#bones being the hero here is amazing

[hornyverymuch]

so I thought I was prepared for Amok Time, but holy shit I was not-

[major spoilers for that episode (S2E1) and S1]

I still haven't made a post about S1 finale and, that one was a lot as well let me tell you that

I heard about Amok Time even before starting Star Trek and spoiled myself like 70% of it, but still, watching the full episode was so much gayer than I ever could've imagined holy fuck-

but seriously now, the James Kirk, the same one who follows orders no matter what (not even giving himself time to mourn his brother when he found out he's dead, and well, he had a mission with millions of lives at stake) but what I mean is he always wants to follow orders and be the perfect captain everyone sees him as, so it's amazing seeing him being "fuck that meeting, Spock's life is far more important than that" and even though it's obvious, Kirk still would probably suffer repercussions, because superiors can be dicks like that (no greater than Spock's dying, but still good to see Kirk having his priorities straight, as straight as you can have while not being one)

Funny enough, even though Bones' comments or remarks towards Spock can be mean and hurtful at times, he cares greatly about him (defended him against Kirk of all people in The Menagerie, and was worried for him in Operation: Annihilate!) and yet here Kirk is the first one here to spit out facts first

also about Bones, it's so amazing that Kirk is alive all thanks to Bones' quick thinking, he saved their gay asses and I absolutely love that

it's an important episode when it comes to Spirk, but honestly, this ep also perfectly highlights how strong the friendship between all 3 of them is, Bones won't let these chaotic bitches die and I love him for it

also just... this fucking scene, I don't even know how some people have a heterosexual explanation for this

bonus: since it's a post about Amok Time, here's the obligatory top surgery scars wounds pic

probably gonna make more posts about Amok Time, I could post most scenes as screenshots there's so much happening, what a fucking start to the second season holy shit-

[kayceecruz]

Ok, here's why I didn't have a problem with Colin in Part 2. He was processing so many emotions.

1. This man is so in love with Pen, has been by his own admission, for a long time that he was completely blindsided by her secret. Colin is unhinged with his love on good days. Their confrontation was heated, but his devastation more than his anger was the focus. He loves her, and she's been lying. So, he lashed out and said things he didn't even believe because he couldn't process his feelings.

He gets to feel this way, imo. Penelope of all people knows him best and what he was going through, which is why she was so gently firm and understanding with him.

2. Once he processed the lie, then came the feelings of fear for her and them if Lady Whistledown was unmasked. It's a big deal if not handled right. (Book made a point of this, too) She doesn't quite have that fear, which pisses him off because anything could happen to his wife, and Colin is not having that shit. So they fight, and she stops him cold with her yelling her love at him, which leads to heavy petting session and his beginning to thaw.

3. He honestly can not understand why Penelope loves him. This one is really his own self-worth, which he has been wrestling with his whole life, but he looks at her, this amazing woman who apparently is one of the most influential people and he cannot grasp why she loves him. He doesn't understand that she loves the bones of him and he is afraid she can't love him they way he does her.

4. He wants to be her hero so badly because she is his. He doesn't realize he already is by just being him because he has never been enough before.

5. He literally wants her always, and no matter how mad he is, that doesn't change, so he needs to reconcile that.

Imagine you are Colin and having to process all of this in the span of like a week? It's a lot, friends. It's why Pen gives him so much grace but forces him to confront those feelings.

From where I was sitting, they handled all that really well.

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Guilty as Sin?

James Potter x f!reader (mentioned), Remus Lupin x f!reader

warnings: smut, protected p in v, lots of descriptions of what ifs (you’ll understand with the song), underage smoking, if you squint it may just be cheating but oh well, this is so good to me

summary: someone once told you, there’s no such thing as bad thoughts… right?

word count: 3k

a/n: i’m in love with this song from taylor’s new album!!! sorry if this characterization isn’t what you like but this concept has been eating me alive. i love remus tho. might be a part two if you guys want !!!

part two is here!!

~~~

Drowning in the Blue Nile

He sent me “Downtown Lights”

I hadn’t heard it in a while

~~~

“Oi y/n!”

You turned on your heels at the sound of your name being called. Down the hallway, you could see James Potter striding toward you. Despite the bodies of other students that filled the hall, you could see he was holding something in his hand. It looked big, and as he came closer and closer you could see more and more of what it was.

“Hello James, something I can help you with?” You asked once he was close enough to hear your normal tone. You looked down at his hands, you could see what he was holding clearly, it was a record. And from the cover of it, it looked to be a muggle one. “What’s that?”

James smiled his intoxicating smile and held the record up. “Something for you.”

You gasped and one of your hands moved up to cover your mouth. In his hands, he held the latest album of your favorite singer, Heroes by David Bowie. It had come out in October, and every time you searched for it, it was sold out. You traced your eyes over the beautiful shining black and white cover, you were practically speechless.

“How did you- when did you- James...”

“I have my ways, don’t worry about it,” the black-haired boy replied with a small laugh.

“It’s not close enough to be a Christmas gift, and you know my birthday isn’t till spring,” you observed out loud. Your eyes met his again and you blinked. “So, what’s this for?”

He shrugged. “For the past few weeks, I haven’t been the only one to take notice of how much you’ve been playing Bowie in the common room. And I heard you talking to Moony about how you haven’t got the new album yet... so here it is.”

He held it out to you and with delicate hands, you accepted the gift, still amazed. “James, you didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to,” he said as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m surprised Moony didn’t already get it for you.”

“Yeah...” You looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes again, and you smiled. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Play it tonight, put it to use. Anyway, I’ve got to run, I’m supposed to be helping Peter with his Charms homework. See you at dinner.”

He gave you another smile before turning and walking back the way he came. You were too preoccupied with the flawless record in your hands to say goodbye. For a split second, you felt your heart flutter with a feeling you knew you shouldn’t have felt. So, you pushed it away and restarted your walk to the dungeons.

You knew better than to let those thoughts linger in the open hallway.

~~~

My boredom’s bone-deep

This cage was once just fine

Am I allowed to cry?

~~~

“James got that for you?”

You had just put the record on, and the sound of David Bowie's voice began to fill the Gryffindor common room. Your cheeks almost hurt from how much you’d been smiling. On one of the couches, your boyfriend Remus sat, his typical book in his lap. You turned and flung yourself on the open spot next to him, nodding your head to the beat of the song.

“Yeah, he gave it to me earlier, isn’t it wonderful?”

Remus nodded; his eyes locked on his book. “It’s definitely something.”

You rolled your eyes. “You like Bowie too last I checked.”

“You play him so much I’m surprised not everyone likes him,” Remus replied. Suddenly he shut his book and turned his head to look at you. For a split second, you felt hope that he was going to just listen with you. But of course, that wasn’t the case. Instead, he rose from the couch. “I can’t concentrate with it playing, I’m going to go read in my dorm.”

“But we barely spend any time together Rem, unless it’s a shag,” you protested, anger suddenly taking you over. “When’s the last time we went on a proper date? Or anything at all? I’m so bored of this.”

Remus as usual, kept his composer and showed no sign of any emotion. “If you’re so bored you’re welcome to leave me.”

“You know that’s not what I want,” you said.

“Then I’m not sure what to tell you. You’re welcome to join me, you know where to find me.”

He left before you could say anything else.

You ran your hands over your face in frustration. How did your relationship come to this? You started dating Remus in fifth year, and it had been the happiest moment of your life. He was your first love, the boy you shared almost all of your firsts with actually. You loved him more than anyone, yet it never seemed to be enough. So, you began to give up.

After all, it was your last year at Hogwarts, after it ended, you’d never have to see him again. Because really, was so much pain worth a moment of happiness? You didn’t believe so anymore.

Instead of following him up to his dorm as you would have the year prior, you simply laid back on the couch and enjoyed the first listen of the album.

~~~

I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves or the ocean rocks

Crashing into him tonight, he’s a paradox

I’m seeing visions, am I bad?

Or mad? Or wise?

~~~

The first time you ever thought of James in the way you knew you shouldn’t be was about a year into your relationship with Remus. After he had begun his distant behavior, his cold manners, and all those awful things. Previously, you had only ever felt attracted to the one Marauder. You saw Peter as a sweet little brother, you saw Sirius as an older annoying brother, and you saw James as well, a friend. That was until one late December night.

You and Remus had one of your arguments and you went outside for a smoke to help with your anxiety. For a few minutes, you sat in silence, the cold air and smoke in your lungs a great distraction from the boiling fears that consumed your mind. You were afraid to lose Remus. More than afraid. So, you inhaled a deep puff of the cigarette to focus on something else.

“You’ll catch a cold out here you know.”

You jumped at the sudden sound of a voice. James sat next to you, and you were perplexed at how he managed to sneak into the spot so quietly. You were also confused as to why he was there in the first place.

“If that’s the case then why are you out here?” You questioned as you let out a cloud of smoke.

He held up his hand and you passed it to him. “I had a... date anyway Filtch was in the corridor, so I ran out here. I doubt he followed, he and Mrs. Norris hate this time of year.” He inhaled a deep breath and passed the cigarette back to you. “Why are you out here?”

“A date? Is that what they call a shag now?” You laughed for a few seconds before your frown resurfaced. “Remus and I had a disagreement. We both said some nasty things, I needed to clear my head.”

“Ah, lovers quarrel. Are you all right? Remus can say some pretty nasty things when he’s mad,” James said as he pushed his glasses back up his nose.

You stared at him in silence for a moment. Never before had you realized how attractive he really was. Sirius was known to be the most attractive of the Marauders, but his crude personality, at least in your opinion, always outshined his natural features. James, however, since the start of sixth year, had matured. That meant he was no longer solely physically attractive; he also had an attractive personality. He was funny, caring, outgoing, and a leader. And of course, he was six feet tall with curly black hair and a perfect smile. Who wouldn’t be attracted to that?

You swallowed away the tingly feeling that shot through your fingers as you passed him the cigarette again.

He’s your boyfriend's best mate, stop thinking like that. You thought to yourself.

But as you watched him exhale another breath of smoke you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about how his perfect lips would feel against yours.

“I’m sure you two will make up by the end of the night, he really loves you,” he spoke. His eyes caught yours, you could see the small smirk on his all too good-looking lips. “Who wouldn’t fancy a girl like you anyway?”

“A lot of guys actually,” you responded.

His hazel eyes were practically glowing. “They’re blokes. Have you seen yourself y/n? You’re pretty, smart, funny, and you have a fascinating music taste. And anything Remus might’ve said to make you feel less than perfect well... he didn’t mean it. Trust me, that wouldn’t be possible.”

You laughed. “What? Me being less than perfect or Remus meaning what he said?”

“Both,” James answered.

He must’ve felt it too. That pull. You almost considered moving closer to him, but before you could make the decision James stood. You were relieved, the spell was broken. Your senses came back. You shouldn’t have even thought about what it would feel like to kiss James Potter.

“Let’s get back up to the tower, it’s pretty fucking cold,” he said.

You only nodded and threw your cigarette to the ground, crushing it with your sneaker after you stood. “All right.”

The two of you walked back up silently and you were greeted by an apologetic Remus. As he held you in his arms though, all you could think about were the thoughts you had previously thought.

~~~

What if he’s written “mine” on my upper thigh only in my mind?

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

My bedsheets are ablaze, I’ve screamed his name

Building up like waves crashing over my grave

~~~

You gripped the red sheets of Remus’s bed so hard your knuckles turned white. Your breathing was heavy and unsteady. You tried to lean your head up to kiss him, but he wasn’t paying attention. It was something you’d grown used to. He liked to fuck you hard, not soft, not lovingly. No. He liked it intensely. You did too, but you also liked being gently taken care of.

Too bad he didn’t enjoy that anymore.

“Rem I-”

“I’m- almost done.” He cut you off, his breathless voice which once made you squirm now made you angry.

It was despicable, it was so wrong. And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it.

You closed your eyes and began to imagine someone else on top of you. Instantly, you felt a rush of heat to your cheeks at the picture in your mind. He would be so much more careful, and considerate. You’d heard from many girls how good of a lover he was. All of them would dote on how much he liked pleasing them. With his fingers, his mouth, and his...

You tried to squeeze your thighs together.

You should’ve stopped, you knew that. But your mind kept going.

You pictured him on top of you. His curls would be so soft. His hands would be callused from Quidditch. He’d use them on you, make you cum over and over again. You imagined how he’d curl his fingers so perfectly inside you.

“That’s it, my perfect girl,” he’d whisper to you as he went on with it. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you?”

Suddenly, without warning, you felt yourself reach a peak you hadn’t reached in a while. You squeezed your eyes shut and came at the thought of how good James Potter's praises would make you feel.

When Remus was done, he lay next to you on the bed breathless. “You came?”

You only stared at the top of his bed. “Yeah.”

~~~

These fatal fantasies

Giving way to labored breath, takin all of me

We’ve already done it in my head

If it’s make-believe

Why does it feel like a vow we’ll both uphold somehow?

~~~

There was something so exhilarating about being around James. Especially when the two of you were alone. It was as though every time the two of you had a moment alone, he gave you another reason to keep your fantasies going. Often, it made you wonder if he knew of your terrible thoughts.

The two of you sat by the black lake, the rest of your friends were further away playing a game of football. It was funny watching Lily get frustrated trying to explain the rules to Sirius, but it was even funnier when James commented on it from beside you.

“Oh no, he picked it up again. Evans is almost turning as red as her hair, I worry for her health,” the boy with glasses joked.

You snorted. “She’s going to have a heart attack from that boy mark my words.”

“I believe that. ‘Suppose it’s a good thing she’s thinking about becoming a Healer,” he replied.

You threw your head back as you laughed, one of your hands flying up to grip James’s arm. After a few seconds though, you composed yourself and pulled your hand off him as though it had been burned. Your eyes immediately found Remus across the field. He paid you no mind.

“Y/n can I ask you something a little personal?” James asked.

Your eyes met his and you didn’t hesitate to nod. “Sure.”

“You and Remus, things aren’t good between the two of you.”

“What gave that away?” You faked a smile. “But that’s not a question love.”

He really smiled. “I know. Sorry. My question was why are you still with him if things between the two of you are like this? I understand being in love, Merlin I tried to get Evans to go out with me for ages. But you and Moony... You used to be in our room all the time, you guys used to be so happy and I dunno around each other. Do you guys even go out anymore? I haven’t seen a snog between the two of you in a while.”

You inhaled a deep breath, your attention moving to the blade of grass between your fingers. “I suppose I’m afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Yes, afraid. Rem he- he's my first everything and I dunno. If we broke up the friend group would be torn, and everything would be complicated. I suppose it’s just easier this way,” you answered. You hadn’t been this honest about how you felt in a long time. It felt good. And it felt even better when you caught James’s caring eyes.

“Do you love him?”

His question caught you off guard. “I did. I still think I do.”

You watched him look across the field for a few seconds before he did something you never would’ve expected. Ever so gently, he placed his hand over yours on the grass. All you could do was stare wildly into his eyes. Was this supposed to make your heart race and your face red?

“I care about you y/n, and I care about Remus as well. I want what’s best for both of you and if I’m being honest, I don’t think that’s with each other,” he said softly.

“Have you said this to him then?” You questioned, you found it hard to breathe with the feeling of his rough hand on yours.

James nodded. “Of course I have. He doesn’t like advice that much though.”

“He really doesn’t does he?” You mumbled.

“No, he doesn’t. But either of you can talk to me about anything. You know that right? You don’t have to be afraid of anything y/n. Even if you do break up I’ll be here for you, you won’t be alone. Course you have Lily and Mary and Marlene as well but...” You watched his face change as he trailed off. “I dunno. I thought it would be different with me.”

“Different?” You held your breath. “How so?”

His thumb moved across your skin; you bit down on your lip.

“You know...” he trailed off again, his voice quieter than before.

All you could think about was how good it would feel to pounce on top of him and kiss him till you couldn’t breathe. You’d do it, even out there in the open. You imagined how intense and fast it would be. A few minutes at most but a lifetime of pleasure no doubt. He’d make you feel things you hadn’t felt in ages, he’d do whatever you asked. That’s just the person he was.

“James, you don’t even know the half of it,” you admitted softly.

“Love, I think I do.”

You could’ve fainted right then and there. His eyes were so mesmerizing, his voice sent goosebumps all over your body. It was terrible, despicable, and tragic. But oh, how fucking good it felt to be seen again. And as it seemed, James really saw you.

“James we can’t-”

“We aren’t doing anything.” He leaned closer to you. “And besides there’s no such thing as bad thoughts. Only your actions talk.”

“So you-”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“James...”

“I know I must sound like a god-awful prat but believe me I don’t want the two of you to break up so we can... No. I want you two to break up because both of you are miserable. And I do really care about the both of you, you’re my mates.” He explained quickly.

You turned back to the field and saw Remus slowly approaching. Without thinking you ripped your hand away from James’s as fast as you could and stood up. You took a few deep breaths before you looked down at James.

“If Remus and I do break up, I want you to know it’s not because of... all right?”

“All right.” He nodded.

“Good,” you said before turning and making your way out to Remus.

You knew what he wanted to do, and you would oblige.

You had about ten thousand more fantasies to think of during it anyway.

[nikki0606]

my best | Bakugou X reader

reader; quirkless midway | part 1 (had this published back in 2021- which is why the storyline is just dramatic, some parts were just cringe to read (near-death-experience-cringe-level)-- and have edited it now, used to be a reader-favourite)

"Don't you dare, Bakugou Katsuki!" you barely manage to push him back and hurry to help Midoriya.

"Fucking bitch, who the hell do you think you're pushing, eh?" it's always the boys around in his gang who begin the retaliation, not even Bakugou himself.

"Oh, did I put a scratch on your pretty little boy? Run off if you don't intend to have broken bones before you reach home!" your eyes narrow dangerously and you step forward.

Many of them scoff. Bakugou's gaze stays deadset on your face, however.

"A quirkless bitch on you can barely lay a finger on me." one of the boys steps towards you pushing his sleeves back but you're quick to kick his shin hard and land another one in his abdomen.

If there's one thing living alone has taught you, it's being quick with your reflexes and actions because that in itself is the sole way you can overpower people in danger.

"Looks like a person with a pitiful quirk doesn't get a say." your words are a lot more vicious than intended– quirks has always been a sensitive topic for you to begin with.

Your parents put you up with quite the torture when you didn't inherit either of their quirks.

Something between a scoff and a snort escapes Bakugou's lips, he turns away.

"Dude– did you see that?" the others turn to him in frustration, "She pushed you and even hurt Makoto!" the boy speaking opens his mouth again but lets out only a hiss when you stomp his foot.

The reason they don't fight back is because Bakugou told them not to, you're aware of it.

Bakugou doesn't want anything on his record before he joins U.A. and so he wouldn't ever physically hurt you, a girl, although he does have quite sharp of a tongue himself.

"And?" his head turns back to you momentarily, you find an odd twitch behind the blood-red orbs.

"Does mister wannabe hero want one too?" you sugar-coat your words with venom.

"I could kill you in a second." he says coolly.

Internally, you're amazed by the sheer confidence and power in his voice as well as with the odd, rigid tenderness he can word his power in but like every single time, you don't show it.

Because no matter how admirable the rest of his personality is, Bakugo Katsuki is only a bully to you. You'd never let him be more.

"Mh?" you let out a challenging hum, "Go on then, try."

Bakugou stares at you for another moment before lightly shaking his head and turning to the other boys, starts shouting, "The fuck sort of extras are you to be beat up by a fucking stupid little quirkless shit like her, huh?!" his head turns back to you, "And you, cheeky little bitch," he grabs your arm, "come with me." and drags you along too fast for you to stop him.

"What the fuck?" you pull yourself away the moment he's slowed down and notice only now that the both of you are behind the school building.

"Try, huh? You think you'll fucking survive a blow of mine?" he closes in angrily making you step further and further back until you're against the wall, then lets his lips tug upwards in some sort of a smirk.

"A-And what makes you think I won't?" you try your best to keep composure despite the shock from unexpected behaviour from him.

Truth be told, Bakugou can kill you. Whether he will or not, you don't know.

You may find him really cool at times, but then again, he's only just a bully and your trust for him lies in the negative.

"You're quirkless, bitch. You go running your little shitty mouth around like this and someday someone's going to punch it shut." his eyes narrow, "You think you can defend yourself from people with quirks like mine? The only thing you can do is let someone protect you– "

His words pinch you in the wrong spots.

A sheath of clear fluid fills your eyes, "So says the big old bully– well here's the truth for you, Bakugou– " words fall out of your mouth before you can process them, "you will never become a hero! I'll tell you if I have to– a fucking bully like you is already a stupid, mean villain and you can't ever change that!"

The only thing I can do is– ah.

Living alone has taught you another thing; no one can do anything without a cost. This protection would be at cost of every ounce of life left in you.

Your parents left you because you didn't inherit their quirks– what phase in life they were in to need you to have it, you don't know. All you are sure of is that those responsible for your origin didn't "protect" you.

The only one who has ever protected you is you yourself.

"You think U.A. will ever like an asshole like you to ruin their reputation? Wake the fuck up, Bakugou Katsuki, you're already walking down a villain's path– you're already torturing and hurting your own childhood friends. Who in their fucking right mind would trust you as a hero?"

Bakugou's eyebrows have furrowed, his lips twitch but not a sound escapes them.

"I keep running my mouth around? Fucking blame me– there's shitty excuses for human beings like you walking around as if they actually mean anything to any fucking person and you expect me to shut up and sit quiet?! Let me get punched if that's what'll happen, I'm not having a stupid fucking villain's bullshit bullying at my watch!"

Pure silence echoes in the air for a moment, only the sounds of your long, irregular breaths fill this gap.

"Big words." Bakugou's voice has never been smaller, you barely can make out how he's processing your words, "Really big words.. "

"You're a dick." your lips tremble, eyes venting through rivers of tears, "I fucking hate everything about you– you're so pathetic, Bakugou. You're such a.. disgrace."

Something twirls in his eyes again. This time, it's an emotion you've never before seen him have.

"Only you and your little puppy Deku aren't disgraces, everyone else is, no?" his characteristic hostility is absent, you don't know what to make from this but barely care at the moment.

"Izukkun is already more of a hero than you can ever become." you try to push him away from you, "You fucking bastard, all you do is bully him like any cheap street thug– "

On instinct, Bakugou push you back.

What he doesn't realise is that you're much more frail than you look, and that he's much stronger than he does.

His push is strong, you're rammed into the wall hard and hiss out in pain clutching the back of your head and losing balance instantly to fall onto your knees.

From this position, you see his feet take him away.

That's the last time the both of you exchanged any contact at all that month.

Every time you'd look his way, Bakugou would avert his gaze. Everytime you'd pass by him in a corridor or require to approach him for classroom chores, he would pull up a perfect act as if you'd never existed in the first place.

An odd feeling of uneasiness keeps growing inside you by the passing moment and you barely know how to handle it let alone handle this odd situation with Bakugou.

Of course, all thought lead to only a single solution– confront him.

You've come to accept you spoke too much that day and that maybe his warning of not running your mouth too much was indeed something you should have thought upon.

Bakugou Katsuki may be a bully but you don't think of him as a villain at all. You know for a fact that nothing can take him down that line.

Words said that day were aimed to hurt him and the past month proves that they did.

All you did was under influence of your anger and naturally, you find yourself regretting everything.

You catch him leaving school the next day.

He doesn't turn on your call but his gang of boys do. They look more annoyed than ever– you know at this point they all hate you more than anything, especially considering how they keep on getting kicked by you and are unable to respond because of Bakugou.

"You're going to pay for being such a cheap little bitch." one of them hisses out, "You've got Bakugou mad now, he's going to blow your head to bits."

"A kick each isn't enough for you all?" you hate them all equally, "Looks like I'll have to do overtime handling a bunch of bratty kids with no shame."

"Shut that trap of yours, you little hoe." another one seems too far fed up with you, "Go suck your boy Midoriya's dick– he's the only one who wouldn't be able to handle your shitty self."

Bakugou stops at that and turns to the boy. There isn't an expression on his face.

An odd hope in your finds yourself wait for a minute to see if he replies to the guy by at least saying he's going too far but Bakugou does nothing.

A frown settles on your lips as the other boys start talking shit too.

"Looks like you're really enjoying this." your gaze and words are directed solely on Bakugou's face.

He doesn't bother turning to you at all but you can tell he knows who you're talking to and intentionally keeps his expressions turned away.

After your words however, a ghost of a frown mimics yours on his expression but he turns his head back too quick for you to see and starts walking off.

His minions walk off too though they keep on muttering cusses along the way.

"Yeah, go away, coward!" you hear yourself call out to him, "Fuck off!"

And this worsens your original purpose of the interaction– Bakugou doesn't talk to you for another week.

Midoriya has been noticing things being awry with you since some time now. It took him barely a moment to figure out this concerns Bakugou too.

He could tell you've noticed his observations and so have begun to avoid any sort of confrontation from his side about the chronic sour mood you've had.

At first, Midoriya was only just concerned. He'd assumed you'd eventually figure it out like you figure out most stuff but this didn't happen.

When this didn't seem to happen, he tried asking you but you wouldn't tell. Slowly and gradually, you began avoiding him to avoid the confrontations.

This made no sense to him, you'd never do anything of the sort in even the worst of situations.

Midoriya knows only one other way to understand what has happened and that is Bakugou Katsuki.

Bakugou Katsuki thinks not.

"You damned Deku–" the boy is slammed against a wall in an alleyway, "You think you're fucking something? You think you're gonna be a hero, eh?"

"K-Kacchan– I.. " Midoriya can't stop trembling under the sparks going off over his head, "I-I.. I just want to know– (Name)– " but the boy seems to only get madder at your mention.

This confirms Midoriya's observations.

"You think you're fucking better than me?" there is more than the usual twinge of emotions in Bakugou's words as he says this every time. Midoriya wonders through his panic about what all could have gone wrong.

"H-He is.. " a small broke voice makes the both of them snap their necks to the side only to instantly freeze in shock.

"(Name).. ?" it's Bakugou who manages to call you out and not Midoriya whose shock is prolonged, "What.. Wh-What the fuck did you do.. ?" he begins towards you.

You barely manage to stand straight and look at them with the bleeding leg and swollen eye. There is a haywire of messages of pain in your brain from all throughout your body and you can barely process anything.

"What.. " Midoriya's foot takes a first step, stopping once again at the sight of the shirt you're wearing almost torn off, " .. Hey.. "

Bakugou clearly doesn't know what to do– he's reached you already but is just examining every one of your wounds, his eyes and hands twitching in urge to do something.

"Asshole.. " the word just rolls out of your tongue as Midoriya approaches and you let yourself fall against him, "Why.. Why'd you let them do this?"

Bakugou doesn't understand. Midoriya doesn't either.

"I.. th-thought you told them not to hurt me.. " you cough out some blood but this isn't because of the violence you've gotten yourself into.

The boys both stand in shock for a moment now having realised what happened to you. Bakugou's eyes thunder with an odd mix of guilt and something you can't identify.

Midoriya's expressions change too– it seems your words are enough to give both the boys an idea of what happened.

Bakugou in particular looks shaken, you assume because he was aware of how much his group of lackeys hated you.

"I.. I'm sorry.. "

You're surprised hearing the words, you'd never thought he had it in him to let them out.

The look on his face alone proves all they said was bullshit– Bakugou Katsuki did not allow them to hurt you, they did it on will and only used his name.

All the things they said about him are probably untrue too.

A massive boulder lifts from your chest, the knowledge of Bakugou not actually thinking of you as the terms they said he did is a massive relief.

Flickering red orbs contrast against flickering green. Your hazy gaze knows not to focus on either.

"I.. should've.. " Bakugou looks peaky.

If you didn't know better than to hope from him, you'd assume he's guilty for not being able to protect you against the others.

"W-We," he swallows drly, "will be going to the doctor right away." he swiftly picks you in his arms, and struggle to hold you as you protest, "You're fucking bleeding all over– just calm down, (Name)– "

"Please.. " Midoriya has tears in his eyes, "Just do as he says.. we're going to a doctor right away!"

For this once, you decide to listen to him.

.

"You have visitors." the nurse comes in, an odd pity in her eyes.

You nod shortly not at all interested to know who would come to meet you. All you care about is meeting Midoriya and Bakugou once more before time runs out.

Maybe some words before you leave the world forever might stick by Bakugou and he stops bullying Midoriya?

You'd always been pretty tough against everything in life not at all bothered about what consequences will follow because of one sole fact.

Ever since you were little, you've been diagnosed with some terminal illness which your parents never cared to get treated because you were no use to them.

A bunch of boys beating you up didn't matter– what had hurt you back then was when they had said Bakugou allowed them to.

It was only later when you actually ran into Midoriya and Bakugou that the realisation surfaced that he, in fact, would never hurt a girl let alone hurt you of all people.

Bakugou Katsuki for some reason doesn't dislike you, not even the way he dislikes Midoriya.

This is odd considering you're the one annoying him more mostly.

You're not complaining, however. It's good living in this delusion of partially believing he probably is kinder to you than most people, that's the most care you're getting out of him.

Ah.. him of all people.

People often realise things they've been in denial with for ages once on the deathbed. You have too, only, this "realisation" for you is acceptance that maybe admiration for Bakugou Katsuki wasn't just admiration.

Maybe, the reason why it hurt you as much when he bullied was because you internally constantly are pleased by the few kinder moments from him.

"May we come in?" a man you don't know but find oddly familiar opens the door. Bakugou entering right after confirms your doubts.

"Hello (L/n) (Name). I'm Bakugou Masaru, Katsuki's father. We couldn't find any method to contact your parents." he lets Bakugou sit on the chair by your side, "Can we get any of their numbers or something else?"

A moment of silence precedes your words, "I don't live with them anymore.. they left me when my quirk didn't develop."

You've never before told anyone this part but it doesn't matter anymore if you're not going to live anymore. You wonder if the doctor has yet told Bakugou Masaru about your illness– there shouldn't be a reason for him to questioning anything from you then, no?

He nods at you, then tells Bakugou to take care before he walks out to talk to the doctors.

You turn to the boy once he's out of sight, " ..Bakugou.. "

He doesn't look up at you but lets out a small hum acknowledging your call.

" ..I'm sorry.. " you hear yourself say, mood shifting within the fraction of a second and eyes brimming with tears now, " ..for everything."

"Don't act like those stupid extras.. " the words are way too calm and low from his words to sound offensive in any way, " ..don't cry."

But you can't stop crying now.

It's the end of your life and a guy you unknowingly developed a bunch of feelings for is the one who would bid you off. The only desire you'd have is to meet your best friend Midoriya but that's not too tough to get managed but now as you sit on the bed covered in bandages and waiting for the end to draw near within a few weeks as predicted, you can't help but want to live.

The world looks so beautiful all of a sudden.

It's such a waste to die this way.

"Oi.. " Bakugou is shifting in his seat. He has lifted his head up finally and you can see his expressions– he looks distressed.

You've never before seen the ruby-red orbs flicker with such a broken gray behind them, it's almost painful to watch.

"I told you to not cry, didn't I?" his voice is butter-like, it complements the sweet fragrance swimming in the air around me, "Quiet down now."

"Bakugou.. " your breath hitches several times when you turn you him, "I.. " but it seems he already knows must of what you'll want to convey.

"You're going to be okay.. " there's an unusual heaviness in his voice, "You're.. Y-You're going to make through this."

Your eyes twitch, "What.. are you talking about?"

"Ah fuck.." his hands clutch his head, he shifts forward and leans closer to you, "Don't die on me, (Name).. I– " Bakugou Katsuki's lips quiver, "I don't know what I'd do."

The words take a moment to settle in his head. You stare at him with eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What d-d'you mean what would you do?"

The distressed expressions on his face seems to worsen.

"Don't die on me." you've never before heard someone sound as broken, "Please.. "

Years and years of knowing him, years of observing everything he'd do, years of developing feelings for him an yet this one moment tells you more about him than any time of your life has.

"You know.. " he does know about the illness. He doesn't need to confirm it for you to know.

You swallow, "It will bother you if I'm gone?" you doubt this is a question to him. It sounds more affirmative to your own self.

For a moment, he only just stares into your soul through bleeding red irises.

"You know it will."

But you want to know, "Why?"

"You know why."

"No I don't, Bakugou– " he cuts you off before you can complete your words.

"Call me by my first name, for God's sake, (Name). Th-There's no knowing if.. " his eyes tremble, " ..you'll.. make it though the surgery."

Something melts in your heart only to freeze the very next instant.

"Wait– what surgery?" despite all the wounds, you manage to push yourself straight, "What do you– no.. wait a fucking second you son of a– that's.. "

Something between a scoff and a snort escapes his lips. Bakugou leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes harshly.

You can tell by the irregular breaths that he's feeling much more than what he expresses.

"I-I.. " he clears his throat, "I called my old man. He's getting the surgery done, he only came in earlier for legal permission from your guardian but there probably is no guardian."

A "y-yeah" from a dry throat replies to him.

Bakugou snorts a few tears out, "That explains you being mannerless as shit."

"You're mannerless too." your eyes fill up to the brim, "You don't get the right to point me out, Bakugou."

"Katsuki." he breathes out airily, "And.. just.. "

You know what he wants to say, "Okay, Katsuki." a moment of silence passes before the words fall out of your mouth themselves, "I won't die on you.. I promise."

He blinks a couple of times then rolls his eyes back to you, "I don't like people who break promises, (Name). You.. better not join that list."

"You know me, don't you." so many years of fighting each other and yet still bonds formed underneath all that are stronger than one would imagine, "I don't ever give up.. I'll try my best."

For a moment, Bakugou just watches you.

You could be wrong about it but the look he has on his faze is of someone who wishes to print something into their mind– he's trying to save the moment into his memory forever.

Bakugou doesn't want to see you go.

Whatever this indicates to, you wish to hear out loud.

Whatever this indicates to, Bakugou wishes to say out loud too.

Because he knows, he might just never get a chance later.

He opens his mouth but shuts it immediately and funnily, it's not because he is at loss of words. Bakugou Katsuki always knows what to say deep inside, him not letting that out on tongue ever before is a different story.

He doesn't speak because there is more than just words to be spoken from his side.

Getting up from the chair and sitting on your bedside, he leans in, hand grabbing your chin ever so gently and pulling your face closer, "This is to all the times you wouldn't stop staring at me throughout the whole fucking day.. " and before you can deny his words in embarrassment of being caught, a gentle contact on your lips sends down a cloudburst of sparks through your body.

"This is to being just so.. " he seems to love the awed look you have on your face, " ..fucking hot." his lips meet yours once more and they press more that they did before.

"This is for all the time we've had.. though I'm still pretty mad you'd chosen that shitty Deku over me." and he finally stops with the teasing kisses.

For a brash guy like him, Bakugou Katsuki is a feather-like kisser. Even the rough, passionate movements feel cushioned and elating.

When he parts away, there's a loud ringing in your ears and all blood has settled in your face and ears.

After another moment of silence, Bakugou inhales deep, "I've.. always only.. bothered you because I don't fucking understand what that Deku has over me. I don't get why you'd choose him when you could just.. be with me."

His ears resemble his eyes in colour, you'd never thought you'd see his cheeks as ripe.

"I like you.. so damn much. Don't leave me hanging like this, (Name)."

The smile that slips onto your face wouldn't come under control despite all efforts, your hands cover your face in embarrassment.

Ages of arguing against this boy over everything and now you've lost all sense to him shamelessly.

"I really like you too, Katsuki."

"I really like the way you say my name.. " he adds, voice hurried as someone seems to be standing outside the room's door, "Oi.. say my name once more, and promise me.. "

"I promise you, Katsuki.. " adoration fills in your eyes, "I'll try my best to get through this.. plus I'll have to pay your dad back later too so I better live."

He snorts tearfully, "Cheeky little bitch, you've always been."

And before the doctors can step inside, "Be kind to Izuku, okay. I never chose him over you, I chose him over a bully. Don't be that bully, Katsuki. Tell him he's the best friend I can ever have."

"And then what the fuck am I?"

A smile adorns your face, "What are you, Katsuki?"

The doctors step inside, Bakugou Masaru follows them closely. You're told the operation begins within an hour and then you have to be taken away from preparations.

"How about we talk about that once you're back." Bakugou gathers all courage within him to let the words out without a hitch.

"Let's do that." you smile.

.

__________________________________________________________

Part 2 will be out a little later.

[cherllyio]

The Hypocrisy/Irony of Li Jing

Li Jing is an antagonist who quite literally dresses himself up as the "Hero", and whom is a weird mix of both the Lady bone Demon and Azure Lion.

First of all his colour scheme turquoise, is a colour often related to The Celistial Realm.

Notice how in the monkie kid crews "celistial realm outfits", the only colour they all have in common is turquoise.

Not even The Jade Emperor dressed himself in that much turquoise (he didnt even wear it at all). Which just goes to show how Li Jing views himself.

He even plans to become The new Jade Emperor, and will not have ANYONE stop him. (even if they arent even trying to stop him in the first place-)

Hell, as i talked about in my theory of how he might have impriossoned Nüwa, he and the rest of Celistal Realms biggest flaw is their intense focus on order.

Nezha's intense work habit in season 3 - 4 is big example of this, mixed with how accurate Azure was about the whole celistial realm system.

But honestly Li Jing just takes it to another LEVEL.

I swear, if he starts talking to Nezha about how he has: " Left his job in the Celistial Realm for the monkie kid crew"(aka leaving his "destiny"), we can very well perspectiv it back to THE LADY BONE DEMON, and her intense focus on "ORDER".

But as @lunamikobrony2 mentioned in my theory mentioned earlier:

The villians (aka. LBD and Azure Lion), have this way of wanting a "new and perfect order".

But as we saw with espically Azure Lion: Power corrups.

Azure Lion turned so quickly from: " The Jade Emepror is a fraud" to "Kneel before your emperor", in a matter of MINUTES.

Li Jing is very clearly going to do the same thing. He might even kill things he viwes as "imperfect", if we really want to make it 100% clear, that this man is A LOT like LBD.

And thats just the Hypocrisy.

The thing that honestly first caught my attention was how ironic his characther was set up VS the actual villians of the show.

Because even though both the 9 headed demon, and the 100 eyed demon were both shown in the trailer, LI JING, was the one clearly shown as the most "villianous", or atleast "antagonistic"

He is literally shown WORSE than two DEMONS. And some demons with some quite horrifying designs too i must say.

It honestly reminds me of how Belos, from the owl house, was also set up this way.

If you dont know, The Owl House takes place in quite literally the closest thing we got to Hell.

But is the scariest monster a demon, or a powerful evil witch?

No, the scariest guy is white cishet man from the 1600, dressed in the gold, who also thinks he is quite literally the messias. But in the end he becomes quite literally "The King of Demons."

(Watch a video about Belos it here, its amazing)

But, what is my point with this post? What do i want to tell?

Well my entire point with this is to point out how their is such a faint line between good and evil in this show.

And this is just scratching the surface of it. Because if this keeps being proven right in season 5, I will make an entire analysis video about this after the new season is out.

Where I will also be looking at Wukongs journey from an anti-villian to a hero.

The Celistial Realm VS The Mortal Realm VS The Underworld.

Nezha's philosophy vs Li jings philosphy and their entire relationshsip.

And a lot of other stuff, and how this is the reason for why this show is so amazing.

[vonabel]

beautiful and amazing and wonderful banner by @jisokai

floral heartache (izuku midoriya/reader)

tags

hanahaki disease, aged up characters, Pro Hero! Deku, implied smut, not actually unrequited love, angst, canon-typical violence, gore in the form of bloody flower puke and broken bones, past Hitoshi Shinsou/Reader, background BakuShin and EraserMic, parental Aizawa, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader has a mutation quirk (wings)

summary

Falling in love with Midoriya Izuku had been easy, all things considered. Every time you see him, you think you couldn't love him more. And then you see him again, and you know you can, because you do. And it's such a warm feeling, gooey and sweet like honey, it's almost dumb. You wish you could hate him. But that's all a little melodramatic, you don't often find yourself thinking like that. Those thoughts are reserved for nights alone, wine drunk and weepy. And for when you're hit with a quirk that makes flowers sprout in your lungs.

21.1k words | complete

notes: on ao3 this is 3 chapters, here it'll just be one part

Falling in love with Midoriya Izuku had been easy, all things considered. It had been like falling asleep; slowly, and then all at once. And after the feelings were known, it had been as easy and automatic as breathing and blinking and being. Even if you didn't know what to do with all the new things that came with falling in love with someone who didn't love you back. Falling in love with someone who loved the whole world too much meant there was little space for you. 

(He is someone that many people could fall in love with – probably have fallen in love with. You can see the way other friends of his toe the line of platonic. Ochako, Shouto – all of them, any of them.

And you pointedly ignore the way it makes rage and jealousy spread through your chest and down to your toes like molten lava.

He is not yours to claim, to take, or to love. He is not yours.)

You sat with those feelings for years, debating and thinking too hard about it for too long, before eventually deciding that his friendship was too important. Telling him how you felt would just ruin it, and you weren't willing to risk that. Your feelings for him were something that you would never tell him about. Even if they never went away, even if you ended up old and wrinkly and alone because of it – that would be fine. Because you would still be his friend, and that's all you needed anyway. There's no room between you and him and the world for a silly, little thing like love.

Every time you see him, you think you couldn't love him more. And then you see him again, and you know you can, because you do. And it's such a warm feeling, gooey and sweet like honey, it's almost dumb.

It makes you mad, how easy it is to love him; how hard he thinks it is to be loved, despite being the first to openly love anyone at any time. You wonder if he knows already, that your heart has moved on its own to make space for his beside it. That there's a hole carved in your chest just for him. If only he knew – if only you could tell him that you want to pour your soul into his hands. That you want him to let it seep through his fingers to the dirt, just so you could finally get relief in knowing he doesn't want it. You wish you could tell him so he could be too sweet and too kind when he says no, he doesn't love you back. Even if only to allow you a goddamn moment of clarity, so you could mourn a relationship that was never going to happen anyways.

With some weird, misplaced guilt in your chest, you wish you could fall out of love with him. You wish you could hate him.

But that's all a little melodramatic, you don't often find yourself thinking like that. He's a good friend, a good man, and a great Hero. You couldn't hate him, even if you tried. Those thoughts are reserved for nights alone, wine drunk and weepy and hoping that maybe one day he'll confirm all those tabloids about him and Ochako.

And for when you're hit with a quirk that makes flowers sprout in your lungs.

The villain hadn’t even been the one to hit you. It had been some toddler caught in the middle of the fight. He’d been scared, said so himself through his snot and tears when you leapt down to grab him, wings spread like a shield to protect him from rubble and debris. You remember him crying, asking for his mom, and pressing his hands to your chest. Too young to have control, his panic had his quirk going haywire. And then you were falling, tumbling down towards the concrete and choking on pretty, pink petals.

Everything had ended up fine, all things considered. Hitoshi had swung down and caught you and the boy. And you’d been practically shoved into an ambulance and taken away. And now you’re here, sitting in a private hospital room after being poked and prodded for over an hour. And all anyone can tell you is that you have a garden growing in your chest, and it's all for a man you know you have no chance with. They'll wither, you know, and you'll probably wither with them.

“The quirk in your system is similar to the hanahaki disease. I'm sure the quirk analyst has already explained it to you. Unfortunately, any romantic feelings you may be experiencing won't aid in your situation,” Doctor Kimura is kind when he speaks, eyes maybe too soft. “The flowers have already begun blooming, and you're likely to start coughing and vomiting within the next twenty four hours. Maybe sooner.”

“‘m not in love with anyone. There are no feelings to be unrequited,” you mutter, watching the way the doctor frets with his stethoscope. Your wings twitch behind you, heavy and hurt and begging to curl around you. The lie slips between your teeth easily, coated in pain and an aching tiredness. It's stupid, and you don't know why you do it. The quirk manifesting in your chest is proof enough of your feelings. Maybe it's humiliation. Maybe it's because saying it will make this all a little too real. Maybe you're just a coward.

Doctor Kimura hums, ignorant to your inner turmoil, and his fingers pause around his stethoscope before smoothing down over his crisp, white lab coat. You're reminded of your own clothes and hold back a wince at the sight of your torn and tattered hero suit. It feels out of place in a hospital; too dirty for such a sterile environment.

The heart monitor behind you mocks you, spiking with your pulse the very moment green eyes and green curls appear in your mind.

“The flowers in your lungs say otherwise,” he says, leaning just past you to click off the screen that shows your heart rate, “I won't force you to tell me who it is, that's none of my business. But, your health is and I seriously urge you to… resolve the issue. The quirk itself won't kill you, but the long-lasting effects can.”

“And if I don't confess? What happens then?”

“Unfortunately, due to lack of knowledge on the quirk, we don't know. The boy is still being checked out for any traumas, so we've decided to wait before asking his mother any questions regarding his quirk,” he clears his throat, turning to point at the screen of your scan results, “We did determine that the flowers growing inside your lungs are anemone, also known as windflowers.”

“Does that mean something?” your throat is sore already, and your voice catches as you speak. Doctor Kimura eyes you warily, and offers you a cup of water. After you've downed it, he sits down on the stool behind him.

“Typically, yes, but we can't be sure if it means anything under the influence of a quirk,” he says, “We can start you on some medication, they’ll help with the coughing and vomiting for now. But they won't work forever. Your best bet is to confess these feelings and get an answer back. We recommend you have a solid support system for something like this, is there anyone I can call?”

“No, I'm fine. Thanks,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Hitoshi makes you take the next week off. And from the way he offers you a weak grin, you know Aizawa is really the one behind the decision. You accept, only because you know if you don’t someone will call Katsuki. Or, worse, Izuku. And having either of those men show up at your doorstep is literal nightmare fuel right now.

The time off is needed, though, may even be appreciated (if he hadn't forced it on you), because twenty-four hours after your hospital visit, nearly on the dot, you puke. Your cat yowls when you jerk up from your bed, gagging so violently your body shakes and your wings tremble. Petals are behind your teeth in seconds, and you, much like a child who's had too many sweets, puke into your hands. You gag again as it spills between your fingers and on to your comforter. This is a new low, even for you. Globs of bloody, mucus covered petals burn their way up your throat, and you can’t do much other than sit up fully and let it happen. Your cat had jumped away in time to be unscathed, and you thank whatever god will listen for not letting you puke on your fucking cat. The thanks is followed up with a big, fat fuck you for making you puke in the first place, though. Which evens you out, you think. Keeps you in a nice gray area.

The petals are soft in your palm, pretty even, despite the blood, and clearly from a fully bloomed flower. Your nose wrinkles. At the mess of petals and broken stems, and the weird, floral scent, heavy with copper low notes. Someone would buy this in a perfume, you’re sure. Some freak – probably a villain.

You gag once, twice. And after five full minutes of deep, painful breaths, you get up to clean. The blanket is ruined – a shame really. It had been expensive, and the very first thing you bought yourself when you got this apartment. A thick, down comforter, soft on your wings and a pretty shade of green.

(The comforter Izuku had helped you pick out, grinning as he said it matched his hair. But that was definitely not the reason you caved and bought it. And you do not cry as you stuff it into a trash bag.)

(You do cry. You cry and try to scrub the blood soaked stain from the fabric, and cry some more when you finally give up.)

The shower you take after is rewarding in a way, washing away tears from your cheeks and blood from your chin. You stay in long enough for the water to run cold, and then another ten minutes after that, until your fingers are weird and pruned. And when you get out, you sit in nothing but your towel, on your blanket-less bed. Your hair is still soaked, dripping cold water down your neck and on your shoulders, but you make no move to dry it. The wall is suddenly the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen, and you cannot pull your eyes from where your paint is peeling. Somewhere behind you, your phone buzzes with a call, and you pointedly do not move to answer it. The buzzing stops. You blink, sigh, sniff. The buzzing starts again. Out of irritation, your wings search the bed for your phone and scoot it across the sheets to your hand. Without looking, you answer.

“What,”

Izuku breathes your name, and you feel your stomach drop and your wings go poofy the way they always do when you hear his voice, “Hitoshi told me you were on leave for the next week. Is everything okay? Is it because of the quirk you were hit with last night? I can–”

“Who told you that?”

“Uh,” Izuku makes a long, slow, squeaking noise. “No one?”

“Who called you, Midoriya?” you grumble, finally tearing your eyes from the wall to glare at your own reflection. You've looked better, and you've certainly looked worse. The skin under your eyes is shadowed and puffy, swollen with exhaustion and your pitiful bout of tears, and your raw, chapped lips look one smile away from bleeding. There's a bruise coloring your cheekbone, and a cut to go with it. And your poor wings, damp from the shower and missing a few too many feathers.

Your few fans would call this look sexy. Rugged, if you will. At this point in your career, looking rundown and beat to hell is your brand in the same way that being an emotionally constipated asshole was Katsuki's brand, and being perpetually exhausted was Hitoshi's. You tilt your head back, trying to understand how people find this attractive. Nothing stands out to you, you just look like the human equivalent of a soggy piece of bread.

But hero fans will be hero fans, and you learned the hard way that they find pretty much anything attractive so long as it's their favorite hero. The fanart is proof enough. And your handful of fans happen to be the weirdest brand of freak there is, unfortunately for you.

(According to Mineta, who apparently has a secret account he uses to look at fanart of not only himself, but the rest of former class 1-A students, your very few fans have an ongoing argument about your relationship with Hitoshi. Some call you sibling-coded, and others are insistent that you both have wild, nasty sex after a good villain take-down.

Why Mineta knows this, you don't know. And you are not about to ask him to go into any more detail about it than he already has.

And neither he, nor the fans, need to know that yeah, a couple years ago, maybe you did fuck Hitoshi every so often. It was nothing big, just a way to let off steam. Because you have that thing for Izuku Midoriya, and Hitoshi has that thing for Katsuki Bakugo. And you are both hopeless, sad fools who hold each other too close for fear of letting the chill of being unloved by those you crave seep through the cracks.)

“It wasn't Hitoshi!” Izuku says quickly. You can picture him waving his hands around frantically as he speaks – Jesus, you need to get it together.

“I know it wasn't. Who was it?”

“I’m listed as your emergency contact,” Izuku says, “They called me when you were admitted last night.”

“My emergency contact has been Aizawa for a year, you liar,” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at your reflection. Izuku knows this, and even cried when you told him. But having the Number One Pro Hero as your emergency contact felt wrong. Selfish. So you had it switched, much to his dismay.

“It doesn't– you–” Izuku whines, and then quietly says, “Aizawa called me.”

“I'm gonna knock that old man's teeth out. The whole point of changing it was so you didn't get called,”

“He's just worried. We all are. The doctor said this could…” his voice tapers off, and you can feel the guilt eating away at you, “You could die?"

“I won't die,"

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Two days pass, and if you could eat, you'd be eating your words. You feel like you're already dead. The coughing and vomiting only get worse, as expected, and you are damn near glued to your toilet. The petals and stems come up all in one piece, full flowers that make macabre and deconstructed bouquets. You suck on ice chips to soothe your throat and drink water when you can, but haven't eaten solid food in so long you think your stomach is digesting itself. And your wings suffer too, weak and droopy and unable to do much other than drag behind you uselessly.

Katsuki, unsurprisingly, is the first to actually visit you during your ban from work. He does not call, or text, or even knock when he arrives. And you immediately regret ever giving him a key to your apartment. He hollers your name from the living room, and you manage a grunt back before turning to puke into your toilet. His palm startles you, warm between your wings, comforting and oddly kind.

“Bad time,” you wheeze between hacks and gags. The flowers floating in your toilet mock you, dancing between blood stained water and tears. You pluck a fully bloomed one from the bowl, holding it gently between your pointer and thumb and twisting it beneath the florescent lights of your bathroom.

“Nasty,” Katsuki grunts. His nose wrinkles, and you mirror the look as you slap your other hand up to flush. He leans back from you, balanced on his toes, “You look like shit. Is that a full fucking flower?”

“‘m fine. Why are you here?”

“Because you're obviously not fuckin’ fine, dumbass. This is you dying,”

“Can everybody knock it off with that shit? Fucking– I'm fine–” a gag, “So just–” a heave, “Go away .”

“This is disgusting,” Katsuku scoffs, completely ignoring you. He pulls the towel hanging over your shower rod and turns to wet it in your sink before lowering himself to a crouch beside you. With gentle hands, he tilts your face up and wipes at your lips and chin, eyes narrowed and mouth twisted.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, “Are you about to cry?”

“Fuck no,” he grunts. The crack in his voice and the way his lip trembles betrays him. He sniffs, “The stench of your puke is stinging my eyes. You look like shit, by the way. What's wrong with your wings?”

“Yeah, you said that already, thanks,” you snort and spread a wing out, “They're fine, just weird right now because I'm sick. And I haven't been able to, like, preen or whatever.”

“Can you still fly?”

“Negative,”

Katsuki stares at your outstretched wing. Your bathroom is significantly smaller like this as it is, with your wing stuck out completely to touch the wall opposite of you. But you feel more than cramped when he sucks his teeth and stands to his full height, filling the space with his wide shoulders. He takes one long, deep breath before turning on his heel, “I'm calling Deku.”

“I'll kill you,” you gasp, nearly slipping on your bath mat as you scramble to your feet to follow him.

“Yeah?” he prompts. Sarcasm drips from his teeth when he turns to look at you, “I don't think you can do much of anything in this state. Look at you, can't even fucking fly.”

“Fuck you,”

“You're killing yourself,” he presses a finger to your forehead, “Do you fucking get that? You're killing yourself and, what, expecting us to just be fine with it? Him? All because you love him? This is killing you, and it'll kill him when you die.”

“I'm not about to be coerced into a goddamn love confession because of some stupid kid's quirk,”

“He feels bad,” he says.

“Yeah, Deku always feels bad,”

“No, idiot, the kid. Mindfuck said he and his mom stopped by the agency. He wanted to say sorry. Made a mess cryin’ all over the place,”

“Once I get my shit sorted I'll find him to tell him I'm fine,” you gnaw on your cheek, “He doesn't need to feel bad. He was scared. He could've died.”

“ You could die,”

“I know. It's kind of a sick quirk when you think about it,” you nod, eyeing the way Katsuki’s fingers fly across his phone screen. You scoff and point an accusatory finger at him, “Stop texting him.”

“Don't fucking tell me what to do. And don't point at me,” Katsuki pockets his phone anyways, offering you a scowl, “I was messaging Hitoshi.”

“Woah, first name basis. So you've fucked then, yeah? He's good with his hands,“ you grin and raise the rest of your fingers to wiggle at him suggestively, “Did he do the thing where he–”

“Jesus fucking– stop, what is wrong with you?” his annoyed huff sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Your grin softens around the edges and you stretch a wing out to tickle the tip of his nose at the same time that you poke a finger into his stomach.

“That wasn't a no,” your laugh is meant to lighten the mood, but it turns into a nasty, gurgling cough that immediately ruins it instead. You bat away Katsuki's hands when he raises them to hover around you, “I'm glad Hitoshi got his happy ending.”

Katsuki's face crumples and he turns away from you to try to hide it. You catch it though, the way heartbreak spills out from his eyes and over the bridge of his nose. You've felt it enough to know how it looks, and you feel sick knowing he looks like that because of you.

“You could have yours too, dumbass,” he lets out a rough breath that melts into a groan and tilts his head back to stare at your ceiling. “You know that right? You can't be that dense. Even– even if it isn't with Izuku. You can still be happy.”

“I know that. I'm perfectly happy the way everything is now,” you wave the flower dismissively at him and he reaches out to pluck it from your fingers.

“You're dying,” he says again, brows furrowing when he holds the flower up to look at it.

“Yeah, for the hundredth time since I was fourteen,” you shrug, shuffling past him towards your couch. “I'll be fine. I always am.”

Just as your ass lands on the plush cushion of your couch, a knock sounds on your door. You whip your head up to stare at Katsuki, who grimaces and tosses the flower down onto your coffee table, “I didn't think he'd get here so fast.”

“Who the fuck is here?” you hiss. He sucks his teeth when another knock echoes through the space between you. “Katsuki, if Deku is on the other side of that door–”

“It's the old man and mindfuck, relax,”

“ Two? You invited two people to my apartment? Should've fucking called Deku, Jesus , what the fuck?” you groan, slumping down into your couch as your front door opens.

“Consider it an intervention,” Aizawa drawls, pausing in your entryway with Hitoshi so they can each toe off their boots. “Since you're so set on letting yourself die.”

“I'm not–” you cough, turning away from them to hack into your elbow. A tickle in your throat makes you gag, and you slap a hand against Katsuki's hip, “I'm gonna puke– I'm– get me a–”

A trash can is shoved beneath your chin just as petals and stems crowd your tongue. You wheeze between each stretch of flowers crawling their way out, batting away the six hands reaching into your space. Hitoshi scoffs beside you, smacking your hand back. His fingers graze the back of your neck as he gathers your hair, sending a shiver down your spine. You shake your head, leaning forward more and he clicks his tongue, following you.

“Get off'a me,” you slur, slapping more at his hands. 

“Let me hold your fucking hair, you heathen,” he grunts, pulling back the hair on your forehead, “You hair is so greasy, when's the last time you showered?”

You lean back into the cushion and his hands, humming out a rasping breath when he scratches at your scalp, “Fuck you.”

“Yeah, you're welcome,”

“Freaks,” Katsuku rumbles, landing heavily beside you. When you hiccup, jostling with the movement, Aizawa shoots him a disapproving look that he withers under.

You snicker into your fingers while you wipe at your mouth, “Don't be jealous, Katsuki,”

“Fuck you,”

“Enough,” Aizawa sighs, balancing in a crouch on his toes in front of you. “Feeling better?”

“No,” you laugh, leaning around him to set the trash can down. “No, I feel like shit.”

“You look like shit,” he nods.

“Thanks, wow. I'm so glad you're all here to tell me how bad I look, I really love this,”

Hitoshi's hands leave your hair and you twist around to press your cheek to the back of the couch and watch him. He steps through your kitchen like it's his own, collecting a cup and turning to fill it with water. He smiles when you catch his eye, pushing his fingers through your hair when he's close enough to touch.

“Drink this and take your meds,” he forces the cup in your palm.

“Get them for me?” you ask sweetly, propping your chin in your hand and fluttering your lashes up at him.

“Where are they?” he laughs, pushing lightly at your forehead.

“In my room, by my phone,”

“I'll grab them,” Aizawa grunts as he stands, “When's the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday,” you guess, “Morning. I think. Couldn't keep it down though.”

“You need to eat,” he says over his shoulder, disappearing down your hallway, “Make yourself useful, Katsuki, and make her something light.”

“I'm always fucking useful,” Katsuki scoffs, but he stands anyway, shouldering past Hitoshi in a way that makes you grin and Hitoshi flush. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I really won't be able to keep anything down,” you mutter, balancing the cup between your knees.

“You still have to try,” he grumbles, gesturing towards what Hitoshi it busy pulling out of your fridge and cupboards, “What the fuck is this shit for?”

“Oh, me,” he says, “I came straight from patrol, haven't eaten yet. You mind, birdie?”

“Please, eat it,” you grunt, hissing when you sit back on your wings wrong, “It’ll go to waste if you don’t.”

A comfortable silence settles over you. Aizawa returns quickly, popping the lid on your pill bottle to shake two into your waiting palm. After you’ve swallowed, he refills your glass and settles beside you. Hitoshi and Katsuki bicker quietly in your kitchen, heatless insults thrown and taken with ease. Your TV is turned on at some point and reruns of Sailor Moon drone on, filling the empty corners of your apartment.

“You like this show?” you ask, nudging your wing into Aizawa's arm. He rolls his eyes, lifting his arm so you can crowd his space, mindful of your wings.

“Eri and Hizashi watch it,” he shrugs, “I don't dislike it. But I've never paid enough attention to confidently say I'm a fan.”

“I think you could be if you gave it a chance,”

“I'll keep that in mind, kiddo,” he turns to press his lips to your brow, “We still have to talk about this.”

“I know,”

“Who is it?”

You go quiet, discomfort seeping into your muscles when Hitoshi and Katsuki join you both in the living room. Katsuki sets a plate of toast and a bowl of applesauce down in front of you as Hitoshi sets his own food down. His bowl of instant ramen looks suspiciously delicious, almost gourmet, and you have an inkling he had nothing to do with that. The boys settle shoulder to shoulder on the floor of the opposite side of your coffee table, long legs kicking out to tangle with your ankles.

It's humiliating, you think, having to bare your soul out to people because of a quirk accident. Even if it is your friends and chosen family, people you've known for years and trust with your life, it's still embarrassing. But you do it anyway, with cotton in your mouth and sweat on your palms.

“Izuku,” you say softly, leaning forward to snag a piece of toast. “It's always been Izuku.”

“Of course,” Aizawa huffs, scratching at his scruff.

“You know,” Hitoshi says between loud slurps, “I'm pretty sure he feels the same. What are you so afraid of?”

“Fuck off, I'm not afraid,” you scoff, tossing the last bite of your toast at him. It smacks his forehead and lands in his bowl with a cartoonish plunk! that makes him frown. “He's the number one hero in Japan. I'm not afraid that he doesn't feel the same because that doesn't matter. It would never work.”

“Why not?”

“This isn't a fucking therapy session,” you sway as you stand, chest tight and wings fluttering as if to catch you. Aizawa catches your elbow when you stumble over his feet. “I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine,”

“I can handle it–”

“No. You can't. If you could, you would've by now,” Aizawa's tone is stern, cold, and you tilt your chin up to scowl at him when he stands. “I won't allow you to kill yourself over some boy .”

“Allow me?” you hiss, “Last I checked, I was a grown ass adult. And he's not ‘some boy’, he's my friend. Your former student, and the number one hero of Japan.”

“Right now, he is just some boy, and you are–”

“Your student. I'm not your daughter and you are not my fucking father, Shouta!”

“I know that,” he says slowly, “Do you?”

Behind you, your wings flutter, twitching with your irritation. Your lungs feel heavy, like they're full of lead, rumbling with every sharp, shaky intake of breath. Your facade of anger must crack, showing the hurt beneath it because Aizawa’s own frustration melts. The mean twist to his mouth straightens and his eyes go soft when he steps forward to catch your face in his hands.

“Listen to me,” he says quietly, “I know I'm not your father. But I also know I'm the closest thing that you have.”

“I'm sorry,” you curl a hand around his wrist, feeling for his pulse. You fold easily for him, too soft and gooey to be mad at him for too long, “You're right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

“You're scared and angry. It's okay to feel that way, even as a hero,” he hums, pulling you into his chest. You go willingly, sighing when he curls a hand around your head to press you closer, “I know you feel like accepting or asking for help makes you weak. It doesn't, I promise it doesn't.”

“I don't want to die,” you whisper it like it's a secret. Like it's unexpected for a young woman, a human, to fear death. Like it makes you weak. “I'm scared, Shouta.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, heaving a deep breath that you feel against your cheek, “I know it's scary. Love always is.”

“Just– give me a few days,” you plead, voice trembling, “Please. Just a few more days. Then I'll call him. I'll tell him.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Unfortunately for you, things don't always go to plan. When the front wall of your apartment blows inward not even two hours after everyone leaves, you truly think God wants you dead. For which reason, you're unsure. There are many options, each full of their own potential as to why any higher being would maybe want your head.

It happens so fast, you don't have time to react, you don't even think you would've been able to react anyways in the state you're in.

You're dozing on your couch, half asleep and too lazy to get up and get into bed. Somewhere behind you the bell on your unnamed cat's collar jingles when he hops up onto your counter. And not even a second later, your shit gets absolutely rocked. The explosion sends you and the couch you're on backwards and you can hear your windows shatter. The collar jingles again.

Confusion clouds your senses, a million thoughts filter through your head. Is this a targeted attack, or was your apartment just a casualty? Are there already other Heroes on the scene, or are you gonna have to try to fight? How many of them are out there? What are their quirks? You can't fight like this, you know you can't. You probably can’t even move the couch that’s flipped on top of you, caging you in and pinning down your right wing. Through the chaos of sirens and settling debris, you hear Izuku shout your name and you can feel your panic wash from your skin at the same time that your lungs go heavy.

“Deku,” you wheeze, slapping a hand out from your hiding spot. Something wet drips from your hairline into your eyes, you don't bother wiping it away, “I'm– my wing is stuck. I–I can't–”

“Hold on,” he says gently, falling to his knees. Pressing his chest to your floor, he lowers himself flat to look at you. “It's more than just the couch on top of you, I've called for Red Riot to come help me dig you out.”

“Get my cat,” you rasp, ignoring how your head pounds, “Find him first.”

“Your–”

“My cat, Izuku, find my fucking cat,”

“I can't leave you here like this,” he frets, eyebrows pulling together. Your head hurts, it's all you can think about beside your cat and Izuku. On repeat in your mind, head hurts, cat, Izuku. Head hurts, cat, Izuku. Head hurts, really really hurts. Where the hell is my cat? My chest is killing me, Izuku won't stop staring. My cat is gonna get out. I think I'm gonna die. I think I'm dying.

You choose to ignore the last part your brain spits at you.

“If you let my cat die or get out, I'll never forgive you,” you hiss, groaning when the weight of whatever is on you shifts, settling heavier over your wing. You can hear the crunch, can feel the pain melt across your shoulders and down to your toes. You grit your teeth, hold back a shout, and squeeze your eyes closed, swallowing the bile in your throat.

“I– okay, okay, I'll find him– you– and…”

You think he says more, you know he does, but your head is throbbing and your chest feels ready to explode. His words begin to mince, garble, like he's underwater. Or maybe you are. You can't tell. Everything is fuzzy, distorted. The last thing you see is someone's bare chest as they lean over you and the shock of red hair on his head, you'd recognize Eijiro anywhere, even half dead. The collar jingles, the warmth of another person curls around you. Someone is speaking, telling you to stay awake, keep your eyes open. But you’re so cold and so tired, and something like sleep takes over.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

It's all so humiliating. Falling in love, feeling that emotion so intensely. Being so mentally weak from being in love. Being so physically weak because of it, even if it is because of a quirk. You feel so young again, fragile and fifteen and scared to speak or even breathe too loud.

Everything is green. It's in his eyes, his hair. You feel it in your chest, in your heart, in your blood. Green is a good color, a good feeling. It's all you see, feel, taste.

It's his hair. It's his eyes. It's his hero suit. It's the blanket you bought because of him, and the green in your own hero suit. It's the grass you laid on back in high school with him. You've spent years subconsciously weaving bits and pieces of him into your life just so you can have something, anything.

You see him in it, you see it in you.

It's love. The green in your life is love, and you are so scared. Of dying because of it, of losing it.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

You're fading in and out of consciousness. The sound of the city makes your head spin. Your sense of time is off, and it's unnerving, it’s scary . The first time you muster up the strength to blink open your eyes, you're mid-air, limp and jostling against Izuku's chest as he jumps from rooftop to rooftop. There's something sticky on your forehead, your hands, your spine. Blood, you can assume. And the fresh, warm liquid that drips onto your cheeks are tears, ones that aren't from you.

You only open your eyes two more times after that. Once when a doctor forces you to, so he can shine a light in your eyes. And the second when someone starts to reset the bones in your wing. For this, you do scream. The pain is the worst you've ever felt, and you can only weep and wail and flail until they hold you down and sedate you.

Behind the conglomeration of medical professionals, Izuku watches. He watches you twitch and tremble in pain. He listens to the way you wail, he sees the way your spine contorts and arches off the table in pain. He watches the controlled chaos the doctors maintain as they shout out directions and instructions to each other.

When the monitor they have hooked up to you starts beeping rapidly and then flatlining, Izuku thinks he may be sick. One doctor says you're coding, another says to push some epi and charge the defibrillator paddles. It’s all medical jargon Izuku doesn’t need to understand to know that you’re dying. Someone starts compressions and shouts to get him the hell out, and then a nurse is pressing at his shoulders and leading him out of the room and toward the waiting room. He collapses into a seat and hangs his head in his hands until Katsuki, Hitoshi and Aizawa find him.

“What the hell happened?” Hitoshi asks, full of fear and pain. And Izuku breaks. He cannot stop the waterfall of tears pouring from his eyes when he stands to greet them. He can't catch his breath. Katsuki catches him at the elbows when he sways in place.

“Deku, what is going on?”

“She– there was an attack. And she was caught under some debris. I don't–” he presses a hand over his chest, twisting the fabric there and curls in on himself while he weeps, “She coded and they kicked me out of the room. I don't know– I don't know if she's even alive. I don't– I love her so much and–”

Katsuki lets him press green curls into his chest. Thick, scarred fingers nearly tear his shirt with how tightly Izuku is holding onto him. The fear in his chest is all encompassing, the edges of his vision darken. And all he can do is cry into Katsuki’s chest.

Eventually, after some hours have passed and Izuku has cried himself into a migraine, a doctor steps into the waiting area. Hitoshi’s hand tightens over Katsuki's. Izuku keeps his head down with his hands pressed over his mouth. Aizawa stands to greet her.

“How is she?” he asks.

“Is she alive?” Katsuki breathes, voice cracking.

“It was very touch and go, but she's okay. She didn't need any surgery, but we did have to put her under to finish resetting the broken bones in her left wing, so she's intubated right now to help her breathe. The majority of her injuries were minor, most of which we fixed up with healing quirks. We have her on some medication for the hanahaki disease in her lungs. Once that's under control, we're expecting a near full recovery,” the doctor smiles softly, jerking her head back, “She's in the ICU now. Would you like to see her?”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

The next time you actually wake up is in a hospital bed. The sky is still dark, but you have a feeling it's been at least a day since the attack, maybe more. Your chest feels like it's been packed with cotton and all you can think about is your cat. Through the slim window on the door, you can see two men. Standing guard you think, they always do that no matter who the hurt hero is. You've been there before, played bodyguard for other heroes. Snuck them greasy food and sugary drinks when they complained about hospital food. Held their hands when they openly wept over lost lives and limbs, when they've been so hurt they're forced into retirement.

Based on what you can see of their uniforms, you can guess it's Katsuki and Hitoshi. You wonder how long you've been out, but can't find your voice to call for either of them.

“You're awake,” Izuku’s voice is groggy, shockingly loud in the eerie silence of your room despite not being more than a whisper. You jump, startled, and turn your head to look at him over the oxygen mask strapped to your face. You reach for the mask, weak fingers scrambling to remove it and he jumps up from his seat to curl his own over yours and pry them away, “Hey, hey, don't take that off. You're okay.”

“How long–”

“It's been two days,” he says slowly, “Your injuries from the attack were mostly minor. They used a healing quirk on most of them. But–”

“My lungs,” you rasp, “I'm here for my lungs.”

His fingers twitch around yours and you only then realize he never let go of your hand. You let yourself indulge, tightening your grip until you're sure it hurts. He looks terrible, like he hasn't slept or showered in days. The shadows under his eyes rival yours and his curls are weighed down and flattened in some parts with grease and dirt. He must've stayed after the attack.

“My cat?” you change the subject. He lets you.

“I got him,” he tries for a smile and fails, “He's fine, not even a scratch. Present Mic came and picked him up, Eri has him right now.”

“She can have him forever,” you croak.

“Don't. Please don't say that,”

“Izuku–”

“Get some sleep,” he says, “We can talk more tomorrow.”

You do sleep. He's gone when you wake up again a few hours later, after the sun has begun to rise. Hopefully to shower and get some sleep of his own.

He doesn't come back.

The talk never comes.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

“You need to tell him,” Katsuki’s face is turned away from you, dark and shadowed. You think he may actually be crying this time, you can hear it when he says your name, the heartbreak and the fear. His voice breaks when he says, “You aren't gonna survive this.”

It's the fourth time he's said this since you woke up. And he hasn't actually looked at you once. You get it, you probably wouldn't be able to look either.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Hitoshi doesn't leave. He's either at your side, attempting to sleep on the tiny couch across from your hospital bed, or standing guard outside your door. He looks bad, maybe just as bad as you're sure you do.

“Go home,” you wheeze, “Get some sleep, REM sleep, not those fake ass naps you take. Shower, eat. Take care of yourself.”

“No,” he's slouched in the chair beside your bed, feet propped up beside yours. The magazine over his face has Izuku on the cover.

You remember him talking about that shoot, how excited he was to be wrapped in all his friends' merch. He looks like a mess of color. He must've picked which pieces he wanted. Baby pink Uravity themed sweatpants with a white stripe along the side, mismatched red and blue Shouto themed shoes, an orange and army green Dynamight t-shirt. And maybe the ugliest shade of yellow you've ever seen on his Chargebolt sweatshirt, not that you'd ever say that to Denki. You’re shocked they let him wear that for the cover of such a popular magazine. But you can admit, he pulls it off in some weird, almost kitsch-y way.

(You remember fondly the way he had whined about your lack of merch. He'd gone on and on, begging you to make anything for him. A shirt, a hat, anything. He had merch from all his classmates, he said, he needed to finish the collection with something of yours.)

“Hitoshi,” you reach over to pull the magazine down and toss it to the tiled floor.

“I'm not leaving,” he grunts, rough but not irritated or upset. Just tired, scared. “I'm fine right here.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

No one else knows you're here except a select few. Aizawa told you it's a well kept secret, that you're listed under an alias. It makes you wonder if that villain attack really was personal. Someone who wants you dead must've heard you were almost there and too weak to fight. You want to ask him about it, ask for the case file. You want all the information.

You ask him about your lungs instead.

“The doctor has you on some medication for your lungs that's keeping the infection and flowers at bay,” he drawls. His fingers are curled around your ankle, feeling for the pulse point there.

“That's why I haven't puked,”

“Yes,” he nods, “As for your wing, you'll need to do some physical therapy. But they don't want you up and moving yet, not until your lungs have healed. Waiting too long can impact how well your wing heals, so–”

“I'm not telling him,” you huff, “You can't make me. Make sure Eri takes care of–”

“Absolutely not,” his fingers stop petting and squeeze instead, “Don't talk like you're dying. It's freaking the boys out. It's freaking me out. Stop.”

“Sorry,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Eri visits you. She's sweet, still soft spoken even as a teenager. You appreciate that about her, and wonder how she did it. How she kept all the soft and rounded edges after everything she's been through. You wish you could’ve done the same. Then again, you never really had soft edges to begin with.

Present Mic comes with her, grinning when they tell you they smuggled your cat in.

“Why haven't you named him yet?” Eri whispers, eyes wide and sparkling while she watches him knead at your thigh. You hum, rubbing a knuckle under his chin.

“Dunno,” you say back, just as quietly, “It's been a year but I still feel like I don't know him well enough to name him. Do you wanna?”

“Name him?”

“Yeah, go for it,”

Eri thinks for all of one second before she grins and says, “What about Hiro?”

“Sure,” you shrug, “Hiro. Cute. A bit on the nose though.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

On the sixth day of being stuck in your hospital bed, Izuku visits again. He's quiet, eyes glassy and red rimmed like he had cried the whole way here. After he left the first day you woke, he hadn't come back. Not while you were awake at least. Katsuki mentioned briefly that he's been back a few times, calling him a freak for watching you sleep like he hadn't been doing the exact same thing. You fiddle with the nasal oxygen tube you'd been downgraded to, readjusting how it sits behind your ears.

“Hitoshi told me,” is how he greets you. Panic rises like bile in your chest, you can't do much but stare. He speaks again, fills the silence, “It wasn't his place to do that, and I'm sorry. But he's scared, Kacchan too. Why didn't you tell me?”

You open your mouth and his phone rings. His shoulders go stiff, his fingers twitch. That is why. One of the reasons why, at least. You're selfish and if you let it happen, you'll want him all the time. Every time his phone rings, every time he goes on a week-long mission, you won’t be able to handle it. You barely handle it as it is.

“You should answer that,” you grunt in lieu of a real answer. It’s maybe a little passive aggressive too, but whatever.

“It's fine,” he whispers once the ringing stops.

“They need you, Deku,”

“There are plenty of other heroes,”

“None of them are you,”

“I love you,” he whispers, so quiet you're surprised you catch it. It makes your lungs tight, your chest twist. Then, just barely louder, “I love you, let me love you. Let me help you.”

“I don't want to love you,” you sigh. The cheap, hospital grade blanket in your palm is close to tearing with how tightly you've got it in your grip, “I wish I didn't. I don't want you to love me.”

“Just,” he groans, laying the heels of his palms to his eyes and pressing in hard, “We don't have to– to get married, we don’t even have to date. It doesn't have to be a big thing. Just let me– it's my job. It's my job to save people. And I want to save you, maybe more than anyone else. Let me save you, even if you don't let me love you. Tell me what to do. I just– I don't– I can't just watch you die. Please. Please.”

“Nothing changes,” you insist, “We won't work.”

“Okay,” he looks like he wants to say more, like he wants to argue. He looks angry. But he just nods, gnaws at his bottom lip, and says again, “Okay.”

“I have to confess,” you turn your head away from him, press your cheek to the shitty pillow under your head, “And you have to confess back. Or reject me. The doctor says it'll clear up either way, that's how the quirk works. Please reject me.”

“No,”

You turn to stare at him, watch the way his curls move and bounce when he shakes his head, “What?”

“No, I'm not going to reject you. I'm not lying to make you feel better,” his hand is warm around your ankle, “I'll pretend it never happened after. But I'm not going to say I don't love you. I can't pretend I'm not in love with you. Of course I love you, how could I not? How could I spend years with you, learning you, watching you, and not love you? No. I won't reject you.”

“Okay,” you say, inhaling slowly.

“Okay,” he nods, “Ready?”

“I love you, Izuku,” you whisper, “I have loved you for years.”

“I love you,” he says back, stepping around your hospital bed to fall to his knees by your side. His lip trembles and you look away with the rush of air you get to your lungs. He presses his forehead to the blanket beside you and cries, and when he can't see you, you cry too. You curl your fingers into his hair and cry and mourn the relationship that will never happen.

The flowers come all at once. The doctor said this would happen, he called it the final purge. (And had not been impressed when you laughed and called it dramatic.) All the flowers have been uprooted and need to get out. You barely turn away from him in time, and you again find yourself thanking whatever god will listen for not letting you almost claim another victim with your weird lung-vomit. It comes and comes, tearing your throat up as it goes. And Izuku is there, pulling your hair away from your face and rubbing a warm hand between your wings.

He is so kind. He is everything you want and you find yourself almost immediately regretting everything you said. You love him so much, you want to let him love you. And you want to love him. You want that nasty, gooey type of love. The fluffy kind. The good morning and goodnight texts every single day. The I love you mores, the dancing in the kitchen and breakfast in bed type love. The kind where you're so comfortable, you don't close the door to pee. You want to kiss him first thing in the morning, morning breath and all. You want his face to be the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thing you see before you go to sleep.

You want Izuku more than you've ever wanted anything else in the world.

And you think you need him to want you too. You need him to love you. You always have and you were stupid for ever thinking otherwise.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Izuku takes your boundaries too seriously. He leaves after you puke yourself into a near comatose state, and he doesn't come back during the two weeks you spend recuperating. Not to check on you, not to see you through your physical therapy. And he isn't there when you're told you can fly again, when you're discharged and told you're healthy again. You think your chest hurts more now than it did when it had a bed of flowers growing in it.

You don't reach out to him either. Katsuki lets it slip that he's angry, angrier with you than he's ever been because all he wants is to love you.

(“So tell her that,” Katsuki scoffs, sliding a bowl of katsudon across his counter. This is the fifth time in an hour he's had to listen to Izuku bitch and whine about how he feels. He's seriously considering manslaughter.

“I did,” Izuku spits, uncharacteristically short tempered and irritated, “I did tell her. And she said no. She told me she wished she didn't love me, and she didn't want me to love her. She is so goddamn stubborn.”

Katsuki is more annoyed than surprised, “I think she’s just scared.”

“She's stubborn–”

“Okay, I fucking get it! She's stubborn, and so are you! Pull your balls out of your back pocket and man the hell up, or shut the hell up!” Katsuki barks, slamming a sparking palm against the marble. Izuku's glare does not scare him. He takes a deep breath, remembers what his therapist taught him, and counts to three. He’s calmer when he says, “What does that say about you? She was so scared to tell you she loved you that she died. Fucking talk to her about it and quit whining. She's the one in the hospital, not you. Try thinking about it all from her perspective.”

“Kacchan–”

“Don't Kacchan me, you asshole,” Katsuki says, “You think you're the only one affected by all this? She's my friend too, and Hitoshi's, and we aren't sitting here all angry at her. This is your mess now, it's your responsibility to fucking fix it.”)

“Called you stubborn,” Katsuki snorts, feeling oddly fond, “Just call him, talk about it.”

“Thanks, jackass. I hadn't thought of that,” you scoff, leaning past him to slap the ground floor button on the elevator, “Of course I've called him. He isn't answering.”

“Just keep calling. He'll break eventually,”

“Dunno if I want him to. What the hell do I even say if he answers? That I'm an actual fucking idiot? That I changed my mind? I wouldn’t trust me, so I don’t see how he would,” you groan and lean back against the elevator wall, watching the floor numbers change. “This is why I wasn't gonna say anything. Now it's all different and I may have lost my best friend.”

“Oh, he's your best friend? Go stay on his couch while your place is being rebuilt then,”

“Okay, are we in middle school? Didn't mean to hurt your feelings, bestie,”

“Call me that again and I'll rip your tongue from your throat,”

“You are so bipolar, good fucking lord. You wanna be my best friend, you have to live with the nicknames,” you laugh, “And, no offense but, Hitoshi is my actual best friend if we're gonna get technical. You didn't even speak to me until third year.”

“You weren't in the hero course until third year, that isn't fair!”

“I was still friends with your whole class! And I fought with you in the war. And Hitoshi has been inside of me,” you grin when Katsuki's cheeks go pink and he scowls at you, “Gave me some of the best orgasms in my life, so he gets extra brownie points.”

“I hope the cable of this elevator snaps and we both die instantly,”

“Asshole,”

“Bite me,”

The elevator dings and you straighten from your slouched position as the doors slide open. Aizawa and Hitoshi are both waiting for you, offering twin smiles when you walk towards them.

“Look at you,” Hitoshi grins, cupping your face in his hands, “You look good. Healthy. You good to go?”

“Mm, yeah. Just gotta sign some stuff at the front desk and I'll be all set,”

“Okay, pigeon,” he presses a wet smooch to your forehead before releasing you and ushering you towards the desk.

The paperwork takes all of five minutes and then you're practically running outside. The fresh air outside the hospital feels borderline orgasmic as it enters your lungs. After not flying for far too many weeks, you’re nearly vibrating with excitement. The first flutter of your wings sends a jolt of exhilaration down your spine, but before you can take off Aizawa wraps his scarf around your ankle.

“What the hell, dude?”

“Be rational,” he grunts, “Flying here will attract too much attention. And do not call me ‘dude’, that's disrespectful.”

“Whatever,” you huff and shove your hands into your sweatshirt pocket, “Fine. Dude.”

“Have you talked to Deku?” his voice lowers as he steps closer and releases his grip on you. You shrug, tilting your face up to soak in the sun.

“No,”

“You should,” he says, “He's going on a mission soon.”

“How long will he be gone?”

“A week, at least. Longer if things go awry. And things tend to go awry with him,”

“He doesn't want to talk to me,”

“He doesn't have to talk, he just has to listen. Make him listen,” he murmurs, “You've always been good at that.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

You stop by the rubble of your apartment before going to Katsuki's. Clean up hasn't even begun yet and you grimace as you toe over glimmering glass, chunks of drywall, and broken bits of brick. Your couch is where it landed after Eijiro pulled it off of you, torn and bloody, and you take a moment to mourn it. There are a few feathers scattered on the floor a few feet away from it, likely where you had been pinned down. The wall that had been blown in is still an open space, just one with caution tape pulled across haphazardly. Just looking at it makes your lungs tighten and your wing throb.

“What a fucking dump,” Katsuki grunts, kicking at the debris by his feet.

“I want the case file on the guy that did this,” you mutter, leaning forward on your tiptoes to peek out the hole. “He fucked up the whole block.”

“I'll have Deku send it over to my agency,”

“Thanks,” you nod and take a step off the ledge. Katsuki makes a panicked noise, rushing over and scowling when you turn and grin, “Chill, I'm good. See? Wings work just fine, just wanna look at the damage.”

“Be fucking careful,” he grumbles. “Why are we here anyways?”

“Clothes. It's hard to find shirts and stuff for people with wings. And expensive,” you hum, fluttering past him towards the hallway, “My bedroom should be pretty much untouched. Gotta grab a few things and we can go.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Katsuki doesn't actually make you sleep on his couch. His guest room is made up for you, complete with not one, but two, baskets on the dresser, a fresh bed set on the bed and a brand new pair of house slippers by the closet door. The first basket is small, filled to the brim with differing toiletries. You snicker and finger through it, giving him a mental kudos for picking out decent shampoo and conditioner. The second basket is bigger and has various snacks in it. Your favorites, you notice.

“You got me welcome baskets?”

“I didn't get you shit. The food is from my mom and the other shit is from my assistant. And they're ‘I'm glad you didn't die’ baskets,” he scoffs, glaring at something over your shoulder. The gleam in his eye betrays him, you can't stop yourself from teasing just a little.

“Right, and who told your assistant to do that?” you laugh and yelp when he pinches your waist. “Okay! Okay, sorry. Tell your mom and assistant I said thank you.”

“Whatever. I'm going to make lunch,”

“For me too?”

“Obviously,”

“This is why you're my best friend,” you flutter your lashes up at him and pout your lips in a way you hope will make him laugh. You know you've succeeded when he presses his whole hand to your face to push you away.

“Shut up. Go shower,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Hitoshi sets up a meeting with the little boy for you the day after you get out of the hospital. He’d argued at first, told you to rest and heal more. But you push and insist. It’s important. The kid needs to know you aren’t upset, he deserves to know. So you push and push until Hitoshi inevitably gives in and calls the mother. He tells you to be at Katsuki’s agency by noon. Katsuki forces you to get there by eleven.

“They’re here,” Katsuki grunts, hand warm on your back. “You sure about this?”

“Yeah, I'm sure. He's, what, five?”

“Four,” Aizawa drawls.

“And three quarters,” Hitoshi tacks on, grinning when Aizawa rolls his eyes and you snort. “He's in the conference room with his mom.”

The door is all glass and you take a minute to watch him. He's small for his age, you think. Maybe. You actually don't know, can't actually tell. All kids are small to you. The only kid you have any real experience with is Eri, and she was always so small because of her situation, so mature too. Always so gentle and wise, too wise. You don't know anything about kids, but this kid is small .

He's sitting politely in a chair that’s four sizes too big for him next to his mom, who looks young. She’s saying something to him, pushing the wispy hairs from his eyes and then smiling and pointing a finger towards you. You take that as your cue to go in. They both stand as you enter, bending deeply at the waist.

“Oh, don't,” you gasp, fluttering over to them and hovering uncertain hands out in front of you, “Please, really, no need to bow.”

“Thank you for making time for us,” his mother says quietly as she straightens, “Asahi feels terrible. He appreciates the chance to apologize.”

“I don’t need an apology, really. I just wanted to come show you both that I’m okay. What's your name?” you wonder, holding your hand out towards her. She blinks down at it a few times before seemingly deflating in relief and touching her palm to yours.

“Ito,” she shares, “Ito Hana. But, please, call me Hana.”

“Right,” you nod, offering her a gentle smile, “It's fantastic to meet you Hana. And you too Asahi. You've got a powerful quirk, kid.”

Asahi's lower lip trembles and he tumbles forward to press his face into your tummy before his mother can stop him, blubbering unnecessary apologies into your shirt, “I'm so sorry Ms. Aviator! I didn't mean to–to quirk you! I didn't mean to–’

“Hey, hey, no tears,” you whisper, detaching yourself enough to fall to your knees in front of him. You make a big show of taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, so he can hear it, “I'm all good. You hear that? My lungs are fine, kiddo.”

“You aren't mad?” he snivels and scrubs at his cheeks, smearing tears and snot across his face. His own breathing is unsteady, and you urge him to take a deep breath too. Together, you count as you breathe. His trembling slows, his breathing evens out, and you speak again.

“No,” you coo and pull your sleeve up over your thumb to help wipe the snot from his face, holding back a grimace when it just makes it worse, “No, I'm not mad. Accidents happen. And it's silly to get mad over accidents, isn't it?”

“My doctor says my quirk can make people bleed flowers from here,” he mumbles, jabbing two of his little fingers over the center of your chest, “Did it make you bleed like that?”

“Um,” you flit your eyes up over his shoulder, gauging his mother. She nods once, so you look back at him, “Yeah. I did for a little bit.”

“It's scary,” he whimpers. Behind him, his mother presses the knuckles of her hand to her lips and closes her eyes. You exhale a shaky breath when his tears well up again, beading over his lash line and he says, “Everyone says my quirk is scary.”

“It can be. Any quirk can be scary. But nothing scares me,” you smile when he gives you a look like he doesn't believe you. “Your quirk is only scary because you don't have control yet. But that’s okay. My friend Red Riot’s quirk was scary before he could control it. And Tsukuyomi, and even Deku. But when they learned to control it, it wasn’t scary anymore.”

“Mama says I'll get control when I get bigger,” he agrees. Then there's a moment where he looks unsure, bashful even, before he says, “You aren't even afraid of the dark?”

“Nope,” you confirm, “ Especially not the dark. I do my best hero work in the dark.”

Asahi settles after that. You aren’t sure if it’s you that soothes him, or if he does it himself. But he calms down, starts acting more like a kid should. He asks questions about your quirk and what it’s like to be a hero. You give him all the details. You tell him what all the different feathers in your wings do, and how your quirk gives you excellent hearing and incredible night vision. He asks if you know Chargebolt too, and Shouto and Uravity, beaming when you say you do. He tells you his favorite is Cellophane and you give him a high five, because that is a good choice.

You end up pulling Katsuki and Hitoshi in too when you catch the way he won’t stop staring at them. Katsuki slips on his kid-friendly Dynamight persona and lets him ogle his gauntlets and ask as many questions as his heart desires. Hitoshi lets him try on his mask. He's even kind enough to allow requests for different voices once he slips it over his own mouth again. Asahi dissolves into a fit of giggles when All Might’s voice booms through the speakers.

You learn a lot about Asahi and his mother as the next hour passes. Love related quirks run in the family, apparently. Hana’s is called Soul Ties, her mother's was Cupid's Arrow. She elaborates on her own when you raise an eyebrow at her.

“I can see people's soulmates,” she shrugs, leaning forward to brush a thumb over Asahi’s cheek.

“Soulmates? More than one?”

“Platonic and romantic,” she adds, smiling softly down at her hands like that’s where she can see it. The string of fate, you've heard of similar quirks. Hana’s smile fades to something a little more melancholic, but she puts on a happier facade quickly before Asahi notices it, “Most people have more than one of each. But it differs per person.”

“Oh,” you say, staring down at your own hand. You wonder if you have any. Any platonic, any romantic. You wonder if Izuku is your soulmate. How many strings of fate tie your hands to someone else’s? How many soulmate’s could you possibly have? Can you have a soulmate who's soulmate isn't you?

“Those men,” she says quietly, gesturing behind her to where Katsuki and Hitoshi are sitting, “I can see you're close with them. You have a strong connection with both of them. Sometimes the universe determines our soulmates. Sometimes we determine them. But when the universe decides, the connection is almost unbreakable. All of your connections are strong ones. You're lucky.”

You give Hana your number before they leave, slipping the paper effortlessly into her hand when you say goodbye, “Call me if either of you ever need anything. And when he gets older, if you want, I can get him a spot at UA. Whichever course he may want. They can help him with quirk control and confidence.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, taking your hand into both of her own, “Thank you so much. For saving him and for this. He really looks up to you.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Katsuki must've planned this. The jackass. The absolute cretin. You can practically see it, see him rubbing his grubby little hands together like the roach he is. Grinning and scheming up the best way to get you and Izuku in a room together. Probably with Hitoshi. They're both nasty little creatures and you have decided you love them now more than you ever have. Because you miss him.

You miss Izuku.

You're in the middle of drowning your self-imposed sorrows in more Sailor Moon reruns and half a pint of freezer-burned ice cream you found buried in Katsuki's freezer when he lets himself in. You're hovering around in a lazy circle to stretch your wings, cataloging and memorizing every picture Katsuki has on his walls. He notices you first and stays silent to watch you, watch the way you move, the way your wings flutter to keep you up. When he finally speaks, you and your wings jump, nearly knocking some expensive looking frames off the wall.

“I brought the case file you asked for,”

“Jesus– how did you even get in here?” you yelp, slapping a hand out to steady a wobbling frame.

“I've had a key since Kacchan bought this place,” he snorts, tossing the file down onto the pristine black granite countertop. “I didn't realize you were staying here, sorry, I would’ve knocked. He didn't tell me, just said to drop the file off.”

“Oh, yeah, well,” you shovel another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth without saying anything else. Izuku hums anyways, like you said something worth any sort of response, and leans his hip against the counter. You force yourself to look away, “Thanks for the file. Was it a targeted attack?”

“No, no. We thought it was too, turns out it wasn't even a real attack. A civilian with a seizure disorder had an episode and the lack of control over his quirk is what caused the accident. You and your apartment just happened to be above him. Uh, but, this is all in the file–” Izuku coughs into his fist and stares at the wall behind you.

“Yeah, thanks, I'll drop it back at your agency when I'm done reading it,”

“Take your time,”

An awkward silence falls between you. You keep eating your ice cream. Izuku looks at everything but you. The city keeps moving underneath you, your quirk helps you hear things like the coffee being brewed across the street and the dog barking three floors down if you really listen for it. You tune it in, let it wash over you. Eventually, after your ice cream is gone and Izuku’s eyes have stayed on you for the last few minutes, you speak again, “I changed my mind.”

“What?”

“I want things to change. I changed my mind,” you speak quietly, delicately, like everything will shatter if you say it too loud, if you say it out loud, “I can’t be normal after this. I love you so much that I was willing to die about it. And it’s been that way for years. Something has to change, because obviously my feelings won’t.”

Izuku stays silent. When you turn to decipher how he feels, what he’s thinking, you find him with his hands over his face. The skin of his cheeks is splotchy beneath his fingers, flustered and warm. He takes big breaths and you watch the way his chest expands with them, the way his fingers shake and his shoulders tremble.

You should say something. Or maybe you shouldn’t. You don’t know. You’re out of your element here. Romantic stuff has never come easy to you, hadn’t ever come at all. All of your romantic feelings were kept buried so deep in your chest, you hadn’t even tried to date before. No one was worth the time or effort because they weren't him.

“Say something,” you babble, ignoring the residual tightening in your lungs, “I don’t know what I’m doing, okay? You’ve had, like, girlfriends or whatever. But I’ve never dated, so this is incredibly out of my comfort zone and I feel like I’m just rambling and I’m sorry. I’m, uh, done talking. Now.”

When Izuku starts to laugh, you genuinely wish you had died. Humiliation is hot in the back of your throat, seeping between your tongue and teeth. He lets his hands fall from his face and when you see the tears in his lashes, your own lip starts to tremble and you drop your feet to the floor, “Don’t laugh at me. I just emotionally stripped myself naked to you and you’re laughing? You are such a dick. Katsuki’s nicer than you, fuck.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” he hiccups between quiet giggles, stepping close enough that he can cup your face in his hands, “I’m sorry. I'm sorry, baby. Don’t cry, I’m sorry.”

“Shut up, you’re crying too,” you sniffle, letting your fingers curl around his wrist. He leans forward to kiss away your tears, cooing when you crumble forward in his arms and cry some more, “Katsuki said you were angry.”

“I was angry, but it was misplaced,” he says once you’ve settled to loud, wet sniffles and hiccuping whimpers. “I'm sorry for laughing, I’m just relieved. And excited. And I thought it was funny that you think I’ve had a girlfriend, let alone multiple. You think too highly of me.”

“I just thought– with Uraraka– and you've got your pick of the litter with your fans,” you huff, “You could have anyone you wanted, you know.”

“I want you. It’s always been you,” he whispers into your hair, swaying you both in an attempt to soothe you, “There’s never been anyone else.”

“Don’t say shit like that, you’ll give me a complex,” you groan, grinning into his shoulder when his chest rumbles with a laugh. “I’m sorry that everything got so fucked up.”

“If it hadn’t, would we be here?”

“No, probably not,”

“Then I’m not sorry. Not if this is where we ended up. And you shouldn’t be either,” he murmurs, “I am sorry that you got hurt. And I'm sorry that it was because of me. But I'm not sorry for this.”

A half hour later, after your tears have dried and your breathing evens out, Izuku makes you eat a real meal. He doesn't cook it (read: can't cook it), but he orders from your favorite place and has it delivered. You eat on opposite sides of the couch (despite both of you knowing damn well that Katsuki would absolutely kill you if he found out), but you touch him when you can. Brushing a curl from his eyes, tangling your ankles with his. Once you've eaten, when you're sated and nearly asleep with a warm, full belly, he breaks the very fragile case of glass around you.

“I took a mission,” he mumbles around a cheek full of rice.

“I know, Shouta told me,”

“I can back out,” he clears his throat, glancing at you through the curtain of curls falling into his eyes, “They don't actually need me. I took it to get away. Or, no, not to get away! To, uh, to give you space. But, I can pull out.”

“Stop, don't put your job on the back burner for me,” you grumble, leaning forward to steal a piece of chicken from his bowl.

“If I go, I leave tomorrow morning,” he continues, “And we should talk. I can drop out of the mission if you want me to.”

“Seriously, don't. Don't do shit like that,” you scoot towards him on the couch, press your hand firm over his chest, “I am a selfish person. I don't like sharing. And I won't want to share you. But I’ll have to if we're gonna make it work. And if you call out of work for me, you're just feeding into that delusion.”

Izuku’s eyes are so soft on your face, flitting between your eyes and your cheeks, your lips and your nose, taking in every detail. Cataloging every freckle, wrinkle, and scar. He lays his hand flat over yours, lets his fingers fall between the gaps, “I want you to be selfish with me, because I'm gonna be selfish with you. I've waited years for this, and I'm gonna take everything I can get. I'm gonna be greedy, let yourself be greedy too.”

Izuku's freckles get darker in the summertime, and his scars. His skin goes golden under the sun, and new freckles appear to mark constellations across his nose, down his neck and over his shoulders. He doesn't burn the way some people do, you think, he ripens like fruit.

“Go on the mission,” you sigh and crawl into his lap. He hums, leaning back to give you more space to get comfortable. You curl into him, press your nose into the crook of his neck, “We can talk when you get back.”

“Okay,” he breathes out, unsure, as scarred palms curl around your waist. You can feel how his fingers shake before they tighten over you. He squeezes then releases you twice in quick succession, just to feel you, just to touch. It relaxes you, turns your insides to liquid, warm and gooey. When your limbs go heavy and your eyelids start to droop, Izuku uses gentle hands to lift you as he stands. Your noise of confused complaint is hushed and you go quiet, letting him carry you to bed.

You're asleep before you hit the sheets and Izuku has to take a minute. Just a moment. To watch you breathe, watch the way your chest rises and falls. He remembers the fear that boiled in his chest when you stopped breathing that night. He doesn't even think you know, but he does. He knows, he remembers. It had only been for a moment, the doctors had worked quickly to get you back. But you had been gone, really, actually gone. Your heart stopped beating, your lungs stopped breathing and you were dead. Dead . You had died because of so many things, because of him.

So he takes a goddamn minute . He watches your chest rise and fall, syncs his own breaths with yours. He listens to how clear your lungs sound, presses his fingers to the pulse point in your wrist to feel your heartbeat. He reminds himself that you're alive, you’re fine. It takes an hour of watching you sleep before he feels okay to leave.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

“This roof top is inaccessible to the public,” Katsuki drones, “How the hell did you get up here without a key?”

“I jumped out of the window,” you shrug, muttering around the straw between your teeth. The sun is just beginning to rise, melting the horizon into pools of blue and pink, orange and purple. The clouds soak it up like watercolor and spit it back out onto mirrored skyscrapers and tree tops. A breeze blows between you and Katsuki looks angelic, all windswept and sun-kissed.

“You doing okay?”

“Are you?” you reflect back, tilting your chin up to see him better, “I'm sorry. I haven't said that yet. I was inconsiderate and self destructive and didn't really think about how it would affect anyone else. And I almost died because of it. So, I'm sorry.”

“It's– you're fine. I'm fine,” he shrugs and stuffs his hands into his sweatpants pockets to stave off the chill creeping up his spine. “We’re fine.”

“I know,” you say, “But I'm still sorry. And I love you. And– and thank you. For taking care of me.”

“Okay,” he grumbles, “Stop, seriously. We're fine.”

“Stop being so emotionally constipated,” you snort, shooting a hand out to slap at his calf, “Say it back.”

“I love you too, or whatever, fuck,” he literally shudders the moment the words leave his mouth and you cannot contain the laugh in your chest. He nudges at your thigh with his toes when he hears it, but he's grinning down at you so you know he's not too upset. “So, how'd it go with nerdface? Did you get your happy ending too or what?”

“I don't know yet,” you sigh. He sits beside you when you pat the space there and ducks to catch your eyes when you look away from him, “I don't know. We didn't really talk a lot–”

“Keep that to yourself. Disgusting,’

“Not like that you fucking freak,” you scoff, “No, I mean, I told him how I felt, that I changed my mind. And, you know, we both cried a little bit. But I told him to go on the mission and we could talk after he got back. I don't know. I don't know what he wants or how it'll all play out.”

“Izuku has been obsessed with you for years,” Katsuki shivers with the next gust of wind, shoving his hands between his thighs to create some warmth, “I don't know what the outcome of all this shit will be, but it'll be good. It has to be after all the shit you went through for it.”

“I hope so,”

Katsuki ushers you back inside after he shivers again, insisting that if he's cold you must be too. He isn't wrong, but you argue anyway, just to poke the bear. He pokes back until you're both back in his apartment. He steers you towards a stool at his counter and once you’re settled he starts on breakfast.

“Give me that, what the hell is wrong with you,” he grumbles, plucking the half empty slushie cup out of your grip, “Blue raspberry isn't a flavor you're meant to drink before noon. Where did you even get this?”

“The twenty-four hour convenience store on the corner,”

“It should be fucking illegal to buy shit like this so early in the morning,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Your ban from work continues despite being officially deemed healthy enough to go back by your army of doctors. Aizawa is insistent on you taking more time, getting more rest, and you know arguing won't get you anywhere. So you stay home.

The days all mesh together, they're all the same. Today marks day five of doing the same shit over and over again, and day three of Izuku being gone on his mission, and you're moments away from slamming your head into the drywall of Katsuki's apartment. Not your own, no. The drywall of your apartment is already busted and construction still hasn't begun yet. That makes you wanna dive headfirst through the wall even more.

“You have nothing fun to do,” you complain for the millionth time as you follow Katsuki down his halls, toes dragging because you're too lazy to fly properly.

He's not doing anything particularly interesting, just his daily chores and clean up, but anything is better than sitting in the living room and watching the window like it's TV. He won't even let you help, and normally you wouldn't want to help. Who the hell wants to clean? Not you, and especially not if it's someone else's house. But you would. You would scrub dishes until your fingers bled if you could.

“Read a book,”

“I did,”

“Read another one,”

“I've read every book on the shelf,”

“It's only been five days, there's no way–”

“Well, all the fun ones,” you wave a hand dismissively as you float past him, “I didn't read any of the boring literature or history books. Just the All Might comics and some manga.”

“You took my All Might comics out of their protective sleeves?” he gasps, staring at you like you've betrayed him.

“Who's the nerd now?” you snort, offering him a pointed look. “We're getting off track here. I'm bored.”

“What the hell do you want me to do about that?” Katsuki barks, spinning on his heel to stomp back towards the living room. Presumably to inspect his comics.

“Fucking fix it,” you toss back, trailing closely behind him, “Come get coffee with me.”

“Fuck no, today's my one day off this week because I'm covering your patrolling shift with mindfuck tomorrow. Find someone else,”

“You are so cruel,”

“Suck it, loser,”

“Cruel,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Izuku's mission goes well. Better than anyone thought it would. In fact, he and his team come home days before they're supposed to. And when he calls you requesting to meet up somewhere, you're more than eager when you ask him when and where.

The place you decide on is a sweet spot and one of your favorite bakery cafes. It's a small place, kitsch-y and warm with sweet American style pastries and strong coffee. You've been coming here for years, dating all the way back to before you had even enrolled at UA. You came here with your mom before she left, and your grandparents after that, and then your friends. You grin when you catch a glimpse of a familiar face through the window to the kitchen, icing a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls.

The owner is a sweet middle aged woman who likes to talk about her years spent in America to anyone who'll give her the time of day. You've heard the story of how she met and fell in love with her wife over a dozen times now, but it never gets old. You're a sucker for romance like that.

The whole business is family run, Kiyoko and her wife Sophie run the kitchen and their endless supply of nieces and nephews take turns serving guests and whipping up photograph-ready coffees and teas. Some work more often than others, only because they live in America during the school year and can only come out for summers to visit and help out.

Izuku is already there, draped over one of the chairs at the furthest table from the door and sporting the worst disguise you've ever seen in your life. A dark blue Ingenium themed baseball cap is haphazardly shoved over his mop of green curls, and a pair of Pro Hero Chargebolt themed sunglasses (that are the same ugly shade of yellow as the sweatshirt from the magazine cover) are slipping down his nose as he blows the steam from his mug.

“Nice disguise. Never would've guessed it was you,” you greet, coughing into your fist to cover up the laugh on your tongue when he turns towards you and visibly brightens at your sarcastic compliment.

“Thanks! Oh, here,” he scooches his chair over to make more space for you and your wings beside him, “Sit. Can I grab you a drink?”

“I'll get it,” you insist, pressing your hand to his chest when he tries to stand, “I just wanted to say hi first.”

“Okay,” he agrees and settles back into his seat. Before you can get too far, he curls his own hand over your own and smiles at you. His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles and he tilts his chin up to see you better when he says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you laugh, leaning closer.

“Missed you,” he breathes, tightening his grip on you. His head tilts again, offering himself to you, waiting but not pushing, and you–

You're very aware that you haven't kissed yet. Not a real kiss at least. You've been friends for over a decade, cheek kisses have happened in that time. But you give cheek kisses to sweet old ladies and Eri too, so those don't count in your head.

You are so painfully aware of the lack of kissing that it makes your fingers go numb and your heart stutter in your chest. It's so dumb, you aren't some love struck teenager anymore. The idea of a kiss shouldn't have you feeling this way. You're an adult. An adult who has kissed people before. An adult who has done many things far more lewd than kissing with other adults. It feels wrong to do it now. Before talking, before figuring yourselves out. What if this conversation ends in an argument? What if it ends with the decision to ignore everything that's happened? If you kiss him now and then lose him, you don't think you'll survive.

And so, you chicken out. Izuku takes it in stride, like you knew he would. He smiles softly and jerks his head toward the register as a reminder to go order and it's clear he's giving you an out here. He offers it up so kindly, so sweetly, that you don't even feel guilty for turning away from him to go order. The kid working the register today is secretly your favorite of all of them. Ren is a sweet kid, freshly eighteen and freshly out as nonbinary. You remember the day they told you, how nervous they looked asking you to use the pronouns they preferred. How happy they were when you congratulated them on speaking up for themselves.

They look equally as shocked to see you as they are relieved when you stop in front of them at the register.

“You're here!” they gasp, leaning forward over the counter to look you up and down, “You aren't missing any limbs either! Auntie! Aviator's back!”

“I told you she was fine! What're those tabloids saying about her now?” Kiyoko hollers back, popping her head into the window, “Oh, she's here here! Hi, honey!”

“Hi, Kiyoko! Is the missus here too?”

“Not today I'm afraid. Sophie's visiting family in the United States right now. Oh she'll be so sad she missed you. Where in heaven have you been?” she frets, using her quirk to step through the wall towards you. “You had us all so worried! There were news headlines saying you'd gone missing from the hero scene!”

“I was– I'm fine,” you appease, offering what you hope is a calming smile. “I was just temporarily out of commission. But I'm better now and hoping to get back to work soon if they'll let me.”

“Well good,” Kiyoko sniffs, “Now, answer me this.”

“Anything,”

Kiyoko glances around conspiratorially and you meet her halfway when she leans into you to whisper, “Is that young man sitting at table six Pro Hero Deku?”

“Uh,” you risk a glance over at Izuku, who's watching you with wide, quizzical eyes, before looking back at Kiyoko, “Yes. It sure is. But he's been here before, I don't–”

“That's what I thought,” she interrupts, nodding triumphantly. And then her face contorts into the biggest shit-eating grin you've ever seen on her and she asks, “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Auntie!” Ren squawks, looking as horrified as you feel, “You cannot just ask personal questions like that, oh my God!”

“What! I'm just curious! Especially because he's staring at you like you hang the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the sky,” she laughs, tossing you a wink, “If he isn't, he should be.”

“He isn't staring–”

“Oh, hush, yes he absolutely is,” she snorts, leaning back against the wall behind her. You fear your face is as warm looking as it feels. “I've seen all those tabloids about him and that Uravity gal, but I've never seen him look at anyone but you like that. He's always looked at you like that.”

“I don't know what we are,” you give in, practically deflating on the spot, “That's what I'm here to find out.”

“And I'm sure you're here for a coffee,” Ren says, successfully segueing the conversation. Kiyoko clicks her tongue at you both, but dutifully turns away towards the pastry case to let you order in peace. You wait to the side while Ren makes up your coffee just how you like it. When they set it on the counter for you, Kiyoko slides a pastry box towards you too.

“What's this?” you laugh, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Some raspberry turnovers. On the house,” she says, effectively ignoring you when you attempt to argue by phasing through the wall and into the kitchen again. You share a look with Ren and slap enough money on the counter to cover it anyways before turning to make your way back to Izuku.

“What was that about?” he wonders when you settle beside him.

“Kiyoko was meddling,” you push the box towards him and sip at your drink, “She gave us some raspberry turnovers though.”

“That's sweet of her!” he coos, carefully peeling the tape off the top to open it. Despite there being two, he still takes one and pulls it apart, offering out the larger of the two halves to you. You accept it with a smile.

After you finish your piece and suck the bits of raspberry filling and sanding sugar from your fingers, you ask, “So, what's up?”

Izuku hums around his cheekful of pastry, lifting his hat with his clean hand to scratch his head and ruffle his hair. He seems to hesitate with what he wants to say, nervously tapping his fingers along his cup, before he mutters, “Why– you said you didn't want this. That you didn't want to love me. And you didn't want to tell me either, you were going to– you did die. You died instead of just… telling me. And I can't wrap my head around it.”

“That was so cruel of me to say,” you say, “I should not have ever said that, I'm so sorry, Izuku.”

“I don't want an apology,” he rushes out, waving his hands out in front of him, “I don't want you to feel bad about it, I just want to know why. Was it– did I do something? Did you not trust me? Were you scared of me?”

“No. No, it wasn't that,” you're nervous, palms wet with sweat and heart fluttering in your chest, “At first, back in high school, I didn't think you had any interest. So for a long time, I didn't wanna ruin what we had. You're one of my best friends. And I know that even if I had told you, it wouldn't have made you drop me. And it probably wouldn't have been on purpose, but you're so hyper aware of how you treat people, I know it would've been different. You’d treat me differently, we wouldn't be like we had been. And I wasn't willing to risk that.”

“Okay,” he nods, shifting in his seat, “So, what about after high school, before you were sick?”

You watch a drop of condensation slip down the window in front of you. Follow the trail, guessing where it'll land, if it'll make it to the bottom before it disappears.

“I still wasn't sure how you felt. And by then, there were so many headlines about you and Ochako. And I know those are almost never true, but you guys have always been close. And I know she liked you too in school,” you sigh and lean forward in your seat to give your wings a little more space. The left one still aches sometimes, despite being all healed from the break it suffered. It's weaker now, just barely, but enough that you notice it. You stretch it wide, shake it out, and then fold it back nicely against your back.

Izuku follows the movements with sharp eyes. You take a breath and keep talking, “At some point, it sort of became a silly dream that I had. I made peace with it. I'd never fall out of love with you, but I'd never have you either. And that was fine as long as you were still here, you know? As long as we were still friends, it was fine. I ignored it. Stuffed all those feelings into a box and locked them up. I didn't ever even try to date anyone else, because I would've been a horrible partner. And that was fine too. I liked being alone. And if you ever did end up with Ochako, I would've been happy and supportive. Because I love you, and I love her, and I wanted you both to be happy.”

Izuku says your name in a soft whisper, ducking his head to catch your eye. You scrub your hands over your face and groan before turning to look at him. He looks exactly how you thought he would. Melancholic, heartbroken, thoughtful. He's soft when he says, “You don't have to tell me anymore.”

“I want to. You deserve to know,”

He nods, and you keep spilling your deepest thoughts for him. Word vomit is spewing from your chest, you can see the shadows of petals and stems on the tabletop. You tell him everything. You explain everything.

You tell him about how you wished he would reject you so you could have a moment of clarity. The way your feelings for him were so big you felt suffocated by them sometimes, and that's why you wished things were different. How selfish you feel about it all, how in denial you were about it for a long time. How you grieved him and the idea of there ever being an ‘us’ with him for years. How you mourned a relationship you thought would never happen.

You have a hard time articulating it all to him, but he seems to get it. He's always understood you, even before you'd been close. Even before you were in the hero course, back when you were just a gifted kid with a completely different dream. When you worked with your hands and went to sleep oil stained and excited to do it all again the next day.

(Being a hero had never been your plan. Sure, you had a useful quirk for it, you knew that young. And even during your days at UA, you knew you could transfer if you really wanted after being accepted. You'd been compared to Hawks more than once, you knew what you could do. But hero support had been your dream.

It's funny now, to think back on it, really. How against being a hero you were. You had no interest being on the front lines. Combat was never fun for you, you didn't get the rush kids in the hero course did when fighting. 

The war changed everything.

Aizawa and Hawks came to you to ask you to fight. They needed another Hawks for something, someone in the sky. And what the hell could you do, say no? Of course you couldn't. So you fought, you fought damn hard, and you won most of your battles.

The year following the war, you still refused to transfer. Despite Aizawa offering you a spot and taking you under his wing to train. You said no, you were firm in your decision.

Honestly, you don't know why you changed your mind. One day you woke up and remember thinking that if you could do even a fraction of the good that All Might did, that Deku did, you wanted to. You wanted to save people too.

You're still a shadow in the hero support world. You work with Mei on the downlow, fix friends' hero suits and support items under an alias and then go out and fight beside them.

You learned and adapted, figured out how to get the best of both worlds.)

By the time you've talked yourself out of breath, Izuku is openly crying beside you. Again, you find yourself uncomfortable. Laying your emotions out has never been a strong suit of yours, and you can feel phantom flowers in your chest. You briefly wonder if that feeling will ever truly go away.

“Sorry,” you say after a moment of silence, “I unloaded a lot. Didn't mean to do that.”

“No,” he sniffles, wiping at his cheeks and shaking his head, “I asked. Don't apologize.”

“I don't blame you if you don't want to pursue this,” you tack on, releasing a heavy breath. Your drink is long gone, but you tilt the cup back for the last few drops anyways, just for something to do with your hands. You miss the way Izuku whips his head up to look at you, mouth hung open and a panicked look on his face.

“Are you kidding?” he gapes. You don't look at him, focusing instead on the napkin in your hands. You tear it slowly, ripping tiny pieces off to pile up beside it. He sets his hand over yours, “I love you.”

“That doesn't mean we have to date,” you rasp, “We don't have to do anything. We could just– forget. We could pretend.”

“Do you remember in the hospital, when we confessed to heal your lungs?” he's so gentle with you, twisting your chair so your body is facing him. Your wings twitch behind you and he leans around to fix a few crooked feathers while you answer.

“I'll never forget it,” you huff, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

“Remember when you told me to reject you?” he goes on as he leans back again, settling across from you.

“Yep,” you nod.

“What did I say?”

“You said ‘no’,” 

“I did,” he concedes, “I also said I could never pretend I don't love you. This won't go away. I have spent years falling in love with you. I did it over and over, because it's you . I will always want this as long as you do. Do you want it?”

“I want it so bad,” you whisper, dropping your head back between your shoulders, “God, I have never wanted something more in my life.”

“Then you have it,” he laughs, like it's simple. And really, in a way, you guess it is. It always has been, you think. He sounds like he's still smiling when he says, “I'm all yours. Until you decide you don't want me anymore, but probably still then.”

When you finally look back at him, he looks beautiful. He's looking back, smiling so softly, so sweetly, it makes your teeth ache. It makes your chest ache the way his eyes squint when he smiles, the way his teeth peek out from behind full lips. How his freckles dance across the crinkled bridge of his nose when his smile widens. You want to spend the rest of your life committing each one to memory. You want to count them all and trace the constellations they make across his skin. There's a string of fate tying you to him, and it's unbreakable.

“I could never not want you,” is all you can think to say. And now, now you do want to kiss him. You want it so bad you can feel it in your teeth, in your fucking toes. But you don't.

The streets are busier, the bakery is picking up. There's too many people around and you know it'll be a whole shit show if someone snaps a picture of you together anyways. But it'll be far worse if it's a picture of you kissing. He's still in his terrible disguise, but you don't have the privilege of covering up. You're always exposed, the most recognizable thing about you is your wings and it's not like you can cover those up.

It'll look a lot worse for him than you if you kiss him and get caught by some pervy fucker with a camera. You're fairly underground, almost completely unknown, and people don't quite care about you the way they care about Pro Hero Deku. People that know enough about you to like you would be over the moon for a picture like that. People that like him would riot .

So you don't kiss him. You get another drink, and you share the second turnover with him. He tells you about his mission and you listen with just a smidge of jealousy. He notices and laughs, asking, “You miss it?”

“Oh, so bad,” you groan, “Dude, I'm going insane.”

“It's funny to think you almost didn't do this,” he hums, “Imagine how different things would be if you were in a lab instead.”

“I work under an alias with Mei sometimes,”

“I didn't know that! That's amazing!” Izuku gushes, leaning closer with hearts in his eyes, “How come I didn't know that?”

“It's a secret,” you laugh, “Hence the alias. Only a few people know, but I don't advertise it.”

“There's always something new to learn about you,” Izuku says quietly, suddenly awestruck and looking at you like you're a work of art. Your skin prickles with heat under the attention when he keeps going and says, “You're amazing.”

“Says you,” you scoff, deflecting. He hums, taking it in stride and props his head up with a hand on his cheek. You mirror him, grinning when he huffs a quiet laugh. Behind you, the bell above the door jingles and Izuku is slow to slip his sunglasses back over his nose and shuffle back to a more appropriate distance.

It's a group of young girls who ooh and aah at the pastries. One of them glances your way and has a look of recognition flash across her face. Izuku notices too, turning his face a little more out of her field of view and peering at you over the rim of his glasses. You both know he's too late, they've seen him.

“You've been caught,” you sing, laughing when his cheeks heat, “Gonna say hi?”

“Mm, I'd hope they can see I'm busy. But I will if I have to,”

“Wow, look at you. Not so nice after all,”

“Hey, I'm plenty nice,” he rolls his shoulders back, sits a little less like the Number One Hero and a little more like he's just some dude drinking coffee. You like being privy to this side of him, the side he doesn't show the public. The side of him that says fuck and gets irritated with fans. The one that doesn't help old ladies cross the street (they’ve done just fine before, they'll make it without him), and doesn't pick up trash in the streets. The grown ass adult side that's more like Katsuki than you think he cares to admit.

“Yeah, well, your fan club is coming over here. Smile, Deku,” you snicker, burying your grin into your collar. He follows your eyes when you flicker them toward the giggling gaggle of teenage girls inching their way closer. And when you stand he looks betrayed, “I'm gonna go talk to Kiyoko. Good luck, soldier.”

“Don't leave,” he begs, catching your hand before you can get too far, “Please, they're like wolves.”

“Fine,” you huff, folding easily for his big, puppy dog eyes.

The girls are fine. They don't squeal or cry, like some fans you've seen. They request an autograph and when he agrees, they run to ask Ren for a pen. The moment they turn their backs, Izuku takes you by the waist and rushes you out the door. You're both laughing, giggling into each other like you're teenagers breaking curfew. You run four blocks before he's pulling you into an alleyway to catch your breath.

“They were nice, why did we run?” you laugh, slapping his shoulder, “That was mean!”

“No one will ever believe them,” he shrugs, leaning back against a brick wall. “And I know Kiyoko will back me up.”

“Izuku!” you chastise, “What's gotten into you?”

“I'm not Deku right now,” he groans, “I don't wanna be Deku right now.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, I'm just Izuku,” he hums, stepping closer. You raise an eyebrow, but meet him halfway when he tugs you closer by the hem of your shirt. “I'm just me and you're just you. No heroes here.”

“Uh huh,” you curl your fingers around his bicep, shivering when the hand at the small of your back presses you until your belly touches his, “And?”

“And,” he murmurs, ducking his head down inches from your own, “I'm gonna kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” you breathe, fitting yourself against him easily when he surges forward to press his lips to yours. Chest to chest, you consume him, you let him consume you. When he sighs, you're more than eager to swallow it down, offer him one of your own. You take everything he's willing to give, and he takes too. His hands are warm on your back, tickling their way up to settle against your shoulder blades so he can wrap himself around you. 

Kissing him is everything you dreamed it would be and more.

“Come home with me tonight?” he practically begs when he pulls away, lips shiny and kiss swollen.

“Okay,” you agree easily, chasing after him to press more kisses to the corner of his mouth, “Yeah.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

Izuku's house is warm, lived in. His furniture is nice, but not overly expensive. His dishes are mismatched, his walls are covered in decor. It's not all that different from his dorm back in high school, just a little more mature looking. He still has an overwhelming amount of All Might merch, but it's more spread out, blending well with friends’ merch and other things.

You've been here before, but never like this. You don't know how to hold yourself, what's appropriate and what's not.

“You're being weird,” Izuku teases, shedding his disguise. “Don't be weird. We're the same as before.”

“No,” you disagree immediately, though not unkindly, “We aren't. This is not the same at all. But, that's not a bad thing. Just–”

“Different,” he says, “You're right.”

“Takes some getting used to is all,”

He's got four large bookshelves that are overflowing with his own notebooks, old and new, comics, and manga, and that's where you plant yourself. You read through titles, take in all the knick-knacks decorating the empty spots. He's got an old photo of a bunch of UA alumni grinning at the camera. There's a cute, goofy looking Dynamight bobblehead beside the picture, staring you down from the top shelf and you reach up to flick the head, grinning when it bounces.

“I wish I had something of yours to add to my collection,” he comments, stepping up to join you with a hand on your hip.

“I'm not big enough for merch,” you remind him, “And I'm an underground stealth hero. I don't even think I'm allowed to have merch.”

“Aizawa has merch,”

“Not real merch. It's all fanmade, bootleg type shit,” you say with a snort, leaning into his warmth. “Do you not have work today?”

“No, I've got the next few days off because of the mission,” he says, then hesitates, gnawing at the inside of his cheek before adding, “Do you wanna stay the night?”

“Yeah,” you smile, leaning up to press a sweet kiss to the freckles splattered over his cheek.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

You hadn't been expecting things to go the way they had when you spent the night, though you can't say you didn't like it.

Flashes of hot, sweat-slicked skin against your own flicker through your head. You remember how far down his freckles had reached, you think of those green eyes, staring up at you from between your legs. Scarred thick fingers squeezing so tightly at your thighs they left bruises. His mouth sealed over yours, swallowing down every noise you made. His own hiccuping sounds when you–

You're distracted. You can't be distracted. Today, you're officially back on duty. You're not back on the patrol roster quite yet, but you have a lot of paperwork to catch up on, so you hunker down in Katsuki’s office to do it.

On paper, you're a solo agent. You don't belong to any one agency, like Aizawa and Hitoshi, but you frequently find yourself working with or in Katsuki's agency.

Hitoshi joins you under the guise of being your partner and taking responsibility for half of the paperwork. You know it's really just because he and Katsuki are officially dating now and he wants to see him.

Simp , you think, as if you aren't exactly the same.

“Remind me again why you couldn't have just finished this shit?” you ask, wincing when the hand shaped bruise on your thigh throbs as you shift and tuck your foot beneath yourself.

Hitoshi notices your discomfort. He's seen it before, having marked you similarly. He watches for the telltale signs. The way you hiss, press your fingertips to the bruise in the same way whomever left them there must've, then flush a pretty shade of pink when you're inevitably reminded of how it got there.

“You got laid. You have a sex injury,” he accuses teasingly, leaning forward to press his own finger to the bruise. When you gasp, he does not hold in his laugh.

“It's not an injury , Jesus,” you bark out a shocked laugh too and slap his hand away when he keeps poking, “Just a bruise.”

“Damn,” he whistles, frowning down at his mug when he realizes it's void of any form of caffeine, “Didn't think he had it in him.”

“What, fucking me?”

“No, fucking you hard enough to bruise. Figured he'd be, like, vanilla. Missionary with super intense eye contact, you know, the works,”

“You are so fucked in the head,” you say.

“Like you aren't?” he throws back.

“I'm getting more coffee,”

“That's crazy, me too,” he grins, “You can give me details while we walk.”

“I hate you,”

“Mm, I don't think you do,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

They tell you that your apartment won't be fixed one month into your stay with Katsuki. Your landlord's son had been kind enough to call you the moment he found out.

“They found more structural damage after the accident that isn't worth fixing,” he explains over the phone, “Dad didn't wanna charge the tenants for an apartment they weren't currently living in. But without that income, he couldn't afford it anymore without risking foreclosure. And after finding out about the extent of the damages, he just decided to sell. He closed on a deal with a real estate company this morning and they're wanting to begin demolition immediately. Tenants have a week to get their things out.”

“That's not enough notice for more than half of the building,” you huff, “Where's your father gonna go?”

“My sister has an extra room,” he says, sounding extraordinarily tired, “I know a week isn't enough. I pushed for a month, but they wanna get started as soon as they can. And I have no say anymore. I'm sorry, Aviator.”

“Don't worry about it,” you sigh, “Thanks for calling. And tell your dad I said thank you too.”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

You hate moving. Even if you didn't particularly love where you were living, you still get this sad, melancholic feeling deep in your gut when you have to leave. It's definitely some childhood trauma shit, but you don't have time to deepdive into that.

And packing is a whole different annoyance. Especially packing an apartment that still looks like a warzone. You have backup on the way, Izuku and Katsuki are coming after they're joint patrol and Aizawa and Hitoshi texted saying they're a few minutes out. You're thankful for them, because you are overwhelmed.

Most of your stuff in the living room isn't even worth an attempt to save it. Your couch is destroyed, torn and missing pieces. Your TV is completely busted, folded in half and crushed under a chunk of your wall. Throw blankets are tattered, knick-knacks and tchotchkes broken or lost in the chaos, framed photos shattered and bloody.

You start in your bedroom instead.

By the time Aizawa and Hitoshi show up, you're nearly done packing all of your clothes. Hitoshi is gentle with you, he knows how you feel about moving. He offers you a coffee that you take with a grateful groan.

“How's it going?” Aizawa drawls, leaning back against your doorframe.

“The living room isn't even worth packing,” you huff, “Part of me wants to dig through the mess to see if I can salvage anything. But it seems useless at this point. They took so long that anything near the busted wall got wet from the rain we got a few days ago.”

“I'll dig through it for you,” he offers.

“You don't have to,” you mutter, defeated and tired.

“I know I don't have to, but I will,” he hums, scooping the hair off his neck to tie in a low bun, “You can focus on everything else. When will the boys be here?”

“Another fifteen, probably,” you say, “They're bringing the moving truck.”

“Well, with five of us it should be pretty quick,”

“Yeah,” you huff, “Thanks, Shouta.”

“Anytime, kid,”

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

“You have my merch?” Izuku coos, leaning past you to grab the sweatshirt behind you.

“Of course I do,” you laugh and slide another box across the floor and into the hallway. Katsuki scoops it up easily, grinning when you roll your eyes at his show of strength.

“I didn't know that,” Izuku blubbers suddenly, tears gathering on his lashes. “This is a limited edition, too!”

“Izuku,” you huff, snatching the hoodie back, “It's almost like I was desperately, embarrassingly in love with you for years.”

“Was?” he teases, catching you by the waist when you try to walk away and pressing himself against your back. He grins when you roll your eyes at him and leans down to leave a trail of light kisses over your shoulders.

You tilt your head back, urging him to drop one against your lips, “Kiss me and maybe that ‘was’ will change into ‘am’.”

“Anytime,” he murmurs into your neck, kissing a path from just below your ear to your lips and then leaving two more once he gets there.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

It's not a conscious decision, not on your part at least. You moving in with Izuku starts slow. Your time there begins to extend from a few days to a week, then more. Your things show up slowly at first, a couple shirts, your toothbrush. Shampoo and conditioner. It's not even you that's doing it, it's him. He's the one that's casually bringing more and more of your boxes up from his basement. He's the one that insisted you bring Hiro with you. 

It's been such an easy transition, you hadn't realized how normal it felt. Your dishes mixed with his in the kitchen, your books beside his on the shelves. Hell, you have your own dresser and a dedicated side of the bed and closet now. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to even notice. It's been nearly three months, and you're just putting it together on a random, lazy Sunday morning.

“Do I live here?” you ask, startling yourself. Izuku is across from you, lounging on the couch and half asleep. The TV drones on while he blinks a few times dumbly, mind lagging and drowsy. You gasp, horrified, “Did I accidentally move in with you!?”

“You didn't realize?” he laughs, sitting up with a stretch. You're momentarily distracted by the slither of skin that peeks out when his shirt rises with his arms. He grins when he catches the look in your eye.

“No? What the fuck? You did?” you say as soon as your tongue catches up with your brain again.

“Baby,” he snickers, “You never even started looking for apartments.”

“I'm– I was just procrastinating!”

“Every single one of your boxes has been unpacked,” he adds.

“I didn't ask you to do that!”

“Are you upset?” he murmurs, suddenly looking guilty.

“I–” you hesitate, taking in your home. Your things fit so seamlessly with his, like it was always meant to be like this, “I don't think I am.”

“Okay,”

“Just– sorry, I guess,”

“What? Why?”

“For moving in with you without asking, maybe? I don't know. Are you upset?”

“Are you kidding? Coming home to you is everything I've ever wanted,” he's so earnest when he says it, “I was gonna ask anyways, but then it just sort of happened.”

“Oh my God, that's so fucking embarrassing,” you whine and drop your head to your hands. He coos, crawling from the couch to the lounge you're occupying and crushing his weight down on you carefully. You let your hands fall from your face to wrap around his shoulders and curl into the dark green curls at the base of his neck, “Is love always this easy?”

“I don't know,” he answers honestly, “I wouldn't say this was easy. It took us a long time to get here.”

“Yeah, but now that we got here it is,” you whisper into his hair, pressing gentle kisses to the crown of his head. “I think it's supposed to be like this.”

“I think so too,” he groans, squishing his face further into your chest, “You're so warm.”

“Are you tired, baby?”

“Mm, no,” he says, turning to bite at the swell of your breast. When you hiss, he apologizes with wet licks and kisses over the mark until you make a softer noise.

“Oh,” you sigh, “Okay, not tired.”

“Definitely not tired,” he huffs, scooping you up easily as he stands. “But I still prefer the bed for this. Only the best for my love.”

Your laugh is warm, loud and unapologetic, bouncing along the walls of the house as he carries you up the stairs and to your bedroom. His own laugh twists together with yours, filling the corners of your shared space. Somewhere downstairs, the bell on Hiro's collar jingles.

It's a vibrant feeling, realizing that this is your home too. The bed he drops you on is yours too. And the shower you share after is yours. You and him have weaved parts of each other into your lives, intertwined everything to make it shared.

It's not ‘mine’ or ‘his’ anymore, it's ‘ours.’

It's shared . It's two people coming together to make one life because they love each other enough to make space for one another.

It's everything you've ever wanted.

── 𓇢𓆸 ──

When you were a kid, you didn't ever want to fall in love. You watched first hand how love ruined your mother. The man who helped bring you into this world hadn't even stuck around long enough for you to meet him. And when he left, he took a piece of your mother with him you think. And she spent years looking for it. Chasing men, begging them. Changing for them.

Every man after that was the same. Kind in the beginning, sweeter than sugar to you and your mother. And then, somewhere along the line, a switch was always flipped. They didn't want kids, they didn't want you . And they never stuck around long enough for you to call them dad, not that you ever would.

You didn't need a dad, you had your mom. She was enough for you, she always would be.

You weren't enough for her.

She craved love so badly from a man, it wasn't enough if it was from you.

One man stuck around long enough. He treated her so well, he said he loved her. He asked if she loved him too. If she loved him enough to leave you behind.

The first few times he asked, she had laughed him off. You listened through the crack in your door, waiting and wishing that she would finally put your relationship with her first. 

When you were ten, she left. And you learned that unconditional love doesn't exist. Not with men or women. Not with family, not with your own mother.

“He's gonna marry me,” she had said, delighted and rushing to pack her suitcase. “He just– well. He doesn't want kids. You want me to be happy, don't you? You understand, right?”

You didn't. Of course you didn't.

If love could do that, if it could take your mother away from you, you didn't want it.

Your grandparents had been furious with your mother when they took you in. They raised you well. With so much love, they taught you it could be good . They were so proud of you when you got your acceptance letter from UA. And they cheered for you during your first Sports Festival.

They tried to show you better love, healthier love.

“Love is easy,” your grandmother said, time and time again, “It shouldn't be hard. Real love is so easy, so simple. They won't ask you to change, they won't want you to be different. They'll love you as you are. And if they really love you, you'll believe them when they say it.”

And eventually, you could see it in them, in the way your grandfather knew how your grandmother took her tea, in the way your grandmother still made his favorite meal every year on his birthday, even after he passed. When she passed three years after him, you were more happy than sad. Still heartbroken, of course, but she was with him again. He had always been her happy place, and you knew they were together again, wherever they were.

You see them again in your life, in the relationships around you. You see them in Izuku and yourself, in Katsuki and Hitoshi, in Shouta and Hizashi. You see that same love, the good kind. The unconditional kind. The kind your mother failed to show you.

And you can see it now. Written between the lines of love, of devotion you've given each other. It's so saccharine, warm and gooey like honey. Izuku is so easy to love , he is so quick to give it right back. He makes the space for you, so he can love you and the rest of the world too. He fits himself in that hole in your chest, he cups his hands so tightly together to collect your soul when you pour it into his accepting palms. And he doesn't hesitate to pour his own into your hands, because he trusts you with it. Because he loves you.

He is so sweet, so kind, when he says he loves you too. He is a good man, and you are grateful to be the one to love him. You're grateful for the mornings where you wake up with him and the nights you fall asleep with him. And he, in turn, is just as grateful. And he shows it so openly. Touching you whenever he can, even if it's just a hand on your arm as he passes by you or a leg tangled between yours while you sleep. He kisses you at every opportunity, in public and in private. He dances with you in the kitchen, dips you low to the floor and presses a kiss over your heart.

You've spent years wanting him, loving him, and you are so fortunate in being able to do that. He'd shout his love for you from the rooftops if he could, you're sure. And you would do the same damn thing.

Being in love with Midoriya Izuku is so easy, all things considered. It's as automatic as breathing and blinking and being, because he loves you back just as easily. And in some sick and twisted way, you're thankful for those flowers that had sprouted in your chest. Without them, you wouldn't have this easy, beautifully simple love.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you,” he replies. And it's so easy, and he doesn't ask you to change anything about yourself, and you believe him every time he says it.

[seiwas]

hi, sel! i hope you’re doing great <3 for your little exercise, can you do bakugou + vulnerability 🤔 thank you so much!

hi, zee! i'm doing very well, thank you! i hope you're doing amazing too 🥺 thank you for sending in a lil prompt 💗

contains: aged up papa bakugo, mentions of a baby, mentions of past near-death experience

bakugo + vulnerability

it hits him all at once.

bakugo goes back into the field after eight months of paternity leave and instead of the pumping in his veins, all he feels is fear―unlike anything he's ever felt before.

it rings deep in his bones, crawls up his spine and into the back of his head; it rattles around his heartbeat. he didn't feel this at 15, with no pulse, near death with blood splattered all over his chest.

yet here he is now, at 35, standing face-to-face with a villain not any larger than he is. there's no real threat besides the explosives strapped to the pillars of this evacuated building; the worst that could happen is that the entire structure could collapse if they're set off.

―which, he can avoid; could hightail out of the area using cluster easily. but the pressure feels bigger somehow, the possibility of a failure weighs heavier. his first thought is you and the baby. his little family.

"you should start going back to the field," you whispered one night, your arms wrapped around his waist as he cradled his little girl to sleep.

he'd wanted to take the whole year off, just until she would start walking. just until you were more rested. settled.

but, you know bakugo and what makes him who he is, you know being a hero is more than just his job; how he misses the thrill of it, sneaking looks at his phone every time he hears anything from the news.

so he's here now, a few months too early, and it terrifies him―how he doesn't feel the same way he used to. it's paralyzing; one wrong move, one reckless mistake and it could all be over.

there's so much more to lose.

help me get back into the writing groove! send me a character + any word and i'll write a short blurb about it!

[neongalaxiie]

Caught In 4K - Part 6

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4/5

Hero's big eyes blinked up at Villain as they rubbed their head, whincing. At Hero's question, they scoffed. "Oh, y'know, just taking a nap," Villain replied, gesturing wildly with their hands.

Hero examined the space Villain had crawled beneath. "Under the seat? That's not very comfortable." They gave Villain a small smile, raising a brow.

Villain scoffed again. "You can't possibly be this naive." They rolled from under the row of seats and glanced up at the only other person in their train car, an older man who was scrolling through his phone, half asleep. Good. They probably didn't notice Villain.

Villain strained themselves upward to a standing position even as all their joints screamed, and they leaned backward to crack their back, planting their hands on their hips. Hero just watched them as they stretched their arms over their head, all the bones popping. Then Villain started with their neck and Hero flinched away in disgust.

"Okay, then what are you doing here?" Hero asked as Villain finished, taking the seat across from Hero and spreading their legs out. Villain didn't answer right away, opting to scratch the plague off their teeth. "Wait—" Hero's face shifted in contemplation before they pointed an accusing finger at Villain. "Were you following me?"

Villain inspected their finger and rubbed it. Their eyes flicked over to Hero as they raised a brow. "No. Why would I do that?"

Hero frowned, but didn't say anything. The train began to slow down and Hero stood up without offering Villain so much as a glance.

Villain made a move to get up and realized they hadn't figured out a plan this far. The doors rumbled open, and Hero stepped out, peeking backward to see Villain rushing out of their seat.

"Ah ha!" Hero exclaimed once they were both on the platform. "So you were following me."

"Woah." Sarcasm layered Villains tone. They rolled their eyes and held their palms up. "Amazing deduction, Sherlock. Really, what did you think I was doing?"

Hero hummed, turned, and walked away with bothering to give a response. Villain slouched over, gaping, before hurrying after Hero.

"So, why were you following me?" Hero asked as soon as Villain stood beside them. Villain side-eyed Hero, who was looking directly at them.

Villain turned their head away. "I was told... to keep an eye on you... after what happened." They met Hero's eyes. "To... make sure nothing... uncalled for happened."

It was Hero's turn to look away. They rubbed at their eyes and sniffed, but wouldn't let Villain see. Villain's forehead creased. Was Hero crying?

The duo climbed up the steps and emerged into the dark city, lit up by streetlights. They walked in silence for a while, Villain not daring to be the first to speak.

Then Hero's broken voice came. "I— I'm being executed."

Nothing could have prepared Villain for that. Their eyes went wide and they clutched their chest, breaths coming ragged. They felt like they were having a heart attack. Hero gave them an irritated look.

"Stop being so dramatic."

"Sorry," Villain said, dropping the act. "When is it happening?"

More tears, but Hero forced it out. "Tomorrow... is my last day. At 5 pm they'll..."

Hero broke down, unable to finish their sentence. Villain offered them a comforting pat on the back.

"Hey, Hero, it's okay. We'll figure it out, okay? Let's just get home and we'll come up with a plan."

"How?" Hero wailed. "It's not like—"

"We will, trust me." Villain patted their shoulder. "Hey, look at me."

Villain turned Hero toward them by their shoulders, and they stopped walking. Villain stared into Hero's eyes. "Listen," Villain continued, "You will not die. Under no circumstances will I let you, especially not for this ridiculous reason. This system the Hero Organization has is messed up and we're gonna fight against it, okay?"

Hero nodded, not trusting their voice, and wiped the tears off their cheeks. "Good," Villain finished, leading them down the path. "Now, let's get home. We'll settle down and then we'll make a plan."

[justawriterofstuff]

The thing about being revived

(MDNI)

Once upon a time, a sidekick wanted to be a hero and save a lady from the evilest, and vile person that ever existed.

And though his mentor told sidekick to not go, at least alone, sidekick still went off and did it anyway.

How was anyone supposed to know that he'd be tortured beyond belief, head smashed in with a crowbar, and when sidekick thought it was over, his hope of being saved by his mentor was all but vanquished as he stared down at the countdown clock where the bomb exploded.

A chunk of steel entered through his chest, straight through his heart before Jason could even scream, his body flung back.

And he was dead. Jason Peter Todd was for sure dead.

Dead when he was picked up out of the rubble.

Dead as he was prepped and ready for his funeral at fourteen.

And stayed dead as they lowered him into the ground.

But that was thing about Jason.

Forces outside of him would always have a hand at his life, and at his death.

Someone pulled him out from the ground, and dumped him into a hot vat of water.

Actually, he didn't know what it was.

All Jason knew was that he'd been in the in-between, when a green entity popped in, and latched on to him.

It forced Jason to feel physical pain as the entity snapped his bones back in place, beat the injuries off of him.

And it did something else to him too; his skinny fourteen-year-old self was suddenly taller, body thicker.

Thick like a man, like Bruce had been.

Agony ran up and down his body, and through his mind, and through his heart.

He lunged forward, ripping off the bandages that covered his face, as he took a deep breath.

It was chilled where he was being kept at, and he turned to face what looked like assassins watching him carefully.

This was too much for his renewed senses, so Jason staggered up from the green liquid, pulling his naked body over to the ground.

His limbs shook, goosebumps covering his skin, and when someone touched him, Jason snapped.

Gone was the young boy who'd been taken in and shown another way of life, trained extensively on how not to kill.

For Jason right now, this was his time to survive, and if life was going to shove him back into his body and rise him back up, the least he could do was choke life and not let go.

With raw power, sharpened senses that let him know he was going to get hit, and anger that was never-ending, Jason lashed out, clearing out the room until a woman appeared, holding a thick bathroom robe.

Jason snatched it from her, pulling it on. It was tight around his sudden broad shoulders but fell down past his ankles and offered him warmth.

He was looking at the woman before him with a wary glare.

"Look." she said, holding her hands up, her voice thick with an accent Jason couldn't place. "I'm Talia. And I want to help you."

Help. The word sent Jason's mind down into an unpleasant tumble, and he shook his head before he focused back on her.

"How?" he asked, almost jumping at how deep and low his voice had gotten.

How much time had passed? How old was he now?

"I saw how you put away all of these assassins with frightingly ease. If that was the case, they didn't deserve the honor of working for me. I want to hone your skills, and make you into an amazing weapon." she answered, Jason staring around at the crumble of bodies around him.

Oh fuck.

He had done that.

Bruce would be so pissed. Bruce-

-didn't save him. Didn't help him. This lady did.

Talia.

"I know you hold hatred for the clown and Bruce in your heart. Our goals are similar. I'll help you to get revenge on both of them." Talia continued, her dark eyes boring into Jason's green ones.

Green like the pit instead of the warm brown that they use to be.

"...what do I do?" Jason asked, Talia giving him a smile.

"You'll train with me here. And once you're ready, you can be the example for my son." she reached out as someone approached her with what looked like a one year old.

Even though Jason was dead, he could recognize the face bone structure of his mentor anywhere.

The baby had Bruce's face, hidden with baby fat, the same jet black hair, and those icy blue eyes.

Although this baby's eyes were a tad bit warmer, not yet frosted enough to be exactly like Bruce's.

"Bruce is his father." Jason said, surprised, and Talia gave him a wry smile.

"Of course Bruce is. He's the only one that doesn't know yet. I want you to be the role model that Bruce will never be for my son." Talia replied, the baby looking at Jason with curious eyes.

Jason wondered what the baby saw when he looked at him.

"What's his name?" Jason asked.

"Damian. Damian Wayne."

9 years later...

"You're being a fool right now. What kind of idea is that?" Talia asked Jason as she spoke to him over the computer.

Jason rolled his eyes.

"We both agreed that Gotham is a stain, and either needs to be wiped completely or taken under new management. It's the only reason why I took over all the drug rings running in and out of operations here." Jason replied, leaning back in his chair.

Talia huffed, rubbing her temple.

"I don't see what's the big deal. You have Damian training with your grandfather back over there so it's not like he's going to get hurt." Jason replied, and Talia stilled ever so slightly.

Of course, Jason noticed.

He always noticed.

"Don't tell me-"

"Damian has exceeded all expectations and trainings over here. He didn't see any of it as a challenge. But he learned of his father. Of Batman. I don't even know how-look. The point is, Damian arranged a meeting with Bruce. And he's gone and left with him back in Gotham." Talia finished, her gaze watching over Jason's face carefully.

Jason should have been hurt.

Sure, he was Talia's lackey up until he was twenty, and the squirt had just turned five, but once Jason found out about the new Robin, Jason had taken matters into his own hands, and went straight back to Gotham, carefully planning to take the underworld by storm.

Now at twenty-four, and Damian at just nine, he realized he didn't feel much of anything. Just a curiosity on how the kid who'd been trained nothing but violence would fare with someone who was abhorrently against killing.

"I guess I wish Bruce luck." Jason said instead, Talia rolling her eyes as she hung up. "What a frigid old bitch."

Jason knew he was going to do what he wanted anyway. Talia was in no place to ask for any type of demands, not after how easily Jason had managed to steal a million dollars from her father, and now Damian going off with Bruce instead of taking up the mantel of his grandfather's legacy, Talia wasn't in her father's good graces.

Jason sighed as he got up, and grabbed his red hoodie, putting the hood up.

He needed to take a break from his planning.

So he decided the park was fair game for him after all.

Sitting on the park bench, overlooking the trees and the playground, Jason took a deep breath, the cold Gotham air making him cold on the inside.

It was strange looking at the playground and realizing how small it was to his large frame.

Don't get him wrong, with Talia's training, and mental training, he eventually got use to his age and body. And with her teachings, Jason reluctantly admired how she'd kept it professional, also watching how she raised her son.

It did make Jason realize why Bruce decided to walk away from her.

Jason pulled out his zippo, flicking it opened and closed. He didn't smoke, only having the lighter as something for his hands to do.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he didn't flinch when a soft touch was placed on his shoulder.

Jason looked up, closing his zippo with a sharp click, as he saw you.

"Sorry for making you wait." you said, your eyes begging Jason to go along with it as he looked over to the man trailing behind you.

Disgust marred Jason's features as he looked at what he considered a rat man with oily slicked back hair in a twisted ponytail, the top of his head bald and shining. The man had thick glasses on that were smudged, a long patchy beard, and had a skinny chest but a beer belly.

It took Jason two seconds how to go about this situation.

His large hands grabbed at your waist gently, pulling you so you were draped on his lap as he nestled you close in his arms.

"It's okay doll, I thought I was going to have to track you down." Jason lied with ease, glaring at the creep.

The creep who actually flinched and without a word, bolted.

You heaved a sigh as you slid off Jason and sat next to him.

"Thank you so much. He was following me around since I got off shift and I didn't want to go home and have him follow me there." you told Jason, and he nodded in understanding.

"Just be more careful. Carry a weapon with you if you have to. Gotham is filled with creeps and goons." Jason said instead, surprising himself.

"Yeah, I'm going to have to at this point." you admitted, getting up from the bench. "Thank you though. I guess I'll see you around?"

"Maybe." was all that Jason said.

After all, he was still planning to save Gotham. That or erase it off the map.

[afternoondreaming]

No Business Like Show Business (4/?)

What is goody my gang! Welcome back to the show! The next chapter should be a real fun one, you’ll get to bond with Mr. Puzzles~! But, for now, we build up our beloved slow-burn. Thanks for waiting, dear viewers~!

Mr. Puzzles, as massive as he was when he was in Channel 99, looked down upon you with worry. It had to have been an act, right? There was no way you passed out from the pure overwhelming feeling of confusion. Maybe it was from… Adoration! Being so absolutely impressed with his genius! …No, even he couldn’t fool himself into thinking that. However… This could be an amazing opportunity. It’d be so, so easy to hypnotize you right now. Then, he could just keep you here! Have you write day in and day out, fully loyal to the studio. But, perhaps that would stifle the creativity he so needed out of you… A shame. He sighed and with a snap of his fingers, thrust both of you back to reality. And, yup, you were still asleep on top of the layers and layers of dust the studio had accumulated over the years. That couldn’t possibly be healthy for you, and he needed you in tip top shape for creating your first big hit for Puzzlevision! “My apologies for the intrusion, Starlet, just being a hero at work~!” He stooped down low, putting his arms under you and lifting you up high into a princess carry. Some fresh air would likely do you good, so he took the initiative to take you both outside. He’d have to get his designer clothes dry cleaned to properly remove all that dust, but a dry cleaning bill was worth the eventual returns in the form of ratings. An old bus stop bench was right outside the entrance- however abysmally kept it may be, it was better than hot asphalt. He’d lay you on it, returning inside to grab your portfolio to bring back out with him. He might as well go over it, after all. You could be here for a while.

Slowly, you began to regain your senses. Sunlight fluttering behind your eyelids, you rubbed a hand to your head and decided to open your eyes. You were… Outdoors? Sat on an old, dilapidated bench just outside of the studio. Had all that TV dimension nonsense been a dream? Did you bomb the interview so badly that your brain just overwrote it with complete and utter nonsense? You looked to your side, seeing the titular TV man standing by the entrance to the studio next to you. He hadn’t noticed your awakening, flipping through one of your screenplays. That bastard had gone through your portfolio bag…! Sure, that’s what it was made for, but he could’ve asked when you were conscious! Annoyed, you cleared your throat, bringing his attention back down to you. “Excuse me.” You said, obviously irritated. “It’s impolite to go through others’ possessions, you know.”

“Excuse you.” He retorted, not even looking down your way as he flipped another page. “It’s impolite to enter another’s studio without knocking, but you already did that. I simply thought that, as my sidekick, such civil courtesies had been thrown out.”

“I hadn’t realized I was applying for the sidekick job position and not the screenwriter one. Silly me.” You stretched out your sore bones, coming up on your own two feet. “Now, about those apartment listings?”

“Ah, yes, I prepared them during your little nap. No need to thank me~!” His face switched to something akin to smug, obviously wanting thanks that you would refuse him on principle as he waved a paper at you. You jumped to snatch it from him, looking it over. “And, as you have applied for the sidekick position, I will gladly help you move. A good mastermind takes care of their own, after all~!”

“Sidekick, really? We’re going with that…? Bruh…” You decided to ignore that little tidbit, looking back up to his screen. “Thanks, Mr. Puzzles. I honestly don’t have much to move, so it shouldn’t be too hard once I sign with the landlord.” You took your screenplay back from him, not bothering to ask for it kindly as you packed your portfolio bag. “I guess I’ll see you around then…!”

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Starlet.” He replied, a smile coming back to his face as you got on your phone to hail a taxi. “I think we’ll be making a wonderful team~”

The days after your interview were certainly stressful. You sorted out severance pay with your old studio, and Puzzlevision was kind enough to finance the penalty for backing out of your lease early. All that was left was actually packing everything up into a moving van and make the long trek back to the oddly colorful land that Puzzlevision called home. Sure, it had been a long drive, and you had all of your furniture to unpack after it… But, hey, at least you had your new boss’ help for that. With his gangly arms, it was sure to be a cinch. Speaking of gangly-ass arms, there was the devil himself. Waiting in the parking lot of the complex, sleeves rolled up and ready for some good old fashioned manual labor. The sun was already starting to lower in the sky, so you’d have to get it all done with the little sunlight you both had left.

“Ah, starlet! The rising star of the hour— Your benevolent boss is here to help~!” He called out, waving at you as you hopped out of the box truck.

[kairiscorner]

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

man... he's so annoying. and yet, so fucking dreamy.

summary: you were lauded as the only serious junior in the entire spider society. you did your work and loved doing it, you made no exceptions for any rules, not even for yourself. you loved order and civility, you fought hard in your universe to earn it, and you believed you deserved it here in the spider society and tried your hardest to uphold it. but when he showed up... you were gonna have a problem.

word count: 1,222 (crazy)

a/n: might be part 1 of something, or a oneshot, who knows !

you loved being a spider person, though of course, you'd never show it. you were looked up to by anyone who was anyone, everyone wanted to be like you. you upholded the law and ideals of society as a spider person, who'd've thought for your city to be civilized, all they needed was a spider-themed hero and they'd all bow down and listen?

it was because of your amazing abilities, tireless determination to serve and protect the people of your hometown that you were sought out by the spider society and became one of theirs. and you were the damn best at it. you found a new pleasure and hobby in beating up bad guys, being spotted over roofs of abandoned buildings, being pointed and gasped at by onlooker civilians, and saving the day as a friendly neighborhood spider person.

life was great like this, it followed one, linear path that everyone else did. it was the perfect pastime, the perfect job for you. you made a few friends and got along real well with jess and peter b, you had dibs on being jess' kid's mentor when it'd be born, and mayday absolutely loved you. you were peter b's go-to for a babysitter if he had to leave for a mission or go on a date night with mj. you were a trusted kid at the spider society, the adults had never met a kid as serious, responsible, and hard-working as you.

it was pure bliss, being part of the spider society.

until he showed up.

the moment he came in, you swore you heard a loud electric guitar strum reverberate throughout the halls. you felt the vibrations of it in every bone and muscle of your body, this guy couldn't have bothered you any worse. you groaned at the noise, asking others around you who that was. they shrugged, must've been some newbie, not that you cared, you just hoped they'd keep it down.

you cared for order and civility, and you found that in the spider society. despite there being some rogue ones and rebellious folks, you found yourself getting along with most of them. but you had a feeling that this newbie who made himself known through his flashy one note show might get on your nerves a little if he keeps that behavior consistent, but you digressed.

as you went over to the lobby to see what all the fuss was about, you soon heard another ear-piercing noise. it wasn't just one note that was playing now, it was a whole metal song. to make matters worse, some drummer girl joined him in, contributing to the noise.

"who the hell?" you asked yourself as you spotted a spiked spider man masked person with a black leather vest, buttons and pins adorning the lapels of it, with dark spider-doodled pants and long black boots with mismatched laces, yellow on the right and blue on the left. his mask had what appeared to be a runny look to it, the lenses of their mask ran down a little by the ends. their entire apparel screamed anarchy and chaos. and you loathed it.

"who's ready to overthrow an oppressive regime with me? an oppresive regime of boredom in this whole building!" the newbie's voice exclaimed. it was deep, yet smooth; it had a fluidity to it, almost as if he could say anything, and one would immediately listen, no questions asked. soon, everyone around you who was watching was buzzing as the guy played a loud metal song for all to hear. many were cheering for him and encouraging him to keep playing, but you soon noticed many of these people were on patrol duty. and many of them looked like they were more invested in this nutcase's impromptu performance over work, work that saves the multiverse, you thought as you reminded yourself.

"okay, people, this is cool and all, but we have work to do." you said as you tried to get the onlookers near you to listen to you, but it was for naught. none of them heard you over the incessant cheering, howling, and music in the air. you huffed as you shook your head, put your mask on, and swung over to the makeshift stage they had that was made of wooden crates and cardboard boxes laying around.

as the guy was strumming away on his electric guitar, showing no signs of giving out, you took the mic away. "okay, this was a good show and all, but we have work to do." you announced yet again, which earned the groaning and disappointment of a lot of people.

"yeah, yeah, groan as much as you want, that won't stop mr. o'hara from freaking out at us the minute he comes back and sees this whole... gathering." you say, trying to quell the audience's thirst for more excitement.

"well, aren't you a prissy one?" asked the newbie with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. you rolled your eyes. "what you did just hindered a whole lot of people from their responsibilities here, newbie." you told him in a stern voice as you frowned at him, expecting him to be mature about this if he was recruited as a spider man.

he laughed as he thanked the drummer girl for her performance as she was packing up to leave, and turned to look back at you with a smirk from underneath his mask. "you're real cute for that, upholding orders from higher-ups you so badly want to please. that's not being a spider person, though. more like being... an obedient little dog." he teased as he bent over a little to look you in the eye.

up close, he was much, much taller than you, much bigger in nearly ever aspect. you gulped a little, but your frown and angry expression remained. "say what you want, my judgement stands. i'm also more experienced than you here, so if you want to survive, you listen to me." you whispered as he leaned in closer to you, smirk widening.

he took off the mask, and you were surprised to see just how many piercings he had, you didn't even have any piercings for earrings at the bottom of your ears, yet he had... so many. he grinned at you as he ran a hand through his thick hair in wicks. "i think i can manage on my own, little doggy." he teased as he ruffled your hair and chuckled a low chuckle.

"i mean it though, it's cute. if you wanna be more than just a little dog for the higher-ups, though... you'll know where to find me." he said with a wink as he put the mask back on and swung away.

you were left alone now, thinking about who you just met. he was, of course, rebellious and disorderly, everything you weren't aspired never to become. you knew nothing good came out of a discordant lifestyle like his, no matter how little you knew of him, you knew one thing.

"man, he's so annoying..." you complained aloud as you took the mic and hopped off the makeshift stage, ready to clean it up before the adults got back. 'and yet, so... dreamy.'

oh dear, looks like he's gonna be quite the pain in the ass for you.

lmk if i should keep this going babes, i loved this idea sm, thank you to my friend on the dc server for the idea :DD

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @pixqlsin @k4tsu3 @nokkihy @fictarian @bivivivii

[mogamuncher]

Heeeey I'm back again with another tidbit of the Slay the Knight AU (AKA: the Re:Zero and Slay the Princess crossover au)

Anyways due to some of y'all's amazing suggestion, I think I have a lot more ideas to rave about rn, mostly about the voices, but also some about the different Barus that this au would have!

Ok so, first the voices:

Voice of the Hero - Voice of the Noble: Julius.

Voice of the Contrarian - Voice of the Opposed: Ram

Voice of the Opportunist- Voice of the Cunning: Anastasia

Voice of the Cold - Voice of the Shut-in: Beatrice

Voice of the Paranoid - Voice of the Troubled: Otto

Voice of the Stubborn - Voice of the Proud: Priscilla

Voice of the Hunted - Voice of the Protector (shield, get it?): Garfield

Voice of the Cheated - Voice of the Wronged: Felt

Voice of the Skeptic - Voice of the Cynic: Pick

Voice of the Smitten - Voice of the Devoted: Rem

Voice of the Broken - Voice of the Selfless: Reinhard

I think that's all the voices but I might be wrong. . Uhhh anyways here they all are! Again a lot of these are from suggestions, but I really liked them! Some names are still iffy (Felt and Garfiel could definitely be improved upon I think) but I do like the character placements!

My favorite thing to think about is which route these voices will interact with, since all the Barus will be very. . . Interesting.

Speaking of the Barus, here's some ideas I had for their princess equivalents, with pictures!

So, first, to get it out of the way: The Witch

100% Wrathbaru, there's not a single bone in my body that says otherwise. The Witch route is all about distrust, it's all about how you betrayed the Princess and so she betrayed and beat up you, there's even a reference to the Frog and the Scorpion fable in her route, a fable all about trusting someone only to get hurt in doing so. Hell, the characteristic voice for her route is Voice of the Opportunist, who's singlehandedly the voice that should be trusted the least

Meanwhile in the Wrath IF route, Wrathbaru was specifically incredibly paranoid and distrustful to the point where he stopped seeing color, only ever seeing color in people who he fully trusted, mainly because he knew for certain where they stood emotionally when it came to him either through consistency across loops (Beatrice and Emilia) or because he knows that they just hate him (Ram and also kinda Emilia)

The point is, Wrathbaru absolutely would be the Witch equivalent, if only for the themes alone, though he's a lot somber than the very playful Witch.

Also, catboy Wrathbaru, enough said.

Though if Wrathbaru is The Witch then The Thorn will definitely be really interesting

I like to think that Wrathbaru in the Thorn would still be very jumpy and paranoid, instead of the gentle show of trust in the og game, Emilia (The Long Quiet) would have to drag Wrathbaru out of those vines kicking and screaming

Having Rem, Julius and Anastasia harassing Echidna (The Narrator) about describing a kiss with Wrathbaru would be absolutely hilarious though, absolutely peak fiction

Now, let's please talk about The Damsel

So, we can like, all agree that this is arc 1-2 Baru, right? Just straight up that Subaru, but with more bimbo energy

Rem here would be fun, though she probably wouldn't say things in the exact same manner the Smitten does, she can still be really funny with her Subaru crush, as seen in the snow special

Ok, so like, we got the Damsel figured out, cool.

Now, Happily Ever After, on the other hand

Ok so this is pristine cut content, so definitely some big spoilers, but:

Greebaru. Just, 100%, 1000% Greedbaru coded. There's not a single princess that could ever rival the Greedbaru-ness of this princess in the entire game

Just, him and Emilia being literally controlled the entire time, the idea of Echidna slowly growing disillusioned as the route goes on as she sees where her meddling will take her, the constant repetition and Subaru's desperation that doing things again and again will fix it, the fact that REM I would be the one orchestrating all of this???

Just, how utterly miserable everyone is inside of this route, it's simply Greed IF core. Everyone knows that Greed IF is the IF where no one gets to be happy despite everything technically being "alright", which is exactly the vibes that this route has!

Also, going from Arc 1-2 Subaru to Greed IF Subaru would be such a drastic jump, I love it

Greebaru would be a lot calmer than the og princess in this route, think lots of fake smiles and call insistance that slowly becomes hysterical desperation

Also, dancing with Greebaru under the stars, enough said

For other standouts:

The Den

We get to have a full monster Baru!

He'll probably be a chimera type beast that's a ground dragon (Petrasche reference ayy) mixed with a rabbit (hah) with a big horn on his forehead and Cappella-esque wings

There's no way to really stick his iconic slicked back hair on a rabbit head without it looking a bit goofy, so I propose we let Subaru grow his hair out and have it down for this one

The Razor:

For some reason I cannot possibly describe to you, I keep thinking of her equivalent being Pridebaru. No seriously do not ask me why, I don't know either

Maybe it's because she's the most affably murder happy one? Then again there's the Adversary. . . Anyways if she were to be Pridebaru then I suggest an added fire motif, along with the blades

The blades can mainly stay due to the association with Elsa, in fact, maybe this Baru can specifically only ever target Emilia's guts when he goes to skewer her

Also Mutually Assured Destruction

That entire interaction will be hilarious now. Rem finding this beautiful, Priscilla saying it's the perfect man, Ram wondering if he can be thrown out of a window??? Mwah, perfection

I also would like if there was a fire motif there, maybe he can also he on fire

The Nightmare

My beloved, because he would mean we get to hear Otto do the "Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves" chant, but also I have no clue what Baru he would even be

Maybe Gluttony??? A Moment of Clarity would make Gluttony an interesting pick here, but I don't know for sure

Other than that I'm still brainstorming ideas, and ofc taking suggestions, so feel free to tell me what y'all think!

Edit: It is done! I've written the first Chapter of this au, go see it here

[summertimemusician]

Linktober 2024, Day 1, Mirror (Self)

Alright here we go again.

Technically a sneak peak of a bigger thing to come in the future that I'm repurposing, and the result of my final playthrough and readthrough before EoW dropped being Four Swords Adventures and that made me sad about Shadow Link again.

Note that this is for the Four Swords Adventures iteration of Shadow Link that might evolve into an LU Shadow, not Dark Link in either LOZ or LU, I have other plans for him.

This one shot was brought to you by Scars by The Crane Wives, Ribs by The Crane Wives, Ruin by The Amazing Devil and Two Minutes by The Amazing Devil because the author's playlist decided to be incredibly cheeky when they blacked out to write this like an ancient seers being cursed with visions and then called mad and hearing they've been put up for execution.

As always the nature of the relationship can be romantic or platonic, mostly due to the author's time constraints and further plans.

Anyway enjoy the reading!

It was cold.

The sort of cold after a wildfire, when everything's turned back to ash, the sort that left burned your vision white after the flames licked through your veins and left an ache in your bones. He shuddered, coughed black onto the stone floor, shaking with a muffled whimper.

It never got any easier, being dragged from the Dark World and into the Realm of Light, the goddesses' world itself revolting against an intruder, wanting the wound torn asunder into their oh so precious realm cauterized. To purge the intrusion and smite it where it stands.

Too bad for them (and for him), his master didn't particularly care about what the world wanted. Didn't particularly care that he hadn't grow accustomed to the pain or the cold, he had to stand up. There was work to be done.

(Shadow gritted his teeth, willed himself not to think about the prophecy of a golden haired princess- because whether he liked it or not, it was prophecy. As those with divinity running through their veins are wont to spill from their throats so carelessly- of violet eyes and a smile a third moonlight and hands holding a hammer.

It always hurt more, after one of the heroes liberated one of the maidens, or the jewels, the pain lingering for days afterwards and carving a home in his metaphorical bones. But just this once he'd take the cold bite of the Four Swords over the pain in the hole in his chest that Vio's betrayal had left, something that felt so much worse than every other time before.

Just this once he wished that maybe, just maybe, the hurt would be too much to bear, that he wouldn't wake up again-

Why? Why does it hurt so much but he's still here? He already knew the Light was uncompromising and unforgiving, but he thought them at least above curses.)

His ears twitched as soft, almost silent footsteps came up to his side. Someone crouching by his fallen form, setting a cautious hand over his own that Shadow couldn't help but draw away from with a hiss, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the world again, to your face, carefully blank as you guided him to lean against your side, a silver choker with a crimson gem winked mockingly at him, the shade closing his eyes and going boneless against your side.

Shadow was so, so tired.

He heard you quietly sigh, plucking his cap from his head and running your fingers through dark amethyst, smoke and mist made hair. "I told you so."

"Shut up." He grumbled, nuzzling further into the crook of your neck. One clawed hand curling against your free wrist, digging into the skin. Absentmindedly noting there were new scratches just above the metal.

It was routine by now, the warmth of your existence against his own a welcome balm, not quite of the Realm of Light where it's unpleasant, not too close to the Dark World where he felt like melting back into the embrace of the darkness, only to howl in agony at being dragged out.

Memories not quite his own bled into his mind all the time. How you'd shape ice into flowers for the princess in winter with nary a though, of blinking and from one second to the next you'd have whatever sword he had hostage if you though it was time for a break with a smile brighter than the sun.

His master had changed that though. It took months for you to stop trying to claw the collar out and to stop trying to fight Vaati.

(Funny how holding a mage's dragon as a bargaining chip is just as effective as kidnapping a ruler.)

Your gaze flicked to the polished obsidian of the Dark Mirror, to the gold, ornate frame. "The offer is still open, you know. Let me take the suffering from you."

"No." He scowled, leaning back to glare into your eyes, a hint of fangs poking out from a maw struggling to keep the shape of a human jaw, "You helped him. Helped them." Shadow spat, there is that hurt again.

You shrugged, a movement that's just slightly awkward as you flinch, "That I did." You confirmed simply, it almost made Shadow see red as he leaned away, knocking your hand from his head in the process, but if there's anything him and the heroes shared, was a lack of a desire to hurt you. It was a little grating to be honest, "Vio even offered to take me with him, to be honest."

"Then why didn't you leave?" He demanded.

Why did you stick around?

Your eyes shuttered, a hint of conflict in your pursed lips. Before you found your words, they come out softly, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you why. You'll just have to find out yourself."

You tug your wrist from his grasp, and Shadow lets you go.

(Stubbornly pushing down on memories and emotions that arearen'tarenotanymore quite his.)

You stand and turn away, pushing the curtains away from your sight, you turn your tired eyes to Shadow with an emotion he can't put a name to. "Just keep it in mind that there's more than one way to end this. Nothing is truly inevitable."

Shadow watches you go. 'There's nothing that can be done. He tells himself, hand hesitating above the Dark Mirror, briefly, it curls into a fist. The hero's original self stares back at him.

'… Does he really believe that?'

He shakes his head, and focuses on willing the Dark Mirror to show him his counterpart.

His chest still hurts.

[star-redfiles]

nice to meet you again

miguel o’hara x spiderperson!reader

content: dead characters (mentioned), reader is a variant of miguel's spouse and vice versa

word count: 2k

summary: finding out that the multiverse is real and that there are other versions of you is shocking. finding out that there’s a team of hundreds or thousands of spider-themed superheroes just like you in the multiverse is even more shocking. finding out that another version of your husband, who was dead in your universe, is alive and well and even leading said team? harrowing.

though you had speculated the possibility and theorised of a multiverse, you would usually brush off the idea for more urgent matters. such as saving the city. but now that you had been pulled into spider society, a nearly infinite group of people just like you, it wasn’t something you could set aside so easily.

entering spider society was already an immense shock to your system. you fought a strange villain that just didn't seem to blend with the background and encountered a similarly suited hero while doing so. though you were wary of her at first, she instantly proved herself by helping you capture the villain. after that, she gave an all-too-brief explanation along with absolutely no time for you to process and pulled you through a colourful portal, into a futuristic world.

in that futuristic dimension, you were met with even more individuals (aptly dubbed 'spider-people') with powers and suits that looked like yours. finally, the other spiderperson allowed you time to process when you stopped by the cafeteria on your tour of the facility. then, you were being thrust into yet another new situation when she stated that the big boss and leader of this entire operation wished to see you. something about this made you nervous, despite the confidence you had built over a decade of vigilantism.

–

meeting miguel chilled you to the bone. your newly-made spider friend led you to his office for your introduction and you were already unnerved by the dark reds and blues of the area which contrasted the much brighter lighting in the rest of the building. however, when you saw the figure standing at the high platform ahead, you immediately froze. a tingling sensation ran through your body and it wasn't your usual spider sense. you knew that it was him. the all-too-familiar shape of his body wasn’t exactly like one you had memorised through years of being together. he had a stronger, more defined musculature, but you still recognised him. his posture and the way his hair was slicked back was identical to that of your husband. your miguel.

but your miguel was gone. your miguel had been gone for five years. so who was this?

the other spider began to introduce him, but everything she said was tuned out. all your senses were hyper-focused on miguel, and he could feel that. he felt your stare burning into his back, but he stood still, eyes wandering the screens and fingers tapping here and there. he refused to turn back at you until anyone mentioned anything. he couldn’t bare it.

miguel had actually been watching you for a while now. he refused to let you on the team, despite pleas from jess and peter b about how good of a spider you were. yes, you were highly experienced, and yes, your skills would be an amazing addition to the team, but he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t risk losing another one of you. he feared even seeing another one of you face to face. he had already lost his version of you, the mother of his child and the love of his life, twice. he was terrified of doing that again.

and he knew you would be shaken by seeing him.

at least, that’s what he said to reason with himself. even though it had been a few years since you lost your miguel, his defence was how hard it is to get over losing a loved one. which was partially true. which was partially true. he would know, because he himself hadn’t gotten over losing you and gabriella. but the others kept calling his bullshit until, one day, an anomaly was pulled into your universe. after encountering a very persistent jessica drew, he allowed the spider in charge of the mission to make contact with you. that same spider introduced you to spider society, which led to the situation at hand.

the spider with you was enthusiastic, as most other spiderpeople are, and frantically waved to miguel. “hey miguel! i’ve got that new recruit you wanted to see!” she yelled up to his platform as she waved with her entire body. miguel grunted, so softly you couldn’t hear despite your enhanced hearing abilities, when he heard her exclaiming. on the other hand, a part of you lit up hearing that he wanted to see you. that he personally asked to. though he did ask to see you, he was secretly hoping you wouldn’t come, just to spare him the emotions of seeing your face and seeing you alive, moving around and living. he wasn’t alone in that fear. you were also a bit scared, but you swallowed it and pushed it far, far down.

“hi… miguel,” you spoke up hesitantly.

once he heard you speak, his name especially, miguel immediately turned and jumped off his platform. it was moving too slowly for his liking and he hated to leave you waiting, no matter how scared he was of meeting you. miguel landed in a striking pose right in front of you, standing a bit too close for comfort.

“miguel o’hara. welcome to the team.”

you almost couldn't hear his mumbled words as he extended a large arm to shake your hand. you reached out your hand and met him in an awkward handshake. it was weird, feeling the touch of one another after so long. it was so foreign, yet so familiar. you were two strangers, yet you had also known each other for ages.

you introduced yourself to him as you shook, stuttering out how much of an honour it was to join the team. he then instructed the other spider to leave before turning back to you. miguel cleared his throat before starting, “i’m the spiderman of this world. and as you may know, i started this task force of spider-people.”

you slowly nodded. “so i’ve heard.”

the air between the two of you feels thick. you feel too close to each other where you stand right now. and you think he feels it too, because he steps back slightly. when he does, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “have you heard why i started it, though?”

your ears perked up at that. you figured it had something to do with the villain you were fighting earlier, a villain that looked out of place in your universe.

“as you've probably figured out, we exist within a multiverse. that multiverse is connected by the web of life,” he began. miguel stood silent, as if he was waiting for something to happen. when nothing did, he cleared his throat and repeated in a booming voice, "the web! of life!"

once again, nothing happened. in frustration, he called out for LYLA, a small hologram-like woman, seemingly artificial intelligence. you waited, standing by and watching the two of them banter until a large projection showed up. the image grew slowly, starting as a bright light that branched out and eventually became a giant red web which seemed to encapsulate the entire room. miguel sighed in relief as it appeared before pointing around. “the web of life.” 

you took a look at the details of the web, walking around and tracing the lines while he continued to explain. “the multiverse also has a set of rules: the canon. things that have to happen and things that aren’t allowed to happen. every spider-person has to go through certain canon events.” you watched as the projection showed clips of different spider-people, each one experiencing a very similar event. events that you yourself were familiar with. the memories pierced you, yet it gave you an odd sense of warmth knowing that you weren’t the only one who went through all that.

“if anything messes up this canon – anomalies – it can tear down an entire universe.” in the projection, one of the webs broke and faded away. you stiffened. you realised at that moment just how much higher the stakes were now. you were used to threats of planetary destruction, but the downfall of an entire universe was a huge deal in comparison.

as you watched the projection, a thought formed in your mind. a conclusion. “…if enough universes are destroyed, the whole multiverse could disappear.” 

miguel nodded. “exactly. our job is to prevent and fix anomalies, protecting the canon in order to stop the multiverse from collapsing in on itself.”

that sounded like a terrible job. the thought of what could happen if you failed was horrible. you knew the struggle of not being able to save everyone, of losing lives just because of one measly mistake. but how could anyone live knowing they failed to save an entire universe? “so what’s our success rate?” you asked, half as a joke.

“we manage to save most universes. as long as the canon events occur as normal, the universe is fine. sometimes, we save universes from collapsing even after their canon events were disrupted. not always, though,” replied miguel, answering your question with an unexpectedly serious tone.

an “oh” was all you had in yourself to say. unsure of what to say or do next, you stood in silence as the projection around you slowly faded away. miguel stood with his eyes trained on you as if asking for a response, anything to keep the conversation going. as if begging you to keep talking so he had an excuse to continue existing within this space with you. a thought came into your mind, then.

“how did you figure all this out?”

that seemed to strike a nerve in him. he stiffened up even more – if that was even possible. he hesitated to answer. miguel didn’t want to have to tell you about how he knew you. another you, in another universe, in another time. he didn’t want to have to explain how he had lost you once before. so he didn’t. “all this,” he began, voice catching in his throat as he spoke. “everything that i’ve built to protect the multiverse… it all started because i broke the canon once myself.”

your eyes widened as the new information you were receiving hit you like a truck. thousands of questions ran through your mind. what happened? why would he do it? when you spoke to voice out your concerns, you were immediately cut off by miguel.

“i didn’t know any better.”

you could hear the pain in his voice as he spoke. you could sense that he didn’t want to tell you. you fiddled with the gloves of your suit but before you could say anything, he kept going. “i found a universe where i had a family. where i was happy. at least, a version of myself. and that version of myself was killed. so i replaced him.”

he turned around as he explained this, not being able to face you while he told you all the crazy things he did. it hurt him now when the words left his mouth, understanding that what he did sounded insane. it made him seem like a psychopath, taking over a dead person’s entire life like that. and that’s exactly what you thought, as well. your heart stopped at this revelation and you slowly took a step back, not even sure why. 

“i know it sounds messed up, i realise that now. but at the time, i thought it was harmless. i was wrong. because of me, an entire universe collapsed. and i lost my family again.”

‘sort of like karma, huh?’ you thought. you were too scared to say it out loud, though. you could only stay silent, unsure of what to say next. but deep down, you could feel it. you could feel there was still something he was hiding from you; a part of the story he wasn’t telling you. but when he dismissed you from his office, you dismissed that thought.

your hunch was right, though. he had omitted some large details about his family. like how you were a part of it.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can i request headcandons of the spiderverse Boys with a shy nurse reader who is constantly tired? Being nurse and spider person is a physically and mentally demanding job and i think that would be nice see more spiderverse content, but if u don't want to make this request i understand

A/n: I’m sorry Most of these are either short cuz I didn’t know what to put for them or come across as a carbon copy of the other in due to me not knowing what to put there instead🤣

Miles sympathises with you wholeheartedly.

Trying to find a healthy balance between being a nurse -an intensive and highly demanding profession- and being a hero was definitely a challenge that had detrimental affects upon one’s mental and physical health.

Miles would affirm you with his words of praises and encouragement all the while holding you tightly, wilfully being your personal pillow/recharging station that often times he’d catch you fall asleep against him because his presence was that warm and comforting to you that it lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

Miles deeply admires your dedication to saving people not only as hero but also within the medical field. But he often does worry that you work yourself to the bone trying to find a way to perform both tasks without having them overlap one another.

There do come days where it all becomes a bit too much as your body grows sick and tired of your constant negligence and choose it’s way of rebelling by refusing you any sort of mobility of your limbs. Your mental state also tanks which only made your want to move even harder as you didn’t even have to willpower to make it so.

Miles would be a major source of comfort during these moments as he would remind you of all the achievements and accomplishments you’ve made during your tenure as both hero and Nurse. He’d probably have his music on as background noise whilst he’s taking the time and effort in making sure you’re as comfortable as possible.

Things he most often says are;

‘You have done so many amazing things and your only just getting started! How cool is that?!’

‘You’re an inspiration to not only the people you save on a daily basis but your also an inspiration to me as well that I even made art about you. Here, take a look!’

‘Don’t beat yourself up over this, you always get back up and hit them twice as hard because that’s what my y/n does, for my y/n ain’t no quitter, they’re a fighter.’

‘Bad days come to pass because the better ones always remain.’

‘Rest, I’ll take over from here.’

‘You’re not alone in this because I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be right here to catch you when you need me to.’

Pavitr would, If you let him, smother you in affection and cuddles but to the right amount so it doesn’t cross the border where it could potentially get annoying.

Which with Pav, it never does because his hugs and cuddles were the best and yet to be topped by anything or anyone because they are superior.

Plus they brought you warmth and comfort that you can’t help but bury yourself into his neck after a shit day in hopes of forgetting all about it as his hand rubs your back soothingly whilst also fighting the urge to just fall asleep then and there.

Also this lad would just spoil you with small gifts as to show his appreciation for you even though he does so quite eloquently enough with his words and his actions that this was merely the cherry on top.

Due to Pavitr being more able to read people then most, he’d notice the indicators within you that told him you weren’t feeling your best and he would make sure to take you to his favourite places within Mumbattan in hopes that it’ll help you by even just a little bit. After all he’s aware of the concept that fresh air and a change of pace were beneficial to a better mental health, and all he wants was for you to feel better, even if it was by a little that would mean a whole lot to him.

Hobie would want you to have a change of scenery from the hustle and bustle you subjugate yourself to on an daily basis to somewhere less noisy and loud within any aspect.

Sure it’s not his kind of scene but for you and how much work you put on yourself just to come home, looking as though any minute you were going to collapse? It was worth seeing you gradually become more relaxed and at peace to the point you fall asleep against his shoulder and he has to carry you back home.

again Hobie didn’t care since he knew how much sleep you missed out on and would not hesitate to get you a few days off if he feels as though you workplace was taking the piss out of you by thinking you were expendable.

He ain’t having none of that shit when it came to you.

Hobie wasn’t about to let you work yourself to the bone and not get a single thanks nor your flowers for busting your ass.

You tell him that it doesn’t bother you as you were doing what your job entails but Hobie more or less your backbone within these sorts of situations because he didn’t want you being taken advantage of just because you were ‘hard working.’ Not to say you aren’t but Hobie was more then well aware that this was often the excuse given when some shit stain wanted to offload their work onto someone else for personal gain.

It was always the ones who worked the least or didn’t work at all that got the appraisal and the promotions.

So Hobie would always and I mean ALWAYS praise you for everything you’ve done for he doesn’t believe you hear it enough for his liking.

Also he’s great with advice so when the days were particularly rough, he’d probably drop a bit of sage advice in regards to any aspect that you were finding hard to cope with like; ‘while the aspiration to save everyone is admirable; it’s unrealistic. For you’re setting yourself up to traverse down a road where instead of pointing out the problem, you are made to believe that you are the problem. Instead of trying to save everyone, focus on saving one person at a time for that one person could be someone else’s everything.’

Being the absolute secret sweetheart that he is, Miguel would try and help take the weight off of your shoulders and make your life a whole lot more easier by performing small acts of service that he knows you’ll greatly appreciate.

Even if it was the minuscule things such as; making you your favourite beverage, setting up a relaxing bath/ shower. fluffing up the pillows, smoothing the creases out of the duvet, cooking your favourite food since you always tell him that one of the things you always loved coming home to was the smell of his cooking. Hell do it all if it made you happy.

Miguel defiantly pampers you on the days where you felt more fatigued from your dual jobs. He doesn’t want you to do anything for you’ve already done enough to warrant yourself some much needed rest.

He lives to serve his beloved and would reject your requests to help him by planting kisses to your lips until you ultimately accept his pampering with little to no complaint.

If you were in the spider society, he’d give you time off because he’s the boss and all and if you were to go against his request for you to take time for yourself, he’d threaten to double it even though he was seriously considering it with how obvious tightroping two jobs was negatively effecting you.

Miguel doesn’t want you to overwork yourself but will overwork himself…what a hypocrite.

Soft Miguel is only soft with you.

[elina-bnhagirl4]

Not me starting my first post with my first husband. It's an example of my current writing.

Abbreviations here:

N/N: His nickname for you

Y/N L/N: Your official name

H/N: Your nickname for him

F/I: Favourite Ice Cream

F/B: Favourite Beverage

B/S: Body size (All of you are beautiful no matter what size you are, remember that 🥰)

Bold! Izuku Midoriya Boyfriend Headcannons

• He'd definitely pray to God that he got a girlfriend/boyfriend/Significant Other as youself.

"Oh heavens, I pray to thy self..."

You raised a brow at his kneeling figure, having head bowed to the ground, "Izuku, what're you doing?"

"Praying to whatever deity is out there who have blessed me"

"With what?" "You"

• He won't believe that he'd get a gorgeous/handsome/amazing partner like you. Even though, he knew you'd retaliate saying otherwise.

"Like, how did I get so lucky to have you? Maybe having a bad past was worth it after all"

You chuckled nervously feeling the stares around you due to his continuous rambles, "Izuku, sometimes your mentality makes me question myself"

• He'd everything in his power to make you happy such as weekly dates, late night calls and even skipping his plans if you'd ask him to.

"Izuku, are you sure you don't have any plans?"

He replied back sweetly as if he didn't had his one hand covering Denki's mouth to stop him from making fake kissing noises, "It's no worries, N/N. I didn't have anything to do all day"

• If you're in the same high school as him, he'll immediately introduce you to his friends and even invite in their sleepovers, parties or just in general.

"Hey guys, this is my partner Y/N L/N"

"Wow, you look so cute!"

"It is my pleasure to meet the significant other of our fellow friend"

"Hi"

• He'd tell you about his past after he got to know you a lot better. And I mean very very well. It's a very sensitive topic afterall.

"Izuku, are you sure you want to tell me about this now?"

He raised an eyebrow at your worried look, "Do you want to talk about yours?"

"No... I don't think it's the right time"

He shrugged and held you closer while continuing, "So, you know these guys, they made me..."

• He'd do his best to cheer you up when you're feeling down. He'd also immediately know when you are sad, depressed or in a bad mood.

"Hey, are you okay? Do you want to talk about it? Who made you sad? I just need a name. I think I have F/I and F/B in the mini fridge. Do you want them?"

He quiet down feeling your body slump on his. He held you close feeling your murmur, "I need peace and quiet"

He hugged back gently before laying on his bed comfortably, "Okay"

• Even though you warn him about not being self sacrificing, he exactly does that.

"H/N, I told you to not be so reckless everyday!"

"But N/N, this is the only way to improve myself to be the hero I aim to be"

"Izuku, getting admitted in the hospital three times a week is not in the quota of being a hero!"

• If someone both of you may or may not know implies to leave the other, you'd get defensive to prevent the other for being self conscious.

"Hey, cutie~ How about you and me ditch your plain boyfriend and spend quality time together"

The person began sweating feeling the invisible daggers digging in the body from your stare, "You got a lot of nerve to insult my boyfriend right in front of me. If you want your body intact, I suggest you leave right this second"

"Hey, handsome~ What do you even see in that B/S person, anyway? I bet I can make you feel much better"

She got a nasty glare with deep voice oozing in hatred, "One, get your chest away from me. Two, I dare insult my partner one more time and you won't have any less than 5 bones to be mend after I'm done with your B.S."

The girl flinched back before scurrying away without a glance.

• If he's sure, you're his one and only, he'd introduce you to his mother after the 3rd date.

"Mom! Look who I brought!"

"Sweety, is that you?!"

"Yes, Aunty Inko"

• He'd propose to you after 3 years of becoming officially together, which is 1 year after debuting as a Pro Hero. He's sure in his life that there is no one else for him other than the love of his life.

"Y/N L/N, will you make me the happiest hero in the world by being my Mrs. Midoriya?"

You stood speechless staring at his sheepish expression while he held a small box having the most beautiful emarald ring in it.

Your eyes watered and you nodded not finding any words in your brain right now, just the grin on his face and him putting the ring on your figure.

Ignoring the clapping sounds echoing around you, you knelt down and hugged him tightly while sobbing quietly.

He hugged back just as tightly while murmuring soft words of how gorgeous you look right now. He definitely knew he made the right decision by choosing for a life together with you.

(⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ⊂⁠(⁠・⁠﹏⁠・⁠⊂⁠) ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧