suck him in, the villain laughs and reveals the truth: Mario's painting was an illusion, so was everything Madame Clairvoya saw. All just to mess with Luigi. Meanwhile the real Mario wasn't just captured by the Boos, he was immediately killed by them on their King's orders. The only physical thing that's left of him in this realm is the five items Luigi found - hidden by the Boos for Luigi to find, another part of King Boo's sick game.

Luigi is able to finish the fight despite his shock and grief, fueled by the anger King Boo never expected from him. After getting out of the painting the plumber discovers that it is indeed empty, no Mario or anyone else in the portrait.

Heartbroken and guit-ridden, Luigi goes back to Professor E. Gadd's lab and gives him back the Poltergust 3000. He doesn't even want to stay long enough to see what is going to happen to the ghosts. Of course the Professor tries to offer some semblance of comfort, but we all know it's not his forte.

So Luigi leaves, only taking Mario's five items with him. He notices that the mansion has disapeared without a trace. The reality of it all finally hits him, and he practically collapses onto a nearby tree's large root protruding from the ground, putting down the precious items around himself, only leaving the matching red hat and the letter in his hands. He should have known something was off. After all, the Mario he saw in the painting was wearing his hat and both gloves.

Looking at all these items, to his growing horror he can't help but imagine what exactly might have happened to his brother and what his last moments might have been like. He hugs the hat to his chest and rereads Mario's note several times, knowing that the brief warning was his brother's last words to him.

Luigi can do nothing but cry for the beloved brother he couldn't save, desperately wishing it was his warm, living and breathing body pressed to his chest rather than just a couple of his belongings.

But Mario is truly gone, apparently having met such a horrific fate that not even a single part of his body is left in the physical world.

[Good night]

…I'll leave the rest up to your imagination ;) Sorry if I got carried away with my description. Occasionally even I enjoy being a little dramatic, though I'm no writer whatsoever.

Yeah, I'm not apologizing for making this one - I was nicer to Luigi than to his bro, at least here the Mushroom Kingdom and everyone in it (except for Mario lol) is still okay!

But alas,

You can no longer play as Mario (warning: this is a video with sound)

Rest in spaghetti, funny wahoo man.

EDIT 2025: my best friend and spiritual twin @silenzahra wrote an amazing fanfic Without him based on this piece and idea, as well as this drawing of Mario also by me❤️💚 I highly recommend it, it's an amazingly written story!

@federthenotsogreat I'm tagging you because you said you wanted more Mario art like I Was-a Too Late, thought you might like this one too!

@drones-of-innocence Also tagging you because you were interested in my idea.

Additionally: @silenzahra (remember, no rush) @c-lavanda @jell-o101 @stripetkattelalala54-gf

@luigixfanxayjay @itsavee4117

And you @giddlygoat just because you have a Luigi's Mansion AU and I thought you might appreciate this... Also because I'm a fan 👉👈

[whumptember]

2024 Prompt List

ask box | rules | tags and posting

Main Prompts

1. "Don't leave me." chains | failed escape attempt | abandoned building

2. "I can't do this alone." dried blood | begging for help | caretaker's front door

3. "You're my last chance." rusted metal | enemies teaming up | returning home

4. "Don't make me go back." white knuckles | used as bait | ballroom

5. "You've hurt them for the last time." slamming door | rescue | whumper's basement

6. "I never want to see your face here again." torn mask | reluctant villain | hero's headquarters

7. "Let me take care of you!" damp rag | whumpee turned caretaker | bathroom

8. "You'll never see me again." packed bag | secrets revealed | doorway

9. "What did they do to you?" bloodied clothes | homecoming | hospital reunion

10. "I need your help." breaking voice | secret intentions | villain's base

11. "One last favor, then I"ll leave you alone." knife | sacrificing themself | sacred ground

12. "Why did you do it?" new gravestone | confronting whumper | cemetery

13. "I never looked back, and I regret it every day." cracked foundation | city in ruin | middle of the road

14. "You changed my life. not for the better. Now I get to return the favor." blindfold | payback | abandoned warehouse

15. "I'm never going to let you go." silk ribbon | intimate whumper | whumper's bed

16. "What happened to you?" new clothes | recapture | whumpee's old room

17. "This wasn't the deal!" torn contract | betrayed | in the middle of the woods

18. "You're never going to see them again." letter on whumpee's pillow | disappeared in the night | caretaker's apartment

19. "Take me instead!" cloth gag | caretaker turned whumpee | getaway car

20. "I'm always going to be with you." worn letter | mourning | caretaker's bed

21. "I'm not okay." bruised skin | begging for help | hero's doorstep

22. "We have to go back and save them! They'd do the same for us!" drag marks | taken hostage | battleground

23. "You're nothing without me." invisible restraints | hero whumper | basement

24. "Change my mind, tell me why I'm wrong and I'll turn back and undo everything I've done." split lip | hero in the wrong | edge of a roof

25. "Stop it! You're going to kill them!" blood spattered wall | ambush | villain's home

26. "Let them go." blindfold and gag | ransom demand | undisclosed location

27. "Don't forget about me, alright?" packed bag | leaving home | secret destination

28. "I was supposed to save the world." shackled ankles | accidental villain | jail cell

29. "You're a child, go home now and I won't come after you. But if you stay and fight, I won't hold back." hand-made mask | villain mentor | bank vault

30. "What did I say about breaking the rules?" ruler stick | young whumpee | on their knees

Alternate Prompts

1. "You lied to them." 2. Broken wrist 3. "I've done things I can't even think about anymore." 4. Whispered apology 5. "You're coming back, right?" 6. Curled into a ball 7. "You make me feel like I can forget all the bad things." 8. Chained to a car 9. "This is just the beginning." 10. Villain whumpee 11. "Oh, come on, you can take more than that!" 12. Begging 13. "Don't make me."