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ghostietea · 3 years

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Furuba autistic headcanons

With it being April, or autism acceptance month, I wanted to finally drop my list of characters from Fruits Basket that I read as autistic! This is based a lot on my own experience, as well as that of other autistics I know or have seen talk online. I hope some people can get something out of it, feel free to tell me what you think 😊, though please refrain from getting upset that I would dare suggest your fave is autistic.

Hanajima

Before becoming able to better control her powers, she would be constantly overwhelmed by the things she heard to the point that she couldn't even really go out in public. This reads a lot like sensory overload.

Constantly picked on in school because other kids thought she was weird. Eventually reclaimed this weirdness and turned it into a whole persona.

Seems to talk usually in a relatively flat tone.

Had trouble socializing with no friends outside her family until middleschool.

Has a very funny, dry sense of humor that I find very similar to a bunch of autistics I know, including myself.

Hatsuharu

Listen. You have seen the funky little man, you have seen the way he talks, the way he acts around others. He is, and I mean this in the best way, a weirdo. I do not know how you could look at him and see a neurotypical.

Once again, like Hana, Haru is funny in a way that feels very autistic.

Very flat, dry, tone delivery. Sometimes just Says Things that make everyone else go huh??? Suuuuper blunt. Doesn't emote facially a lot of the time.

When this man sees a social norm he doesn't get he WILL NOT follow it. Pierces his ears just because his hair got flak, defends Momiji wearing whatever he wants because sometimes y'know the social rules are just dumb and don't make sense. Especially dress codes.

Sometimes says things not befitting the current tone of the situation.

Represses (masks) a lot of his emotions, leading to outbursts that seem uncharacteristic.

His main childhood trauma revolves around adults branding him as "dumb" and ridiculing him. Haru, however, is super smart and wise!! Just in an offbeat way that not everyone may get.

Machi

Reads as very "flat" emotionally to the point that others would call her boring. Also has a flat vocal delivery.

Relies on specific habits or ways of doing things or else she gets super upset (her hatred of imperfection.

Has trauma surrounding adults completely misconstruing her intentions and thinking she's doing something malicious when she's not.

Generally behaves in a way that's hard for others to understand, one of her formative moments with Yuki was him saying he wanted to "see how the world looks" through her eyes.

Once again, trouble socializing.

Tries super hard to please her parents but in the end they still see her as somehow inherently "defective."

Listen. A lot of this one and the last two are mostly vibes, hard to verbally define. You just have to look at them and trust me.

Tohru

Displays behavior very reminiscent of masking throughout the story, a huge part of her arc is about how she hides a lot of herself and has a very controlled persona. I think it would fit very well if she had other autistic behaviors that she suppresed also it helps explain why she is relatively socially adept, it's learned behavior to make people like her more.

Yes she is very good at saying what others need to hear, but especially early on she is pretty blatantly imitating her mother's words. She only gets better at getting through on a more personal level later on (see her with Rin and Akito v. early series Tohru). She does this by relating her own experiences, a very autistic way of showing empathy that often gets us written off as self centered. The way she relays things her mom said could also be seen as this, and she even worries at a few points that she's being insensitive for going on about things like that.

While emotionally repressed she is hyper empathetic and feels other's emotions so strongly she cries.

Her speech patterns are all imitated from her father and she often copies verbal things from others (see Ritchan-san). Noted in canon that people think her way of speaking is slightly off/not befitting of someone her age. Additionally, her father was polite more sarcastically, while she plays it straight and sometimes takes things very literally or fails to get the message, indicating trouble with reading tone. Has numerous strange verbal tics, including saying parts of her internal monologue out loud without context.

Very expressive with her hands including waving them around and flapping them up and down.

Does have a bit of trouble with accidental insensitivity in social interactions, like how she constantly fixates on her mom and realizes that might bug the Sohma.

Has trouble paying attention in school since it doesn't have much to do with her interests

Her only friend until she was a middle schooler was her mom

Has a pretty unique outlook on things compared to others, people seem to think she's pretty eccentric. There's always a "this girl is nice but in an odd way, she's our weirdo and we love her" vibe.

Sometimes has an "inappropriate" emotional response to situations

Has a lot of trouble with change, similar to Akito. Which oh, look at the time, next hc coming up.

But first, a disclaimer. It is cathartic for me to read Akito this way, but with that reading comes the baggage that she would, mayhaps, be showing a more negative side of things... It doesn't bother me since it's a joint hc with other characters and she does develop at the end but yeah, general villain hc baggage. This is in no way me trying to excuse her being The Worst being autistic doesn't absolve you of being able to do wrong . Also, a lot of these points can and do have other explanations related to her upbringing, but things can be for more than 1 reason. With that said, she really strongly comes off as autistic to me, in a way that's sorta hard to explain. I wrote a lot more for her than the other, both because I felt I needed more to convince people and that this headcanon was more sensitive and I needed to be careful in my explanation. Also hey! She's my special interest within a special interest.

Akito

Shown to have a dislike of summer weather due to heat and brightness, could be due to sensory issues in tandem with sickness things. Also covers her ears when people raise their voice sometimes which is partially her trying to shut down opposition but also 🤔 can read a different way. She'd also avoids louder Juuni like Ritsu and Ayame because she can't handle them.

Wears pretty much the same outfit every single day. Said outfit is also pretty loose fitting.

Always seen sitting in a pretty unconventional way. Evidence:

Of course this is also the isolated in a cult thing and there is a level of her purposefully doing things to intimidate but: doesn't follow a lot of social rules (overly touchy with strangers, legit doesn't get that what she's doing is wrong, ect.). Repeatedly confused when people indicate she should act otherwise without explanation. Has a breakdown when this comes to a head and approximately says that "they" shouldn't expect her to know "common sense" if "they" never explained it to her, that the way that she was was her "common sense."

Often talks in a way uncharacteristic of her age when shown as a child in a more faux mature/pretentious way. Might just be the translation and idk how to explain it but her speech as an adult also seems off from what one would normally use in conversation. Additionally, when she tries to fake being friendly in her intro chapter, it comes of as extremely stiff and unconvincing.

Generally displays behavior that could be thought of as childish as an adult, but a lot of this behavior could also read as autistic (covering ears, emotional deregulation and meltdowns, ignorance of basic social norms, ect.). It's also important to note that she knows that this behavior makes her seem younger and more helpless to the older zodiac and uses it as a manipulation tactic. Has issues regarding people treating her like a child or only hanging out with her because of pity. While she does weaponize it, we can tell that this grates on her, as seen with her finally blowing up on Kureno, which is partially triggered by the maids saying some sorta infantalizing stuff about her. Irl, a lot of autistic adults and teens struggle with being infantalized for our behavior generally or treated as little babies that can do no wrong. Even in fandom, you see people doing stuff like jumping to call autistic adult characters, such as Entrapta from Shera, "minor coded." It is also common for us to have at least one bad experience with someone hanging around us out of pity. This is something that really gave me a similar feeling in Akito's arc. She's not a baby and she can understand and do better if she is given the chance to learn and break from all the freaky cult indoctrination she's been subjected to instead of just being constantly enabled. In the end, a lot of her growth is represented by her showing that she is capable of changing and being independent.

Shows particular difficulty with socialization, often sits by herself spacing out at social events. A lot of her fear is rooted in the fact that she doesn't know how normal relationships work, becoming overly reliant on the curse because she doesn't know how to make friends.

Clings desperately onto the notion of being "special" and in some way superior to others to be worthy and to make up for perceived inherent "flaws." It's the nd gifted kid burnout vibes for me.

Easily bothered by things that don't bother others. Feels emotions very strongly to the point of getting physically ill and has bad emotional regulation.

Relatively good at reading others in an analytical sense (though has more trouble when it comes to seeing how they feel about her since she's wildly delusional) but brings up her observations in a very cold, detached way and hurts people even on the rare occasion she didn't mean to. Has extreme trouble connecting to others and understanding their point of view. This makes her come off as pretty unempathetic even though that might not fully be the case. Also thinks that people like Momiji are trying to look down on her when they try to empathize with her. A lot of why Tohru can get through to her is that she manages to convince Akito that she's not condescending by relating shared traits and experiences. As I said earlier, autistics often empathize by sharing their own experiences with someone, and I know I often have an easier time confiding in other autistics because of a fear of being seen as lesser by those that don't understand me. I think the connection between these charachters and the way that Tohru manages to reach Akito like that while others couldn't makes a lot of sense through an autistic lense!

Additionally, when Akito herself gets around to trying to help others instead of just projecting trauma, she tries to reach out to the old maid by relating back to her own experiences. This however, doesn't work.

Has "cold" emotional reactions sometimes even to things that do make her upset. For example, how sort of calm and detached she acted after her father's death can make her seem uncaring. However, we know that this event did mess her up a lot and she is still (poorly) dealing with a lot of grief from the death of her father years later.

Copies mannerisms from others, the most blatant example is with Ren, who she directly parrots lines from as a child to Yuki.

Partly just her posturing, but gestures a lot with her hands when she talks. Also seen several times clutching her hands in her hair.

Deals extremely poorly with the idea of things changing to the point that it is a driving force of the story.

Does not understand when people tease her.

Ect. Ect. Ect. Listen, I could go on for ages but just trust me, the mean gremlin lady is autistic.

#fruits basket #akito sohma #tohru honda #saki hanajima #machi kuragi #hatsuharu sohma #actually autistic #meta

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blitzturtles · 3 years

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Title: Fever (Ao3)

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): BruAbba, AbbaBru, (Platonic) Bucci Gang

Summary: “Hey, so… where’s Booch?” Mista asks, leaning back in his seat.

All eyes are on him suddenly, before they gravitate to the chair that Bucciarati frequently takes up as his own.

Notes: For Day 1 of Sicktember, "Fever", because I never do anything on time. @sicktember

The morning goes like any other. One by one, the Don’s closest filter into the kitchen to get their first cup of coffee and whatever they feel like scrounging up for breakfast. There’s mundane conversation between the more wakeful lot; they aren’t allowed to talk about work until everyone’s finished their meals, which means the conversation doesn’t get much more interesting than whatever they’ve managed to get up to since the night before. It’s an odd sort of rule, but it helps to ensure that they can maintain some boundaries between their professional and personal lives, which further guarantees that they get more time together as a family, rather than as a team.

“Hey, so… where’s Booch?” Mista asks, leaning back in his seat.

All eyes are on him suddenly, before they gravitate to the chair that Bucciarati frequently takes up as his own. It’s empty with no sign that the man has made it downstairs, despite their designated breakfast time ticking by.

Narancia elbows Abbacchio to get his attention when he doesn’t seem to pick up on the same thing the rest of them have. He makes a motion for Abbacchio to take off his headphones and repeats the question.

“How should I know?” Abbacchio deflects with practiced ease, but there’s an edge to his tone. Sharper than even his usual morning demeanor calls for, and it’s clear--from the way his eyes fixate on Bucciarati’s spot--that he’s as concerned as the rest of them.

“You sleep in the same room,” Fugo points out, matter-of-fact and oblivious to the daggers that Abbacchio shoots in his direction.

“Yeah, well--” Abbacchio falters. He doesn’t actually have a reply for that.

“Maybe we should go check on him?” Trish asks, ever the most reasonable of the bunch, aside from perhaps Giorno.

“You don’t need to go… crowding him,” Abbacchio trails off as Mista and Narancia race out of their seats, already making a beeline for the stairs. He sighs and gets up to follow them.

What he doesn’t tell the group won’t hurt them. They don’t need to know that Bruno had been complaining of a headache the night before, or that he crashed unusually early. Or that he had been less than compliant about waking up with Abbacchio.

“So much for ‘just a headache’,” Abbacchio mutters under his own breath as he follows the kids up the steps. He can hear the rest behind him, each as eager as the first two to check in on their once-leader. “Hey, knock it off,” he calls when he finds Mista and Narancia outside the door to their bedroom, banging on it obnoxiously.

“But he’s not answering!” Narancia whines, dramatic and loud.

“And you think this will help?” Abbacchio raises his eyebrows, but he moves to unlock the door. The moment he opens it, he can see what his tired eyes failed to notice earlier. Bruno’s face, as little of it that is visible, is bright pink. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, and it’s obvious he’s been tossing and turning since Abbacchio left, which means he likely spiked a fever sometime recently.

Abbacchio ignores the kids in favor of making his way to the bed. He frowns at the dry, parted lips and the labored breathing that greet him. Bruno’s eyes haven’t so much as cracked open a hair, despite the sheer volume of Mista and Narancia. The rest of the gang catching up doesn’t seem to phase him either, even though none of them seems to be capable of shutting up.

Without thinking, Abbacchio undoes the clips that must have been left in from the night before. It speaks volumes to how poorly Bruno felt at the time. He always takes his hair down before bed, and Abbacchio isn’t sure how he missed that not-so-little detail.

“What’cha doing?” Narancia asks, startling Abbacchio out of his thoughts.

“He doesn’t like it when his hair gets sweaty,” Abbacchio explains without thinking. He splits Bruno’s bangs down the middle to pin them on either side of his face. It isn’t the most fashionable look, but it should hold.

“Guess you would know, huh?” Mista asks with a raised eyebrow.

Abbacchio feels his cheeks burn red at the suggestion, and he turns around to give the kid his best death glare. “That’s not what I meant.”

Mista throws his hands up quickly, “I was joking.”

“Don’t,” Abbacchio answers gruffly. He turns back to Bruno, trying to work out the best way to take out his top braid without disturbing him too much. He settles for loosening it instead, careful to avoid tugging it in a way that might pull. The point is to reduce the pressure, not add to his discomfort.

“He wears his hair down when he goes fishing,” Giorno speaks with such sincerity that it’s all Abbacchio can do not to snap at him, too. Plus, it would probably disappoint Bruno. If he were awake.

“Yeah, I pointed that out too. It’s weird.” Abbacchio shrugs. He would think that having your hair stuck to your skin with salt water would be worse than sweat, but he guesses that Bruno finds some nostalgia in it. He’s long given up on understanding certain things about his partner.

“I think it’s safe to say he’s sick,” Fugo points out, breaking the silence that follows. “We should probably get his fever down.”

“Right, yeah!” Narancia nods enthusiastically, then stops for a moment and looks dumbfounded, “How’d we do that?”

Fugo smacks him on the back of the head, “With medication and cold towels, obviously.”

“Hey!” Narancia spins on his heels, so he’s facing the other teen. He crowds in on Fugo until their chests are pressed together and Fugo’s reaching for something in one of his pockets.

“Cut it out!” Abbacchio snaps at both of them. He pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders why he ever let the whole group up here in the first place. He’s more than capable of taking care of Bruno on his own, even if he had missed the earlier signs.

“I can go get medicine,” Trish says, a bit meek compared to her usual self, and she’s gone before anyone can say otherwise.

“I’ll go get towels?” Giorno looks uncertain. He’s never had to deal with anyone else’s illness before. Not like this, and he’s always taken care of himself while sick. Usually by pushing through until his body sorted itself out.

“I’ll go with you,” Fugo offers with a half-smile. It’s meant to be reassuring, and Giorno seems to take it as such.

Abbacchio’s just relieved to have less people around. Mista and Narancia linger, but he elects to ignore both of them in favor of tucking the blankets in around Bruno. The best thing for a fever is to sweat it out, after all.

By the time the other three get back, Narancia and Mista have made themselves busy by going in search of a thermometer. It’s really more like a competition between the two, but Abbacchio doesn’t care as long as it keeps them distracted.

“I brought some water, too,” Trish says as she extends her bounty to Abbacchio. In one hand is a bottle of water; in the other is the medication she must have scavenged her own medicine cabinet for. That or the Team first aid kit. There’s actually a few of those throughout the house, but Bruno’s the only one that bothers stocking them, and that’s only when he knows to. For the most part, they run out of supplies because someone uses them without remembering to say anything later.

“We got hand towels in a bowl of ice water. It should keep him going for a while,” Fugo explains as he nods to the bowl that Giorno’s carrying and deposits his collection of towels on one of the bedside tables. He takes one and unfolds it enough to make a thin strip out of it. He dunks it into the water and squeegees out the excess before handing it to Abbacchio.

“Thank you,” Abbacchio says, taking the towel and placing it gently on Bruno’s forehead. It’s worrisome that he hasn’t stirred in the slightest. That despite all the ruckus, he’s remained sound asleep. Part of Abbacchio wants to leave him that way, but he knows getting the fever reducer in him will help him faster than the towels will. He gently shakes his partner’s shoulder and calls his name until familiar blue finally peaks open.

Bruno’s eyes are red around the edges, and there’s no focus to them. He blinks at Abbacchio a few times. Slow and owlish.

“You’re sick,” Abbacchio explains with little to-do. “You just gotta take these, and you can go back to sleep.”

A quiet hum is all he gets in response, and it’s damn near enough to convince Abbacchio to take Bruno to the nearest hospital. He’s never known Bruno to be cooperative a day in his life. Not when it comes to being sick or injured, but he forces himself to be reasonable. To think logically. Bruno isn’t indestructible. He’s allowed to feel like shit, and that means he’s allowed to want nothing more than to be left alone to sleep off the worst of whatever bug he’s managed to catch.

“I know,” Abbacchio murmurs, more to himself than Bruno. He helps Bruno sit up enough to take the pills and helps him back to lying down after that. He fixes the blankets and puts the wet towel back on Bruno’s forehead. Once he’s all settled, it takes only seconds for Bruno to pass back out.

“It’s weird seeing him like this,” Fugo admits, quietly.

“I don’t like it,” Trish’s voice is somehow softer, but there’s more to it. Her tone holds something else, and Abbacchio curses himself for not picking up on it sooner.

“He’ll be fine,” he says, doing his best to be reassuring. The problem is that he generally isn’t. “It’s been awhile, but Bruno does get sick.”

“Yeah,” Fugo says quickly, eyes following Abbacchio’s. “He’ll be fine, probably by tomorrow. Besides, Giorno can help if he needs to, right?”

Giorno looks a little startled to be pulled into the conversation, but he’s quick to nod, “If there’s any kind of damage, I can replace it.”

“See? All good. You all should get to work. It’s late already,” Abbacchio points out. Never mind the fact that he doesn’t plan on leaving Bucciarati’s side, which means they’re down, not one, but two men for the day. “And, if you see Narancia or Mista, tell them to forget about the thermometer.” The best thing they can do for Bruno at this point is leave him alone and let him rest.

“Right, yeah, let’s--let’s do that,” Trish says, stumbling over her words as much as her feet. She’s quick to reach for the door, obviously relieved to be dismissed without having to do so herself. Abbacchio can’t blame her. He doesn’t like seeing Bruno like this either, but he doesn’t have a recently deceased-from-illness parent at the forefront of his brain. He knows how much that still eats at Bruno. He can only imagine what it does to a teenager whose memories of the event are fresh.

Fugo follows her with a simple nod of his head at Abbacchio. A small sign of his appreciation that someone is taking care of the man that he sees as his savior, even now. Abbacchio mimics the gesture in acknowledgement and almost turns his attention back to Bruno before he notices Giorno, lingering by the door.

“What?”

“It’s--” Giorno swallows, “It’s nothing. Take your time. We can work out whatever we need to until he’s feeling better.”

“I will,” Abbacchio says with a tone that’s almost dismissive. Truthfully, he’s grateful for the permission. To hear it aloud rather than to think it to himself, but he won’t admit that. Least of all to Giorno. “Don’t forget to take the other two with you.”

“I will,” Giorno echoes with the slightest curve of his lips.

Cheeky little shit, Abbacchio thinks, but he watches Giorno with a near fondness reflecting in his gaze. It’s odd how much the little bastard has grown on him. Not, he supposes, unlike the rest of them. Maybe it’s all the time they spend together, given Abbacchio’s position in Investigations. Or maybe it’s the mutual concern for Bruno’s wellbeing. Whatever it is, Abbacchio’s glad the kid sees things his way. Just this once.

#sicktember2021 #bruabba #abbabru #bucci gang #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #leone abbacchio #trish una #giorno giovanna #guido mista #narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #blitzwrites #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #blitz

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fishybehavior · 3 years

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girl help, I'm caught up in my own brainrot for a slowburn plasma fic au, where Jay is a fanfic writer and Kai just wants to understand what Starfarer is

- - -

Logging into his Readdit account, Jay looked through the usual memes and updates on the Starfarer's thread. Throwing his comments and memes around. Chuckling at the weird theories and crack idea’s near the bottom. He was about to sign off and check up on some friends when an alert popped on his screen. A message from his friend, one of the mods on the board.

“Lol. check this out ur always complaining about having no one to talk to” It read, a link to a post, posted several hours before. It must’ve been buried underneath everything else.

“Looking for someone to explain the goddamn lore of this stupid show” The title stated, it explained that the poster had a little brother into the show, but they couldn’t understand any of the lore. “Looking for someone patient with internet illiterate dorks.” Raising an eyebrow at the odd description, he looked at the comments below to see that the poster was the first comment, listing ways to contact them.

“Ignore the internet illiterate comment, my stupid sister put it in and i dont know how to change it.” Jay couldn’t help but chuckle, looking at the two ways of contacting this poster he decided to do Disharmony, it was the easiest way anyway.

“eyo!! i saw ur post on readdit

im always free if u got questions about the fandom or the lore :]”

- - -

Hours later, Jay was scrolling through Rumblr when he heard the oh so familiar, yet annoying, ding of Disharmony. Sharing the fanart he was looking at, he switched over to the app, looking to see if it was his friends screaming over his new rewrite ideas. But no, it was a message from a barely familiar name, $hougun1987, the guy with the Readdit post.

“hey”

“yello, how u being? :)” Jay responded quickly.

“uhhhhhhh, fine i guess.”

Jay hummed, he didn’t want to scare him off, but the guy didn’t seem comfortable. “So u want to know more about starfarer?”

He watched nothing happen for a second, then the small writing icon appeared. Jay had set his to be a bluebird, it slowly flapped its wings as he waited for the guy to reply.

“yeah my lil bro is super into it. Loves to talk about it, but i dont understand a thing he says about it”

Jay nodded in understanding; he wanted to share the show with many of his friends too. But after the third death in the second season and the weird time travel episode that messed with a lot of the timeline, he always ended up losing them in the confusion.

“its pretty awesome ur willing to try and understand it most find it pretty duanting”

“i dont care if it is you should see his face light up when he talks about it, all I want is to understand half of what hes saying he’ll light up so much more when he can talk about it to someone” They responded immediately, Jay was shocked about the passion in his words.

“if u dont mind me asking why r u asking for someone to explain it? theres plenty of vids about it”

“You cant ask videos questions”

“Comments?”

“They all speak gibberish too Imm stubborn and suck at learning I just need a person who can go slow and can answer questoins"

Jay blinked, this almost seems too perfect. Someone who wanted all the details, and was willing to listen to him ramble about every aspect of the show he had been hyper-fixating on for almost two years now? AND was going to ask questions. . .

He couldn’t pass this up, even his own friends in the community were tired of listening to him ramble about the show.

“we’ll, honestly, my dude, this sounds like a great project id be more than happy to help if u want me” Jay responded, not trying to sound too excited.

“sounds good how about we start tomorrow? ill message u”

“Yee! what ur name btw?”

“what!?! im not giving you my name!!”

Chuckling he quickly responded, “i dont want ur name, just wanna know what to call u we’re going to be chatting for a while it’d be awkward to call u dude the whole time”

There was a pause, and for a second Jay was worried that he scared him off, but then the app dinged as he responded.

“shogun, call me shogun”

Grinning from ear to ear, Jay replied. “hi shogun, im plasma :)”

#ninjago #kjerfnklejfnc #new fic idea #kai ninjago #jay ninjago #:P #fic #:D #what id i just made jay me

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blackvelvetwriteson · 4 years

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𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋

( ~ Villain Kirishima Eijirou x Kidnapped Hero-Turned-Villain Gender Neutral Reader Insert ~ )

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

GENRE: Smut and Fluffy Fluff!

FANDOM: Boku No Hero Academia (My Hero Academia)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SMUT! This time it’s pretty intense. God complex, drugs usage/mention, abuse, biting/marking, dubcon, cumflation, dacryphilia, somnophilia, degradation, blood play. There’s also some angst if you look hard enough.

SUMMARY: REQUESTED!! Requested by: @itzmekuka “𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘢 𝘒𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘟 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘝𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘗𝘳𝘰-𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘺 ( 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 ✨👄🍆💦) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 _ 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥𝘵 ~𝘶𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘢”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Ah! This was actually so fun for me to write and I’m absolutely SO sorry if this is so intense. I read it over and over and over and it even bordered a little intense for me as an author. If this made you uncomfortable, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know and I’ll write a different version that’s not so intense! I’m also VERY sorry it took so long, Tumblr didn’t want to show me that you sent me a request!

WORD COUNT: 6548

| 𝘉𝘕𝘏𝘈 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 | 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘝𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘵 𝘕𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 |

(Headers are mine, but the art inside of them are not! Please don’t steal or repost without credit!)

The city around you was crumbling; the one you swore to protect as a pro hero. You were one of the better knowns sitting at the impressive spot of rank 5. That’s why everybody was relying on you, everybody that was successfully evacuated eyes were locked on the news trying to see if you’d escape safely or save their precious city. The scent of charred tree bark and burning trees filled your nose as you ran; that is what you had to do at this point. It was only you on the scene against Shigaraki who’d gone crazy, Dabi, and Toga. Dabi, in his usual fashion had his dead, icy eyes fixated on you, alternating his hands in his pockets as he torrented wave after wave of melting blue flames in front of him, off to the side, giving no time for breath, no time for anybody that could’ve been alive to escape. Some of the flames licked your body, some of your hero costume burned off, your skin burning as blood ran down the tender scalded bits. Keep running.

That’s all that was on your mind, your head spinning as you inhaled ash and the thick smoke of the area around you, stumbling as your adrenaline started to give up on you. Why were they after you? They all seemed so focused on you, all of them from the start beelining it towards you the second their feet hit the ground. Your eyes started to flutter and you found it hard to stay awake, Toga appearing from the trees with a hellish smile on her face as she fought trying to lure you back into the inferno. You lazily tried to dodge every time she swung her knife, dealing a few weak hits that at least made her a little disorientated, palming her ribcage making her cry out, but in return, she plunged one of her blades deep in your forearm, her crazed smile flitting to the flood of blood running down your arm.

“Arigato gozaimasu (Y/N)- Chan~” She giggled as you tried to fight her off. “Maybe we can become goooood good good good friends!” She licked her lips as she drooled, crushing your forearms into the ground with her feet. “You’re being the hero you WANT to be, to me,” she said as she admired the capsule full of blood. You tried moving your head to stay awake, the soot coating your lungs not helping. Your body started to feel tingly and you couldn’t help but to try to fight even after Toga had hopped off into hiding. “She’s all yours~” Is all you heard; it was Toga for sure, but you didn’t know who she was talking to. Your vision was hazy now, your body feeling heavy like you were chained to the floor. You saw a familiar… Almost… Figure towering over you with hungry bright red eyes, his tongue running over his sharp pearly white teeth. From where you were right now, it was an intimidating sight, you tried to squirm and get away, turning on your stomach, crawling helplessly, shivers running up your spine as you heard the sadistic chortle that was brewing in the anonymous figure’s chest.

“Where are you going, (Y/N)?! You know you can’t escape me,” he snorted as he walked towards you. Your body froze at the familiar voice that carried so much bass you were rattled to your core. “Ooh, you remember now, huh?!” He chuckled as he grabbed the back of your head and he pushed your face into the ground, standing over you as he stared at you with a ravenous expression. “All of this is for YOU, (Y/N),” he growled as he ran his fingers through your hair, yanking your head back, tears filling your eyes as you yelped out and looked at your destroyed city. “What kinda hero are you, (Y/N)? They’re supposed to depend on you but you ran… Just like that day…. You ran away from me,” he hummed in a sot of annoyed remembrance. “I NEEDED YOU, AND YOU RAN,” he yelled as he yanked your head back, turning you onto your back again so that you could look up at him looming over you. “Now I have this ugly ass scar… Right over my nose… And down my arm… Do you see it? Hm? Maybe we should get some more LIGHT in here so we CAN see it, right?” His eyes were crazed, you didn’t know him anymore- hell, you thought he’d died! At least you could sort of live with that- kind of. You shook your head, unable to speak, your tongue heavy. “HEY DABI,” he called out with a soft laugh. “GET OVER HERE, WE NEED SOME LIGHT!” He waited a moment hearing no response, slow footsteps approaching before suddenly stopping, a sudden wave of heat blanketing your body as you flinched, some of the stray embers singeing your hair. You winced as he held you down, able to see his scars that he was talking about. You were going to attempt speaking, but you couldn’t, his hand wrapped around your neck, palming your airway only allowing you to let out choked cries. “See it now, (Y/N)?… I know you do… And even after all of that- how you fucking left me and then told everybody I died; that’s cold, (Y/N)… But I still can’t help but to love you, yknow… Even though you let me get kidnapped…. Beat up… And then told everyone I died but I mean come on baby,” he laughed darkly as he looked over at Dabi. “That was probably the best thing you coulda did because this is the best thing that has ever happened in my life! Well… Aside from catching you again… Even if you’re choking… But I don’t want to hurt you, no! Of course not! Actually, I say we CELEBRATE, right? A momentous occasion where I was risen from the dead! And now YOU’RE gonna have your dance with the Devil… Whether you like it or fucking not,” he smirked down at you. “So resilient… I’m surprised you’re still awake! Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you too bad… I LOVE YOU after all… After everything, after all is said and done. I haven’t lost my chivalry, I’m just the most chivalrous VILLAIN instead of a hero because I realized how fucking fake all of you are… Only getting faker the higher up in rank you climb and for what? All you ever did was run so how the FUCK are you at number five? I don’t know… Maybe the same reason that All Might was number one for a decade or two by lying,” he sneered as he giggled and he picked you up, letting your feet dangle in the air. This was it, you thought, the moment you were going to die. “You never were the model hero… And I still have faith in you… So… Eh.. We’ll deal with that when the moment comes… But no matter what, HERO, you’re going to love me back,” he growled as he pulled you closer, pressing a rough kiss into your lips, biting your lip so hard it’d started to bleed. You let out a strangled squeak, your body going limp and feeling warm. Somehow you felt an odd sense of comfort feeling him kiss you, feeling his teeth gnaw at your lip, feeling his tongue explore your mouth. You’d let yourself go and gave him the moan he wanted to hear so bad. “You like that baby,” he whispered against your lips with a gravelly giggle. “Yeah you do… You’re gonna get more of that where we’re going…. Don’t make too much noise now,” he laughed as he set you down and punched you HARD in the face causing you to pass out. He caught your limp body and draped you over his shoulder nodding in Dabi’s direction signaling that he got what he came for and they could go back to base.

—

To the best of your knowledge, not too much time had passed since you’d been taken and you woke up in a daze, your whole body numb and trembling. You groaned softly, swaying from side to side, chained with your arms crossed over your body, chained to your ankles, then further restrained to the floor with a brace around your arms to make sure you didn’t slump over. You were unaware of where you were and who was by you, the soft voices sounding distant until your hair was snatched back again and you opened your eyes fully. “Wake up, Pebble,” you heard his gravelly voice in your ear as you came to, the harsh slaps to your cheeks not necessarily helping your cause. You allowed your eyes to focus on the man in front of you. You didn’t know if it was just you or whatever drugs they’d pumped you full of in your time in the dank room, but he looked almost angelic as he loomed over you. You, of course, already loved him and thought he was the best thing ever when you went to school together, but now… So many years later… His black/brown roots of his hair were starting to show, gradienting into the iconic red you’d grown accustomed to. Since his hair had spent so long getting tamed, his mane was full with fluffy spikes- some drooping, some not, going every which way on his head in such a way that made him look that much better- practically blanketing his broad shoulders, his sharp eyes staring condescendingly down at you. He was wearing a suit shirt that was a satiny red and was just begging to burst from his muscular body, seemingly freshly ironed black jeans to match along with black and red boots… And… Fingerless gloves. He licked over his sharp teeth as he noticed you checking him out and he let out a hollow laugh. “Like whatcha see? Hm? Am I still the manliest you’ve ever laid eyes on,” he laughed as he watched you squirm, his hand only twisting in your hair causing you to cry out. “Well?! ANSWER ME,” he growled out before planting a harsh slap across your face causing you to jolt against your restraints. Tears immediately pricked your eyes as you looked up at him.

“K-Kirishima,” you whispered out weakly, your throat parched from before, a cold sweat having broken out on your body. “H-How long have I been here…” Your eyes frighted rolling back into your head, the drugs having gotten to you a little more causing you to wince. Honestly, you felt like you were going to throw up, but you couldn’t help but to keep your eyes on him.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” he hummed as he stood up and paced the dimly lit room in front of you. “What a shame… Oh well, I mean it’s more fun for me- that I get to have… With you… My adorable little slave…” He looked over at you with a side eye and he smirked a little, huffing a small laugh through his nostrils before swaying his head to get his bangs out of his face. “You’re a fool to challenge a god,” he said lowly. “Especially one as… Well.. The best one. Myself…”

A god? Who the hell was talking to you right now? This definitely wasn’t Kirishima Eijiro… Not the one you met all of those years ago at UA… Not the one you were training to become a hero with. Who the fuck was this? You ignored that one pang that struck you that told you it was kind of hot that he thought of himself that way. You shook your head and hissed softly at the surge of pain that shot through your body. “I’m not your s-sla-“ mid sentence, you were interrupted with a slap that made you cry out again, your body broken, bruised, bloody, and sore… Your lungs were sore, everything was sore. You could barely even stay awake. He kneeled in front of you and tilted your chin tenderly so that he could admire the tears rolling down your face but also the nice bruises he left you.

“You are EXACTLY what I say you are… You’re the stupid pitiful hero that let yourself get caught by a dangerous man like myself, baby,” he said softly, practically straddling your lap as he fed you another gently, loving kiss. He didn’t bite your lip, he didn’t even pull away quickly. He pushed a soft hum into your lips as he trembled and allowed his hand to go to the wall next to your head. “You liked that… Didn’t you,” he murmured against your lips drunkenly, his eyes halfway open gazing into yours, and suddenly a pang of lust and… Adoration surged your body. You didn’t even know that you nodded until you saw his reaction. “Yeaaahh… I know you did… They all usually do,” he teased, just to get a rise out of you. And it worked. He popped his knuckles as he stood up and he popped his neck too, spinning on his heel as he picked up a small remote. “Let’s play the quiet game baby,” he said as he pressed on the remote, your legs trembling as you tried to grasp what happened. It was a vibrator lodged deep inside of you, of course, and your legs had started trying to give out. You also heard metal clinking together as Kirishima removed his belt, a big metal red R in the middle of it. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he smirked at you as he undid your restraints to the floor and he led you over to a chair, pushing you to fall into it. You were bent over the seat and he just admired the sight, you could hear the heavy breathing behind you accompanied by the small growls as you tried to stay awake long enough to know what was going on.

“You… Are gonna be bent over…. L-Like that,” he said with the occasional shaky breath, his own bulge forming and pressing against his jeans just seeing you bent over the chair so helplessly, your uneven breathing escaping into the air around the two of you. “And I’m gonna control this toy however I damn well please,” he said as he upped the level on the vibrator. “I put it in when you were sleeping! I figured you wouldn’t mind,” he said as he walked around so that you could see him, his bulge and all. “And… While I’m controlling this, you’re not gonna say anything, make a single noise, or even so much as breathe the wrong way or…” He showed off his sleek leather belt with a soft laugh. “You see this beautiful ‘R’ right in the middle here? It’s gonna brand that sweet ass of yours… And I’ll take pictures and videos and show EVERYBODY just who you belong to… Little hero slut,” he spat as he tugged your hair back to make you look up at him again. “Do you understand me,” he growled as he slapped your ass with his hardened hand. You whimpered softly and watched as his arrogant stare became smug as he stood up and he rolled up his sleeves to reveal his muscular, veiny forearms. You couldn’t help but to shake your ass in anticipation. He let out a low groan and he bit his lip as he watched you squirm and shake for him. At this point, he figured it was just the drugs that were pumped into you kicking in again, but to you it was much more than that. You liked him even when y’all went to school together, and that only intensified once you both became pro heroes. Then he fell off of the face of the earth and it was told that he died in action. This was your first day back in work since then and this is what happened? He was alive? And.. He had you in his grasp. You were scared to lose him again, and you wanted him to know how much he meant to you… But the drugs also made your body feel heavy and it made your mind hazy how just his words had an effect on you. You caught the glint of that pretty metallic red ‘R’ on his belt and you couldn’t help but to drool over him. He noticed how your eyes were fixated on his bulge and he smirked a little with a soft grunt, his fingers tactfully unzipping his pants as he tilted his head and licked over his sharp teeth again.

“Oh I forgot how much of a needy slut you were,” he whispered softly as he let out another soft laugh. “You want to suck my cock don’t you? Yeah I know you do,” he said softly, slowly pulling his cock from his jeans, stroking it as he used his other hand to force your head back. “Open up,” he growled, slapping you before forcing himself inside of your mouth. Instantly, you teared up both from the hard hit he dealt but also from how quickly he filled your mouth and all of those sweet groans he was letting out for you. You whined as you felt him slowly thrusting his hips into your mouth, forcing himself down your throat more and more. “Oh fuck,” he gasped out quietly, starting to move the chair a little as he pushed your head into him harder and faster, slowly starting to find his rhythm. “Y-Yeah,” he whispered softly as he upped the level of the vibrator making your legs give out right under you. “I know it’s big, but you don’t have to show it all on your face,” he slurred out as he twisted his hand in your hair again making you whimper and whine as you choked on his cock, your face drenched with soot and your tears as you let him use your throat as his fleshlight. “Deeper,” he moaned out as his back arched. “Take me deeper!” He smacked your ass with his belt and he moaned at the sounds, the sound of the leather hitting your skin, that big red R in the middle smacking against your ass bruising it, that choked moan you let out as he sucked in a sharp breath. “Choke on it, choke… Ch-Choke… On… It,” he whimpered out as tears pricked his own eyes. “F-FUCK! Who would’ve thought you were so good at s-sucking d-dick,” he moaned out as he lolled his head to one side, staring down at you with a soft smile; a ray of sweet light breaking through that rough exterior of his that came with being a villain. He gently caressed your face, his thumb swiping your warm tears before he forced himself further into your throat, watching the bulge form and then disappear again. “Suck it harder! S-Suck it l-like it’s your fucking god, (Y/N),” he growled as he forced you as deep as he could go, holding you down on his cock, feeling you choke on it, taking in all of your gags, watching as you drooled, feeling as you squirmed and tried to suck up all of the saliva you could.

“Oh hell yeah,” he whimpered out as he shuddered. “Oh fuck fuck fuck,” he whined as he smacked your ass with the belt again. You felt like you were about to pass out and your eyes rolled back into your head before you whined softly as he pulled his cock out of your mouth. “Do you like the taste of your god’s precum,” he growled as he stroked himself slowly. “I know you do,” he whined as he forced himself into your mouth again, and you looked up at him with soft whimpers of protest. “I KNOW YOU DO,” he whimpered as he smacked your ass with that belt again, watching the R brand itself into your skin. He felt you tighten up and he pulled your head back into him, bottoming out inside of your mouth again as his eyes crossed. “F-Fuuucckk,” he whimpered out quietly as he threw his head back. “I-I’M YOUR F-FUCKING GOD,” he moaned out as he tried not to cum so quick. “S-Suck it l-like- O-Oh fuck,” he groaned out as he caressed the back of your head before filling your mouth and throat with his cum. He curled his fingers into your hair and pushed you down on him more, his eyes rolling back into his head as his hips jolted and he orgasmed, his whole body tense as he panted, trying to catch his breath. “D-Don’t… L-Let a s-single… F-Fucking… Drop… Out,” he said shakily, slowly pulling out of your mouth, your gaze locked on him and how perfect he looked in this state of ecstasy. You watched the cum and saliva that was left on his cock drip to the ground as he reeled and brought himself back, looking down at you smirking at your dazed fucked out expression. “Oh baby,” he whispered softly as he kneeled in front of you, tilting your chin up a little. “You�� Cute little thing,” he said with a small, sweet smile- even softer than the one he gave you before. You looked up at him and made soft chittering noises as you accepted the soft act and you tried to reach out to him but couldn’t.

“I wanna see it in your mouth,” he said softly as he squished your cheeks and watched some of the cum drip down your face. “Open wide… Show me how you take the cum of a fucking god,” he whispered harshly as you opened your mouth for him and stuck your tongue out. He grunted and closed his eyes as he tried to keep himself from getting too turned on again and he let out a shaky breath. “You really are a needy hero whore,” he said with a smirk, running his fingers through your hair, smiling at all of the cum dripping down your face. “You dirty… Filthy hero slut…” He stood up and snapped his belt with a soft growl and he hummed softly. “Fuck… This feels so good… I know what you want,” he said as he strolled behind you. “Tell me how bad you fucking want it,” he said as he slapped the belt across your ass again with a condescending laugh watching you spasm on the chair, unable to move. “Ah… You and those useless legs.. Can’t even hold you up- now you’ll have bruised knees. What a shame,” he teased as he struck you again.

“P-PLEASE,” you cried as you sniffed back tears, trying to arch your back just squirming against the chair. “I-I w-wanna f-feel you I-inside,” you whimper out as you let your head hang. “P-Please! F-Fuck me p-please,” you whined as your eyes burned with tears. “I want to feel y-you d-deep inside… Please!” You wanted to look back at him but your body wouldn’t let you. You heard him shuffle behind you, hoping that you’d be able to feel him inside of you, but you felt his large, warm hand caressing your inner thighs instead and you fell weaker as your breath stopped.

“Aw… What nice begging you did… But it looks like someone came without asking,” he growled as he stood up again, giving you a half second to breathe before he dealt another harsh slap, ‘R’s bruised into your skin. He gave a breathy groan and he stretched his arms out as he looked down at your bruised skin. “Looks like you’re getting punished… It wouldn’t be manly of me otherwise,” he said with a soft sigh, adjusting his shirt before dealing you slap after slap, blow after blow, soft groans and giggles of content punctuating each and every single one. “Oh yeah,” he whispered softly as he smirked. “Tell me how much you love it when I spank that sexy ass of yours,” he commanded as he shuddered. At this point, you were too out of it to speak, not being able to muster up more than soft mewls. He couldn’t help but to smirk as he suddenly shoved his cock inside of you, your eyes widening as you felt your insides conform to his shape.

“K-KIRI-“ you were cut off by your own pants and moans before feeing his fingers in your mouth. He bottomed out inside of you, already, and of course, there was a little bit of blood because of how sudden it was. He watched on with soft growls, slipping a hardened hand under the shirt to your hero costume that was already ripped. A small tug made quick work of the shirt, your back completely exposed to him. He let out soft whines as you constricted around him, subtly grinding your hips after you got over the pain of him suddenly rutting inside of you. You sucked on his fingers with soft mewls, drooling more, practically dumb from every single ounce of attention he payed you.

“Yeah,” he whispered softly as he lowered his lips against the skin of your lower back, taking in your scent, his eyes closing as he bit his lip, placing soft kisses on your lower back. Your eyes crossed as you tried arching your back into him. “Suck my fingers just like that,” he whispered, smiling as he watched the goosebumps run like waves over your skin. He continued to feed you soft kisses against your back, taking his time as he travelled up, his hands wandering over your body slowly, his hold commanding but still soft. If he wanted you to move, you did, and honestly you were fine with it. “Stop moving,” he commanded as he closed his eye, licking over the spots he kissed too. His warm tongue made you slick with precum, loving how warm he made you feel. You couldn’t do anything but moan around his fingers as he forced you to cockwarm him. He made sure to take extra care of you, gently working his way up your body as his hands followed and massaged every inch of you resting at your waist as he made it to your neck. It sounded like he was having trouble breathing, giving you short deep thrusts as he kissed at your neck. “O-Oh fuck you’re so tight,” he slurred out drunkenly as he closed his eyes. “F-Fuck fuck fuck…” He licked along your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth, still teasing you as the drugs made you almost pass out as well as how your insides conformed to the shape of his cock. “Just like that,” he whispered against your skin as he nibbled the sides of your neck. “Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you,” he commanded again, slapping your ass hard with his hand this time. It made you jolt and you let out a choked moan, sucking harder on his fingers with tears still running down your face. “Only good slaves get what they ask for,” he growled and you still felt the vibrator pulsating inside of you making you light headed. You drooled around his fingers as you gave him soft mewls and he only laughed at how fucked out you were already.

“Too much already? I haven’t even done anything to you yet,” he slurred out in your ear with a delighted grin. It felt like he was pulling out to give you some time to breathe, but he instantly snapped his hips back up into you with a loud moan, his teeth digging into the nape of your neck as you yelped out weakly. The hurt was accompanied by intense pleasure that made you quiver all the way down to your core, the condescending laughs and growls that followed making you light headed almost seeing stars. “Take it,” he moaned out as he kissed the bite in the nape of your neck which was now covered in beads of blood.

“K-Kiri-“ you choked out as you crossed your eyes. “P-Please! ’S t-too much,” you whine as you tremble and convulse on the chair under him, happily smushed into his body. “P-Please! S-Stop,” you whimpered out weakly, but he was still pounding deep inside of you, one of his large hands palming your neck from behind, his fingers crushing your trachea so you only let out choked cries and whimpers, your legs practically numb.

“Sorry! Dirty little h-hero sluts d-don’t get to say no!” He used his free hand to dig into your skin making you bleed more. “The h-harder I choke you, the more you t-tighten around me! W-What if the public knew what a whore for villain cock you were, hm? And you’re s-supposed to be a hero,” he scoffed as his bruising grip tightened around your neck, making your tongue loll out of your mouth as your eyes crossed and you struggled to stay awake. With each thrust he seemed like he was getting rougher, you were unable to move, you couldn’t even moan anymore, you were left with your labored breathing unable to fight it anymore, not being able to stick through his death grip he had on your neck. It seemed like one harsh movement of his thumb would break your neck, but you had no more resolve to fight it. “F-Fuck yeah! Ah fuck my cock,” he groaned out as he let your neck go feeling you fall limp under him. He let you stay passed out as he abused your hole how he wanted to, his smirk only growing as his tongue pushed out of his mouth, drooling as he drove himself crazy using you how he wished. “F-Fuck! Fuck I’m gonna c-cum s-so fucking hard,” he growled, digging his fingers into the bruised, tender bite mark, your blood smearing over his hand. He couldn’t help but to lick his hand clean, his gaze locked on your limp body as he thrashed you about, but he wanted you to be awake when he filled you up.

He gave you a harsh, wet slap and pulled your hair back, smirking at all of the bruises on your body that was for him. “R-RISE AND SHINE,” he growled as he slapped your ass harshly as he threw his head back and let out a loud laugh, crushing his chuckles with a growl as he forced your head to one side, licking up your neck until he made it to your ear, his stern tone making you wake up a little more. “I said wake. Up. Slut,” he whispered as he bit his lip. “I won’t ask nicely next time,” he growled as he pulled you down on his cock more. “F-FUCK,” He groaned out as he ducked his arm under one of yours, his arm pressing against your chest, easily pulling you up so that your back was rested against his toned chest, forcing you to bounce on him, forcing you to take him balls deep inside. “Oh this f-feels s-so m-much b-better,” he moaned in your ear with a soft growl, his nails digging into your skin marking you, watching the beads of blood roll down your body as he continued to rail into you, his own moans breathless. You were halfway awake as you clenched around him and let your arms fall helplessly still unable to move on your own. He whispered in your ear right before he came inside of you.

“O-Oh f-fuck,” he gasped as he kissed the side of your neck gently before growling into your ear. “Y-Yeah you like that huh? Hm?” He slapped your ass hard, his nails digging into your tender thigh. His hand forced your legs open as he nipped at you, scratched at you, growled into you, his face red, his body coated in sweat. “Yeah you do,” he whispered softly. “Y-You l-like it when a-a m-man takes control, huh? Hm? Yeah you do,” he growled as he forced your face into a nearby wall, grinding hard into him as his legs seemingly took up a mind of their own. “That’s WHY I b-became a villain baby,” he said with a smirk as he kissed up and down your neck, smiling as he admired your tears on your blood and sweat drenched body. “You like it when someone ca-can fucking take control of you like this! Fuck you like a dumb slut against the wall!” He growled as he kissed up the back of your neck. “You’re so fucking dumb right now baby,” he whispered with a soft giggle. “D-Drooling over villain cock… The cock of a fucking king!” He pushed your hips against the wall with a loud groan, his fingers going deeper into your mouth, grabbing your tongue, watching your saliva run down your face. “You’re so pretty like this! MY fucking toy,” he growled as he closed his eyes, slowing down a little as he nipped your ear. “Oh fuck I’m gonna cum right inside of that tight hole of yours,” he mumbled in your ear. “But I’m gonna make you milk me… Slowly… Gently,” he said as he took a deep breath, gently brushing your hair out of the way, kissing the side of your head as he smiled a little.

“You like this,” he whispered as he dealt you slow, deep, hard thrusts that were definitely more comfortable as he blushed and let out soft sultry moans, his hands gently guiding your hips into his and then away from his. He held you against him lovingly, groaning needily as he massaged over your marks, his hands covered in your blood. “Make me cum… Make me cum baby,” he whimpered as he kissed the side of your head, down your neck, your ear, then on your neck and shoulder, punctuating every single thrust of his hips with a soft groan. “I love you,” he mumbled to you softly, his body tensing as he edged himself closer and closer to cumming. “I-I love you,” he whispered, sounding like he was about to cry. “I-I always have,” he whimpered quietly as he thrusted hard into you, nipping into your soft, supple neck. “C-Cum with me because you’re m-mine! Mine! F-Fucking mine,” he whined as he he rolled his body into yours. “I’m the only one that c-can fill you up the right way! I’m the one that can fuck you the right way! T-The only one w-with c-cock big enough to satisfy you! The only one that can take control of you t-the right way!” He growled before pulling you onto him hard, filling you with his warm, sticky cum. He dug his nails into your skin as he watched your cum mix with his after it left a bulge in your stomach. “Oh fuck yeah,” he whispered softly as he slowly came down from his high as he watched the bulge he pushed into your stomach because of his cum. He trembled feeling his cum mixed with yours running down his leg. He hugged you close, hiding his face behind your shoulder, tears from his own overstimulation soaking his face, his breathing shaky as he slowly released you from his hold. Immediately, you slumped against the wall, Kirishima’s arms being the only thing holding you up. You trembled and whimpered softly, not even able to turn your head, barely even able to open your mouth.

“I m-meant what I said,” he said after awhile, slowly dusting your upper back with soft kisses, his hands hardened only halfway, massaging your back to help ease your pain a little. “I really do love you… But after it was expressed that I died in action… I couldn’t come back out… Hero work- well I wasn’t cut out for it,” he said as he pulled his pants back on, adjusting himself except having his messy hair. “This… This was the thing that made the most sense… This was the only way to get back to you,” he said sweetly as he took a deep breath and he bit his lip, picking you up with a soft grunt. “Cmere baby,” he said softly as he sat on the ground, cradling you in his lap, pulling your head against his chest. “Shh.. I know it hurts… I’m so sorry for hurting you… Calling you mean things- that wasn’t manly of me,” he said as he gently stroked your face. “I don’t actually think you’re a slut… or a whore… or… something like that. I was a little too intense,” he whispered softly as he kissed the crown of your head. “You mean everything to me. I already lost you once… I don’t want to lose you ever again…” He tilted your head up gently and he caught your gaze. He smiled and kissed the tip of your nose and he shook his head slowly. “… Please be mine,” he said softly. “I-I don’t care about social status or labels or anything! I don’t care if I’m a fucking villain and you’re a hero… And I wouldn’t care vice versa… I-I just…” He teared up and he looked away, biting his lip as he tried not to get too emotional. You reached up gently and weakly, your arm trembling as your fingers met his hot skin and you slowly stroked his face.

“Hey,” you whimpered hoarsely. “I’m all d-drugged up or whatever… But please believe me when I say that… I love you too… I always do… I mean have… Ugh,” you lolled your head back only to have Kirishima’s hand gently lift your head up gently and rest it against your chest again. “S-Since high school,” you squeaked before hiding into him taking in his scent. “I love you, Kirishima,” you whispered softly as you shook your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he stood up again, whimpering softly at how sensitive he was from how fast and hard he was moving. “Oh fuck,” he whispered softly, covering you up. “Let me run a nice bath for you… You can wear some of my clothes afterwards… I think Mr. Compress actually made some food, so you’ll eat good… But… Please,” he practically begged, his hand cupping your face as his glistening keen eyes stared into your sleepy ones. “Please don’t leave me again,” he whimpered as he hugged into you, kissing your shoulder gently.

“I won’t,” you smiled weakly at him, trying not to fall asleep again. “I don’t want to,” you reassured, running your fingers through his smooth, messy, fiery red hair. “I’m yours… I’m all yours… I l-love you Kirishima Eijiro,” you whispered before laying limp in his arms, the drugs catching up with you as you fell asleep.

He looked down at you with the most protective stare and he smiled sweetly at you, standing in the middle of the corridor to stare at you. His smile was lazy and sleepy as he stared at you. “I’m so happy that you’re finally mine… Finally… I’ll take such good care of you… It’s the manliest thing for me to do,” he whispered softly, gently kissing your forehead with a soft wispy giggle.

#Requested writes #kirishima #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x you #villain kirishima #villain au #villain!Kirishima #Kirishima smut #black velvet x bnha #black velvet x community #kirishima imagine #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima bnha #mha kirishima #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons #long fic

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battlestar-royco · 4 years

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Harry Potter aside, it isn’t ageist to point out that’s incredibly odd for anyone who’s an adult to fixate on anything where the target demographic is kids, be it YA books, shows, films, or anything in between. I don’t care about potential neurodivergence or the “comfort” you find in shit like that. Y’all need to grow up and act your age. (And yes, this includes Star Wars.)

hey! since you seem pretty hyperfixated yourself, maybe you should block me instead of projecting onto an internet stranger! really don’t care for this especially since you have no idea what fandoms i’m even in or what i’ve been talking about on this blog for the past at least month or so LMFAO. the next anon you send will be blocked and deleted.

#like slkslkksklskl not yall accusing me of liking star wars?????? the disrespect

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southsidestory · 3 years

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hey! haven't read anything you've written for sasusaku recently because i'm not that into the fandom anymore, but i'm so sorry you've been getting hate. it feels really stupid tbh since there's so much fic out there, and if they just don't vibe with your plots they can easily find something else. but anyway, i've read some other stuff you've written before and i've always really loved it and enjoyed, so i know you're killing it no matter what the haters say. all love and support <3

Thank you! That's so sweet of you to say, especially since you're not even active in the fandom anymore <3

Now that you put it that way... it is kind of odd that some readers get fixated on one fic or one author like that. SasuSaku is a HUGE fandom. So many fish in the sea! If one fic isn't giving you what you want, there are literally thousands of others out there to choose from. lol

#sasusaku #nice people #asks #anonymous

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

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In the Arms of the Anus

Fandom: Spider-Man, Thor Pairing: Roger Harrington/Grandmaster Rating: T Word Count: 8883

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @spiderman-homecomeme!!!

Summary: While people all over the world are finding their soulmates, Roger Harrington can barely find time to grab a sandwich. Clumsy, anxious, and stagnating in a mediocre marriage, it's a miracle that he still believes in love.

Today's the day the universe rewards that belief.

Three things about Roger Harrington: he’d just tripped on the sidewalk, he worried daily that he was developing a bald spot, and, at the age of 36, he felt he still believed in love as strongly as did the little girl in his building who’d made all the residents Valentine’s Day cards the year before.

The cards—which Roger had found endearing while his wife had been baffled to the point of annoyance—had been wedged into everyone’s mailbox sometime on the afternoon of last May 19th, and maybe that was why he thought of them today, exactly a year later.

It was helpful, he found, to consider love in markers of time passing, or just numbers. The anniversary of those Valentine’s cards would always be 271 days early, leap year or not. Roger had been married twice, longer the second time. He had zero children, and that was alright with him because he wasn’t totally sure that he did want kids and, anyway, he was too profoundly stressed about the welfare of the teenagers he taught at Midtown to comfortably imagine himself as a fulltime parent.

His wife was cool. Significantly cooler than he was. She drove out of the city to hike every other weekend (he had never joined her and hoped to never be called upon for woodsy companionship), had once performed an emergency tracheotomy on a friend at a dinner party, and had a tattoo on her hip that predated their relationship, which made it consequently, eternally, enigmatic, no matter how many times she told the objectively trite story of its acquisition. Also, she was a casual shoplifter, which made him very, very nervous in a way that he found difficult to differentiate from how he felt when he was turned on.

He was the kind of person who consistently forgot to take his glasses off before stepping into the shower. She was the kind of person who would run into and recognize a famous race car driver at Whole Foods (that had happened) or fake her own death (that had not happened—knock on wood!). Essentially, what and who his second wife was was the natural successor to his first wife (the reckless young bride to his insomniac young groom), who had in turn been the natural successor to the only other romantic encounter of his life worth mentioning: a kiss on the cheek at a birthday party on the day the Berlin Wall fell. Roger had been seven.

So his romantic history was speckled and, in two out of three cases, spoke a little too loudly of a need for legally-recognized codependence. So he didn’t feel like a man anyone would ever get a tattoo in honour of. So his wife had been a little unkind in the long pause before her negative when he’d asked her if she thought he was getting a bald spot. Roger still felt that love was going to happen for him. Hopefully sustained in his current marriage, but if not, there was always what Julius Dell had taken to (highly unscientifically) calling the Love Wave.

If Roger decided to be really delusional, he could pretend that the Love Wave was to blame for his stumble over uneven concrete on his way to grab lunch. That he was finally feeling its cosmic tug. Not that he would be the last to sense it—the inexplicable force that had lately begun guiding people the world over to their new partners—but every day that he didn’t, he feared his wife would feel it first and go careening out of their life together in a Thelma and Louise-style launch that somehow left her intact and him feeling like he’d plummeted to his death at the bottom of a canyon. Sometimes, when he thought about it, he imagined feeling that impulse to go to this destined soulmate and pictured it leading him home. Not in some metaphorical way, but literally home, to the apartment he shared with his wife, to find her arriving at the same time, the two of them matched up, the universe endorsing their marriage.

The reality was that he was a man with clumsy feet (and knees and elbows) who’d forgotten to pack himself a lunch and had just enough self-awareness (though probably not dignity) not to believe that eating in the cafeteria with his students was something he would be able to socially recover from.

He thought about a poorly-cut-out pink heart glued to a fold of red craft paper. He went to buy a sandwich.

At the deli, Roger waited in line and didn’t so much allow his mind to wander—like a dog off-leash in a dog park—as feel his mind jerk insistently away—like a dog on-leash, trying to snap a dropped slice of pizza off the sidewalk. He was violently not present as his thoughts migrated from Valentine’s Day cards to lesson plans to the anxiety he always felt over the fact of never seeming to have enough power to go with the tremendous sense of responsibility he felt for all situations in which he was even remotely involved. He would have, should have, continued to shuffle vacantly forward in line, except that the man ahead of him grumbled something that drew his focus.

What he grumbled was: “Even the Sorcerer Supreme should be able to spare a minute to decide what kind of sandwich he wants.”

Now, Roger Harrington was a man of science, but he was also a man who had previously enjoyed a close friendship with the Hulk (and if anyone challenged him on specific parameters within that assertion, Roger knew that he would cry). Aliens swarmed the sky like clouds of bees. There were compilation videos of Spider-Man nearly getting hit by city buses that could’ve been designed expressly to see how hard Roger could flinch. For a clumsy man with the unathletic, knock-kneed gait of Pippi Longstocking, Roger did his best to roll with the supernatural punches. Hey, this was how science worked too: just because there wasn’t a precedent yet didn’t mean there never would be. Just because he couldn’t explain something didn’t mean no one could. Sorcerers? Alright. There could be sorcerers.

“Sorcerers?” Roger blurted to the man, overeager to expel the word.

All other words had fled to the back of his mind, twitching in an agitated cluster, leaving just the one to be snatched frantically from the surface. Like fishing. (Roger had never been fishing. One of his greatest fears was having a live fish somehow jump into his shoe and stepping on it by accident.)

“Uhhh,” the man droned. He looked uneasy. If Roger knew how to make his eyes a little less wide in situations like these, he would’ve done it.

“No, yeah, sorcerers, sure,” Roger swiftly backpedaled. “I’m a teacher.”

As if being a teacher equaled knowledge of sorcerers. As if that were a normal unit of the high school curriculum. Roger’s understanding of sorcerers began and ended with Mickey Mouse in a blue wizard’s hat. He wondered if that was sort of the standard look.

The man did not appear reassured. Roger thrust his hand forward.

“Roger Harrington, Midtown Tech.”

Face still wary, his deli companion shook hands.

“Wong.”

“So, this sorcerer of yours didn’t pick a sandwich?” The line shuffled forward and, now in reach of the long glass case of food, Roger attempted to lean his elbow casually against it, misjudged the distance, and jerked back upright again before he could fall over.

“No… You heard that part too?”

“If I could hear the part about the sorcerer, why wouldn’t I be able to hear the rest?”

“I think most people would’ve been so fixated on the sorcerer thing that they wouldn’t really absorb the part about the sandwich.”

“Just got sandwiches on the brain, I guess,” Roger said.

God, if Wong knew a sorcerer, odds were that he was a sorcerer too. (Roger based this on being a teacher with almost exclusively teacher friends and acquaintances.) He was making it sound like he cared more about sandwiches, he knew he was. He stared silently at Wong for a few painful seconds and wondered if the man could tell that he had worked for a sandwich shop as a teenager—the role of wearing a full-body sandwich costume and standing on the sidewalk, trying to attract people into the shop.

But Wong surprised him by nodding.

“You could get one of everything,” Roger heard himself suggest.

He was not typically one to make suggestions, but rather one to panic when other people did and he was in the position of having to choose between them. He could never decide on a restaurant for he and his wife’s now few-and-far-between date nights, or provide straightforward feedback when she asked for his opinion on her clothing choices… which movie they should see… what they should buy for her friend’s sister’s housewarming gift...

Oh god, she was probably going to fake her own death and his biggest anxiety was knowing that someone would ask him to choose the casket!

“I have like…” Wong jingled his pockets and extracted a fistful of coins that, when he opened his hand, Roger saw belonged to several different currencies. “…six bucks.”

Like a mirror with a delay, Roger patted his own pockets to locate his wallet. He flipped it open to reveal something promising and terrifying: he’d forgotten to return the school credit card after the last field trip he’d chaperoned. He shouldn’t, but… sorcerer.

“I think this’ll cover it,” Roger said. “It’s for emergency expenses.”

“Like lunch?” Wong asked doubtfully.

“I could be very hungry.”

“They sell seventeen different types of sandwiches here.”

“I could be very, very hungry.”

Wong shrugged in evident acquiescence and Roger marvelled that it was so simple for him to accept this act of generosity. Roger couldn’t recall the last time someone had been as generous towards him. Wait, yes he could. The Valentine’s Day card. Well, handing over a credit card that wasn’t technically his didn’t exactly equate to presenting his ticket at the Love Wave gates (not that there were such things—not that he’d know), but he was hoping to trade this generosity up for a different magical experience in the near future.

When they reached the front of the line for service, Roger ordered a total of eighteen sandwiches. (And received an undisguised groan of complaint from the people still in line behind himself and Wong.) While they waited, Roger buzzed like the posterchild for over-caffeination, doing his best not to let his excitement translate into erratic movements.

Of course, once the sandwiches were presented and paid for, it only made sense for Roger to help Wong carry them all. His own ham-and-Swiss was stuffed into one of the three bags and they were all bulging, threatening to spill. If one of them ripped on Wong’s journey back to wherever he had to take them, who would be there to gather the sandwiches into their arms so that Wong wouldn’t have to leave them on the ground? Roger was clearly the best (only) person for the job.

And if they talked on the way? That would be natural. If Wong stared at him with abrupt, unyielding suspicion the instant Roger attempted to negotiate a visit with this ‘Sorcerer Supreme’ in exchange for buying his lunch? Yeah. Yeah that suspicion would be fair.

“Not for my sake!” Roger defended as Wong blinked back at him. “For the kids!”

“The Sorcerer Supreme isn’t a birthday party magician.”

“No, I would never imply that! These are bright kids. They’d be there to learn, respectfully. They’ve had their own traumatic encounter with Spider-Man already so there wouldn’t be any clambering to meet another person with superhuman powers!”

“What did Spider-Man do to traumatize them?”

Wong looked interested now, in an entertained sort of way. Meanwhile, Roger was having a flashback of his life flashing before his eyes inside the Washington Monument.

“Actually, he saved us,” Roger explained. “That’s not the point. It would be purely educational. You and the Sorcerer Supreme would call the shots. As long as it wasn’t anything dangerous.”

“Dangerous? We would never put children at risk!”

Roger was about to clarify that he hadn’t meant to imply that they would when he realized Wong seemed to be taking this as a reason to prove himself, or to make the other sorcerer prove what he’d just said.

“I would hope not,” Roger said carefully, “because not all of the children I’ve taken on field trips have come back alive and that haunts me.”

“Well, what haunts me is everything I’ve seen and learned from in order to become someone who could now guarantee a safe field trip environment.”

“Well, that would be great.”

“Well, good,” Wong concluded.

Roger looked down at the bag he was holding as he dug out his sandwich. His wrist twisted and he caught the time on his watch. Oh wow, oh no, his lunch break was almost over.

“Ok, deal,” he said quickly. “We’ll come by next Tuesday!”

“I’ll be out here to let you in!” Wong agreed with a parting wave.

Roger took off running in the direction of Midtown and when that got too awful, he wheezed like an asthmatic and waited at the closest bus stop.

—

Roger had expected Principal Morita to say there was no room in their budget for this trip. That they were nearing the end of the school year, that parents and guardians would be reluctant to sign another form for an excursion that Roger could only give a vague, stammering explanation of. At the very least, he’d anticipated the journey via school bus in lurching, stop-and-start traffic to take so long that the kids would revolt; Flash Thompson would lead the complaints that they could’ve walked to their destination faster than the ride took and Roger would feel the primal horror of a confrontation with a self-possessed teenager who wielded the kind of peer influence Roger could only have dreamed of when he’d been Flash’s age.

But no.

Highly improbably (Roger didn’t like to consider it miraculous), things went smoothly. The trip cleared the budget assessment on zero notice because, besides renting the single bus to transport the students, their outing didn’t actually have any costs. Permission slips came back signed. Traffic was light. And dear, dear Flash—who usually gave Roger so much anxiety—slapped the hand Roger raised to shield his eyes from the sun as his students disembarked from the bus, rewarding him with a surprise high-five for getting them out of the classroom on a Tuesday afternoon. It almost knocked Roger’s glasses off.

They were ushered inside by Wong, who was now laying the mystical solemnity on pretty thick. He certainly wasn’t talking about sandwiches or complaining about the Supreme Sorcerer under his breath.

Before Roger could feel too good about himself though, he realized he’d had time to run through his headcount of the students three times without interruption. Normally, something would happen partway through his first count and he’d be uneasy for the rest of the day, sure that one of the kids had fallen down a manhole or been stampeded by a dog-walker’s unruly canine swarm. The universe shoved teenagers into the path of bike couriers with one hand and paired up soulmates with the other. That was just how things went! However, inside this house (or, no, Sanctum, Wong had called it), the air was still and quiet.

“Do you think he’s gonna make himself appear out of thin air?” Roger heard Ned ask at a whisper. “Or out of a wardrobe, or a trapdoor, or one of those boxes people get in to get sawed in half?”

“Those are cheap tricks,” Wong said loudly. He stared unsympathetically at Roger’s motley group, hand closed around his opposite wrist to maintain a serious pose. “The man you’ll be meeting shortly has capabilities that far outstrip those of the kind of magician-for-hire you’d find in a phonebook.”

From behind him, Roger heard Peter ask Ned what a phonebook was.

“What kind of capabilities then?” Flash demanded.

Roger sighed and was turning to reprimand his student when Wong said, “Like this!”

The man faked a sneeze of horrific volume and range, doubling over and cupping his hand around his mouth and nose. When he straightened up and presented his open palm, there was a raspberry sitting in it.

Roger closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself and his teaching career played on a fast-forwarded film reel behind his lids. The Sorcerer Supreme was a no-show; all Roger had accomplished was taking the kids to a weird building to witness a man pretend to sneeze out a raspberry. Midtown Tech was going to fire him. His wife would recognize his unemployment as a reason to leave him. Depressingly, Roger was thinking about how that would almost be a relief—an end to his incessant worrying that they were really kind of a mismatch—and he was thinking it while he blankly watched Wong eat the raspberry he’d just feigned dislodging from his nasal cavity.

He was really unprepared for a different man to come sweeping down the stairs, motion with his hand, and have a red sheet come whizzing down after him to settle itself on his shoulders. Roger blinked. He heard the mixed noises of fright and appreciation from his students.

Then Flash piped up with, “That’s just a trick. It’s wires or something.”

Roger backed into the cluster of his charges and, without taking his eyes off the obvious Magical Guy in front of him, reached over and placed his hand across Flash’s mouth.

Unfortunately, his censorship seemed to be too late. The Sorcerer’s narrowed eyes zoned in on Flash.

“Oh yeah? How ’bout this? Is this just a trick?”

Fingers splayed, the man moved his hands in a precise, practiced way and a window opened up in the middle of the room. No, not a window, but Roger was having a tough time wrapping his head around it. What this non-window showed was something that wasn’t the room, that wasn’t a view of the street, that wasn’t anyplace in New York, if he had to guess.

“You can’t just do it like that,” Wong said wearily. Roger felt himself and his students look from one of the men to the other as though watching a tennis match. “There should be a little more finesse.”

“Look,” the Sorcerer told him. “You don’t get to spring this on me and then expect me to ham it up for the kids. This isn’t a David Blaine show.”

“Maybe you should watch one. You might learn something about showmanship.”

“So, it’s fake, right?” Flash checked.

Dammit, Roger had dropped his hand, distracted as he tried to make out what he was seeing through what he was becoming increasingly comfortable with calling a ‘magic portal’ in his thoughts. He scrambled to take hold of Flash’s shoulder—yanking him back would be bad, but dealing with the fallout of him pissing off somebody who could make magic portals would be much worse—but Flash dodged him, swaggering forward to inspect the Sorcerer’s work.

“What is it? Mirrors? Greenscreen? You buy your tech from Stark?”

“Stark?” the Sorcerer spat out derisively.

Overcome with the terrible feeling that he was about to find out what it looked like when a wizard put a curse on a child, Roger sprang forward. As he did, three things happened: the Sorcerer rotated his wrist slightly, the scene on the other side of the portal changed, and Flash turned to the side.

Without a student to grab onto and pull to safety, Roger’s momentum sent him hurtling through the gateway currently connecting Midtown to parts unknown.

Of all the times to trip, he thought.

—

The world was bright and fast and bad. Actually, Roger was almost positive that what he was seeing wasn’t the world at all, but he couldn’t put a name to where he was any more than he could think of better adjectives to describe it. Unless the Sorcerer Supreme owned a magical slip ’n’ slide that operated at speeds designed to train prospective astronauts for space travel, Roger was no longer in his building.

The colour of the tunnel of light surrounding him turned from something like the intestinal track of a unicorn who ate lightning and nebulas to a dangerous, broiling red. Roger kept waiting for his skin to bubble, his face to melt off. Maybe he was the fabled frog in the pot of boiling water and had failed to notice the heat steadily increasing. Because he didn’t feel hot. He couldn’t tell whether or not he felt cold either and before he could work it out, he finally landed.

It was rough.

He curled his arms up around his head, protecting his face. He hit and tumbled, hit and tumbled, banging his shins and elbows, setting off a series of metallic clangs and thwumps like his body was playing drums made of the contents of somebody’s recycling bin. Roger could see—once, shaking, he was able to lower his arms and open his eyes—that his imagination hadn’t been far from the mark: he was lying in a heap of trash.

Trembling like a baby deer, he got to his feet and assessed his surroundings. There were piles everywhere. Piles of stuff. Roger could identify some of the battered objects, but most were utterly alien to him. This was like the time he’d found his wife’s sex toys all over again.

“Hello?” he called out, because he seemed to be alone. “Hel—”

His throat closed off abruptly when he swiveled in place and noticed the sky. His mouth fell open. Was that what he had just come through? That furious-looking, billowing, volcanic, enormous… disturbance? Weather pattern? Entrance to hell, if hell were a mountain of trash?

Oh man. Where was Spider-Man this time? Roger didn’t know which would come first, but if something distinctly reassuring didn’t happen in the next 30 seconds, he was going to either burst into tears or pee his pants. His cool wife was going to be so bummed to have to declare him dead instead of faking her own death. And his students would be traumatized, having just witnessed their teacher disappear before their eyes. He spent a frantic 17 of his 30 seconds wondering if this were Jumanji and he’d started a game without realizing it; being sucked into a board game was another of his greatest fears, ever since he’d watched the chilling horror film Jumanji in his teens.

“Hello?” Roger croaked a final time.

Some other scientist—a Tony Stark type—would thrive in this scenario, Roger knew. They would scavenge the surrounding mounds of metal, collecting and assembling pieces into some sort of technology that would either get them home or enable communication with a rescue team. Would there be a rescue team for Roger Harrington? Would anyone even try to get him back?

The cry/pee conundrum was looking more like cry with each passing second until suddenly, amongst the broken things Roger was aggrieved to consider the lone sentinels of his demise, some kind of spacecraft touched down. Based on his recent luck, whoever was at the helm was likely here to kill him, but he immediately elected to throw himself on their mercy, whether that meant rescue or just a swifter snuffing out of his life than he would otherwise experience on this sad island of garbage as he died from dehydration, starvation, and exposure to that infernal gateway in the sky.

He mouthed the word “help” more than said it as he staggered forward on legs he could hardly feel. A door in the side of the spacecraft slid smoothly open and party music blared out. Roger flinched back as though he had not heard the sounds of civilization in years.

A woman exited the craft. She wore an expression about as kind as the murderous upside-down mushroom cloud in the sky and when their eyes met, she barked, “Back!”

Roger executed an awkward reverse lunge, pleading hands raised. Ok, now that his time had come, he didn’t want a quick death. Put out of his misery? No, he would learn to live with his misery, the way he’d learned to live with his college roommates, or his wife’s collection of handmade bowls! With food and water to sustain him, he was suddenly confident that he could be successfully miserable for years if this intimidating woman would just leave him to his own pathetic devices.

But then, like a visitation from a tan, eye-liner-wearing angel of indeterminate age, a man in gold robes emerged from the vessel. He beamed like he had always been beaming, and always would be.

Just like that, Roger Harrington got it. He got what Hot Chocolate meant when they sang that they believed in miracles. He got the meaning of Kylie Jenner’s year of realizing stuff. He got why a child would send out Valentine’s Day cards in May and why his wife was so dedicated to her hiking group and why he was here.

“Now, what did I say about that before we left?” the angel seemed to be asking his companion, though he’d locked his eyes on Roger. “Did I say to harass our visitor or did I say to be nice?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Roger, which he felt more than saw; it was possible that he was crying after all. Tears of joy.

“Harass,” she answered flatly.

The angel chuckled.

“You know, I do like having you around. Before you, I said to myself, ‘Next time, get an enforcer with a sense of humour.’” He sighed as his laughter dwindled. “But you can, uh, skedaddle back onto the ship now. That’ll be all.”

“What if you want to melt him?” she queried.

That was enough to tear Roger’s gaze away from the man and send it zipping nervously to the threatening almost-smile the woman was now directing his way. He’d preferred the murder face.

“Melt him!” the angel said, in a tone that implied her suggestion had been ridiculous. (Roger relaxed. A little.) “Topaz, don’t you realize who this is? Don’t you know?”

She shrugged.

“Trash.”

“No, he’s not trash! Do you think I would’ve left the Grand Arena to retrieve a new gladiator by hand? All those Scrappers don’t do my bidding just so I can dig through the garbage looking for fresh challengers for my champion! I wouldn’t even assign Scrapper 142 this task, and you know she’s my favourite!”

When the woman only grumbled, the man pressed, “You have an unbelievable poker face. Do you really not know why I flew all the way out here for this guy?”

“I’m his soulmate,” Roger blurted, because that was the one thing he did know.

He had no idea what a Scrapper was, or whether the man in front of him was more or less important than the ‘champion’ he’d mentioned, or how his homicidal sidekick planned to melt Roger, but he understood what was happening here. Forget the Love Wave—what had come for him had yanked him violently across solar systems, maybe galaxies. He’d been sucked under by the Love Riptide.

The angel pointed at him and proudly proclaimed, “Correctamundo!”

Then he strode forward and folded Roger into a hug. Roger thought this must be what it was like to be a piece of antique furniture, tenderly wrapped in gold leaf.

“I’m the Grandmaster,” he said.

“Roger Harrington,” Roger offered, feeling that his life was entirely surreal as he cautiously returned the hug.

“As soon as I felt you land on my humble little planet here, I came looking. My orgy guests were disappointed, naturally, but I had to put my interests first. What was I, elected? If they wanted a leader who would pretend to care about everyone equally, they should have organized themselves into a viable political party capable of rivalling my dictatorship, am I right?” He drew back slightly and laughed. “You should see your face! I’m kidding. I would’ve had anyone involved in such a thing put to death. Don’t you worry, Hairball.”

Roger cleared his throat. He’d learned so much in the last few sentences alone. Death. Dictator. Orgy. Any one of those things was a lot to confront and yet… he was calmed by the Grandmaster’s presence. He was alive and unmelted. He’d managed to find his soulmate—a man he’d been almost certain to never meet as things stood with Earth’s individually-impressive but cosmically-insignificant progress with space travel. At long last, the universe had smiled on Roger Harrington.

“Just Roger is good,” he said. If last names ever came up again, he would tactfully correct his soulmate, but with a name like ‘the Grandmaster,’ he doubted they ever would.

“Roger. Anything you say.” Gripping Roger’s shoulders, the Grandmaster leaned in and planted a sound kiss on his forehead with a loud, “Mmmwah!”

He asked Roger if he would like to go aboard his ship, apologizing that it wasn’t the one where he’d just been having the orgy and appearing to check Roger’s face for disappointment. Roger didn’t know what the Grandmaster saw in his expression, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Inside the spaceship, Roger looked around with huge eyes. He hadn’t felt this kind of wonder in a room jammed with so much beyond his understanding since the first time his mom had taken him to the New York Hall of Science as a kid. Everything was bright and white and immaculately clean, and Roger could concentrate on all of it because the Grandmaster had Topaz drop the volume of his party playlist until it was just a low pulse of background noise. Seemingly amused by his awe, the Grandmaster allowed him a peek at the controls before gently herding him into a chamber with seating arranged for socializing. A pneumatic hiss sealed them safely inside and away from the woman’s scowl.

“I really just wanna sit here and, uh, just look atcha, but that look on your face tells me you’ve got about a million questions.”

The Grandmaster settled back into the bench seating, resting his long arms along the top of the seat. Across from him, Roger fidgeted, experiencing sensory overload. Soulmate. Spaceship. Alien planet. He found it hard to decide what to ask first. Was that even polite? Was the Grandmaster just saying that Roger could ask questions when he really wanted Roger to say or do something else? There was an awfully flirtatious look in his eye, the likes of which Roger hadn’t seen directed towards himself in several years.

“What is this place?” Roger asked before he could stop himself. “Where am I?”

“Oh! This is Sakaar! Are you saying you didn’t come here on purpose? I figured you weren’t aiming for a pile of trash, but you really didn’t know where you were going at all?”

Roger shook his head so hard that he had to nudge his slipping glasses back up his nose.

“It was an accident. I fell through a wizard’s—uh, I mean, a sorcerer’s—magic portal. That kind of clumsiness must sound pretty farfetched to someone who’s so obviously…” Roger motioned spastically towards his soulmate, the dictator, with both hands. “…in control of their life.”

The Grandmaster laughed, transparently pleased and preening.

“Oh, Roger, you flatter me.”

He stretched out his leg to playfully tap his shoe (gold) against Roger’s (plain, brown, frayed shoelace). Roger jumped, giddy from an alteration in sea level, possibly, plus life-changing events.

“But it really isn’t so uncommon for people, beings, things… to end up here without meaning to,” the Grandmaster went on. “A lot of junk passes through the Anus. Not that you’re junk, obviously.”

With a winning smile, Roger’s soulmate leaned forward and patted him on the knee. He was a touchy-feely guy, it seemed, and it made Roger cognizant of how very lonely he’d been in his marriage, in the last year especially. How skittish around strangers, how unaffectionate with his friends. This was what he needed, and the universe had understood that.

It took his brain a few seconds to catch up with what his soulmate had said, distracted by the comfort he was taking in his easy warmth.

“The Anus?” Roger asked in a choked voice.

“The Devil’s Anus, to be exact. That enormous, horrifying wormhole out there in the sky!” the Grandmaster explained, gleeful. “Best I can guess, it acts as a funnel for accidental travelers, like yourself. And boy, are we ever grateful for that thing. I’ve never had to post any ‘Help Wanted’ flyers, I’ll tell ya that. We need more people serving drinks? Boom. More entertainers? Boom. More lubricators for the orgies? Boom, the Anus provides, baby.”

Roger didn’t inquire what the duties of a person with the job title ‘orgy lubricator’ entailed; it seemed sleazily self-explanatory. He just nodded.

“And now,” his perfect, golden match continued, “the portal brings me my soulmate. I love that thing. It’s really somethin’, huh?”

“It’s really something,” Roger agreed. “Really, really something.”

“You’re looking just a little stunned there, Rodge. Can I offer you something to eat? A drink? I promise, I’m usually a much better host. I feel like I’m positively, uh, bumbling right now.” He beamed.

This man was so many things at once—possibly too many—but bumbling was so far from being one of them that Roger actually laughed weaky in his state of happy, semi-delirium. He accepted the cold glass that was pressed into his hand, the brush of the Grandmaster’s warm palm across his forehead. He had moved to sit right next to Roger.

“You can get used to this place at your own pace, within reason.” His soulmate chuckled. “Heck, we can stay right here a day or two. My plans are cancelled, and when I stop, the world stops. That’s how it is, being the Grandmaster, and that’s how it’s gonna be for you too. You can give all your worries a big, wet kiss goodbye, my love. You’re living a life of luxury now. A court of sycophants, fights to the death in the evening, orgies on a lazy afternoon. I’m talkin’ a life of pure class—”

“Class!”

“Yeah, baby, that’s what I said.” The Grandmaster was wearing a languid smile as he traced the back of his fingers along Roger’s jaw.

But Roger was suddenly too alert to be lulled by welcome caresses and delicious, exotic beverages.

“I was teaching a class before I fell through the portal,” he said. “I’m a teacher. My students are probably terrified. Some of them might be messed up for life after watching me disappear right in front of them. What have I done…”

“So you gave them a cool story to tell their friends! You don’t need to think about that anymore. Now that you’re living here—”

“I can’t live here!” Roger said, seizing the Grandmaster’s hands in his as he tried desperately to explain. “I have responsibilities as an educator! Jesus Christ, I’m married!”

“Roger. Rodge. Rodge. Hey,” his soulmate said, finally disrupting Roger’s spiral of panic. “That’s all in the past. Do you know how many creatures from just, uh, every darn corner of the universe I’ve made slaughter each other for my entertainment? Thousands, Roger, ok? Thousands. And it’s taught me oodles about life. What I’ve learned is that love is the only thing that matters. What all of those poor bastards scream for in the end is their mom, their partner, their best friend. Now, that doesn’t help them, but it helps us. It helps us understand that we’ve done it—we’ve achieved the one thing in our lives that was worth a damn to achieve. I’m not gonna, gonna now be parted from you, sweetheart. You are the point of me.”

Roger felt himself growing teary at the speech. Yes, this had been a whirlwind—they’d met no more than 15 minutes ago—but he was feeling something just as deep as the love the Grandmaster described. It was a fantasy in the best way, the life his soulmate pictured for them (most of it… maybe not the part about slaughter). But it was a fantasy in the worst way too, something so impossible that Roger felt sick for getting as attached to this man as he already had.

“I can’t,” he said softly. He let his head hang down, solaced when the Grandmaster guided it onto his shoulder and wrapped a protective arm around him.

“Can’t you? For me? Roger, if I put you on a ship and send you back through the Anus, we may never meet again.”

Roger squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to be selfish, but there were people he couldn’t leave in the lurch. People who maybe didn’t care about him in a way that was equal to how he cared about them, but that was how any kind of relationship was, apart from soulmates. There were imbalances. He knew he might not be the most brilliant scientist, the most inspirational teacher, the husband a woman would prefer over the outdoorsy hunk in her hiking group, but he knew who he was: he was someone who couldn’t just walk away.

“We’ll be together again,” Roger said, clutching the Grandmaster’s robes. “After.”

Though he didn’t yet know what ‘after’ would mean.

—

It wasn’t as unexpected as it could have been—Roger had always had a feeling he’d die on a school bus.

The difference between his fears and reality was that he wasn’t departing this world in a fiery crash or zooming out of control between the steel trusses and into the East River. There was confusion, there was chaos, there were screams and the violent honking of horns, but there were elements he couldn’t have predicted. Primarily, the giant alien spacecraft hovering over the city. The ship immediately moved into first place of the most ominous rings in his life (he and his wife were not in a good place). Since its sighting, things had quickly spiraled out of control. Julius had radioed Roger from the other bus of students they were chaperoning to MoMA to report that Ned Leeds had ‘flipped his shit’ and Peter Parker was currently missing. Roger had nearly passed out. The only thing that had kept him conscious was his jittery concern for the rest of his students.

At Midtown Tech, they had drills for almost every eventuality. As of 2012, hostile outer space invasion was actually part of their repertoire, but it had always been assumed they would be at school when it happened, not out on a field trip. The most Roger had been able to think to do was get the kids to a secure location. Which meant getting the buses to a secure location. But the buses were on the bridge, and all over the bridge drivers were panicking, mindlessly stomping on the gas and attempting to swerve around the rest of the vehicles. Above the blood rushing in his ears, he’d heard crash after crash, until their bus was hemmed in and, through the smoking, crumpled hoods of their fellow commuters, the alien ship hung stationary in the sky. Disturbingly tranquil as New York City went to pieces to the tune of apocalyptic dissonance just below.

In the end, the spaceship hadn’t stayed put, but Roger had. The lanes around them were crowded with smashed cars. Glass from shattered windshields glittered on the pavement. Still, more vehicles surged forward as drivers attempted to use the bridge to flee the city; this wasn’t NYC’s first alien rodeo. He hadn’t attempted to force any of his students to remain on the bus—they were some of the smartest and the best of their generation, and he trusted their survival instincts far more than his own—but he did direct the ones who fled to first climb up onto the roof of the bus instead of dropping directly down onto the street and risking injury. Yes, he worried about minor cuts and bruises. Even now.

He thought that Flash was staying with him, and was touched. But then he realized Flash was just gripping his shoulder for leverage as he jumped and grabbed for the emergency roof hatch with his free hand. Roger knew the boy was somewhat neglected by his parents, and so, for the first time, he was happy go hear ‘Hotline Bling.’ It was Flash’s ringtone and it played incessantly as his phone rang and rang until the song, and the sound of Flash running, faded into the distance. Somebody wanted to see that he was safe. Somebody cared about him.

Alone, Roger hunkered down between the seats, knees bent in front of him. He scraped one hand anxiously through his hair and gripped his phone in the other.

He should call his wife. He knew he should. Only, he was afraid that she either wouldn’t pick up or she’d answer and be with the guy from her hiking group. Roger wasn’t even upset; he was glad she had someone, if this was it.

Ever since he’d returned from Sakaar, he’d been different, he was aware that he had. In the past, his wife had been largely responsible for the sundering of their marriage, but Roger knew that he was now pulling away too. It had begun inside him—the tear. He wanted to be with two people for two different reasons. In two places, on two worlds. Commitment clashed with longing. Logical rightness fought emotional rightness. He’d been weak, persuading himself daily to tough it out with his wife (even as he slept on the couch every night because lying beside her made him unhappy), when, for once in his damn life, he wanted to be fulfilled. Somewhere out in the stars, there was a man with blue eyeliner and an entire planet at his capricious command and he was the person for Roger.

If only, he thought, picturing the face he shouldn’t have been able to recall so clearly for the brevity of their encounter months ago. Roger shut his eyes to better remember the Grandmaster, and so he wouldn’t have to see his phone clatter to the bus’s dirty floor when the hand that held it turned to dust.

—

As with his life on regular, non-apocalypse days, not much happened to Roger. Despite his paralyzing breakdown on a school bus, he wasn’t among the billions scattered to the wind like sentient dandruff. He picked himself up and went home. Sure, he was shivering almost out of his skin from the shock, but he didn’t collapse into wracking, snotty sobs until he was safely in his living room, listening to his neighbours’ wails through the condo’s walls.

Roger’s wife wasn’t there, didn’t answer when he called her, and, three weeks later, still hadn’t made contact. It took another two months to hold her wake; the funeral business was booming. Never had so many words been spoken over so many vacant graves. Some members of his wife’s hiking group attended, some had even helped him select the right music and flowers beforehand. They knew her preferences. It felt surreal to be burying a person he couldn’t prove—in any meaningful way—that he’d really known.

With a queasy sense of being very lucky, he accepted that, apart from his marital status, his life hadn’t been upended. His windows weren’t broken, his car wasn’t stolen, the few family members he was out of touch with anyway had also survived. He went back to work before anybody called him in. There weren’t any students at first, just the echo of Roger’s clumsy footsteps tripping over the rug in the staffroom, half-solved equations on the whiteboards in the math classrooms, and the unholy stench of unwashed pinnies when he poked his head into the gym storage room to see if Coach Wilson was around. One day, Roger tipped back in the chair at the front of his own empty classroom and spotted a gigantic cobweb in the corner of the ceiling. It made him think of Spider-Man. He guessed that guy was gone too.

The most important thing for keeping sane was establishing a regimen. Work was a big part of that, but Roger also traveled daily into Manhattan to visit the Sorcerer’s place. It became a kind of pilgrimage. Early on, Wong would come out to say hello, but it was eventually less about commiseration and more of a perfunctory thing. Roger knew (assumed, hoped) that if the Sorcerer ever did return, Wong would let him know and welcome him inside. And then… a portal? And then the Grandmaster? He tried not to think about it too hard. Yearning took up a lot of energy and, when his students began to come back to school in distressingly low numbers, Roger needed to reserve that energy for teaching.

Everything was the same, every day, until it wasn’t.

For a reason he couldn’t rationally explain, Roger knocked on the Sorcerer’s door. While he was waiting—just a few seconds, he planned—a man materialized on the sidewalk right next to him. He tottered and Roger reflexively said, “Whoa!” and grabbed his shoulder to keep him on his feet. Before Roger could hypothesize or ask the man any questions, a teenage girl returned to existence a few feet away. Then a woman holding a toddler tightly in her arms. A little boy. A man with a dog. A bicycle-less bike cop, still wearing his helmet. Releasing the man, Roger spun and pounded against the door with his fist.

Still, no one answered.

Fighting the urge to show up at Midtown Tech, Roger made himself stay put, right there on the Sorcerer’s doorstep.

He waited a long time. As the sun set, New York City rose around him. He watched people hugging, running home down the middle of the street. He fielded unfinished questions as the newly returned began to ask him what had happened, what time it was, what year, before jogging away, more purposeful with every step they took. Roger’s foot began to bounce on the sidewalk and his clammy hands twisted fretfully. It was still another 12 hours before the door opened.

Roger fell backwards into Wong’s shins, delirious from the sickening seesaw between urgency and exhaustion. Everywhere, people were reconnecting. He scrambled to his feet because he wanted to be one of them.

“Is he here?” Roger demanded.

Wong narrowed his eyes slightly, holding the door so it couldn’t be pushed open further.

“Might I remind you that it’s me you’ve been seeing here the last five years.”

“Yeah,” Roger agreed, trying to see past.

“I thought we had developed a rapport.”

Finally, Roger met Wong’s eyes, his own pleading.

“No, yes, you’re right, we have,” he babbled.

“We’re friends.”

“Yes, of course, we are friends. Definitely.”

“So when is my birthday?”

Roger’s mouth hung open as he searched his brain for a piece of information he knew wasn’t in there. A few seconds later, Wong turned mirthful.

“Did you spend the Blip hiding under a rock where there are no jokes? Come inside. We just got back.”

None of the thousands of times he’d come to the door mattered—Roger hadn’t been inside the Sanctum since that first time. He hoped the Sorcerer remembered him.

When he saw the man, Roger’s steps stuttered. The Sorcerer appeared grim and wiped out. He was dirty and he looked older, though Wong whispered to Roger that the Sorcerer had been among the Snapped. Roger understood that, for something to go right and bring everyone back to life, something else had gone wrong. He could dwell on that and awkwardly bow his way back out of there, or he could convince himself that things had gone wrong for him too, and that he’d like them to be righted. He remembered that his soulmate was a dictator and tried to channel that sense of entitlement.

“What do you know about the Anus?”

The Sorcerer blinked.

“What.” The word came out perfectly flat.

“The Anus.”

“I wasn’t that kind of doctor.”

Roger strode eagerly towards him, hands gesturing before his words caught up.

“When I was here about, um, five and a half years ago, I fell through your magic portal—”

The Sorcerer snapped his fingers in recognition and turned to Wong.

“Oh, that’s who this is. I always wondered what happened to that guy.” He looked at Roger again. “How did you get back to Earth?”

Roger hadn’t been prepared to answer this question, just make his demands, and he began to explain what had happened to him, all out of order. The words ‘orgy ship’ had barely left his mouth when the Sorcerer was waving him into silence. His expression told Roger he was sorry he’d asked.

“So you went through the portal…” he prompted instead.

“That’s right! And for a while, I was just falling. I don’t know where I was.”

The Sorcerer stroked his chin.

“The connection must’ve been unstable. I know—one of your students distracted me.”

“That’d be Flash,” Roger said.

“Jesus. This is why I prefer not to be a field trip destination. Normally, the portal would allow you to pass cleanly through one place and into another.”

“And instead he passed cleanly through the Anus,” Wong summarized.

“…Yeah.”

Roger glanced from one man to the other.

“So,” he said, “could you do it again?”

The Sorcerer stared at him.

“The short answer is no. The long answer is also no, but it contains a great deal of vernacular to do with the Mystic Arts, so I’ll save us both some time.”

The last time Roger had defended his intellect and qualifications had been years ago, and he was out of practice. Anyway, he didn’t want a lengthy debate.

“Can’t you just open a portal and shove me through?”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a lot going on today. I’ve only entertained you this long because you and Wong seem to be friends. I’m not just going to mess around to humour you.”

“What if you had to do it?” Roger asked quickly, beginning to feel desperate and preparing to metaphorically jam one of his clumsy feet into the closing window of opportunity.

“Uh, let me think about that,” the Sorcerer droned disinterestedly. “No.”

“What if I attacked you and you opened a portal in self-defence?”

The Sorcerer squinted at him in disbelief and befuddlement.

“What?”

But Roger was already gracelessly throwing his weight into a wild, uncoordinated punch.

For once, he didn’t think critically of himself; he told himself that the Sorcerer’s portal sparked up between them because he was intimidated by Roger’s tenacity. And that it didn’t show a clear destination because the Sorcerer’s reaction speed was no match for Roger using the element of surprise. And that he dove purposely through the portal—on a mission for love and science and the unknown—instead of tumbling into it sideways because the momentum of his unpracticed punch had gotten the better of his balance. It didn’t matter. His feet went out from under him and he was on his way.

Roger had forgotten how intense the trip was, but he completely recalled the rough landing, bouncing down through a stack of the universe’s lost garbage. He shut his eyes to the whooshing and the brightness and braced himself (probably too early, but he didn’t think he could be too careful on this reckless endeavor).

He felt his body hit open air and gasped as he fell, trying to keep his limbs tucked in. The hat he’d been wearing was torn from his head. Didn’t matter; it wouldn’t have offered much protection anyway. At any moment, his poor elbows and knees would be battered by space junk. Between his velocity and his fear of the coming impact, Roger could hardly breathe.

Music. A familiar voice singing, It’s my soulmate! made his eyes fly open. Right in time to land on his back. Whatever was beneath Roger was soft, but he’d still had the wind knocked out of him and was struggling to fill his lungs. His eyes clamped shut as he began to cough.

“I have no idea how you survived that thing twice, but I sure am glad I caught ya.”

Finally sucking in a stronger breath, Roger opened his eyes and looked up. His glasses were askew. Above him was the opening in the ceiling of a hovering spacecraft, but closer than that, leaning over him, was the face of the Grandmaster. He was beaming.

“Any trouble with the Anus?” he asked.

Roger grabbed for the hand his soulmate had rested on his shoulder and moved it to his chest, right over his heart.

“The asshole who got me here will probably be thrilled to never see me again, but the Anus treated me just fine.”

“Ha!” the Grandmaster barked. His free hand lovingly patted Roger’s windblown hair back into place. “Welcome home.”

#my writing #MCU #spider-man #thor: ragnarok #Roger Harrington #En Dwi Gast (the Grandmaster)#their ship name is Mr. Master and they're what G deserves on her birthday

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lordkambe · 4 years

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🚬 title, type: karasuno old boys: the setter and the cheerleader, chapter one fic, +2k word count.

🚬 short summary: y/n was a miyagi girl, born and raised, until she decided to move to the states after graduation. after several years, y/n is back in miyagi after unexpected unemployment. now she is running her parents old dumpling shop where runs into old friends from her alma mater: karasuno high.

in this chapter, y/n is invited to karasuno’s practice game by shimada and takinoue. they decide to have some fun and sneak into the stock room where they find their old uniforms. on a dare, you try on your old cheer-leading uniform (now a size too small) and run into your old friend, the coach, keishin ukai.

🚬 character, fandom, type of reader: keishin ukai, haikyuu!!, woman reader.

🚬 genre, rating: angst, eventual smut.

🚬 themes, triggers: cursing, smoking, slight body image.

🚬 author’s note: hey everyone this is a fic that’s been on my brain for a while. i have to admit that coach ukai is just ... everything to me and i’m curious to know more about him. i hope you enjoy this chapter and possibly look forward to the next. your thoughts and feedback is always appreciated.

Miyagi has always been your home, born and raised. The love you had for Miyagi ran deep but you knew you were destined for more. The second the high school diploma hit your palm and the farewell pictures were taken, you were gone. Instead of seeking refuge in Tokyo, you took it a step further and entered university in the U.S and while that was a temporary settlement for academics; you ended up spending time there longer than intended. It resulted in you loosing contact with the people closest to you in Miyagi including your own parents. So the phone call that you’d been laid off from a seemingly cozy job didn’t sit well with your parents. But with no other choice, you returned home.

Your parents had owned and ran a dumpling shop in Miyagi. It was a staple of the small town and it hosted memories you cherished. With you back in town, your parents decided to consider an early retirement in order for you to became responsible for the shop. For the first few weeks of your arrival back home went to work and went back home. It was to deflect from running into familiar faces, you were too big for Miyagi, remember? After a good few weeks of deflecting your parents encouraged you to find independence. So you leased a home only a mile or two from your parents and in close enough distance to the dumpling shop. Your new home was empty of groceries so you decided to swing by the local market at an odd hour at night. Entering the grocery store you immediately were overwhelmed. Despite its small size it was difficult to navigate. You approached an employee from behind and as he turned to greet you the memory of an old friend resurfaced, “Shimada?” You let out a breathy chuckle. “Y/N!” His throat filled up with such joy. You hugged immediately and it caused a few stares from the other patrons, neither of you payed it any mind. Shimada adjusted his glasses, “you should come to Karasuno tomorrow—-“ You cut him off and said you’re not so sure. Shimada sighed, “relax. Takinoue will be there, Keishin is coaching the new team. It really is a sight. They have this kid that can jump crazy heights.” He continued to gush over the team but you’re fixated on one detail, Keishin Ukai is a coach. “So you’re coming?” Shimada asked and you agree without realizing you did. The night prior to returning to Karusuno, you swung by your parents place and found your old yearbook. You took it back to your place and poured yourself a glass of wine. You flipped through the old pages, finger tracing down the signatures and heartfelt notes. Leaving Miyagi wasn’t something you regretted but it wasn’t because you had resentment against it. You loved the small town but your ambition the future outweighed your nostalgia for the past. The next day Shimada and Takinoue picked you up around 3 PM. Your outfit, much like theirs is casual. It was weird pulling up to Karasuno not in uniform. Skipping the main building, Shimada and Takinoue lead you to the club room. From outside you can hear the squeaking of shoes, the sound of volleyballs hitting the hard wood, the cheers and screams. You’re filled with nostalgia that burns into anxiety, you’re nervous. You stared at the pillars in front of the club room. You remembered standing there while Keishin leaned against one of the pillars. Sometimes his hand would reach out towards you to move a strand of hair from your cheek. He took breaks from practice not to eat or relax like the other boys, but to see you. Keishin and you never dated but you were known to be good friends. You regretted never doing anything more with that title and you weren’t sure if he felt the same. You were opposites anyways. Your dreams to be big extended to your studies. You’d always been top of your class while Keishin struggled to keep up. He had his passions, you had yours. You we’re brought back to life when Shimada dragged you inside. You stepped in and the smell of salon pas filled your nostrils. Oddly enough, it made you smile. Everyone was too caught up in their actions to give any attention to you three. Takinoue called for Keishin’s name but it was met with a dismissive wave of his hand. You couldn’t help but to stare at Keishin even if he couldn’t give you the decency of eye contact. As you observed him your voice was empty. You can’t believe his new look. Bleached hair? Hair? He had a buzz cut last time you saw him. Shimada spoke in hopes to introduce your presence but Keishin is caught up in the play. His eyes are fixed on the players, “we’re training for the inter-high premlis. Take a seat upstairs. I’ll catch up later.” His tone is harsh. Neither of you three wish to argue. As you made way to the upper seating, you’re greeted with a younger girl. She’s beautiful you think. She introduced herself as Kiyoko and you greeted her with the same kindness she shared. Takinoue then asked permission to look in the stock room, to which Kiyoko agreed. Knowing Takinoue was up to something, you followed through anyways. Feeling mischievous the three of you rummage through the stock room and shared memories of your time at Karasuno. The stock room was dimly lit but you could easily navigate through the old boxes. It was like going through time capsules; each box held so much history of Karasuno’s glory days. You ripped open another box and inside it you found the old volleyball uniforms. Jokingly you dared the two boys to change but they had found something for you too, your old cheering uniform. “Absolutely not.” You say before they even suggest you wear it. “Come on,” Shimada started “we’ll wear the uniforms if you wear yours.” Takinoue agreed but you can sense his hesitance. “I got taller, so these shorts will fit like booty shorts.” Takinoue complained. You felt that was a fair enough punishment. So the three you you agreed. Takinoue and Shimada changed in the other room. After they did, they informed you and stood guard outside the stock room while you changed. The cheer-leading uniform fit but it didn’t slip onto your figure perfectly; it awakened your insecurities. The top of the uniform fit tight and your breasts seemed to push up as a result of your improper bra. Your thighs had grown wider forcing the skirt to look smaller than you remember it being. While you analyzed your suit, you hear Takinoue call for you. “Guys, I’m not sure about this.” You complain. To which Takinoue and Shimada groan. You then walk out with your arms covering your chest. The two of them step back. Both their cheeks flushed red, just as yours are. “Keishin is gonna jizz his pants.” Takinoue jokes. You slap his arm but a part of you hope he’s right. You always wanted Keishin to view you as more than just a friend. You saw how he looked at your former classmates back in the day, the girls he had crushes on. His eyes sparkled at the sight of them and you wished he looked at you the same. The three of you step back onto the court Shimada reinforces your confidence with a “you look great” Takinoue agreed and you smile. “Yeah unlike us.” Takinoue followed. The three of you laughed. Now on the sidelines of the court, the players are scattered this time. It looks like they are on break and you silently curse because each of their eyes is on you three. The boys gleam at Takinoue and Shimada. An orange-haired boy let out an excited shout. You were surprised how such a tiny frame could fit such a loud voice. “Wow! You guys can so pass as 3rd years!” The orange-haired boy encouraged. Takinoue and Shimada were full of themselves now: wrapped up in their missed youth. You felt a set of eyes on you. In particular you notice two players. One has a buzz cut and looked very similar to how Keishin did when you were kids, the other was much shorter with a bleached strand of hair in the middle of his head. Both of their jaws were unhinged as they stared at you. It caused the other boys to stare as well. The once loud orange-haired boy is now silent. You can hear a faint “who’s that? She’s hot!” But can’t put a face to the voice. The whispers are interrupted with a hurdling volleyball bouncing off buzzcut and bleached strand’s heads. You wince knowing it hurt. “What are you boys gawking at, huh? Breaks over!” Keishin howled at them. It was a teacher, you assumed, beside him that tugged at his sleeve. Finally Keishin looks at you three. But you? You’re now standing behind T you fit perfectly behind his tall stature. You hear Keishin’s rough chuckle and it fills you with so much joy. “You boys look dumb as hell.” “Same as you did when you bleach-dyed your hair.” Takinoue clapped back which earned a laugh from you. Shimada took your arm and pulled you forward. You protest but to no avail. And now there you were standing a few inches from Ukai Keishin in a slutty version of your old cheerleading uniform. Keishin coughed, loudly. On the brink of choking the smaller teacher had brought him water. The teacher had introduced himself while Keishin collected himself, it fed your ego. “It’s nice to meet you Takkeda. I’m Y/N. I was a student here with Shimada, Takinoue and Keishin.” The boys seem to gather around in a group not too far. They were curious and you couldn’t blame them. You continue, “sorry for the distraction. We were in the stockroom and we found these and decided to try them on.” Your cheeks flushed and you hoped your voice sounded as confident as you presented it to be. “Don’t be sorry.” You heard one of the boys say, to which Keishin greeted with a scoff. Takkeda cleared the air by asking the boys to continue their practices. Despite their collective groan they complied and returned to their practice. The awkwardness of your actions settled in completely and you didn’t say a word. You watch Keishin as he removed his jacket. Unexpectedly he handed the jacket to you, “here.” “Thank you.” You bowed to him slightly and took the jacket. You slipped the larger fabric onto your figure and it consumed you. The smell of his cologne was mixed with cigarettes lingered on the fabric. “Just like old times.” Shimada said in a weak attempt to cut the tension in the room. Keishin’s expression was hard to decipher. He looked upset but flustered, excited even. You mustered up the courage to speak. “We’re sorry if we caused any trouble.” Shimada and Takinoue spoke over you in order to take the blame. Keishin isn’t even looking at you at this point. “Takkeda, take over practice while we talk outside.” Keishin asked to which Takkeda agreed. You walked in front of Keishin and you could feel his eyes on you. Instinctively you pulled the jacket down farther to cover your behind. Now outside you, Shimada, Takinoue, and Keishin stood in a circle. It was oddly reminiscent of the old days but the energy between you four wasn’t nostalgic or happy. It was brutally awkward and you wanted to run. “It’s my fault, Keishin.” Shimada broke the silence and you looked up at him. Keishin fiddled around his pockets and cursed. He looked at you and you looked back at him. Your eyes were wide and your mouth was sealed shut. “My cigarettes and lighter are in my jacket pocket. Left side.” You nod your head and reach to grab them. While you hand them to Keishin you gave a warning, “smoking isn’t good for you.” Keishin shook the cigarette box with a scoff. “I don’t think someone who left without a trace is in a position to tell me what’s good for me. — Shimada, Takinoue give us some privacy. Yeah?” He pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. The lighter switched and lit his cigarette. He inhaled a heavy swig before exhaling the smoke in the other direction, it spared you from directly inhaling the fumes. Shimada and Takinoue leave. No, you think. Don’t leave. The two men were your safety net. You can’t bring yourself to protest against Keishin’s request. He was already upset and there was no joy in exploiting his anger. The men returned to the gym leaving you and Keishin alone. The silence between you is prolonged he’s occupied with his cigarette and looking across the horizon. You break the silence, “So—“ He grunted in disdain. He doesn’t want you to speak but you don’t take the hint. “Ukai, I understand that you’re upset.” You have more to say but Keishin interrupted. “You have time to meet up with those two dumbasses but not for me?” He clicked his tongue. You rolled your eyes and a scoff left your lips while doing so. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I ran into Shimada yesterday when I was picking up groceries. I moved back not to long ago. I’m still settling in.” “Okay then.” He started. You took a step backward upset that he was greeting you with such hostility. “Okay then?” You breathed out. Annoyance riddled in your voice. “Ukai. I wanted — you know? No. I’m not. I’m not going to do this with you.” “What exactly? You left. You showed no interest of staying here and now you’re back? What do you want me to do Y/N? Throw you a parade?” You must have misread his jealousy or maybe he was upset about something else. You felt your chest tighten and confused as to where this conversation may lead. The frustration that build up inside of you was beginning to rush to the surface. You were happy to back in your hometown, but it wasn’t intentional. You hadn’t accepted your failure yet until now. In front of him. You looked off someplace anywhere except looking at him. You choked as you battled not to cry but you succumbed to your tears. You began to cry. Ukai shifted and you heard his feet shuffle. It was quiet now. “Y/N...” he broke the silence by saying your name. His voice was soft and filled with so much heart. It made you choke out another cry. Completely clueless on what to do Ukai stood there and as much as you appreciated the space he was giving you. You wanted him to wrap you in his arms you felt deprived of his touch. Wiping your eyes with the sleeve of his jacket you turned to him. Your eyes were swollen and red. “Are you alright?” Ukai’s expression was filled with concern mixed with a twinge of guilt. Unknown to you, Ukai missed you and each time he entered the gym to coach he was reminded of you. To see you again after all these years—- after that heartbreak he didn’t know how to process it. With both your feelings lost in translation the two of you stood there. Before finally, you spoke: “I came back because my plan to be this great thing fell apart. I was supposed to come back here successful. I was supposed to be that girl who made it big from a small shitty village.” Your confession was honest and true much like how it always was around Ukai. Though the moment was sad it was reminiscent of the past when the two of you confided your thoughts and hopes for the future. “So I’m sorry” there’s anger in your voice. “ that I didn’t give you a fucking phone call. Announcing my great return.” “God I feel so fucking stupid!” You turned on your heels and buried your face into your hands. Still in uniform the humiliation of your confession hit ten times harder. Ukai stepped toward you. You felt his hand on your back. It had such familiarity you could crumble. Despite how humiliated you felt, there was an odd sense of comfort that Ukai brought you. Even after all this time of no contact you could trust him. The hand he had on your back finds itself on your arm. He uses it to turn you around. You’re facing him now but unable to look up at his expression your eyes bore into the middle of his chest. He hugs you and you muffle yet another cry. “I’m sorry.” He whispered gently. He holds you tighter. “Get changed. I’ll end practice early, we could go for some drinks.” You tear yourself away from Ukai. “Okay.” You agreed weakly. You had nothing to loose from accepting the invitation. PART TWO HERE.

#ukai x reader #ukai x y/n #ukai x you #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hq x you #ukai smut #ukai angst #fics.#ku.#hq.#tm.

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gypsydanger01 · 4 years

Text

THE STORM - Part twenty-five

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

A/N: So sorry for the wait!!!! I'm back and ready to write! Here's part twenty-five, hope you enjoy✨ it's a bit of a fluffy/filler chap but it leads into the rest ;)

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot. I don’t own “Thinkin bout you” by Frank Ocean.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

I have your back

[Next morning]

Luckily, the next day was Saturday and Sarah rolled over in bed with a content sigh. Lengthening her arms out to her sides, she patted the bedding beneath her: she had fallen asleep on top of the comforter. Suddenly, the evening before came rushing back and she stilled, a barely contained smile stamped on her face.

He must’ve carried her to bed, she realized as she stood and stepped out into the hall.

She padded into the living room where she found Noir scrolling through her mp3 player.

He didn’t need much sleep to function and had soon grown restless. First, he’d skimmed through the books she’d salvaged from her bookcase; two were charred beyond recognition but he appreciated the rest of the book collection. Then, he’d made his way back to the stack of picture frames she had piled in a corner. There was the picture of her in Tokyo, which he marveled at tracing the lines of her face; a few other pictures displayed rolling landscapes and he wondered if she’d taken them herself; another picture of a desolated beach sat at the bottom.

Finally, he’d fixated on her mp3 player.

He knew of her fondness for music and quickly scanned her playlists: a mix of rap, 90s rnb, and alternative rock were oddly bunched together.

Noir slipped her earbuds in, settled back onto the couch and let Dr. Dre, Ludacris, and Frank Ocean keep him company in the early morning hours.

Time passed, and soon he heard Sarah moving in her room. He waited for her to come around the couch, gazing at her as she went. She smiled, seeing that he hadn’t slipped his mask or gloves back on.

She enjoyed seeing his expressions, the emotions that seemed to flash in his eyes. It was like being granted a glimpse into another dimension, a version of Noir no one else was privy to. It felt intimate, like another line of communication they shared.

Sarah was surprised to see him holding her mp3 and she leaned in, checking the screen. Noir inhaled her scent and tensed at her close proximity.

“Hey, Kendrick,” she approved, “that’s a good one, it always lifts my spirits, y’know.”

He looked at the screen, printing the title, Alright, into his memory.

To his surprise, she plopped down next to him, pulling her legs up to the side and leaning into his side. He tentatively reached behind her, gathering her closer. Sarah grabbed one of the earbuds dangling from the device and slipped it into her ear. Gently, she took the mp3 from his hands and flipped through her playlists. Finally, she settled on one song.

A tornado flew around my room before you came

Excuse the mess it made, it usually doesn't rain in

Southern California, much like Arizona

My eyes don't shed tears, but, boy, they bawl

She leaned into his side and let the mp3 fall back into his lap.

“One of my favorites,” she murmured, and he could avert the sleepiness in her voice. “Do you listen to music,” she asked.

He signed. A little.

Sarah glanced around for the notebook but assumed it had stayed in the kitchen. Too comfortable to go fetch it, she went with the alternative.

“Ok, I’ll go through some genres and you stop me when I hit the ones you like.”

With her close proximity, looking up at him through heavy eyelashes, he thought he’d do anything she asked. He knew he should feel concerned at the amount of trust he’d placed in her, the strong hold over him he’d allowed her to develop. But he’d chosen, and he felt liberated.

She was still waiting for an answer, and he simply pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Sarah settled her head back on his shoulder, “Hmm…,” she mused, “Let’s see, rap and rnb.”

He pinched his fingers close together. A little.

She continued, “How about pop,” small pause but no response, “Rock music? Punk?”

The woman sped through a few more choices, ranging from trap all the way to gospel. Finally, she ran out of options and paused, thinking of other music genres she hadn’t thought of. However, she was pulled from her train of thoughts as he brought one hand forward, his fingers dancing close to his knee.

She quickly caught on, “You play the piano?”

He squeezed her slightly against him, and she took it as confirmation.

“So, you listen to classical music, I assume.”

Noir nodded. It had always soothed him to play the piano. It was comforting to excel at something so delicate and precise, when those same fingers could destroy anything they touched. It reminded him of the control he was taught to maintain ever since he could walk.

Sarah covered his hand with her own, her warm skin tone touching his.

I'm lyin' down thinkin' 'bout you (Ooh, no, no, no)

I've been thinkin' 'bout you (You know, know, know)

I've been thinkin' 'bout you

Do you think about me still?

Do ya, do ya?

Or do you not think so far ahead? (Ahead)

'Cause I been thinkin' 'bout forever (Ooh, ooh)

“I’ve always loved music,” Sarah began, and Noir immediately focused on her voice. “It’s what I need in every situation. Sometimes it makes me feel strong, invulnerable…” she trailed off before clearing her throat. “Other times, I’m just detached from everything and I need it to remind me I feel, and I’m human.”

Noir brought his other hand over hers, trapping it between his.

In the early morning, cream colored light filtered through the curtains and lazily traced their features on the large couch. After being up for three days, Noir was starting to feel the pull of sleep. And with her softly leaning into him, the mp3 playing soft music between them, he felt at peace. Utterly detached from the world outside.

He gently moved her so he could rise from his seat, passing his ear bud back to her. Sarah’s eyes widened and she stayed silent waiting for his next move. He’d spent the night and she knew he probably needed to head back to the Tower. Still, she felt an odd tug in her chest, like a string tightening around her. She settled down on the couch, stretching her legs out. Propped up on one elbow, she pressed back into the soft material.

She was surprised, however, when he began to dismantle his suit. She looked away flustered when she caught a peak of his toned stomach. Finally, lifting her gaze from the carpet, she found him stripping the last part of his chest armor, revealing a grey shirt underneath. He set the armor and weapons on a chair in the corner and returned, the top half of his armor gone.

Sarah stayed quiet, watching him as he laid back on the couch, facing her. He finally looked at her and wondered how it was possible to find such comfort in another person. She smiled and let him slip an arm under her head, the other one tracing lines down her sweater-clad arm. They were so close, she thought he could read her mind.

With the soft, hazy morning light filtering through the window behind him, the man appeared angelic.

She whispered, “I’m going to make you a playlist,” she promised, slipping his earbud back in place. Noir felt a shiver down his spine at her touch and reveled in the feeling. “And one day, I’d like to hear you play the piano.”

He nodded and his fingers began to dance against her arm, as if he were playing right then and there. She smiled again and snuggled against him with a deep sigh. In the enclosed space between the couch’s backrest and Noir’s body, she felt warm and safe.

And at that moment, he too felt himself slowly drifting off to sleep in the morning light.

[A few hours later]

A few hours later, they finally woke up. While Sarah stretched, Noir quickly patched his armor back on and ducked into the kitchen where he gathered his gloves and mask. She watched him grab their notebook and jot a few words down.

I must go back

She nodded, understanding.

I will be back, he quickly added. He then mentally paused and wondered if that was a mistake. On the internet, he’d found multiple websites with dating tips where over-eagerness was something to avoid.

Sarah smiled at that, “You’re welcome to come over any time.”

He mentally sighed in relief. The silent man looked at her and reached forward to push a strand of curly hair behind her ear. She gazed at his pensive face and wished she could search his thoughts, understand what was bothering him.

He finally dropped his hand and took the pen back into hand.

Stay away from Homelander

Sarah stilled. She already knew to stay away from that man and avoid being noticed. She was supposed to blend in with everyone else. She already knew all of this and more, so why was he telling her this?

She frowned, “I know to be careful…” she trailed off. “Is something going on?”

He gazed at her for a long moment before cautiously answering.

He seems fascinated by you, she read. Underneath he added, Bad feeling

A shiver ran down her spine and she suddenly felt cold.

I will not let him hurt you.

She nodded more to herself than to Noir. They would need to accelerate the timing on her and Martha’s plan. They needed to finish before someone sensed what was going on. Before Homelander looked into her profile a little too closely.

Finally, she looked up at Noir and spoke with a hint of amusement, “You know I can hold my own, right?”

Believe me, I know, he wrote, and Sarah was surprised to see a mischievous glint in his eyes.

She laughed but quickly grew serious again and thanked him.

He had her back and she felt comfort in knowing it.

Noir slipped his dark, skull-like mask back on and quickly head out the back.

She watched him disappear and thought of his words. Her heart sighed at the idea of seeing him again, while her mind sharpened at the work ahead.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 @proximio-5 @damiminator @omegahighendpro @rpgluvr95 @sweetrabbitteamx @rayray1463 @mialexisrodrigues @angelocipriano @reborn-rekall

#the boys #the boys tv #black noir #the boys amazon #the boys season 2 #fanfiction #oc story #black noir x oc

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