#but nothing else on the side characters and I demand justice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seijorhi · 2 years ago

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Powder Keg

it has been far too long since i've indulged with these three

Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou & Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

w.c 6.1k

tw: implied non-con, yandere, implied violence and bad times all round

Not guilty.

There’s a moment after the verdict’s read, right before the courtroom erupts into noise where time slows. Your heartbeat thunders in your chest, violently – like it’s trying to rip its way free, and it becomes harder to breathe.

For days, you’ve avoided looking at them, treating the left side of the courtroom as though it simply did not exist.

Your head turns without conscious thought, and you watch it happen. In slow motion, you physically witness the verdict hit them.

Not guilty.

Relief. Joy. Bokuto pulls Kuroo into a hug, pounding his fist across his back as he beams.

Not guilty.

Akaashi shaking their lawyer’s hand, head tilted in a polite bow.

Not guilty.

The gavel slams down, a harsh, strangled sort of noise escapes you. Your knees, shaking as they are, suddenly give way. Cameras flash, your lawyer reaching for you as you sink back into your chair, numb – whatever he says to you gets drowned out, nothing but static and haze.

Three days spent trapped at their mercy while they broke your trust, lied to you, hurt you, fucked you. Cases don’t make it to court for trial unless the prosecution’s almost certain of a conviction, everyone knows that. You had the evidence, the rape kit, DNA, all of it. How– how could they–

The skin at the nape of your neck prickles, the tiny hairs standing on end. Lifting your head, you’re met with a cool gunmetal gaze, Akaashi’s expression giving away nothing.

He nods, though. A slow incline of his chin, his eyes never leaving yours. Bokuto and Kuroo are breaking apart, the latter already beginning to follow Akaashi’s line of sight, and you feel the bile rising up your throat.

In a sudden burst of energy, you lurch from your seat, racing out the side doors. The meagre lunch you’d managed to force down comes hurling right back up – the only saving grace being that you barely manage to make it to the bathroom in time.

On your knees, clutching the toilet and sobbing, you vomit until there’s nothing left but bile and pain. How could they– how could they do this to you?

How could they not believe you when you gave them everything?

You don’t glance up when the door swings open, nor at the tentative knock on the stall door – which as you hadn’t had the time or inclination to lock it, creaks open.

Your mother peers in. “Honey?”

“They think I’m a liar,” you croak out, finally lifting your miserable gaze. “They think I’m making it up.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“We believe you, we know you’re telling the truth. I’m sorry those assholes convinced everyone else otherwise,” your cousin murmurs, appearing behind her shoulder.

Together, they help you to your feet, your mother gently wiping away the tears while your cousin places a comforting hand on your back.

“Those bastards. Those fucking bastards! If the lay judges had any sense at all–” her voice, shaking with rage, cracks, a sob threatening to break through. Beyond words, she shakes her head, clamping her lips shut, and your cousin sighs.

“Come on, it’s going to be a circus out there. Better to get it over and done with.”

She isn’t wrong.

By the time you make it to the steps out front, reporters are everywhere, swarming. Their lawyer’s mid-way through a statement, smugness radiating from every slimy pore.

“– justice served today. These three young men have such promising futures ahead of them, and we can only be thankful that the lay judges and judges alike saw their true character amidst the wild accusations and, quite frankly, outright fabrications from this poor, misguided woman.”

And the reporters are pummelling you and your family with questions, demanding a comment, asking how you feel about the verdict passed down.

You can’t bring yourself to answer them, so you keep your mouth shut and focus on the ground in front of you, one step after another. You can’t stop or you’ll break all over again.

Your mother, however, has different ideas. “You let her down,” she spits. “This whole system let my daughter down today. Do you give all rapists a free pass, or just the ones on track to become olympians?!”

Which, naturally, only invites a flurry of rapid fire follow ups.

They’ve all decided that you’re a whore. A liar. A greedy, attention seeking slut who wanted nothing more than a few nights of fun to leverage for your five minutes of fame. They might not admit it outright, but you can hear it in their questions, see it in their looks.

The verdict only cements that belief.

Three days, every waking second spent clinging to the idea that once you got away, once they were done, you’d be free and everything would be fine.

You’d get justice.

The three of them would spend years rotting away behind bars, and it wouldn’t be enough, not ever, not for what they put you through. Somehow, though, you’d find a way to make peace with it.

And now… now they’re walking free like they did nothing wrong and you– you’re the one left standing there in the wake of a shattered reputation while people you’ve never met hurl abuse at you and your family, telling you you deserved what you got. That you wanted it.

The bolder ones tell you to do everyone a favour and just go kill yourself.

You catch one last look as the car pulls away; surrounded by their family, their crack legal team, supporters. The three of them – each with loosened ties, Bokuto having shed his jacket entirely – meet that gaze head on.

And the weight of it, burning and uncomfortable, lingers long after they disappear in the rearview mirror.

—

“Mr. Kuroo, sir, your two o'clock is waiting in conference room three.”

He hums, fingers tapping away across the screen of his phone

“And,” his assistant continues, “I have your coffee.”

At that, she finally grabs his attention. Stowing his phone back into the breast pocket of his jacket, he smiles, “You’re a lifesaver, have I mentioned that?”

“Once or twice.”

Accepting the cup gratefully, Kuroo laughs, “Yeah, well, remind me ‘bout that when we have your next salary review.”

She brightens at the praise, tucking her hair back behind her ear with a small nod. Kuroo, already halfway down the hall, doesn’t notice, too busy wracking his brain in an attempt to recall what his two o’clock appointment is actually regarding.

There were interviews for one of the junior positions, but those weren’t until next week, he vaguely recalls someone from legal wanting to talk about their upcoming campaign, maybe it’s about that? Usually they want to talk with the whole team, though. Long, drawn out meetings that leave him wanting to repeatedly slam his head against a wall.

Upon reaching the conference room in question, he realises that it’s not legal he’s scheduled to meet with.

Sitting with her legs neatly crossed, pen and paper in hand sits a woman of about thirty, a bottle blonde, with perky tits and a tight black, pencil skirt that clings to shapely thighs. She smiles when he opens the door, sticks out a perfectly manicured hand.

“Kuroo Tetsurou, I presume?”

He takes it, smirks as her eyelashes flutter and they shake hands.

Nope, definitely not someone from legal.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you are–?”

“Of course, my apologies. My name is Sato Kisumi, I’m a reporter from the Metro Times, we spoke last week…”

A vague memory of a phone call surfaces and Kuroo finds himself nodding. “Right, yeah, I remember. You wanted to talk about an article or something? Sorry, we’re a few weeks from launching our campaign for the new season and it’s been a hell of a day.”

She laughs, a sweet, bell-like sound, “No, no, it’s alright. If anyone understands how crazy it can be working towards a deadline, it’s a reporter.”

He settles himself down across from her, making himself comfortable.

“You don’t mind if I record this, do you?”

Kuroo shakes his head. There’s one already set up on the table, next to the tea his assistant must have procured for her when she arrived. Leaning forward, she clicks it on, “Wonderful.”

“So what’s this article for, anyway?”

“You don’t remember?” her voice carries a teasing lilt. “We did speak about it on the phone.”

“Busy week, like I said.”

“Busy man,” she counters, red lips curling into something like a smile. “To be honest with you, it’s more of an exposé. I’m investigating professional athletes dodging charges for criminal offences. The taking of illegal substances and DUI’s of course, but more serious allegations, too. Spousal abuse, assault, rape, that sort of thing.”

Leaning back in his chair, Kuroo picks up his coffee cup and takes a sip, savouring the bitter, chocolate-y notes of the dark roast his assistant – godsend that she is – knows he favours.

He vaguely recalls the conversation – enough to remember that she neglected to tell him this part whilst she was angling for an interview. Then again, she’d hardly be the first reporter to lie for a chance to get their foot in the door. More than anyone, Kuroo can appreciate that kind of deception.

Now that the truth is laid bare, he’s faced with a choice.

If Kuroo had any sense at all – if he cared about his job and his reputation – he’d politely but firmly tell her to leave before she gets any more comfortable. It’s one thing to ignore and downplay what he’s sure will inevitably turn out to be a scathing indictment of the whole system when it’s published, another entirely to actively participate in it, regardless of intentions.

If he doesn’t tread carefully here, his boss will most certainly have his balls for it.

So he should kick her out. He should.

Instead, Kuroo lets out a light chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And you decided to start with the VP of JVA promotion? It’s an… interesting approach, I’ll give you that.”

Kisumi mirrors him, lifting the tea to her lips to take a slow sip. She sets the cup back down on the desk, taking a second to adjust it ever so slightly, the tip of her finger running along the edge of the rim. Then, with an air of nonchalance, she shrugs. “Well, what we’re seeing is that these athletes are usually being protected by their teams and management, and in some cases, with certain athletes, that extends all the way up to high ranking officials within their respective governing bodies. Victims and police are paid off, charges mysteriously disappear, negative press gets buried, like magic.”

“It’s a sad story ‘n all, I’m sure there’s some commentary in there about the failings of society, corruption and misplaced hero worship of star athletes or whatever it is you’re after, but I’m failing to see what that has to do with me. I run the promotions division, not public relations.”

“I’m not interested in talking to you because of your job title, Mr. Kuroo, although believe me, that someone like you could rise to an office like this is damning enough,” she says, no trace of her earlier sweetness, the flirtatiousness. No, now her eyes are cold, her smile, while it still adorns her lips, all too sharp. “I’m here because of a court case a few years ago, in which you and two friends – one of whom now plays for the national volleyball team – were accused of the kidnapping and rape of a fellow student.”

Kuroo barks out a laugh, leaning back into his seat. His eyes flicker to the recorder on the desk, the pen she wields, poised over the blank pad of paper, and back to her cool smile. “A very publicised court case that ended with a verdict of not guilty. No one bribed any judges or tampered with evidence, no one made it go away. That’s our justice system, that’s how it works. If you’re looking for something damning,” he throws the word back at her, “you’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that.”

“And you think that was a fair trial?”

“I think you’re wasting your time. Mine, too.”

He moves to rise, intent on ushering Kisumi out of his office when she asks, “You don’t remember me, Kuroo, do you?” Not playful anymore, not even angry; she spits his name like it’s poison, as though the very act of uttering his name aloud makes her skin crawl.

And that, more than anything, is enough to really pique his interest.

Kuroo finds himself studying her – really looking at her – beyond the blonde curls and the hateful scowl, beyond all that he’d dismissed earlier. And there is something that rings of familiarity – her eyes, maybe, the shape of her nose – but Kuroo’s short on time, and despite his amusement, what’s left of his good will is dwindling fast.

“Nah, but don’t take it personally, the whole prissy, up-tight bitch thing you’ve got going on isn’t really my thing.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t, you only ever saw her.” Kisumi makes a disgusted noise, “The whole trial, you wouldn’t stop staring. You and your friends ruined her and then you sat there making moon eyes for three days while your asshole of a lawyer tore her apart on the stand.”

The pieces fall together, a memory resurfaces; a blonde woman leaning forward to touch your shoulder, whispering in your ear as you tried in vain to keep your tears at bay.

And it’s a stupid thing, the faint tinge of jealousy that stirs inside of him as he eyes the woman sitting before him. She’s family – has to be, because Kuroo knew all your friends back then.

(Funny, wasn’t it, how none of them had shown up at the trial either.)

Pushing aside the ugly feeling – at least for now – Kuroo rises to his feet, allowing a smirk to curl at his lips. “Like I said, Miss Sato,” and oh, how he relishes the cold fury that sparks across her features. “You’re gonna have to do better than that – but not today. Get the fuck out of my conference room.”

With her lips pursed, she goes to do just that. Makes it all the way to the door, clutching the handle when abruptly she stops, turning to face him once more.

An eyebrow rises, “Something else?”

“She’s missing. She left years ago, which I’m sure you already knew, but now she’s gone-gone. She hasn’t called in weeks, and the cops won’t help. They said that she’s already proven she’s flighty,” Kisumi spits out a humourless laugh. “They won’t open an investigation when we can’t even tell them the last place she was staying. But I know my cousin, and I know the only reason she’d go this long without calling is if there was something physically stopping her from doing so.”

Her voice remains level, her breath on the other hand–

A chink in the armour.

The family resemblance might not be all that strong between you two, that look though – trying to pretend she’s not afraid when everything from the expression on her face to the tremor in her hands is screaming at him otherwise – all he can see is you.

He loves when you look at him like that. More than he should, but guilty pleasures and all that. He doesn’t want you scared, not… necessarily. Not as much as he wants you vulnerable.

Unlike you, who’d burst into tears, crumble and break, she straightens her spine, swallows down that emotion and continues. “I know the kind of man you are. All three of you. It’s because of you that she left in the first place, and I’m willing to stake my career on you being the reason she’s disappeared this time ‘round as well.”

“S’that right? You got any actual proof, or is this whole thing based solely on the fact that you don’t like me?”

Kisumi, rather than dignifying that with an answer, merely spares Kuroo one last disdainful glare and stalks from the room, letting the door slam shut behind her. A minor victory, but one that brings no small sense of satisfaction.

A shame then, that it doesn’t last.

His smirk slips away, vanishing like a slate scrubbed clean.

Pulling the phone from his breast pocket, Kuroo dials the last number he called, lifts the phone up to his ear, and waits.

“What’s up?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

—

Akaashi isn’t one for the spotlight.

He doesn’t hate it per se, he just isn’t all that interested in chasing after it. Better to let everyone be blinded by the other two and let their guards slip around him.

He’s patient – has to be, dealing with Bokuto and Kuroo day in, day out. Calm. Observant enough to realise that the blonde sitting four seats down on the rattling train car has been following him for several days now.

Sato Kisumi.

Akaashi had looked her up after her meeting with Kuroo, begrudgingly having to admit that as an investigative journalist, she was rather impressive.

Kuroo was worried she’d be a problem, and Akaashi’s inclined to agree. Upset relatives were one thing, a well respected journalist with a personal vendetta against the three of them, a separate beast entirely.

One that wouldn’t necessarily be so easy to shake. Or put down.

A polite, feminine voice filters through the P.A system, announcing the imminent arrival of the next station. The train has another four stops before his, yet he rises smoothly when the train slows to a stop beside the platform, exiting amongst the throng of commuters without so much as a backwards glance.

She follows, however, as he knew she would, trailing after him when he makes his way out of the station and onto the busy streets of Shinjuku. There’s a ramen joint he’s particularly fond of a few minutes downtown, only a short walk away.

The quickest route would be to take the main road, lose himself in the throng of people. Akaashi, curious more than anything, decides to instead take the long way round, via the back alleys and narrow laneways, where every footstep echoes, and puddles splash underfoot.

He’s pleased, though not exactly surprised, that Kisumi follows at a distance.

A block away from his destination, he stops on the street corner, turning back to address her.

“Are you hungry?”

The question clearly takes her by surprise, and her answer comes slow. Distant honking from the street ahead, laughter and the rumble of voices tangled together interwoven with music and the shouting of kitchen – closer to the main road, it’s louder here. Easier to mask her presence.

Even so, she had to have realised he’d been toying with her from the start, perfectly aware she’d been tailing him. Why else would he have led her down the rabbit’s warren?

“… What?”

“Dinner,” he elaborates. “Are you hungry? I didn’t have a chance to eat today, and I figured that rather than spending all night following me in the hopes that I’ll – what, lead you to your cousin? – we could sit down and talk over some food. Ramen, actually. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To talk?”

She regards him warily, brows knitting together, considering the proposition. He can’t blame her for the reticence, exactly, but it is somewhat of a pointless exercise considering they both know that she’s going to say yes.

She might hate him. Despise him. She might even be afraid of him, but she went toe to toe with Kuroo and that doesn’t speak to someone meek or spineless. If she wants answers – if she wants you as badly as he thinks she does, she won’t be able to resist.

A heartbeat later, and he’s proven correct. Her jaw tightens, but she nods; a short, sharp jerk of her chin. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Despite the proclamation, Kisumi remains silent as they’re shown to one of the tables set up beneath the awning outside, shielding them from the drizzling rain, and when Akaashi orders for them both, two bowls of tonkotsu, with a side of gyoza to share. She just sits, shoulders back, arms folded gracefully across her chest, glaring daggers.

All of that fades away when the waitress comes by with their food. In an instant she softens, smiling and politely dipping her head in thanks. Only when the waitress disappears back inside and they’re alone again does Kisumi finally break her silence.

“I don’t suppose you’ll save me the trouble and tell me where my cousin is?”

Akaashi smiles at that, splitting his chopsticks to snatch one of the pot sticker dumplings and take a bite. He savours the mouthful, the rich flavours of garlicky pork, cabbage and chives bursting over his taste buds, chewing thoughtfully before posing another question to the blonde.

“Did she ever talk about how we met?”

Kisumi laughs, shaking her head as she pulls her bowl of ramen close and grabs her chopsticks. “No. No, somehow between all the tears and the breakdowns, her gripping my hand while she lay in that hospital bed and told the cops every detail about how you trapped her in that house, how the three of you touched her, raped her, we didn’t get around to chatting about the meet cute. Weird, right?”

“There was this ramen place on campus,” Akaashi begins, ignoring Kisumi’s dig entirely. “Kind of like this one, except it was open twenty-four seven. Busy as hell during the day, but after ten, eleven at night it got pretty quiet, and she always worked the late shift.”

There’s a quiet wistfulness in his tone that Akaashi doesn’t bother masking.

He remembers the way your face used to brighten when the bell above the door would announce their arrival, the cute little bounce in your step that he never could get out of his head.

When it was dead and you could get away with it, you’d come over and chat, sneaking them drinks, dumplings, an extra egg or slice of pork, even ‘forgetting’ to tally their orders up correctly when it came time to settle their bill. If your boss took notice, he never said anything – or if he did, then you never cared enough to stop.

You could make a few exceptions for your favourites, you’d told him when he’d asked you about it once, smiling that soft, pretty smile of yours. Blind to the way those words, and the image of you beaming so beautifully, would etch their way into his very being, refusing to give him a moment’s peace.

Bokuto and Kuroo would waste hours fighting over who you liked best, only for Akaashi to add fuel to the fire, dryly reminding them that arguing was pointless – you weren’t stupid or blind enough to prefer either one of them.

It was a slow thing, this descent into hell with you… and then it wasn’t.

And he wouldn’t trade what he has now for all the world, but some small part of him will always mourn those early days, the sweet naivety with which you used to treat them.

Kisumi, picking at her ramen rather than eating it, sucks on her teeth and exhales slowly, drawing him from his reminiscing. “So when did it change?” she asks.

“Hm?”

“When did you decide that that wasn’t enough? At what point exactly did the three of you sit down and make the decision to take her to that cabin, keep her there against her will and spend three days systematically abusing her for your own sick fucking pleasure?”

A flash of irritation sparks, and his eyes narrow. “She agreed to come with us, and we didn’t abuse her. We’d never.”

A silence descends between them, thick, wrought with tension and disbelief. And then, like a match struck, the blonde explodes.

“God, you’re so full of shit, you know that, right?!” Kisumi snarls, disgusted. “You might’ve been able to convince the court that it was rough and fun, that whatever damage you left behind was damage she wanted, but I was there for the aftermath. I saw the state you left her in!”

Each word is biting and vitriolic, her voice shaking with barely repressed rage. If she’s hoping for some sign that they’ve struck a chord, wounded him in some way, she’s sorely disappointed. Save for the cold, flat stare he regards her with, the only response Akaashi deigns to give is simply to resume eating, gathering another mouthful of noodles between his chopsticks and slurping them up.

That, it seems, is Kisumi’s breaking point. Shaking her head with a hollow scoff, she shoves her own, largely untouched bowl aside and stands.

“I’m going to find her, and when I do I am going to spend every waking second, every last yen I have making sure that the three of you go down for it.” And with that, she snatches up her purse, yanking it open to dig for her umbrella.

Another mouthful, braised chashu pork and scallions. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

—

Fingers drum restlessly against the leather steering wheel, tapping out an anxious beat.

‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,’ Kuroo had said, clapping him on the back.

The light shines from her bedroom window, the shadow of her figure moving within. Bokuto checks the clock again; 11:27.

He’d been so happy, over the fucking moon to come home. Three weeks away, three and a half hours on the train, he was itching, leg bouncing restlessly as the miles slowly crawled by. And even though all he wanted to do was find Kuroo so they could go home already, he made the effort for the fans that swarmed the second he got off the train.

Took the time to smile and pose for pictures, signed the autographs, laughing and chatting away. He gets it, he does – meeting your idols is pretty fucking awesome, and the last thing he’d ever wanna do would be to ruin that for some poor kid just because he’s in a rush to get home and rip your clothes off.

Still, even at the best of times patience was never his forte, and three weeks might as well have been a lifetime.

Anticipation had him on cloud nine, and nothing – nothing – was gonna bring him down.

At least, that’s what he’d thought.

‘Don’t you have an ounce of shame?’

It’d taken everything he had not to snap there and then. There were kids around, staring up at him with wide, confused eyes – their parents quick to usher them away.

Kuroo’d said she’d be a problem.

Akaashi agreed.

The bedroom light flicks off, and his pulse jumps. Go time.

Adjusting the cap on his head, he flips up the hood of his jacket and exits the car, avoiding the light from the street lamps above to cross the road. Her house is nice enough. Small, with a garden out front spilling with greenery and potted flowers. Her cat, lying on the windowsill between the blinds and the glass, notes his arrival on the doorstep with slow blinking eyes, only to yawn and dismiss him entirely, unbothered.

Faced with a locked door, Bokuto doesn’t bother wasting time or energy trying to pick it. He has no need – two solid, powerful kicks later, the wooden door splinters and cracks, giving way beneath his foot.

Shoving the wreckage of the door aside, Bokuto shoulders his way inside. There’s a sudden yowl – the cat, startled by the noise, launches itself from the window to skitter away to some safe, dark hidey-hole. From somewhere else within he hears a muffled thump, followed by a curse.

Good. He wants her to know he’s coming.

‘You can google it, you know? The rape and the trial, it’s on your wikipedia page – and those kids and their families, they still worship you. That’s your legacy.’

A slow building anger seeps through his veins, blood thrumming in anticipation.

‘Doesn’t it make you sick?’

She’s threatening to take you away. ‘Kaashi said she’s hellbent on it.

Bokuto can shoulder a lot. He dealt with the blow to his image – both during the trial and after it – and when you left last time, disappearing into thin air without so much as a goodbye, it broke something inside of him.

Still, he found a way to get through it. He had to, because he was getting you back.

And the taste of you lingers on his tongue from when it was buried inside of you only hours ago, a honeyed tang he’d swallow down by the mouthful if he could. Back home your hips and ass, the soft sweetness of your thighs, carry mottled imprints of his fingers – that overeager, desperate touch.

Three rounds he’d gone; sinking his cock into your pussy, fucking out all of his frustrations and pent up emotions ‘til he was spent and you were a shaking, shivering, heavenly mess. It was supposed to make things better. Calm him down a little and take the edge off.

It had the opposite effect.

Because he knows now what it’s like to lose a soulmate, he knows just how high the stakes are.

She swung first, Bokuto’s simply returning the favour.

There’s no point masking his footsteps as he stalks through the house, a singular goal in mind. Akaashi made him promise that he wouldn’t take this too far – and he won’t.

He wants to – fuck, he really, really wants to.

But he won’t.

The door to the bedroom’s cracked an inch – it groans in protest when he nudges it wider and crosses the threshold.

The thought of finding her, dragging her kicking and screaming out into the living room was something he’d been looking forward to, but Kisumi – rudely ruining his fun – isn’t hiding.

No, flattened against the wall opposite, shaking like a leaf, she grips her phone like it’s a lifeline. “I-I’ve called the cops. They’re on their way,” she calls out, and he realises that while his eyes have adjusted, hers haven’t. She thinks he’s a burglar, someone she can reason with.

He almost snorts.

Fumbling against the wall, it takes him a second or two to find the light switch and flick it on. Light floods the small bedroom in an instant, and Kisumi flinches, an arm coming up to shield her face from the sudden brightness.

When it falls though, and golden eyes meet her own, Bokuto’s rewarded with a look of shock and recognition, which quickly gives way to something much, much more satisfying.

Fear.

It’s in her eyes, widening horribly, the way her face drains of blood. The audible little hitch in her breathing that sends a delightful tingle down his spine.

And still, she tries to put on a brave face.

“The cops are already on their way,” she repeats, tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Whatever you’re after– just… just go, and I swear I won’t say a word. I’ll keep your name out of it. We– we can pretend this never happened, alright?”

Bokuto grins at that. Shifts his weight as he lowers his centre of gravity.

The funny thing is, the stupid bitch doesn’t know just how right she’s about to be.

—

The beeping of the monitors brings back bad memories.

Truth be told, a lot of what happened that day is a blur. You don’t care to pry too deep, trying to pluck and sort through the trauma of what happened. You remember the hospital, though – gowned up, lying on the scratchy sheets, gripping Kisumi’s hand while you walked the detective through every harrowing minute you’d spent at their hands.

And now the situations are reversed, and it’s your cousin lying broken and damaged in the hospital, and you’re the one sitting at her bedside, keeping watch over her like the guardians of old. Holding her hand while you fight back tears.

The doctors say she’ll wake up soon, but they’ve been saying that for hours now.

All you can do is sit there and pray that she’ll wake up soon.

Pray that she’ll listen, and hear you.

You’re there when the doctors come by to check her vitals, when the food cart rolls by. They don’t stop for her, even if she were awake there wouldn’t be much point, what with her jaw wired shut and all.

Her whole body’s a mess. A broken wrist, broken ribs, her jaw shattered and face a bruised, swollen mess.

It’s a miracle she’s still alive.

Your stomach twists, nausea threatening to heave its way up your throat. No – it’s a miracle that he stopped.

The phone in your pocket vibrates, you ignore it for the third time. No doubt you’ll pay for it later, right now you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Please,” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut as your vision blurs with unshed tears. “Please.”

But it’s a while yet before she stirs, consciousness slowly pulling her back to you.

It begins with a muffled groan, a whimper when she shifts. Even with all the damage to her face, you can see the signs of distress taking shape – hurt, twisting at her features.

They’ve given her all the drugs they can, and she’s still in pain.

Your heart wrenches. “Sumi? Sumi, can you hear me?” you ask, clutching her hand tightly between both of yours.

She groans again, fighting to get both eyes open. The phone in your pocket buzzes, insistent. It doesn’t stop after one, going off again and again and again, raising your internal panic. But Kisumi’s blinking now, trying desperately to pull the world into focus. Figure out why it hurts to move, why her mouth won’t obey when she tries to talk.

And you see the tears well up in her eyes, the panic and fear, and you swallow down your own emotions because they don’t matter right now.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I know it hurts, I know you’re scared, but you’re safe now. I promise you, you’re safe.” An echo of the words she’d once spoken to you. Your thumb strokes the back of her uninjured hand. “Don’t try to talk, just… listen to me, I don’t have long.”

Her fingers try to clumsily curl around your own, and she makes another noise – a garbled butchering of your name that breaks off into a frustrated wail – sending a fresh bolt of pain and guilt lancing through your chest. Tears sting in the corner of your eyes, bottom lip quivering.

This is all your fault.

“You can’t talk, your jaw they– they had to wire it shut,” you tell her while she chokes on another sob. You squeeze her hand, “Please, Sumi, I need you to listen to me. Don’t move, just… blink if you understand; once for yes, twice for no.”

A beat passes, and she blinks. Good.

“Do you remember what happened? The man who attacked you?”

… One blink.

You exhale unsteadily, clearing your throat. Kisumi’s eyes are wide as saucers, tracking every move with a laser focus, and your hand is wrapped so tightly around hers that if she wasn’t already drugged to high heaven she’d probably be whimpering. She’s afraid, you realise. Not of the hospital or the damage she’s yet to comprehend the extent of – she’s afraid because she remembers.

She’s afraid because you are.

“Kisumi… you need to stop this. Forget it happened, play dumb for the cops, drop the article and stop interfering. For your own sake as well as mine, I'm begging you. Otherwise… Otherwise–” your voice dies a quiet death as footsteps approach.

There’s no need to turn.

Kisumi’s face tells you everything when it blanches and she begins to tremble like a terrified puppy. Beside her, the heart rate monitor goes haywire, mirroring her pulse as it jumps erratically with the short, sharp gasps she sucks through clenched teeth.

And when a hand falls to your shoulder, both of you flinch.

“Ready to go, babe?”

To Kisumi, you force a tight, watery smile, “Let it go, okay? Promise me.”

You don’t wait for a response, there’s no point. You’ve poked the bear enough by ignoring their calls and texts, there’s no need to push your luck more than you already have.

Letting Kisumi’s hand slip from your grasp, you rise from your seat and turn, nodding. “Yeah.”

Kuroo smirks, coaxing your face up into a short kiss while his fingers entwine with yours, but it’s Bokuto, claiming your other arm, who grumbles like a petulant child, “You were s’posed to be done hours ago.”

“I‘m sorry. We can go home now.”

Neither one of them spare the battered blonde more than a cursory glance on their way out. You, on the other hand, risk a backwards glance in the moments before you’re tugged away.

Kisumi’s sobbing, broken and raw, hunched over as much as her injuries allow. Her bloodshot eyes meet yours, and your heart breaks one last time.

Promise me you’ll stop. They’ll kill you if you don’t.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo tetsurou x reader #yandere boktuo kotarou x reader #yandere akaashi keiji x reader #yandere kuroo #yandere bokuto #yandere akaashi #tw: noncon

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hadesisqueer · 3 months ago

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I appreciate The Dragon Prince because it gave me tragic antagonists or villains that I love (Claudia), villains that while I don't really like them I understand how they came to be and can feel a bit of sympathy for (Aaravos or Viren), villains I straight up fucking hate (Sol Regem) and villains that I don't really hate because when they appear on-screen I just sigh wondering how they can be so fucking stupid (Karim). They really give you everything.

No but for real, Karim's entire character arc consists of 'The risk I took was calculated but I am bad at math' because. He's so dumb. He keeps saying he wants to restore the Sunfire Empire to its former glory, but like-- how? What plans do you have for the future? Are you going to try to retake Lux Aurea? Because you can't. Oh, you want humans out? Okay-- how would that help to restore the former glory, though? You're just being a bigot?

The thing is that all Karim ever did was talk about his birthright —that's not even his birthright, actually, because he's the youngest sibling— and keep babbling about history demanding blah blah blah of people and how his sister wasn't a competent queen when actually it is the opposite. Janai proves, by allowing the architect to live while still giving her an according punishment, that she is a fair queen who chooses mercy and allows people to grow while still choosing justice; also, that she's more practical, because what good is a talented architect dead —who did something awful but still was sorta right about fire being dangerous around the camp— when you can just make her build a shrine so this kind of incident never happens again. Janai also had the Sunseed and plans to nurture it and help it grow, help her own people grow. She actually had plans for the future, and she had the patience necessary. She understands that you must learn from history but that it also doesn't define you, that you must not let it define you.

Karim doesn't get that. He was obsessed with history and the old ways. He didn't have any patience. And he didn't have any long term plans. Or even backup plans for when his plans inevitably failed, either! He was so convinced Janai would refuse his duel he was shocked when she actually fought him, and resorted to fighting-- with fire magic-- against someone who's fireproof-- again, no actual plan. He tried using an assassin to kill his sister, the actual person the assassin had a life debt to. He wants to steal the Sunseed, actively fucking over his people. When Ezran tells him to take his followers and start somewhere else, Karim refuses because he says he doesn't want crumbs off his sister's plate, but at the same time it's like-- that's exactly what you were gonna get, buddy. You wanna use Sol Regem to torch your sister's army. The only thing you're gonna rule over is the followers you have now plus what remains of Janai's, if they even accept you. So, yeah. Literally crumbs.

Also, again, he's so fucking entitled. 'What's rightfully mine' he's the youngest sibling, nothing is rightfully his, he's an usurper. Part of his demands being that humans leave and go back to 'their side of the border, where they belong', buddy, you'd be the king of the Sunfire Elves, not the King of all of Xadia. As king you could make humans leave your territory, but not Xadia. If a bunch of humans, hypothetically, befriended Moonshadow or Skywing elves and lived at the Silvergrove, or wherever the Skywing elves live, with them-- what, now you're gonna try to wage war against the the other elves, too, because they're not following your ways? You can threaten them with Sol Regem, sure, but also consider, because you didn't even consider it when you went to him-- he's an Archdragon, yeah, but the weakest of the Archdragons right now. Let's say Ezran and Janai follow through and give up and leave. They could go with Zym and head straight up to the Mushroom Mage and come back with Zubeia, the current Queen of the Dragons, right after she's done with her treatment. They arrive. Who's gonna win? A healthy Archdragon on her prime or an old, blind Archdragon that hasn't flown or fought in centuries? Also, once you give him the Sunseed he actually has no reason to be on your side, he already got what he wanted. Even if the Katolis thing didn't happen, he could've turned against you very easily. He likely would've done so.

He's an awful leader who doesn't actually care about his people. He disrespects other world leaders like Ezran immediately. He's an entitled, bigoted idiot who doesn't actually think things through and that actually makes him both incredibly annoying and very realistic, which actually makes me like him as an antagonist but still makes me let out a exasperated sigh every time he talks. Best part of him is that he's obsessed with going down in history as someone great when, with his actions, he's only going to pass down as the prince who tried to usurp his sister three times and failed the three times, each failure worse than the previous one. Lmao.

#the dragon prince #tpd #karim tdp #janai tdp

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vigilskeep · 2 months ago

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do you have any refs for Minerva’s relationship with the other dao companions? I did not realize she and leliana was estranged 😭 also if im remembering correctly she makes loghain do the dark ritual? sorry I do like spinning her around in my head and knowing the little details she’s such a great character!!

leliana and minerva did not have a clear breakup in the alistair minerva sense but they did grow apart because of the simple reason that post dao minerva becomes politically at odds with the chantry while leliana is serving its leader. leliana is not a type of person minerva finds very easy to like or trust so while they did grow on each other over the course of dao they never had a simple friendship in the first place

alistair you probably know about bc its kind of the cornerstone of minervaposting but theres a post fully explaining it not much further down in her tag

zevran is her romance <3 i hesitate to use the word “soulmates” exactly but they definitely fit together in a way no other minerva pairing could match

morrigan she has a weird close complicated vaguely homosexual friendship with, i’m sure this is par for the course for f!wardens. they probably could have been in love if morrigan had been willing to pursue it in the start and if minerva hadn’t already gone for someone else by the end, and all that is unspoken but very present in everything about them

sten is i guess kind of the typical high approval relationship as presented in game? not much more unique. a lot of respect a lot of arguing a lot of dry humour. they could hang out in silence comfortably and they’re also both know and respect that they’re very capable of killing the other if their greater purposes ever demand it

oghren she kind of doesn’t pay much mind in origins when she doesn’t have to but he becomes part of the family in awakening. they bond over having their insane shared experiences of the blight, and also over him trying to quit drinking and her trying to quit blood magic which leads to some really wild out of context conversations for the others. and hey, eventually over first attempting to parent at similar times

wynne she has a bit of a sharp relationship with. i think this could vary a lot if i pick her up earlier, but in my main minerva playthrough i picked her up late by which time minerva had absolutely no fucking interest in getting the kind of lectures she grew up with. sorry grandma </3

uhhhh who else. shale idk man im sorry for being a fake fan but shale’s dlc truly does nothing for me it’s unfunny and i dont think abt it at all 💔 this would be written in less harsh terms if i wasnt sleepy

loghain is. well that’s a kettle of fish. minerva spares him because it happens to be a preferable move for her agenda and her way of thinking, it’s not rlly about him as a person at all. she doesn’t absolve him of anything he did, like, she still thinks he’s a bastard it’s just that she doesn’t really believe at all in the concept of justice being done if it doesn’t serve a purpose. when he’s in the party they do build up respect and a weird kind of friendship. he sucks and she’s bitter about what sparing him cost her, but that isn’t relevant, it’s not going to stop her learning from him, or fighting at his side as the best team she can quickly make them, or simply finding him entertaining to talk to. so by the end it’s as a friend that she asks him to do the dark ritual, whatever that means. post dao she agrees with weisshaupt that him being assigned outside of ferelden is wise but they continue to write to each other extremely regularly, mostly on matters of news and strategy but occasionally on the more personal

is that everyone i think thats everyone

#minerva surana #i suggested recently in vee’s dms that she gives him one of his mabari’s puppies #to have a mabari with him in orlais #and he eventually leaves it with kieran in skyhold before marching to adamant #vee didnt enjoy that thought for some reason #<- those tags are abt loghain i forgot to name him for some reason

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knoepfl · 24 days ago

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Fractured Boundaries

Characters:

Shigaraki Tomura

Reader (hero, you)

Mentions of the League of Villains

Trigger Warnings:

Mentions of violence

Toxic dynamics and emotional conflict

Secret relationship (themes of betrayal, guilt)

Brief allusions to Shigaraki’s trauma

Masterlist

Words: 988

The room was dimly lit, a flickering neon sign from across the street casting shifting shadows on the peeling wallpaper. The world outside hummed with distant sirens and the low murmur of people going about their lives, unaware of the storm quietly brewing between two souls who shouldn’t have crossed paths. You leaned against the window, watching as the light pollution drowned out the stars.

Somewhere out there, your fellow heroes were patrolling the streets, believing you were one of them—a loyal soldier of justice. If they knew the truth, your name would be disgraced. A hero fraternizing with a villain, and not just any villain, but Shigaraki Tomura, the most wanted criminal in the country. They’d hunt you down just as eagerly as they hunted him.

But when you were here, in this room, none of that mattered.

A quiet creak behind you signaled his arrival. The old apartment door clicked shut, and before you could turn, you felt his presence—heavy, unsettling, and strangely familiar.

“You’re late,” you said, your voice tinged with more concern than annoyance.

“And you’re predictable,” Shigaraki responded, a smirk lacing his gravelly voice. You turned, finding him standing a few feet away, slouching slightly as if the weight of his burdens kept him bent. His pale, scarred hands rested lazily at his sides, but you knew how quickly they could destroy everything in their path. His red eyes gleamed with that dangerous mix of amusement and hunger, always teetering on the edge of madness.

“Got caught up with League business,” he added, the smirk twisting into something darker. “You know how it is.”

You swallowed, unsure if you wanted to know the details. Some things were better left unspoken between the two of you.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, the same warning you gave him every time he showed up. “It’s too risky.”

“And yet, here I am.” He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey.

The tension between you thickened as he stopped just short of touching you. That was always the hardest part—knowing he couldn’t touch you without the risk of destruction. His Decay could rip through flesh and bone with a single slip of control. But somehow, despite everything, you trusted him. Or maybe you just wanted to believe in the tiny slivers of humanity he let you see when no one else was watching.

“You should walk away,” Shigaraki muttered, his voice low. “You’d be better off.”

You crossed your arms, refusing to look away. “You say that every time, but you never mean it.”

He tilted his head, studying you with that unnerving intensity that always made your pulse race. “Maybe I just want to see if you’ll actually leave one day.”

“Not tonight.”

A flicker of something—relief, maybe—passed through his crimson gaze. He reached up, his hand hovering just inches from your cheek. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, but not close enough to touch. It was always like this between you, dancing on the edge of danger.

“Why do you keep coming back?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost a whisper. “You have nothing to gain from this.”

His lips curled into a bitter smile. “Neither do you.”

You hated how right he was. This relationship—if you could even call it that—was reckless and dangerous, with no future. But you also knew that leaving him would feel like cutting off a part of yourself. No matter how broken Shigaraki was, he understood you in ways no one else did. The two of you were different sides of the same coin, caught in a world that demanded too much from people like you.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words. Shigaraki was the first to break it. “I killed someone today,” he admitted flatly, as if he were telling you the weather.

Your heart clenched, and you took a step back without meaning to. His eyes darkened. “Does that make you want to leave?”

You shook your head, though you felt a knot tightening in your chest. “I knew what you were when this started.”

“Then why do you stay?” His voice cracked slightly, exposing a rawness beneath the cold exterior.

Because you saw the cracks in his armor. Because, despite everything, you believed there was still a part of him worth saving. But you knew better than to say that out loud. Shigaraki hated being treated like a broken thing. He didn’t want salvation. He wanted destruction, and you were foolish enough to stand in the way, hoping to shield him from himself.

Instead, you gave him the only truth you could offer. “I stay because I care.”

He scoffed, but you caught the way his jaw tensed, as if your words had hit too close to something buried deep inside him. “You’re stupid,” he muttered, though there was no bite in his tone.

“Probably.”

A rare chuckle escaped him, soft and almost boyish. For a moment, it was easy to imagine him as someone else—a boy who might have had a normal life, who might have been a hero instead of a villain. But that life was out of reach, for both of you.

“Come here.” His voice was low, almost hesitant.

You closed the distance between you, resting your head lightly against his shoulder. He stiffened for a second, as if unsure what to do, but then he relaxed, leaning into your touch. You felt his breath hitch, and you knew that, despite his bravado, moments like these meant something to him.

“Tell me this isn’t a mistake,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Shigaraki was silent for a long time, his fingers brushing the hem of your sleeve, careful not to touch your skin. Finally, he spoke, his words heavy with quiet resignation. “It probably is.”

But neither of you made a move to leave.

---

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! I wanted to explore the idea of a relationship that teeters on the edge of disaster, where both people know things could fall apart at any moment, but they can’t seem to let go. Shigaraki is such a complex character, and I love the idea of someone seeing beyond his broken exterior, even if their connection isn’t healthy or easy.

#shigaraki tomura #fanfic #oc #mha shigaraki #bnha x reader #bnha shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #tomura shiragaki #mha tomura #bnha tomura #my hero academia #mha #my hero acedamia #my hero acadamy #my hero academy fanfiction #Villain x Hero #Hero x villain

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lightlycareless · 8 months ago

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Imagine: naoya and y/n have been happily married for years, and y/n has Lesley Gore's "You don't own me" as ringtone because it makes naoya so embarrassed, he would be like "love, I have already apologized 🥺"

PS: love your work, you alone are making justice to naoya's character. Your characterization of him is canon in my mind.

Hello!!!

Awww this is 🥺 man I feel so bad for him haha. But it's true, once everything is healed and nice, this man will still feel that he could never make up for his mistakes 😭 you'd be there to reassure him, though :) ❤️

Anyways, I've decided to apply some creative... differences to this. Mainly because I wanted to get really angsty with it mwahahahahahahah (also, it's not noted here, but there are some things that will remind her of those days, so she will avoid anything that might make her remember that. The two are in love, but... it's a difficult path. but trauma always is.)

Also, thank you so much for your lovely words!! I do try my best :') I'm so glad that you liked my characterization!! This man is capable of more... under the right circumstances 🤭

warnings: a bit of angst. naoya is deeply regretful. you're supportive. mentions of abuse (not really, but something bad is implied)

happy reading!

“—this is why I don’t like going out with you. Nothing ever seems to be of your liking!”

“If you have such a bad time with me, then why don’t you leave?!”

“I might as well!”

Naoya was never one to overhear gossip (coming from strangers, that is.). Thought it to be incredibly boring, dull, mundane, especially from civilians. What could they even experience? Their boring 9-5 job? Yeah, no thanks.

Yet, something about this conversation didn’t elude his attention like it used to, and before he knew it, when he was once focused on your voice, he was now nothing but attentive to the hurtful words of the couple nearby.

They weren’t directed at him, obviously, nor did they refer to anything he could take personally…

But the weight of his past makes it impossible for him to look beyond his own guilt, instinctively attaching their words to his own actions. Like he was the one they were discussing.

Naoya knows he was a… less than desirable man at the beginning of this marriage. He doesn’t claim otherwise, he can’t, since there are still many things to make amends for…

Things that he knows he’ll never be able to; for the atrocities he committed to you… they’re unspeakable. Even with the promise he made to spend of the rest of his life making it up to you, one he doesn’t intend to let go.

But… will he ever amount to it? Can he do so?

…

He’d rather die trying, than never at all.

“Another one?” You ask when he suggests going to another store. The two had come on a date at a shopping mall, intending to pick up some things needed for the apartment, alongside enjoying each other’s company; Naoya’s work had been quite demanding as of lately, and he intended to get his dosage of you, enough to cover a whole month. “But I thought you wanted to head back already…?”

“Yes, but then I thought we’d make the best of our visit here before leaving instead. Who knows when we’ll be back?”

“Oh, well… if that’s what you want…” you frown, a bit unsettled by his sudden change, which was only to worsen.

“No! I mean—we can do that too if you want to.” Naoya interjects.

“You’re not making much sense…”

“What I mean to say is that we can do whatever you want.” He scurries to explain. “Just say the word and I’ll do it.”

“I... don’t have anything in mind, really. Going home sounded good.”

“Are you sure? We can go somewhere else too. You know I have no limitations.”

“I think I’m done for the day—”

“Home it is. Would you like the estate, the apartment, or your parents’ house?”

“My parents house?? But that’s—that’s on the other side of the country!” you gasp; and while you’re always appreciative of Naoya’s willingness to go above and beyond, this was actually a bit… excessive—and that’s saying a lot coming from him!

“And?”

“What do you mean and? We can’t just hop on a plane and leave!”

“Of course we can.” He corrected. “We can leave right now if you want.”

“Again with the—Where did this come from?? Is everything alright, Naoya? What’s gotten into you??”

“Nothing! Is it wrong to want to please you, too?” Naoya frets.

“Too?” you repeat. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s—It’s nothing. Just tell me what you—”

“No, it is important. It has to be if it’s affecting you like this!” you cry. “Tell me, Naoya. Please. I thought we agreed we could tell each other everything!”

“It’s nothing you don’t know already.”

“Like what?” you frown. “What do I already know?? You’re not making any sense!”

“That I don’t deserve you!” he condemns. “That I’ve done terrible things to you that I can never erase, no matter how much I try—and that perhaps you’d be infinitely happier with someone else; someone… that isn’t me.”

Even with the large, noisy sounds of the lively mall, silence manages to quickly engulf the two soon after, drowning you in the pain Naoya’s unexpected words gave you, piercing your heart and the hope you’ve placed for the future of this relationship.

One created with the notion that everything bad had been left in the past, ready to move on… only to realize, it wasn’t that easy to do so. Suddenly coming back, in the most unwanted, painful way you could’ve imagined—seemingly unprompted, but equally damaging to Naoya’s sentiments.

“That’s… that’s not true.” You eventually murmur, looking at him, while Naoya’s eyes remain glued to the floor. “None of what you’re saying is true.”

Then why do I keep feeling this way?

“… you don’t… believe that… do you?” You continue, managing to get a glimpse of his face, which reflected nothing but sadness and disbelief towards your words.

“It seems like all I do is hurt you.” Naoya laments. “No matter how much I try, I’ll never be able to escape—"

“Don’t say that—that’s not who you are.” You interject, stepping closer to him. “We’ve come a long way from where we began, you’re not that same man from before.”

“But I keep making the same mistakes, I keep hurting you.”

“It’s not easy to leave behind what you thought normal for all your life—or to accept them as mistakes…” you take his hand. “So, when you do fall back into your old ways, but bounce back right up… It shows you’re trying. It shows you’re regretful and want to do better.”

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“I know.” He lifts your gaze to yours; you place your other hand just above his cheek, giving him a soft smile. “And… I know you don’t do it intentionally. I’ve seen your heart, the pain you went through and how it affected you. But I also saw what you’re capable of, the love you’ve harbored, how you longed to share it, and… how lucky I am to be the one to earn it.”

“…I’m the lucky one.” Naoya leans into your touch. “To have found a wife so compassionate…”

“We’ve both done things we’re… not proud of. But that doesn’t mean we’re eternally bound to them. As long as we’re regretful and strive to do better… it’s all that matters.”

“But when is enough?” Naoya murmurs. “When will I stop feeling like this?”

“I don’t know. There are some things we can’t stop, we simply… learn how to live with them.” You admit. “I wish it was possible.”

He frowns, looking away.

“But I do know one thing, though.”

“…What is it?”

“That I love you. With your faults and virtues—and everything in between. Is what makes you, you, Naoya.” You giggle, he gives you a tight smile. “And I’ll spend my whole life telling you that until you believe it yourself!”

He chuckles; seems that both have made lifelong promises that neither intends to forget anytime soon.

“I love you too.” Naoya professed. “Thank you for everything. You’ve given me so much, probably even more than what I deserved—that I’ll spend my whole life making it up to you.”

“You don’t have to, Naoya. You only deserve more.” You reassure him. “But really, you don’t need to make it up to me! As long as you remember the love we have for each other, and that I’ve long forgiven you, is enough for me.”

At your words, the tears Naoya was trying his best to hold back finally slide down his cheeks, which you quickly wipe away with your thumbs, before giving him a smile and pulling him closer for a peck on the lips.

“Everything is going to be fine.” You promised, he looks back at you. You kiss him again, taking him into your arms and hugging him. “If you don’t mind me asking, however… what happened that made you feel this way? Did I do something?”

Naoya sighs, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“No, never. It was just something stupid, actually. Some people arguing, that’s all.”

“Oh.” You blink, quickly understanding why he’d feel insecure about your relationship; the familiarities were too close for comfort. “That’s… unfortunate.”

“It reminded me of how we used to be… how I’d treat you.”

“That is long gone. We’ve worked past that and now, we’re in a much better place.” You snuggle against him. “Both figuratively and literally.”

“Do you still want to go home?”

“Yeah, all this shopping made me tired. Unless there’s something else you wanted to see?”

“No, I was mostly suggesting things for you. I’ve been feeling tired for a while too, now.”

“We can arrange something else for another day, then. For now, I just want to head back home, lay on the futon, cuddle underneath the covers, and maybe watch a movie… how does that sound?” you grin. “I can even prepare some popcorn, if you’d like!”

He chuckles.

“It sounds wonderful.”

Just like his new life with you. Something he never thought he’d receive, nor deserved, at least in the beginning of his marriage.

Until you proved to him otherwise, showing him that the ways of his clan, those forcefully imposed on him, didn’t determine who he was, who he could become.

That he had much more power over his life, the ultimate decision on what to do remained on him and no one else.

It was to be a difficult path, one promising bumpy roads, which will probably never end if he were to be realistic…

But it’s just as you said. As long as both know, deep inside, that they’re doing their best to overcome these obstacles, as well as remembering that they’re always there for the other, alongside their ever-growing love… nothing else mattered.

It was you and Naoya against the world.

And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

🥺 I believe Naoya will always feel undeserving, even when they have a kid together and whatnot. He comes from a very difficult family, so be prepared to face these kinds of situations when in a relationship with him 😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️

omg i can imagine it already, when he's super old, reflecting on his life he had alongside you, his kids, and probably grandchildren too... only then will he finally admit he's happy with the life he had. jfc i'm crying goodbye.

Anyways, I know I deviated a bit from your imagine, but I still hope it was to your liking! the angst between the two is real, but so good too....

As always, thank you so much for sending in this! Take care, and hope to see you soon!!

#ask #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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superbat-lmao · 9 days ago

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I think comics have a closer proximity to fanon works than most other forms of canon works (movies, tv, books, podcasts, etc) because of how many possible authors contribute different storylines.

Meaning, while I love Jayroy in fanon, I can completely understand why it wouldn’t work in canon. Too much uneven characterization where Jason’s actions towards the arrowfam aren’t justifiable even if their friendship remains possible. And it’s so easy to imagine crossing lines of canon into fanon since even canon can contradict itself.

So something I undeniably love about Jayroy fanon is how each character is written as someone who believes they just aren’t worth it, and they find someone else who believes basically the same thing about themselves and they’re both wrong.

To simply things in fanon, Roy’s struggles with addiction and Jason’s struggles with violence mean that in their respective narratives, they’re the black sheep of their families.

Roy typically struggles with a sense of self worth, of wanting someone to stick around through the bad and where his headspace actually goes because of addiction. He was one of the first titans and to have so many of your peers succeed (or die) when you’re struggling definitely fucks with you in major ways.

Jason has a complicated relationship with everyone, including himself. The pit made a lot of things worse but his grief over wanting his father to avenge him and thinking his death changed nothing, or his stance on punishing criminals, all of these things separate him out from the batfam’s code of ethics. He is constantly living in the shadow of himself and can’t figure out how to actually move on with his life.

And when these are the characterizations people are working with I love that the narrative is “two people who believe they’re fundamentally broken realize they aren’t and rely on each other until they get better”.

Like, neither of them is asking the other to change. Roy is okay with Jason’s version of justice and Jason sticks around through cravings and meetings. Neither thinks that their families were right about them, that they’re fuck ups beyond hope. Because they don’t have to be.

And so many of the other storylines of superhero’s is that, even if they’re at a low point, or have made mistakes, they can change. They can see the light and reform their actions and become better people and fit into new dynamics if they can’t go back to old ones.

And while a lot of fics will soften Jason’s actions, there are some where Roy still sticks around. And if they change, it’s not because someone demanded it of them in order to be worthy of being loved. It’s because someone who loved them gave them the time and space to figure out who they are and loved them regardless. They didn’t withhold support, they provided it even when the other failed and saw them through to the other side.

And sure, in reality that can be a recipe for toxicity, of people hurting each other over and over by claiming that love should be unconditional in order to justify horrible things, but in comics where magic is real (and sometimes a stand in for PTSD ) and so are aliens and vigilantes and addiction, then the standards for what a person is capable of withstanding, what a relationship is able to withstand, need to have room for grace too.

That the only way people stop suffering is by having support networks. And while in some cases it doesn’t work, in this one, it does.

#jason todd #roy harper #red hood #arsenal #dc universe #jayroy #they love each other because they’re fucked up even tho they’re fucked up #entire families have written them off and they’re still there #all the fics where bruce says he just wants his son back regardless of his actions even if he’s killed but only because he wasn’t in control #and roy accepts him anyways doesn’t care about killing has killed himself there’s no standard jason has to live up to #and for roy who keeps being left behind or isn’t prioritized to have someone stay and care even when it’s hard #jason went through it with catherine and he’ll do it for roy too it’s the most he’s capable of doing for the ones he loves #they’re so fucked up and bad for others but good for each other because what would hurt someone else is exactly what they need

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little-peril-stories · 9 months ago

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OC in Fifteen (or less)

I was tagged by @cowboybrunch (here) to play this game. Thanks for the tag!

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Gently tagging: @sharkblizzardblogs @jessicagailwrites @i-can-even-burn-salad + open tag

Contains: death/execution mention. sexism. infantilizing dialogue. generally just an evil man.

Baden Hatchett

“I can do as I please. I will do as I please. How else will the miserable wretches of this town know to obey the law if they don’t have an example to look to?”

“You are going to stand and witness the fate to which you’ve condemned this wretched soul. You will see how justice served when I am the one meting it out.”

“You think you can refuse me? Give me orders? Make demands? Me? You think you have any right? Any authority? Any claim to my mercy and good will?”

“Bloody cowardly woman. Open your eyes and watch.”

“Marvellous job, Miss Cooper. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Listening? Doing as you’re told?”

“You will learn some respect before the end. Perhaps you’ll even beg our forgiveness before you hang.”

“Perhaps they do not realize how thoroughly beaten they are at this game. But it will be amusing, no doubt, to watch them play. And since pain doesn’t seem to work on the thief, I wish to know what will drive him to spill his secrets in the end.”

“As you well know, fox-thief, I can do what I deem appropriate in my prison. And interestingly enough, as I listened to your request, I did not hear the word please. If you truly wanted me to take this matter seriously, you might at least pretend to be a civilized human being for a few precious minutes.”

“You had best control that impertinent mouth of yours, Miss Cooper. Perhaps you ought to choose your words a little more carefully.”

“You do not get to call me by my name. We’re not friends. I’m not on your side. You gave up your right to my given name the night you—”

“Seems like more than just two thieves passing in the night. You’re practically throwing yourself at my feet to save his life, are you not? Such devotion, such futile risk, is surely warranted by more than just the incidental acquaintance of two criminals.”

“My prison, my rules, Miss Cooper. You will speak first.”

“You will die when I permit you to die.”

“Dim-witted cretins, both of you. You tried so valiantly, but you never had a chance at winning. You didn’t even know what game you were playing.”

“Bold assumptions, Miss Cooper. I kept you around because you were stupid enough to let your insipid feelings for the boy show. Not unlike you, I saw an opportunity and grasped it. Nothing more.”

I only pulled from The Prince of Thieves for this, nothing from The Queen of Lies.

#oc in 15 tag #oc in 15 #tag game #lps the prince of thieves #tw sexism #tw death mention #he's the worst #oc in fifteen #oc in fifteen tag

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stareena · 1 year ago

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The Executioner's Song by Norman Mailer

My rating: 4 of 5 stars Recommended to me by my Mother, The Executioner's Song was an in depth look at the justice system in America in the 1970s. Gary Gilmore is paroled to Utah from Oregon. He meets a girl and that's when it goes all wrong. Two people are killed and the state of Utah is baying for blood. When he is convicted, Gary Gilmore accepts his fate and demands to be executed for his crimes, making America blanch. With executions still legal in Utah (at this time), it still have been some years since the last person was executed in America, creating all sorts of powerful reactions. To be honest, I was bored for most of the story. It is based upon true events and the way it was presented was, bizarre. For me there seemed way too much backstory for a lot of the minor characters that had very little to do with the overall story. Yet there were times when I found myself backtracking pages trying to figure out when a new character came on the scene and what their story was, only finding no backstory for them. Looking back I wonder if they were people that didn't offer information beyond their involvement with the cases. If you read this book, make a flow chart of all the people names, especially in the second half of the book. I believe there are about 17 lawyers that are mentioned throughout and if you are not paying strict attention, you'll be lost. Also a lay person's knowledge of law is helpful, though that was handled VERY well in the book, explaining the legality and how it differs in Utah. Now, all that said, the book has something like 1100 pages, (not a light weekend read) yet it wasn't until the last 50 pages (and Acknowledgement) that I really go into the story. It was very fascinating watching how so many people that were involved with the main character changed and how they ended up. The events at the end of the book were eye opening to say the least. A front row seat to something I never thought to witness. Yet despite the horror of the events of the book, there was a feeling of respect for everyone. Killers and victims alike. I will say that I have never read any true crime novel that handles both sides of the crime with that level of humanity, acknowledging that while some criminal acts defy logic, everyone is human. Do I think the book is worth it? Yes. I've been complaining to friends that every time I picked the book to read, it grew another 100 pages. I feel if nothing else, it offers the most interesting insight into the legal system of the time, capital punishment, belief and humanity. View all my reviews

#history #book #review #mailer #norman mailer #the executioner's song

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sabineelectricheart · 10 months ago

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The Beast at the Information Bureau

Summary: Kyoya has a strong sense of justice and very little regard for those who find themselves in the wrong side of it. When Hyori is sequestered away to a dockyard, she finds out what that truly means.

Rating: M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Words: 2200

Notes: As I am wont to do, I exaggerated in a character trait and saw where it led me. Dark places, naturally.

Hyori had never seen Kyoya like this.

He was more of a laid-back, friendly kind of guy, cracking jokes even in the tensest situations. He was easy to talk to, a little childish, one-note, but very pleasant to be around in any circumstance. He would keep her company when she had to look after her younger siblings, and he would sometimes take her down to the river hand-in-hand when she needed the change of scenery.

Even when he talked about his work with the Information Bureau, with the strings and caveats attached to it, when he spoke about his sense of draconian justice, when she saw him training his shot with firearms, he never quite struck her as properly dangerous, as someone capable of harm.

Strong and capable of doing manual labour with ease, yes, intelligent and capable, a law enforcement officer, but the principled cruelty never really struck her as the prevalent gene in Kyoya. At least, until Hyori saw him through the gaps from her hiding spot, rabid like a dog, only missing the foam around his mouth as he tore down the door of the shack the cybercriminals had brought her to.

It never crossed her mind to be scared of her boyfriend. Not when he seemed to laugh all day long, not when he was so kind to her siblings, not when he felt so strongly for what is right. With the fury edged into his features, though, it was almost like she didn't know who he was.

With what she could only describe as a furious battle cry, he tore through the cybercriminals, their weapons falling uselessly on the concrete floor of the empty dockyard before they could even hope to react. Blood splattered everywhere, her captors', Kyoya's, and whoever else dared to stand in his way.

Hyori wanted to look away, but without a warning, she had to witness it all. By the time she turned her gaze away from the happenings and sank her throbbing head into her hands, the massacre was already over. However, she is still shivering like crazy, long after the last scream lapsed into silence.

“Hyori!” He called desperately into the dark emptiness of the dock.

Whimpering, she flinched when she heard her name being screamed into the uncomfortable silence. She felt like she was going to throw up as the smell of blood reached her nose.

"H-Here...!" She croaked weakly, heavy footsteps shaking the cold ground.

The wooden crates and barrels were mere annoyances in his path. They had no chance of survival as he burst through them in the maniacal search for her. All she could do was shield her face, her strength already dwindling from her body's exhaustion and the time spent out in the chilly dampness of the harbour at an especially cold winter. Her captors had hidden her from plain sight out of precaution, but now she suddenly is not so sure if she wanted to be found, her boyfriend’s fury burned into her mind.

A part of Hyori had always hoped that the cybercriminals would just move on from their insane plan of using her for ransom. She had witnessed them speaking about being mad at Kyoya for some reason. Still, neither she nor they could have known the lengths the blond man would go to get her back before it even came to a mail or call demanding any money.

When his head finally craned out from behind the boxes, she cowered behind. The man that found her was nothing like the image of the person Hyori cradled in her mind for all this time, bruising the unwavering belief she held ever since the Arcadia incident. It was horrifying. He seemed to be sniffing the air like an animal, frantically turning his sightline all around him. She held her breath, almost too scared to be rescued by this unfamiliar person in front of her. All of him snapped in her direction, though, at the slightest sign of her location, and so did the wood, cracking pitifully as he pushed it out of the way, freeing some space to get to her.

Fury burned in his wide-open eyes, blood staining his cheeks, chest, and arms, and there was nothing left of the Kyoya she knew. He merely looked like an animal now, a real beast. A gruesome monster of old tales, red and big and angry. Yet, when he slumped to his knees before her, squeezing himself between a crate and the wall, it was like a switch turned all of this off instantly. Worry clouded his gaze, his expression softening as did his voice as he started to coo her name.

"It's okay, I'm here. Everything will be alright. You're okay now...” He mumbled, and she had the feeling it was more to his own benefit then hers.

His voice was stricken with that childish, kind undertone. It almost made Hyori feel like a child, getting reassured by a brotherly figure, in the same way that he made her feel like back in Arcadia. More tears dripped from her eyes as she were caught between being happy to be rescued by him and scared shitless after what she witnessed through the gaps in boxes she had hidden behind.

Which one was real? Why did it seem so easy for him to eradicate the existence of those cybercriminals? If he changes so fast, could he switch again?

"Kyoya..." She sobbed, feeling like she had to share these questions with him and get the answers.

Alas, the young woman is too scared. So scared of these hands reaching out, stained red with human blood, able to snap necks with one squeeze if he wanted to.

"Yes, yes! It's me! Your hero! Come here, come... Come to me.” He encouraged her, his voice cracking into a plead. "I'll take you home. Let's get you warm and cozy, and I'll make some soup for you! I'll carry you, come."

Squeezing himself further and further into the small space between wall and box, all she could do was crawl backwards, trying to hide in the corner and watch as his expression turned from worried to confused and even hurt.

"Let's go home, okay?" He whispered, sounding desperate as he watched her hurdle away from him. "Why won't you come to me?"

Suddenly, at the very end of his question, his voice changed to a cold monotone. A dire realisation runs through his mind and a hand wrap around the ankle closest to him, even though he could not quite fit into the space with his whole body. Yanking at her, she let out a squeak and another as he began pulling her out.

"Stop!" She yelled, her lungs burning up as a sudden cough ripped through her. "You're hurting me! Kyoya, stop!"

Undeterred, his expression undefinable, he kept pulling his girlfriend towards him, his other hand gripping her knee until he could tug her out of hiding by her waist. Then, at his reach, he hugged her. Tightly and breathtakingly. Uncomfortable only for her.

"I thought I lost you.” He whispered, his voice conveying the broken-heartedness his concern and her fear left him.

It was difficult for Hyori to focus on his words and intonation, though, as his state of dress was far from ideal. The rancid smell of blood intensified in her nostrils as she were pressed to his chest, vomit collecting in her mouth.

"L-Let go.” She protested, almost sure she is going to throw up.

His embrace only tightened, pressing her further into him as the young man refused to let her go even for a second.

"Why?" He asked, and she felt his body tense under her touch. "Why didn't you come to me? Why can't I hold you? Why didn't you scream for me when they came to your house? I would have come, you know? I could have prevented all of this... Why do you never rely on me? Why am I...?"

Kyoya choked on his words, his body shaking as she could hear the anger rise in his voice. However, the next time he spoke, his voice was almost non-existent, a pained whisper in the wind.

"Why am I never good enough for you?"

Hyori felt his shoulders slump, as did his head, buried in the space between her shoulder and neck. Taking a deep breath, her boyfriend seemed to calm himself with his nose buried in her body, her simple lounge dress dropping off her shoulder, baring her skin to the cold and wet air again.

"What's this?" He asked, finally holding her a bit farther away from him, enough so she could turn her head and take a deep breath of fresh air before covering her nose in her sleeve.

"W-What?" She asked, hazy from the blood smell and unable to see what he saw, as he was staring at her shoulder.

The young woman felt one of his too-long nails rake over her skin, drawing the shape of something she did not know was there.

"You're bruised. Did these bastards...? What did they do? Don't tell me they..." The law enforcement officer gulped, his body growing tense. "Don't tell me they did something...?"

Desperation vibrated in his voice as he grew louder and louder, pushing she away to be able to see into her eyes. She avoided his gaze, not out of shame, but because she simply could not bring herself to see him in the same light as before.

Of course, Hyori would deny the dark thought going through her head. The remembrance that, in spite of the urbane character of modern living, if she knew anything about nature, one simply does not look a predator into his large, concerned eyes, lest they end up aggravating him.

"Nothing, I just... Maybe I hit something, I don't know..."

"It's really big.” The man whispered, his voice sending an ice-cold shudder down her spine. "They marked you..."

"What? No, they didn't, they..."

She did not have the opportunity to finish her sentence, her eyes darting back to him just in time to see him brandishing a weapon, a silver metal thing she has no idea what is for, only that it is against her and her boyfriend is pulling the trigger. The pain was not immediate, shock masking it so well she thought it was almost non-existent.

The blood immediately pouring out of her managed to wake her to the reality of the situation. It began to throb as her body panicked to close the wounds inflicted by that thing, a cold iron unnaturalness gripping tightly against her shoulder bone.

Kyoya lowers the pistol, replacing it with his mouth, licking her gaping wound like an animal. The feeling of the soft and wet tongue against it was a strange one, but most repulsing certainly.

Ideally, there would have been a reaction from Hyori at this point. Screaming, crying, fighting, or even just fainting. She merely stared at his hair, though, feeling his jaw loosening around her shoulder, his face now stained anew. This time, it was her blood dripping from his lips, the sight as disgusting as it was captivating.

"Delicious.” He mumbled, his tongue parting his lips to lick off the excess red in a mesmerizing, if horrifying, display. "The implant will protect you. Now, no one will dare to put their hands on you when they see your mark. If they do, I will just come and find you again. I will find you wherever you are. This time I'll be able to follow the signal of the geolocator regardless. So, from now on, you can rely on me to… Hyori?! Hey!"

She faintly noticed him shaking her body before lifting she into his arms and rushing into the cool night air. Losing blood on top of the wounds that she had already sustained during her captivity was too much for her body to take. That and the shock were finally knocking her out, perhaps for good.

His voice made him almost seem like the childish dumbo she knew. The same kind soul that snuck her store-bought candy after she spent all her money on her siblings, that cheered in increasingly creative and funny ways at his favourite foreign football team of the week and that brought her flowers on random days just because.

That face, the rage and mindless slaughter of whatever stood in his way. That was not him. It just could not be. Him brandishing a weapon into her body because he thought it was a good idea to mark her without consulting her. His weird habit of licking a wound clean, despite, and maybe even because, of the abundant blood around it. That was not the Kyoya she knew.

No, certainly not. It was some kind of monster she had never even suspected to slumber inside him. The sight of her blood dripping from his lips would not leave her thoughts until the last one disappeared in the darkness. The dreams awaiting her would be dark and lonely, but, at least, there would be no more blood.

Until Hyori opened her eyes again, no more monsters would be waiting for her, either.

*_*_*_*_*

Charade Maniacs Masterlist

#charade maniacs #Kyoya Akase

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mythvoiced · 11 months ago

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“what makes me so special?” - hermes :3

@astremourante | more random dialogue prompts | ♥

---

Hermes blinks.

What an odd question.

And what an odd response. The great and swift God Hermes, known for his cunning, for his thirst for wit, so often depicted as silent and obedient in tales and myths and epics because it's easier to portray him doing his job than acknowledging how much faster his mind works than that of any other Olympian.

He'd followed Zeus around villages, watched as the old man disguised himself to test mortals, and he'd been silent.

He told Calypso to free Odysseus - he'd helped him remain human before the eyes of Circe.

He'd bedded Circe - or let her bed him.

He gave Perseus his shoes, connected him to Athena.

A lot of things have been recounted of him.

Stole Apollo's cattle, invented an instrument to give him, for the fun of it.

Befriended the ferryman himself.

He navigates quickly enough, and knows how to play by the rules smartly enough, that no one would assume him so inclined to further his own domain, to float and laugh over the heads of thieves and merchants alike, to beat paths into deserts if he found one suited to a crossroad, to invent melodies for Apollo's lyre with the clinking of his coins he'll never let him hear.

In a way, he's almost as aloof as Artemis.

Just much better at hiding it.

But here he is. A god, at the whims and commands of a woman, a mortal assassin. Had he chosen someone like Circe again, well, not many would have blinked twice. Had he tried to pursue Diomedes, Athena's favourite, wittier than Odysseus for his lack of hubris, no one would have batted an eye.

Cunning, witty, kings, goddesses, generals, hold power and dominance over large areas, witches, strategists, fools.

Amelia is by no means stupid, she glows with well-masked intelligence, hidden away as masterfully behind her frivolous, facetious exterior as her physical prowess, her pain.

What does make her so special? Some might argue she's lesser than others he's had.

He might argue she's so much more.

There's life in her he's so rarely sense in others. Pain and a thirst for justice and vengeance overpowered at times only for her thirst for punishment, familiarity over the ever so dreaded hoped for future. There's almost no future for her in which she won't crumble one way or another, if she succeeds and has nothing left to bleed for, if she fails and let's it define her.

And Hermes is no Fate, he cannot look into the future, has only ever seen the threads of life once cut in the souls he carries to Charon, or splendidly vibrant like Amelia at his side, so he can't guess how wrong he is, can't fathom if he's right.

When you're a god, you meet a person perhaps twelve times. Not the same one, but you can only go so far before behavioural patterns repeat, before you meet a character that reminds you so eerily of someone else. Yes, all mortals are unique, thank the gods or it would be rather dull to be in such close proximity and frequent exposure to them, but they aren't being invented a-new with each new generation.

Old traits, new media format.

And yet... and yet...

Hermes counts the freckles on Amelia's face. They look like cinnamon powder dusted over a bright, dangerous grin, or a soft threatening touch of vulnerability. She'd wanted him with malicious ferocity, with a bite hidden somewhere in her morals that had made him wonder if she'd wanted him because it would hurt to get him, or to prove something, or for this or for the other reason rather than the simple concept of bliss.

She'd pushed him away with a sense of self-respect he'd come to both expect from her but also be surprised to see. She gives him whiplashes, with the desperation she'd tried to drag a kiss out of him, coupled with the viciousness with which she'd demanded he play nice to get one.

Maybe it's that.

Maybe it's just a feeling.

"I'm not sure," he admits. He doesn't throw his usual smile into the mix, he seems... pensive, contemplating her being. "I just can't help but feel like, in hindsight, I'd been missing something, all the time leading up to knowing you."

"I can't give you a specific answer. I don't think about other mortals enough these days to remember what to compare you to."

#astremourante #;answered #the first;hermes #oh but my coin don't you glow brighter when you make the world bleed;amelia sinclair & hermes #this reply pisses me off PICK SOMETHING HERPES #LONG HAIR HERMES LONG HAIR HERMES OOOH HEHEHEHEHE YESS!!!!!!!!!!!#they should braid each other's hair (like she did with sarang and diana did with her LET'S MAKE IT A THEME)#;queue

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whateverthedragonswant · 2 years ago

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HotD: 1x06-1x07 Thoughts

I enjoyed these episodes, more than I thought I would to be honest:

I admit, I was leery of the time jump and recasting but I have to say it worked out very well, the new cast is fantastic (and we got to keep Fabian) and it actually really fits where the story is at now I think (besides the time passage)

Alicent, Alicent, Alicent - wow, time has definitely changed her - that one scene with her and Criston walking really shows just how much bitterness (and jealousy) has taken root and been allowed to grow or maybe fester is a better word

Not gonna lie, I was happy for Aemond to get Vhagar (especially after all of the bullying) until what happened and I was reminded that Laena's daughter did not have a dragon either - not to mention, I don't think this will be a good thing for Rhaenyra's family, Otto seemed way too pleased with this development

Aemond in that fight scene and afterwards gave me strong Draco Malfoy vibes - can you imagine?

I kind of rolled my eyes at the Daemon/Rhaenyra scene but I have to say I felt way more comfortable with it happening now that she's a full on adult and she initiated things

My heart still breaks for Alicent and Rhaenyra, but as is reiterated by the show, who we saw in the first 5 episodes is not who they are now, they're no longer those versions of their characters (literally)

While I'm not a Daemyra fan, I am curious to see what will happen now that they married and just what kind of chaos Daemon will unleash against the Hightowers, and in KL when they return; I think that was a very smart move on Rhaenyra's part, no matter how I feel about Daemon; he's that guy if you're going to war, you want him on your side, because you just know he's going to be one hell of a formidable weapon/opponent, especially in the Game

Sorry, but to me, Aegon is such a waste, he's nothing but a spoiled brat and a bully (love the actor though!) - imho Aemond showed more guts and his ability to handle things/play the Game

Alicent is truly giving off some Cersei vibes in that scene where she demands justice for Aemond; I have never been so glad to see Daemon when he prevented Criston from reaching Alicent's side; I also love how no one was going along with what she said, I get it, her kid lost an eye but to say one of Rhaenyra's kids has to do the same...yeah, no; it seemed like everyone else, even Criston and Otto, were looking off to the side thinking 'right now she's being cray cray, I ain't getting caught up in that'

I am so relieved they didn't kill Laenor; had Rhaenyra really okayed that and the murder happened, I would have been so upset with her; I'm glad she let him go live his best life instead (though I feel sad for Rhaenys and Corlys, especially after they just lost Laena)

speaking of Laena, what a badass! I'm sad at what happened to her but I thought she was a remarkable character - one I don't think we got to see too much of unfortunately

Larys needs to go but then again he does make a good villain

I'm about to slap Criston silly if he so much as smirks at or about Rhaenyra one more time - I get why he's bitter but in no way does it excuse this douchebaggery

I'm glad Otto is back but I'm also wishing he wasn't back if that makes sense?

When do we get to see more Caraxes and Syrax action? I loved seeing Vhagar but I need more of the other two as well

Harwin Strong should be renamed Hot Second, because that's literally how long he was in the show though he fathered all three of Rhaenyra's children - I would have liked to see more interaction with Rhaenyra and him, even if for only one more episode

The Inside the Episode for 1x07 was amazing - I loved Emma's honest take on Daemyra (she's so right btw) and Matt's blunt take on Daemon - they really understood the assignment

Loved Miguel directing 1x07 - it showed imho

Should be interesting to see where we go from here. Daemon is now officially back in the Game for the IT, what he always wanted and how he wanted it be. And Alicent, Otto, and his grandsons are standing in Daemon's way.

Interesting indeed.

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotdposts #thoughts #hotd 1x06 #hotd 1x07

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liyawritesss · 3 years ago

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Present Mic X reader where he has his S/O on his radio show thx

ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄɪɴɢ: ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴘᴏᴜꜱᴇ!

Pairing: Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic) x GN!Black!Reader

Genre: Headcanons + Drabble

Synopsis: In which Present Mic introduces his significant other on his radio show by popular demand.

Warnings: ADULT! Present Mic & Reader, mentions of marriage, curisng

A/N:My first time writing for Present Mic, so I hope I do him justice. He’s a real cool character and though he’s eardrum-damaging loud, I have no doubt he’d be a fantastic husband

It’s common knowledge that Hizashi hosts a radio show outside of school, which seems to be pretty popular and showed no signs of halting.

The students all tune in to it when they can and have fun getting on his nerves, but this stunt had to be the best one yet

Hizashi was hosting a new segment on his show and wanted people to chose who would be on it: having various options as the guest star and an ‘other’ option that would bring in more suggestions

This was his first mistake, and he would know this very soon

As the polls came to an end, he found that the ‘other’ option was particularly more popular, and when searching through the replies he found out why

The kids at UA got ahold of the poll and flooded the other section basically saying they wanted his lover on the show, in so many different words

Mans mentioned he was seeing someone ONCE and the kids just ran with it

As worried as he was, he had an event to deliver. His worry didn’t lie with how the public would receive the relationship - he had long disregarded the public's opinion when it came to you - but more so if either of you would get through the show without cracking each other up

“Heeeellloooo ladys and gentlemen; boys and girls; guys, gals and non-binary pals - and welcome back to Put Your Hands Up Radio!”

It was a slightly weird circumstance he had put himself in - having his lover sat right in front of him on the opposite side of the recording table. He took the opportunity, while the jingle of his show played out, too look across the table at you. He could tell you were a bit nervous, and he didn’t blame you. The influx of requests regarding your presence on the show was overwhelming. Hizashi gives you a quick thumbs up as a sign of reassurance, as he continues to speak:

“Thanks to the poll I posted last week - and a certain amount of people I know who voted on it - today’s guest is a very special person,” Hizashi announces, “They are many things, but today - per request - I will be introducing them as my significant other; (Y/N).”

With the mic being passed to you, there was an audible sense of hesitance in your voice: “Um, Hi, hello,” you started, “Tis I, the spouse, who was requested…” The first of many snickers and laughs had only begun.

The general consensus of the show was that people would call in to ask questions in regards to you, your life, etc. And the questions, as they came from teenagers, were nothing but risque.

How’d you two meet?

“I was actually a 2nd year when we met the first time,” you begin the story, “I was tasked with managing sparring matches for your 1st year class, and I specifically remember watching you get bodied by Shouta with that little scarf thingy he had back then-”

“Hey, he did not body me! I got in a couple of hits!”

“Baby, my love, you had a concussion - you were hitting the air that you thought was him.”

Any Embarrassing stories about Mr. Present Mic?

“Oh, plenty!” You said rather cheerfully, causing the blond to run his hands down his face. He knew exactly what you were about to bring up.

“Believe it or not, when ‘Zashi was going through puberty, it started affecting his voice before literally anything else,”

“Oh my god, not this again!” Said Hizashi, his laughing feigning irritation about the topic he wished he could forget.

“Literally you walk down the halls to your class and all you hear is him speaking in the loudest, most horrible autotuned voice ever. Like, just imagine walking to class and suddenly you hear ‘wElL tHaT wAs SoMe GoOd LuNcH sHouTa!’ at fucking 130 decibels. Like bro, you sounded like a whale tryna sing to its mate!”

Chose: Mr. Aizawa or (y/n)!

“Oh, Shouta for sure,” Hizashi replied; intending it as a joke to see how you would react to his answer. With the way you had feigned offense, he thought he had you-

“Y’know what, valid,” You reasoned, face falling into a look of understanding. It was now Hizashi’s turn to have his jaw dropped.

“Valid?! You weren’t supposed to say that!”

“Oh, shit I wasn’t?” There was a moment of silence before laughter broke out once more.

Questions like these came in, and the more ridiculous the question, the more hilarious the answers that were spilled. The tension in the air thankfully had faded away, with laughter and quips back and forth between the two of you. Viewers at home would be able to see and/or hear the connection the two of you shared. He was originally worried that you would be uncomfortable, and that perhaps the event would be a bit overwhelming for you. But, in seeing the event play out, HIzashi realized that perhaps his worry was for not. You certainly enjoyed spilling the tea on your teen years and the embarrassing stories that came with them. And as long as you were enjoying yourself, Hizashi was happy to share a part of his world with you.

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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years ago

Text

hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)

Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.

~*~*

Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood & violence.

A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

Ao3 Link: Here

*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here

Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return.

In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but… he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks.

But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo.

“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.”

That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew:

Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious.

Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind.

This couldn’t be happening.

“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him.

The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…”

He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat.

“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove.

“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.”

The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—”

“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.”

Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.”

“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—”

A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.”

“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.

The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs.

He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk.

Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did.

He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue.

“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—”

“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.”

“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—”

“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.”

“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses.

“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.”

Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot.

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him.

The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.”

“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached.

The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.”

He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore.

Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure.

“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.”

Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head.

Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do.

But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations?

He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability.

Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position.

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.”

The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.”

Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!”

“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.”

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova.

“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.”

You’re hearing will never be as it was.

The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current.

He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out.

Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies.

Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight.

He needed a fucking drink.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs.

Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy.

Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets.

Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb.

He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again.

“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more.

Except… he’d been standing still that time.

“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet.

The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving.

“What the fu—”

Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later.

Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs.

Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face.

A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots.

The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth.

This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight.

Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue.

Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky.

The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way.

Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them.

Dynamight was here to get the job done.

“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head.

The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc.

Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him.

The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet.

As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god.

He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch.

Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him.

A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought.

“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze.

Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar.

“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals.

Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again.

The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air.

A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window.

He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then…

Nothing.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time.

A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes.

When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop.

You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat.

Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place.

So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way.

It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to.

Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled.

That might also have had something to do with your little… side business.

You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia.

And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite.

But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least.

That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers.

For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst.

Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things.

Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself.

When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps.

But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself.

One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good.

So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet.

With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help.

At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful.

So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful.

When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own.

Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone.

This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train.

You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you.

“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.”

After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief.

The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering.

Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.”

You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts.

So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking.

Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away.

It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out.

You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments.

Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.

Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes.

You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass.

Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms.

What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms.

Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash?

Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs.

That sounded… closer.

With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky.

“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals.

You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person.

Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth.

Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack.

Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down.

The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air.

Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air.

A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached.

The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street.

You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill.

The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed.

The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it.

The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later.

The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames.

You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene.

Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him.

You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering.

You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped.

In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window.

Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.

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