#I have way too much of a life to have my mental state shattered like fine china on a thursday afternoon

[electricfied-wolf]

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: Someone turns up on Sanemi's doorstep after the final war - that someone being a part of Genya's life Sanemi regrets never knowing. A/N: NGL I lost a lot of respect for Sanemi after he tried to poke Genya's eyes out but I do feel really bad for him after the final battle with Muzan because what is he going to live for now? What's he going to do? Fall into depression, probably, and that just made me sad so here we are to be sad together. You don't have a choice. WARNINGS: Genya x GN Reader but mainly Platonic!Sanemi x Reader

Seeing as nearly everyone he had known was dead after the final war, the hesitant knocking at his door startled the wits out of one former Wind Hashira.

He probably shouldn’t have stayed up late last night drinking and wasting everything away because he could barely see straight stumbling towards the doors, cursing the early dawn, the furniture he stubbed his toe on and the pounding in his head, but nothing numbed the dull grief and pain better than being blackout drunk and coma-like sleep. At least Sanemi wasn’t seeing double like last time.

Although he was wondering if he was hallucinating shit, because ain’t no freaking way there was someone showing up at his doorstep at 6 in the morning asking if he was Shinazugawa and if he could please, if he didn’t mind, help them find someone?

“Yeah…what?”

They repeat their question, tugging nervously at their sleeves, hopeful underneath all that anxiety. “Are you Shinazugawa Sanemi? Genya told me to go find you if…”

“He’s-”

His first reaction, out of force of habit, was to deny that he had any brother, but the words glued themselves to the sides of his throat and would only spill out in the form of ugly sobbing. His second reaction was pretty much equally brutal: tell them that his brother had long died, sliced in half by the late Upper Moon One, all because he had failed in every duty possible, as a brother, as a slayer, as a human. But Sanemi, undeniably, had mellowed out and if he had to crack that porcelain-frail look of desperate hope in their eyes he too would shatter in his precarious mental state.

So he settled for delaying the inevitable. “If what? You a slayer?”

“No,” they say, shaking their head. “I…he was my, um…”

Oh.

No.

Please no.

“Your boyfriend,” he barks out bluntly, but tries to tone down and soften his expression when they wince, flustered. “That’s…”

Unexpected. He could still remember a time when Genya either beat down everyone and not gave a rat’s ass about it or when he would explode into a ripe tomato if someone good looking so much as said hello to him. Or maybe sweet. Sanemi’s always wanted him to have a normal life, go get married, have a family, live peacefully to a ripe old age while he did the bloody work of slaying. At least he got a taste of it. Most of all…sad, really. Sad that he pushed his younger brother away so much he never even know he’d fallen in love, someone new had entered his life, he’s gotten over his emotional constipation somewhat. Sad that he never got to spend the rest of his life with them like Sanemi had no doubt he had promised. Sad that they had never known, all this while, that Genya would never stagger home to them.

It seemed like this conversation would be one of trailed-off sentences.

They nod. “Yes…”

“Huh. Can see why he liked you,” Sanemi says off-handedly, but remembers he never actually knew what his brother’s type was. Funny how he only realized it was stupid of him to keep trying to cut off ties with his only brother after he died. But they are cute in their mannerisms, the air that just made you want to protect them forever, wrapped in innocence. No wonder Genya fell in love.

“Liked?” Their expression falls, but it’s still hopeful.

Sanemi can’t think what’s worse, for her to have the only option of thinking that Genya has moved on, fallen for someone else, left them behind because the other option is too terrible to contemplate. It’s the truth, however.

“Liked,” he repeats, and he can feel his mind just wanting to succumb to the hopeless pain. Sanemi digs his nails into his palm and bites the insides of his cheeks instead.

“I think I should start from the beginning.”

“Come on in, then.”

He waits until they're further into the room before he releases a breath, slumps his shoulders and stares at the sky to mouth his apologies to his brother for not giving him enough time to spend with them, to the gods for leading them on for so long, to someone, anyone, who would spare a sinner like him some forgiveness as he prepared to cry all over again about Genya.

***

“And then he told me if he isn’t at Himejima’s Estate, go find his older brother who’s probably living alone somewhere, scaring everyone away with his temper and dog.”

They laugh, clear as bells, at the memory, hiding their smile behind the steaming cup of tea, but it’s broken, like their fake grins and the mug in their hands. Sanemi wants to laugh too (is this how you really saw me, Genya, after all I did to you?), but he might actually start the waterworks. Sanemi was already halfway there, listening to his brother’s secret romance and everything he missed out because of his own foolishness.

“He said he hoped he’d finally be there with you, or if he wasn’t, you’d tell me where he went.”

I could tell you where he went, Sanemi agreed, because I saw him. When I was dying. And he was dead.

They fidgets, tugging at their clothes again. “I waited a really long time for a letter. He said he’d send me one if he could after the…after the fight, but it was so long. I checked up on Himejima’s Estate all the time, but he was never there. Nobody was. I asked around; they told me the owner had died and - and -”

“I know.” If he was a better person Sanemi would probably be reaching out to put a hand on their shoulder, assure them. If he were a better brother Genya would be alive and drinking tea with them. But he was none of those and so all he could do was awkwardly say two words. “Go on.”

“I didn’t know to look after that.” They wipe at their face, setting down the cup. “Genya said you had white hair and was covered in scars, and well, there aren’t that many of those sort of people around, but even then it took me forever to find you. I tried tracking down Muichiro, but I couldn’t either.”

Tokito. Another failure. Sanemi turned away slightly.

“Then I finally found Tanjiro last week. He’d been trying to find me as well, but heh, since I kept traveling it made it hard.” They shrug. “He told me where to find you, so here I am. Sorry for intruding…but it’s a little late for that.”

They glance around, clinging onto the belief. “Is he - is he here? Can I see him?”

“Yeah,” Sanemi whispers hoarsely. “I’ll take you to him.”

Not before he winds up sobbing himself dry on their shoulder, pathetically trying to assure them as well as tears streamed down both their faces.

***

There was no body but Sanemi had carved out a tombstone for him anyway.

It was under a tree, scattered with leaves, wilting flowers and weeds watered by his grief. Sometimes when Sanemi’s more sober and when he can light a candle without burning anything else he’ll leave some there, so waxy stubs are left over. That Kamado kid and his friends came down sometimes and left behind their mementos as well. Unlike his own home, Sanemi did his best to keep it clean.

He left to give them some privacy, walking a little further away, but even so the wind carried their words over and Sanemi couldn’t pretend he couldn’t hear them raging against fate, death, Genya.

“Why?”

“Why you?”

“Why would you do this to me?”

You and me both, kid, Sanemi thinks.

“You said you’d come back! You said you’d take me to see your aniki! We were going to - there was so much we haven’t - what am I supposed to do now, Genya? You were supposed to be here with Sanemi-san as well, not just me!”

He’s always been too caught up with himself. Damn, blind to what Genya really wanted to the end, Sanemi thinks wryly.

For a moment there seems to be someone else beside him. He turns and for a moment he sees someone’s shadow on the ground, someone smiling, someone asking. Someone who didn’t want him to go squandering his life on regrets; a favor, the silhouette seemed to say, so will you do it for me?

The answer was always yes - Sanemi blinks, and it’s gone, so he hurries back to the grave.

They're dragged out of their misery by a heavy hand, rough but gentle. “I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be.” They hiccup and drag a hand across their face. “I'm sorry. Sorry for…I wish you both had gotten a chance…”

Sanemi laughed, voice scratchy. “That was my own fault.”

“You know what I mean.” They managed to roll their eyes.

“Where you going now?”

“I'm…not sure. I don't know. Back to my hometown, maybe, but there's not really anyone there.”

Anyone to go back to, they meant.

“Tch.” He began to stomp back to the house, gesturing for them to follow. Sanemi pauses at the doorway, frowning, and turns back. “You planning to sit there all day? You can stay if you like, I don't like the idea of you walking around alone and defenceless.”

“Stay - what?”

“Stay,” Sanemi agrees, exasperation in his tone at their stunned, slow reaction. “And you're having ohagi for breakfast whether you like it or not.”

***

Days fly past.

Mostly they’re spent in mourning together. Privately Sanemi preferred this to the funeral they had held with what was left of the Corps, because it feels more…closer. Similar. Here were two people that were a part of a big chunk of Genya’s life and yet never knew the other part.

They sat at the grave a lot and just…nothing. There were no tears or comfort. Just silence, never knowing what to do because you’ve been living for someone who’s now dead so you could live, but what are YOU living for? Sanemi wished time and time again he’d be the one to bite it. Not like anyone much would miss him, and maybe all those times he’d been hurting his brother was so Genya could move on in the event he died, very much unlike him right now.

On the third day they finally made conversation.

“So…” Sanemi cleared his throat. “How’d you both meet, since, y’know, he’s a slayer?”

They squint at the dirt, absently pulling up blades of grass. “I didn’t actually know he was one until a lot later, but even then he didn’t tell me much.” They tilted up their head. “He never wanted to expose that part of his life to me. I thought he was just another traveler when we first met; I offered him a room in my house.”

“House? Will you go back there?” Suddenly Sanemi is seized with panic - if they, his one and only link to Genya now, went back, and he ended up alone again…

“It’s not really my house. It’s more like…my employer’s house at that time…”

“Ah. So you’ve got nowhere to go for now?”

“Mhm. When I got fired I stayed over at Himejima’s occasionally. Then Genya sent me away before…yeah, before all that.” They blink and their eyes glisten. “What was he like, as a slayer? I knew he was different or something, because Tanjiro and his friends used a sword and some technique he couldn’t master, so the gun and all.”

Unbeknownst to everyone Sanemi had been watching his little brother train all those years ago. It’d be the first time he exposed himself. “He was really hard-working. Threw in everything he had to try and learn Breathing Techniques but he just couldn’t master it, and I think it took a big toll on Genya. I didn’t help much.”

“It’s alright. He forgives you.”

“Present tense?”

“Would he have told me to go look for you if he hadn’t?”

There. The real reason Sanemi would lose it if they left. He needed someone, something, anything to prove all the accusing, guilty voices in his head that Genya hadn’t died hating him.

“Tch. Fair enough. Tell me about his life outside the Corps now.”

***

Weeks go by.

Having them around, Sanemi discovers, is a stark reminder of what had happened to Genya, yet not in a bad way. Sanemi started forcing himself to bathe more frequently, take care of himself better - don’t want them having to put up with my stench - not just doing the bare minimum for his dog. He’d been alone and heartbroken for so long he’s honestly stopped functioning like a normal person, forgotten what Genya had died for.

Now he had to go out and buy food more consistently because he wasn’t the only one around anymore. Sanemi had to get around to repairing all those things that had fallen to ruins at the Wind Estate. Grudgingly he even agreed to let them take over cooking meals in order to get more than just ohagi in his diet.

But he only really noticed the differences when one morning Sanemi staggered into the kitchen looking for a drink after another round of restless nightmares and instead stumbled onto them dumping the contents of the sake bottle he left out down the drain.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sanemi made a grab for it but they ducked out of reach, flinching at the sudden yell.

“Getting rid of this. You’ve been drinking a lot lately.”

“For a damn reason!”

“What reason?”

Because every day is painful and I just want it all to go away, isn’t it obvious? Sanemi dug his nails into his palm again, muttering obscenities.

“I thought you of all people should know better than to cope like this.”

“I-”

He should. He remembered the former Flame Hashira before Rengoku. He recalled Kyogo.

Sanemi had always feared he would turn out like his father and here he was proving everyone right. Genya wouldn’t have wanted that…god, what was wrong with him?

“You’re right.”

They watched uneasily as Sanemi stalked off, but they had nothing to worry about. Sanemi threw out the rest of the bottles that day and apologized to the grave.

“Bet he’s pretty mad I turned out like this after all he fought for.” A scarred hand gestures listlessly at the headstone, the other holding a cup. The both of them sat in evening silence, watching the wind flitter around from the engawa. Remaining rain droplets trickle down from the roof.

“Genya?’ They set down their cup and ponder. “Not really. He could never get mad at you.”

Sanemi snorts. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Ah, he should’ve.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m here.” They flash him a smile. In truth they could’ve been his sibling regardless - sibling-in-law, but he’d settle for surrogate now.

Sanemi rolls his eyes but likes the idea more than he admits, of Genya watching over him even now…because it has to mean he’s forgiven him, right, for everything he did wrong? “What was he like?”

“Huh?”

“Y’know.” Sanemi draws random blobs in the air, vague shapes of hearts. “When you both were-”

“SHINAZUGAWA!”

“Did you make out? At least once. You had to.”

They’re mortified and got up several times to leave but not before Sanemi’s heard everything he missed out: yes, they’d gotten to the kissing stage but no, they did not make out, why was he so vulgar, yes, Genya often had a panic attack every time they held hands, yes, they could show him all the dried flowers Genya had gifted them, stop laughing at their confession story, you’re right, Genya was horribly obvious with his blushy crush phase and NO, Shinazugawa, Genya would self combust before they ever got to the topic of marriage or starting a family!

***

Years pass.

Sanemi’s gotten married. Four mini-mes running around as well, a fifth on the way. He likes to think of it as a parallel between him and his own siblings, because his oldest is the only to inherit his shock of white hair and the second bears a striking resemblance to Genya. They think so too, written clearly on their faces every time they look at him.

Speaking of them, they hadn’t left all this while and Sanemi doesn’t want them to. Not when they’ve been there to pull him out of his depressive state, united in grief, see him fall in love with a local girl, urge him to court her despite his anxious worries, stood next to him when he was getting hitched, supported him throughout fatherhood and babysat the four hurricanes when he and his wife went out on date nights.

It’d be just as bad as losing Genya.

“You better be good for them, or I’ll string you all up by your feet.” Despite Sanemi’s threatening words he’s unusually gentle as he peels his two youngest from his legs as they cling on and whine at him and mom not to go out without them, they wanted to go see the fireworks too, can’t they stay up late this one time?

“Don’t worry, they’re all angels.” They help remove the other two older ones from their mom, rolling their eyes. “And before you say anything, yes, I’ll get them all to bed before ten.”

“Sometimes I think Sanemi nags more than I do,” his beloved jokes, taking his arm and the both of them leave, calling out to the protesting kids as they’re hauled off inside and the door closes. He’s lucky, he thinks, tucking his wife closer, that even after all this he managed to be happy. He can almost see Genya in front of him, smiling and telling Aniki not to get too naughty, not abandon them for so long to try and control four rowdy kids.

Sanemi wishes the same could be said of them, though.

When he comes back, tells his wife he’ll be back into the bedroom soon, checks on his kids and realizes they’ve disappeared again, Sanemi knows just where to look, quickly making his way to the grave, carrying a lantern and something else.

“You really have to stop coming here in the middle of the night. There’s no more demons, but ya think you’ll be safe?” Sanemi huffs, taking his seat next to them. They snort derisively. “I’m serious! What if you get mauled by some wild animal? Who am I gonna dump the kids on if you’re not here?”

“Tomioka’s around. Kamado too,” they sing-song.

“Tomioka would give my kids depression and maybe I’d trust Kamado but not his friends.”

“You give ME depression.”

“Haha, very funny.” Sanemi passes the slice of watermelon to them, taking a bite of his own. Genya’s headstone looks chipped in the yellow light, worn and old, but still lovingly cared for. “I think he might want you to move on, you know? It’s been years. He’ll understand. He’ll want you to be happy. You can’t keep waiting around, crying and wasting time.”

“You’re stealing my words.”

“Hey, it worked back then, when you told that to me. You’re a hypocrite. Use your own advice.”

“I tried. It didn’t work out. I kept coming back here.” A finger traces the stone, uncertainty in their tone.

“You feel guilty, like you’re being unfaithful to him or something?” Sanemi passes them another slice, awkwardly trying to sympathize. He wants them to be happy as well, after all.

“No, it’s just…” They shrug, head shaking from side to side. “I dunno. I can’t. Not like you did.”

Sanemi understands, suddenlyl, sort of. They gave him their heart and maybe it wasn’t theirs to take back yet. It didn’t really make sense and wasn’t enough of a reason to argue against moving on, but feelings were weird and rarely made enough reason.

“No one’s going to be like him, huh.”

“No. No one,” They agreed, and they both lapsed into silence.

“I mean, the guy we met yesterday looked like a great match-”

“Have fun taking your kids on your next date, Shinazugawa.”

“I was kidding!”

They wipe their mouth and set down their watermelon rind before, a ghost of smile tugging at their lips. “You and Genya really are the same, you know.”

“How?’ Years later and he’s still learning new things he should’ve known during all those years he wasted thinking it was a good idea to push him away. Ah well.

“Um…I guess in the way you both really suck at trying to talk about feelings.”

“You wound me.”

“You’re a former Hashira. But you both try to understand and make me feel better anyway.” They smirk. “In the form of bad jokes, usually.”

“I’m hurt.” Sanemi got the point, mouth twitching.

“So, yeah. You both don’t really know how to do it but you do your best. That’s good enough.”

Sanemi caught their eye. “…good enough for me, at least.” He stood up and picked up the rinds, returning back to his tough boy exterior. “Enough mushy stuff. Go back to bed.”

“Yessir.”

***

“You and Genya really are the same, Sanemi.”

They lean their forehead against the cool, rough headstone. The new one. It was new and clear but now it was wet with tears. “It’s gonna be hard…why did you both have to go?”

Five years later. Sanemi’s slayer mark had finally caught up with him, but not before he had gotten the chance to settle down and leave behind some kids, have another chance at enjoying life, find a new sibling. Still, no one had expected him to just…not wake up one day. It seemed a little too quiet of an ending for the tale of Shinazugawa.

“Where was all your talk about going down in a blaze of glory to the kids last night, huh?” They coughed out a laugh. “I know you must be really pissed to just die like that.”

They’ve been holding it together the past few days, for the sake of Sanemi’s children and his widow. Only now could they cry in quiet, in the same spot where Sanemi and them had cried over Genya. Tomioka’s widow and two kids had joined them as well. Three united in grief.

“I know you said you’re happy you got a chance at all this, Sanemi, but I can’t help feeling like you were robbed of having the full experience in all this. Like Genya all over again. When you see him, tell him I miss him a lot, okay? Still very much head over heels and making an absolute fool of myself…”

They laid down their bouquet, taking a breath. “You also said you were afraid Naomi, Hiroshi and Remi won’t remember you if you die so early in their childhood…it’s alright. I don’t think anyone will forget you. Least of all me. Thanks for everything.”

“I hope you and Genya finally see each other again.”

It wasn’t seen or heard, but rather, felt - a lover’s arm wrapped around their shoulders and a brotherly hand on the other.

[depravitycentral]

Enji Todoroki General Yandere Profile

Yandere! Enji Todoroki x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, power imbalances, financial trapping, mentions of physical/domestic abuse, mentions of non-con, sexist undertones, Enji wants you to be his cute little housewife, mentions of breeding/pregnancy, a few mentions of making sure you eat enough/food, Enji is patronizing whoo boy, he makes you share a toothbrush and yes he's weird about it, this is set in a divergent timeline where Enji and Rei are formally divorced and his relationship with his family is loose and not super tight, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Kind

Enji is, simply, harsh.

His quirk, his mannerisms, his attitude, his everything, really, is a bit rough around the edges, forming a man with only enough self control to get what he wants. He’s lived his whole life bitterly, constantly jealous, constantly wanting, willing to throw everything away in order to achieve his goals.

And once everything starts caving in around him, his family and career both taking unexpected turns, Enji finds himself so, so painfully alone. He doesn’t pretend to delude himself into thinking he’s not deserving of his fate, but this places him into a position where he shoulders the guilt while desperately trying to find any outlet to forget it.

And this is where a darling who is kind comes into play – he needs someone who won’t judge him for his past. He needs someone who doesn’t treat him like scum, who is still polite and empathetic to him and his emotions. A darling who is able to consistently praise him will have him smitten quickly, growing emotionally dependent on hearing their sweet words in order to function, in order to not let the depression and stress get the better of him.

And even once his obsession has formed and he’s deep in the depth of his infatuation, a darling who is just too kind to kick him to the curbside is absolutely essential for him – they must be doting and caring, helping rebuild his shattered confidence and psyche, and with every compliment they dish out, Enji vows that he’ll return the sentiment tenfold, in his own way of course.

(This means buying his darling millions of yen worth of their favorite things, all kinds of wonderful gifts that he hopes will sway them in his favor, that will get them drooling over him and all that he can provide for them.)

Hardworking

Although he’s in a mental state that leaves him much more susceptible to finding a partner once he divorces Rei, Enji is still a picky man. He won’t fall for just anyone – no, they must fit his standard, be acceptable and meet the rather long and detailed checklist he has for those he considers as potential romantic partners.

And near the top of this list is determination. He’s a man motivated by his own goals and is willing to stop at nothing to achieve them – and so, a darling that can at least somewhat match this aspect of his personality is critical.

He has no patience for a darling that gives up easily; he wants someone that’s willing to put in the effort to see it pay off, someone who understands the concept of self-discipline and holding yourself to certain moral standards.

He finds it wildly attractive when someone has strong character, and his interest would immediately be piqued with a darling who brings an attitude of perseverance and hard work into every aspect of their life, be it work, their hobbies, their relationship, and everything in between.

He wants someone who is perhaps not quite as stubborn as him, but is still serious in their goals.

(He hopes that one day, making him happy and pleasing him will be one of these goals – just as pleasing his darling is one of his own. And he’s more than happyto please them in whatever way they so desire. More than happy.)

Motherly

Because he views his darling as the perfect wife, his darling absolutely must possess at least somewhat of a motherly air about them. He likes the idea of having a nurturing partner, if only because he finds it endearing when they care for others.

As a hero he shares this sentiment, and although it may sometimes be overshadowed by his need to become the best, deep down inside he does very much wish to help others – his methodology is just a little more violent, a little more overt.

His darling, by contrast, should prefer a methodology that’s much gentler, something that focuses more on making others feel safe and heard and cared for.

Besides, Enji very much desires to have children with his darling; to build a second family, one that he’ll care for and nourish much better than his first. And so, if his darling is to be a good mother, they must embody these traits.

Besides, although he doesn’t fall for his darling because of his fantasies of making them a mother, once the feelings are formed these daydreams only further his feelings, deepening his obsession because oh, he’d give absolutely anything to see them pregnant with his child, carrying his seed, creating something that symbolizes the love and dedication between them.

And so, his darling needs to be someone who naturally takes care of others – and in return, Enji will take care of them. Just how it should be.

Pushover

This trait is a bit less crucial compared to the others, but it’s still most definitely a positive from Enji’s perspective.

Of course he likes a darling who has strong opinions and stands up for them, but he loves a darling that will let him guide them through any hard decisions, or really any decisions at all.

Although he’s not as outright controlling with his darling, he still very much feels that he wears the pants in the ‘relationship’, and thus he is the one calling the shots.

A darling who is happy to let him take over their life like this is a massive help to him – he doesn’t have to fight for control, nor does he have to argue with them about why certain decisions really should be made by him as the more dominant partner, as the one who knows more about the world, as the man. It’s an outdated view and it’s one that he doesn’t really want to admit out loud, but he enjoys the idea of a partner who will revere him and allow him full control.

He wants to be loved and cherished, and in return for a love like this, he’ll do his best to provide for and take care of his darling in every way he possibly can – so really, if his darling knows what’s best for them, they’ll step back and let him make all the tough decisions.

They’ll nod and smile and agree with whatever he chooses, pressing a kiss against his cheek and telling him how much they trust him, how they know he’d never hurt them, how he only wants what’s best for them.

Just the thought makes something warm swell in his stomach, the level of trust making him feel wanted, needed, a concept so foreign that it almost feels wrong. But oh, how he likes it.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Controlling

But in a very, very strange way – a lot of what fuels Enji’s obsession is this desperate, innate need to right his wrongs. He’s very, very aware of how thoroughly he ruined his family, how horribly he treated Rei, how he was a poor excuse of a father and husband, and he sees his love with you as almost being his second try. With you, he can do all the things he should have done with Rei and his children – he should have been sweet and loving, a present father that cared about each of his children equally. He should have been a doting husband, spoiling his wife and making her feel loved and desired.

But he didn’t, and although Rei has long since divorced him, Enji finds himself feeling lonely, incomplete, restless to try again, to properly provide for a sweet little thing he can call his own. And this is where you come in – and from the moment he realizes his feelings for you are more than a simple attraction, he dives in head-first.

He decides he'll approach everything with you in a way as opposite from his previous marriage as possible – he's all grand, romantic gestures, always showing up with a bouquet of flowers in hand and just the slightest pink tint on his scarred cheeks.

The grand, romantic gestures are, of course, merely things he’s seen in rom-coms; the women always look happy when the love interest swoops in with flowers and gifts and pretty clothing, the beaming smile and large hug the man gets as a reward seeming very, very appealing to Enji, despite his rigid exterior.

(Just the thought of you hugging him has his heart racing – it’s something so intimate, so entirely new that it makes every nerve in his body stand on edge, a shiver running up his spine as he imagines the way your body would feel pressed against his, how you’d sigh and sink further against him, how you’d squeeze him and god, the view he’d get when he looks down to see your body pressed so tightly against him that not even a breath of air could separate you -)

He’s scouring through women’s magazines, burying his nose in the glossy pages and searching for ideas and clues as to what women enjoy as courting gifts.

(He has to scoff under his breath every time he sees a new dieting tip or regiment, internally frowning and worrying that you’re seeing these ads and potentially obsessing over your weight. The last thing he’d want is for you to be unhappy with your body – certainly not when he’s so very happy with it. Not to mention the nutritionally heinous foods the magazine recommends – he’d sooner have you eat raw paper than follow this ludicrous advice.)

He’s even caving and very, very awkwardly asking his female sidekicks and employees at his agency about their tips on how to seduce a woman. He struggles to make eye contact with them when he asks, his imposing figure almost reminding them of a shy, nervous teenage boy with the way he’s so earnest about his question, his eyes lighting up when they mention an idea he hasn’t tried yet, pressing them for details and specifics and you must tell me what to say to her – how does one follow up gifting a puppy?

It would be sweet, really, how devoted he is to making sure that you’re absolutely spoiled, that you get a whole variety of lavish gifts designed to sweep you off your feet. It would be wonderful, really, except that Enji has never understood the concept of being too much – which is how everything will start to feel very, very early on in this process.

 It was nice at first to receive a fresh bouquet of roses every morning at your desk with a handwritten card attached. (Written in impeccable handwriting, the cursive letters looping and elegant as they spell out short, simple, sweet messages signed with a capital E at the bottom, reading please make sure to eat enough today and that skirt looks lovely on you.)

 It was nice at first, but after the second week of daily bouquets and even a few finding their way to the doorstep of your apartment, the sight of the pretty red flowers makes a sinking feeling swirl in your gut.

(Enji notices this, dismayed and frustrated by your lack of a positive response, and decides to double down and just gift you bigger flowers, because maybe your lack of joy at receiving the bouquets is because they aren’t big enough, aren’t grandiose enough, aren’t good enough.)

It was nice to get the cute, small stuffed bunny on your desk one morning, and you’d even grown so fond of the little thing that you perched it on the edge of your desk, assuming it was a one-time gift. But it wasn’t – the stuffed animals kept coming, getting bigger and more detailed and much, much more expensive, you’re sure.

(Enji is careful to remove each and every price tag on every gift he sends you, simply because he doesn’t want you to feel that you owe him financially, nor does he want you to be swayed into accepting him as your partner by mere economic standing – that’s an asset that you’ll come to know, of course, but he’d rather lure you in via more traditional ways. It doesn’t exactly stay secret, though, because once the necklace with a delicate array of at least five diamonds in it arrives at your front door, your secret admirer’s wealth becomes very, very difficult to hide.)

He’s gifting you jewelry with more precious jewels and gold and silver than you could possibly wear, and outfitting your closet with all kinds of dresses and skirts out of materials and cuts you could never hope to afford for yourself.

(And, of course, they’re all tailored to fit you perfectly – how Enji managed to get your exact sizes is still a question that haunts you, one that makes you scared to upon the nicely wrapped boxes that you find in excess outside your front door.)

It’s all just too damn much – Enji is suffocating with his attempts to woo you, his every gift and gesture leaving you feeling uncomfortable. What he’s trying to do is very, very obvious – and it feels wrong. He’s the number one hero, a busy man with much more important things to be doing – so why is he going after you? And why with such ferocity?

His forwardness will scare you off, driving you to avoid him and grow suspicious of his motives, and Enji does not like this development. This wasn’t supposed to happen – you’re supposed to want him, to be seduced by all of his efforts, to be swept off your feet and swooned by his gifts and words (delivered with the grace of a garbage truck, of course, but the sentiment is there – even if looking at your pretty face distracts him, all the words leaving his head and making him stand there gaping like a fool).

 Enji doesn’t like it, and so he presses harder, stepping up the frequency and volume of his gifts, only effectively pushing you further and further away from him as you grow more uneased and unsettled. And if you were to confront him about it?

Well, this is where his controlling tendencies come into play – denying who he naturally is can only last for so long, and despite being a man with superb self-restraint, the moment that Enji feels you’re slipping from his fingers he’s morphing back into the man that commands your every move.

Suddenly he’s no longer presenting you with the newest shampoo you’ve been talking about (it’s salon grade, the best stuff out there, and much too expensive, but not for Enji – nothing is too expensive for him when it’s for you) but rather letting this expression wash over his face, one that you’ve never seen before.

It’s cold, remarkably so; his lips are pressed tightly together, his brows perfectly straight, those eyes lifeless as he tells you to stop fighting, go inside and change into the green dress I gave you last week. We’re going for dinner, and you’ll order the house salad and a slice of chocolate cake for dessert. Do you understand me?

 It’s weird and unexpected and scary, and it’ll have you immediately stuttering out a yes and scurrying inside, too frightened to disobey. And really, while Enji winces every time he does this, eventually he finds himself trying to justify it as simply ensuring your relationship will last.

Obviously it’s not good that he has to force you into these small, minor, inconsequential things (like going on a date with him or letting him accompany you home afterwards), but this is different from with Rei – you want this, right? You’re just too shy to tell him how flattered you are about all the attention he’s giving you.

You’re just playing coy, acting on your age-old feminine instincts to make men chase after you, to be demure and make your partner work for your affection and love. And eventually, Enji will convince himself that this is different, he’s wooing you and getting you into a relationship with him willingly – you want him.

You practically love him already – things are going well. They’re successful.

They have to be.

And so, while Enji doesn’t mean to be controlling, the end results is that although he plays the nice guy that spoils you and gives you anything your heart desires, at the end of the day he is the one in charge, and he is the one dictating your relationship.

And really, what can you do to stop him? He’s strong, both physically and with the general population – one word from him and you’d be hunted for like a madman, ostracized from the community, brought back to him like a pup to its owner.

You belong with him, and it’s his job to make you see that – even if you want to remain blind.

Possessive

Enji Todoroki doesn’t share. Once he decides that he wants you, you become unequivocally his.

Sure, he wants to do things a bit differently with you and get you to harbor more loving feelings towards him, but from the moment his infatuation forms you don’t really have a choice in the matter.

 You can pretend like you do, if it makes you feel better (and it will, because at least you can pretend that you have even an ounce of control in the relationship, that you aren’t just some adorable little thing he’s decided he wants hanging off his arm and warming his bed), but at the end of the day you’re subject to Enji’s whims.

And although Enji lets you harbor this fantasy of your relationship being truly consensual, the moment something occurs that threatens it, his true colors are shown. Namely, when he thinks your attention is veering away from him, his jealousy and anger become difficult to keep in check, his quirk acting up and letting off small sparks and flames all along his body. His fists clench and his jaw tightens when he sees another man around you, and although he tries to rationalize that the man likely doesn’t want anything to do with you, just simply being in your presence is enough to make Enji suspicious.

Even if the man isn’t talking to you or acknowledging you in any way, he’s anxious – he’s scared that something about this man will attract you, that you’ll somehow find him better than Enji.

Maybe the man is friendlier – Enji’s aware that he isn’t exactly the most approachable person on the planet.

Maybe he's funnier – Enji knows he can’t crack a joke to save his life.

Maybe he’s a better conversationalist – less formalities and awkwardness, able to get you laughing so hard you snort.

It makes Enji’s skin crawl, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s fisting his hands, and before long he will intervene. He’ll grab you as gently as he can on the elbow, guiding you carefully but quickly away to the other side of the room and physically maneuvering so that his body is blocking your sight of the man – and more importantly, blocking his sight of you.

He’ll try to talk with you, trying to distract you and get your mind off of the other man, all in an effort to get your attention back on him. He’s reminding you that you have him, that you don’t need some other man, that you already have one who’s capable of providing for you and caring for you as you deserve.

Frankly, he discovers just how deeply his feelings for you run in a situation where jealousy gets the best of him – you’d been approached at a small gathering by a man from another agency who was clearly hitting on you. He was leaning in close, smiling with a smarmy smirk and nursing on his cocktail like a lifeline.

Enji had noticed the two of you out of the corner of his eye, and immediately he’d gone stiff. He couldn’t stop staring at the way the man kept getting gradually closer to you, how he kept leaning in further, how his hand slid from his pocket to your shoulder, then your arm, down to your hand and oh, oh god, it looks like he’s bringing it down to your waist –

Enji had been by your side in mere moments, his gaze card and harsh as he’d stepped in front of you, making some poorly toned excuse about needing to speak with you for a moment, before unceremoniously dragging you away from the stupefied man.

From that day, Enji absolutely refuses to allow anyone close to you. And really, can he be blamed? After all, he fell for you, so why wouldn’t anyone else? You’re beautiful and caring, smart and dignified, and if he can see your potential as a lovely, perfect little wife, surely others can too.

And so, Enji ramps up his controlling tendencies the more he’s presented with situations where the green-eyed monster accompanies him. And this control takes its main form through financials – that is, while Enji originally didn’t want to attract you to him via his material wealth, he decides it’s a necessary evil in order to have you staying by his side only.

He starts ‘forgetting’ to peel off the price tags of the gifts he gives you, pretending not to notice how your eyes practically bug out of your head when you unbox the pink pendant he’d bought for you.

He starts inviting you out for lunches and dinners more often, ordering for you and choosing the most expensive items off the menu despite your numerous pleas that you’ll opt for something – anything – cheaper.

(It’s frustrating, too, because as angry as you want to be at him for ordering for you, he always chooses something you end up liking – of course it’s because he’s done extensive research and stalking, finding out your favorite foods and what flavors you dislike, but it all seems like one large, awfully strange coincidence to you.)

Exerting financial control over you keeps you complacent, because the guilt you’ll feel at how much money he’s sinking into you will have you following his every word, even if it his commands are a little strange and off-putting – like spending less time with any male friends (or really any friends for that matter) or slipping the small photograph of him into your purse (it’s weird and you do so hesitantly, making sure the polaroid is at the bottom of the bag – and trying to ignore the way his muscles are oh-so fucking defined in the tight black shirt he’s sporting in the photograph).

It’s all just a big ploy to keep you from running off with some other man – but really, if you somehow did manage to do that, Enji won’t be particularly merciful. He will be cornering the man as he leaves your apartment and he will be holding him by the neck against the cold concrete wall, threatening him to leave you alone or experience the rather unpleasant sensation of burning alive.

It’s not particularly heroic, but Enji doesn’t care – he can’t, not when the threat of you leaving him for another man is very much present and real. It’s too scary, too much for him to handle – it would mean you rejecting him, his second fuck-up in love, and the loss of someone who fits absolutely every one of his desires in a woman.

You’re too perfect for him to lose – so instead, he’ll own you.

Dependent

He will never admit it, but there’s this part of Enji that grows stronger day by day, every time he sees your face, that tells him in the most raw, real way that he absolutely needs you.

He’s essentially lost what he had of his family, and with the sharp uptake in responsibility as the new number one hero, the new symbol of modern peace, Enji finds himself turning to you in his time of need, in his more vulnerable moments.

Because really, though his exterior is tough and jaded, he’s only human – he too needs someone to love, someone to hold and latch onto, and latch he does. You’re his, and he expects you to understand that even if he doesn’t verbalize it.

He cherishes your very existence, each and every thing you do, finding you to be remarkably weak yet remarkably endearing, your inability to defend yourself simultaneously adorable and frustrating. He needs you to realize that you’re his everything; his whole reason for living now, even if he doesn’t give you many clues into this.

He isn’t the best at expressing his emotions, and although the love and desperation he feels for you is constantly overwhelming him, overflowing from his chest and making him dizzy, he doesn’t articulate just how deeply these feelings run.

Of course he’ll tell you how you’re beautiful, or that you’re my responsibility to protect, but he’ll also say significantly less romantic things like how you belong to him, how he's never letting you out that front door, how he’ll never let those disgusting, filthy villains touch something as perfect as you.

He thinks it’s sweet and exactly what you want to hear, but it’s not – it’s scary and strange and weird, but these are your biggest clues as to his dependence on you.He won’t tell you, but his expectations for you are honestly monumentally high; he wants you to be his perfect little wife, everything that Rei wasn’t, and this includes giving you every ounce of his love.

He wants you to be diligently cooking him hearty meals, keeping the house tidy and clean for the two of you, to be massaging his shoulders while he relaxes from a stressful day at work. (Hell, he even wants you to wear cute little aprons, collars with his name stitched onto them, those maternity/breast feeding bras before you’re even pregnant…)

He wants a domestic fantasy with you, and this extends to other, more vulnerable things as well. He expects you to embrace him as he walks through the door everyday returning home, to give him a light peck on the cheek and ask about his day, to let him hug you from behind and kiss your neck as you slave away over the stove.

He never really got the chance to do such loving things with Rei (not that he particularly wanted to), and as a result he honestly feels like he’s having to make up time, that he needs to be taking every single ounce of affection and love you can possibly give him, and he’ll feel no guilt at all.

He won’t outright ask you to cuddle him, but when he sits on the large, overstuffed leather couch and stares at you expectantly, you’ll quickly learn to run over to him and snuggle up into his side, to bury your face into his chest and wrap your arms and legs around him even if his body heat cooks you alive.

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to give him those fluttery, soft morning kisses he’s seen all the time in terrible corny rom-coms he religiously watched for inspiration while trying to court you, but the moment you smile sleepily at him and press a kiss against his lips while you holds you close in the morning glow?

God, it’s in those moments that he wants to give you absolutely everything he has – every part of his body, soul and heart, every single cent he owns, every piece of fame and fortune he’s ever amassed.

Enji just wants to please you, and although he comes off as an odd mix of demanding yet generous, terrifying yet strangely awkward, inside his heart is hammering against his ribcage every time you so much as smile at him, every time you so much as look at him. In the hazy afterglow of a round of passionate morning sex (in which you’ve realized that fighting will get you nowhere – it’ll only earn you an Enji that’s more frantic and desperate to get you moaning and crying out his name), when he latches onto your smaller, exhausted and sweaty body, pressing you as tightly against him as possible, sometimes his demeanor will crack.

He’ll lean down to deeply inhale the scent of your hair, to watch the way your chest rises and falls, and he’ll whisper in the softest of voices that he loves you, you’re the light of his world. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you, but Enji is hellbent on never finding out – after all, there is no chance of escape with him, and he’s sure you’ll learn your place soon.

After all, pretty, submissive girls like you always do.

DEALING WITH RIVALS: 

Enji is, regrettably, terrible at hiding his jealousy.

He’s always been in a constant state of envy, whether it was vying for the top spot in the heroing world against All Might, desiring the perfect offspring in order to have the Todoroki name and himself live on, and countless other examples. He’s prideful and so fucking jealous of everyone around him, and this is only heightened when it comes to you – his possessiveness over you is nothing to sneeze at, and the minute he feels that your attention is threatened, that you could possibly be yearning for another?

He’s wasting no time stepping in, mercilessly shutting down each and every opportunity you could possibly have of being with anyone other than himself.

As much as he’s loathe to admit it, his jealousy and possessiveness stems from a place of insecurity; he’s aware that he’s by no means the perfect partner, and he rationally knows that you could do much, much better than him.

And so, as a sort of panic-induced response, Enji decides that you simply aren’t allowed to interact with any other men – this way, you aren’t presented with the opportunity to even let the feelings form. And he’s diligent with this theory, too – he’s always standing near you, acting as your shadow with watchful, hawk-like eyes trained on your figure.

He’s never been the best at reading people, but he’s able to tell from miles away when someone approaches you with intentions that are less than innocent, and immediately his lips are thinning, his brows furrowing, his entire body temperature raising by five degrees because you’re his, and this piece of scum disguised as a man obviously doesn’t realize this.

He’s your guardian angel in many ways (though really, he takes the guardian portion much too far – even men who have no romantic intentions with you are viewed as potential threats, shooed away with a vengeance that will make them too afraid to even think about you without imagining themselves engulfed in flames), though at times it will make you feel more than a little patronized.

It’s as if he doesn’t trust you – you don’t really have a relationship, at least in your eyes, but you know the number one hero wants something more than friendship with you. And so, you do your best to avoid evoking his anger and wrath by not romantically involving yourself with another man – and yet that’s not enough for Enji.

It can’t be, simply because as pretty and sweet and smart as you may be, Enji will always know better. It’s a controlling tendency and a mildly sexist view, but he thinks of you as his doting, loving housewife-to-be, and it’s the man’s job to make these sorts of decisions.

You’re just too sweet and outgoing for your own good – you’ll get mixed up in all sorts of trouble if you’re not careful, and lucky little you has someone like Enji to watch out for you and make sure your pretty head has nothing to worry about. And so, Enji sticks to you like glue, warding off potential suitors with grueling stares and a presence and reputation too strong to ignore.

Enji’s day had been long, and one of those days that made him seriously question his abilities as a hero. A villain had managed to trick him, and although Enji had of course eventually arrested the perpetrator, his deception had led to a lot of wasted time and more damage to surrounding buildings than was acceptable.

His head was pounding, his body still feeling overly hot from all of the fighting, and though not normal, he’d decided he was done for the day and left the rest of the agency’s calls to his sidekicks. Leaving early had felt almost freeing in a way, the world looking a bit different with all this extra time – walking down the sidewalk, Enji scanned the windows of each shop he passed.

As per usual, you’d been on his mind all day – flashes of your face sitting just behind his eyelids, your name just a hair away on his tongue, the feeling of your phantom touch sending shivers down his spine. It was irritating, distracting, heavenly, and with each window he passed, he kept an eye out for anything you might like.

He’d gotten you a pretty tea cup set yesterday, and although you’d been hesitant and visibly uncomfortable at receiving such a gift (the set was very, very obviously expensive, the marbled china too perfect and pristine to have costed anything less than a year’s worth of your salary), Enji was eager to gift you something that would be received better today.

Streets passed by, nothing quite suiting his vision for what you deserved – he’d need something more subtle today, something simple and sweet and something he knows you like – The confectionary is small, with swirling black letters over a baby pink banner spelling out the name of the store. The windows are lined with all sorts of chocolates and candies, all wrapped up in pretty, ornate packaging that makes Enji immediately pick up his pace, practically storming into the small shop.

It smells like vanilla and sugar as the door shuts behind him, and although it makes him wince, he knows you’d love it. Shelves nearly as tall as him line the shop in narrow rows, displaying all sorts of sweets that he’s never heard of before – caramels, gumdrops, chocolates, lollipops, anything and everything under the sun.

He’s only been in the store for roughly five minutes, staring at a collection of truffles with furrowed brows and a downward curl of his lip when he hears a small laugh over the gentle, happy classical music playing quietly over the speakers. Immediately he’s perking up – the laugh sounds familiar; the lilt of it, the tonality, the soft intake of breath right after it stops.

His lips part, eyes going wide, and before he can even really control himself he’s rushing towards the source of the noise, his entire face growing warm when he sees you – you’re at the register, a few candies sitting on the wooden slab, your purse in hand as you fish for presumably your wallet.

You look gorgeous today – you’re wearing a shirt he’s never seen before and your favorite pair of jeans (the ones that make your ass look so, so very perfect – perfect to squeeze at, to grope and touch and smack and press himself against…), and although he’s briefly disappointed that you aren’t wearing an item of clothing that he’d gifted you, he notices the clerk all too soon.

The clerk – Hyoshi, his nametag says – is smiling at you. He’s all teeth, a grin that makes the hairs on the back of Enji’s neck stand up, his nostrils flaring because you’d been laughing, and it must be this man’s doing. This man, who’s visibly weak even under the ridiculous confectionary uniform he’s sporting – arms that couldn’t hope to lift even a fraction of what Enji can, a chest that isn’t ruggedly defined like the hero’s, and a stature that’s frankly pathetic compared to the frame of the redheaded man behind you.

Enji’s angry, and as the man opens his mouth to presumably say something else (potentially something that’ll make you laugh again), his words die on his tongue as he glances behind you to see the behemoth of a man who’s quite literally acting as your shadow.

His eyes widen and immediately he’s stuttering out a w-welcome in, Endeavor! At that, your shoulders go stiff, your mouth parting into an adorable little ‘o’ that Enji can practically see in his head, and you slowly turn around.

Oh, hello Endeavor, aren’t you normally on patrol right now?

Enji’s jaw works, and although a small part of him is pleasantly surprised that you’d remembered his patrol shift, your words only serve to further frustrate him. You knew it was his time on the clock – and yet, you’d still ventured out into the heart of downtown, completely on your own, defenseless except for the measly, very sad pepper spray you keep in that worn purse of yours – both of which he keeps pleading with you to let him replace.

(He’ll get you new pepper spray and a taser and a pocketknife, just because he knows how dangerous these streets can be, and with your pretty face and your pretty body he’s sure villains would be lining out the door to get a taste of you. And of course, the new bag – he’s bought you plenty, in a wide variety of styles and colors, each gift getting more and more desperate to be the one you finally deem as being good enough to use, but alas.)

Enji doesn’t even bother with a greeting, instead stepping up to the counter, slamming down his credit card and stepping in front of you. I’ll be paying for her sweets. His voice is cold, firm, and sends the clerk into a scurry to process the transaction, meanwhile you’re staring in mild shock from behind the hero.

Of course you’re not surprised – how can you be, when he insists on spoiling you in every possible way? And yet the raw animosity he’s radiating right now can’t be ignored – you get the feeling as if you’re somehow in trouble, though you can’t figure out what for. As soon as the card reader beeps, Enji’s scooping up the card and your sweets, his thick fingers wrapping around your wrist just barely too tightly and marching out the door, telling the clerk over his shoulder to keep the receipt.

It takes every bone in his body to not turn back around and swing at the man behind the counter, his eyes shutting tightly in concentration as he tells himself that it’s not worth it, the media will find out, your reputation will be damaged. But as his eyes peel open and he realizes the way you’re squirming in his grip, he only sighs and releases you, those teal eyes of his appraising you with a frown.

You’re feeling guilty again, unsure of yourself as you gently rub your wrist, and for a moment Enji feels regret – did he hurt you? He hadn’t meant to, he’d just been angry and it was already hard enough to not harm the man who’d made you laugh, and surely you’d understand that he didn’t mean to –

You break the silence before he can voice his concerns, clearing your throat and thanking him in a meek voice. Enji merely nods, a small grunt your only response as he begins walking again, your sweets – and your purse – firmly in his hands, just so that you won’t have to carry them.

When you don’t immediately follow him, Enji pauses, looking back over his shoulder with a brow cocked.

What? Follow me – we have dinner reservations this evening, at that new seafood restaurant by the harbor. Fuyumi tells me it’s quite good; order the crab legs and the caviar.

There’s no room for disagreement in his tone, and for a moment you just blankly gape at him, the situation too strange for you to really process.

But all too soon his eyes are narrowing, and you’re practically tripping over your feet to follow him, keeping your gaze cast downwards as Enji’s hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you even though there’s not a civilian in sight on the desolated sidewalk he leads you down.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Honestly, Enji is complicated as a yandere; there’s a part of him that knows that there are aspects of his relationship with you that mirror that of his previous marriage. He knows that although you may not be treated as terribly (and that you have more purpose to him than simply an incubator), you’re still trapped, essentially a slave to his will.

And yet, as time passes and his dependence on you grows stronger, he can’t help but justify his actions, deciding that yes, you may be stuck with him, but at least he spoils you rotten with your favorite foods, expensive clothing and jewels, an unlimited supply for each and every hobby you may have. He may have you trapped between a rock and a hard place in terms of leaving him, but at least he genuinely loves you - he aches to spend time with you, to hold you in his arms, to feel your heartbeat against his ear, your lips against his, your body writhing below his.

He’s convinced himself that this time is different, that you’re different, and as such he eventually decides that it’s really in both your best interests to just relocate you, to get you officially by his side. It’s really paranoia that drives this decision – he’s a working hero and a man with many, many enemies, and so it’s really the only option that keeps you safe.

Stealing you away into his private home – he’s the sole inhabitant, aside from a cleaner or two, since moving out of the Todoroki household – is the best option for a multitude of different reasons. You’re safer this way – the state-of-the-art security systems he’s installed around the estate are the best money can pay for, able to detect intruders and any suspicious activity in the blink of an eye. Enemies don’t have much of a chance of getting inside, and even if they had managed to, Enji will be right there to burn them to a crisp for even daring to get close to his beloved.

And even aside from outside threats, keeping you trapped at home will allow him to keep an eye on you and make sure that you don’t accidentally hurt yourself – you’re ridiculously clumsy to him, your every action having him hold his breath slightly in anticipation, in fear that you’ll somehow trip or fall or bruise your pretty skin. Plus, this way he’ll know that you’re eating healthily and in the right quantities, that you’re getting proper exercise, that you’re relaxing as you should, that you’re spending adequate amounts of time in the interior courtyard he’d prepared in preparation for you.

(It’s beautiful, as loathe as you are to admit it – all kinds of flowers bloom along the walkways, bamboo and tall grasses and trees growing in neat lines and providing shade for the flowerbeds on hot summer days. There’s even a small stream flowing through it, the gentle trickling noise almost enough to cancel out the painful silence that exists between you and Enji when he decides to join you for your scheduled garden time in the afternoons – uninvited, as always, and yet still unable to sense how desperately you wish you’d get these times alone to yourself.)

Aside from your safety, keeping you in his home helps feeds into his domestic fantasies of the two of you – you’re so very precious to him, and from nearly the beginning of his obsession with you, he’s always viewed you as the perfect wife – specifically, the perfect housewife.

He’s a traditional man, believing in traditional gender roles, and although he doesn’t view you as being less-than based upon your status as a woman, he does expect certain things from you. He’s the breadwinner, the strong, capable one who provides you with a roof over your head, food, and any gift under the sun the moment you make even the slightest inclination of wanting it.

And in return, you’re to be his caring, nurturing wife – the one who keeps the house neat and tidy, a room dedicated to only cleaning supplies that you get always stay stocked and ready for you, should you become inspired and wish to fulfill this domestic fantasy of his. The cleaning products are all diluted down to a level that wouldn’t be dangerous if you were to ingest them – you’d get sick, surely, but it’s nothing a home-trip from a doctor who’s been sworn to secrecy can’t handle.

There’s also, unfortunately, a drawer within the room that a particularly bored you had one day opened only to immediately slam it shut. Dozens of cleaning outfits sat neatly folded in the drawer, the black and white getups looking much too tight and much too short. A few weeks later you’d returned to the drawer, bored out of your mind while Enji was away at work, peeling one out with careful and trembling fingers. And of course, to no one’s surprise, the outfit fit like a fucking glove – hugging your curves and accentuating them, the skirt full and flouncy and very easy to flip up, the bustline practically choking your breasts with how tightly the black cotton pressed them together. You’d changed out of it shortly after, the rather disturbing and shameful fleeting question of whether this was the type of thing Enji liked making you too disgusted, guilty, and bashful to really consider.

In his idealized domestic world, you’d cook for him, too, but it takes a very long time for him to trust you enough to not purposefully burn or cut yourself in the kitchen. He has daydreams about coming home from a hectic work day to see you standing over the stove in a cute apron, humming some song and lighting up when you hear the door open and close, his announcement of being home making you practically bounce on your heels.

He wants to have you cook for him, to see you slave in the kitchen putting every ounce of your concentration and time into making him a meal you know he’ll enjoy, but that fantasy has to wait for the time being – just until he thinks you’ve finally lost that rebellious streak of yours, just until you finally come to realize that you belong by Enji’s side.

And so, in the meantime he’ll have you make him small things that hold little potential for you to hurt yourself with – simple sandwiches with pre-sliced ingredients, so that you won’t cut yourself chopping tomatoes or slicing bread. He'll have you prepare a sandwich for him and one for yourself, too, ordering you to sit down at the dining table with him and share a meal – though the conversation is hard to come by, and each attempt he makes at starting it is only met with single word answers from you.

(Another domestic fantasy he harbors but would never tell you about is to have you sitting with him at the table, looking at him with those pretty eyes and your voice dropping to a sultry volume, your chopsticks bringing the food you diligently and loving prepared for him up to his lips, your tone teasing as you tell him to open wide! He’d keep eye contact the whole time he chews, never once breaking it as he tells you in that low, gruff voice of his that it’s perfectly done, the seasoning is impeccable. He wants you to be bashful, to smile and hide it with your hand, your lashes fluttering as you glance at him then back to the food again, too shy to say much but your body language showing just how much his praise effects you, just how good it feels to be the center of his attention, the apple of his eye, his absolute everything.)

He wants you to be his sweet housewife, and although he won’t force you into any of the work, it’s extremely obvious what he wants of you – he’s always telling you about when you get adjusted, how you’ll be more open to fulfilling your role.

When you’re more adjusted, you’ll be happy to iron his clothes; perhaps you’ll spritz a bit of the perfume he buys you onto his shirts, just as a reminder of you during his long days.

(As if he needs a reminder – certainly not, when you’re on his mind nearly every minute of the day.)

When you’re more adjusted, you’ll be pleased to see the positive pregnancy test in your trembling hands, your voice riddled with joy as you announce the good news to him, watching him drop the phone and keys in his hand and instead hoist you into the air, spinning you with a grin on his face so bright it nearly blinds you, concluded with a passionate kiss and a few tears on his cheeks because he just can’t fucking wait to have you as the mother of his child.

It’s all this talk of ‘when this’ and ‘when that’, but the strange thing about Enji as a captor is that he’s incredibly patient with seeing these fantasies come to fruition – sure, he may be forcing you into being a housewife just as he did with Rei, but this is different – you get a choice about some of it, unlike her. You don’t have to do the dishes, but you can if you’d like. You don’t have to bear his children, but you can if you’d like.

(And frankly, it’ll be hard not to – once your need for human contact and your strange, mixed feelings for him grow, you’ll eventually give into his requests for intimacy, and once the floodgates are open, you will end up pregnant from the sheer frequency and volume at which he pumps you full of his cum.)

All that being said, life as Enji’s captive will honestly not be too terrible – he’s still following you around the house like a shadow, but he’ll let you sleep in your own bed at the start, let you have your own bedroom and bathroom, and he won’t even force you into spending time with him at the beginning.

Because really, as tortuous and painful as keeping you away from him is, he repeats the mantra over and over in his head that eventually it’ll be worth it – eventually you’ll see things his way, and eventually you’ll come to see just how deeply his feelings for you run. You’ll realize that he’s only ever loved you, that he cares for you more than any other man possibly could, that he only has your best interests at heart – that’s why he always swung by your apartment at the end of his patrols, peering in at you through your windows, just to make sure you were safe and sound.

That’s why he kidnapped you, to ensure your safety and keep you in the arms of the only man truly capable of providing for you, just as you deserve.

That’s why he’ll never let you escape him, no matter how you beg and plead for your freedom – you don’t understand the outside world like he does. You think you do, but each villain he arrests is a nail in the coffin of your freedom – you have no fucking clue how dangerous the world is, and Enji isn’t hesitant to remind you of this.

You’re unhappy with him? Well, your options are here, in his warm house where he’s willing to give you every ounce of his attention, love, and touch, or out in the big, scary world where women like you are easy targets for men who love destroying easy targets.

So really, you’re in the best hands with Enji – he knows how to take care of you, and he’ll spoil you with every possible treasure you could want. What’s not to be happy about?

PUNISHMENTS:

As a general rule, Enji doesn’t ‘do’ punishments. Because he views his relationship with you as his second try at finding a companion, there is no part of him that actively desires to hurt you. He loves you, in some sick, twisted way that’s much too obsessive and desperate to ever be considered healthy, but it’s still love nonetheless.

And as such, Enji does genuinely want your relationship to be as wholesome and sweet as possible; he wants you to want him, to actively choose to spend your time with him, to want to be in his presence every moment of every day. He wants everything to be as perfect as possible – the idealized life, a life where he’s the number one hero coming home to his lovely wife who cherishes him and he cherishes in return.

And so, when you do something that doesn’t quite line up with this fantasy, Enji is understandably upset. Why can’t you just accept that this is your reality now? Why do you insist on fighting him, even when you know you won’t win? How could you?

He’s Enji Todoroki, Endeavor the Flame Hero, and you’re just you. You’re pretty, of course, and smart and sweet and caring, but you’re still just you. There’s nothing you can do against someone like him – which is why Enji is able to excuse your poor behavior most of the time.

He understands; it’s difficult to accept that you’re weak and powerless, and he understands that when you lash out and act out, you’re just expressing frustration and fear at being taken care of so wholly and completely by someone so much stronger than you. It must be scary, after all – Enji can be so intimidating and he knows it, so he’ll try his absolute best to calm down anytime his anger starts to flare.

The last thing he wants to do is harm you, and he wants everything in your relationship to be as different as possible from that with Rei – and hurting you in any way would too closely resemble his previous marriage, ruining the beautiful illusion he can live under with you.

And so, most of the time Enji is able to grit his teeth and shut his eyes, letting the anger subside by telling himself about all the wonderful things about you – things that always get him feeling calmer, that make the buzzing sensation in his head and the suffocating feeling of anger dissipate. Nine times out of ten, he’s able to calm himself down this way – and if that’s not enough, normally exiting the room and getting a breath of fresh air is enough. He’ll tell himself that he absolutely cannot fall into the same habits he did with Rei – you’re different, you’re special, and he’ll calm himself down as often as he needs to in order to avoid being seen by you as the big, scary man who will hurt you if you disobey him.

Thus, getting Enji angry enough to the point where he can’t simply calm himself down is actually quite difficult – generally, this involves you hurting yourself. Most other things he can twist into seeming not so bad, rather just being you not having adjusted to life as his woman quite yet. He can write off your escape attempts as you still clinging to this ludicrous sense of independence you seem so hellbent on keeping.

Attempts to harm him can be discarded as your misplaced sense of anger at your situation, because although in your heart of hearts he’s sure you’re happy to be in your natural familial setting (as the wife of a strong, capable man of course), you’ve confused yourself by trying to reject something that’s just so right.

Of course these events don’t make him happy, but they’re able to be disregarded – but when your blood is drawn by your own accord, even Enji can’t pretend this is something else. This is you purposefully trying to injure yourself, purposefully trying to show him that you aren’t happy, that you don’t want this – an idea that makes him panic, that sends his fists clenching, that gets him pacing and his mind racing as he tries to figure out how to set you straight without harming you. And so, Enji eventually decides that after he cleans up your injury, rather than simply hitting you

and physically showing you that he won’t stand for this sort of misbehavior, he has to be more restrictive with you. He won’t be so lenient for the days following your bad behavior – you won’t be so spoiled, your rights won’t be so freely handed to you.

You must understand that Enji is charge, and that he’s being generous and loving and kind by allowing you such free reign around your shared home. Really, he doesn’t need to be so generous – and he’ll teach you that an angry Enji is much, much worse than the normal doting, lovesick Enji you’re used to.

Enji is frozen as he opens the front door. He’d come home a bit early from running some errands, the groceries in his hand dropping onto the hardwood floors below him. His jaw is dropped a bit, the sight of your bright red blood staining your forearm making a wave of sickness wash over him.

Who did this?

Who could’ve hurt you like this? There’d been no security alerts while he was gone, and there was absolutely no way that you’d left the interior of this house in the two hours he was gone. In the next breath he’s rushing forward into the kitchen, by your side before you can even blink, paying no mind to the way you gasp and stumble away from him, as if you’re afraid of him.

It makes Enji’s chest ache, but the sight of your blood is too distracting for him to focus on the uncomfortable ache. Instead, he’s thrusting your arm under the kitchen sink, the lukewarm water making you wince ever so slightly as it runs over the wound.

Enji’s brows furrow as he examines your arm; the cuts are long, zigzagging in every direction in a way that looks strange, not like any normal attack pattern he’s seen before. This doesn’t look natural, either – not like a regular scratch, not like you just slipped and fell and had unfortunate luck. No, this looks like something else entirely – like something purposeful, like their appearance marring your pretty skin isn’t accidental in the least. It’s only then that Enji sees the glinting silver fork out of the corner of his eye, sitting on the edge of the counter with a bit of red staining the ends.

Immediately his body is freezing, his grip on your arm squeezing tighter as the gears turn in his mind. You must have…

His jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth, those blue eyes of his slanting over to look at you with such intensity and anger that you physically shrink in on yourself. His grip is too firm for you to pull your arm back, Enji absolutely unwilling to let you run away from this.

Did you do this to yourself?

His voice is surprisingly even, given the look on his face, and immediately you’re shaking your head, your entirely body paralyzed with fear. You’ve never seen Enji look this scary before – or at least not towards you.

Your answer only serves to further anger him, it seems, because soon he’s literally snarling, his face twisted up into this ugly look of  rage that’s only heightened by the scar across his eye.

Don’t lie to me, I will always be able to tell when you’re untruthful with me. He pauses, taking a deep breath, his voice just the slightest bit unsteady. Did you do this to yourself?

This time you nod yes, tears prickling at your eyes and starting to spill down your cheeks, and at the sound Enji makes, they only flow faster. He looks like he’s in more pain than you are – his face is red, and a few flames lick up around his shoulders. The heat washes over you, and soon the begs are slipping off your tongue before you can help yourself.

Enji pays you no mind, every ounce of his self-control going towards not slapping you in the face for your blatant stupidity. Soon he’s letting go of your hand, stomping towards the small first aid kit he keeps in the kitchen, entirely silent as he carefully wraps your arm in bandages, not paying your rambling any attention or mind.

As soon as you’re securely bandaged, he leaves the room and you hear the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut reverberating throughout the house.

The rest of the night passes in a blur, with you somehow getting from the floor of the kitchen where you’d laid down and eventually fallen asleep all the way to your bed, with the blankets carefully slotted over your body.

Nothing seems to be amiss the next morning, your footsteps cautious as you approach the bathroom, your brows shooting up when you notice that the counter is completely bare – your toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash are all missing, as are all the expensive lotions and facial scrubs Enji normally keeps in piles for your convenience.

The kitchen is empty, too, you notice – the silverware drawer is completely empty, and there are no cups or mugs of any sort in any of the cupboards. It’s unnerving, and immediately you’re getting goosebumps all over your body, the air feeling prickly and cold, as if there’s something lurking that you don’t know about. Biting your lip, you make your way to the table, gingerly sitting down and trying not to jostle the bandages too much – the bandages that had been changed, you distantly notice.

A few minutes later, Enji joins you in the kitchen, his expression not exactly jovial, but not particularly hostile. He greets you as he normally does, before placing the mug you now notice is in his hand under sink. The sound of rushing water gets your mouth watering, not having realized how thirsty you were until this moment.

Wide eyes watch him turn towards you, making his way to your seated figure with slow, heavy steps that get your heart thudding in his chest. He stops right next to you, before telling you to open your mouth. Hesitantly, you do as he says, jerking slightly when his fingertips – always unnaturally warm – cup your chip and bring the cup up to your lips, the water cold as you’re forced to drink it.

Enji watches with neutral eyes, though you see the corner of his lip curl up slightly as you drink the entire glass, the pacing of the water flow nearly too much and nearly choking you. Soon it’s gone, and Enji uses his thumb to wipe at the corner of your lips.

Since yesterday’s little spectacle has shown me that you can’t be trusted with basic household supplies, let me know if you require another drink, if you’d like to brush your teeth, or if you’d like to wash your hair. You obviously can’t do it alone, so I will be joining you. Now, go lay down on the couch. I need to change your wrappings again.

You’re dumbfounded, watching him keep the mug in his grasp as he heads towards the living room. And though the threat seems too extreme, Enji means it – you only last a few hours before you reluctantly ask for another drink, your throat too dry and sore to go without it.

And that night, when you shamefully ask him for your toothbrush, you’re not particularly pleased to find out that he’ll be the one brushing your teeth, using his very own toothbrush to get the job done, just to make sure you don’t even think about trying to choke yourself with the brush.

(And when you finally have to shower, well, Enji’s face turns bright red when you ask, rushing to his feet much too quickly, grasping your hand and practically pulling you to the bathroom before applying all sorts of soaps and scents to the bath he draws for you. His breath is hitched as he turns around so you can change in privacy, but don’t be surprised to see him sneaking glances at your bare body beneath the water’s bubbly surface. Don’t be surprised when later that night you hear a suspiciously rhythmic thumping sound and muffled groans through the wall that  your bedrooms share, the faintest wet, squelching noise accompanying them.)

And, roughly a week later when you wake up to the cups and mugs back in the cupboard and your shampoo back in the shower, you’ll decide against hurting yourself anytime soon. It’s not worth it – not if that’s how you’ll be treated; forced to ask permission for your basic needs.

And Enji couldn’t be more pleased – now you’ll think twice about using that fork again, or anything else for that matter.

(And he can still force you into using his toothbrush – under the guise of furthering your bond and intimacy, of course. And because he’ll use it after you, savoring the feeling of the bristles against his tongue like some sort of drug.)

OVERALL DANGER:

 7/10

Enji isn’t necessarily dangerous, but rather inevitable.

He’s a determined man, driven by motivation for his goals, no matter the methods he uses to get there. And once he sets his sights on you, deciding that he wants you, that he loves you, you’re certainly no different – he will have you, and there’s not a single thing you can do about it. He’s a force to be reckoned with, and really, what sway do you have?

He’s a professional hero, known in the public sphere responsible for saving more lives than you could ever hope to, and who are you? You’re just a pretty face, a woman who happened to have the exact set of traits and physical appearance that Enji finds desirable – you have no real way to combat him, and who would believe you, anyway? Enji is the new symbol of peace – as far as the Commission is concerned, he can have whatever the hell he wants, and if that one thing is some civilian, then you can kiss your freedom goodbye.

But really, all things considered, Enji isn’t too terrible – he’s trying desperately to right his wrongs, to love you in a way that prioritizes your happiness and is just better, and although you’re certainly not happy being trapped by his side, he can at least pretend like this is better.

He wants you to be his pretty little thing, to be his housewife and treat him like your devoted, loving husband. He wants you to greet him with a kiss on the lips when he comes home from work, helping him out of his jacket and asking about his day, then lead him into the clean kitchen where you’ve got dinner waiting for him, then join him in the shower and then the bed, letting his hands wander to where they please, then fall asleep on his chest, letting him feel like he’s protecting you even in his sleep.

Is that really so much to ask for? Enji thinks not – besides, isn’t that the dream for you?

All you have to do is let him take care of you, to spoil you with flowers and chocolates and jewelry and all sorts of things that make women swoon. You’ll be spoiled rotten, treated like a goddess, and all you have to do is let Enji make all the decisions for you, to let him take control of your life and your future – it’s better this way, he promises.

This way, you’ll be properly cared for, kept safe and secure and comfortable by his side. You may not see it yet, but Enji is sure this is really what you want – you’ll come around eventually, he’s sure of it.

And if you don’t? Well, at least he’s not a monster, right?

[erinthelemon]

The Nightmare

summary: bucky has a nightmare and you comfort him.

warnings: swearing, talks of nightmares, Bucky.

word count: 2053

The night was windy and dark, and presented some sort of shield around the lightness on the earth. The wind shuddered the strong windows, that claimed to be shatter-proof though on a night like this it seemed questionable, I looked out onto the city, filled with quiet streets; nobody to be seen. Our cities once bustling and frustratingly loud voices had stood to a silence as night introduced itself, the moon glistened and held power over the city never once there before, calling all its inhabitants back to their houses and settling in for the night. From my view, high up in the tower, slight shines of humanity glared into me from kitchens of someone’s midnight feast and someone who’d had a bad sleep. That’s the reason i was awake, not for fear of my own dreams, but disturbance of someone else’s.

I lived in my workspace, like it never stopped, sandwiched between people who had reason to care for me and make me feel loved in a way the rest of my life had never shown me. The luck i felt for being in this type of environment, made me feel worthy of anything i get. The sound of uneasy breaths, and stumbling escapes from the room next to me: Bucky. He often found himself in this situation, and either me or Steve would help him through the toughness of this time. I moved from the window of life, and dreaded to look at his body that screamed in agony of what’s haunted him in his sleep. I run to my door, grasping the handle and throwing it open, to get to him as fast as i possibly could.

He shuddered and jerked as though a puppet, with strings still controlled by HYDRA and haunting him at every living moment. His life served up on a plate for them to continuously tourment and play around with. Although he has been safe from their grasp for a few years now, he mentally and emotionally suffered whether he’d admit it to us or not, deep down he was a man with much trauma, biased he was fine, when deep inside most knew he was not. With time, I had been able to become one of his closest friend, following Steve of course, their friendship would never falter. And duties of a close friend, meant I am to care for him in his sensitive state.

He was not yet awake from his nightmare, I tiptoed towards his bed so as not to make any loud noises, caring for the creaky floorboards id managed to map out having been in here one too many times, safely reaching his bed. I knew i had to take this one step at a time, experienced in how to make him calm. Though he was still thrashing around, i climbed onto the bed sitting on the edge, and gently moved my hand towards his head, to see if he’d recognise the touch, at an instant he stopped his rash movements, though still asleep; realising the soft touch that so desperately aimed to calm him. Yet he didn’t wake up, the hand i’d placed on his head now aimed to stoke his brunette hair, which was tucked neatly into a bun towards the back of his head, however it was now messy and much of the strands were hanging out the bun.

Without him moving around, I couldn’t help but examine the stillness of his nature, his face still tense but sweet looking, his forehead sweaty and scattered with hairs escaped during the daunting night, and his once rough breathing soothed to a calmness. Before I could take in the features of his face more closely, he stirred and i moved as to not get in his space (anymore than i had). His figure flung up to be sat upright, the nightmare had continued into his still sleeping frame, and beads of sweat trickled down his smooth skin. He sat up with his breathing still shaky, as he took in air, not yet noticing me. I admired him.

It took him several moments to realise i was there, silently i sat back onto the edge of the bed. Allowing him to go at his own pace as to not force contact he did not want. A comfortable silence was placed in the dark, now peaceful room. I waited for him to speak first, giving the freedom he had not had for the time he’d had in his haunting thoughts. As he watched his hands in front of him, I sat viewing him, taking in his beautiful features, questioning how someone could go through such a dream and end up, although disheveled, still pretty at ever inch of him. However rather than speaking he just turned to me and tugged at my arm, leading me to move closer to his frame. The quietness in his actions sparked in me there was to be no speaking until i left him. Once i’d moved closer he tapped on the bed, urging me to sit down next to him. A silent thought that revoked me to wish his grant for peace, after the hell he’d just been in.

I slid my slippers off, and shuffled onto the bed as to not make so much noise, due to his fragile state. After sitting in silence for several minutes, Bucky puts are arm around my shoulder and pulls me into a bone crushing hug, almost as if, if he didn’t grip onto me as hard as he was I’d disappear. I slowly hugged back and used my hands to rub his back, soothing him to relax and potentially go back to sleep. The hug felt like it went on for a lifetime, not that i could complain; I never let go until i felt him pulling away. The room felt cold no longer in his touch, and i felt i needed to enter the hug again, however refrained due to not wanting to outstay my welcome.

I began to move to the edge of the bed once again, moving the hair off of his forehead and giving him a light kiss on his forehead. A silent way of saying goodnight to him, and I got up to leave his room, allowing his space to sleep. However when i reached the wooden door and went to push down the metal door handle, he coughed, in which i turned around.

“Y/n, stay. Please.” he whispered, his voice croaky from sleep, perhaps still strained from the screams, but seems pleading.

With this request, I nodded. Although this has never been done before, i just wanted him to sleep well and whatever would help him do that. Though my heart skipped a beat when he asked me to, knowing nothing would happen, but the thought of him wanting me to stay the night with him, made me adore him more. Making me think he feels safe with me. I walked my way back towards his bed, grabbing the blanket off his chair by the window and stealing a cushion off his bed, placing them on the floor next to his bed. In the faint light, due to the light under the door from the kitchen I could see his eyebrow furrow.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” he asked voice above a whisper.

“I’m sleeping on the floor.” I whispered back, not wanting to intrude on his space.

To this he just patted the bed, and nodded his head to the spot next to him. I picked up the pillow and put it back onto his bed, and the fluffy blanket back onto his chair. Then to him, I lifted the covers and climbed in, to the warm, comforting bed. Then he moved over, and i turned around so I could give him space, his breathing was quiet and steady which lulled me into a peaceful sleep.

As morning approached, the birds chirped and flew into the distance. The light flooded into the room through gaps in the blinds. Admittedly I’d never seen Bucky’s room in the light, only entering when he had a nightmare, as he didn’t often want to go in his room reminding him of the nights he spent there. As my eyes opened slowly to adjust the light, I felt a heaviness on my body. I looked down to my waist and his hand was neatly wrapped around it. A smile settled on my face, i turned over slowly as to not wake him up. His face peaceful, something I’d never seen before fully. Especially when he’s bathed in the morning light. His mouth slightly opened and his soft breathing graced my ears. I sat gazing at him, until he eventually spoke.

“Quit looking at me, I’m quite awake.” He muttered with a chuckle following. A noise so adorable I could almost melt, I’d never had this intimacy with him, and yet it felt so right. Almost making me want to kiss him, however this thought made me panic and so I went to move out of the bed. Although his hand felt this movement and pulled me closer.

“Bucky, please I have a gym session with Nat at 7.” I didn’t, I just couldn’t bear the intimate moment that struck up thoughts I’d never thought, which could lead to an end in our friendship if he didn’t feel the same.

“No you don’t, because I have a session with her sparring.” Shit, I thought. How do i get out of this now.

“Oh, maybe i got mixed up, Wanda. That’s who it is, I’ve got to go. Sorry!” I panicked, words getting mixed up. Trying to get up again, but being held down by his hand.

“Doll, what’s going on? Am i making you nervous?” he said with a smirk gracing his plump lips, which made my heart sore to my stomach.

“No!” I spluttered, making a fool of myself.

“What’s making you so nervous, doll?” he muttered in my ear, my heart now in my feet it seemed. The nickname and the smirk combined made me weak.

“Nothing.” i lied, trying to get my nerves back, worried he’d see through my lies.

“Are you sure it’s not how close we are? I’ve wanted to ask you to stay for a long time now, I guess i just was too out of it to care. Looks like i made the right decision.” He murmured still close to my ear, the secret now out in the open, crazed my mind. Without thinking, i couldn’t control what happened next.

I pushed myself forward, looking into his blue eyes for a split second, trying not to get lost in them, then aiming straight for his lips. They were like a soft cushion, they were plump and our lips slotted perfectly together. At first he didn’t kiss back, to which my heart sank believing id made the wrong decision, but as soon as his lips started to move against mine any misjudgment left my mind, the kiss was slow and steady to begin with. With the first taste of him, the hunger increased in me, it became more intense and his tongue began to explore my mouth. Our tongues danced in unison as if made for each other, exploring everywhere they could. At this point i was leaned against his chest, feeling the pace of his heart, it beat rapidly allowing the confidence that the kiss was the right idea. When we pulled away, i slowly blinked and stared into his eyes, where he leaned forwards and pecked my lips.

“So tell me how great at kissing i am?” he said with a cocky smirk, to which i slapped his arm lightly. Sending him a judgemental stare, before giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“You’ll do.” i teased, and then got out of his grasp, and he sent me a confused look, which nearly made me melt once again. “We should do this again sometime.” i winked towards him and then exited the room.

I contained myself before i got back into my room, and did an excited dance and then got ready for what awaits. All i wanted and more was Bucky Barnes, and now i’m only a few steps away from getting him forever.

a.n. so this is my first post so i hope it’s okay 😭

[stellarbit]

i have a kinda strange ask.

so i have severe insomnia. i've done sleep studies and meds but sometimes i just CANNOT sleep, even as bad as multiple days no sleep. doctors and i are still working on a fix. it's a fucking nightmare (except i can't have nightmares if im not asleep, can i???)

i'm a very calm, quiet, logical, and collected person except when i can't sleep. then i'm a crying and genuinely insane wreck.

i would absolutely LOVE if you could do some kind of Crosshair x female reader with some kind of scenario like this. it would make me feel better. Like maybe he didn't see her sleep the previous night and finds her still awake at like 3am the next night and this normally stoic girl is just an absolute unhinged psychotic mess and he has to fix it 🤷🏻‍♀️

idk how far ur willing to go (leaving it up to you) but just as a general idea as to how i (and many other people with this problem) get without sleep, i can get kinda violent, super snippy with people, can't stop crying, impulsive, physically sick sometimes, and don't always sound coherent or refuse to listen to people even if they're trying to help me. it's not a fun mental state to be in.

i'm never sleeping so i might as well read your literature (it's like a nightly ritual i love your stuff)

thank you 🙏

I know what it's like. Insomnia kicks my ass occasionally and it wrecks me and takes days of my life away before I can finally sleep. I hope you find some rest buddy <3 alsothankyouforthecomplimentjfc

give this a listen while you read

Just Lay With Me

Word Count: 1.5k Pairing: Crosshair x fem!reader SFW Warnings: insomnia kicking your ass all the way to next Sunday Summary: After a long bout of no sleep, you break and Crosshair is there to pick up the pieces. gif credit: @moonstrider9904

Sleep evaded you more and more often lately. Your new normal was turning into nights without more than an hour of dozing off. Nights that stretched into a week at a time with an occasional night of sleep, however restless. This time around the sleepless nights were quickly working their way to a month’s stretch.

After a few nights of frequently waking, two rotations went by without so much as a blink of sleep. At this point you weren’t just delirious, nausea turned your stomach and your head throbbed constantly. Every sound jarred you, pushing you to the brink of crying each time. 

Unable to string together more than a few coherent thoughts at a time, you’d planned on avoiding town the next. You were liable to snap at the smallest slight, but even in this state you knew it wasn’t fair to others.

By the time Crosshair came to find you, you were well beyond your limit.

Crosshair noticed your erratic behavior first. You’d snapped at Omega when she and Crosshair bumped into you on the street. Crosshair tried to stop you from walking off but you bit his head off too.

It was unlike you. Ordinarily, you were composed and rational—characteristics that had faded as your sleepless nights dragged on.

Your increasingly disheveled look became Crosshair’s next worry. You didn’t preen by any stretch of the imagination, but you took care of yourself and it always showed. Now, your skin took on a dull hue, your hair greasy and untamed, and dark circles gave your eyes a sunken appearance.

The night before he and Omega ran into you, Crosshair had noticed a light on in your home around 2 AM. Knowing you weren't typically up at that hour, he found it strange. The following evening, as he lay in bed, thoughts of your earlier encounter in town filled his mind. With a growing suspicion, he rose and stepped out to the patio. From there, he could see a dim light shining from your bedroom window.

He knew what insomnia looked like, had fought with it himself after being trapped on that Kaminoan platform, and didn’t want to push you if his suspicions were true. 

Then, the sound of glass shattering from your home shattered his hesitation. He leapt over the patio railing, his feet barely touching the ground as he dashed toward your house. Fortunately, your door was unlocked—an issue he noted to address later—and he entered your home in seconds.. 

He didn’t call out for you, instead choosing to quietly make his way through your space, tiptoeing through scattered blankets and clothes strewn over furniture. When he found you, you were on your kitchen floor, hunched over with your hands fisting your hair. 

Soft heaves shook your body as you rocked in place. Broken glass surrounded you, making the situation even more delicate.

Crosshair had been right, you hadn’t been sleeping.

Knowing there was no good way to break the silence, Crosshair softly called your name. Sure enough, you jumped hard and nearly slid onto a shard of glass.

Crosshair lurched forward to steady you by your upper arm only for you to rip out of his grip. You whipped your head around, hair falling in your face in a deranged look. It fit seeing as you certainly felt deranged. 

The sniper’s eyes were uncharacteristically soft, with brows slightly raised and shoulders relaxed. It felt like pity. Red hot shame flooded your system, sending you shuffling like a newborn fawn to your feet. 

In a harsh, hoarse voice you lashed out, “What are you doing here?”

Crosshair glanced at the mess around you.“Your lights were on and I heard something break.” You didn’t answer leaving only heavy silence between you. Crosshair sighed, looking back at you. “You’re not sleeping, are you?”

There wasn’t enough air for you to answer, your breath hitched into small gasps as tears warped your vision. Dipping your head back, you managed to blink back some of the wet from your eyes. With a determined shake of your head, you cleared your voice and firmly said, “I’m fine.” 

A line in the sand between you - a desperate claim to control something, anything.

His eyes on you, those sharp, all seeing, critical eyes, made your skin crawl. Not him specifically, but him seeing you as you were. This wasn’t how you wanted him to see you. Unable to stop the uncomfortable squirm that rolled through you, you waved both hands at him as if to ward him off.

“Please just leave.” Your voice was pleading, your eyes blinking furiously. 

“I’m not doing that.” Crosshair said gently. You weren’t sure if your tears, the lighting, or reality itself made Crosshair look so hazy.

Perhaps this was the next step into delirium. The thought widened your eyes with newfound fear. He’d appeared so suddenly - was he even real? Crosshair narrowed a worried look on you as a fresh, sickening feeling gripped you, spurring you back a step. Right onto a shard of glass.

You cried out, nearly collapsing, but Crosshair was quick to support you, preventing you from falling completely. The pain shooting through your foot crumbled your remaining resolve.

Crosshair swept an arm under your knees to scoop you into his arms. He hugged you close, even as you thrashed against him in fits of sobbing. He carried you to the bathroom and carefully set you on the edge of the tub.

Despite the sobs, you let Crosshair put your injured foot under the tap and rinse the blood still seeping from your wound. He felt the tremors wracking your body as he angled your foot towards him. Luckily the shard was sticking out enough that removing it would be easy enough under normal circumstances.

“I have to pull the shard out.” Crosshair said as inspected your foot. A choked sob pulled his eyes to your face again. Your lips wobbled in a devastated frown on your blotchy tear stained face.

Seeing you so fragile or haunted tore something in him knowing he could do little more than sit and watch you fall apart.

In an exhausted whisper, you confessed, “I’m so tired, Cross.”

“I know,” He whispered back and removed the shard in one swift pull.

Crosshair put your foot under the tepid water again, simultaneously pulling a towel from the rack beside him. As he dried your foot and applied pressure to the wound, he decided to share something.

“When the empire recovered me from the Kaminoan platform…” He paused on a deep breath. He hadn’t even told his brothers or Omega, but if he could do nothing else he hoped he could at least make you feel less alone.

Crosshair gently pulled you by your leg and pivoted you out of the tub. Braving vulnerability, he knelt in front of you and said, “I… I didn’t sleep for a long time. I don’t know how long, exactly, but long enough that I had to be sedated.” He smoothed a hand over your knee, adding, “I know what it’s like.”

You gave a small nod, focusing on regulating your breathing, too overwhelmed to speak. Sensing your need for comfort, Crosshair whispered, “Can I carry you to bed?” His tone was gentle, mindful not to startle you.

Your head fell forward in shame. Pressing a hand over your eyes you shook your head and mumbled, “It’s a mess.”

Crosshair couldn’t help the soft snort that came from him, drawing your head back up. A questioning, almost offended, look came over you. Crosshair didn’t ask for further permission as he came in close to you and lifted you with him. 

“You should see Tech’s room.” He teased, his breath warm on your cheek. “And he sleeps whenever he likes.”

The small joke did manage to lift your lips and you found some comfort in the cadence of his steps. He’d not yet gone this far for you. No one ever had. 

Crosshair crawled into bed with you still in his arms, pushing into your tousled duvet and placing you next to him. Leaning across you, he murmured an apology and froze before turning your light out.

Peering down past his arm at you, he swallowed before asking, “Do you mind if I stay with you?”

You didn’t think it was possible, but a small smile warbled over you. You hummed out an affirmative and rolled towards, rubbing your face into the soft fabric of his shirt. Crosshair chuckled under his breath and turned off the light.

He slid in next to you, sitting at an angle that his arms cradle around you. His made lazy trails over your back

“The kitchen-” you started.

“Tomorrow.” Crosshair cut you off. “For now, just lay with me.”

In the quiet hour, in your messy bed, in Crosshair’s arms you finally found rest.

[soap-ify]

simon can't be with you anymore.

cw gn!reader , angst , hurt / no comfort, simon doesn't know what he's doing.

notes streets said that it's angstmas !! didn't know that it existed until recently. anyways, since i'm having the worst week of my life, i'm gonna ruin it for simon too.

maybe simon was being stupid.

he probably was. not that he could think of any other options besides leaving you.

his work was too dangerous, and the next deployment was probably going to be his last. especially after the recent briefing he went to where the captain spoke about the upcoming mission — a highly risky one. in fact, even the most skilled like ‘ghost’ was bound to either get severely injured or just die. probably the latter. especially since he wouldn’t be with the rest of the taskforce 141 in the fucking warzone.

just a sacrifice for the better of the world, yeah? even though a part of him didn’t want to. fuck the world. you meant so much more to him. but he had chosen this job right. he had agreed to the mission.

and after all, he never considered himself deserving of you, deserving of this relationship he had with you. he knew he was somewhat of a distant boyfriend — barely opening up about his own feelings or past. at least he had shown you his face. you didn’t deserve someone as dangerous as him, someone so… damaged.

he didn’t want to die knowing that you’d be waiting home, all sad and lonely. he didn’t want to leave you like that, but at the same time, he didn’t want to stay and just watch this sweet bubble you two were in shatter. in both ways, he had to leave you. he had to somehow make this less painful, to make it easier for you to move on.

god, he was an asshole. he knew he was. he spent the week just distancing himself from you, responding to your words with nods and grunts while barely reciprocating to your affectionate touches. his heart was breaking more and more everyday, noticing the pained look in your eyes.

he couldn’t keep doing this for much longer. eventually, he had to end this, and he did.

“we can’t be together.”

his words hit you like a brick. literally on a random friday evening. not so random now, it seemed.

“what do you mean, si…?” your voice got quieter with each word, uncertainty towards your own state of mind flooding inside you while a lump formed in your throat, restraining you from properly even speaking out. your eyes stared at him in pure confusion and heart, noticing how he was cladded in his uniform, how he wore that damn skull mask balaclava — building up those walls again that you had managed to break so easily with your love.

simon hated this. he didn’t want to see you so confused and defeated. he had to stop himself mentally from doing something irrational. he was doing this for you, for your own good. though hearing you call him ‘si’ seemed to somewhat crack his composure.

“look, we can’t be together. s’too dangerous. too risky for you. you never know when i might die.” soon, but he held himself from saying that. you didn’t need to know about his deployment, not at all.

“w-why so sudden?” your voice cracked as you tried to properly make sense of his words, emotions taking off your being while you tried to hold in the tears that had begun to sting your eyes.

too dangerous, too risky — maybe somewhere in your heart, you had known that a day like this would come. simon riley was too careful about safety, too dedicated to his work while simultaneously being madly in love. suddenly, all of his sudden distant behavior made sense, and you felt somewhat stupid. stupid for, well, everything.

he was the plague that had infected you, and now he needed to leave so you could heal.

but you never thought of him like that. he was your rock, the anchor that held you from slipping away into loneliness that had always somehow stuck with you throughout your life, a sting that only simon could soothe. it was simon who would craddle you in his arks every night, it was simon who would listen to your rambles. it was simon who your heart was so willing to give love to.

and now he was going to leave.

simon had expected you to scream, to somehow target your anger and frustrations at him. he wanted you to yell at him, he deserved it.

but you didn’t. you sniffled, beads of tears beginning to roll down your cheeks as you took a wobbly step back, too exhausted to fight back or anything.

you didn’t blame simon. how could you? even now, you couldn’t find a flaw in him. too in love? maybe.

as silence filled the living room of the apartment you used to share with him, he slowly picked up his duffel bag and sighed, trying to keep his brown eyes cold and unfeeling, to make it look like he didn’t feel remorseful, to hide his heart was threatening to tear out of his own skin.

“i’ll always love you, simon…”

you said after a few seconds, causing his head to turn over to look back at you — your eyes teary and puffy while your cheeks were streaked with tears, his hands aching to wipe them away. your voice was weak, reluctantly defeated. you know that there was no point in stopping him.

i’ll always love you too, he mentally thought, though never said.

"one final kiss...?" simon froze at your request, knowing that if he were to look at your face any longer, he'd actually stay. he sighed and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead before pulling away, brown eyes hardening up.

he gave you a final nod and exited the apartment from the front door, leaving you alone all over again, your heart torn in pieces as you fell down on your knees, shattering into pieces that no one was going to bother picking up now. only simon could, but he was gone.

simon riley had died three months after that, and you never found out. for you, ge had just disappeared, leaving no traces behind.

just a memory that you were afraid you’d forget eventually, forget his touch and his voice, forget his face — just a memory that was going to bury itself no matter how hard you may try.

[walpu]

Aventurine seeing you try and desperately rebuild your partner with the fake gem remains and part of him feels sad for you because you've been trying for months on end with little to no results. But he's also a little jealous? He can see how hurt you are but somewhere in his selfish heart he hopes they don't come back.

Aventurine getting broken so many times and losing so many inclusions that he starts forgetting the little things you do for him like he's going insane cuz he can't remember what you did together 2 days ago but he can still remember the warm and fuzzy feeling and it scares him. What if he forgets you name next? He couldn't live with that.

What if you make a promise together on a specific day and he forgets? You're so heartbroken and basically avoid him the whole day since you think he doesn't want to hang out with you and Aventurine is just left confused and hurt too because why are you suddenly avoiding him?? What did he do????

when you shatter together and are rebuilt, some of his inclusions get in you and some of yours in him (idk if that's possible but shhh we dream big). He starts to see himself through your eyes, how much you love him and all the things you never told him. You see yourself through his eyes, all his insecurities and emotions that he's bottled up.

ALSO what if reader was like a corundum or moissanite which both have a moh hardness of around 9 ish? So significantly stronger than Aventurine. Reader always throwing themselves in danger to keep him safe....

OK one last thing I PROMiSE

Aventurine still has a pretty high hardness, so the fact that he keeps getting shattered just means he's way too reckless when it comes to his own life. Just the mental imagery of you carefully putting him back together piece by piece, telling him to be more careful...man.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS HNK AU MY BELOVED

reader 🤝 Cinna

broken promises

I imagine reader being very strong but the power comes with a great cost. They have two modes just like Alexandrite but unlike Alex they can control their state.

Their inclusions collect energy from the sunlight and they can use this energy to buff themselves up significantly but at the cost of their hardness and emotional stability (the more energy they use, the more transparent fragile their body becomes). If they use all saved up energy, they'll end up in the comatose state for like 150 years in order to recover completely.

So I like to think they're older than Aventurine physically but not much older mentally since they were in coma when he appeared.

Also. Them using like 90% of the energy in their body during the night raid :) Aven being scared for them but also shocked and heartbroken because they use this power against him :) like oh wow they actually do hate me that much haha :) reader did this to keep up with padpa and be able to fight Aven one on one since even if they're heartbroken they want this moment with him if not as partners then at least as enemies

[brotherwtf]

K, I just read the overstimulation bit and jeez that’s so good! And then thought of this (either smutty or not). Touch starved!Bucky or touch being Buckys love language and struggling in the Stalag/with having to be more careful. Either way, Buck calming down/recentering/helping Bucky sleep with touch. Or maybe post war with a migraine/nightmare? Either way very sweet. Love your work! ❤️

this is a combination of words that has scratched every single neuron in my brain....hoogh

----

John always liked having some part of his body touching Gale. Didn't matter if it was just their shoulders brushing or an arm around Gale's shoulder, he felt grounded by the solid presence of Gale holding onto him at all times.

He couldn't do it as much in the Stalag, forced proximity and eagle eyes prevented him from even friendly camaraderie with Gale, wasn't in the right mental state even if he could touch Gale to actually register it as anything.

But after the war, after the war was when John realized just how much he craved Gale's touch.

They didn't reconvene until the summer of 1947, after Gale had left Marge and made a promise to find John after it all. Their reunion was not one of any particular fanfare, but it was enough for John. An almost silent embrace, one that lasted a beat too long for friends reuniting, but John was past the point of caring.

Even when he drove Gale home he kept a hand on his thigh, flashing him his "Bucky-est" smile on private roads, trying to convince Gale that he wasn't suffocating without his touch.

He didn't realize how truly terrible his loneliness had gotten until he finally slept in a bed with Gale. It was like something shattered in him, a bridge being held up by a single slat of wood finally broke, and he let himself feel all of the effects of the war. As soon as Gale wrapped a gentle arm around John's waist, John could feel ugly tears welling up in his eyes, starts to feel the effects of all of the losses.

He wraps his arms around Gale, pulls his warm body closer until he can't pull him in anymore. He's babbling nonsensical things, apologizing for not calling Gale sooner, but Gale just shushes him and rubs a comforting hand up his back. It's not John's fault, he's here, shhh... darling, Gale's here.

He has Gale's sleep shirt fisted in his hands, refuses to let go because if he does he'll fall back into the war. Gale doesn't prompt him to let go, doesn't say anything, just buries his face in John's hair and shushes him, tells him it's going to be alright.

John will eventually fall asleep in Gale's arms, will experience some of the best sleep in his life since the war, but now he's content to be held, to be told everything is going to be okay.

[the-guilty-writer]

No Matter What

Request (from anon): hiii if its not too much trouble could you do Reid x daughter reader where she had BPD and she has a anger breakdown??

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader

Summary: Spencer helps his daughter with BPD through an anger breakdown.

A/N: Huge thank you to @huffufflejoy for beta/sensitivity reading and advising me on this work. Your help is greatly appreciated! Now for my usual disclaimer before my pieces that heavily involve any neurodivergent topic: I try my best to potray mental illness in the most accurate yet sensitive way possible. Please let me know if you have concerns or issues with my work. It's important to note that everyone experiences mental illness in different ways and this may not be indicative of the experience of everyone with BPD.

CW: Reader has BPD, anger breakdown, talks of schizophrenia, self-loathing, small amount of physical violence, reader is shorter than Spencer

---

Spencer had learned long before you were born that understanding from knowledge and understanding from experiencing were two different things.

No matter how much he had read about schizophrenia, he could never truly understand what his mom was experiencing. No matter how much he'd read about being a dad, it did not prepare him for actually being one. And no matter how many people he talked to, articles he read, or data he went through, he would never truly understand what it was like for you to live with BPD.

At first, his research led him to believe that he might be able to understand some of the experience. After his dad leaving him at such a young age, Elle's resignation, Gideon leaving with nothing but a letter to say goodbye, and Emily's fake death, Spencer always had an underlying concern that the people in his life were going to leave.

But to him it was just that- an underlying concern. Like how he prefered paper over computers, but wasn't paranoid about it like his mother had been during an episode in which she threw the TV out of the house. Or how he might tell someone "My daughter is my whole world", but if he didn't hear from you for a day his whole world didn't seem to fall apart.

Nothing about your experience would ever be comparable to his. All he could do was try to understand.

Spencer had just woken up when he heard the shattering. He got out of bed, trying not to get his limbs tangled in the sheets, but still moving faster than he usually did at 7 AM. When he threw his bedroom door open, he took in the sight before him. His genius brain tryed it's best to calculate what move to make next.

You were standing in the small kitchen, surrounded by pieces of porcelain. White knuckles were threaded through your hair, threatening to pull the strands out by the root. A look of distress was plastered on your face as your chest heaved. Spencer only hoped that he'd gotten here before the anger turned into a blackout.

"(Y/N), Sweetie," Spencer cooed. He walked toward you, careful to avoid the broken bowl. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay!" Your voice was shrill in your exasperatedly irritable state. "I- I dropped the bowl and it broke, and now I can't make cupcakes for Henry, and I broke the bowl- I'm so sorry-"

Spencer tried to change the subject in an effort to calm you. "You were going to hang out with Henry today?"

"No, of course no. Why else would I be trying to make him cupcakes?" You snarled at your dad with degrading sarcasm. "All my other friends hate me and now he probably will now too and- and the bowl!"

It wasn't an unusual thing for you to say. Keeping surface-level friendships alive could be difficult with BPD. People didn't understand where the swing of emotions came from, and how you couldn't control the things you said when the mental bomb went off. They didn't understand why you would share a hobby with them, and then a week later, drop it completely. Even when you explained BPD, used your coping skills, and tried your hardest, it was difficult just to exist in society.

Henry made it easier. The two of you had been friends since you were small children. He took his time to understand you. He could calm your nerves, help you cope, give you reassurance, set healthy boundaries.

Still, your dad was you favorite person; your safe place. Spencer made you feel secure in a way that no one else could. It didn't matter how high you flew or how hard you fell, he was the constant presence in your life that you needed. That's why the underlying fear of losing him could make you spiral.

"It's broken! It's broken and I'm broken!" The sarcasm slipped away behind your anger.

"You're not broken," Spencer cooed.

"Yes I am!" You screamed at him. Tears of fury streamed down your face. The look in your eyes was enough to tell your dad that you were close to a breakdown, and he couldn't help but look nervously at the shards still littered on the ground.

Spencer took a risk, walking forward. He got to you in three carefully calculated strides.

"Come here," he whispered, though you were only inches apart and his arms were almost all the way around you.

"No, no-" you muttered. Your eyes were shut tight, arms pulled to your chest as if they were a shield over your heart.

Spencer wrapped you in a hug against your wishes, only pulling you tigher when your fists came towards his chest. Your muttering and sobbing and squirming continued as he held you as tightly as he could.

"I love you."

"I'm telling the truth."

"I'm not leaving you."

"You're worthy."

"I will always be here."

Spencer didn't know if the words actually helped, but he liked to think they did. As the pendulum of emotion began to fall and you stopped fighting in his arms, the only sound in the kitchen became the mantras he whispered and your heavy breathing.

"I-I'm sorry, dad," your words were barely desipherable between dry sobs. "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean- I'm so sorry. Please-"

"It's okay." Spencer kept his voice calm, soothing, reassuring. "It's only a bowl."

"I broke it and I got so-" you choked out the words as if saying them was physically painful.

Spencer had to remind himself that it was. Just like the way a panic attack could make someone's heart race or their palms sweat, the humiliation of being unable to control your emotions made your throat close. He wished it didn't.

"It's all my fault- I'm sorry."

Spencer looked down at your puffy face. Your lip trembled with anxiety. Salt stained cheeks rested in his palms. In the glassy look of your eyes he could see his own reflection, his own expression. It matched exactly how he felt; concern for you that came from pure love. He only wished you'd see that there was nothing in this world that could make him leave you willfully. There was nothing in this world that could take that love.

"I promise it's okay," he kept his voice quiet. "Can we clean it up together?"

You nodded.

"I'll be here so you're safe," he reassured you. But it was also for himself.

You nodded again.

"Okay." He gently let go of your face. "Let's clean up."

Together, the two of you carefully swept up the pieces of procelain. It took no more than two minutes to do, but Spencer couldn't help but spew a few interesting facts. They made you feel better, more relaxed.

"In Japan they use a technique called kintsugi to repair pottery," he explained. "Craftsmen take the broken bits and mend them together with gold."

The both of you rose to your feet, you with a broom and Spencer with the dustpan. "It actually makes the object stronger and more beautiful." He disposed of the broken bowl in the trash.

"Is this your way of telling me that every time I break I get stronger and more beuatiful?" you asked. It wasn't snarky or sarcastic- it was exhausted. "Because I don't feel that way."

Your dad took the broom from you, putting it back in the small storage closet. "Not quite," he said, then turned. "Because a lot of people believe the practice rose from the philosophy of wabi-sabi, which encourages people to look for and appreciate imperfection."

You blinked at him. "I'm confused."

He wrapped you in a hug. "It's my way of telling you that I'm not going anywhere. It doesn't matter to me how strong you are or how beautiful you are- how perfect or imperfect. I'm always going to be here, and I'm always going to love you, no matter what."

[underfaller]

I grow maddened. 

Rating: T Bill Cipher/ Ford Pines Word Count: 1.5k

I grow maddened. 

Stanford races away from the town until the cobblestone path turns into thick snow. The words circle around his skull, over and over-- a broken record that plays into his increasing insanity. As he stumbles through the woods, his vision lurches; Ford swears that all the dark trees have familiar, yellow eyes, watching every step he makes. 

Watching. Waiting. Ready to devour him right then and there. 

The townspeople all have Bill's eyes. They’re all watching me. I can’t trust them. 

In Gravity Falls, you can trust no one. That isn't a problem-- Stanford Filbrick Pines has no one. 

He barges into his cabin, fumbling with the door’s (multiple) locks before sinking to the floor, back against the hardwood. Ford clutches his right eye. It’s agonizing. Thick blood drips from the organ, sliding down his fingers as he sits, half panting, half sobbing, and fully delirious. 

My muse was a monster. I was a puppet.

Ford stands up, storming through his empty home, still clutching his wounded eye. Blind. I was so blind! How could I have been so stupid? He’s hurt. Betrayed. And furious at himself. 

Ford tears off at the golden tapestries that adorn every corner of the cabin. He shatters every crystal prism until his boots crunch against glass that litters the floor like iridescent snow. Still, he cannot shake his delirium. 

‘Sixer, it’ll eat you alive.’

He’s exhausted, yet he can’t sleep. When Ford even closes his eyes a bit longer than usual, his vision dances with triangles and he snaps them open in a panic. No, he can’t possibly sleep knowing who he’ll see in his dreams.  

But Ford doesn’t know how much longer he can stay awake. He’s growing desperate. He wonders if this is all worth it.

I grow maddened.  

Stanford’s never considered suicide but in his misery and fatigue, the blissful peace of eternal sleep is tempting.Even rabid animals gain the respite of death, surely, Ford reckons, he deserves that much. 

Or do my failures make me less than an animal? 

Ford wonders if he should leave a note. It would certainly be in character-- Stanford always needed to have the last word.

But who would even read it?

Not F. His former partner is probably already in  Palo Alto, enjoying his doting family without even a sliver of thought about Ford or their former dreams. 

Not his brother. How long has it even been? It must have been over ten years since Ford saw him. He envisions his twin’s face-- identical to his own despite their opposite personalities and paths in life. 

Was I too harsh on him all those years ago? 

Would he even care?

Perhaps, his old muse and his current tormentor. Though, Stanford’s suicide note would be more of a white flag than a triumphant last statement. Bill would certainly be amused by his former devotee’s fate. 

Stanford Filbrick Pines has no one. 

Ford makes his way up to the attic.

Perhaps this is the most logical course of action. 

He plans every step in his life yet the one to end it is one done most spontaneously. 

If I do this one thing by myself, will it finally be of my own accord--my own freedom? Or am I still being pulled by his strings?

Ford is in no mental state to pursue such theoreticals now. 

After some fenangling, he undoes his tie and stands atop a rickety chair begging to be kicked over. A red noose hangs over his head, its shadow looming over Stanford like Death. 

Watching. Waiting. Ready to devour him right then and there. 

Stanford looks down. On the floor is a pair of knitted gloves. He made sure to take them off before tying his noose. He closes his eyes. 

He doesn’t see Bill. Instead he sees Fiddleford. Then Stanley. 

They make him hesitate. 

“Ha… hahaha!” 

Stanford’s stomach lurches as his vision doubles. A wave of nausea washes over him before all he can feel is pain and panic and as he grapples for something-- anything-- he only falls further into blackness. 

When Stanford opens his eyes once more, he’s met by his muse. He hovers in front of him with a smug grin. 

“Hiya, Stanford! Watcha doin’?” 

He’s paralyzed in mid air but can still muster words filled with malice. 

“Get out of my head.” 

“Why? So you can continue trying to kill yourself? You’re so dramatic, Fordsy!” 

Bill lets out a shrill laugh; it makes Stanford’s ears ring. 

“I said get out of my head!” Ford shouts. 

Bill stops laughing. There’s a short silence. It feels like an eternity in this pitch darkness. Bill shrugs, raising an eyebrow. 

“Fine, if you want to die so badly, let me help!” 

“Wait-” 

Ford’s body suddenly goes limp, his mind goes slack. Fear overcomes him. 

“Have you forgotten? You’re my puppet.” Bill stumbles around in Ford’s body, giggling. He watches in horror as Bill puppeteers his body off the chair, towards the window. He throws it open, exposing himself to the freezing, winter temperatures. 

“I can do whatever I please with this meat puppet and you, well, you’re just here for the ride! So relax, Sixer, and enjoy the show!”

Even from his mental prison, Ford feels the biting January snow against his skin. 

“Let go of me, Bill! Our deal is off! Get out of my body! Get out of my-” 

“Mind? You first, IQ!” Bill taunts. “Do you think I’d let you go so easily? No, no. Silly Stanford, you’re mine. From now until eternity!” 

Bill takes in a deep breath and exhales, clouds forming from his hot breath. He looks down. 

It's a long way down. 

“Now this is the way to go! Not with some half baked noose made out of your own tie. No, no, my Sixer deserves a spectacular death! Haha!” 

Ford watches in horror as his body teeters over the snowy ledge. He tries to fight the darkness but he’s paralyzed, at the mercy of Bill’s control. 

“What was it again? Ad astra per aspera?” Bill shouts into the icy wind. He cackles maniacally. “Well you better start flapping, Icarus!” 

Ford tries to summon even an ounce of willpower to stop Bill’s possession of his body. He’d never beg aloud for anything. He’d never grovel to Bill Cipher for his meager life. 

But Bill hears all of his thoughts. 

Stop Bill. Please stop. 

Bill laughs aloud.  “Aww…Scared to die? Don’t get cold feet now!” 

Ford’s suffocating. His mind is swimming. His vision swarms. He can’t breathe. 

He needs control but he’s not in control. He never was. 

I am going to die. I’m going to really die here. 

He’s being buried alive in this void. Still, he chokes, 

“Why? I thought you still needed me to turn the portal on?” 

His muse shushes him with a hand wave.

“Can’t a demon help his old partner out? Call it an act of divine benevolence.” 

Bill’s simpering voice makes Ford shiver. He tries to protest further, but he can’t speak. He thinks of Fiddleford. 

He thinks of Stanley. 

He thinks of Shermie. 

He thinks of his mother. 

I am really never going to see them again. 

I still- 

Bill snaps his fingers and everything goes dark for Ford. As he prepares to throw Ford’s helpless body off the window’s ledge, he suddenly stops. Silence. The wind howls. Bill slowly steps back. 

“Ya know Sixer, I could completely wipe your memory with a snap of my fingers. Make you this petty revenge. You could be my little human pet for all of eternity! Wouldn’t that be much better than whatever this is?” 

He examines Stanford’s body in a mirror. Yellow eyes glint back at Bill. This is the optimal Ford. Too bad his little pet didn’t see eye to eye anymore. 

“But it wouldn't be that much fun, would it? At least for me. It’s not the same when I force you to worship me.” 

Ford is still incapacitated but Bill continues. Bill furrows his brow. He sighs. 

“You were such a devout worshiper. You’re actually adorable! Not to mention, very useful-- and a freak of nature to boot! We were the perfect duo! Though I suppose that’s come to an end…” 

Bill laughs bitterly. 

“If you were any of my other henchmen. Oho--you'd be a splatter on the wall right now! It’s ridiculous how difficult it is for me to actually kill you.”

L kdyh ixoo frqwuro ryhu brx, bhw, vrphwlphv, L ihho olnh brx’uh wkh rqh zlwk wkh vwulqjv.

Bill looks at the open window one last time before his smirk returns. 

“You'll come around in time, ” He says. “Eventually. For now, keep futilely struggling. I'll just wait. I have all of time to wait.” 

Bill snaps his fingers again. Ford is once again in his body. The hallucination is over. He looks around wildly. 

“Either way, this party is far from over so don’t go offing yourself yet!” Bill's voice calls. “If you do, I might have to get your twin involved-- and you probably don’t want that.” 

Silence once more. The sun is rising. Ford stands in the middle of the empty room, his heart in his throat.  

As dawn arrives, a soft, golden light shines upon him through a single, triangular window.

[coolingrosa]

Survivors guilt within yourself (Online edition)

This may be TMI and too much dumping bout my life, but I think it’s important to talk about, especially with so many young artists looking to make it big online.

I have this weird feeling towards stepping away from the internet.

I’m not saying this is me leaving, as I never want to stop making content. However, I have definitely drifted from the online life style including discord conversations, tiktok drama, constant YouTube posts, etc.

Why? Well, I want to make a YouTube video about this one day, but to boil it down: The internet was my coping mechanism for many years.

Now that I’m out of my abusive household, I can actually STATE now publicly how I was living in a mentally and physically abusive environment for all my eighteen years of existing. Just to brush the top of it as I won’t dive too deep (that’s for a future YouTube video), but I want to give some context as to what I was dealing with: I lived in a household where my brother was a diagnosed sociopath, my father was a narcissist, and the family members around were passive to the abuse my sister, brother, and I faced. These disorders do NOT automatically make you a bad person, evident by how though my brother was not a good role model and was disruptive to my development, he was a better father figure to me than my own father and shielded my sister and I from the brunt of the abuse for many years until he moved out. However, my father is a substance abuser as well, as with this disorder, such things do not mix well. I will not go any further about the abuse besides the fact that I draw my sona with body scars for a reason. They were not self inflicted and never were, even though some assume they are. Anyone in similar environments knows how desperate you are to find a way out. My way out was online. From the ages of eleven to seventeen, I became cripplingly dependent on online life. All my friends were online. I consumed content daily to distract from my life outside my room. All was okay and stable for a bit until I began posting at fourteen.

At first, posting was very simple. I’d come home from school and draw something quick and send it on its way. However, as time went on, the attachment to online life- to my online persona- became addictive. I began posting everyday. My only focus and drawing attempts were at tiktoks or YouTube videos. I became so absorbed with likes and comments and creating content that I began to slip away from the small number of real life friends I had, until I blinked and realized that they were all gone.

I was sixteen when this hit, and it only pushed me to get more absorbed into my content, especially when I got back into Undertale.

The worst times in my life were covered up by spam posting on my TikTok- five videos in one day that hid the pain and suffering I was trying to bury. All my friends became online, and I preferred being called Rosa than my real name. I was addicted. I could never be seen without a device to draw on, to post on, or to talk on. If I didn’t have a device, I was forced to confront the reality of my living situation, and I didn’t want to do that.

This began crumbling, though, when my online life began to feel unsafe as well. Many things happened at once that made it terrifying to even look at my phone. The turmoil from losing this safe space I had spent years indulging in was soul crushing, and though it sounds silly to be so upset over losing the comfort of the internet, it was life shattering. It forced me to confront everything I had been ignoring. It forced me to be alive.

Now that I’m in college, I’ve been offline a lot, and the weird sense of survivor guilt I have towards my fifteen year old self is strange. It feels like that young girl is inside me and angry at me for leaving behind a old comfort of mine- something that was so dear- something that defined who I was and for a very long time was the only thing keeping me here.

I survived. And I have other ways to cope. And the guilt of finding those things and people is strong. But I’m happy that I found it. Though fifteen year old me is angry, I’m happy.

So…why do I say all this? Why pour my heart out after stating that my closeness to online life is what made me blind to my real life?

Because I know there are people out there who were or are thinking like me.

Building a platform for yourself is an incredible feat, and I’m forever grateful for all my followers and supporters, but creating my account is also my biggest regret. I want to say to young creators starting out to find a balance. Don’t let the numbers define you. Don’t let who you are online dictate who you are in real life. Don’t forget there even IS a real life. What happens online is minuscule to the joys of going outside and breathing in the air. Seeing the trees sway in the breeze. Though being online can be an escape, it can also be a trap. Don’t fall too deep, because when your able to swim out to safety in the future, it’ll be harder to breach the surface.

So, if I don’t post as often- if I don’t reply to comments or dms as often- it’s not me leaving or being hateful. I’m finally living. I’m breathing and allowing myself to crawl out of the rut I’ve been rotting in for years now. I’m finally alive.

So for me, take a walk outside today without your phone. Remember what it’s like to be human. It sounds silly, but I think many of us forget what it’s like to live as we did as kids. Before the internet was popularized, and walking down the street of your neighborhood was just another Saturday afternoon.

[yumiis]

sorry. gonna be self indulgent.

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 even when you hurt ; blake

　 ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

genre; hurt/comfort

type; imagine

a/n; please don't worry about me, i'm not doing too well, so i'm writing something to get my feelings out. i hope this can comfort some of you as well. tws, mentions of self harming (nothing happens), implied suicidal thoughts, bad mental state, crying, anxiety

read below

You'd been suffering in silence for too long. Way too long. Sure, you throw on a smile for everyone; act all happy go lucky for your friends, and even your boyfriend. Even Blake didn't know how bad you were feeling. How close you were to relapse. How close you were to never getting better.

Yes, you slept in the same bed with Blake. Yes, you cried in that same bed. No, he never noticed. Yes, you cry only when you know he's asleep. You'd never want to worry him or cause him any distress, he doesn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve a partner who's miserable all the time, who never wants to get out of bed or do anything fun.

It was four am. Blake was asleep. You headed for the bathroom, you knew he kept razors in here somewhere. We both know where this is going. You reached for the cabinet where he kept them, tearing the packaging and breaking the razor until you could get the blade.

Blake heard all the commotion. He stirred awake, quickly noticing the bathroom light was on. He shrugged it off as you just having woken up and needing the bathroom.

You stared at the razor in your shaky palm. Why were you doing this? Did you need to do this? You weren't thirteen anymore. You aren't in middle school. There have to be better outlets. You grabbed the razor, and softly pressed it against your skin. You didn't dare move it. You took a breath.

...

You started crying. Loudly, at that. Blake poked his head up, now alert from your sobbing. "Y/n? Baby?" He threw the blanket off of himself, sitting up off the bed and speed walking toward the bathroom. The sight he saw was something he didn't really want to see.

"Y/n?..." You jumped, nearly letting the blade cut into your skin, but luckily, Blake pulled your arm away in time. "What are you doing?!" He knew better than to yell at you, but at the moment, he didn't know what else to do. "I'm sorry," You spoke. Your voice was soft. You were defeated. Defeated, broken, shattered. You didn't know what else to do. This was your last choice.

"I'm so sorry," You continued, not knowing what else to say. "I don't.." Blake sat down next to you, the blade now long discarded of. "You don't need to talk." He spoke softer, but his voice was still a bit stern. He waited a minute or two, "Did you do anything?"

You shook your head in denial, because you didn't. You were too much of a scaredy cat to even commit to that. "No." He nodded. "Okay. I'm trusting you," He paused, wrapping his arm around your waist. "You know I love you, regardless of what you're going through." You shivered at his words.

"I'm so anxious.. All the time." You spoke, trying to get your words out past the frog in your throat. "I feel like giving up on life every day. It doesn't feel worth it." You stopped yourself there before you started crying again.

He pulled you tighter to his side, "You're so worth it. You're worth every minute; every single second you're breathing. If you stop breathing, then I'm not worth it." You shuttered, starting to cry again. "You're so worth it, Blake," He stopped you there. "Exactly, that's how I feel about you. You're so worth it, baby. Please don't think you're some piece of trash to just throw away."

[kurim-chis]

Just read a Yingxing/Blade x Reader fic in the CN platform 晋江 where the main plot centers around the comedy and a ambiguously happy ending for Ying Xing, who in the main plot manages to have a family and is very, very content with his lot in life despite the war against Abundance.

Author rn is writing a “what-if” branch of where Ying Xing became Blade, its an AU and some things are different from HSR because “you” existed, and Author makes it clear that we can see it as an AU and consider the Ying Xing main plot as a HE or as a story that snowballed into a tragedy for Ying Xing’s life. It’s, of course, an AU since there’s not much known yet about the past of the High Cloud Quintet.

And I’m wkdkksnJDKFKKDKDJE BECAUSE the first half with Ying Xing is so fluffy, so light, it’s very comedic too because Ying Xing is such a ROCK and so rude and obsessed with smithing, there’s a lot of people who had chased after him even tho he’s a short lived species but he’s so obsessed with weapons and so RUDE that they eventually back off lmao. It’s so bad that the “reader” gets over their initial miffed feelings pretty quickly and feels a bit sorry for their “rival”.

AND THEN AND THEN!!! Blade in the branch/AU/second part of the story is written so nicely, he’s passive and cold and ruthless, but in a more numb way and the tragedy of his family with “you” (which is still unknown since Author just began to write the Blade branch) seems to have shattered his mental state even further than canon. He gave me the feeling he was like a machine or an animal.

The Author describes Blade in a way that just hits all my Moe Points! The guy who will violently murder someone with an emotionless expression (no hard feelings, literally) but in the story, even with a muddled consciousness and a shattered sense of self and half amnesia - it’s very clear his personality was warped and shattered when compared to the Ying Xing in the first half - he still recognizes “you”, and has a vague recognition that you are an existence precious to him.

You are like a fragile dream of a past long gone. If he blinks even once, you will disappear like the foams in the ocean, and he feels like he will go even more mad if that happens.

He is clearly very obsessed but in a muddled, not quite there way. In the latest chapter instead of being overtaken by Mara and needing to get his memories erased by Kafka, he pinpoints you and basically kidnaps you while the Nameless fight against Phantilya and you wake up as they watch the fight. Phantilya’s petals fly all over the place and some of them shoot towards you and Blade, and though Blade grabs you and retreats, he wordlessly picks up an abandoned lance on the ground and throws it towards Phantilya. Very petty and vengeful, even tho Kafka mentions Elio never said they’d join the fight. ETC ETC ETC.

He speaks even less than canon, and ever since he saw “you”, he’s been wordlessly sticking to you like sticky rice, with the only time having been at the beginning where you arrived with Dan Heng and Blade went on to beat the living shit out of Dan Heng. He abandons his vendetta with Dan Heng and shoots towards you when he noticed one of those resuscitating mobs trying to grab your leg.

It’s just. My heart. One of the latest scene he’s written as just raising his arm and hovering it over the small of your back, staring at you with an unblinking, blank and hazy gaze, his actions treating you like glass, as if you were a very precious, very fragile dream that will disappear if he so much as touches you.

I LOVE THIS KIND OF CHARACTERIZATION FOR BLADE!!! Cold and tragic and ruthless, but has this very special soft spot for certain people.

[bestworstcase]

re: talk of Burn, do you have any idea why Yang's aura clearly broke when Neo struck her in V8 (right after activating Burn)? my theory is that perhaps activating her semblance does something like Tock's where it makes her aura manifest more solidly on her body (which is how it can make her hair light on fire) and therefore also, like Tock, means that her aura is more vulnerable. to me this would also explain why Yang would use it as a finisher at first; using it when she's already going to run out of aura makes it, in a sense, less dangerous because she's already gotten most of the other uses out of her aura that she can get.

would love to know if you think this is accurate, or what you actually think is going on with yang's semblance on a mechanical level (if you're interested in that anyway)

first, a general point about aura and aura breaking. the characters’ use of meters has led to a sort of popular fanon that aura works like hit points in a video game, where you have this many and taking damage reduces your HP by a certain number until you hit zero and then your aura breaks; (dark souls splash screen voice) YOU DIED.

i do not think it works that way.

from world of remnant:

aura is a manifestation of the soul, a life force that runs through every living creature on remnant—whether they are a meager shopkeep or a renowned knight. however, what sets true warriors apart from all others is their ability to amplify and control their aura.

aura is the power of one’s soul. it’s guided by emotion, self-knowledge, and spirituality. in its purest form, it becomes a semblance.

defensive aura is not a passive effect. we know this for a fact. in V5, oscar finds it physically exhausting to engage his aura in this way and ren tells him that’s normal—it requires intense concentration at first, then becomes second nature with practice. in V7, jaune’s aura-training demonstrates that recovery, regaining aura once it has been depleted, is a conscious action that can be improved through practice. this is because the “aura level” tracked by those meters is not a measurement of how much aura you have in the tank, as it were, but something like the density of the aura-field you’re pushing outward, or speed of flow, or something along those lines.

(the way i’m handling it in TDT is there’s a hard upper bound to how much aura you can hold in your skin, like a sponge not being able to absorb more water, and what auraleric gauges attempt to measure is % of maximum saturation because everyone’s aura will break around 5-10% saturation even though the amount of aura you have at 100% varies. anything you push out above that threshold is projected as transient bursts of energy and that’s where you start getting into offensive techniques.)

hazel’s phenomenal endurance is noted to derive from his rapid recovery, not the basal amount of aura he has. (he even just shrugs off being impaled.) i believe his semblance gives him an edge here, because it requires concentration to amplify one’s aura and hazel can’t be distracted by physical pain.

which brings me to aura-breaking. it doesn’t happen when the proverbial tank is empty. auras break when you can’t sustain the mental effort of generating enough aura; this might happen because the well you’re drawing from really has run dry (<- think this is what happened to nora with the high voltage door), but it might also be because you’re too tired, or you took a really painful or unexpected hit that shattered your focus, because you’re panicking or furious.

i think tock’s semblance is in the same ‘family’ as hazel’s and ironwood’s in that it puts her into a state of intense focus by blocking out anything that might shake her—with hers being far, far more potent than theirs but so potent she can’t maintain it for longer than sixty seconds, and possibly needs the ticking clock to ‘anchor’ her focus.

(fic stuff again, because tock’s alive in TDT for butterfly wing flaps reasons: sixty seconds is not a hard limit of her semblance; she can and on one occasion did go for much longer. to project an aura field you draw aura out of your reserve, which is the aura that naturally ‘pools’ around your soul; if that runs dry and you’re desperate enough, pushing hard enough, you can wring more aura out of your soul. blood from a stone. it hurts a lot, it will mess you up, and it can do permanent damage similar to what the aura transfer machines do to pietro. sixty seconds is how long it takes for tock’s semblance to drain her aura reserve, rounded down to allow for a margin of error.)

so. yang.

i think, mechanically, when the average person with aura training gets hit, their aura burns up to disperse most of that energy. (<- when they’re swatting gunfire away, the bullets bounce; the energy is reflected.)

but yang’s semblance absorbs energy—which is to say, if you had a ball throwing machine shoot a tennis ball at yang and someone else with equivalent training from the same distance, it would hit yang harder because her aura is less reflective; more of the ball’s kinetic energy flows into her body. then, like a battery, her aura converts that energy into some other form that can be stored.

sort of like dust, in fact. dust has a lot of potential energy, which is released when the material reacts with aura. given the literally explosive firepower yang gains from burn, i think that she’s storing this absorbed energy in the same form as occurs naturally in dust, which would put burn in the same ‘family’ as coco’s hype or arrastra’s equilibrium…

…and would also mean that this statement:

some prefer to use dust in its raw form: elegant, yet destructive. those who choose to wield dust in this state must possess a certain level of discipline to ensure that their resulting powers do not break free of their control.

is true of burn, too. and that tracks with who yang is and how she uses her semblance—even in V1-3, yang takes a more head-on approach to fights and tends to soak up more damage before exploding bigger vs her increasingly nimble and even acrobatic style post-beacon, but her control over those massive volcanic eruptions is immaculate.

the way burn works in general requires that yang be very, very in control of her aura at all times because she needs to balance between absorbing energy to charge up her semblance while reflecting enough to prevent injury, and this is one reason why i think yang is probably the best out of the cast when it comes to using aura. ren might have her beat on the more spiritual, extra-sensory perception side of things, but yang has to keep her focus while getting hit harder than anyone else Because Physics.

and that brings us to neo one-shotting yang’s aura. here is what happens: cinder is gloating from atop a pillar of fire while people scream and run in a panic all around them, and out of the corner of her eye, yang sees a glint of steel and realizes that neo is about to stab her unsuspecting baby sister in the back, she’s too far away, she can’t get there fast enough—burn is, in that moment, a reflex. instinct. she panics and hurls herself in between neo and ruby without even thinking about it because the only thing in her mind is GET TO RUBY NOW.

and that’s why her aura just shatters. it requires concentration—you practice until it becomes instinctive, until you don’t need to think about it, muscle memory. but it still takes focus. intention. yang has incredible self-control and thus incredible control of her aura, but everyone has limits, and hers are “holy fuck that guy stabbed blake” and “neo is going to kill ruby go go go.”

her semblance in itself doesn’t make her defense any weaker—but when she’s terrified enough for burn to activate reflexively like this, her aura will break if she gets hit because she’s freaking out.

[1960z]

I changed my mind: I do have things to say. spoilers for the latest r&m episode (unmortricken)

ok so firstly I love love love how purposefully anticlimactic and unfulfilling it was. when I, and I think when a lot of other people too, envisioned this episode it was always an episode that looked a lot like rickmurai jack, which had so much build up, both in the overarching and immediate story and so many things were revealed that suddenly made sense of everything and it felt epic and emotional and just so cathartic. that’s what I always imagined this would be like. it wasn’t, and that was the point.

instead, we got this mid-season out of basically nowhere. we know rick’s been hunting prime for a while now, but it’s always been in the background for the most part. this didn’t feel like the culmination of everything, it all just kinda happened. and then at the end of the episode rick kills prime and it’s over. nothing. no explanation or understanding of why prime did what he did — rick just gets his revenge and now prime is dead and it’s done and nothing feels like it’s really changed because it hasn’t. which perfectly mirror’s rick’s own mental state about the whole thing. it wasn’t the satisfying closure he’d always envisioned in his head (even if he’d never admit that’s how he envisioned it lol.) evil morty even points this out: “how’s it feel? better? no? exactly the same? yeah. it always does.”

like in the back of our minds we all knew that killing prime wasn’t actually gonna fix anything for rick, but because of the general understanding of how stories are supposed to work we, or at least I, put that aside an expected to get to indulge in the fantasy that the end of this revenge plot would feel anything but hollow to someone actually experiencing it. and the way this episode was set up completely shattered that.

and the look on down from the bridge rick potion #9 call back really hammered all of that home. the ending to that episode is kind of what everyone thinks of when people think about the “nothing matters, we don’t matter and we’re all gonna die” mentality of the early seasons and making a call back to it… I don’t think it’s a return to that mentality but rather showing having that mentality didn’t save rick. he always looked down on caring about “the little things” because he knew none of it really mattered. but a cosmic multi-dimensional cat and mouse game ending in a revenge killing in the name of his dead wife? now that’s something to care about. and now it’s done and it didn’t really feel all that different to all those little things he insisted were unimportant. how does he find meaning now?

more than that, it’s also a good callback because of the revelation that the scenario is basically the same. in rick potion #9, the scene is a demonstration of morty’s shell shock of taking the place of a dead version of himself like it’s nothing and then having to live on in the monotony of said dead morty’s life as if it’s also nothing. and as prime aptly points out, rick is basically doing the same thing with prime’s life. rick slotted into the life prime left behind and is now living the life prime would be living if he hadn’t gone rouge: “hang out with my grandson. raise echoes of my daughter… I just walked into your garage before you walked into mine. but eventually you did. you lived in my house.” and now, prime is dead. queue look on down from the bridge.

“hope you’re happy with your choice.”

[miela]

Shattered Memories • Chapter V: The Do-Over • {Peter Parker x Stark!Reader}

Chapter Genre: Comical Angst, Comical Fluff Chapter Warnings: Very dialogue-heavy Masterlist

↪ divider by firefly-graphics

“FRIDAY,” you sighed. “When is a riddle, not a riddle?”

You were at the Avengers Compound in your lab with information about none other than Peter Parker displayed on every holographic screen. You questioned yourself many times when you did this, and you felt like the character in those movies who obsesses over something because they definitely know something but everyone else around thinks they’re crazy or something. You considered stopping and going on living your life but you, your dad in heaven, and everyone around you know that once you set your mind on something, you cannot stop until you fully understand it or are satisfied with the facts that you have. You needed to know this for your own mental and physical health and you just about had it with not having the answers.

“When you have all the answers,” FRIDAY responded.

“And when is a puzzle, not a puzzle?”

“When there is nothing to take apart and put back together.”

“So, whoever Peter Parker is, is both a riddle and a puzzle,” you began with frustration in your voice. “I don’t have all of the answers nor do I have all the pieces. FRIDAY, I think I’m going insane.”

You rubbed your hands down your face slowly to try and calm yourself down. You had another dream last night. A wet dream. A wet dream about the Faceless Boy. 

You couldn't get it out of your mind how…sweet he was. The way he touched you, kissed you, caressed you…he was so sweet and gentle and caring. He made you feel like you were the most precious thing in the world. Though you couldn't see his face, he kept eye contact with you. 

But of course, you woke up once again in a sweat and with a migraine. 

You were at your limit. 

“Incorrect," stated the AI. “You are just showing signs of obsession.”

Your face twisted. I’m not obsessed. I’m just tired. “Way to make me sound like a loser,”

“Also incorrect, you just need to know everything about everything before you are satisfied.”

You deadpanned and took a deep, annoyed breath as you leaned your head in your hands again. You wanted to throw and break something. 

“Trouble in paradise?” You heard a deep voice ask.

You look over to see Sam and Bucky in the doorway. Bucky was holding a brown paper bag that said sweet greens across it and Sam was leaning in the doorway.

It would have to be a fun time to be paradise, you thought.

"Sergeant Barnes. Captain Wilson." You responded. 

“Should we be concerned?” Sam asked, looking at all the Peter Parker content surrounding you. “Because this is not looking good on your part.”

Bucky and Sam were two of the only Avengers that were left after the big battle with Thanos. Since the whole ordeal, they’ve been like big brothers to you since then. You were thankful to have them in your life still because they’ve been nothing but supportive through everything that you have been through and you have done your best to give the same support to them. 

You rolled your eyes softly. “Is that my salad?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed, walking over and setting the bag next to you on the table you were currently sitting on top of.

“Thank you,” you opened the bag took out the food, and immediately began eating it hoping to get some dopamine and serotonin pumping in your system. 

“How can you eat that stuff all the time?” Bucky asked. “Isn’t too much of something unhealthy?” He looked up at the screens and then back at you.

You paused knowing what he was insinuating and sighed. “Brain food,” you replied. “You should try it sometime.”

He smiled in response and crossed his arms. “Alright smartass, wanna tell us why you're investigating this kid?”

“Not investigating him.”

“So then you're stalking him,” Sam asked.

“I’m not stalking him.”

“Well, you’re either investigating or stalking him. You gotta choose one.” Bucky replied again.

You looked at both men hard. “I’m studying him, thank you very much.”

They look at each other with looks of concern, confusion, and playfulness. 

“Stalking?” Sam asked.

“Stalking,” Bucky repeated but as a statement.

Sam turned his gaze back to you. “Sounds like stalking to me.”

“Yep, I agree.” 

“I’m not stalking him!” you exclaimed in frustration. “I’m trying to figure out who he is. You guys, wanna help? Help me figure out who he is and I can stop obsessing over it and move on with my life and run a company and be a normal fucking human being for once in half a decade, alright? If not, just leave me the hell alone to go insane.”

“Like I said, obsessive behavior,” FRIDAY added.

“Not in the mood, FRIDAY,” you responded as you put your food down harshly and rubbed your temples from the headache that had been forming since you woke up that morning from your dream about the Faceless Boy.

“Hey, kid,” Bucky spoke with a concerned tone. “Are you alright?”

Of course, you weren’t alright. After everything that you have gone through this month alone was making you sick. You had so much on your plate and so much to deal with that you had no idea how anyone made it through this before you. You may be being a tad bit dramatic, but you really didn’t care. Anybody in your position would most likely react the same way. You just wanted to figure this all out and move on with your life. 

“No.” You replied. “On so many levels, no.”

“What’s wrong?” Sam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on the table next to you as you sat on top of it. Bucky did the same on the other side. You sighed. How were you supposed to explain this entire situation to them without sounding like what you are appearing to be?  

“Promise me you won’t laugh.”

“Oh god,” Sam replied with a cringed wince.

“I’m serious,” you said sternly, looking at him hard. “I need you to promise me you won't laugh. Because if you laugh I swear to god,” you turned to Bucky. “I don’t care if you’re a super soldier,” You turned back to Sam. “And that your Captain America. I will kick both of your asses and web-cocoon you to the ceiling.”

Bucky snorted.

“Alright, little tough shit, calm down.” Sam smiled. “Promise.”

You looked to Bucky, who also promised. 

You take a deep breath to prepare yourself for what you’re about to say. “I’ve been having these…dreams...about a boy. But they’re more than dreams…they’re like...visions, vivid memories. But the thing is this boy doesn’t have a face and this has been going on for a while now. So when going through the Avengers files this came up.” You pull over the holo screen of Peter Parker’s file.

“So this is the infamous Peter Parker you asked us about.” 

“Famous actually,” You took another bite of your salad. “He’s an Avenger.”

Both of their faces twisted in confusion as they looked from you to the screen to each other searching for answers. 

“I’ve never seen him before,” Bucky stated.

“Me either,” Sam said with obvious confusion in his voice.

“Yeah and me three-ther.” You said as you click on a tab on his file and it pulls up information on Spiderman.

“He’s Spiderman?” Bucky asked but it came out more like a statement.

“Yeah,” You confirmed. “You guys don't recognize him and neither do I.”

They look at you with even more confusion and concern.

“Wait, you don’t?” Sam asked with doubt in his tone. “But y’all were partners in justice. Thick as thieves. The Iron Spider Duo. You two had inside jokes for days and were always with each other. How could you not recognize him or know his identity?”

“How can any of us not recognize him or know his identity?” you crossed your arms over your chest in thought.

“Well, we just figured he only showed you his true identity,” Bucky added. “We just thought he was shy or something.”

“Nah,” you shook your head. “He would trust you guys. He would trust all of us… unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless he did something wrong…or worse.”

“Okay, Like what?”

“I dunno, Bucky.” You replied and pointed your fork at his head. “What did I tell you about Brain Food?”

He deadpanned. 

“So you think that Spidey Parker is the boy with no face in your dreams?” Sam asked and you nodded. “But you can’t remember him.”

“Yes. I’m eighty percent sure that it’s him but I can’t remember that it’s him. So I’m unsure if it’s him. But my gut tells me that it’s him. So whenever I get too close to knowing, my head feels like it’s splitting in half and I end up with a migraine all day.”

“Do you have any clue how this all happened?”

“I have some hypotheses. One, if it is him and he did something bad and if we can't remember him, he somehow did it to cover his tracks. Two, if it is him and he didn’t do something bad and we can't remember him, someone did it to him to ruin his life. Three, Somehow too many people, or all people found out his identity and for his safety and the safety of others, he or someone else somehow made it so everyone doesn't remember him. Four, one of the big three is involved with some other unexplainable shit.”

“So you’re researching him,” Bucky said to no one in particular.

“Those are some good theories,” Sam responded. 

“But.” you started.  “There’s a question I've been brewing in my mind.” You put the bowl of greens down again. “If we can’t remember him are there others we can’t remember as well? Like a memory blip?”

A moment of silence fell between you guys. It was a thought that terrified all three of you. If one person can be forgotten by the world, who can say there aren't others? Who’s to say it’s not a villainous person? The more you thought about it, the more it struck fear in you. Anybody could just be forgotten and go on with their lives doing something. Or someone good in life has to start all over and be lonely.

Suddenly you felt bad for your other arachno-half.

“Have you tried talking to him?” Sam asked, breaking the silence.

You let out a deep sigh as you remember the entire event clearly. “Yeah…”

“And?”

“And, he won’t tell me anything, which is why I formed my hypotheses. But I get the vibe that he’s harmless.”

“How are you so sure?”

“We got bit by the same spider, I can sense his intentions.”

Another silence fell over you all for a moment. 

“We have to go on a mission for a few days,” Bucky stated. When we get back, we can help you figure all of this out.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

“In the meantime,” Sam added. “Don’t do anything you would do.”

You scoffed and smirked. “Alright, I’ll just do what my dad would do.”

“Nah, you stay put, alright?” Sam chuckled. “Focus on being one of the 1% who actually give a damn about something.”

You smiled at that. “Be safe.”

Bucky put a comforting hand on your shoulder with a smile, “Be good.”

And with that both of your big bro figures leave and you sighed as you looked up at the screens. You thought about the possibilities of your hypotheses, the conversation you had with MJ, and the discussion you just had with Sam and Bucky. You mentally laid everything out and tried to decipher the missing pieces that you didn’t have. 

Then it hit you. A light bulb went off in your mind. 

“FRIDAY, pull up my dream logs and the information about Me and Peter Parker that we have and put them in timeline order to the best of your ability.”

“On it,” The AI replied back and instantly went to work. “This may take a while.”

“Trust me,” you replied. “I’ve got time.”

It’s been a week since you walked back into Peter’s life and he hasn’t heard from you since. He knew why though. You were very busy, especially when you had an entire company to run and a family to attend to. Peter was pretty busy too so he had no idea that the days had come and gone so quickly. 

But he did have you on his mind the entire time. 

He was thinking about all the memories that you two had together that you didn’t have. Or maybe you did and his face just wasn’t there in any of them. He thought about you during class, during work, and patrols. His mind was just filled with you, you, you…

He didn’t mind. In fact, he was wondering how he could contact you again.

After classes ended, Peter met up with Gwen, Miles, and Harry again, He usually walked to the train station with Gwen and Miles to take the train home together. Cindy and Pav lived in the dorms so they would usually just go there after classes and relax for a bit before studying and doing homework.

Miles had his arm around Gwen’s shoulders and she had her arm around his waist. Peter thought the high school sweethearts were a cute pair but it only made him miss you more. He was both happy for them and also jealous of them and he felt very juvenile for it. 

“What are your plans for your day off of work, Peter?” Gwen asked.

Peter adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and shrugged. “Probably just gonna take it easy at home.”

“You’re not gonna just sit there and watch Star Wars again are you?” Harry asked with a playful groan in his tone. “I swear you can quote the script of every movie forward and backward.”

Peter laughed. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.” 

They walked out of the doors and down the steps of the historic building. The campus was filled with students going to and coming from classes in the New York City sun as they walked down the sidewalk. 

“So how are things with you and your girl going?” Miles asked. 

“Uhm…I haven’t spoken to her…in like….a week?” Peter said as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Dude?!” Gwen exclaimed and punched his arm slightly. “A week?! Really?!”

“She’s a busy person!” He defended.

“We’re all busy people!”

Peter turned and started walking backward on the sidewalk to face his friends as he addressed them. “Listen, I just don’t want to come off too strong too fast. I want things to go smoothly.”

That was only half true. In reality, he didn’t have your new number and he was terrified to call your office number at the Avengers Building and Nika answered the phone. 

“Yeah but a week?” Miles asked raising an eyebrow. “You could at least ask her how she’s doing and stuff like that.”

Peter chewed his lip as he stopped walking and his friends followed suit. “I mean…you’re right but…I don’t want to be overbearing and overwhelm her or anything. Especially considering everything happening with her, you know?”

“Yeah, totally,” Gwen replied not looking at him.

Peter noticed that they were looking right past him at something behind him and he followed their view. His face softened when he noticed a figure he wasn’t expecting to see.

There you were leaning up against a black convertible with a red interior. You were wearing your usual leather jacket with a black tee shirt tucked into a pair of fitted jeans and those Ghostface Doc Martens again. Peter concluded that this was your staple look. It was far from your oversized flannels, crop top tees, mom jeans, and Converse that you used to wear most days when you were seventeen. You wore a dark pair of sunglasses while scrolling through your phone. One of your legs was bent as your foot was flat against the door of the car. 

“Hey Parker, your girlfriend’s here.” Harry teased. 

“She’s not-...I mean she is-...I mean-” Peter didn’t even really know what to call you. “She’s not…my girlfriend…right now.”

“Oh? ‘Right now’?” Gwen also teased. “Maybe if you stopped fucking around she would be already.” 

Peter rolled his eyes at Gwen with a small grin. He turned to you and watched you for a moment. Man, you’re so pretty. And he wished that at this moment things were very different.

He wanted it to be that you came to pick him up after class and he would run up to you and pick you up spinning you in a circle and you would squeal and laugh happily. Then you would grab his face and kiss him deeply and show the world that you were his and he was yours. 

“Hey,” Harry elbowed him softly knocking him out of his daydream. “Staring at her like a creep won’t do anything but freak her out. Go talk to her.”

“R-right” Peter stuttered before taking a nervous breath. “Come on, Peter,” He said to himself, “you got this.”  

He started walking towards you and the more he did the more his senses began to pull towards you. You felt it too because you perked up and looked at him. The shaded lenses of your glasses faded to clear lenses and he saw your beautiful (e/c) eyes meet his. He stopped walking when you noticed him. 

“Parker!” You chimed. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He smiled as he stepped closer to you. “I should be saying that to you.”

“I was meeting with the admins about the gala. I plan on doing scholarships for incoming freshmen and offering financial aid to upperclassmen who are running out of money from the government. Same With MIT and the Ivy Leagues,” you explained. “But I thought I might catch you out here, so I stayed to say hello and to give you these.” You pulled a pair of glasses that were identical to yours and held them out to him. “They’re Stark Specs. Dad had blueprints made for them, one for me and one for you, so I decided to bring them to life. I connected EDITH and Karen to them and you can speak to them interchangeably. Don’t use them to cheat on your tests or anything, but I don’t control your life so do what you want.”

Peter chuckled and smiled. “Thanks (Y/N).”

“Don’t mention it,” You reply with a wave of your hand. “Try them on.”

Peter put them on and the glasses automatically began their work of data scan to identify him. Littler blue circles and squares showed up around the lens as they scanned his eyes to identify who he was. Beeping and other computer noises sounded as they worked and loaded information. His eyes darted from each thing that popped up on the screen out of curiosity. Once it finished five seconds later, there was a green bar that flashed in the corner of the screen that said “access granted” and “complete.”

“Hello, Peter,” EDITH Chimed. “Welcome to your new Stark Specs.”

“Uh, thank you…!” Peter replied. 

“Friend detected,” the AI said as it narrowed in on you and your glasses. “Hello FRIDAY.” 

“Hello EDITH,” Peter heard through his glasses.

“Whoa!” Peter replied with wide eyes as he looked at you. “Whoa…”

All of a sudden hearts start forming around your head through his lens. Peter blushed knowing that EDITH knows how he feels about you and with the Bestie Feature, she was messing with him probably just as much as Gwen or MJ would. He noticed that your smile was sheepish and he assumed FRIDAY was doing the same to you. 

“Pretty cool right?” You asked. 

“Yeah,” He smiled softly with hearts in his own eyes as he looked at you. 

“They also will detect whenever you are by any Stark Tech. It will help you on your…y’know.” You said referring to his hero duties.

“Oh yeah for sure,” He nodded understanding as he put his hands in his back pockets.

You smiled and looked behind him. “Friends of yours?”

Peter followed your gaze to his three friends who were looking at both of you eagerly before turning away to look at different things pretending they weren’t just eavesdropping on your conversation. Peter let out a breath of amusement nearly snorting at them before he looked back at you and nodded. 

Oh, those losers?” he responded in a playful tone. “Nah, they’re just whatever.”

“Huh?!” Gwen exclaimed hearing him.

You laughed softly at her outburst as she walked over and wrapped her arm around his neck.

“Hello,” Gwen smiled. “You must be the girl Parker can’t stop gushing about.”

Peter looked at Gwen with wide eyes as Harry walked over and put his arm around Peter’s neck as well with his arm resting over hers. Peter looked at Harry also with wide eyes and an unsure expression on his face. He got the feeling he was about to be tag-teamed by his friends. When Gwen starts some shenanigans, Harry soon follows suit, and vice versa. It’s something Peter had to get used to with them because once they start they don’t stop until they’re satisfied with themselves. It was like they shared a singular brain cell. Usually, Peter just laughs it off, but at the moment he really hoped that he wasn’t about to be the ass end of their lighthearted bullying.

Not in front of you anyways. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that kind of embarrassment as a makeshift first (really second or third depending on how one looks at it) impression.

“Hey Stark,” Harry smiled. 

“Osborn,” You smiled back. “I thought I might run into you here too but I had no idea you were friends with Parker.”

“Oh, this loser?” Harry replied in the same tone as Peter a few moments ago. “Nah, he’s whatever.”

You and Harry had known each other since middle school and spent your freshman year of High school together at Horizon High before you transferred to Midtown Tech your sophomore year. Peter remembered when you told him that you transferred because you didn’t want to go to a genius school when you just wanted to have a normal high school experience. You also couldn’t stand how stuck up a lot of the students were there. He was always thankful that you transferred otherwise your relationship would probably have been very different. 

You hummed in amusement and Peter blushed. He was definitely about the be the ass of the joke here. 

Peter cleared his throat and swallowed hard as Miles joined in by putting his arm around Gwen with a teasing smile on his face. He had a very different vision of how he thought this moment would go. 

“(Y/N),” Peter started before any of the others could attempt anything. “This is Gwen, Miles and…well you already know Harry. Guys, this is (Y/N).”

“Hello, (Y/N),” Gwen chimed. “It’s nice to meet the girl that has Peter so enamored.”

“Th-that’s a bit-”

“Yeah, it’s nice to meet you,” Miles also smiled. “He talks about you like nonstop, always daydreaming in class. Good thing he’s a genius or he would have been falling behind in class with how much he’s a million miles away.”

No not you too, Miles.

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Harry added. “He even doodles your name in his notebook when he should be taking notes. It’s kind of adorable.”

Peter pulled out of his rather annoying friend's grip and looked at them with a face of disbelief and shock. 

“Guys!” He whisper-yelled.

“Uh oh, we’re in trouble,” Harry sang as Gwen and Miles snickered. 

Peter wanted to run. He wanted to escape. He wanted to not be here at this very moment. He glanced at you to see you looking at him with an endearing smile. 

“Aw, you like me, Parker?” you asked.

“No,” he answered as a reflex. “I mean yes, but…I mean…I…”

Harry pat his back. “That’s our cue, guys.”

Gwen and Miles nodded and said little goodbyes before scurrying away with Harry and snickering at their antics to tease Peter to no end. He glanced at them as they left before turning back to you with a blush dancing across his cheeks, nose, and ears. 

“They seem nice,” you smile genuinely. 

“When they want to be,” Peter responded and rubbed the back of his neck embarrassed. “Sorry about them.”

“Nah, it’s fine really.” you chuckled. “They remind me of my friends.”

Peter smiled thinking about Celina, Ned, and MJ and sighed softly at how much he missed them. He loved his friends now but nothing compared to the history he had with all of you. 

“Are you busy?” You asked. “I promise I won’t corner and interrogate you again.”

“I have time,” Peter responded a little too eagerly for his liking. He mentally scolded himself.

“Great,” You smiled and shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “Wanna go for a ride?”

“Sure!” There goes that high-pitched voice again, he noted.

You giggled as you opened the car door. “You’re cute, Parker.” 

Peter blushed and made his way to the other side of the car. He’s pretty sure if you knew how he was last weekend at a party you wouldn’t find it so cute. He was thankful that his friends didn’t bring that up. He didn’t even wanna think about how humiliating that would’ve been if you knew he had a meltdown because his senses were crazy and craving you so badly. He just missed you so much and reacted in a not-so-healthy way. He wanted to put that all behind him and follow his friend’s advice about starting over with you. He got into the car and put his seatbelt on. 

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Where do you wanna go?” You asked as you put your phone on a dock that was connected to the dashboard. “It’s on me.”

“No, it’s okay! “I-I can pay for myself, it's fine.”

“Consider it an apology for disrupting your day last week.” you grinned as you turned the car on.

“You could never disrupt my day,” Peter mumbled, not realizing that he didn't keep that thought in his head.

“You're sweet,” you smiled in response. “But I’m still paying. So where do you wanna go?”

Peter smiled knowing how stubborn you can be and looked up in thought for a moment. “I can go for a good sandwich right now,”

“Okay,” You nodded. “I know a place.”

You backed the car out of the parking space and drove off. Peter took the time to notice how customized your car was on the inside with various Stark Tech and a fiery red interior and yet the exterior was of a classic sixties Mustang. Peter figured it was your way of being discrete. 

You turned on the music in the car and to Peter’s surprise, it started playing a song that pulled at his heartstrings. 

It’s our love song.

One of the ways you and Peter communicated your feelings to each other in your relationship was through music. He sent this very song when he first said those famous three words and eight letters to you and gave you the necklace that he still keeps close to him. He decided that when you two got closer, he would give the necklace back to you. 

“Oh my god,” you smiled big. “I love this song.” You started singing the lyrics and glanced over at Peter a few times as you sang the first verse. 

Hey, hey, hey, lover

You don't have to be a star

Hey, hey, hey, lover 

I love you just the way you are

For love is just the same

Without fortune or fame

Just give me

True love and understanding

True love and understanding

Peter watched you and smiled as tears brimmed his eyes behind his shaded stark specs. He was so thankful that they automatically shaded themselves earlier. 

“Come on, Parker,” you giggled. “I know you know this song. Sing with me!”

Peter laughs and wipes his eyes as he begins to sing. 

Hey, hey, hey, lover

You don't have to be a queen

Hey, hey, hey, lover

You don't have to have a thing

For I'll be satisfied

Long as you are my bride

Just give me

True love and understanding

True love and understanding

For the rest of my days

You smile listening to him sing before join in to sing the rest of the chorus together. 

No, you shouldn't have to worry

Love's no problem in my hands

Just know I really, really, love you

And in your heart, I'd be a big man

Hey, lover, won't you treat me right

And be with me tonight?

Just give me

True love and understanding

True love and understanding

For the rest of my days

You both laughed as the song continued to play. Peter looked down at his hands contemplating his next words carefully.

“I…uh…showed you this song,” he said sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. 

“Did you?” you asked. “So I have you to thank for this being in my playlist. Well, you have good taste in music.”

Peter smiled as you hummed the rest of the song to yourself. In this moment, he was truly the happiest he has been in a while and couldn’t wait to create new memories with you. Even if you couldn’t remember the history you had together, at least you were back in his life to create new beginnings.

~

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@chrisevans-realwife @riordanness @peterdarlingg @thecrystalclarity @brckenmemories @paleprincesssxo @blackcanary130