#heroes of just being idiots and dying

[maxdibert]

It's curious how the Marauders fandom usually treats Peter as if he were some useless fool or simply the group's pet, when out of the four of them, he was the only one who actually proved to be somewhat efficient at anything. I mean, don't get me wrong, I think Pettigrew is a rat, both literally and metaphorically, but we have to admit that he was the only one who showed he was actually good at something. He switched sides without his friends realizing, acted as a spy for Voldemort, successfully betrayed his friends, enabling Voldemort to find them. He managed to bring his cult leader back to life years later and hid for years while faking his own death without anyone finding out.

I mean, I'm sorry, but even if it was for evil purposes, Pettigrew demonstrated that he was pretty cunning, resourceful, and useful. What did the others do? One got his school girlfriend pregnant, had to go into hiding, and got killed at 21. Another ended up in jail for 12 years only to be confined to his mother's house, contributing absolutely nothing during Voldemort's resurgence, throwing tantrums, and ultimately getting killed because he was reckless. And the last one spent 12 years hiding, doing absolutely nothing, only to show up and endanger his students by not taking his potion, got a 24-year-old girl pregnant, ran off when he found out, needed an 18-year-old kid to convince him to come back, and then died in the end.

Some heroes worthy of Godric Gryffindor, lol.

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt3 of the Danny is the 99th attempted clone Tim made of Kon. Kon learns about Danny.

Relevant info: Kon was dead closer to a year and a half in this au, and this happens a few months after his revival.

[Pt2: here] [Pt4: here]

So Tim has admittedly been putting off meeting up with the Titans. Everyone has settled back into the new normal. Too much has happened for it to look anything like before, but the other 3 Titans have been hanging out semi-regularly, and Tim turns down their invites 3 of 4 times. He knows it's starting to hurt their feelings, and he hates that.

But... he's scared to admit he's a father now. A father to a clone of one of them. He's not sure how to bring it up. Cassie never asked if he was successful, probably just assumed he failed because there isn't a third Superboy flying around. Jokes on her. Danny isn't going to be a Superboy. He's not allowed to even think about being a hero or vigilante until he's 14 at the earliest, and Tim is going to help him find his own name if he chooses that path. He won't be a Robin or Superboy. He won't live in the shadow of those legacies if Tim can help it.

None of that is relevant for the here and now, though. Tim got Jason to babysit Danny and finally agreed to a hang out with the Titans. He asked Danny for his opinion first before making his decision and got the go ahead. So, Tim is finally going to come clean.

Tim barely makes it into the tower when he's tackled by his friends.

"Tim! You're here!" Bart cheers.

"Yeah, it's good to see you guys too. Sorry I haven't been very present." Tim fidgets. "I've been busy... I also haven't been honest..."

"Tim?" Cassie sounds concerned. And Tim just can't. He extracts himself from the puppy pile. He can't make himself give eye contact. He's sure his guilt and shame are written all over his body language.

"Tim, you can tell us anything." Kon sounds super genuine. Tim takes a deep grounding breath.

"Okay, let's do this like a bandaid." Tim finally looks at them, focusing mostly on Kon. "I have a son. He's technically Kon's, too."

He gets the dubious pleasure of watching his three idiots look at his abdomen, as if he gave birth.

"Why-? Kon, we never fucked!? What the fuck guys??" He sputters, waving his hands in front of him.

"Then how-" Cassie realizes. "Oh!"

"Oh?? What do you mean??" Bart is looking between them and vibrating in confusion. Kon is just looking like a confused and concerned puppy.

"Okay, so, I may have had a breakdown with everyone dying or going missing." Tim grimaces. "And while I was fully aware that even if I succeeded, it wouldn't be Kon, I still tried to clone him. And, um, I did manage to succeed in the end."

"Fuck, Tim.." Kon starts.

"Look, I was in a really fucking dark place and needed even just a piece of good I lost." Tim hugs himself, self loathing burning him from the inside out. "Everyone was turning their back on me, I just needed something, anything, to keep going."

"Fuck, I should have helped..." Cassie bites her lip, chewing on her guilty conscious.

"It's fine. No one was listening. Don't beat yourself up over it. You were in a bad spot, too." Tim gives a humorless laugh. "Danny was my 99th attempt. And my last attempt, if I'm honest. I could feel myself breaking more with each failure. On a fucking whim, I decided to make the 99th attempt a baby instead of trying for a teenager, and it worked. I fucked up a bit, I forgot to adjust the knowledge download to that of a 1 year old, but he was alive. He's the best thing to ever happen to me. I was scared to tell you. I'm sorry-"

"Tim.." Kon cuts him off, and Tim snaps his mouth shut. "I.. I'm honestly not sure how to feel about you cloning me, but I'd like to meet him. What's his name?"

Tim rapidly blinks back tears. "Aedan Drake, he prefers being called Danny. I.. I didn't add Kent because I don't trust Clark with him or give him an El name, I wanted him to understand kryptonian language and culture first. I... I also wanted Danny to be old enough to make the decision over his name himself. I don't want him to be treated like you were. The house of El were so awful to you."

"I understand, Tim." Kon steps towards Tim, "Can.. Can I hug you?"

Tim nods and is swept into a tight hug. He feels something give emotionally, and he sobs into his shoulder. "I fucking love him so much."

"Tell me about him." Kon says softly. He can feel Bart and Cassie hoving, unsure what to do, but unwilling to leave.

"He's physically around 3 now. He loves ghosts and space and named the wolf plushy I bought him on his first day alive Wulf." There's some chuckles over that. "He's sassy and petty, but insanely sweet and tries to help out with any and all tasks. I see so much of both of us in him. Nature vs Nurture is a messy bitch. You remember what I said my start as Robin was like?"

"How you had to babysit a grown ass man and force him into better habits?" Cassie snarks.

"Karma's a funny bitch. Danny started doing the same shit to me as soon as he figured out how to walk." Tim giggles. "Anytime we weren't in danger, he'd force me to take care of injuries and to eat and sleep. And I'd do it because what kind of monster denies a baby trying to be helpful... plus he gets really stressed and depressed if he can't help."

Tim grips the back of Kon's shirt. "I don't understand how he developed my people pleaser tendencies so early on. We were stuck on LoA bases when he first started doing everything in his power to help me. I was purposely being a little shit to our "hosts" at the time. So it wasn't a surprise that he developed a Robin's need to troll, but he only saw me be nice to him."

"The LoA??" Kon asks in alarm.

"It was a rough year..." Tim scowls. "And if I see Ra's again, I'm gutting him. B's rules be damned."

"What happened?" Cassie asks, suddenly a lot closer.

"He's a creep, a pedo, and a child abuser." Kon rubs Tim's suddenly very stiff back and shoulders. "I could handle him being creepy towards me. While gross and awful to have a disgusting 300 or something year old man trying to wife me-"

"Excuse me???"

"He WHAT?"

"-I'm more pissed I couldn't protect Danny. I don't know what that piece of shit did when I couldn't take Danny with me, but Danny is linked to the pit now. He luckily doesn't have pit rage like Jason, but he can calm Jason's pit and apparently glows according to Duke." Tim sobs. "I should have killed the man when I had a chance. I don't know what he did to Danny!"

"It's not your fault, Tim." Kon hugs Tim tightly, it's almost painful. "You were in a tough spot and doing your best to keep you both alive."

"Just focus on healing and moving on." Bart says while running a hand through Tim's hair. Cassie rubs both Tim and Kon's backs as Tim gets himself under control.

"Can.. can I meet him?" Kon whispers.

"I'd love for you to meet him." Tim sniffles. "He was nervous you'd hate him for existing. I apparently passed on my stupid anxiety. I couldn't quite get him to believe me when I told him he wouldn't be who you'd be mad at if you got mad. He wants to meet you, but I accidentally made the most jaded baby in the world."

"A Super raised by a Bat is going to be terrifying." Bart giggles. "We'll have to make sure he doesn't become a supervillain."

"Meh. He's too cute. If he goes evil, all he has to do is pout and he'll instantly win." Tim jokes, wiggling out of the hug. "Want to see pictures?"

There's a very strong positive response. The next 3 hours finds Tim showing off pictures and explaining the stories behind them, his team melting at how cute his son is. Tim feels the lightest he's felt in a while. He does have to promise Bart and Cassie to bring Danny over once Kon and Danny meet one on one first.

What Tim doesn't know is Kon is absolutely obsessed with and slightly horny over this parental side of Tim. He's fully daydreaming of the 3 of them living together and being disgustingly domestic the whole time Tim is showing off Danny. Cassie can tell what Kon is thinking about and is amused.

Once Tim leaves, the Titans go to the training room and fuck up some bots because of the rage they feel on Tim and Danny's behalf. They all agree to be as petty as possible to any LoA members they come across and to murder Ra's the moment there's an opportunity to do so without the JL knowing. Tim isn't the only unhinged one on this team. That's why they work so well together.

[bratzblondie]

seven minutes katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

synopsis: As he lies dying, his mind drifts through seven memories.

a/n: This is my own take of this piece I saw. Go show them some support.

By the time the blood starts pooling beneath him, Bakugo already knows.

He’s not making it out of this.

The sky above is black smoke and large storm clouds, but his eyes are wide open. His chest feels too tight, too heavy, like his body is holding him down while the last few pieces of his soul try to fight their way out.

The rivet drill is still there, buried deep, pinning him to the earth like an insect on display.

He doesn’t feel it anymore.

Not really. Only the weight.

Seven minutes.

That’s what they say happens when you’re dying. Your brain floods you with the best parts of your life as it crumbles, like a parting gift before the lights go out.

Bakugo doesn’t want to see anything.

He wants to get back up. But he can’t.

So he lies there, stuck in his skin, and lets the minutes drag him under.

Minute 1

It’s not the day All Might saved him from the sludge villain, surprisingly.

It’s before that. Way before.

He’s four years old, sitting on the floor in front of their old TV.

His feet are bare, legs crossed, and his hands are sticky with orange popsicle.

All Might is on the screen, smiling that massive, dumb smile.

“Everything is fine now! Why? Because I am here!”

He can’t read the news crawl at the bottom yet, but he knows the words.

He’s memorized them. He can hear his tiny self chanting along.

His mom is standing behind him, folding laundry.

“You’ll be a great hero someday,” she says, like she doesn’t even think about it. Like it’s already true.

But he hears it.

And he believes her.

Minute 2

His old man is in this one.

Bakugo almost laughs, but it gets caught in the blood bubbling up in his throat.

He’s six, maybe.

There’s a thunderstorm outside. His mom’s at work late.

The lights in the apartment flicker out.

And he panics.

He hides under the table, his tiny hands clenched in his hair, breathing hard. His dad tries to get him out, kneeling on the kitchen floor with a flashlight, but he won’t move.

Finally, his dad crawls under with him.

“You hear that?” he says quietly.

Bakugo just stares at him.

“The thunder. That’s what you sound like when you use your quirk.”

Bakugo sniffs.

His dad presses the flashlight into his hands. “That loud? That strong? That’s you, Katsuki.”

It’s dumb, but it works.

They sit under the table together until the lights come back on.

Minute 3

It’s Deku. Of course, it’s dumb Deku.

But not the way Bakugo expects.

He’s not crying or whining, not the useless little nerd he remembers from when they were kids.

This memory’s recent.

It’s the day Bakugo apologized.

His hands shake when he says it. “I’m sorry.”

For everything.

For being a piece of shit.

For bullying him when they were kids.

For not understanding how hard Deku must’ve had it.

Deku stares at him for a long time. Then he smiles. And Bakugo hates him for it because it makes his chest hurt in a different way.

“It’s okay,” Deku says. “You’ve always been my hero.”

Minute 4

And then there’s you.

It’s stupid how fast you fill up his head.

He didn’t even realize how much space you took until now.

He’s sitting on the dorm balcony at U.A., his back against the wall, picking at the scar on his hand.

You come out and sit beside him without asking. You’re wearing his hoodie because you lost a bet with Kirishima, and he made you put it on. It swamps you. The sleeves are too long. And the hem pools and your thighs.

“Do you always scowl this much when you’re alone?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer.

But you stay.

And when you finally leave, his hoodie is still on you.

He tells himself he doesn’t care.

But he doesn’t ask for it back.

Minute 5

This one is louder, muffled, but there.

There’s music playing.

You’re at the training gym with everyone, but you’re the only one dancing like an idiot during cool-down stretches.

You’re singing along, off-key, way too loud, and your hair is stuck to your forehead because you’ve been sweating your ass off.

“Come on, Bakugo,” you say, grinning at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t dance.”

“Hell no.”

“Coward.”

You challenge him to a spar after that. And you almost win.

He cheats, grabbing your ankle when you flip him.

You laugh when you land on him, breathless and bright, and your fingers poke his ribs.

“Admit it,” you tell him, “you’re having fun.”

He doesn’t say anything.

But he is.

Minute 6

It’s winter.

You hate the cold, much like Bakugo, so you’re bundled up like a snowman, your nose tickled red, your hands shoved deep within your pockets.

He notices you don’t have gloves. He doesn’t say anything at first.

But when you’re not looking, he blasts his palms warm and presses them over your fingers.

You jump in your seat.

Then you laugh.

“Thanks,” you say, leaning into him without asking.

He doesn’t move away.

You fall asleep on his shoulder on the train ride home.

When you wake up, he’s still holding your hand.

Minute 7

The last minute is the worst.

Because he’s still here.

And you’re still here.

You’re screaming his name.

You’re running toward him through the rubble and the smoke and the bodies.

You hit the ground on your knees next to him, hands covered in his blood.

He can’t hear what you’re saying.

But he can feel your fingers on his face.

They’re shaking.

You’re crying. You don't cry, but you are now.

And it’s for him.

He wants to tell you not to. To wipe those shitty tears of your beautiful face.

He wants to tell you he was going to ask you out after the war.

He wants to tell you he was going to walk you home. That he was going to hold your hand without an excuse.

That he was going to kiss you, maybe, if you let him.

But his heart’s not working anymore.

And his mouth won’t move.

So he stares at you instead, memorizing your face for the last time.

You’re the last thing he sees.

And that’s good enough for him.

Because he loved you. And he never got to say it.

But maybe you’ll know anyway.

Seven minutes, and then it’s over.

© 2025 bratzblondie — All rights reserved. Don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[syn0vial]

Astarion Voicelines: Healing/Helping/Buffing (Now updated for Patch 1.3)

A compilation of Astarion's voicelines when he's healing a character with a spell, using the "help" action to free them from an immobilized position, or casting a buffing spell.

Voice lines added between patches 1.1 and 1.3 have been marked with bold text.

Healing (Negative Approval)

Of course you need help.

Waste of a spell.

There's always something.

A poor investment.

Don't bleed on me.

If I must.

Just don't bleed on me.

I should let it fester.

Do I have to touch them?

You're bleeding. Again.

Oh for Gods' sake.

I won't always save you.

Healing (Neutral Approval)

Stop bleeding - it's distracting.

We'll fix what we can.

Try not to die.

You're leaking.

Let's not die yet.

You owe me.

That's enough wasted blood.

There's life in you yet.

Let's fix what we can.

Healing. How novel.

Stop bleeding!

Fine, I'll save you.

Healing (Positive Approval)

A helping hand.

No more wasted blood.

We need you strong.

Let's play doctor.

We'll patch you up.

Let's not die yet.

You're wasting blood.

We need you strong.

It's not your time.

Let's fix that.

You're not dying.

Healing (Romantic Interest)

Let's fix you up.

Let's not waste any blood.

Let's lay on hands.

Let's play doctor.

No, no - that won't do.

The kiss of life.

Stay strong, darling.

You're not going down.

A little pick-me-up.

Healing touch.

Shhh, it's all right.

Helping (Negative Approval)

Of course you're stuck.

Of course they're trapped.

Let's get you loose.

Help the idiot.

Worse than useless.

Some don't deserve saving.

I should just leave you.

Oh no, is someone stuck?

You're a danger to yourself.

How have you survived this long?

I could just leave them...

I'll help. This time.

Can't they wriggle free?

So helpless...

Damned fool.

Give me patience.

Give me strength.

Oh no, they're stuck.

Helping (Neutral Approval)

Why am I not surprised?

Someone needs help.

What have you done now?

Yes yes, I'll save you.

Not that I'll get any thanks...

Must I?

Yes, fine.

Fine.

All right, I'm coming.

Yes, I'll free you.

Let's go already.

Your hero is here.

Do I have to do everything?

Yes, yes, I'm coming.

All right, I'm coming!

Fine, I'll free you.

Let's get you loose.

Oh for goodness' sake.

Because I've nothing better to do.

Get back in the fight.

I swear...

Helping (Positive Approval)

Ha! Oh I shouldn't laugh.

Help is here.

Relax, I've got you.

Come on, let's move.

I'll free you.

Your hero is coming.

All right, all right.

Let's get you up.

I'll get you loose.

Come on, move.

Easy, I'm here.

Hold on, I'm coming.

Helping (Romantic Interest)

A sticky situation.

Let's get you free.

I'm coming.

Really, darling?

Don't worry, I'm here.

Let's get you moving.

You look good helpless.

Maybe they like being restrained?

Don't worry, I'm here.

Let's get you moving.

You'll be free soon.

Oh I shouldn't laugh.

In a spot of bother, hmm?

Buffing (Negative Approval)

Try not to waste it.

Let's waste a spell - why not?

Do I have to do everything?

Useless.

Of course you need help.

Just try not to die.

What a waste.

Yes, fine.

Fine.

If I must.

Do I have to?

Buffing (Neutral Approval)

How did you last so long without me?

Do not waste this.

Don't worry, I'm here.

Someone needs help, I see.

Yes, all right.

A little help.

All right, here.

Don't waste this.

You clearly need some help.

Let's try to survive, hmm?

Stay strong!

Do not let me down.

Try not to die.

I swear, if you just die...

Fine, here!

Just try to survive, will you?

Buffing (Positive Approval)

Lucky I'm here.

Where would you be without me?

Here you go.

This should help.

Better safe than stiff.

A little boost.

A friend in need.

Someone needs a little help.

Just a moment.

Buffing (Romantic Interest)

I've got you.

Let's keep you safe.

Let's keep you cute.

Help is here.

Don't worry, I'm here.

For you, darling.

Just in case

Let's be safe.

Here, darling.

This should help.

No need to thank me.

[autisticrosewilson]

"Oh Steph wouldn't like Jason just because they have similar backgrounds because he kills people/is a criminal/fights the bats!!"

This is in the 90's BEFORE he even tortured her. She doesn't go through with it, but she sees the evil he's capable of and its enough for her to justify it. She only doesn't because it "goes against what Batman taught her" but well.

That's the same man who would let her dad's friends infest her house for MONTHS until BLACK CANARY came to Gotham and handled it

A grown man who would go on to verbally degrade her, withhold the tools he gave everyone else, keep her intentionally isolated and then use her lack of resources against her.

So yeah. I'm sure Steph's faith in Batman and his teachings have wavered plenty. Just because DC casually discarded the way she was treated so she could play happy family with the boys, but she has NO REASON TO. Before she was aged down there was definite tension between her and Tim, and while Babs worked to get that relationship back, Bruce did no such thing. "Oh I'm just as proud of you as I was with the boys" when he thought she was dying doesn't fucking change how he treated her.

And of course, there's her own forray into betraying the family and being a criminal in The Next Batman series.

That's without getting into how she was compared to Jason, the way she watched a murdered east end kid be toted as another violent, reckless, idiot who didn't think and got himself killed.

"Oh but he tried to kill Tim!" First of all, you didn't read that comic. Jason was TESTING him, they were 2 years apart MAXIMUM, and Tim FOUGHT BACK. Jason gave him a little cut and a nose bleed that he slapped a bandage on and was fine. Damian also started his first meeting with Tim antagonistically and even though he was actively hostile to her, Steph still formed a close sibling bond. Her first meeting with Tim she threw a brick at him. He spent a not significant amount of time belittling her and telling her she wasn't cut out for hero work when she came back. This is the same guy who hallucinated Jason just so Jason could be like "Oh I got myself killed don't be like me!" Can we be real she doesn't give a shit. I guess you could count Hush but. I know they retconned it so that was Jason but when the fuck would he have had the time to do that between death, catanoia, the All-caste, and his murder tour.

Stephanie understands better than anyone that desperate circumstances lead to desperate people who do bad things. Stephanie understands being belittled and compared to a rich white boy who never had to fight to survive like you did. She understands being isolated from the hero community. She understands the evil that exists and the ways the system is corrupt, and that the bad guy never STAYS caught. And it's not like she has any big problem with people who kill, Babs said in 90's she would fucking LOVE Joker to drop dead and Dinah has killed multiple times. She literally switched places with Lady Shiva? These are both women Steph looks up to. You don't think Steph would feel any admiration at all for someone who gave Bruce a taste of what it feels like to be shown up? Someone who made Roman's life hell? Someone who made Tim put action behind his shit talking? An alley kid who came back and refused to be another statistic, who showed everyone who spent the last decade calling him stupid and reckless EXACTLY how cunning he can be? None? At all?

I just find it a little hard to believe.

[deprivedreality]

𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝘿𝙔𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏?!

Word Count: 1.2k

Content contains: pro-hero bakugo being a career man. mentions of katsuki having an s/o! I hope these ideas capture his fiery, no-nonsense personality while also showing how much he’s grown into a reliable and inspiring hero.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who when every time someone mispronounces his hero name, he snaps and shouts “It’s DY-NA-MIGHT, not ‘Dynamo’ or whatever crap you just said! Learn how to read, damn it!”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who has a rigorous training schedule. Yes, cooking breakfast and cuddle time with his s/o is part of that schedule nevertheless. Even as a pro, Bakugo starts his day with a 5:00 a.m. workout. His mornings include explosive quirk drills, which terrify his neighbors, but he refuses to apologize because, “Heroes don’t take days off, morons.” He does try to keep it down a notch when he heard through his neighbors' kid that they were thinking about moving houses.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who insists on being on the frontlines for every mission, no matter the scale. He’s the first to charge in during a disaster and won’t leave until every civilian is accounted for. “If I’m not giving 100%, why the hell am I here?” And you better know that everyone appreciated him for his selfless actions.

Prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is efficient to a fault. His rescue operations are insanely effective but intimidating. He’ll shout at panicked civilians to “Move your asses, idiot!” but then carry them out of danger with precision and speed. Later, when they thank him, he awkwardly mutters, “Yeah, whatever. That's what I'm here for anyway. Just don’t get stuck again.”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who has a signature explosion mark. After saving the day, he always leaves behind a controlled, smoky explosion shaped like his logo—an orange starburst with jagged edges. Kids love it and call it his “hero stamp.” He just did it one time because y/n liked the idea of him having something like a bat-signal, it became like a routine for him.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who's surprisingly good with kids. He didn’t expect it either, but kids adore him. When they swarm him for autographs, he grumbles, “You better not smudge this!” but secretly loves the attention. He even kneels down to their level so they can high-five him. It did took him time to warm up to them after some thought, he wanted to be like how All Might was when he was a kid.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is strict with his sidekicks. Bakugo’s sidekicks are the most well-trained in the industry because he pushes them relentlessly. He shouts, “If you can’t handle this, you’re wasting my damn time!” but always ensures they’re prepared for real missions.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who still has an unspoken rivalry with Deku, and everyone in general, but now it’s about who saves more people. Bakugo keeps a tally and texts deku, “Took down 8 villains today. What’s your number, nerd?”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who personally oversees every modification to his hero costume, from grenade gauntlets to lightweight boots. If the support team messes up, he’ll fix it himself, muttering, “If you can't do it right, I'll do it myself.” This causes his support team to work twice harder next time.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who has workaholic tendencies. He rarely takes time off, claiming, “Villains don’t go on vacation, so why should I?” His s/o and his entire agency forces him to relax. Needless to say, his s/o alone can convince him. Even then, he’s still scanning news reports for emergencies.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is an emergency quirk strategist. Bakugo has a knack for coming up with split-second strategies in the middle of chaos. He’ll bark orders to other heroes, and while they’re annoyed at his tone, they follow him because he’s always right. Other heroes learned it the hard way one time when they didn't follow his 'suggestion' and ended up making the situation worse.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who gets tons of fan letters and gets flustered reading them. One of his fellow heroes suggested for him to buy a shredder, but you know damn well he flipped them off. He gets tons of fan mail, but he has no idea how to respond. He also did not know what to do with them until his s/o opted to help him with this problem. Sometimes he’ll scribble a quick “Thanks” with a little explosion doodle and hope it’s enough, his s/o would be the one to arrange and mail them.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is devoted to his parents. Bakugo visits his parents regularly, bringing them little gifts like flowers for his mom (which she teases him about) and bunch of snacks and clothing pieces for his dad. He even helps fix things around their house during his rare free time. He makes sure his sidekicks and secretary knows when to remind him to call them during breaks.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who has is looked up to by other pros for his emergency evacuation drills. When Bakugo’s agency holds safety drills, his team wins every time. He calls it “real hero training” and will go all-out to make sure everyone’s prepared.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who was invited one time to attend a charity by ochako and it became something he does everytime. While he’s not a fan of public speaking, Bakugo attends charity events because he believes in helping beyond hero work. He’ll reluctantly auction off items like “Bakugo’s autographed gauntlet,” secretly donating extra money because “those kids need it more.”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is an incredible loyal team leader. Bakugo might be tough on his team, but he’s fiercely protective of them. He is especially protective of his interns, some of them referring to him as the older brother they never had. If a villain hurts one of his sidekicks, you better know he’ll go all-out to take them down while yelling, “You don’t touch my people!”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who built his own agency to be one of the best heor agency headquarter there is. His agency is a sleek, well-organized base equipped with cutting-edge tech and a training ground. The office is always clean because he enforces “No slacking off!” rules, even for janitorial staff. In his hq, he made sure that there is one room dedicated for his s/o.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who became an unintentional role model. Despite his rough personality, students and new heroes look up to Bakugo because of his dedication and success. He doesn’t know how to handle compliments and usually responds with, “Stop wasting time and go do your damn job!”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who mastered using small, precise explosions for rescues—blasting through rubble without causing harm or creating paths for civilians. It’s become his trademark move, and no one does it better.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who's explosive personality makes him a media favorite, but he hates interviews. When forced to participate, he answers in blunt one-liners like, “Villains suck, so don’t do crime.” Although he did receive criticism at the start of hero career because of his brash attitude, but that's all.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who knows how to separate his personal life from his career so well that some fans were surprised when he revealed in an interview that he was already married. He proudly showed off his wedding band, telling his interviewer that he was a happy married man.

ᓚᘏᗢ @deprivedreality 2023 | all rights reserved.

[teambyler]

The most heartbreaking way Byler can culminate (and how I predict it will)

(pic from 80smayfieldz)

Just cry me with today, okay? :')

We all know that when Mike and Will confess their love it has to be EPIC. Like, extreme circumstances need to happen to make these gay boys in an 80s small town confess their love. It's the only way a romance with THIS much build-up over years should pay off.

Bylers need to watch this scene from the Season 1 finale of Agents of SHIELD (Warning: spoilery if you plan to watch this old show... and you will cry!) It's two LONG-TIME BEST FRIENDS but only one can make it out alive. A secretly loves B and has avoided confessing his love because he thinks it's unrequited. He finally admits it, to explain why he's making the ultimate sacrifice.

Now think of Mike and Will on a dangerous mission that is KEY to saving Hawkins. Maybe they're in the church that Noah and Finn are shooting a scene in. Will realizes only one of them can make it out alive, and decides it'll be Mike:

Mike: "There's got to be another way, that's RIDICULOUS! You can't do this, you're my best friend!" Will: "You're more than that, Mike (can't believe he said it, fights back tears) ... Now, PLEASE..."

This is my best prediction of how it'll go. WILL confessing to MIKE makes more sense writing-wise. Mike probably figures out the Painting Lie early in s5, but how he feels for Will remains a mystery. So how MIKE responds to a love confession is uncertain.

This is a season where the Duffers have hinted they'll highlight Will's courage. So he can finish his coming-out arc by telling the person he loves. The Duffers have said Will, always the protected one, the rescued one, will come into his own in s5. I think this means he gets to be the hero this time. It will be a poetic way for Will to finally thank Mike for everything he did for him in s1 and s2; it gives symmetry to their relationship. And it would be a heroic send-off for Will.

(And NO I don't think Will will die. We gays have already had our Reddie and Destiel tragedies. Will dying would go against how the Duffers have set this show up.)

What will Mike do, when confronted with losing Will forever?

We know how he felt once before...

Mike offers himself instead, but for the mission it needs to be Will. This is the last time he'll see Will alive.

Does Mike tell Will he loves him? We know the boy struggles with saying how he feels.

Mike begs Will not to die. He can't lose him AGAIN. He couldn't live if he did. When Will doesn't believe it, MIKE KISSES HIM.

Actions, not words. ("I didn't say it." "You didn't have to.")

Mike insists on staying. Will tries to make him leave, but he refuses.

"You've always been an idiot, Mike." Will doesn't know to laugh or cry. He's sad... not about dying, but regrets the years they lost not being together.

They kiss again and hold each other tightly... And we again hear Peter Gabriel, as the church walls fall and the world is about to end:

And we kissed as though nothing could fall And the shame The shame was on the other side And we can be heroes just for one day.

-teambyler

[blairxbear]

How they react to you texting them for help, only to find out there's just a spider in your room...

UA Part 1 / UA Part 2 / Pro Heroes / Villains

Pure fluff, chaotic misunderstandings, and lots of over-the-top reactions!

Featuring: Katsuki Bakugo, Tamaki Amajiki, Hitoshi Shinso, Eijiro Kirishima, Mezo Shoji, Fumikage Tokoyami, Rikido Sato, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Katsuki Bakugo

Your Text:

"Katsuki, I NEED YOU RIGHT NOW!! IT'S AN EMERGENCY!!"

His Reaction:

IMMEDIATE PANIC MODE.

Eyes widen, jaw clenches, heart rate through the roof.

Drops everything.

"FUCK—ON MY WAY."

BURSTS OUT OF HIS ROOM, BLASTING HIS WAY OVER LIKE A DAMN ACTION HERO.

Busts your door open. "WHERE THE FUCK IS THE THREAT?!"

Sees you standing on a chair, pointing at a tiny-ass spider in the corner.

Silence.

The longest, most painful silence.

His eye twitches.

"You mean to tell me… YOU TEXTED ME LIKE YOU WERE DYING… FOR A FUCKING SPIDER?!"

You nod, still scared.

He sighs so hard he might pass out.

Grumbles under his breath but still yeets the spider out the window like a pro.

Turns back to you, arms crossed. "I swear to god, (Y/N), if you ever—"

You give him big puppy eyes.

He groans, running a hand through his hair. "Tch. Whatever. But you owe me dinner for this bullshit."

(Subtly stays for a bit just to make sure no more spiders appear.)

Bonus: Next time, if you text him, he replies with, "Spider or actual emergency? Be specific, dumbass."

Tamaki Amajiki

Your Text:

"Tamaki, please come quick! I need help!"

His Reaction:

IMMEDIATE EXISTENTIAL CRISIS.

Heart drops. Hands shake. He rereads the text five times.

OH GOD, WHAT IF YOU’RE BEING ATTACKED? WHAT IF YOU’RE HURT?

He doesn’t even text back—just SPRINTS OUT OF HIS ROOM.

Barges in, breathless, face PALE.

"Wh-what happened?! Are you okay?! Do you need the hospital?!"

You just shakily point at the spider on your dresser.

Tamaki.exe has stopped working.

Literal processing error.

Goes completely silent for a full ten seconds.

Blushes. A lot.

"O-oh. Uh. Th-that’s it?"

Face-palms so hard, but still takes care of the spider for you.

Cups it in his hands and gently releases it outside.

Still too embarrassed to make eye contact with you.

Mumbles, “Y-you… you scared me…”

You apologize, and he just nods, fidgeting with his sleeves.

Secretly proud he saved you, even if it was just from a spider.

Bonus: Now every time you text him, he hesitates before responding, "Is this another spider or…?"

Hitoshi Shinso

Your Text:

"Shinso, HELP ME PLEASE. COME QUICK!"

His Reaction:

Half-asleep when he sees your message.

Groans, rubs his eyes, heart already pounding.

"Shit… I’m coming."

Drags himself out of bed, throws on a hoodie, mentally preparing for battle.

Shows up at your place, yawning but READY.

Looks around. No blood. No screaming. Just you, standing on your bed.

Then you point at the spider on your wall.

He just… stares at you.

Squints. Blinks slowly.

Sucks in a deep breath.

"…I should’ve stayed in bed."

But despite his grumbling, he takes care of the spider for you.

Doesn’t even kill it—just casually flicks it out the window.

"There. Now go to sleep, you menace."

You grin at him, and he sighs, rubbing his temples.

"…I hate that I like you."

Bonus: If you ever text him for help again, he responds with, "On a scale of 1 to spider, how serious is this?"

Eijiro Kirishima 

Your Text:

"KIRI PLEASE HELP ME IT’S AN EMERGENCY!!"

His Reaction:

INSTANTLY JUMPS INTO ACTION.

Practically runs through walls to get to you.

"I’M COMING, DON’T WORRY!!!"

BURSTS IN, fists clenched, ready to fight off villains.

Sees you on the couch, looking scared.

Sees the spider on the floor.

Processing…

"…OH."

Relaxes, laughing nervously. "Haha, that’s… that’s the emergency?"

You nod frantically.

His heroic instincts kick in. "Alright, I got this!"

Gets down on one knee like he’s about to do some dramatic act of bravery.

Picks up the spider with his bare hands, grinning like an idiot.

Casually walks outside and lets it go, waving at it.

"See ya, little dude!"

Turns back to you, grinning. "Mission complete!"

Does a victory flex like he just saved an entire city.

You shake your head, laughing.

"Kiri, you’re ridiculous."

"Ridiculously manly, you mean!"

Bonus: From now on, he calls himself your “Spider Slaying Hero” and will dramatically pose every time he saves you from one.

Mezo Shoji 

Your Text:

"Shoji, HELP! I NEED YOU NOW! IT’S URGENT!"

His Reaction:

Immediate concern. His heart races.

Drops whatever he’s doing and SPRINTS to your place.

So quiet that you don’t even hear him arrive—he’s just suddenly there.

Busts open the door, multiple arms ready to block an attack.

"Where are they? Are you hurt?"

You just shakily point at the spider on the ceiling.

Pause. Processing.

Slow blink.

"…(Y/N)."

His arms all slowly lower.

You give him an innocent smile. "I panicked."

Sighs SO HARD but still removes the spider for you.

Carefully cups it in one of his hands and takes it outside.

Returns and stares at you with his signature unreadable expression.

"Next time, please specify that the ‘danger’ has eight legs."

But despite his exasperation, he still ruffles your hair gently before leaving.

Bonus: Next time you text him, he’ll reply with, "Spider again?" before even asking what’s wrong.

Fumikage Tokoyami 

Your Text:

"Tokoyami, please come quickly! It’s an emergency!"

His Reaction:

He IMMEDIATELY assumes you’re in life-threatening danger.

Dramatically sweeps his cape back and RUNS to your place.

Bursts in like some kind of gothic knight.

"Fear not, (Y/N)! I am here to vanquish your demons!"

Sees you standing on your chair, pointing at the spider.

Silence.

Dark Shadow loses it. “PFFT—A SPIDER?! THAT’S THE BIG BAD THREAT?! BWAHAHAHA!”

Tokoyami sighs deeply, shoulders dropping.

"…You summoned me for… this?"

Despite his deadpan tone, he still calmly picks up the spider and lets it outside.

Dark Shadow is STILL LAUGHING. “Bro, you looked so cool running in, and it was for A SPIDER.”

Tokoyami is trying SO HARD to keep his dignity intact.

Clears his throat. Flips his cape dramatically before turning to you.

"I shall always answer your call, (Y/N)… but next time, I request full details of the situation."

Bonus: You now have to endure Dark Shadow roasting you for a full week.

Rikido Sato 

Your Text:

"SATO, PLEASE HELP! IT’S AN EMERGENCY!!"

His Reaction:

Drops his protein shake IMMEDIATELY.

Bolts to your place, heart pounding.

Kicks open the door like he’s about to throw hands.

"ARE YOU OKAY?! WHO DO I NEED TO—"

Stops when he sees you hiding behind a chair, pointing at the wall.

Follows your gaze. Sees the spider.

Processing…

"Wait… the emergency is a spider?"

You nod. He rubs his face.

Deep sigh of relief. "Oh, man. I thought you were like… bleeding out or something."

Still smiles, though, because he finds it cute that you called him.

Squishes the spider with a napkin and throws it away.

Turns to you, arms crossed, smirking. "You owe me a cookie for that one."

(100% will stay and eat snacks with you afterward. No way he’s running over here for nothing.)

Bonus: From now on, whenever you text him, he replies, "Do I need to bring snacks, or is it just another spider?"

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Your Text:

"Tetsu, PLEASE HELP ME! IT’S REALLY BAD!!"

His Reaction:

ZERO HESITATION.

"HANG ON, I’M COMIN’, BABE!"

Sprints full speed, metal hardening as he gets ready to BRAWL.

Barrels through your door like a human wrecking ball.

"WHO DO I NEED TO PUNCH?!"

Sees you clinging to your bed.

Sees the tiny spider.

Immediate 180.

"…Wait. You called me for a SPIDER?"

You nod frantically. He blinks. Then GRINS.

"HA! Alright, I got this!!"

Dramatically cracks his knuckles. Squats down like he’s preparing for an intense battle.

SLAMS his fist into the ground… and completely misses.

Spider scurries away.

"OH HELL NO, GET BACK HERE!"

You watch as he starts CHASING THE SPIDER AROUND YOUR ROOM LIKE A MADMAN.

Ends up punching a hole in the wall.

Finally smashes the spider and stands up, hands on his hips, grinning.

"MISSION COMPLETE!"

You just stare at the hole in your wall.

Tetsutetsu: "Uh… that was already there, right?"

Now you have a broken wall, but at least the spider is dead.

Bonus: Next time, he’ll still come running, but he’ll shout, "IS IT A SPIDER OR A REAL FIGHT?!" before getting there.

Ko-fi / Masterlist

blairxbear © 2024. do not copy, modify, or translate my work. you do not have permission to share my work outside of tumblr!

[redux-iterum]

The time has come at long last!

I have been dying to talk about Darkstripe and his relationship to Tigerclaw this entire book, and now I finally get to. Long-ass rambling under the cut.

So the thing with Darkstripe, as Fireheart pointed out, is that he’s always miserable. And he’s been that way his whole life. From the womb, he came out unhappy. I don’t think he ever really experienced true joy the entire first six months of his life. Why? I can’t say. I never wrote him with a specific personality disorder in mind, but it wouldn’t shock me if he had one.

The important thing is that this King Haggard-esque joylessness caused him to act out in the vain attempt to feel something other than anger and misery. He bullied the other kits, he got into fights, he threw tantrums, everything, all in the hope that it would bring him any kind of release from the vice grip his negativity had on him. It didn’t. There was no satisfaction in his behavior, except perhaps the small feeling of power he got by eliciting an angry reaction from adults and a fearful one from younger kits. His family loved him, but I don’t think anyone liked him, including them. He isolated himself socially, making himself more miserable and angrier, and he scorned affection from anyone. It wouldn’t do anything for him. Why bother?

So why did he cling so hard to Tigerclaw, then? There’re a couple reasons.

For one, though he isn’t aware of it, he saw Tigerclaw as an ideal self: stoic to the point of coldness, strong and fearsome and distant, and completely loved by everyone in the Clan, and even highly respected outside of it. Tigerclaw was everything Darkpaw wanted to be in the deepest recesses of his fantasies. Darkpaw admired him for that to the point of hero-worship, and that was the main thing that kept him in line when Tigerclaw was around to tell him to stop being a dick.

Secondly, when he did chastise him, it wasn’t with anger. Darkpaw couldn’t see how embarrassed he made Tigerclaw when he acted out because his behavior would shift the instant he was aware his model was around to watch him and judge him. He also didn’t see it because Tigerclaw, as he so adored, was stoic and didn’t give off a vibe of “by the Three, my apprentice is awful” the way another mentor likely would have, even if he was thinking it to himself. As far as Darkpaw knew, he was just as loved by his mentor as any other apprentice and mentor loved each other (which, as we’ve established on this blog, is like family most often). He wasn’t, but he didn’t realize that at all.

Third… well, honestly, because of those two first factors, Darkpaw felt something akin to true joy when he was around Tigerclaw. He felt lighter and stronger and more determined with his mentor. He felt like he wasn’t just hated and disregarded and avoided (not that he wasn’t these things out of his own making, but he lacks an incredible amount of self-awareness). Here was the cat who shone a light in the pitch-dark of his world, who made him feel something positive. He almost mourned when he got his name, because he couldn’t just be with Tigerclaw 24/7 for the rest of his life. This cat was admirable. This cat was amazing. This cat gradually became, in his mind, his true father. Patchpelt didn’t matter. His brother didn’t matter. Tigerclaw was the only cat worth following in the territories. He was everything to Darkstripe.

And then here comes this kittypet, with his stupid naivety and his stupid scrawniness and his stupid, stupid, stupid ability to hypnotize everyone into liking him. And here he is, stealing what’s rightfully Darkstripe’s: Tigerclaw’s love for a son. Here Darkstripe has to sit, seething as Fireheart is looked at by Tigerclaw with fatherly pride and fondness, and here Fireheart is, so smug and sincere and idiotic, looking back at Tigerclaw with immense love.

And then he fucking murders him.

Now, to be clear – Darkstripe knows, objectively, that Fireheart did not physically kill Tigerclaw. That wimp is too weak to do anything but sit there sadly and watch his father go to his grave. He knows that he wasn’t at the lead of the investigation into Tigerclaw’s crimes. But his sheer hate and resentment over everything else about Fireheart is so powerful that he genuinely forgets that, technically, it was his nephew that did this to him. Ravenwing is the source of his pain, and yet it’s all Fireheart’s fault.

It's Fireheart who stole Darkstripe’s father away. It’s Fireheart who everyone loves when he didn’t do anything to earn it. It’s Fireheart who everyone comforted and cared about after he fucking murdered Tigerclaw.

And it’s Fireheart, the one who ruined his life, that has the brass to try and make friends with Darkstripe, tries to extend sympathy and understanding like he could ever grasp just how much pain Darkstripe is in.

And the most ridiculous thing about this whole insanity is that Fireheart gets rewarded for his crimes! He gets to be leader! He gets everyone’s support! He gets to be close to Tigerclaw’s real family and let his apprentice run around in the Houses and be listened to despite how young he is and be loved by everyone and-

Stars above, Darkstripe hates him.

How can he be at fault for that? How can everyone be so angry at him for lashing out, when he’s suffering more than they could possibly understand? It’s not fair! It’s not right! It’s bullshit!

All Darkstripe has at this point – the one thing keeping him sane and his overwhelming fury barely contained – is the belief that Tigerclaw loved him. He’s managed to convince himself that he was Tigerclaw’s son and Tigerclaw was his father, and what they had was perfect until a kittypet came along and ruined it. He was loved. Tigerclaw loved him. He was proud of him. He cared about him.

And as if he was psychically aware of what would hurt the most, Fireheart takes that one shred of hope and comfort and rips it away from him. Tears it into pieces. Stomps on the tattered remains. Forces him to acknowledge that it’s not true. That Tigerclaw was embarrassed of him. That he didn’t love Darkstripe at all. He loved Fireheart.

Objectively, on some level, I’m sure Darkstripe knew this too. But his lack of self-awareness and desperation to cling to his only source of semi-joy convinced him otherwise. To have realty confirmed by the cat he hates the most was just too much for him.

So of course he leaves. He has to. There’s nothing in ThunderClan for him. No friends. No family he could win the love of. No Tigerclaw. He just.

He has to go.

Does he think there’ll be anything out there? No, probably not. But it’s infinitely worse to live in the same space as the architect of his misery and see that piece of shit be rewarded for everything he’s done. And he’s not going back, ever again. Not to those idiots, not to their murdering, stupid, ugly, cowardly little leader. Let them all starve to death. Let them all die of a torturous disease. Let more dogs show up and snap all of their necks. He doesn’t care what happens to them.

He’d rather die than go back.

[yandere-wishes]

ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕔 𝔹𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖

Synopsis: You finally realize that you and Miguel are stuck inside a comic book romance. 

Warnings: Yandere themes, angst, the reader has Stockholm syndrome but can we really blame her? 

There's something about a sleepless night that's lethal. A loaded gun aimed point blank at your head and your heart and your eyes that are too weary to recall the difference between fact and fiction. Right and wrong.

Miguel should be home soon you think as you stare at the Daily Bugle's nightly broadcast. The headlines are the same as last week's villain attack and the week before that, and the week before that. 

'SPIDERMAN REPORTED DEAD AFTER TANGLE WITH NUEVA YORK'S NEWEST VILLAIN!'

 You think this is the 18th time he's died this month. A hologram dances in front of you, some withering reporter adamant in his claim that this time. This time for sure Spiderman is dead. A Harrowing claim, one you know to be false. Your lover isn't so easy to kill, you should know on account of how many times you had tried. Back when you'd painted Miguel O'Hara as the villain in your story, back when you were so obstinate to return to a wholly ignorant life of so-called freedom. 

Miguel can't die, you refuse to believe that a man like that is subject to such a mortal thing. 

You use to try to imagine a Miguel that had grown old. You couldn't back then and still can't today. Because heroes are eternal, or so you've come to believe.  They die a hundred deaths and reawaken younger than before. Heroes aren't immortal -that's the part that makes your heart skip a beat- yet death has never had the chance to lay claim to them. Miguel is fine you're sure of it. 

There's a noise, a disturbance in the wind, the sound of thousands of coiled webs being used to sling across the air.

A sign that Spiderman has arrived.

He's here.

You can't help but smile. 

"What's the old man saying this time?" 

You turn to see Miguel, land at the edge of the rooftop. Legs limb as he staggers towards you. With a defeated moan he sits down. Close enough for you to inspect the galaxy of bruises that dance across his stunning face. 

When did you fall in love with him, again? 

"You're supposed to be dead," you say, a bitter laugh following, the peculiar words.

"I think that's the 14th time the Bugals had a spread on me dying" He chuckles, dry and humorless. 

You bite your tongue to avoid correcting him. 

"Who was it this time? Venom or Flipside?" you ask, trying to guess which of the two had been able to give the Miguel O'Hara a run for his money. 

"Just some kid, from another dimension. Mocoso already screwed up the canon once, and he's damn well trying to do it again. He used Spider Bite to send himself home, so I didn't get the chance to..." He doesn't bother finishing that sentence. Doesn't have to, you've seen worlds collapse upon themselves because a tiny imperfection had distraught the canon. You know why he does this. You know why he must do this. No one is exempt from the canon. No matter how young and naive they may be. 

How peculiar the life of superhumans are. For all the guts and glory every hero's world is only bounded by thin silk strings. Perpetually on the verge of collapse should the chosen one refuse to follow destiny's orders. 

Heroes aren't pretty, they neither sparkle nor shine. Instead, they burn with a self-lit fire that grows out of control, burning until only ashes remain. Heroes are tragedies swung across every dimension. War-torn children with blood under their fingernails and chipped teeth from one too many close calls. Heroes aren't pretty, nor beautiful, nor divine. They're mangled creatures who come alive at night, staggering across half-lit streets doing what they believe is right. 

You've tried to commit this to memory. Tried to memorize it so you wouldn't make the same mistakes as every lovesick idiot who's fallen in love with a superhero. 

But sometimes it's so hard to remember, especially when Miguel has been your only companion for months now. The only person you have to talk to. The only person who is there in the early hours of the morning when even sleep abandons you. And he's always there again at night to tuck you in before he departs to fight whoever has broken the few simple rules that the canon calls for. You've almost come to appreciate his paranoia and insistence that you stayed locked inside the penthouse. Although he's grown a bit bolder as of late. Permitting you free range of the terrace and rooftop. A sign of good faith, he'd called. Whilst you'd presume that he's come to enjoy you waiting outside to greet him when he returns from the miseries of being a golden boy. 

"I try to save everyone, I try to make sure the universe is held upright. So why the hell does everyone always treat me like I'm the villain?" His voice is raising, fangs glowing in loose rays of starlight. His hands are crossed in annoyance. You rest your hand on his arm as you snuggle closer.

Heroes and villains, what's the difference? 

That's a question the two of you have been pondering for too long now. 

Even though you doubt  Miguel truly knows who he is. It's hard to fall into the orderly boxes of 'good' and 'bad' when the fate of every universe lies on your already brittle shoulders. 

He's a hero who acts like a villain. That's what you use to call him. Back when he'd first plucked you away from your ordinary mundane life.Deeming the world too dangerous for a defenseless little civilian such as yourself. He had promised to love you, to cherish you. Back when you'd been so resistant to play the role of the hero's lover. But seeing as how no matter what nightmares he went through as Spiderman, he had still kept those two promises. You had slowly started to grow fond of him

Time and time again Miguel has made you feel like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. Wings clipped and waiting for the inevitable. He's overbearing to the point where his sheer presence feels like a boulder placed on your chest. Or maybe his strings have finally found their way to your heart, coiling around the organ controlling its every beat and pulse. Yet somehow, somehow, you started to desire more and more of him.

You're in love with the hero who plays the villain. 

You're in love with the villain who bares a hero's mask. 

"You should be more careful when dealing with the other spiders. I hear they're not all as precautious as you." Your fingers trace the purpling marks on his cheek.  Sliding from one universe to another. 

You know Miguel isn't a tiny spider he's a bloodthirsty tarantula. Yet you still worry. Fear that one day he may fail to return home. 

"You shouldn't worry about me preciosa,"

"Someone has to, Miguel, you're not as indestructible as you may think."

"If I kiss you will you stop complaining?"

There's no room to answer, his lips rest on yours, forceful and sweet. Captivating, dominating, and as always overbearing. His fangs slowly sink into the back of your lips. That familiar iron taste invades your mouth once again. 

Sometimes Miguel feels like a hero, shouldering the universe's burdens, and fighting for what's right. After all, with great power comes great responsibility. This is what he wanted, he always wanted to be the hero.

But sometimes when the spider's lair is abandoned and he returns home to you, he can't help but feel like the villain. He's protecting you he knows that. Justifying it is easy when you watch dimensions wither away in violent glitching and endless screams, daily. Yet he wonders if his predecessors were ever like this. If the heroes are supposed to keep their lovers locked away. Alone yet safe. A fair trade in his mind. 

Miguel isn't quite human, half-everlasting and half-horror. 

A dangerous combination

Or at least a confusing one. 

The point is he's some sort of hero. But that also means he's some sort of villain. Even the old tales got things wrong, not every superhero is carved from porcelain and ivory. Not every villain is built from ash and rage.  

Sometimes heroes are carved from gravestone granite and glazed with poison. Sometimes their powers are self-inflicted curses that chew away at flesh and bone. sometimes the hero's halo is made of barbed wire digging into his scalp and embittering his thoughts. Sometimes heroes kill themselves before any villain gets the chance. Spitling their body apart a million times a day because destiny decided to play a cruel joke on them. Picking the weakest of all mankind to become its guardian. 

When he pulls away from the kiss, he lifts your hand to his mouth. 

His fangs sink into your finger puncturing bone as he gnaws the stress away. Blood leaks down his chin, spilling over the rooftop. He pulls your body closer. An anchor in a never-ending storm. 

You kiss his chin, looking into his eyes. Eyes that can never choose whether they wish to be human or monster. Your head instinctively finds his chest nestling into the cold metal of his suit. 

Oh, how you wish you could crack his rib cage open and crawl inside. 

Sometimes you think back to the original tales. The ones from your dimension, albeit it seems that -regardless of a few rare exceptions- the stories are consistent in every universe.  

The story always goes the same. Peter Parker falls in love with MJ or Gwen, you've come to learn that in the long run, it doesn't really matter. Spiderman saves them again and again. Until the whole world knows that Mj or Gwen are somehow connected to the masked hero. But never once does she leave his side. Rebellious blond or dotting redhead, Spiderman's lover stays regardless of how desperate and vicious the villains become when they start to learn that the story always ends in the hero's favor. 

It's every gal's dream to be the lover of a superhero. Awaiting their betrothed's triumphant return. Greeting them with amorous tidings and cherry red kisses. 

You think you're Gwen or Mary Jane. Or whoever else decided to fall in love with the troubled boy who has radioactivity coursing through his veins. The boy who was deemed a hero and thus was destroyed because of it.

Of course, there's the other part. The underlying message of the story, that parents all so conveniently 'forget' to tell their children. The disease of the otherwise perfect tale. They forget to tell you that Gwen Stacy fell to her death and Mary Jane is left abandoned, once the hero realizes that his mere presence is a curse. Stories may end in the hero's favor but much like the villain the lover is also doomed by the narrative. That's normal for any hero's lover. They always burn out to cater to the hero's ever-fuming torch of justice.

you feel broken, as you're sure they did too. An unspoken rule of being with a hero is that eventually, you start to lose your sense of self without them. It doesn't make sense when you put it like that but along the way bits and piece of you broke off. Pieces that you forgot to patch up. You've been mending by using segments of Miguel to make yourself feel whole again. It's a small miracle that you still hold a fading memory of whom you used to be before he made you his. A miracle that sweeps through the cracks of your soul. 

Heroes never need to fear death, just an eternity of pain. Losing everyone they love, over and over again. Maybe that's why Miguel's grip is so suffocatingly tight. He knows that eventually, not today and maybe not tomorrow but eventually he's going to lose you too. 

You're a comic book Juliet and he's Romeo with superpowers. Everyone knows that comic book heroes are doomed from the start. Neither you nor Miguel are exceptions. 

Maybe the two of you are doomed by the narrative.

But for tonight, as the moon slowly sinks behind the skyscrapers and the stars fade one by one. The two of you are safe in each other's arms. 

[byleriscanon]

okay so this absolutely insane why am i only seeing this now

for instance, when theo said he won’t die for him, it’s paralleling to mason's fear of them "dying tonight". he just wants to stay alive, he wants them to stay alive.

and then liam agrees with how he won't either, but will still fight with him because - they’re not dying tonight

(i still reckon they’re both emotionally constipated idiots who can't admit they would actually die for the other) - but in this specific scene, i feel like this is more about the want for both of them to survive - and not for it to end with one playing the hero.

and the "is it a weird time to say i love you ?" parallels exactly theo's state of mind.

him on his way to flee from beacon hills, planning to leave everything - liam behind. but taking a detour to get to the hospital - liam after scott told him he's in danger.

"is it a weird time to say i love you?" if im planning on leaving

"not if i love you too"

liam startled to see theo being there,

to see theo take gabe's pain, caring - still being there,

"not if i love you too" you're not leaving tonight

and in this scene, what is so apparent between the four of them is the difference both relationships holds. but still being able to parallel their care for one another

corey and mason kissing desperately, because they're afraid of dying - they care for eachother

liam and theo fighting together, because they want to stay alive - they care for eachother

but anyway jeff davis you are CRAZY for this parallel ! all of this in the same episode and same PLACE. insane.

[luvsymai]

wondering if request based of managa /anime on chapters 365 like you know how bakugou is currently severely injured in manga /anime instead of bakugou almost dying it’s the reader who takes all the hits blows for him when fighting shigaraki which led reader to endure attack to chest and arms to protect bakugku maybe she using her full potential of her quirk which is slowy corrupting her due to overuse and possibly shigiraki took advantage and attack her just wanna add that to mix aslo can reader powers be similar to scarlet witch if don’t know mcu or her you can do like raven type dark magic from teen titans if this makes sense aslo can ending be somewhat angst and fluff ending if that’s ok i hope this makes sense

Shadows of Sacrifice ; Katsuki Bakugo

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x GN!Reader

Genre: Angst to Fluff

Warnings: mentions of death, angst, near death situation.

<- Masterlist

___________________________________

The battlefield was a chaotic symphony of destruction. The once vibrant U.A. High grounds now lay in ruins, smoke and debris covering the sky. Amidst the rubble, the fierce battle between the heroes and Shigaraki raged on. At the center of this chaos stood Katsuki, every fiber of his being screaming in defiance against the monstrous villain.

But it wasn't Katsuki who bore the brunt of Shigaraki's wrath this time. It was you.

Your quirk, "Shadow Weave," pulsed through your veins, a dark and potent magic akin to the powers of Raven from Teen Titans. Each shadow you manipulated acted as both a shield and a weapon, protecting Katsuki from Shigaraki's relentless onslaught. However, the overuse of your powers came at a cost. Your body was beginning to feel the corrupting effects, shadows flickering around your form erratically.

"Get out of here!" Katsuki yelled, his voice strained with desperation. "You're gonna get yourself killed!"

Ignoring his plea, you summoned every ounce of your strength, weaving shadows into a protective barrier as Shigaraki lunged forward. His decay-infused touch met your barrier, and for a moment, it held. But the strain was immense. The shadows began to waver, cracks forming in the dark shield.

"Just hang on, Katsuki," you panted, blood trickling down your arms. "I can handle this."

Shigaraki's sinister grin widened. "So willing to die for him? How touching." With a sudden, violent motion, he broke through your barrier, his hand connecting with your chest.

Agony exploded through you. You screamed, the force of the impact sending you crashing to the ground. Your vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges. You could hear Katsuki shouting, but his words were muffled, as if underwater.

Shigaraki loomed over you, ready to deliver the final blow. But even in your weakened state, you wouldn't let him win. Gathering the last of your strength, you unleashed a surge of dark magic, the shadows swirling around you in a chaotic storm. The energy crackled with intensity, momentarily halting Shigaraki's advance.

"Not… yet," you whispered, forcing yourself to stand. "I'm not done… protecting him."

Katsuki, witnessing your determination, felt a surge of emotions. Rage, guilt, admiration—he couldn't let your sacrifice be in vain. With a primal roar, he charged at Shigaraki, his explosions more ferocious than ever.

The battlefield erupted in a blinding light as Bakugou unleashed his full power. Shigaraki was forced to retreat, the combined might of your shadows and Katsuki’s explosions proving too much for him. As the dust settled, Bakugou rushed to your side, kneeling beside your broken form.

"Stay with me," he begged, his voice shaking. "You can't die on me now, damn it!"

Your eyes fluttered open, a weak smile forming on your lips. "Looks like… I did it. You're safe."

Katsuki gently lifted you into his arms, his usually fierce expression softened with worry and guilt. "You idiot. Why'd you go and do something so reckless?"

You coughed weakly, feeling the darkness receding slightly. "Couldn't let you die. Someone has to keep you in check."

He held you close, his voice barely a whisper. "Don't you dare die. You hear me? We still have a lot to do together."

As you slipped into unconsciousness, you felt a strange sense of peace. Despite the pain, despite the corruption slowly eating away at you, you had protected the one you cared for most. And in his arms, you knew you were safe.

___________________________________

You awoke in a hospital room, the sterile scent filling your nostrils. Machines beeped steadily around you, a testament to the extensive care you required. You turned your head slightly, wincing at the pain, to see Katsuki slumped in a chair beside your bed, fast asleep. His hand held yours tightly, as if afraid to let go.

"Katsuki…" you whispered, your voice hoarse.

His eyes snapped open, and he immediately leaned forward, relief flooding his features. "You're awake," he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"Yeah," you replied, managing a small smile. "Guess I'm tougher than I look."

He scoffed, though his eyes were glistening. "Damn right you are. Don't ever scare me like that again."

"I'll try not to," you teased lightly, squeezing his hand. "Thanks for saving me."

He shook his head. "No, you saved me. I couldn't have done it without you."

“…”

There was a moment of silence as you both absorbed the gravity of what had happened. Despite the pain and the lingering effects of your quirk, you were alive. And so was Katsuki.

Suddenly, he gritted his teeth in anger. Vivid images appearing as he remembers your bloody figure, your determination to protect him.

“Tsk,” With swift speed, his hand collided onto the crown of your head in a comical sense, an irk mark appearing onto your forehead as you winced.

“You dumbass, i’m literally severely injured! When i get out of this stupid bed, i’m going to—“

You felt him hug you, your sentence dying as he murmured something into your chest. “How could you be so reckless, what if you had really died? What would i do then? God, you’re so dumb, you nerd..”

"We'll get through this," he said firmly, his determination clear. "Together."

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you despite the ache in your body. "Together."

In that moment, you knew that no matter the challenges ahead, you would face them side by side. And with Katsuki by your side, you were ready for anything.

[howlett-dekarios]

𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎

▏Worst!Logan Howlett x Reader

▏Summary: After being forced to help Wade, Logan ends up finding himself a new purpose to live: showing you that you are so much more than just his other late variant lover.

▏Warnings: angst | canon death | depression | self doubting | MDNI

▏Word count: 4k

▏A/n: This is my first story posted here so it's probably not the brightest one since english is not my first language. I'm thinking about writting part 2 though if people gonna like it. Unedited, will fix possible mistakes later.

Yeah his tantrum in the car went too far. He had said words that even if they were true, shouldn’t have left his mouth. But the red suited clown got on his nerves. Saying how he was able to fix it all, damn well knowing how big bullshit it was. 

Oh no, sorry, it was a fucking educated wish. 

Waking up next to Deadpool wasn’t a great memory. First few seconds he had been considering possibly killing that prick in his dream. Suffocating or maybe cutting the head off. Anything to finally shut him up for good. 

But after seeing that one pic after Wilson blacked out, being tied up with safety belts, he just couldn’t. Most of the people on it were complete strangers to him. Some random group of idiots, enjoying their time together. No matter how pathetic excuse of a hero, the red suited man was, he had a family. Logan got it, fuck he understood it too well. That’s why it hurt. Not physically but he had to give to Deadpool for hitting a few good punches. It hurt his ego. How Wade, even being the biggest clown, was able to stand for his world. Not willing to wait and see how it all goes to shit. Not walking away the moment life fucked him to the ground. Not like Logan did. 

He did and he lost it all. Not turning around to fight with his friends. Fight for his close ones. Admit how deep he really cares. Show his vulnerability which he has always been hiding from everyone, even himself. And then instead of getting himself together, trying to do better, be better… he abandoned it all. Sunk in self pity and anger. Killing innocent people who hadn’t even had anything to do with the raid. Losing himself and becoming a dark shadow of himself. 

In his reality, everyone knew the name Wolverine. 

And every single one hated him the same. He fucking deserved it all which was one of the reasons why Deadpool attempts to made him look like a hero were frustrating him. He didn’t want to be one. Didn’t deserve to be. Because if he would, it would be a dishonor to their memory. 

Logan didn’t give a fuck when the angry guy destroyed the bottle. He had seen more of the alcohol hidden here when he searched through the room. While Deadpool took care of talking, Howlett only brought another whiskey, opening it and starting to zero it out again. Laughing at the pathetic attempts of his kidnapper to convince these god forgotten heroes to team up in the fight against Nova. Another lies and bullshiting. 

“Oh please, shut the fuck up!” He finally got irritated enough to interfere. “You’re just an asshole who can’t accept the fact that you fucked up.” 

“I wouldn’t have been here if your handsome old ass hadn't felt like dying in a tragic overpriced act of self sacrifice, because Hugh Jackman got tired of being the main mascot for FOX, thank you very much.” Wade reminded him about the other variant who was an anchor being for his universe. Logan still couldn’t believe that. Who had been stupid enough to choose Wolverine as a great hero to glue the entire world in existence. 

“Whatever.” Another gulp of whiskey landed in his throat. “Why are we even here? Who the hell dragged us here?” His tone was stern as if he would like to argue with whoever brought them there. 

“That would be me.” 

You were patrolling the area after storming out and slamming the door behind you. The arguments were an inevitable part of living in this shithole. Plus Gambit was sometimes really an irritating dickhead. 

Deep down you knew what got you on edge. Johnny not coming back nor giving any sign of life for the last few days. It only reminded you about how this all gonna end up. Every single person who had been sent to Void and hadn't joined Casandra’s gooses has eventually vanished or died. Frank, Eric, Matt and now Johnny. Sooner or later you all will die off. And you have seen enough deaths in your lifetime already. Including one particular one… The one which you never agreed with. Constant stinging that made you cry on lonely nights when Laura wasn’t around. You could still recall how tightly you had been holding his corpse. Begging for one more miracle that never came. 

Suddenly your attention turned to a car which you knew too damn well. Nicepool’s Honda. From all the Deadpools he was the only particular one who was allowed to enter the area. Keeping in touch by being a messenger between his other variants and other people who survived. Being considered as a normal one. Or more like as normal as any Wade Wilson could be. But nonetheless even he couldn’t barge in without any previous announcement. 

“For fuck’s sake Nice, how many times we need to-“ You groaned but closer you got, it was more obvious that something was really wrong. 

Looking into the vehicle, your heart stopped. 

It couldn’t be. 

The woman who entered the room was probably in her late twenties or early thirties but Logan couldn’t be sure. Unlike your friends you weren’t wearing the superhero suit. Looking very domestic even, considering their surroundings. 

“Oh my Faige, it’s her!” Deadpool looked back at his companion in disbelief and excitement, his inner nerd showing up. “I’m a big fan. Deadpool or Marvel Jesus, but you can call me Wade, peanut. Oh fuck me, the cameos really cost fortune.” By your confused eyes Howlett could bet that you haven’t understood any shit Wilson just said, but in the end you nodded acknowledging his introduction. 

You hadn’t talked much in the whole conversation, more focused on listening and hanging on young girl, Laura as Wade previously mentioned. When the man in the red suit finally came with a plan and recruited all the heroes in, you only nodded, looking indifferent. Presumably only agreeing because others did. It made Logan curious but not enough to stick with all the clowns in spandex. In the end, this whole plan was a suicide mission and he will take no part in it. 

Yes it would be easy to just die. Too easy. 

“Love, I know, I get it.” You sighed, couldn’t blame Laura for wanting to try. To talk with her father even if it wasn’t really him. But it was dangerous. Possibly giving younger girl's hope. You knew it all too well. You’ve already seen it all. Been there in Wolverine’s lowest. And this variant? It just screamed trouble. An unsuccessful suicidal who just wanted to stay in his self pity and misery hole. It was the last thing that your daughter needed. But either way, you decided to support Laura. The girl was old enough to make her own choices, only thing that mattered was her knowing the possible outcomes. “You want to talk with him, but… it’s not Logan.” Not yours. 

“I know it!” The desperation in teen’s voice made you close your eyes. It was already too late to change her mind. “I know. He died. He’s gone. But he’s still Logan. Maybe not ours, but… he feels familiar.” Drunk, broken and running from everything and everyone. “I want to try. Talk with him and see who he truly is.” 

You sighed once again but nodded, walking towards the younger one and closing your arms around the teen. 

“Okay. But be careful and don’t let him get in your head.” 

“I always am, you know me.” Laura smiled and left to meet the variant of her father who had been sitting outside. 

After a few minutes of standing there and overthinking, you decided to focus on training which was a routine for clouding your damn brain. Anything that could be used as a distraction. Exhaust you to the point where your muscles were sore. 

You had a very bad feeling about it all. At the beginning when you both ended up in Void you had been praying for any variant of Logan to be sent there. So you could’ve felt his arms one more time. Hear his voice and smell his cologne. But with every passing day that hope slowly vanished, leaving you with only grief and emptiness in heart. 

“Such a coincidence, huh?” Gambit leaned over the door with a smart smile, looking at how you’ve been boxing the punching bag. 

“Not in a mood for your teasing, Remmy.” You didn’t hold any grudges from the morning fight. Especially after agreeing to fight Cassandra. It would be a shame if one of your last memories together would’ve been an argument. 

“You let Laura talk with him. Quite impressive.” Clearly your friend had other plans. 

“And what do you think I should’ve done, what?” An irritated look was sent towards him, but Gambit only walked closer. “She’s almost grown up woman. She can do whatever she wants.” 

“Yeah, I know and I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Actually I’m surprised you weren’t the first person who ran to him.” His smirk only made you instantly regret not leaving the room the second he entered. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I only say that you finally have a chance.” 

“Chance for what, Remmy? Because let me tell you-“ 

“Don’t act stupid because it doesn’t suit you. You’ve missed Logan since you got here. You can try to lie to yourself about being over him but we all hear your little sobs when you think no one is looking. This fucked up universe finally gave you a chance to heal. To get better by facing your past-“ 

“He is not my past for god’s sake!” Not that Wolverine. “And is none of your fucking business, Remmy!” You walked over to him quickly, pointing a finger into his chest. Your emotions conflicted even more than ever before. Shit, you warned Laura not to be brainwashed and here you were, getting more and more confused by it all. All the years you’ve spent with Logan, your Logan, just to see him die on your eyes. And now the other untouched and very alive one is talking with your freaking daughter. You looked in Gambit’s eyes, breathing rapid. “Listen I know what you’re trying to do. I get it that we all gonna die tomorrow but it’s not an excuse for me to do something stupid.” To betray Logan like that. 

“Honey.” Remmy’s hand squeezed your arm reassuringly. “I won’t make you listen to me, but… I’m your friend. Your happiness is my business. And believe me… maybe I didn’t know your Logan, but if he really loved you… he would like you to live. Not only exist in constant grief.” His tone was serious which was rather an unusual thing for Gambit. “Think about it, okay? That’s all I’m asking for.” 

You knew how your friend had your best interest in minds but fuck… he hasn’t got it any better. 

After making sure that Laura had already fallen asleep, you walked out of the hideout building with your arms wrapped around yourself. 

“You gonna get cold.” 

His grumpy voice reached you sooner than expected. Screw the heightened senses…

“I’m okay unlike you.” A basic observation. The light of fire illuminated his posture and the already half emptied bottle of whiskey. Thanks to his mutation it wouldn’t affect him as much as a normal human but it wasn’t about ending drunk and you knew it. It never has been about it. Not when it came to Wolverine. “You know that we have spare rooms, right?” Thanks to the constant rotation of people around in the Void. “Your friend already occupied Johnny’s bed. You’re not gonna really rest here. The ground is rather cold and uncomfortable. That is if you even want to sleep.” Which you doubted. 

“I’m fine.” Another rough grumble, while you sat next to him. 

“Yeah, clearly.” An obvious hint of sarcasm in your voice. You stretched out a hand, signaling to pass the bottle what was met with his judging glance. But he did it anyway. 

“So since the young one hasn’t done her job to talk me into going with you, they’ve sent another one?” A low chuckle left him. Logan wasn’t looking at you, his eyes longing, focused on fire. “Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart but I’m not a hero.” 

“I know you’re not. I’m not here to try to make you change your mind. It won’t work.” The sureness in your voice was evident and it surprised him a bit. 

“Then what are you here for? Want to share your teary story? The red asshole already told me what the other one did and-“ 

“There is nothing to share. He died, I survived but it made no difference.” Probably the most painful aspect of your lover’s death. How it didn’t fucking matter. Not even a week after the events in North Dakota agents of TVA showed up in the hotel room you and Laura stayed in, evaporating you two without much explanation. Some bullshit how you had no reason to exist anymore since Wolverine was gone. 

But your words… how you were so indifferent about it all. It didn’t sit right with Logan. Your facade and previous convo with Laura… it all made him curious. Waking up some part of him that Logan was so sure was already dead. 

“Listen I…” A long sigh left him, finally looking at your face. Shit, it was the first time he saw you so close and there was no doubt why his other variant was so fond of you, how really pretty you were. Your soft face, grey eyes intelligent and shining because of the warm glow of the fire. “I’m not good at this. Apparently I’m the worst person for it. I’m not him.” 

“You are not. And I don’t expect you to be.” 

“You’re always so pessimistic?” Logan couldn’t understand why he even tried to joke but he had that deep feeling inside of him that told him to just do it. To try. 

“Just when I’m alone. I’m trying to keep myself sane along Laura.” 

“Smart girl by the way. Didn’t take any bullshit. Did a good job in raising her.” 

“I know.” Gambit’s words still rang in your head so you decided to be less defensive. “Thanks.” Your tone changed to a more polite one. 

“She’s not your bio daughter.” It wasn’t really a question but you shook your head anyway, which made Logan smile lightly. “Damn, he had to be a lucky bastard if you were willing to treat his kid as your own.” 

“She is my own.” Not biological but Laura was your daughter. 

“How long you’ve been together?” 

“Asked me out not too long after he joined X-Men. Stayed with him to the end. Almost ten years.” 

He kept looking at you intently, his eyes searching the face as if trying to recognize any familiar features on it. Ten years of being together. How on earth could someone care about the broken man like that? He couldn’t understand it.

“You never… gave up on him? Despite knowing he was a complete mess?” You chuckled at that. The first fully honest reaction. Shit, Logan had to admit how lovely the sound was. 

“He was asking the same questions, you know? And no. I never gave up on him, because he never gave up on me.” 

He let out a faint laugh at that, thinking that the other him must have been a damn saint to deserve your love and loyalty.

“So you two… you were in love huh?” 

“Yes… yes you can say that.” A simple nod, feeling a mix of curiosity and something else he couldn’t explain. The idea of someone loving him was completely foreign to him, and the fact that you loved a different version of him was even weirder.

“What was he like? The other me.” 

You looked at Logan, first time being face in face since your lover died. At first glance this variant was completely different. Younger, healthier, more bulky… but the features stayed the same. Small wrinkles around the eyes which color reminded you of all the times you had woken up in his arms. The softness that appeared only when it came to you… 

“You are so sure of your difference. But the truth is that, fuck, you’re so similiar… familiar.” You couldn’t believe your own words. After all day of denying that, now sitting next to him it all came back to bite your ass. The memories, scent, how your body instantly relaxed just because of him being close. “Both of you are thinking that you’re fucked up, that you’re the worst one for your job, that you are only good and capable of hurting others. But it’s not true. You are always on the right side, protecting people you care about… you can’t stand and just watch how everything goes down.” 

Logan could see the honesty in your eyes and the words made his stomach clench. You,  sounding so sure and so convinced that it almost made him want to believe it. But he’s always been too aware of how messed up he was, too aware of the fact that he was just a broken old man who’s only good at causing pain and violence. That his whole universe turned their back on him exactly because of how he left and watched from afar how it all burned to the ground. 

“You don’t know me, bub. You know another me. Don’t go getting ideas that I’m anywhere close to him.” 

“Oh really? Then why are you constantly drinking yourself out? Why are you here, helping Wade, huh?” 

The accusations only made him grit his teeth. These words… just stating the obvious, but it bothered him anyway. He looked at you and couldn’t help the defensive tone in his voice, as if he was trying to prove that he was in fact, the wrong Logan. 

“You don’t know why I drink, sweetheart. You don’t know why I’m here. So stop acting like you do know me.” 

“You drink because you fucking care Logan. You care so much that it hurts you, the knowledge about losing people you loved. You’re here because deep down you know that you have to help Wade, that it’s your duty to help innocents.” At this point you weren’t even sure to which Logan you were talking to. Maybe it all were just unspoken words that you couldn’t have said to your lover because he died too soon. Or maybe your brain had other plans for her. 

A pang of surprise struck him. You were hitting uncomfortably close to the hidden part of himself that he so hard tried to kill off and it made him grow more frustrated and vulnerable than he’d like to show. 

“How can you be so damn sure about it?” How could you if he wasn’t even himself? 

“Because I know you, Logan. No matter if it was him, or if it’s you. No difference. You’re the same Logan.”  

“The same, huh sweetheart? Don’t make me laugh. That other me, the one you knew, was loved. Cared for. You obviously cared for him.” The walls he had built for all the time he was alone were slowly falling. “In my world everyone knows my name. Because I fucked up. Your Logan died as a hero. I can’t even die.” Not because he hasn’t tried to. But because of how his death would be a disrespect for all the other people he cared about in the past. Him living was the punishment he deserved. “I’m useless, darling.” 

“Yeah I loved him. But I buried him long time ago. And the moment I did the TVA came and told me that my purpose was over. That I was just a side lover with no further reason to be kept alive. You really think you are the useless one?” Your true feelings finally flowed out. All the concerns and insecurities. After years in the mansion, being an x-men you really thought that you found yourself. That you were so much more than you once thought. But no. The universe only needed you because Logan did. 

“What?” His confused face was enough proof that he hadn’t even thought about why exactly Laura and you were here. “It can’t be… you can’t say that stuff about yourself.” Logan couldn’t point out why, but he immediately changed his perspective. Something in his brain pushed him out of the self pity hole and guilt trap he has been in for years. Hearing that the most perfect woman he ever met, the kind and caring person who sat beside him was born only for his other self to be with… it didn’t sit right. “You are much more than that, sweetheart.” 

“You don’t know me.” The fact that you just repeated his previous words made his blood boil. For fuck’s sake why he had to be such an idiot all the time.

“Don’t be a smartass, and don’t you fucking dare to hide behind it now. You stayed with that asshole for ten goddamn years. You raised his daughter and are treating her like your own. You’re trying to help me, who’s just a pathetic excuse of a man constantly self pitying himself. Screw what those bastard told you. You are not just a lover. You are your damn fucking person.” Logan’s hand cupped your cheek. His eyes were so serious and demanding but at the same time gentle and worried. “Look at me, princess. You are an intelligent, patient, kind, strong and absolutely beautiful woman, who is not just a puppet that can be thrown away, you get it? I don’t have any idea why the fuck universe had chosen the other me to be this screwed glorified idiot, because it should’ve been you. I should’ve been the addition that was unnecessary for existing. Because you? You are the reason why he existed. Why I-“ 

The word slipped through his lips before could stop himself. All the emotions and things he heard that day, all he had seen. How Laura treasured you, how others respected you, how Wilson was fangirling and almost came just because of you being in the same room. Listening to your story of how much you’ve cared about the other him. It made him want it all. Wanted to be the other him. Do something to deserve your love. To show you how much you were supposed to be loved. How you should be a treasure to keep safe and protect at all costs. 

“Fuck it-“ 

And before you could’ve reacted, Logan reached for you, closing the distance and pressing your lips together. Trying to savor the taste of you on him, deepening it like his life depended on it. Living the moment of pure oblivion, wanting you to forget about it all. About the other him, TVA, Void and everything else. Tell you without using words how much he loved you. 

Yes, he didn’t deserve you. But it wasn’t about him. Not anymore. 

[lvoryingrid]

Idiot

Dabi x fem!Reader

Synopsis: During a stormy night, (Y/n)’s peaceful flower shop becomes a refuge for Dabi, the infamous villain, who arrives injured and desperate. Despite her fear, she aids him, uncovering a fragile vulnerability beneath his hardened exterior.

The rain drummed incessantly against the windows of Flourish & Frond, a quaint flower shop tucked into a quiet corner of the loud city. Inside, the air was warm and fragrant, filled with the scent of blooming roses and freshly watered soil. Shelves lined the walls, each bursting with vibrant colors—sunflowers, lilies, and delicate baby’s breath carefully arranged in vases and baskets.

(Y/n) worked quietly behind the counter, her hands deftly weaving together a bouquet of peonies and lavender. The steady rhythm of her movements was soothing, a distraction from the storm raging outside

Her life revolved around this little shop. It wasn’t just a job to her—it was her haven, the place where her Quirk found purpose. (Y/n)’s ability, “Verdant Touch,” allowed her to heal and nurture plant life with a mere touch. Wilting petals could bloom anew under her fingers, and dying roots could flourish again. It was a small, gentle Quirk, one she had always cherished despite its limitations.

Growing up, (Y/n) had dreamed of being a hero, like so many others her age. But as the years went on, she realized that her Quirk wasn’t suited for battle or saving lives in the traditional sense. Instead, she found solace in using her gift to bring beauty into the world.

Running the flower shop gave her a sense of peace and purpose. Her customers often left with smiles, their hands full of her lovingly crafted bouquets. It was a simple life, but it was hers—a small sanctuary in a city that often felt chaotic and overwhelming.

The bell above the door jingled softly, signaling a customer had entered the shop. (Y/n) glanced up with a practiced smile, “Sorry, we’re clo—” she began, but her words froze as her eyes landed on the figure who had just entered.

He was tall, his black coat soaked from the rain, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. Smoke curled faintly from the edges of his figure, and his turquoise eyes glowed like eerie embers against the dim light. Patchwork scars stitched across his pale face and neck, a grotesque yet strangely compelling sight. He was unmistakable.

Dabi.

The infamous villain stood in her shop, a figure who had graced countless wanted posters and news broadcasts. Her blood ran cold as her mind scrambled to process the situation. What was he doing here? Why her shop?

Dabi’s grip on the door handle was tight, his knuckles pale against the dark metal. His broad shoulders rose and fell with labored breaths, and his body sagged slightly as he leaned into the shop’s frame for support. The faint sound of dripping caught (Y/n)’s attention, her gaze lowering to the floor. A small, dark puddle began to form at his feet, blood mingling with the rainwater dripping from his coat.

“Lock the door,” he rasped, his voice low and uneven, as though each word cost him effort.

(Y/n) didn’t move. Her practiced smile had vanished, replaced by a wide-eyed stare as her heart thudded painfully in her chest. This couldn’t be real. Villains didn’t just walk into flower shops—certainly not him.

“I said, lock the damn door,” Dabi repeated, more forceful this time. He lifted his head just enough to meet her eyes, the fiery glow of his turquoise gaze sharp and unwavering.

(Y/n) jolted at his harsh tone, her heart hammering in her chest. Without thinking, she moved quickly, her hands trembling as she brushed past him to lock the door. The small bell jingled softly with her movement, and the click of the lock sounded far louder than it should have.

Her fingers fumbled as she turned the shop's "Open" sign to "Closed" and tugged the blinds down over the front windows, her movements hurried but cautious. The thought of being so close to him sent shivers up her spine, and every fiber of her being screamed for her to run.

When she finished, she turned back to him, her wide eyes locking onto his form. She kept her distance, retreating step by careful step until she stood several feet away. “What do you want?” she whispered, her voice trembling as she stared at the infamous villain bleeding on her shop floor.

The sound of rain continued to hammer against the windows, a dull, persistent reminder of the world outside as the tension in the room thickened. Dabi stood at the threshold of the shop, his form towering but clearly weakened. His breath was ragged, each exhale laced with pain. The blood staining his side was an unmistakable sign of how badly he was hurt, and as he took a half-step toward her, he stumbled. A pained hiss escaped his lips as he gripped the counter to steady himself, his legs shaking.

(Y/n) froze. She wanted to move, to do something, but her mind struggled to form coherent thoughts. Villains weren’t supposed to look like this. They weren’t supposed to be hurting. But here he was, and the reality of the situation hit her harder than any force. Dabi, the notorious villain, was standing in front of her—injured, bleeding, and desperately in need of help.

His turquoise eyes, glowing faintly in the dim light, locked onto hers. “I need help,” he rasped, his voice rough, dripping with frustration and pain. “Now.”

(Y/n) blinked, her throat tight. Was he serious? Was he really asking her, of all people, to help him? Her mind raced, fear still holding her body captive. But then, as he staggered another step, she saw it—the strain in his movements, the way he winced with every breath, the weight of the pain that clearly had him on the edge.

"You... you’re asking me?" Her voice cracked, a mix of disbelief and fear coloring her words. "You’re Dabi. Why would you—"

“Don’t make me say it again,” Dabi cut her off, his tone sharper than before, but beneath it, there was something far more vulnerable—almost pleading. He took another shaky step forward, his body trembling with the effort, before he gritted his teeth and collapsed against the counter, the sound of his knees hitting the floor muffled by the quiet of the shop. “I’m not asking you for sympathy. I’m asking you for help. Now.”

The sight of him, vulnerable and grimacing in pain, broke something in (Y/n). Her instincts, still torn by the need to protect herself, warred against the natural compassion she felt. He was a villain, yes—dangerous, feared, and reviled by many. But there was something in the way he looked at her now, something raw and desperate, that shifted her perception.

Her hands were shaking as she slowly took a step toward him. “What happened to you?” she asked, her voice a whisper, soft but filled with concern.

Dabi leaned heavily on the counter, his body bent forward slightly as he let out a pained exhale. “Heroes.” He spat the word out like venom, but his face twisted in something far more human—exhaustion, frustration, and an edge of vulnerability he rarely showed. “One of them got lucky. Blade Quirk. Got me in the side.”

(Y/n) felt a tremor run through her as she absorbed his words. The sight of his blood dripping steadily onto the floor was enough to jolt her into action, her fear momentarily eclipsed by her instincts. Whatever else he was, he was injured—and badly. The humanity of the situation broke through the haze of her panic.

“You need to lie down,” she said, her voice steadier now, though still tinged with apprehension. She gestured toward the small seating area in the corner of the shop, where a cushioned bench was tucked against the wall.

Dabi gave her a sharp look, his lips curling into a faint sneer. “Lie down? You think I’ve got time for that?”

(Y/n) stiffened, the edge of his tone making her nerves spike again. But she forced herself to hold her ground, squaring her shoulders even as her heart raced. “If you don’t, you’ll bleed out,” she replied, her tone firm despite the quiver in her hands. “And you didn’t come here just to die on my floor.”

Dabi’s glare faltered for a moment, his expression hard to read as he studied her. Then, with a low growl of frustration, he pushed himself away from the counter. His legs wobbled under his weight, and he barely managed a few steps before his knees threatened to buckle again.

“Damn it,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his hand clutching his side.

Without thinking, (Y/n) darted forward to steady him, her hands gripping his arm and shoulder. His skin was warm—too warm, like he was radiating heat from an internal fire. She ignored the way her breath caught in her throat at the contact and focused on guiding him toward the bench.

“Careful,” she murmured, her tone softer now, coaxing him like she might soothe a skittish animal.

Dabi didn’t reply, his jaw clenched tight as he leaned on her for support. By the time they reached the bench, his breathing was shallow and labored, his face pale despite the angry scars marring his skin. He collapsed onto the cushions with a heavy exhale, his body slumping forward slightly as he rested his forearms on his knees.

(Y/n) hovered for a moment, unsure of what to do next. The first-aid kit sat on the counter, and she moved quickly to grab it, her mind racing. Her hands worked on autopilot, gathering supplies and preparing for what she needed to do.

When she returned, she knelt in front of him, her eyes flickering to his face before focusing on the wound. “Let me see,” she said softly, reaching for his coat.

Dabi didn’t move at first, his turquoise gaze heavy on her. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he leaned back slightly, allowing her to peel the sodden fabric away from his side.

The sight of the wound made her stomach twist. A deep gash cut across his torso, the edges of the injury raw and angry. Blood soaked his shirt and streaked his pale skin, dripping steadily onto the bench and pooling on the floor.

(Y/n) swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. “This is bad,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. She grabbed a clean cloth and pressed it against the wound, applying firm pressure to staunch the bleeding.

Dabi hissed, his body tensing under her touch. “You don’t say,” he bit out, his tone sharp with pain.

(Y/n) glanced up at him, her expression softening despite herself. “I need you to stay still,” she said gently. “This is going to hurt.”

Dabi let out a low chuckle, though it lacked any real humor. “Hurts already,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he watched her work.

Y/n) worked methodically, her hands steady despite the tension in the air. The sound of the rain against the windows seemed louder in the thick silence that had settled between them, broken only by Dabi’s occasional grunts of pain and the soft rustling of her movements.

She dipped a cloth in antiseptic and pressed it against the edges of the wound, cleaning away the blood and grime. Her touch was firm but careful, her eyes focused entirely on the task in front of her. The sharp, acrid scent of the antiseptic mingled with the floral aroma of the shop, creating a strange contrast.

Dabi’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly as she worked. “Couldn’t pick a quieter day for this?” he muttered, his voice strained but holding a faint edge of sarcasm.

(Y/n) glanced up briefly, meeting his glowing eyes. “You’re the one who walked into my shop,” she replied, her voice soft but pointed. “If you’re looking for sympathy, you won’t find it here.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his scarred features, though it quickly dissolved as another wave of pain pulled a hiss from his lips. “Fair enough,” he said, leaning back slightly to give her more room to work. His gaze lingered on her, watching the way her brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re not half bad at this,” he added, his tone lighter, though the tension in his body betrayed his discomfort.

(Y/n) didn’t respond immediately, her focus remaining on the gash across his side. She grabbed a fresh bandage and began to wrap it carefully around his torso, the fabric stretching taut over his lean, scarred frame. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined spending my evening,” she murmured eventually, tying the bandage securely in place. “But I guess I’ve always been good with my hands.”

Dabi smirked faintly at her comment, though it quickly faltered as he shifted and a fresh wave of pain rippled through him. He let out a low groan, his hand instinctively moving to his side.

“Don’t touch it,” (Y/n) said firmly, her hand gently pushing his away. Her fingers brushed against his for a brief moment, and she felt the heat radiating off his skin. It wasn’t just the feverish warmth of an injured man—it was something deeper, more dangerous, like a fire simmering just beneath the surface.

“You’re lucky,” she said softly, breaking the silence. “The cut missed anything vital. But you need stitches, and I don’t exactly have a surgical kit lying around.”

Dabi’s gaze flicked to hers, the intensity of his stare making her pause. “It's fine,” he said. “I’ll handle the rest.”

(Y/n) hesitated, her hands stilling for a moment. “You can’t just—”

“I’ve been through worse,” he interrupted, his tone firm despite the exhaustion in his voice. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to… improvise.”

(Y/n) frowned but didn’t argue. Instead, she focused on securing the bandages as tightly as she could without causing him more pain. “There,” she murmured after a moment, sitting back on her heels to survey her work. “It’s not perfect, but it should hold.”

Dabi leaned back against the wall, his head tilting slightly as he closed his eyes. For a moment, he looked almost peaceful, despite the tension still evident in his body. “Not bad,” he muttered, the faintest hint of approval in his voice.

(Y/n) stood slowly, her knees stiff from kneeling for so long. Her eyes flickered to the trail of blood smeared across the floor, leading from the door to where Dabi now sat. She sighed quietly, shaking her head as she stepped toward the counter, grabbing a fresh cloth and a bucket she kept tucked away for spills.

“Stay put,” she said over her shoulder, her voice steady but firm. “I’ll clean this up.”

Dabi didn’t respond immediately, his head resting against the wall, his eyes closed once again. His breathing was still labored, but it had evened out slightly, no longer the ragged gasps she’d heard when he first arrived. The sight of him like this—quiet, vulnerable—was a jarring contrast to the infamous image of the villain she’d seen in headlines and various posters.

The crimson streaks were stubborn, but (Y/n)’s hands were practiced and efficient. She focused on the task, using it as a way to steady her nerves and distract herself from the surreal situation.

When she finished, she rinsed the cloth in the bucket, the water staining red as the blood washed away. She stood and glanced at Dabi, who hadn’t moved, his head still tilted back against the wall. His eyes were closed, but she could see the subtle tension in his jaw, the faint tremor in his hands where they rested against his thighs.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asked, her voice breaking the quiet.

His eyes opened slowly, the glowing turquoise irises locking onto her with a sharpness that made her heart skip. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at her with that unreadable expression. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

(Y/n) turned toward the back of the shop, her steps quiet on the wooden floor. The kitchenette she’d installed for long days at work was modest—a kettle, a small fridge, and a few cabinets stocked with tea and instant coffee. She filled the kettle with water, her movements deliberate as she tried to calm the whirlwind of thoughts racing through her mind.

What was she doing? She was helping Dabi, one of the most wanted villains in the country. The logical part of her screamed at the absurdity of the situation, begged her to find a way out. But another part—a quieter, stubborn part—refused to turn him away, refused to let someone bleed out on her floor, no matter who they were.

The kettle whistled softly, pulling her from her thoughts. She poured the hot water into a mug, adding a bag of chamomile tea. It wasn’t much, but it was soothing—something she imagined he could use, though she wasn’t sure if he’d appreciate the gesture.

When she returned, Dabi’s eyes tracked her every move, his gaze heavy and calculating. She set the mug down on the small table beside him, careful to keep her movements slow and unthreatening.

“It’s tea,” she said simply, stepping back to give him space. “Chamomile. It’ll help you relax.”

Dabi’s gaze shifted to the mug, his scarred fingers reaching for it after a moment of hesitation. He lifted it to his lips, taking a small sip. The heat seemed to surprise him, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he lowered the mug.

“Didn’t peg you for the tea type of girl,” he muttered, his voice quieter than before, though the faint edge of sarcasm remained.

(Y/n) crossed her arms, leaning against the counter as she watched him. “And I didn’t peg you for the ‘stumble into a flower shop, almost bleeding out’ type of guy,” she replied evenly.

His smirk widened slightly, though it was fleeting. “Touché.”

The room fell into a tentative silence, the rain outside still tapping against the windows. (Y/n) found her gaze drifting back to him, her mind swimming with unasked questions. Why had he come here, of all places? Was it random, or had he chosen her shop for a reason? And what would happen when he left?

Dabi set the mug down on the table, his movements deliberate but slow, as if every action cost him effort. “You didn’t have to help me,” he said suddenly, his voice low but clear. His eyes flicked to hers, their intensity catching her off guard. “You could’ve turned me away. Called someone.”

(Y/n) met his gaze, her expression unreadable. “I know,” she said softly, her voice steady.

His eyes narrowed slightly, as though trying to decipher her intentions. “Why?” he asked, the question sharp and direct.

She hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly against the counter’s edge. “Because,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “I couldn’t just let you like that. No matter who you are.”

Dabi leaned back against the wall, his lips pressing into a thin line as he studied her. For a moment, the tension between them was palpable, the air heavy with unspoken words. Then, he let out a low, almost amused chuckle, shaking his head slightly.

“You’re a strange one, flower girl,” he muttered, his voice carrying a faint hint of admiration despite the weariness in his tone.

(Y/n) let out a soft sigh, her gaze briefly shifting to the window where the rain continued to fall in sheets. The storm outside had only grown worse since Dabi’s arrival, the wind howling against the glass, rattling the panes with an intensity that mirrored the tension still thick in the air between them.

"You can stay the night—just for tonight, though,” she added quickly, almost as if to remind herself. “You need to rest, and the storm isn’t letting up anytime soon. I’m not going to throw you back out into that.”

Dabi’s gaze softened, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his features. He studied her for a long moment, as if trying to figure out if there was some ulterior motive to her offer. "You’re... letting me stay here? Even though you know who I am?"

Her eyes flickered away from him briefly “You’re hurt. And despite everything—what you’ve done, what you stand for—no one deserves to die alone in the rain. Not like this.”

There was a long pause as Dabi processed her words. His gaze softened ever so slightly, though it was still filled with a certain wariness, a suspicion that he didn’t fully trust her kindness.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall with a slight thud. “You’re making a mistake,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “You don’t know me.”

“I don’t need to,” (Y/n) replied gently, moving to adjust the blankets on the small bench in the corner. “I know you’re hurt. And right now, that’s all that matters.” She turned back to him then, her eyes meeting his with a quiet resolve. “But you’ll have to leave tomorrow. I can’t keep you here any longer than that.”

Dabi’s lips twitched, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And what if I don’t? What if I decide to stick around longer?” His tone was light, teasing almost, but (Y/n) could see the weariness behind it.

“You won’t,” she said simply, her gaze steady as she met his challenge.

Dabi let out a soft chuckle, but it was devoid of the usual venom he carried with him. There was something almost defeated in it. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, the bandages she’d wrapped around his side still tight, though he winced slightly as he adjusted his position. “You really do have a thing for doing the opposite of what people expect.”

She didn’t respond right away, just moved to place a pillow behind him to support his back as he slouched against the wall, then straightened up to her full height. Her hands lingered on the edge of the bench for a moment, and she gave him a final, pointed look. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll deal with whatever happens after that.”

Dabi didn’t argue. His eyes closed slowly, exhaustion evident in the way his shoulders slumped even further. For a moment, he almost seemed like just a man—a man in pain, who needed rest.

Days turned into weeks, and after that fateful night, Dabi never truly left her thoughts. He kept his word about leaving the morning after the storm passed, but that didn’t mark the end of his presence in her life. Every evening, as the sun began to set and the city buzzed with its evening rush, the doorbell of Flourish & Frond would chime, signaling Dabi’s arrival. He’d walk through the door at precisely the same time every evening, just as (Y/n) was preparing to close up for the day.

At first, the sight of him always made her heart skip a beat—fear mixed with disbelief that he was there, in her shop, again. His visits felt like a shadow hanging over her, his reputation enough to make her worry about being discovered. But despite the lingering fear, she couldn’t deny the subtle shift in their interactions.

Dabi was different. He wasn’t the cold, menacing figure she’d seen on wanted posters. The man who entered her shop now seemed… more human. He no longer dragged himself in, barely able to keep his balance, but instead appeared more composed, more normal like. Still, (Y/n) couldn’t shake the worry every time he came through that door. What if someone saw him? What if he attracted too much attention?

But as the weeks passed, Dabi grew more comfortable in her space, and the tension between them shifted. He no longer just came for brief visits; he’d linger, sitting on the cushioned bench in the corner as she finished closing up the shop. He would ask her about her day, joke about the ridiculous things she had to deal with—customers who insisted on buying flowers for their "exes" or the old woman who tried to convince her that lavender was the cure for all ailments. It was these little moments that made (Y/n) start to see him differently. There was something disarming about his sarcastic humor, his dry wit that reminded her that he, too, once had a life outside of the villainous reputation that followed him.

It was on one of these late evenings, when the shop was quiet and the rain tapped softly against the windows, that Dabi showed up again, his coat dripping with the remnants of the storm outside. He pushed open the door with his usual nonchalance, shaking off the rain before stepping inside. The bell jingled lightly above his head as (Y/n) glanced up from wiping down the counter, her heart giving its usual nervous thud.

“Back again?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, her tone playful but laced with that same apprehension that always came with his arrival.

Dabi grinned, though it was more tired than usual. “What can I say? I’m addicted to your… healing skills. The tea helps too, I guess.”

Her lips quirked at the corners. “Healing skills, huh? I’m not sure I’d call it healing.”

“Oh, trust me,” Dabi shot back, “if you saw the state I was in before you worked your magic, you’d call it a damn miracle.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her chest was undeniable. He had started teasing her more in the past few weeks, and it always made her feel strangely at ease, despite the fact that she knew she was still walking a fine line with him. He was a villain, after all.

The silence between them settled comfortably, the sound of the rain masking any further tension as she finished tidying up. Dabi settled into his usual spot on the bench, his gaze following her as she moved around the shop.

“You really don’t have to stick around here every night, you know,” she said after a pause, her voice quieter now, as she grabbed a cloth to clean up a vase that had tipped over earlier in the day.

Dabi’s eyes narrowed slightly, his smirk softening. “You say that like you don’t like the company. What’s the matter? Scared someone might see me here?”

“I’m always scared someone might see you here.” She shot him a pointed look, and Dabi chuckled darkly.

“I’m not that obvious, am I?” he teased, his gaze flicking toward the street outside.

(Y/n) didn’t respond right away, her fingers gripping the cloth a little tighter. She wasn’t sure what exactly had happened over the past weeks, but there was no denying that a strange bond had formed between them—one that she wasn’t entirely sure how to navigate. On one hand, there was her growing concern for his well-being, and on the other, the reminder that she was harboring an infamous villain in her shop.

But as much as her mind tried to warn her, something about Dabi felt different now. He’d stopped pushing her boundaries, and his visits, while still making her heart race with fear, had become… almost comforting. His teasing remarks, the subtle way he checked in on her—asking if she’d eaten, if she was getting enough sleep, making sure she was staying safe—had grown from a casual interest to something more genuine. There were moments, too, when the walls around him dropped, and she could see the weariness in his eyes—the kind of exhaustion that went deeper than just physical pain. And in those moments, she would offer him a quiet cup of tea, and he would accept it without comment, just a fleeting look of gratitude before he retreated behind that familiar, sarcastic demeanor

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the first droplets started falling, Dabi walked in, his usual grin missing from his lips. (Y/n) caught his eye and couldn’t help herself.

“You’re late tonight,” she teased, her smile playful. But the words faltered when she noticed him.

Dabi stood in the doorway, rain dripping from his hair, darker than the storm itself. His usual teasing grin was absent, replaced by a weariness that weighed heavy on his sharp features. His turquoise eyes—normally alight with mischief—were dim, shadows pooling in their depths.

“I…” His voice was rough, almost hoarse, as he stepped inside and shut the door. For a moment, he seemed unsteady, catching himself on the doorframe before making his way to his usual bench. “I just felt like… I needed to be here.”

(Y/n) blinked, her hands stilling over the vase she was cleaning. The words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

He sank onto the bench with a tired sigh, leaning back as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. His gaze found hers, and for once, there was no sarcasm, no barriers—just an unguarded vulnerability that made her chest tighten.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, abandoning the vase and stepping closer.

Dabi ran a hand through his damp hair, letting out a mirthless chuckle. “Define ‘okay,’ sunshine.”

The nickname was there, but the usual smirk wasn’t, and that made it all the more disarming.

She hesitated before pulling up a stool to sit across from him, her hands clasped in her lap. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze dropping to the floor. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t respond at all. But then he spoke, his voice quieter than she’d ever heard it.

Dabi didn’t answer right away, his gaze dropping to the floor. For a moment, (Y/n) thought he wouldn’t respond at all. But then he sighed, his shoulders sagging even further, and he finally looked up at her.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” he said, his voice low but steady, carrying an edge of frustration.

(Y/n) blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees as he ran a hand down his face. “You’re an idiot for letting me come here whenever I feel like it. For not throwing me out the first time I walked through that door. For not letting me bleed out”

Her lips parted in surprise, but she couldn’t form a response before he continued, his voice growing sharper.

“You’re an idiot for enjoying my company, my jokes, for looking at me like I’m not a complete mess. Like I’m not some twisted, broken thing that you should stay as far away from as possible.”

He looks up at her intensely "You knew from the beginning who I was, and yet you foolishly helped me".

Her chest tightened, the weight of his words settling over her like a storm she hadn’t seen coming. She opened her mouth to speak, to protest, but before she could find the words, he let out a soft, bitter laugh—a sound so unguarded it made her heart ache.

“But you know what?” he murmured, his voice breaking the quiet like a confession he could no longer hold back. His eyes lifted to meet hers, and in them, she saw something raw—something so achingly human that it stole her breath. “I’m an even bigger idiot. Because I can’t stop thinking about you., even for a second”

The words hung between them, heavy and vulnerable. Her heart raced, each beat echoing louder in her chest as she stared at him, unable to look away.

“I don’t know when it started,” he continued, his voice soft and almost hesitant, as if saying it aloud made him feel exposed. “Maybe it was that first night, the way you looked at me—like I was someone deserving your help. Like I was… more than these scars.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze faltering as his hands clenched into fists. “Even when I said something sharp or stupid. You didn’t flinch, didn’t look at me like I was a monster, you just… saw through it. Through me.”

His voice wavered, the words growing quieter, heavier. “And now, I can’t stop coming back. Even when I know I shouldn't. Even when I know it’s selfish, that I’m selfish. Because being here—with you—it’s the only place where it doesn’t feel like the world is closing in on me. Like I can actually breathe for a little while.”

Her breath hitched, and she reached for him without thinking, her fingers brushing his arm in a gentle gesture that seemed to anchor him. He closed his eyes at the contact, a barely audible sigh escaping him as his fists unclenched.

“I need this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need you. More than I want to. More than I should.” His head dropped, his damp hair falling into his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze again. “And it terrifies me. Because if I lose this—if I lose you—”

Dabi’s words broke off, a tremor in his voice betraying the storm raging inside him. Before she could fully process what he had said, he moved. His hand shot out, firm but trembling, finding her waist and pulling her closer in a single, desperate motion.

The contact sent a jolt through her, her breath catching as she found herself pressed against him. His other arm wrapped around her back, holding her tightly, as if she might vanish if he let go. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he clung to her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Dabi…” she whispered, her voice shaking with a mix of surprise and something deeper—something that mirrored the ache in his own heart.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his face buried against her shoulder. His breath was warm against her neck, and she could feel the faint tremor in his chest as he held her. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess. For not being able to stay away. For needing you more than I should.”

Her hands hovered in the air for a moment, unsure of what to do, before finally settling on his shoulders. She held him gently, her fingers brushing against the damp fabric of his coat as she tried to steady her own racing heart.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the chaos of emotions swirling within her. “Not for this.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his turquoise eyes meeting hers, filled with a vulnerability she had never seen before. His grip on her waist loosened slightly, but his hands stayed there, as if to reassure himself that she was still within reach.

“I never thought…” she began, her voice faltering as she searched for the right words. “I never thought you felt this way. That you…”

“Felt like you’re the only thing keeping me from falling apart?” he finished for her, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. His thumb brushed against her side absentmindedly, a small, soothing motion that sent shivers down her spine. “Because you are, (Y/n). You’re the only one who sees me—not just the scars, not just the villain. Me. And I don’t know how to stop wanting that. How to stop wanting you.”

Her breath hitched at his words, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

“You don’t have to stop,” she whispered, her fingers curling slightly against his coat. “Because I feel it too. I thought I was the only one, but… I feel it too, Dabi.”

For a moment, his expression was unreadable, his eyes searching hers as if trying to make sense of her words. Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by something softer—something almost hopeful.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, his hands tightening ever so slightly around her waist.

She smiled, a soft, nervous laugh escaping her lips. “I feel it too.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m too selfish to let you go.”

Her hands moved to cup his face, her thumbs brushing against the rough skin of his cheeks. “Then don’t,” she said softly, her voice steady. “Don’t let me go.”

Dabi’s breath caught at her words, the sincerity in her voice unraveling something tightly wound inside him. For a moment, he simply stared at her, as if committing every detail of her face to memory—the softness in her (e/c) eyes, the way her lips curved in a nervous but hopeful smile.

Slowly, he shifted, his hands still steady at her waist as he stood, drawing her up with him. He towered over her now, his presence overwhelming yet oddly comforting. The space between them was almost nonexistent, their breaths mingling as the world outside the shop faded into nothingness.

His gaze flickered to her lips, hesitating for just a second. “Are you sure?” he murmured, his voice low, almost uncertain.

Her heart swelled at the vulnerability in his tone, and she nodded, her hands still cradling his face. “I’m sure.”

That was all the reassurance he needed.

Dabi leaned in slowly, deliberately, his turquoise eyes locked on hers until the very last moment. When his lips met hers, it was gentle, almost cautious, as if he were afraid she might break beneath his touch.

The kiss was soft at first, a delicate brush of lips that sent a wave of warmth through her. But as her fingers tangled in his hair and she leaned into him, his hesitance melted away. The kiss deepened, his hands pulling her closer as if he couldn’t bear to let even an inch of space remain between them.

There was a desperation to the way he held her, a quiet intensity that spoke of how much he’d been holding back. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a confession, a promise, and a plea all at once.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths came in unsteady gasps, their foreheads resting together. Dabi’s hands lingered at her waist, his thumbs brushing against her sides as if reassuring himself that she was still there.

“See?” she whispered, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “That wasn’t so selfish, was it?”

He let out a shaky laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at her. “It’s selfish as hell,” he murmured, his voice rough but laced with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “But I’m not sorry. Not even a little.”

She laughed too, the sound light and free, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Dabi felt a flicker of something he hadn’t dared to hope for—peace.

Masterlist

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ⸻ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader

⌜HOW MR. MILLER STOLE CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST⌟

genre: enemies to lovers, romance, fake dating, minors dni

word count: 5.2k

chapter summary: unlike what you thought, the rumor hasn't been dying out and with a new game plan in mind, you go to seek out Joel.

warnings: age gap, fake dating, mostly fluff, drinking, small town gossip, people talking about the age difference, another heated kiss

**dividers by @saradika

You’re a fucking idiot. 

A moron. 

A fool. 

Fucking small towns. Of course, rumors would spread. Of course, everyone would start talking about seasoned survivor Joel Miller and his new young lover. You shudder at the thought, unable to identify if it’s a bad shudder or the kind that makes your stomach flutter. You hate the idea of Joel being right. He’d said people would talk. And newsflash, unlike what you had thought, the gossip hasn’t died out. 

There are two fundamental reasons why neither you nor Joel can just shrug it off, saying it’s not true. The first reason is that both Steven and Marc saw you being shoved up against a wall, passionately locking lips with Joel. The second reason is the fact that no one would think the twins were lying.

Again, this wouldn’t be an issue if you didn’t have a past to hide. People would start digging if you told them the rumors were only that. Rumors. They would start asking questions like where the two knew each other from. And you knew for a fact that Joel doesn’t want people digging either. People knew what kind of man he was, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they will turn a blind eye to him killing the last hope of human survival. 

Snow crunches under your boots, your body sweating despite the cold. Tommy’s place finally comes into view. You pray he hadn’t heard any of the rumors, as impossible as that might be. 

Some part of you believes that if a time ever comes when everyone finds out what Joel had done, you'll stick up for him. You’re the only person who knows the way of the firefly. How easy it was for them to kill when they thought they were the heroes. In the end, he spared you, it was hard to hate a person who allowed you to live. No matter how much he regrets it now. 

On the porch, you stare at the door. It’s weathered for the most part, some parts fixed and polished but not the whole thing. 

You knock loudly two times, it doesn’t take long for Tommy to open the door, his lips curling instantly when he lays his eyes on you. 

“Well well well, look who it is,” he says too cheerfully, you’re already rolling your eyes. “The good old sister-in-law! Can you tell me why I had to hear about you and my brother tying the knot from Wellington?” 

Jesus fucking Christ, Wellington knows? No wonder this bullshit isn’t dying out. 

“We’re not married Tommy.” 

“Yet.”

“Just tell me where he is, matchmaker.” 

He raises an eyebrow, his smile melting, “You don’t know?” 

It takes you everything for you not to take deep heavy breaths. He’s making this exceptionally hard. You had a plan. And that plan meant you and Joel wouldn’t be an item in the near future. For said plan to work, however, no one needs to know it was fake to begin with. 

“I don’t have his schedule, Tommy, and I wanted to surprise him with,” You press your molars together and lift your bag, forcing a smile. “Baked goods.”  

Tommy is full of glee again, “Awwww how fuckin’ sweet. Didn’t know you had it in ya Pecan.” Before you can answer, he points to the bag. “I’ll give you the information for one cinnamon roll.” 

You give him a deadpan look, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You’d only gotten two and you were looking forward to it. Instinctively you pull the bag back, hiding it behind you. “No.”  

“Come on, pay up, or else I ain’t tellin’ you.” 

“Fuck, fine. You’re a mean one.” 

“If you say Mr Grinch I’m taking two.�� 

“No!” 

He grins widely, perfect straight teeth coming into view. As he leans forward to snatch the bag away, you get a whiff of his scent and witness how perfectly his dark locks fall forward. Fuck, what kind of super genes did the Millers possess? How are they both so effortlessly attractive? It’s sometimes easy to forget that Tommy can be classified as good-looking since the two of you tend to give each other hell most of the time. But during those short moments where you get a good look at him? It’s devastating. 

Tommy holds out the bag and stuffs the cinnamon roll into his mouth, his jaw moving. 

“You really not gonna share it with Maria? It’s a miracle your spine isn’t broken from sleeping on the couch.”

He takes the roll out of his mouth and takes a proper bite, “I’m a fuckin’ delight to be around and she’s not home.” You take the bag and as you do, stick out your tongue. “Brat. Your loverboy is at the tree farm cuttin’ up trees. Tell him I say hi and he should find me later.” 

“I’m not his secretary.” 

“It’s almost like you want me to take all your treats.” 

The smell of pine fills your lungs and you’re grateful. You adore the smell. The freshness and sweetness of it mixing with the crispness of snow. You’re honestly amazed at how organized the tree farm is. Tall, lush pine trees in perfect order as you walk between them. Lights have been strung up temporarily, the wires that tie them together so thin that it almost looks like they’re hanging from the sky. They must look beautiful during the night. 

It takes you a while to find Joel. He’s in the back and you approach him silently. That wasn’t your initial intention, being snuck up on is never fun. But the way he’s chopping wood makes your insides feel all runny and warm. You didn’t know he additionally chopped firewood as well. He lifts the axe and throws it down, sweat beading on his forehead. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, exposing the sinewy muscle of his forearms to your gaze. He cuts down another log, it becomes two in one swift motion. Your mouth dries and tongue rushes out to wet your lips. Your mind cruelly reminds you of the night you kissed him, how good it had felt to have him pressed against you, claiming you—

“Why don’t you bring a damn camera next time, it’ll add to the whole stalker pervert thing you have goin’ on right now.” 

Okay. He’s joking. Joking is good, right? Joking means that he doesn’t think about covering your face with a pillow while you sleep. Your body tenses, the soft hairs scattered across your body rising with attention. 

“Sorry,” you blurt out, the two of you standing only inches apart. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you but we need to talk.” 

“I was wonderin’ when you’d come by. Sucks to be wrong doesn’t it?” 

“How was I supposed to know people had nothing else better to do than talk about our non-existent relationship.” 

Joel suddenly throws the axe down, impaling the sharp end into the wood, you jump, adrenaline humming in your ears. He ignores your very fair reaction and peels off his gloves, turning towards the bench, “Gee, only if someone had told you that people would talk.” 

“Yeah, okay I deserve that.” 

He sighs, “What do you want?” 

“Like I’ve been saying since the day I realized who you are: to talk.” 

“Fine. I was about to take a damn break anyway. Come on, now.” 

You both sit on the ice-cold bench, he leans over and picks up a thermos. You’re surprised when he also pulls out two mugs, placing them on top of a clearly handmade bite-sized picnic table. Without a word, you quickly place your offerings as well, at least the ones Tommy had let you get away with, two cheese-stuffed bagels and one cinnamon roll. You frown when you look at it. You really wanted that roll. 

“What’s this?” Joel asks, filling the mugs. 

“I thought you’d be in better spirits with a full stomach.” 

You almost earn a hint of laughter but the sound is quickly swallowed down. The traces of his smile still linger on the corner of his lips, “Well, at least you’re not dumb enough to come empty-handed.” 

Ignoring him, you place your cold palms around the mug and take a sip. The fresh taste of lavender and honey coats your tongue. Your favorite. “Huh, weird,” you mutter. 

“What? Does it taste funny?” 

“No no. It’s just. . . Lavender tea is my favorite.” 

“Go figure,” he takes a sip and scowls. “I’d rather have coffee.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t think you were a tea-loving man.” He grunts and picks up one of the bagels, taking a bite. “About the whole dating situation, I have a plan.” 

He doesn’t acknowledge what you’ve said so you continue, “The plan is we fake it for a while, act like a couple, make everyone gush over us, then we break up, saying we wanted different things. That way no one digs into our pasts.” 

“This is the weirdest way anyone has ever asked me out.” 

You snort, “I’m not asking you out. The key word here is fake. Because if we just say we weren’t dating at all, people are going to wonder why you had me up against a wall. And unless you want to tell people you were threatening me. . .” you give him a look but he’s staring at the horizon, chewing thoughtfully on his bagel. You think he’s scowling but you’re not sure. “I think this is the best way.” 

He swallows the last bite and glares at his mug before taking another sip of his tea, he wrinkles his nose. “How would we have to be around each other? I haven’t exactly been datin’ around that much.” 

“I was six when the outbreak happened. I’m pretty sure your guess is better than mine.” 

That finally catches his attention, his eyes widen, the furrow between his brows deep, “Six?” he repeats. 

“Yeah.” 

You’re used to people being surprised. Most like you haven’t survived. And your references to the past always made you seem older than you were, you preferred it that way. The less people could guess about you the better. Your mom and dad always paid extra attention to tell you about the world before the cordyceps, reminding you that a life like that could still be your reality once again. 

“Was. . .” Joel swallows, pulling you away from your parents. You reach for the other bagel and start eating, giving him time so he can just spit it out. “Was that your first kiss?” 

There is something in his voice, an emotion very similar to guilt. You swallow your bite. 

“No. It wasn’t.” And that’s all you have to say about that. It seems to be enough because he visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping. You change the subject. Quickly. “I’m thinking we hold hands a bit, kiss each other on the cheek, and stuff like that. We can come up with rules if you want but I think it’s pretty straightforward.” 

He nods. An oddly comfortable silence stretches out. You finish your bagel and drain the rest of your tea. 

“We should probably split this,” he says and pulls out a knife from his belt. 

“Oh. . . you can have it.” 

Joel chuckles, it isn’t quite a laugh but you still take it as a win. “I saw how you were oglin’ it. I ain’t gonna risk you biting my head off,” he cuts it into two and offers you the bigger half. A smile brushes against your lips. “Why didn’t you just get two?” 

“I did!” you gasp, forgetting that the two of you aren’t lovers, not even friends. “Tommy took one as compensation for telling me where you were. By the way, he wanted me to tell you hi and that the two of you should meet up later.” 

“Why ain’t he lettin’ me know his damn self. I know he ain’t doin’ shit today. You’re not my secretary.” 

“That’s what I said!” 

Another chuckle. You’re acing this. 

“I’ll get him to pay you back, don’t worry.” 

“You don’t have to,” you laugh. “It’s just a roll.” 

“Well, you’re my girl now, aren’t you? It would be unboyfriend-like of me not to avenge my girl. If we’re gonna fake it, might as well do it right.” 

My girl. Your cheeks grow warm. You know it’s not real, and that deep down he most likely despises your existence that threatens his peace but still, it’s good to belong. Even if it’s not real. Even if it’s a lie. Your brain tricks your body into feeling whole for a brief moment, that internal coldness you’ve been feeling since the day your parents died melting ever so lightly, the warm water that drips over the icy exterior, warming your stomach. 

“Tell him he owes me two then,” you say, barely above a whisper. “The bakery rarely makes them you know, cinnamon is hard to make.” 

He nods but doesn’t add anything else. The crinkles soften at the corner of his eyes, lips looking soft and pliant. You might’ve even dared enough to say that he looks at peace. 

You stand and leave, taking a mental note to bring him more treats from now on. 

You successfully fool yourself into believing it’s for his sake and not yours. 

Joel enjoys the cold. He always knew he would but was never allowed to say it since he never lived in the cold. He hated that argument. Sure he lived in Austin his entire life but that didn’t mean he didn’t ache for a bit of chill. Even at the end of the world, when he barely had enough to cover his back, he found himself enjoying the little things. The fresh, crisp air, the snow crunching under his boots. 

The silence. 

Sometimes he wonders if he likes it so much because it reminds him of death and considering all the seasons, winter is the one where he is closest to it. Closest to Sarah. He does hope she’s someplace warmer now. He’s not a man of faith, but for her, he’ll believe there’s an afterlife where nothing but good and butterflies exist. 

Joel also feels closest to her when he’s with Tommy. His brother is the only one who knew her, the good in her. He was the one who was there when the world was stripped away from such a kind being, and he was there when she was buried under the world she could always see the best of. 

As Joel walks up to the porch the brothers' eyes meet, it’s true that uncles resemble the kids. Sometimes if the light hits him just right, Joel could see a bit of her in him. 

“You owe her two rolls,” Joel huffs, sitting on the empty chair beside Tommy. 

“I don’t know what she told you but we had a very fair exchange, I don’t owe your little girlfriend shit,” he grins, not noticing the way Joel frowns at the label. “Nice to see the guard dog in you hasn’t died out.” 

“I ain’t a guard dog.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

“Just bring her two tomorrow and I’ll owe you one favor.” 

Tommy’s grin only widens, “You must really want to impress her.” 

Joel fights the urge to roll his eyes. This whole arrangement is going to be a pain in the ass, he can sense it. 

“Fine, tell pecan I’ll have her goods Friday. I doubt I’ll be able to wake up early enough to get it tomorrow but you owe me one Joel.” 

“Why the hell do you call her Pecan anyway? That ain’t her name, you dumbass.” 

“It’s because she has a hard shell but nice and soft on the inside.” Joel’s shoulders raise and he swallows thickly around the knot forming in his throat. He remembers the way you tasted on his tongue. How soft you were against him, no hard shell in sight. Tommy has no idea just how soft you are and can be. His cock twitches under the denim. He hates himself for it. “You should bring her to the party tonight.” 

“Huh?” 

“That party, Joel,” Tommy playfully smacks his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you forgot already. You promised to come.” 

Oh yeah. Fuck. He really doesn’t want to go and deal with all the eyes he already knows will be on him. And you. 

“Yeah, ‘course I remember. I’ll be there.” 

“Just you?” 

Joel sighs, “And her. We’ll be there.” 

“You know, I’m truly happy for you brother. You deserve to be happy with someone who appreciates you.” 

The words sting but he can’t do anything about it. He looks away, eyes staring at the snow-covered trees. “I don’t like being at the center of attention.” 

“It’ll die out. The lonely bachelors are just jealous. Don’t mind them.” 

Joel doesn’t need to ask to know what he’s talking about. You’re nearly half his age, six when the damn world came to an end. He knows people are wondering how the hell an old man like him got a girl like you, as if your age is the only reason to be with you. Not that he would know. None of this is real after all. You don’t appreciate him like Tommy suggested, maybe grateful for not putting a bullet between your eyes but that’s pretty much it. The same goes for him. He doesn’t know you—other than that you enjoy lavender tea with heaping amounts of honey and cinnamon rolls. 

“I won’t, Tommy. No need to worry.” 

When you hear a loud knock at the door, you’re staring at your reflection in the mirror. Ever since the kissing mishap with Joel, you’ve been a bit more conscious of what you look like. You’ve never had a reason to care much about it before and you’re not sure you like being this aware of every little flaw now. 

Walking to the door, you’re not sure who to expect. You don’t have many friends other than Tommy and Maria, you’re already on alert, grabbing a small knife from the kitchen. Old habits die hard. 

What you weren’t expecting is to see a distressed Joel Miller. 

“Didn’t figure you knew where I lived.” 

“I’m the brother-in-law of the woman in charge, of course I know where you live. I know where everyone lives.” 

You lift an eyebrow and lean against the door frame, his eyes drop to the knife but fear is the furthest thing in his features, “Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” 

“There’s a party at Tommy’s and he wanted me to invite you.” 

An involuntary groan escapes your lips, Tommy knew you didn’t want to go. The fucker. 

“And let me guess, I have to go because we’re a couple.” 

“Don’t give me attitude it was your idea, not mine.” 

He’s right, “Fine. Come in and I’ll change so we can leave.” 

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearin’ right now?” 

You try not to hide yourself behind the door as his eyes sweep you from top to bottom. Inherently, there isn’t anything wrong with what you’re wearing. It's just your typical jeans, sweater, and a dark green flannel thrown on top. You’re warm and cozy. 

“Isn’t this a party?” 

“What do you think they’ll be wearin’? Suits and fancy dresses?” 

“I guess you’re right, I’ll get my jacket.” 

Feeling warmer than normal, you lock the door and the two of you head to Tommy’s. “So, should we. . . talk about what we’re gonna do or say?” 

“Say?” 

Joel shrugs, “You know, if they ask us how we met or somethin’.” 

“I think half the town knows how we met, Joel.” 

“A’right, so our story is that I helped you down, had a couple of drinks, and decided we like each other?” 

“Sounds iron proof to me.” 

“This is fuckin’ stupid.” 

“I don’t see you coming up with any plans.” 

“Wouldn’t even be in this mess if not for you.” 

The harsh bite in his tone makes you take a step back without thinking. You’ve seen this man kill with ease. He’d admitted to regret leaving you alive. Fear is an irrational thing. It’s something that lingers and stays even when the initial threat has been evaded. You’re still afraid despite knowing you don’t have to be. You’ve been enjoying your little talks, you’ve been enjoying spending time with him. Internally you’re conflicted and confused. 

Joel slows down along with you, turning and checking just how far you’ve fallen behind. He stops and turns, eyes taking in the furrow of your brows, the running of your nose. You don’t flinch when he touches your cheek, his gloved hand soft against your skin. He’s so gentle. So gentle that it almost hurts. 

“I ain’t gonna hurt you. Promise,” he lets out a steady breath, fixing you with a leveled gaze. “I might not trust you or even like you, but I won’t hurt you.” 

Your eyes widen, heart thudding loud enough that you’re positive he can hear it. Without a word you nod, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Joel nods back. His hand deserts your cheek and he locks your arms together, tugging you along the snow. 

You believe him when he says he won’t hurt you. As foolish as that might be.

Two hours into the party and still all everyone can talk about is Joel and his new girlfriend. Even goddamn Maria had asked about it. Joel is still recovering from his sister-in-law’s interest in the matter. You were a definite natural in faking it. Unlike him, who was already exhausted from it all. It’d been a long couple of hours of holding hands, standing close, and kissing cheeks. 

He’s holding a glass of the finest whiskey he’s ever had since the world ended, surrounded by familiar faces and his brother. You had scurried off somewhere. To the bathroom, he thinks. Or helping Maria with organizing. He probably should’ve asked, but he’s not used to questioning people unless it’s Ellie. But since the two of you are “dating” he suppose he should’ve. 

“Yo Miller.” Joel fights the urge to groan as Wellington approaches with a raised hand. He slaps him on the shoulder, his cheeks and nose red and warm thanks to the alcohol. “You gotta tell me your secret.” 

Joel sends Tommy a questioning gaze, his bother only shrugs. “‘Bout what Wellington?” he sighs. 

“About catchin’ such a fine piece of ass.” 

Joel’s shoulders raise, nostrils flaring as anger boils in his gut, but before he can get out a word Tommy intervenes, “Wellington.” 

“What?” he slurs, turning to the younger Miller. “We’re all thinkin’ it. How old is she huh? Like half your age?” 

Joel feels sick when the man grins. Wellington ain’t lying, you are half his age. Realistically, someone like you would never go for him. An old man who’s lost so much in his lifetime. But of course, he can’t say that, he can’t say anything that might out them as liars. 

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Joel grunts, pushing Wellington’s hand off his shoulder. “Or I’ll shut it for you.” 

“I’d say money but that don’t exist anymore,” Wellington continues. “So what is it?” 

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up—

“Joel?” 

Your voice cuts through the tension like a knife. Everyone who’s in-ear shot of the conversation stills, an icy cold wind enveloping all of them, including Tommy. Joel recognizes the look of worry in his brother’s eyes. The older Miller swallows thickly as he rips his glare away from Wellington—he’s surprised that despite the amount of alcohol in his veins he looks ashamed.

“Yeah, darlin’?” 

You shudder in a way only he notices. You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Your body subtly going straight and then relaxing. He wonders how much you’ve heard, or rather if you heard. 

“I need some help in the kitchen, could you?” 

“Uh, yeah sure. Of course.” 

He ignores Tommy’s snicker and follows you through the crowd, away from the sight of Wellington and others. You stop at the threshold of the kitchen, not going in. You lean against the door frame and look away. “Sorry, I don’t actually need help. It just looked like you needed saving.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

“If looks could kill, Wellington would be dead thrice.” You say it so nonchalantly that he smiles, Joel mimics your stance and leans against the other side of the doorframe, leaving only little distance between you two. “What did he say?” 

So you didn’t hear. Good. 

“Nothin’ that you need to concern yourself with. He’s just buggin’ me, that’s all.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Didn’t really look like it was just buggin’.” 

The subtle accent change at the end of your sentence makes him laugh, you shake your head but he sees the way your lips quirk into a smile. 

“You makin’ fun of me sweetheart?” 

“. . . Maybe.” 

“That’s the type of talk that’ll get you in trouble you know.” 

Your smile widens into a grin, “With whom?” 

“Keep it up and you’ll find out.” 

It’s been a long time since he felt like this. The enjoyment of the tug and pull. Heat spreads from the small of his back and reaches all the way to his groin. You must’ve had a couple of drinks before asking for him. You lean closer, your lips deliciously curled as mischief glimmers in your eyes. He wonders if you thought about the kiss. How close your bodies were that night. 

“Be careful Miller,” you say, rolling your tongue over each syllable. “Almost sounds like you want me to keep it up.” 

God, that he does. He’s starting to get hard. Without even thinking he leans a bit closer as well, tilting his head as if he’s about to kiss you. Your eyes flash with something expectant—

“KISS!” 

The delicate moment shatters with reality. You’re not flirting, you can’t, because technically you’re already dating. Joel hates the way you flinch at the sudden crowd shouting. His head whips towards them, only to see Tommy taking charge, he points to something above and both of your heads snap up like a cartoon. 

“Mistletoe,” he says. Lowering his gaze, he gives you a quick smile. “You know what that means, right sweetheart?” 

You roll your eyes, “I do, jerk.” 

“Brat.” 

He almost laughs at the way your lips quickly wound shut. The crowd is getting restless. 

“Don’t y’all have anythin’ better to do?” Joel quips. 

“Nope!” 

The echoes of kiss kiss kiss only get louder from there. Joel sighs, “I don’t think we can escape them.” 

“If I had a penny every time we had to kiss to appease a crowd. . .” you whisper. He expects you to continue but you don’t, instead you place your hands on his cheeks, holding him gently. You come closer and as does he, his hands slide to your hips, tugging you flush against him. 

You’re so soft. Softer than he deserves. 

Unlike the first time, he takes the lead. He pushes you until your back is pressed against the doorframe, he claims your lips with a need he fearfully admits he doesn’t have to fake. He squeezes your hips, the sound of the crowd awing them fading into the background. It’s just his lips that move, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to feel your tongue against his. To feel the quiver of your naked body as he fills you to the brim, kissing you and telling you just how much he enjoys being inside you. 

He swallows your tiny moans and whimpers, and as he breaks away, he pulls at your bottom lip with his teeth. You’re breathless when you meet his gaze, sharp eyes glazed over with a fog of arousal. 

Then, as the crowd claps, he presses the side of his face against your ear, “Just a taste,” he whispers and feels your tremble underneath his palms. “Of what’ll happen if you keep it up.” 

“That was one hell of a party,” you muse. You’re staring at the dark horizon, snow gently falling from the sky. Joel pushes a warm mug of tea between your hands. 

“It’s still goin’ on,” he says. 

“You’d die if you just let me live in my blissful bubble wouldn’t you?” 

“Sure would.” 

You let out a snort as he settles near you, your shoulders brushing against one another. You have to admit, it’s been a fun night—and not only because of the kiss. That was just a bonus. A very hot and steamy bonus. 

It felt too real to be fake. Too real to be nothing. Years you had been alone and now you were sampling what it meant to have someone care for you, to tease you. He doesn’t even know you yet you two fit together like a glove and a hand. Makes you wonder how different this could all have been if he hadn’t been Ellie’s father, and you hadn’t been a part of the Fireflies. 

“Oh good you’re still here.” The two of you turn to see Tommy, his cheeks a little flushed and his breath a little uneven. “I need to ask you two somethin’.” 

“What now?” Joel groans, prompting a smile from you. 

“You heard of the new family in town? The one with two kids?” You have no idea but Joel seems to know who they are. He nods. “We don’t have a house ready for them yet so I was thinkin’. . .” his eyes flicker between yours and Joel’s, your stomach going tight with worry. “You two can live together till we’re finished with the construction.” 

“What?” 

The question leaves your mouth before you can properly register. You turn to Joel but much to your surprise, he seems unfazed. 

“Just for a while,” Tommy says. “I just figured since you two are already datin’. . .” 

Joel ignores his brother completely to fave you, “Your call sweetheart.” 

Seeing him so calm makes you ashamed of your initial reaction. You’re not even sure why you reacted so brashly. It was a simple request. A logical one. 

“Yeah sure, that’s okay,” forcing a smile, you turn to Tommy. Joel’s touch is soothing behind you, hand rubbing small circles at the base of your spine. A welcome comfort. “Just let me grab my things and you can set them up tomorrow.” 

“You’re the best, pecan,” Tommy glows, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll give Maria the good news.” 

Joel’s hand deserts you almost immediately when his brother is out of sight. It makes your heartstrings tug. “You sure about this?” he asks. “It would be fine if I lived alone but Ellie is a curious one and she’ll figure it out if we ain’t convincin’ enough.” 

“In all honesty, I had completely forgotten about Ellie,” you let out a deep exhale. “But I guess that’s fine. I’m sure we can pull it off. It’s not like I could say no.” 

His gaze softens, “You could’ve asked to stay somewhere else.” 

“No. . . It’s fine, Joel. Really,” you crack a smile. “I feel like I should be asking if you’re alright with it. You’re the one with the problem with me being around Ellie.” 

“I’ll have my eye on you two,” he says a bit too quickly for comfort. 

Your tongue sours, “I’m not going to tell her anything.” 

Joel doesn’t say anything. Or even acknowledges that he’s heard you. He leaves you on the porch, following his brother’s footsteps, you’re left with nothing but a lukewarm mug of tea. 

Then you notice it’s lavender. 

[minminbunny]

Enemies to Lovers AU - Villain! Bang Chan/Hero Fem! Reader

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

"Bombing the lake? Again?" You huffed, crossing your arms. Chan chuckled, "Don't you love it, princess. It's a love bomb," he said gesturing to the paper heart floating on the water's surface. "CB97," you said, clenching your jaw. Chan raised his arms in surrender, "Full government name, princess. I'm hurt," he said, smirking down at you. "The water is polluted now and the poor aqua cleaners have to clean up after you," you ranted, running your fingers through your hair in annoyance. Chan's gaze softened, "Princess the paper is biodegradable. It'll dissolve, scouts honor," he said, raising three fingers in honor. You stifled a laugh, "Still, you can't be a city nuisance, CB. If I don't take you down, someone will," you warned, not wanting him to get hurt. Chan chuckled, getting on his hoverbike, "Dying in the arms that aren't yours, princess? Never," he said, riding off.

"Time to figure out who's under that stupid mask," you said, looking around to check if anyone was there before ripping it off. Chan chuckled, wearing another mask beneath, "Surprise?" he said, loving the annoyance on your face. You rolled your eyes and pulled off the mask. Your breath hitched, "Chris?" You whispered, cupping his face. Chan groaned the wound in his abdomen stung, "The one and only," he said, lips etched with a stupid grin. You furrowed your eyebrows, "I could've killed you," you said, tracing the gash on his cheek. Chan nuzzled your palm, "Death by your hands is the best way to go," he said, staring up at you. "Idiot," you grumbled, kissing his lips. Chan chuckled, taking the lead as he licked your bottom lip. You parted your lips, deepening the kiss under the moonlight.

NSFW BELOW CUT

"You thought I would just accept you being CB97 without repercussions?" You asked, pinning his wrists to the bed. Chan's eyes widened, "Baby, Princess, Angel. Please have mercy on my poor soul," he pleaded, his heart racing with fear and anticipation. You chuckled and unbuckled his belt, "Mercy? What's that?" you purred, tying his wrists with the belt. Chan gulped, "Princess a man can only cum so many times before there's nothing left," he said, flexing his wrist beneath the bounds. You aligned your fluttering cunt with his cockhead, "Let's see what's your max then, yeah?" you said, mimicking his accent. Chan tossed his head back as you sank down his throbbing shaft, "Fuck, hah," he gasped, bucking his hips upwards.

"Mmh, hah. So hot so big," you purred, riding his cock at a controlled pace. Chan clenched his jaw, veins protruding on his neck, "Ride Daddy faster, princess. I know how much you missed me," he groaned, pissed at your teasing strokes. You giggled, grinding your hips when his cockhead kissed against your cervix, "But Daddy, this already feels good," you said, your voice breathy and warm. Chan huffed, easily flipping you on your back, "You know better than to tease me, little girl," he growled, breaking the belt. You wrapped your arms around his neck, "Make me regret it, Chris. To. Pher," you whispered, nipping his ear. Chan chuckled, hooking his arms under your knees, "Just you wait," he gruffed, sinking his cock deep within your aching hot pussy.