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deprivedreality · 19 days ago

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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.

#deprivedreality ─ blogs #deprivedreality ─ my hero academia #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo headcanons #bakugo headcanons #prohero bakugo #my hero academia headcanons #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bnha #adult bakugo katsuki #dynamight

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bonchobrick · 2 years ago

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Dead on Main au where Jason is of course Danny’s Fright Knight and like all knights do he has a weapon—except it’s his gun.

The batfam + justice league + everyone (except ghosts duh) don’t know that his normal average everyday gun is actually like a super powerful spiritual soul shooter that is, yaknow, capable of blasting someone into an alternate dimension where their greatest fears become real.

So imagine there’s like a big battle where a ghastly ghoul reigns terror on Gotham. The world sends their best hero’s—wizards and occultists are notably high highest in demand—to stop the ghost but, nothing works. All of the weapons and spells and chants fail.

But,

As the fights worsens and the heros scream for people to flee suddenly--

Loud squeaking footsteps echo across the ground. Jason yawns strolling into the battle zone in a ghostbusters t-shirt plaid pants bunny slippers--he strolls up in pajamas--as if annoyed at being woken up and cocks his fucking normal 'i could buy you at walmart' gun at the ghost.

His brothers screech at him yelling ”Are you insane” and to "get the hell out of here" in fear and panic because their idiot brother is trying to kill a real life ghost with a damn gun.

But then Jason shoots the ghost and it works.

The ghost fizzles down with a cry into just a little blob.

The young man then spends 30 minutes lecturing the spirit saying things like “you’re glad I’m not calling the big guy” and “you know our highness would not be happy learning what you’ve been doing” before taking out a thermos of all things and sucking the ghost into it.

Jason then sighs and walks away as if he hadn’t just defeated a hell raising ghost with a gun people can buy off a corner pawn store and a soup container.

Immediately the bat family swarms him with questions

Dick grabs him by his shoulders tense with worry, “Are you okay?”

“Um yeah—“ Jason tries to reply squirming in his hold

Damian cuts him off, “How the hell did your gun a physical weapon hurt that ghastly demonic spirit!”

“Uh that ghost is actually pretty chill you guys just pissed him off." Jason replies plain

They stare at him with a look saying 'you did not call a ghost that has been decimating gotham chill' probably because he did just that.

Tim is the first to break out of the disbelief stupor as he very inteligently says, "What?"

Jason responds easily with a confused quirk in his brow, "Second, my gun affects entities of all sorts, perks to my job and all that."

"How did being a vigilante and also probably crime boss give you a gun that could do that?" Dick asks

Jason sends him a look saying "are you an idiot" as he replies, "Yea, sure, kicking petty thieves and druggies got me my all powerful spirit weapon--No you dumbass, it's from being the bodyguard of the King of the Infinite Realms! How the hell did you guys not think of that!”

Tim breathes in, then breathes out, then breathes in again and screams, "Why the HELL WOULD WE THINK OF THAT JAY?!"

"The--" Batman, suddenly beside them, chokes, "Bodyguard of T-the what."

Jason blinks at his family then his eyes widen, "Oh shit."

"What?!" His family screech in panic

"Oh fuck," Jason says with a growing hysteric smile, "Danny's gonna have a big ol' fucking laugh with this."

"Brother who is Danny!" Damian demands for an answer

Jason coughs into his palm, "Oh yeah you guys really dont dont know. So I may have forgotten to explain some... things."

Bruce levels him with a stare that says "you think?"

Jason chuckles nervously, "So y'know how I'm half dead?"

pause

Damian very eloquently responds for the suddenly dying screaming combusting members of his family, "...sure."

"Well I met the King of the afterlife which is like the Ruler of Everything and he was really cute--" Jason says distant in his own world

"Theres a afterlife?" Superman asks casually appearing beside the emotionally wrecked family

"Yea its pretty cool. So I start flirting a bit with the guy and we hit it off, I now im his zombie ghost knight boyfriend lover for all time. Oh and i got this sickass gun." Jason says with a happy grin

"That is a pretty sick gun." John Constantine nods

"I know right?" Jason chirps

"You wouldn't mind if I inspected--" John reaches his hand

Jason slaps it away, "Not a chance you soul whore. Y'know your basically the tax evasionist of the Ghost Zone right?"

John only sighs and leaves

"But yea so I'm like the ghost world equivalent to married with the king and became his knight and thats how I was able to stop that ghost guy." Jason reiterates as if explaining a simple question, "Y'guys get that?"

Tim is on the ground trying to decide whether; sobbing hysterically, interogating jason to find out all the things he doesn't want to know or sleeping would be a better use of his time.

Dick has decided to blame himself and has started to draft a reddit post in the middle of the street starting with "I (23 m) have a younger brother (19 m), who I used to resent but really regret now, he died and came back and doesn't even tell me about what goes on in his life anymore. How do I fix our--"

Damian is just staring at the gun and... Jason pushes it deeper in his holster and shifts to the side, better to be safe than sorry with this thieving shit.

As Jason adjusts his weaponry he hears Bruce sob in the background, "He didn't even invite me to the wedding! Am I that horrible of a father!"

Wonder Woman pats his shoulder reasuringly whilst the rest of the League seem to be trying to calm him down

Jason looks around tiredly at the mess he had created and decides fuck it

"Alright I'm heading out for the night, you guys get home safe!" He yells and without caring to listen to anyone and everyone voicing their confusion he zips open a green portal and stumbles in

He crashes down on an unbelievably comfortable bed

Danny blinks blearily before sending the young man a sleepy smile, "Hey Jay, what kept you up so long?"

Jason slipping under the blankets with a yawn says, "You would not believe the night I just had."

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

Edit: UMM HII The fic is out now here!! you guys are awesome I'll post the new chapter 2 in a hot sec after editting ^^

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woodland-gremlin · 10 months ago

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How to Adopt Your Clone Pt. 1 (Adoption AU)

Ao3

Elle loves flying. The way the wind whips around her, the weightlessness of it, how small everything looks so high up, and most of all how freeing it is.When she is up in the air she is free, safe, away from everything that hurts her and tries to drag her down into their control. Free, never being tied down and forced into a role she never wanted. Free, able to go from place to place, exploring a world that was kept from her. Free to be herself, to learn what she wants and who she is. Ellie truly loved flying and the freedom it offers down to her very core. She wouldn’t trade it for anything, much less anything that the Fruitloop offered.

She was just so lonely. She has traveled far and wide, exploring different cultures, meeting new people, and learning about the world that the oldest Halfa hid from her. That is how she learned he lied to her more than she thought. While somewhere like the horror stories he told her most were nothing like he said. The people she met and spoke to were as wide and diverse as the sea. Some were tall and strong, while others were small and sneaky. Some knew so much she didn’t know how they fit everything in their head, then some may have not known as much but were no less clever. Some remind her of the Creep and why she left, yet others remind her of her template, Danny.

It seemed like that no matter where she went she saw something that reminded her of the first person to accept her. An observatory telling her all about space and the stars he endlessly spoke about. A mechanic down on his luck. A kid in highschool that was stressed about finals.The kind old lady that gave her the last of her own food to her because she noticed she was hungry. Someone told a ridiculous pun that made everyone groan. Another that saved a cat from a tree. Even seeing someone with black hair with either blue or green eyes made her turn her head and do a double take.

The worst was when another hero saved the day. She never stayed for too long when that happened, it made her bitter. Bitter to hear of a hero that claimed that they could hear a cry for help from across the world but never bothered to save her. Where was he when she and her siblings were being abused by a madman? When her sibling kept dying, only to be replaced by another as if they were objects? When she was being manipulated into betraying one of the only people that was treated with kindness?

In the end it was her own template that was the one to save her, not some boy scout who thought it was a good idea to wear his underwear over his other clothes. Her own template who had every reason to hate her after everything that had happened but instead looked her in the eye and said she was family. Who offered to risk his own freedom, his own safety, for the one-in-the-million chance his parents would accept and she would have a safe place to stay. Who saw her as her own person, even helping her come up with a new name after she offhandedly mentioned that she hated the one Knock-off Vampire gave her. Who made a grave for his siblings and worked to give each of them names after she chose her own. Who saw each and everyone as their own person, not just a failed copy that Cliche Money Bags saw us as. Who mourned them, who grieved the lives that they never got to experience, that he was too late to save them.

Danny was a hero, much more than the League of Idiots who can’t even see what is right in front of them. She doubts that they would treat her or her siblings even half as well as Danny, much less if they were clones of them.

#danny phantom #dcu #dcxdp #dp + dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #ghost king danny #danni phantom #ellie phantom #danielle “danni” phantom is called ellie #adoption au #vlad plasmius #justice league #superman #Vlad Masters #clones

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yandere-wishes · 2 years ago

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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.

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luvsymai · 5 months ago

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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.

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teambyler · 5 months ago

Text

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

#byler kiss #it will be epic #churchgate #byler prediction #byler #stranger things 5 #st5 #agents of shield

366 notes · View notes

lvoryingrid · 11 days ago

Text

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

#my hero academia #dabi #mha dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x fem!reader #todoroki touya #bnha dabi #bnha #bnha x reader #dabi todoroki #mha #mha x reader #oneshot

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

Text

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.

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