#i do need to make a physical top ten moments list cause this one is up here

[cosmicrhetoric]

i went into the series/wano knowing about gear 5 so like. idk i knew the whole time that the series was going to reach an insane height and i kinda know around what ep it happens and i still have almost 100 episodes of wano left but man i cannot see how theyre going to escalate it from here. like how could this possible get big enough to contain gear 5 when by the time the akazaya strike down kaido it already feels like we're at a peak

[revenant-ao3]

The Hounds of Fate - Ch 6

Read on Ao3: here

Shoto hovers in the realm of wakefulness, woefully unaware of his surroundings as he’s dragged down an austere hallway. Trying to gain a sense of his situation is like looking at blurry, overexposed polaroids. Each moment passes by, a snapshot he can barely comprehend. A heavy metal door swings open. Blink. He’s in a new corridor. Blink. Voices hover over him.

“I hope you didn’t rough him up too severely. It’d be a shame to waste more time than necessary.”

The voice is masculine, unfamiliar, and far too pleasant given Shoto’s current state. It might be the electrocution or the head trauma, but it sounds a little like the man is speaking through a filter. It takes a moment for Shoto to decipher the words. By the time he grasps it, another voice, faintly familiar joins in.

“No more than what was needed.”

Who is that? Scars? No, it’s not hoarse enough. Sparky?

Shoto wants to look but each sliver of light that slips through his eyelids feels like an ice pick to the brain.

“This is what was needed?” says the first voice. It comes out exasperated and mildly inconvenienced like he’d been given the wrong drink at a restaurant.

Then, a cool hand touches Shoto’s face, gentle as can be.

It startles urgency into him. That brutal haze is pierced by an innate feeling of danger. Shoto doesn’t know exactly what’s going on or why he feels like death warmed over, but he knows no one should be touching him. Nobody aside from his sister has been so physically tender with him in a long, long time. Something’s wrong. His body jerks, aching muscles protesting at the command. He manifests a stream of ice without even thinking.

It earns him another round of shock therapy, though it’s milder this time by a large margin. More disorienting than purposefully agonizing. If his body had not already been thoroughly abused, it would do little to slow him. Unfortunately, his beaten muscles spasm with renewed vengeance, and stars dance behind his eyes. He can taste the current on his tongue.

Anger follows on the tails of the fear and pain that bite his ankles. Shoto isn’t sure if he’s growling but it feels an awful lot like he’s growling, borderline rabid as he lashes out like a cornered animal. Someone’s yelling. The electricity doesn’t falter. Every ounce of ice that leaves his body is replaced with lightning.

“He shouldn’t be able to—”

Shoto’s mind blanks out, missing the rest of the incredulous statement. His body gives in, convulsing from the combined backlash of the cold and unrelenting shocks.

“—warned you—”

He isn’t lucid for much longer.

---

Shoto flits through fits of awareness, each shorter than the last. And each time, he fights the hands that touch him, snarls at the voice that greets him. Spines of ice jut out like arrows on instinct and he’s shocked at every turn. He can’t even release a frosted gasp without electricity coursing through his body. Dazed, he can’t help but think it might kill him soon. Strangely enough, he’s not upset at the notion.

For a moment, somewhere lost in that electric haze, he feels a lick of fire burst from his face.

That dreadful, dreadful rage burns deeper in his gut.

---

The next round of consciousness hits him like a rough hangover – not that he’s accustomed to that feeling, but seeing a few people on the streets struggling after a wild night gives him a decent estimate of what it’s like. His head is throbbing, his mouth is dryer than his sense of humor, and he can barely breathe without it feeling like his body wants to shut down from intense muscle pain. Each minor inhale nearly causes him to convulse like his body’s grown too accustomed to the twitches to function otherwise.

Overall, he’s felt worse, though not by a large margin. This certainly isn’t making it into his Top Ten list of pleasant wake-up calls, that’s for sure.

He lays there for several minutes as he works on reorienting himself and taking marginally deeper breaths. His memories are foggy and his headache only exacerbates his efforts to backtrack. It's when he twitches his hand to rub his aching chest only to feel restraints around his wrists that it comes rushing to him in painful clarity.

The ambush – successful this time.

They got him.

Shoto knows he should be frightened, but he feels more annoyed and embarrassed than anything. Caught like a goddamn rookie. (The fact that he is years off of even being considered that level is pointedly ignored.)

Somewhere, he feels like his father is scoffing with a lecture for his incompetence at the ready. Perhaps the reality of the situation hasn’t settled in just yet, but he’s frustrated that he’s managed to give this little victory to Endeavor, even if the man is unaware of it. Laugh it up, you bastard. I’ll get out of here on my own.

He blinks and squints, forcing himself to work through the pain to observe his immediate surroundings.

White walls, white laminate flooring, white acoustical ceiling tiles, and not a hint of furniture beyond the tatami mat he’s lying on. He’d say the room is spartan but that’s being far too generous. The only other thing that catches his eye is a camera pointed in his direction up in the corner. The door, he observes, is solid metal with no visible handle. It’d be too easy if he was allowed to just walk out, he supposes. There’s no immediately visible threat or opportunity to exploit.

With that down, he moves on to cataloging himself.

The first and absolutely most concerning thing he notes is his bare face. No shitty, warped plastic rubs against his skin or causes his breath to condense unpleasantly on his lips. It rips the blinders off his eyes and forces him to see the situation for what it is. He’s known logically that things are most certainly Not Good, but there was a sense of safety his mask brought him, like a security blanket he’s imprinted on. With it gone, with the knowledge that anyone and everyone involved now knows his face – his shame – he feels the seeds of fear set its roots firmly in his gut.

There’s no way of knowing how many people have seen him. Was he processed somewhere? Examined? Someone moved him here. Is this a single entity or a team? The thought of more and more people recognizing him makes him sick.

He digs his blunted and cracked nails into his aching palms to ground himself. Focus. Evaluate the situation. Take control.

Ten seconds. That’s how long he allows himself to wallow in this miserable state, then he gets back to work. If these bastards think they can contain him or bring him to heel, they have another thing coming. He returns to his examination, only slightly stunted by the fog hovering in his brain.

Aside from his overtaxed muscles and the acute headache, he’s in working order. His vision has cleared and he has feeling in each limb. Granted, he could have still escaped without the use of his arms, but that would have been much more annoying. This? This is doable.

With a grunt and a roiling stomach, he forces himself into a sitting position. Once he's sure he isn't going to flop back down into a pathetic heap, he inspects his restraints with a frown. Stun cuffs. That might explain why he feels like an overused lightning rod.

Shoto remembers Endeavor going over restraint procedure a little over a year ago. These are ‘humane’, meant to disorient and prevent the captive from focusing on their quirk through the shocks it’d deliver if they tried. Given that he now has two pairs of cuffs on his wrists and, if he’s feeling it correctly, a set around his ankles, he supposes one just wasn’t effective enough. If he feels a tad bit smug at that, who can blame him? Anything to inconvenience his captors.

Still, he doesn’t remember how he got here or who put these on him. He can recall the moment of his capture and the moment he awoke in this room. Everything between point A and point B is blurry.

Having taken proper stock of his surroundings and well-being, he decides it’s time to act. The walls are sturdy, but likely not sturdy enough to contain his raw power. If, by some bizarre miracle they are, he knows the ceiling isn’t. The tiles are generic, little more than composite sawdust and glue. Tearing a hole into the next floor wouldn’t take much more than a basic attack.

Though that will likely alert my captors and I can’t afford to waste unnecessary energy, he muses and eyes the room up again before focusing on the the only exit. If I can finesse the door open I might be able to gain some ground before they realize anything is wrong.

Utter destruction will be his fallback if the door proves too difficult or costly to open he decides.

Gotta get these off first. Then I can bust out of here.

No matter which way he twists and turns his arms, he can’t see a latch, not that he expected to find one. They’d make for terrible restraints otherwise. He can try to overwhelm them, send out a burst of ice strong enough to coat them, and either fry the inner circuits or cause the metal to become brittle enough to break. However, that poses the same risk as breaking down the wall. It’d be a wasteful expenditure of his energy and he’ll harm himself in the process. Not exactly ideal when he’ll likely have to face down an unknown number of combatants.

Though, he doesn’t exactly know the voltage on these things. They’re something he has theoretical experience with through studying. It’s different to find himself strapped with a pair (or three). Getting electrocuted is something he’s come to loathe, but he doubts these things are packing the same sort of power as that villain’s quirk. It would hardly be humane then. Pain is something he has an oddly intimate relationship with. If the voltage is low enough, he can likely shrug it off and bust these things apart like toys. That would probably explain the extra sets, come to think of it.

Before he decides on the method, he’ll have to test the feedback. One set wouldn’t be too bad, but three? That’s questionable.

With a steadying breath, he bites back any shred of hesitation that tells him this is a bad idea and lets out an experimental little dusting of frost.

Electricity races all the way from his roots to his toes. He nearly cracks his head against the wall as he jerks back on instinct, like he can get away from the sensation. It’s painful and drives him into the realm of oversensitive, but, as expected, it’s not as bad as that villain’s quirk had been. This feels less like he’s been slapped into an electric chair and more like he fell onto a third rail. Still, not exactly a great feeling, certainly not one he’ll seek out for fun.

He’s pretty confident he can break them without passing out. But, it’s not a certainty. How long it’d take to actually shatter the cuffs is also an unknown. What state would he be left in after? One well enough to fight? The risk is too high to bet on while he still has other options to exhaust.

First, he has to get out of view of that camera; an unreasonable feat given the barren state of this room. So, he turns to face his back to the device and hunches in on himself, knees drawn to his chest like he’s just a distraught and hiding child. Acting has never been his strong suit, so he hopes it’s a believable display. Perhaps they’ll underestimate him given his now obvious age.

With some minor degree of privacy, he starts on his next plan.

The cuffs are sturdy and unyielding in the center, not allowing his hands to really bend far or meet in the middle. He can’t even touch his fingers together. He shifts a little so his arms slip around his knees and down until his hands press against the mat. Then, he tucks his right thumb under his foot and steps down. It’s awkward and slightly uncomfortable, but that might work in his favor this time.

Shoto takes a deep breath, holds it, and then jerks his arm back as subtly as he can manage with the force he needs. He hates that he’s almost grateful again for his father’s bullshit training because having dislocated this joint before makes it all the easier to do it again. (A child should not regularly have dislocated joints but that’s a fact that too many pros and adults were keen on ignoring.)

A familiar pain radiates up his arm as he feels his thumb pop out of its socket. It’s nearly insignificant compared to what he’s been through these past days. He hunches his shoulders close to his ears and releases his breath slowly as he grows accustomed to the throbbing. Hopefully, it just looks like he’s crying pathetically to any potential watcher.

Without wasting any more time, Shoto angles his thumb against his palm and forcefully wriggles one cuff off his injured hand. When the metal presses against the tender joint, it makes him shudder but he doesn’t slow. The second is no more pleasant to escape.

When his right hand is completely free, he heaves a sigh of relief before popping his thumb back into place without so much as a grunt. It’s a little stiff and uncomfortable. He’ll need to ice it and avoid overworking his hand for the foreseeable future, but he’s ambidextrous and doesn’t need his hands to utilize his quirk, so it’s a net positive in his opinion. (Any lasting and exacerbated damage to the joint is a problem for future-Shoto to deal with.)

Shoto presses a fingertip against the inseam of the cuffs and shoots ice inside. His punishment is swift as electricity arcs through him, though it’s certainly not as bad with half the cuffs off of him. He bites back a noise and tries to keep his body in check. The dosage lessens when the pair he iced sparks and the frame cracks as ice seeps out of its insides. He repeats the process with the second set.

By now, the feedback is almost laughable. He can understand how it’d affect most others, many of whom haven’t faced rigorous endurance training since they could walk or learned to fight through pain in the height of battle. This is a warm-up in comparison for him.

With both arms free, he swiftly and discreetly destroys the set on his ankles. He tests his quirk by covering his aching thumb in a thin sheen of frost to numb the pain. It’s borderline euphoric to use his quirk without feeling like an abused spark plug. Knowing he’s free to do as he wishes, he sends a thin, nearly imperceptible line of ice across the base trim of the wall. It races around the room and creeps up the wall under the camera, freezing the device. It sparks as it dies.

Here’s to hoping they think it’s a technical difficulty on their end.

He hates placing so much of his escape on faith and assumptions. But, there’s little else he can do other than wait around for some knight in tight spandex to bust in and save him (doubtful). No thank you, he’d rather choke on lightning again.

Getting to his feet is more of an affair than he’d like. There’s stiffness in his joints and a burn in his muscles like he’s run drills for days on end. It nearly makes him lightheaded. Shoto places a hand on the wall to stabilize himself while his senses reorient themselves. How annoying.

After a breath, he pushes off the wall, standing tall and looking almost entirely unaffected by what’s transpired. He’ll not allow these thugs to think they’ve so much as hindered him. They’ll become specks in his already ugly history and nothing more. Shoto tells himself this as he walks toward the door with aching limbs.

When he presses an ear to the cool metal, he can’t hear a thing beyond. It’s anyone’s guess what waits for him. Shoto runs his hand across the frame of the door, mapping out the hinges and working his way over to where he thinks the latch bolt is. It’s hard to get an accurate read due to the seamless design, but doors rarely differ in structure, so he can hazard a pretty strong guess.

He settles his palm over the minuscule crack between the door and the frame and lets ice creep in between. It’s small at first before more and more pushes in like a thickening wedge. There’s a low groan and creak as the frame slowly but steadily begins to bend under the unending intrusion. It doesn’t need to be a lot, just enough to free the door from its locked position.

While his muscles protest further physical exertion, he’s pleasantly surprised to feel little in the way of quirk fatigue. It’s there, on the frayed edges of his nerves, but it’s almost as if he’s slept through it all and is suffering through the tail-end. A worrying detail as it implies an extended stay in this place, but it’s also a boon. He’s free to more-or-less go to town on his captors – barring extensive hand-to-hand combat, of course. (Not that he planned on entertaining them long enough for it to get to that point. He’s going to turn this place into an iceberg at his earliest convenience.)

Shoto pushes a shoulder against the straining door and continues to wedge more ice into the sparse opening. It spreads further up and down the gap, pressing in like an industrial-grade jack. With a crack and metallic groan, the door jars slightly.

That’s all he needs.

He presses his left hand to the ice and quickly melts it as he rams his shoulder into the door before it can click back in place. It swings open with ease.

Shoto darts into the hall, mist rolling off his body as he surveys the area.

One person patrols further down the way but is striding in his direction swiftly, obviously drawn by the noise of the door. The woman seems shocked to see him exit the room. Her pale eyes widen and she moves to grab a radio on her hip.

Can’t let that happen.

Shoto sends ice careening her direction like a bullet. Before she can get the radio to her lips, she’s engulfed.

“Hey—!”

The device clatters uselessly to the ground.

He narrows his eyes as he stalks closer and picks up the radio. This might be useful.

“You won’t be doing that,” he says coldly and clips the radio onto his collar. Then, he fixes her with a glare. “Where am I? How do I get out of here?”

“C’mon kid, y-you don’t gotta—”

“Answer or I’ll leave you to get frostbite.”

He tries to put in as much vitriol in the threat as he can. Easy enough now that he’s sufficiently pissed and aching all over. These thugs are fortunate he wants to be a hero. If he fell lower on the morality spectrum, he’d take his pound of flesh in recompense. Instead, he’ll settle for thoroughly and soundly beating them.

It must be a convincing enough act because the woman grows wan. (Shoto doesn’t know, doesn’t see the hate in his own eyes. The way his lurid face and wild hair paints a distinctly malignant picture. He looks more savage than those that lurk in these halls.)

“This is the k-kennels. Sub-level 3. Gotta g-go up.”

Shoto glances quickly down the hall. It’s just as stark and impersonal as the room was. No signs, no posters, no other people, no windows. Nothing but blank walls and a line of similar handleless doors. It’s like an obnoxious marriage of esotericism and ultra-minimalism; hard to comprehend and empty to the point of discomfort. He would have had to scour each floor to figure out if it was the right one to get out.

The other doors are cause for major concern. If he was locked behind one, it’s not a far leap of logic to assume others are as well.

“And these other rooms?” he asks, just as coolly.

“O-other people. Boss M-Murmur sends them here for b-breaking before the shows.”

On the positive, he has a name. Murmur.

On the negative, he really does not like what conclusions he’s drawing. Breaking? Shows? It sounds like he’s training animals, not torturing people.

“‘Shows’? Explain,” he demands because he needs to know the severity of the situation.

“‘S where he s-sells ‘em,” she stutters out, breath frosting with each word.

So, he and Eraserhead were right. Not much of a victory when he’s in the midst of this shitshow, but he’ll be sure to tell the hero when he gets out. They can take a moment to gloat in awkward silence after cracking some heads. That’ll be a nice reunion.

He allows himself one more question. That’s all the time he can afford to waste.

“And what of your numbers? How much resistance can I expect?”

Her lips thin but she doesn’t resist selling out her allies. No honor among thieves.

“Boss h-hires outside muscle. D-don’t know how many there are. At least two a f-few floors up.”

With that, he decides her usefulness has run its course. He summons a thick piece of ice in his hand and uses it as a baton. She barely has time to see him swing before it cracks against her head with unforgiving force. Her face goes slack as she falls unconscious.

Despite his earlier threat, he really isn't a monster. No matter how much she deserves it, he won’t leave her in this hunk of ice. Though, he won’t leave her free either. After swiftly melting her prison, he throws her into his former room. The door slams shut and is coated in ice a moment later. We’ll see how she likes a kennel of her own.

Shoto then turns and makes for the end of the hall. As he passes the other doors, his steps falter. Guilt begins to gnaw at him.

How many other victims are here? How many would he be willing to abandon? It’s not logical to release a bunch of people without knowing their status, especially given his own physically questionable state. How can he protect them all? And how much time would that waste?

But still…

He reaches a hand toward the closest door, ready to blow it off its hinges, but hesitates.

It would be smarter to get out and bring proper reinforcements. Freeing people who may be physically or mentally compromised would be counterproductive. It’d put everyone in danger. He has one shot at this, so he has to be wise about this, not compassionate.

That doesn’t make the decision feel any better as he steps away from the door. It’s a bitter choice to swallow as he passes more potential victims on his way to freedom. I’ll be back, he swears to these faceless people, and I’ll bring help. You’ll be free soon.

Shoto’s steps feel particularly weighted, his chest unfortunately tight, as he reaches the door at the end. No time for second-guessing. Keep moving. Keep acting.

He rests his left hand on the handle, stance shifting to a defensive posture. Then, he throws the door open, frost billowing from his right side as he prepares to fight—

No one.

The door leads to a stairwell shockingly devoid of life. No matter how intently he listens, he can’t hear even the faintest stirring. It’s concerning. More than concerning. He’d have expected a closer eye to be kept on him after the trouble they went through to catch him in the first place. One guard is hardly appropriate security. Why kidnap people if you’re not going to monitor them properly?

Unless it’s a trap.

That, he feels, is the most likely scenario. This group has already shown their fondness for ambushes. What’s one more? It might also explain why his confiscated radio has been suspiciously silent. There’s been no check-in after her botched attempt at a warning.

He climbs the stairs as swiftly and quietly as he can manage. His footsteps still echo with sharp taps through the empty space. After reaching each landing, he counts until he gets to the door he believes is the ground floor. If that woman was honest, he should be close now.

His nerves jump and anticipation rises like a wellspring in his gut. Not far now. Just a few more doors and he’s home-free. As with the previous door, he prepares himself before opening it. If anywhere has signs of life, it’ll be this floor. Anyone entering or exiting the facility will likely pass through here. Through-traffic is more or less unavoidable.

He throws the door open in the same manner as before, stance prepared to strike. His escape comes to a screeching halt. Standing in the middle of the hall are three men and a woman, all clearly waiting for him. It's less of an ambush and more of a blockade. Shit.

Shoto would ice them but two very important details stop him.

One: Scars is there, expression darkly amused and entirely too relaxed, hands already smoking in preparation to act.

Two: One of the other men has a gun pressed firmly to the woman’s head.

Shoto won’t be able to freeze the gun before the bullet finds its way snugly into her brain. He’s fast, but he’s definitely not faster than a speeding bullet, especially one so close to its target.

So, he halts. He doesn’t know what will set this stranger off or what will get this woman killed. Shoto values his freedom, but he won’t kill her to get it.

A voice rings in the back of his head that sounds oddly like Eraserhead, telling him to compartmentalize and prioritize.

The man with the gun is smiling at him so calmly and politely that it unsettles Shoto. He is, in plain terms, bland; average in everything, right down to his neatly pressed khakis and neighborly expression. If it weren’t for his given situation, Shoto doubts he’d even remember the man’s face if given a lineup. He could work at a PTA bake sale and Shoto wouldn’t bat an eye. It’s unnerving.

“Told you he’d get out,” Scars says blithely. There’s an intensity in his stare that contradicts his lax posture. His smile is vicious as he watches Shoto with so much focus, it’s like he’s the only other person in the building.

“Aren’t you just impressive?” the gunman asks, pleasant as a lark, like he doesn’t have a woman hostage.

Shoto schools his expression into one of pointed disinterest and refrains from answering. Instead, he looks at the hostage. She's young, barely twenty. Her expression is slack, nearly deadened and her eyes are glassy. Is she drugged? That complicates things.

When he looks at the second man, yellowish wolf-like eyes and sharp teeth bared in a sneer greet him. It’s the tracker from the alley, the one Shoto threatened. No wonder nobody tried to stop him. They always knew where he was. Damn it.

With the animosity burning in his stare, Shoto’s pretty sure there’s no love lost between them. Suits him just fine. There’s a degree of sick satisfaction that wells in him when he notices the man flinch back slightly once Shoto levels his full, baleful attention on him. He hasn’t forgotten. Good.

“I think we should talk,” the gunman says.

It drags Shoto's gaze back to him.

Fine, not like there’s much of a choice. Besides, I might get information. Maybe an opening.

Shoto tilts his head, the closest approximation to assent he’s willing to give the man. Even that little concession earns him a too-pleased smile. He immediately wants to retract the motion.

“Please, take a seat,” the man says and nods to the floor, like Shoto’s stupid enough to get in such a vulnerable position.

Well, I am tired...

He’s moving before he even realizes it, leaning against the wall and sliding down. Comprehension dawns on him and shocks him into a stop mid-motion. His muscles scream in protest as he jerks back upright. Every line of his body is tense as he stares warily at the unassuming man.

“What the hell is your quirk?” he asks incredulously.

The man chuckles, clearly amused by the shock on Shoto’s usually stoic face.

“A minor suggestion quirk, nothing so impressive. Not like yours.”

There are several things he dislikes about what was just said. First and foremost, a suggestion quirk? Like brainwashing? That is really not good.

And he hates the way the man spoke about his quirk. It's covetous. That pleasant expression tips into something rapacious as he looks Shoto over. It makes his nerves twist. He can’t let that man near him, he just knows it.

Shoto moves into a more defensible stance as he glances at the other two men. The tracker is simple enough to handle but Scars is a different story. It’s too dangerous to engage him here when there are more people underground. Then there’s the gun. That’s his biggest concern.

Maybe if I…

There’s a move he can do that might just work but it takes concentration. Enough that he isn’t entirely confident he can manage it right now. He’s weighing the risk when the gunman tsks.

“I wouldn’t do anything rash.”

He shifts the gun a little as a reminder.

Shoto grimaces and relaxes his posture, if only to ease that finger further away from the trigger.

“Let her go,” he says as commanding as he can manage.

The man huffs a chuckle.

“If you insist.” He says it lightly like he’s entertaining a child.

It’s shocking how readily he agrees. Alarm bells ring in Shoto’s head immediately.

“Be a dear and hold this for me,” he says as he picks up one of the woman’s hands and transfers control of the weapon to her. “If he attacks or uses his quirk at all, kill yourself.”

The command startles Shoto. It's unfathomable, monstrous. He glances from the man to the woman who holds the muzzle to her head, expression barely cognizant. While Shoto broke control, he isn’t sure this woman is in any state of mind to resist.

Shoto wants to hit him so badly. His thumb aches as he tightens his fists. The glare he sends the man could level a city. Scars whistles at the expression, his own face lighting up in twisted amusement. The tracker growls low in his throat but steps back in the same instance. All the while, the man just smiles at him serenely.

“Now, that conversation…” he says as he claps his hands together.

“What do you want?” Shoto bites out, tension keeping his aching muscles taut.

“For you to behave.”

Shoto barely refrains from rolling his eyes. Get in line. Endeavor would probably hire this man if he succeeds in wrangling Shoto in completely, past transgressions be damned. (Forced compliance hardly counts, in his opinion. He still plans on turning the man into an ice sculpture once the hostage is secure.)

When the man looks him over again like he’s appraising Shoto, it makes the teen’s skin crawl. There’s an unsettling emptiness in those brown eyes. An absence of humanity. It’s hidden so well behind his genial appearance.

“Dabi did tell me you were a bit of a handful. Even still, this is a surprise. I didn’t expect you to escape so quickly.”

He talks to Shoto as if they’re friends. A little chuckle at the end like he’s retelling a funny story. The desire to hit him reinforces itself.

Scars’ smile widens slightly, gaze sharpening.

Dabi, I take it. The name is a little on the nose, given his physical state, but it’d certainly track with his quirk. Shoto would say he’s in no room to judge the creativity of other’s names, but he’s still harboring a grudge against Dabi, so he’ll offer the villain no such grace.

Seeing that Shoto isn’t being charitable enough to talk to him, the man continues on, sighing like he’s the one being inconvenienced here.

“I’m a fair man. I’m willing to compromise.”

That draws Shoto’s attention back to him, albeit begrudgingly. Fair? Really? He’d point out the woman about to commit unwilling suicide, but he sincerely doubts this asshole is capable of that level of self-reflection.

The man takes his bitter stare as interest and continues.

“You want to help this creature. I want you to be obedient. I think there’s a way we can reach an agreement.”

Anger burns through him. The casual dehumanization of this poor woman makes him sick with disgust and rage. His expression cracks, shifts, and curls into proper rancor. He has to take caution to keep from letting his quirk seep out in his anger, unsure just how little will be needed to trigger that latent command. Would the appearance of frost be all it takes?

“Unlikely.”

His voice comes out deceptively flat despite his expression. It does little to dissuade the man’s perpetually pleased demeanor. Why the gods decided to create such a punchable man is beyond Shoto’s comprehension.

“Return to your kennel and wait. If you mind your manners, this one will remain safe, sound, and unsold.”

What a horrifically vague bargain. It hinges on his manners? Those are pitiable on the best of days, even Shoto can admit that, but this man’s standards may be wildly different from the norm.

A chill trickles down his spine when he realizes he’s turning, ready to go straight back to that room. He stops before he’s even turned fully, eyes falling to slits as he glares back at the man. How’s he supposed to combat this quirk when he can’t even tell it’s being used? There’s been no indicator, no sensation in his brain, only the execution of the command that Shoto realizes isn’t his own will. It’s only that revelation that lets him stop himself.

The man’s smile ticks, though Shoto isn’t sure if it’s in amusement or slow-growing irritation. He’s hoping for the latter.

“Or, fight back,” he suggests nonchalantly, gesturing to the woman in a distinctly unsubtle threat. “Escape and live with the knowledge that you sacrificed her.”

Shoto’s irate expression darkens. His lips twist into a grimace before he locks it all down. There’s no other option for him, not one he would ever be okay with doing. Leaving those on the lower level so he can get help is one thing. Being directly responsible for this woman’s death or sale is unforgivable. His features fall distant and blank as he looks at the man as if he’s looking through him; like he’s insignificant.

“She’ll be okay if I remain complacent?”

His voice sounds hollow even to himself. It brightens the man’s smile to a revolting degree. It takes all he can not to erupt. He holds himself together the only way he knows how: sheer spite and bitter, biting cold. If only that were enough to petrify this bastard the way it does that tracker.

“Of course,” he assures, so saccharine it’s slimy. Shoto wouldn’t bet a single yen on his sincerity, but there’s little he can do to combat that.

“And how do I know you’re being honest?” he asks, trying to maintain even the faintest grasp of control of the situation. (He was never in control but he refuses to admit that, stubborn to the very end.)

The man huffs lightly and shifts his weight at Shoto’s continuous pushback. Maybe he’s unused to resistance. Maybe he really is getting aggravated. Good.

Though, he’s wary of how far he can push it. It’s selfish and so, so fucking stupid to risk her well-being just to indulge his petty habits. Seeing the man shift impatiently isn’t rewarding enough to compensate for the moment it goes too far. Pulling in the reigns and lowering his shoulders to show his passivity is a more momentous task than squaring up against Endeavor in their training hall, but he manages. His teeth grind as he exercises his tenuous restraint.

“You’re in no position to demand assurance, Shoto,” the man says, voice somehow both pleasant and snippy. It rubs Shoto’s aching nerves the wrong way.

“Don’t call me that,” he says through gritted teeth, repulsed by the way his name drips from the other’s lips.

The false familiarity that man is trying to establish does little to ingratiate himself into Shoto’s goodwill. In fact, it does the opposite. Perhaps it’s how his quirk works? The closer he is to the person, the easier his influence? If so, Shoto will have no issue maintaining that distance. It’s only through threats of death that he’s kept himself from harpooning the bastard.

“Of course,” he says, expression back to placid and voice cordial. “We’ll get to that stage soon enough.”

No, we won’t. He’d definitely rather have the heroes bust in and perform an obnoxious and over-reported rescue on him than exchange a single word more with his captor. But, he keeps that to himself. No need to antagonize this guy any further until that woman is safely away from the situation.

“You may call me Murmur,” the man says and holds out his hand for Shoto to shake.

It takes a truly divine level of restraint to keep from grabbing his hand and turning him into the world’s ugliest ice centerpiece. This asshole, Murmur, must know it from the audacity in his grin. This is the bastard in charge. Great.

Since he can’t freeze the man to the spot without the woman reacting in a truly terrible way, Shoto does his best to relay his opinion through sight. He glances at the offending hand and looks away in disinterest, leaving the man hanging.

He gets a sigh for his efforts and the hand disappears from his peripheral only to move up and touch his shoulder in a facsimile of affection. Every inch of his skin crawls and he tenses instantaneously, but his expression remains distant.

“You’re injured. Exhausted. All that impressive work has drained you. Don’t you think it’s wise to get some rest?” Murmur says softly and with so much care, it would almost be believable if his eyes weren’t utterly soulless.

Even still, Shoto feels the idea worm into his head. The ache in his muscles renews with magnified vigor and he realizes just how tired he is. I am exhausted.

“Stop it,” he nearly hisses.

Shoto is just about ready to punch himself like it’ll launch the manifestation of that thought clear out of his head. It’s horrifying how naturally it came to him like it was his own volition. What's worse is that he can't find it in himself to disagree with the thought, because he genuinely is tired. But now he can't trust that that's not another piece of manipulation. How is he meant to tell what’s his own thoughts and will and what’s Murumurs?

“Willful, aren’t you?” Murmur says with a light chuckle and draws back his hand. Then, he glances over to the woman. “Darling—”

Her glazed eyes are rimmed with tears and her arm shakes. Shoto sucks in a breath and takes a resigned step backward, gaze downcast. There’s a painful, poisonous feeling in his chest now, something like defeat and rage and unending self-immolation.

“I’m going.”

It falls out, flat and unfeeling, nearly robotic. Shoto separates himself mentally from the situation as he takes another step back toward the door. He can bide his time and come up with a better escape plan now that he has more information. He’ll just have to be careful for the other victims’ sake. It’s unknown how many are here and how many Murmur is willing to sacrifice to get to Shoto. If the avaricious way Murmur stares at him is any indicator, it’s an unsettling amount.

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”

Fuck you.

Shoto does little more than give him a dirty, frigid side glare, as dismissive and belittling as he can manage, before he turns away fully.

“Leave it to me. I can handle him,” Dabi (at least Shoto is still working under the assumption that Scars is Dabi) says suddenly. His raspy voice is pitched low and lilted in amusement. It grates against Shoto’s raw ego.

He tosses that same glare back at the scarred man. Then he smoothes it out to flat disinterest. Handle me? I distinctly remember things ending a different way our last encounter.

“How’s the arm?” he asks, blandly, catty undertones barely concealed. His gaze flicks down to the freshly-stapled purplish flesh, just as grotesque and painful looking as last time.

That earns him a vicious, snarling grin. Said hand lights up incandescent blue as Dabi raises a flaming fist and tilts his head.

“Fuckin’ peachy. Want a closer look?”

Shoto lets his gaze roll back up to stare at Dabi and tries to mentally communicate how gross he thinks the man is through his vacant expression.

“You’re pungent enough from this distance.”

Shoto feels like putting tape over his own mouth if only to shut himself up. Egging on a fight right now is the exact opposite of what he should be doing, even if he’d like nothing more than to go at all three men in this hall like there’s no tomorrow. Don’t be an idiot. The mental voice chiding him once more takes on Eraserhead’s dry tone.

It’s just so hard to reign in his temper and attitude. Usually, he never does. In fact, he tends to amp it up to piss off certain (Endeavor) individuals. Exercising this type of restraint is much more difficult when surrounded by multiple aggravating people, an aggravating headache, and an extremely stressful situation. He takes a deep, calming breath and resists taking the bait as Dabi strides threateningly close, flames even brighter.

Murmur’s expression takes on a tone of concern as he looks between the two. Not combative, huh? Good to know.

“Ah, I suggest—”

“Finish that sentence and they’ll be vacuuming you off the floor,” Dabi says, finally breaking their staring contest and looking at his temporary boss.

It’s a little jarring to realize this is the first time Dabi has looked away from him since he entered the hall. He must have really pissed the man off the last time they met. It’s also an interesting thing to notice that Dabi doesn’t seem particularly beholden to or trustful of Murmur. Is he afraid Murmur will try to manipulate him? No loyalties here. Might be a point I can exploit.

“Naturally,” Murmur says coolly, tone distinctly different from how he speaks to Shoto. He motions for the woman to follow him. Even as she walks, her shaking arm never lowers the weapon. Damn it. Then, he nods at the two, expression dipping back into that mixture of tender-greed as he looks at Shoto.

“I’ll be down to see you soon, dear one.”

Dabi scoffs while Shoto’s lips curl in disgust. That sentiment leaves him feeling gross and mildly nauseated.

“Stop being fucking weird,” is Dabi’s parting words before he shoves Shoto roughly through the doorway and out of Murmur's line of sight.

The walk down the first flight of stairs is quiet, something Shoto’s grateful for. Dabi has the unique talent of annoying him. Maybe it has something to do with the tone the villain tends to take or the way he stares like Shoto’s missing out on some big, hilarious secret. Either way, it makes antagonizing the fiery man all the more appealing. (Maybe it’s also his repressed desire to lash out at another smug, obnoxious, asshole-ish fire-user.)

By the time they’re halfway to the second landing, Dabi seems to have had his fill of not counter-antagonizing Shoto.

“Dumbass.”

The sudden and slightly expected insult causes Shoto to shoot a confused-yet-annoyed expression at the other man.

“Excuse me?”

Dabi gives him that I-know-something-you-don’t look again and Shoto’s fist itches to acquint itself with the man’s face.

“You really think you saved that waste of space? Murmur already has someone else lined up to take her place,” he says, lips stretched in an unsettling, lazy smile.

His blasé attitude and lack of empathy aggravates Shoto. How anyone can see this situation and think any of it’s funny is appalling. Just wait, we’ll see how much you smile when I get out of here.

“What else was I supposed to do?” he asks coldly.

Even though it was meant to be rhetorical, Dabi still rolls his eyes and answers.

“Let the sorry bitch die. Better fate than what these sickos have in mind,” he says casually and without a single care. His bright, blazing stare lands back on Shoto and his expression shifts back to grotesquely amused. “Then again, mercy isn’t your thing, is it?”

The way he says it, like Shoto’s no better than him, makes Shoto burn with indignation.

“You’re in no position to make judgment calls about me. You’re helping these traffickers,” he spits out, annoyed that this bastard has the gall to equate anything he’s done to what Shoto’s done to survive.

“Sure I am,” Dabi says, but the way he says it gives Shoto pause. It’s almost sarcastic like helping this group is the last thing he’s doing. Shut up, you literally kidnapped me.

Something in Dabi’s expression shifts. He’s still smiling, but it falls flat and jagged, the picture of vindictiveness.

“Endeavor’s little masterpiece knows all. Especially how to get his way. Got that special brand of Todoroki sadism in you, don’t you?”

When Dabi speaks, it’s darkly amused and so resentful.

Shoto’s eyes widen marginally. Something lodges in his chest. No. No, I’m not like him at all.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he finally manages to force out.

They’re nearing the door to sub-level three’s hall now. It hasn’t occurred to Shoto just how slow they’re going. This lackadaisical pace his captor takes draws out their conversation. No, Shoto is too busy choking back this unwanted comparison.

Dabi huffs a scratchy laugh.

“Threatened to kill Laelaps. Ripped the skin off my arm. Threatened to torture me for information. And what happened to the dumbass guarding you? How’d you get this?” Dabi asks as he flicks the radio still clipped to Shoto’s collar. His expression is smug, all too pleased with pointing out Shoto’s vicious streak.

It’s like a slap to the face. He did that. He did all of that. In the moment, it felt appropriate because he knows how far he’ll go, but to hear it put so plainly from another’s mouth? It’s almost monstrous sounding. My God, he’s right. I’m… I...

“So heroic. Just like daddy taught you, right?”

He says it with such certainty, it’s unsettling. Shoto shakes off the horror for a moment to stare at him, more cowed by this conversation than anything Murmur could do.

“Who are you?” he asks, hollow and distant as he tries to settle this new uncertainty in his head. I’m turning out just like him.

“The Ghost of Christmas Past,” Dabi says sarcastically, and it only confuses Shoto.

Those rushing, painful accusations are momentarily silenced as he knits his brows together in thought. Christmas isn’t something Endeavor cared to celebrate, and so Shoto never did by proxy. If this is a reference to something, it’s gone firmly over his head.

“What does Christmas have to do with anything?” he asks.

Dabi stares at him blankly for a moment, assessing how serious Shoto’s being, before he rolls his eyes in the same manner Shoto imagines Eraserhead does behind his goggles sometimes.

“Fucking hell, you’re dense.”

And Shoto would be more offended if he wasn’t still grappling with himself. He’s quite sharp, thank you very much. He just...has issues with pop culture.

The two are silent for the time being as they walk down the hall. Shoto can still feel the intense heat rolling off Dabi’s body, even without the fire. It makes him wonder if that’s his natural body temperature or if he’s preparing himself for Shoto to fight.

No need to worry, he thinks bitterly. I can’t risk it right now without sentencing that woman to death or worse.

They halt in front of his cell – or kennel, as they call it. (Shoto despises that term. He’s not an animal. None of them are.) Dabi looks over the icy door and scoffs.

“Told them the cuffs weren’t enough. Shoulda tranq’d you.”

And Shoto is glad they didn’t do that. Being constantly drugged is not something he wants to become familiar with. That poor woman seemed too well-acquainted with that method of control and it looked dreadful. At least he can function at full mental capacity with the cuffs.

The ice melts in record time as Dabi presses a hand to the door. The steam curls around his palm before he even makes contact. It gives credence to the idea that he naturally runs unbearably hot.

Shoto eyes him up and imagines bashing him over the head with a sturdy piece of ice, but resists the temptation. He doesn’t want to give Murmur a reason to hurt that woman or – god forbid – sell her. Still, the mental image of knocking Dabi out is at least slightly mollifying.

(Until Dabi’s voice rings in his head, poisoning his satisfaction with taunts of Todoroki Sadism.)

He can’t see how Dabi opens the door. Card? Fingerprint? Does Dabi even have fingerprints left? It swings open and reveals the woman on the ground, cradling her head. Shoto’s tempted to ask her if it hurts. Mockingly, of course. He resists and stares at the blank wall he’s going to become unfortunately familiar with.

“Quit laying down on the job,” Dabi says and kicks her leg. There is no gentleness to the action, like the way Eraserhead would nudge Shoto. It’s entirely impersonal and unkind.

She squints up at Dabi, pinched features pained and glaring. Then, she notices Shoto to his right and leaps unsteadily to her feet, anger rolling off her in waves.

“You little bastard!”

The way she steps forward, all aggression, would be threatening if Shoto wasn’t dead certain he could handle her again.

“Oh, please, do attack him. I wanna see if he actually kills you this time,” Dabi says with a laugh and steps out of the way, hands motioning to Shoto like he’s genuinely encouraging this action. The way his hazy blue eyes stare at Shoto makes him think Dabi really is curious to see if it happens.

She notices it too. Her steps falter and that false bravado flags as she reassesses the situation. Her glare grows uncertain, wary. This is a fight she's no longer interested in taking.

It makes that mocking voice pipe back up in his head. Endeavor is no stranger to excessive force but he isn't a murderer. To think that anyone, villains of all people, thinks Shoto's willing to kill someone is disheartening. How has it gotten this bad?

“I’m not killing anyone,” he says firmly, to Dabi, to the woman, and to himself. As he speaks, he shoots Dabi a sideways glare before staring at the wall again, entirely dismissing the woman’s presence.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Dabi says, and Shoto doesn’t like that tone.

What the fuck do you know?

He grinds his teeth and pointedly ignores the man.

“Get out of here. You clearly can’t handle this,” Dabi says to the woman and shoos her away with a particularly rude gesture. She huffs but leaves without a fight.

A nearly scorching hand shoves against his back and Shoto has to correct himself before he trips over his own feet as he stumbles into the room. Dabi takes the radio from his shirt and tucks it into his pocket. Shoto glares at him and Dabi just smirks in return.

Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him.

It’s harder to resist when Dabi leans a little closer, face in perfect swinging distance, to whisper to him.

“When you get done toying with these assholes and actually escape, keep an eye open. I’ll be waiting.”

It’s confusing and definitely not what Shoto was expecting him to say, but there’s no mistaking the threat in his voice. He’ll have to sleep with one eye open or risk becoming an unidentifiable pile of ash, that's a known quantity. But, that doesn’t make the threat any less odd. Dabi is positive Shoto’s going to escape and by the sounds of it, he isn't going to try to stop it a second time around. Shoto's not sure if he should take it as a compliment. Being that he thinks this guy’s a dick, he’s going to say no, it’s not a compliment.

Still, why bother with all this runaround? What’s his endgame?

And Shoto’s sure there’s an endgame here. In all his encounters with this group, Dabi is not only one of the only legitimate threats, but he’s also one of the smarter ones. At first, Shoto thought he was just a thug-for-hire, but that doesn’t appear to be the case. He has an ulterior motive, Shoto’s sure of it.

Dabi seems to delight in Shoto’s confusion. He laughs, malicious and grating, as he backs out of the room. His silhouette darkens the doorway for a final breath.

“See you around, Shoto.”

His name slithers out of Dabi’s mouth like a taunt. It’s so different from the way Murmur said it. One grasped for the familiarity and the other throws it in his face like it's a given. Shoto jerks, fists clenched. Before he can make the irrationally stupid decision to lunge at the man, the door slams shut, leaving him locked in the room with nothing but his thoughts and the hurricane in his chest.

Shoto leans against the wall and slides down, gaze a million miles away.

He wishes Soba was here.

(He wishes Eraserhead was here.)

[chinzhilla]

Do you have any fave Thai BL series? If you do, what's your top 10?

hiiii thank you for the ask! 💙 and oh yes of course i do!! i'm not gonna actually rank these but here are my top ten thai bls in no particular order (with commentary bc i always have to be the most verbose person in the room):

The Eclipse - i think this one goes without saying if you’ve been following me for long. it's the first bl i watched live, before this blog even existed, and i imprinted on it like a duckling. that's the firstkhao effect i guess, and also my penchant for repressed sadboys and characters who are so attracted to each other and so mad about it

Manner of Death - may be surprising since i haven’t posted about it much but this drama is just. perfect. one of these days i’m gonna do a rewatch and i’m gonna be SO annoying about it. tension and release doesn't get any better than this, and the entire time the plot is plotting and it's fantastic!!

My School President - this one should also be obvious given it's the source of my url and also basically the reason this blog exists. this is the show that escalated my bl obsession to critical mass and left me with no choice but to make a sideblog about it. the soundtrack is banger after banger, every character is lovable, there are such genuine touching moments, and gemini and fourth just kill it the whole time

A Tale of Thousand Stars - i don't think any show has made me cry more. i was warned but nothing could have really prepared me cause it's like this drama was made in a lab specifically to target all my emotional weak points. i related a ton to tian and his need for escape and agency, and his growth and redemption over the course of the series is really just beautiful

Bed Friend - this show is a bit of a sexy comfort watch for me. to watch uea go through absolute hell and come out the other side getting the love, respect, and devotion (and cat ears) he deserves is just sooo satisfying. and did i mention how sexy it is?

La Pluie - closest i ever came to writing actual meta was while watching this show. its take on soulmates is so refreshing and thought-provoking and i really appreciated its emphasis on family and the trauma it can bring even when everyone loves each other. also gorgeous chemistry from the leads and lomfon and tien had me in a chokehold for weeks

Only Friends - obviously the show has been very polarizing but y'all all know where i stand. i'm not without my criticisms of how THAT storyline ended but there are far far far more positives than negatives for me. and in terms of pure entertainment they DELIVERED

Not Me - another one i don't talk much about but absolutely adored. every relationship in this show could have essays written about it (which i'm sure has been done) and the seanwhite first kiss is actually one of my favorites

Laws of Attraction - charn wasn't on my screen for a minute and i was already in love with him. this is another one with a great plot, good chemistry, and a captivating side couple. the only thing it doesn't hit right on the mark for me is the physical intimacy (especially bc i couldn't help but compare it to mod) but it makes up for it with hot lesbians (silvy pls give me a chance)

I Feel You Linger in the Air - no it's not over yet and yes i'm two (almost three) episodes behind but listen unless they really screw the pooch right at the end this one absolutely deserves to be here. once again the chemistry is chemistrying and the setting and mechanics are FASCINATING. however i have a feeling it's gonna join the ranks of atots as dramas i adored but might not everr watch again due to emotional devastation

honorable mention to Shadow which is currently airing and which i am obsessed with so far. if i ever do another version of this list it may well be on there

[that-is-just-so-typically-me]

Lmao I was trying to find an old audio post of an ancient meme on this app and the app’s search engine apparently can’t let you search by post type but it DOES populate a list of your most frequently used tags and it turns out one of those for my blog is my ex’s name because I’d forgotten I used to put her name in the tags when I’d share posts that reminded me of her and us, so I know you’re wondering and the answer is yes of course my self-harming dumb ass clicked it and scrolled through! And I am now just like absolutely leveled down to the foundations! 🙃 I just got to have a fully global mind-body physical flashback as I began to read the posts and literally feel sensations in my body that I hadn’t felt since some indeterminate point in recent years when the pain of the more recent memories finally and fully occluded my ability to recall how it felt to be with her when we were happy. Like, I’ve always remembered but for years now it must be that I’d only ever remembered like data points about how I felt and how it was, but like how still photographs communicate what a place is like, compared to how physically being there we actually know what a place is like. It was like stepping into my own body in 2017 and re-living that exact moment in time where I saw and reblogged that post. That’s something I only ever do with the night she left me, or some of the other top ten most scarring/painful/regret-choked moment between us.

I feel like I practically had the wind knocked out of me. For a brief moment being in my body felt in a way, such a happy, light, joyful, innocent way, in this way that I realized I had literally forgotten I could ever feel or had ever felt, it seemed as formless and insubstantial as a dream recalled from childhood, just a few frames and the sweeping narrative arc. These days I cannot IMAGINE how the girl writing those posts was feeling that she could write such silly loving happy things for someone and that it was not only possible but safe and okay and wanted that you do and say and feel those things! I think for years now if you’d have erased my memory entirely and asked me if such pure, innocent happiness could exist in this world for me (or what that even means), I would’ve absolutely said “no” and probably laugh in your face. It feels like the person who made those posts couldn’t have *possibly* been me, because I am not the kind of person who would ever even be so bold as to claim that I DESERVE to want such things, it would be wasted on me.

As I write this I realize the self-concept in me that is dominant almost to the exclusion of all other “me”s basically talks to me as Cinderella’s stepsisters talked to her and made her feel, that she is so ugly and pathetic and unwanted that to want to get dressed up go to the ball is hysterically funny and embarrassing because she’ll never be beautiful or wanted by the prince and the whole ballroom will laugh at her. The idea that I could put my mother’s ancient moth-eaten dress and go to the ball hoping for love again when every girl at the ball is a real princess, and lovely, and charming, is like so zero degrees K unattainable in the perspective of the strongest voice in my head, that it’s truly unFATHOMABLE to me now that someone like that ever chose me and made me feel chosen and loved me and made me feel loved!! Like it feels like crazy talk to my heart. Who could ever have possibly loved your garbage ass when there are Robins in the world? So my brain, who in years has only visited these emotional rooms whose boards I’ve trod thin with my agonized and infinite pacing, has sort of stripped the knowledge of those past feelings from my body as immaterial, cut the cognitive load to only what I need to know to survive. My brain has felt so unsafe for so long that it’s marshaled every neural node to the cause of studying that pain because we have to figure out how to make it stop somehow.

I know that I’m rambling and making a truly scant amount of sense. But to try and finish expressing this if I even can, this is somehow the weirdest flashback I have ever had though definitely about as desolating as the rest. It dawns on me now as I write this (again, this rambling is absolutely brought to you by me, journaling in real-time the instant I got like 12 posts deep into that tag) that the actual reason my “inner bully” is so ruthlessly cruel to me is because she thinks she’s protecting “us” and this is the best way she knows how to keep us safe because she must stop me from doing that thing we learned was so painful that it almost destroyed us. And therefore, the fact that I can’t remember the physical reality of how good it felt before I lost it is because it’s actually more painful to have to briefly live again in a body that knew every corner of that wonderful feeling only to be jerked back on the immediate pendulum swing to a body that knew nothing but an acid-eaten hole where that feeling used to live, staring down the endless landscape stretched ahead of me where the sun has not risen in four years and I’m practically despaired of all hope it’s anything but gone forever. Like that feeling was so beautiful, a weightlessness I can’t possibly explain, and then the terrible crashing of the familiar and asphyxiating lead blankets around my shoulders again. That was very fucking uncool lmao and I think I literally would rather my flashbacks of the bad memories, at least I have calluses so thick there at this juncture that when cut feel a pain no more remarkable than my hip pain, a constant companion like a radio playing in the background while I go about my day, omnipresent and only occasionally warranting any focus. There the skin is practically just an open wound.

I feel like I am stained by all of this and I just want to scrub my skin raw to get every memory off of me so I don’t have to know how good things were and aren’t and will never be again, how bad things got and what I learned to hate about myself, I just want to be free. I want to be free of this. I am so afraid that despite all my trying I am going to feel like this for the rest of my life.

[fedzkun]

Villain Hunt Arc Meta: All For One’s Horrific Guide to Methodically Breaking Down Your Local OFA Holder

Ft. Turning the ‘Overpoweredness’ of OFA into a Setback, and AFO’s Successful Manipulations Of Midoriya Izuku

In which I also give AFO too much credit for all the pain he’s probably caused, and theorize that his plans to break Izuku actually started getting enacted even before he’d escaped Tartarus.

(A.k.a. me loving the angst because this is really good angst writing, but also hating it because the manga doesn’t come with a Angst with A Happy Ending tag unless you count Izuku’s ‘this is the story of how I became the greatest hero’ which isn’t really a guarantee of happiness )

So. What an arc! In the span of ten chapters (starting from the end of the War arc) Hori delivered a full-on Villain-looking, Vigilante Midoriya Izuku. Congratulations, Horikoshi, for finally introducing Akatani Mikumo!

The fast pacing and lack of breather panels are so fitting for this arc truly. AFO never gave them a moment’s rest. Yes, from henceforth as he’d promised... It’s always going to be his turn.

Izuku is making amazing progress with unlocking the full power of One For All. In his words, his abilities might as well already be on par with what a healthier All Might could do, and with no recoil to boot. Plus, there’s only one last quirk to unlock. For villain fights, I don’t think we need to worry about him losing, or him breaking anymore bones at this time.

Which, some might argue, makes Izuku too ‘OP.’

To start with, I want to talk first about the ‘overpoweredness’ of the One For All quirk. It’s a wonderful quirk truly, having inspired and amazed so many because of its sheer power. Used well, it could grant instant victories and restore the people’s wavering faith to the heroes. Because with a quirk like that on your side, everything’s going to be alright, right? There’s always gonna be that bit of hope that something is still strong enough to stand against the looming evil...right?

Yeah. That’s what the people who’d lived under All Might’s Era of Peace thought so too. History repeats.

OFA’s ‘OP-ness’ is both a great blessing and a great burden.

Here are some points on how the narrative has made OFA's 'overpoweredness' a setback:

1. All For One—that bastard—exploits the urge that comes with OFA. Just as ‘AFO the quirk’s’ goal is to steal OFA, OFA’s job is to defeat AFO, and Izuku is sacrificing himself to its cause.

Here’s another thing I want to point out: The conclusion that the heroes drew about AFO planning to capture Midoriya Izuku alive? In rereading, I’m starting to believe it’s nothing but a mere assumption of his plans. Aside from the deal made with Lady Nagant—of which I think AFO didn’t take seriously anyway and set her up for failure— (and while we as readers are already aware of his true intentions to wear Izuku down) it’s weird that nowhere had AFO directly mentioned to Izuku that he’s going to kidnap him and take his quirk from him.

2. OFA made Izuku so brilliant (e.g. Pros and former Pros alike going “This kid...”) that they really can't help but place all their hopes on him. Sighs. In an ideal world, this would be a dream come true of Izuku getting his due credit for all his heroic achievements Pro heroes have started to do to Izuku what they’ve done all their lives to All Might--which is to put him on the pedestal, while they fall back to cover him like guards/safety net. Hence, falling back to the One Pillar Model mindset.

3. OFA makes Izuku untouchable, not only to the villains, but also to his allies. Prime material to reinforce isolation. And if Izuku doesn't want to be caught, he won't make it easy for either side.

4. OFA IS SUS AF, OKAY? What are the Holders doing?! While gaining access to them makes it easier and convenient to have personal trainers in handling OFA, the vestiges prove to add a lot to Izuku’s mental load. If they’d allowed Izuku to come to the point of being caked with blood and filth, they’re not doing very well at guiding him. Realize that most of their arc interactions with Izuku is Quirk Talk. They, of all people, should know how AFO’s machinations work! Hey First, for the love of god, warn Izuku! He’s showing so many signs of being manipulated that you should be picking up on. please /sobs ;;

Tbf, like, I’m pretty sure that the Holders haven’t been as mentally okay either, which would feed into Izuku’s current mindset.

Now that the setbacks have been listed, let’s dive in to AFO’s plans to toy with Midoriya Izuku.

PHASE 1: Pre-Tartarus Breakout

Speaking of OFA being sus, there’s something that has been niggling at the back of my mind.

All For One basically tells Izuku: “You were my main interest that entire time I was in prison”. So, to pass the time in Tartarus (since he can’t use any(?) of his quirks), AFO has been doing nothing but apparently daydreaming and designing a personal hell for the Ninth Holder during that entire period. HOWEVER, it also made me wonder…

…Even before he’d broken out, had AFO made any moves at all in enacting his plans to break Izuku?

Yeah?

And here’s the kicker: he says that before Blackwhip bursted out.

AFO is a master manipulator. Assuming that Izuku doesn’t have any latent AFO quirk (for whatever reason *coughs* maybe dfo if you're a believer) or that Quirk Singularity has anything to do with it, what is the trigger to Izuku suddenly having access to Blackwhip?

I’d argue that it is All For One himself.

Why? What’s his goal? If you notice during the Joint Training arc, Izuku is feeling pretty confident about his progress. He’s rather happy and feeling blessed, and he is making leaps and bounds with base power OFA.

AFO can’t have that. He can’t allow the Ninth Holder to become too emotionally stable, or else he’d have a stronger will. So by somehow activating Blackwhip, AFO makes Izuku feel like he hasn’t made any progress with his quirk at all. During the evaluations, Izuku mentions that he still needs a lot to work on, and while not all of it is visible, with the way he behaves, it’s pretty evident that his self-confidence has taken a rather large hit.

But, wait! If AFO had tampered with OFA during the JT arc, paving the way to unlocking the rest (like he’d also done during the War arc when he tried to ‘steal’ it then), then wouldn’t AFO be sabotaging himself since he’d be making Izuku a more formidable opponent?

Sure. Except that the quirks inside OFA are mostly useless when it comes to the mental part of the fighting. The only thing they’re useful for is for the current Holder to be able to play keep-away in the physical realm. And AFO could easily just find counters for those through his work on Tomura.

You know how else the situation becomes advantageous for AFO? With every quirk unlocked, Izuku’s goalposts keep on getting away from him, and Izuku will always feel like he isn’t ready or prepared enough. Izuku will push and push himself to master OFA to its fullest, to become more powerful, at the cost of his mental/emotional stability and physical wellbeing as he wears himself down.

And every time Izuku grew more powerful, and became more ‘OP,’ he is burdened with all the aforementioned setbacks that came with it. He could be the most powerful person in the world, but it’s all for naught if he doesn’t take care of himself. This plan is both a high risk and high reward on AFO’s part, and as of the moment, with a bloody Izuku staggering all over, AFO is visibly reaping these high rewards.

PHASE 2: Post-Tartarus Breakout

He’s going to toy with Izuku until Izuku fucking breaks. What follows is his series of actions that instills the desired responses from Midoriya Izuku. Let’s see how the master manipulator plays this game of chess, shall we?

Izuku’s plan: Reach out to villains and try to save them.

AFO’s counter: Kill off those who turn their back against villainy and/or acknowledge Izuku as a true hero.

Izuku’s resulting response: Stop reaching out to villains. Gain an instant victory and move on.

After all, what do you get when you block a hero from showing sympathy? You get an unfeeling living weapon.

---

Izuku’s plan: Work with the top pro heroes to bring down AFO.

AFO’s counter: Make plans that will serve to highlight how the top pros are just slowing Izuku down. (e.g. Making moves while it’s raining, so as to divide them, but also to bring out No. 1 Hero Endeavor’s "slowness" in the rain. Nope, I don’t think that’s a throwaway line at all.)

Izuku’s resulting response: Grows more reckless, often leading the charge.

---

Izuku’s plan: Track AFO down.

AFO’s counter: Lead them to dead-ends. Or when they do supposedly reach something, endanger them.

Izuku’s resulting response: His tunnel vision worsens, as he grows more desperate.

---

Izuku’s plan: All Might following him around is okay since it would help All Might from worrying so much, and Izuku could simultaneously keep an eye on and protect All Might.

AFO’s counters: There are a lot to really fuck with this bond, damn you AFO.

Taint that passing the torch memory of ‘You’re Next.’

Declare that All Might no longer interests him. Liar. He outright stated before that he’s one for keeping a grudge

Send another assassin to Izuku [Underlying Message: You yourself are a walking danger zone to those whom you dearly care for.]

Izuku’s resulting response:

Interpret that memory of ‘You’re Next’ as taking up the position of being AFO’s shiny new plaything, and therefore supposedly sparing All Might from the torment (Unfortunately, making Izuku push AM away is just part of the torment ;A;)

Think that AM is no longer in the direct line of fire as long as AFO focuses on Izuku

Finally, push his last line of morale support away, and completely isolate himself.

Btw, I wonder how All Might feels about Izuku using Nana's quirk to get away from him.

---

The suffering doesn’t end.

Izuku’s plan: Save people.

AFO’s counters: (possibly offscreen) Send more villains and assassins to torment Izuku some more with the knowledge that he can’t save them. Sending villains out also puts innocents in danger.

Izuku’s resulting response: He won’t stop for anything. He won’t sleep, won’t eat, won’t slow down. He will always do his best to save as long as someone is in danger.

His body will keep on moving and moving and MOVING on its own.

--- All For One is very effective as a supervillain. He has managed to make the heroes think that his only goal is to capture Izuku alive for his quirk. He has Izuku right where he wants him: dancing to his tune at the palm of his hand, utterly toyed with, left with no escape in sight.

Psychologically vaulted.

.

.

.

PHASE 3

And so, if Izuku is being manipulated to drive himself further and further into self-destruction, what then is there left for All For One to do?

So much more. Because, my god, I think AFO has mastered the art of traumatizing the OFA Holders.

All For One once told All Might, “I will destroy all that you’ve protected.” And boy, is he delivering. He's definitely not done with AM btw.

First, he destroys All Might's image. And he is manipulating Izuku to drive himself to that point. To looking into his absolute worst.

And when that point arrives, AFO will hammer the final nail home.

Something like...

BEHOLD

JAPAN’S SYMBOL OF PEACE.

And oh, how it'll hurt. To see All Might's pride and joy be flaunted about as looking nothing like a hero to the masses, for him to be so utterly humiliated.

"See what I did to All Might's successor."

AFO will be banking upon the possibility that the angry masses will not want to be saved by whom they're tricked into viewing as someone that's the cause of all the pain. Izuku might have the willpower to stay true to his resolve, but with him on the verge of total breakdown, what would happen when he is shunned by the very people he is trying to help?

I once wrote a post about how the current events seem to be a bastardization of Izuku's wildest fantasies: he's working with the top pros, he has the most powerful quirk, and he's working with All Might (whom technically acts as a sidekick to him rn).

AFO has warped all that into a never-ending nightmare. And Izuku...

Izuku is really in need of saving.

Last thoughts:

Let me just say that it shouldn't be a competition about who gets to get through to Izuku. Right now, he’s gonna need all the help he can get, and it can’t be delivered by only one or two people. Saving Izuku is going to be a team effort, a solid support system that sees Izuku as their classmate/friend/student/actual person that they care about. And there’s sufficient space for that.

More hands reaching out means more chances to catch him if he falls.

[s1ater]

hiii i saw that you write cobra kai imagines and i was wondering if you could do a miguel imagine in which the reader is best friends with robby and has developed feelings for him while miguel still likes sam, so the reader and miguel start fake dating and emd up catching feelings for eachother?🥺💞

failure to plan, part one. miguel diaz x reader

summary 📣: above :)

warnings 🚫: gif not mine, swearing

slater’s note 🗯: also there will be A PART TWO I PROMISE

“i have a plan.”

you looked up from your textbooks, seeing a very hyper miguel, his hands pressed down onto the table, inches across from you. 

you press your lips into a thin line, narrowing your brows up to the boy, your head slightly quirked to the side, “what’s your plan?”

miguel pulled out the seat in front of you, causing you to begin to close your books and set them to the side, giving him your divided attention. 

“i need to be with same,” he said straight forward, folding his arms against the cold, blue plastic table, “i’m done constantly chasing after her.. wondering whether or not she likes me the way i like her still.” 

he paused giving you time to process his words as he tried to think of what to say next, how to form his words while your lips pressed back into a line. 

you didn’t know miguel that well... well you did but he was more or so an acquaintance than anything else. you had found yourself noticing him a lot more the moment him and robby had began to get along, causing your whole friend group to pull closer together, that being, sam, you, tory, robby, demetri, eli, and miguel. 

he was a funny kid, one you could put a lot of trust into if you needed to. 

“i know you like robby,” he paused, looking down at the table as if he was slightly ashamed for knowing this information, and you yourself were slightly shocked, but you stayed silent, resisting the urge to open your mouth. “i see the way you look at him, i know you like that kid just as much as i like sam.”

robby. that “kid” was your best friend and you had very valid reasons as to why you liked him, one being as to he was there for you since day one. robby didn’t have a lot of trust in people, nor did anyone seem to trust him... but you. 

you had met him at a skating rink where you had just about fallen on your ass if he hadn't swooped in and caught you by the arm, keeping you on your feet and away from falling into a deep pit of hurt and scratches. 

he taught you things, you kept him out of trouble, you kept each other alive and in your well beings. you couldn't have asked for a better friend nor would you ever think about replacing him. 

that’s why it was hard for you to realize that you thought of him more than just a friend. the thought of ruining what you had with for something that might not even be a possibility, that being; him liking you. 

“yeah, okay, so you know that, what about it?” 

“i have a proposition.”

“get to the point.”

you didn’t intend for anything that came out of your mouth to be rude, but the fact that he knew something so personal, something that you wouldn't even tell your mom or girl best friend about made you uncomfortable, on edge. what else did he know? 

it was ridiculous to feel so attacked by miguel diaz because really, the kid was sweet, he had no attentions in being harmful, but you just couldn't stop your mind from caving in on itself. 

“fake date,” he said it straight forward making you curve your head a bit in confusion and in thought, wondering whether or not your heard him right or if you were really going crazy faster than you thought. 

“huh?” “fake dating,” he repeated, “it’s the only way to tell whether or not if i’m wasting my time, but i don’t think i am, i just know she likes me back but i need to push her a bit.” “so you want to make her jealous?” he nodded his head, waiting for you to say something, waiting for you to say ‘yes’. 

“what’s in it for me?” “works both ways.” “yes, but i don’t think robby likes me like that, that’s why i haven’t said anything to him about it-”

“y/n,” he cuts you off, wanting to slow down the oncoming rambling that was about to spill out of your mouth in one big mess, “guy best friends usually like their girl best friends. robby just needs a push as well.” 

it made you bit your lip in thought, eyes racing back on the table top before you. the idea he presented before you was either a really good one... or a really, really bad one. 

“i’ll think about it,” you got up quickly, grabbing all your books before rushing out of the library. 

°•

monday came rather fast, making you think you didn’t have nearly enough time to think about miguel’s proposition. you knew he would probably would want an answer, especially due to the fact that you had ignored all his phone calls and texts. 

hanging out with robby all weekend hadn’t necessarily gave you any clarity either. it was the only thing on your mind as you the two of you went to the skate park and his dad's apartment, and mr. larusso’s home, and the food court, and anywhere and everywhere. the only thing. 

you begun to feel bad because twenty minutes into hanging out he had noticed, giving you hard time about it as time continued on it seemed to have been a repetitive thing. 

“what’s on your mind, kid?” “uh, nothing.”

all you could say was you felt bad. 

you hustled down the hallway, trying your best to maneuver yourself around the teen bodies that filled the hallway like a small box. it was hot and stuffy and you felt your heart all high in your chest as you tried to spot for something familiar, spot robby. 

you continued down the hallway before hitting a clearing a relief hitting you and lightening up on your chest, analyzing your environment before planning out how you’d get to your next class. 

you rounded a corner, five feet away from your physics class before you felt the weight of your body being pulled back in your past tracks. 

and you almost smacked whoever did so before realizing it was miguel, a relief coming over you as you sighed, sinking your shoulders back into a more relaxed position. 

he slightly laughed, letting go of your arm, “relax, it’s just me.”

you rolled your eyes, nodding him off, “what do you want?”

“i want an answer.”

“what?” you almost resisted the urge to play dumb but the words just fell out of your mouth, think it would give you more time to make up your mind. 

“you know what.”

“yeah, i don't know,” you turned around but he grabbed onto your shoulder quickly before flipping you back around. 

“y/n,” he gave you a pointed look that made you even more anxious than you already were.

you bit the inside of your cheek, hoping the answer would just come to you right in that moment, but it didn't. there was just some part of you that just didn't understand, maybe that was what was holding you back due to the lack of clarity on the situation. what did “fake dating” even entail? what would you have to do? and why you? what was so special about you other then the fact that you were just as helpless as he was to getting the person he liked to like him back. 

but so what? there were hundreds of girls like that at your school. 

you exhaled, almost rolling your head down in shame, “you know what, fine, i’ll ‘fake date’ you... but you have to tell me why.”

“what do you mean, why?”

“why me, miguel?” 

he rolled his eyes as if it should have been the most obvious thing in the world, “i already told you, we both have people we like-”

“yeah but there’s other people in this school in that exact situation,” you extended out your arm, getting worked up for basically nothing. 

miguel rolled his eyes again before taking a step forward, “we can talk about this later, meet me in the library later.”

and he walked off. 

°•

“hey, can i give you a ride?” 

three o’clock arrived like clock work and after seven classes of hell you walked out of your last one, completely exhausted and ready to go home, but remembered you still had to meet miguel in the library. 

it had been bearing on your mind all day, that you just wished you could forget about it and go home with robby like he offered. 

“no, i can’t,” you mumbled, diverting your body to face robby as the two of you neared the exit of the school.

“why not? got a hot date or something?”

“something like that,” you smiled just as he did. 

“alright, i’ll see you later,” he gave your arm a tight squeeze before walking out the doors, waving as he continued out onto the parking lot. 

“lord, help me.”

°•

“no strings attached, you don’t have to call me at twelve in the morning when your crying nor do i have to call you when i get hurt or some shit,” miguel was straightforward, he pulled out his phone and began reading from a list off of it, like he had had this planned way before even deciding to talk to you about it. “we’re here to make people jealous, not get attached.”

you nodded, trying to process all the things he had said in the past ten minutes about what was to go down with the two of for however how long it would take before either sam or robby broke from underneath the pressure of you two “dating”. 

miguel already had the week planned and you were slightly grateful that he knew what he was doing because you sure as hell didn't. 

“i’ll take you out to the mini golf place so then it’s public, you know? it’ll seem more official and that way people will see us together...” he continued on by saying, “we hold hands, kiss in the hall, and do all the cheesy couple shit.” “thought you were a sucker for that stuff,” you hummed, raising your eyebrows, slightly shocked by him bad mouthing all the “cheesy shit” that couples do, the type of shit you would see him doing in the halls with sam when they were still a thing. 

he rolled his eyes, “whatever, we got a deal?” 

you watched him raise his hand, reaching across the table for your own... and you took it, nodding your head still lost, but content now. 

“we have a deal.”

masterlist

taglist 🗞:

join the taglist dawg 

@bigbilliamdenbro @axastasiasstuff @alexmercer-reginaldpeters @teti-menchon0604 @lydiaamphlett @torynicholsgf @Skiala45 @write-from-the-heart @mrfeenyisswag

[luluwiie]

My writers academia

My readings full masterlist

Or: just Lulu-stan praising her fav writers (❤ = My dearest ones) + Masterlist links + my very fav work from them ❤ The "ranking" logic goes crescendo, from growing writers to the "greatest" and most experienced ones, aka my favs ♥!

✏ Aspiring - Promising pencils ~

Aspiring heroes - Some writers I recently discovered or who just started creating some really great works. Show them some love, they deserve it !

@matts-writing - How you got together -

@thesweetestkimberry - Mlist - Chocolate

@daenqyu - Masterlist - Promise me

@veenxys - Masterlist - Todoroki & Bakugo falling for you - Mel is honestly such an adorable person, and a really funny one too ! I just love her Hcs, and the way she mixes humor with angst in her stuff. Honestly, I'm a fan :')

@shinsorokiri - Masterlist - Losing memory - Their hcs are just soooo deeply touching my heart. I wish I could read more ! Good angst content 😳

@bkgmaid - Masterlist - Shinso falling in love - New Tumblr I just discovered an fell in love with ! The slow burn process depicted there are.the.best ❤ Love the way growing feelings are depicted ! Touches my soul ❤

@yaomomvs - Masterlist - Ten duel commandments - I just love this girl's writings. I dunno what to say I JUST WANT MOOORE FIZNEKC (Shouto lover High five)

@atsumiyass - Masterlist - Simphony - Mars and Venus are new in BnHA fandom but are just So. Talented. I just love their writings. Simple yet very touching. Just go check their art ♡

@shotos-noodles - Masterlist - If we tried - There are definitely some sweet poetical vibes in this adorable person writings. Cue some adorable Shoto moments and I'm melting. I just love this cutie works ❤

🖋 Pro writers - plumes ~

Pro heroes - Some more or less famous yet very talented and experienced writers, whose works are undeniably qualitative.

@sam-writs- Masterlist - Candles - I want to read more touching poetry like this ! ♡

@tsuhika - Masterlist - Saturdays are for the boys -

@fruggykitty - Masterlist - Trying to confess - BEST TAMAKI CONTENT. LUV IT.

@lovers-liability - Masterlist - I keep my promises - FF + The Beauty of it all - Ongoing FF - Lu' is such an adorable person and an incredibly gifted writer. She really has a thing with words; her own special way of depicting emotions and mental / physical states. She writes some of the deepest angst drabbles I've ever read, like you can feel the intense emotions she depicted. And considering her FF prologue, I can tell you she's as good in Fluff ! She deserves SO much love, recognition an fame for her art. I just can't wait to read more of her works! In two words, I highly recommend her Tumblr and whole great person ❤

@duskjelly - Masterlist - Lovestruck - This adorable jelly has such a good appreciation of BnHA characters. Every single thing I read there was full of small yet very significant details that make their work unique. I just love falling in their lovely / lively hcs !

@lovely-angst - Masterlist - This whole account is just what I ADORE reading on Tumblr. Intertwined Angst + Fluff moments. LOVE-IT.

🖌 Top 10 artists - brushes ~

Top heroes- The very best writers I know so far. I absolutely worship their works. Their art never fail giving me chills and emotions. I highly recommend ♥

@katimagines - Masterlist - Kat is just the author responsible for my BnHA fandom adoration. Her works made me fall in the fandom, and for that I'll be eternally gratefull !

@songbirdsingingthings - Masterlist - Ice Skating + Polka-dotted Bandages - This writer is honestly underrated, she deserves SO MUCH love and fame. I just love the way she writes for my fav characters (aka Shoto, for BnHa). I'm just in love with her writings and details, that's all ❤

@izukulus - Navigation - Do you want some tea ? - There is something in Izukulus writings. A mix between psychological writings and pure fluff / soft moments. I just love their sweet writing. ❤

@meliorist-midoriya - Navi- the meaning of “i love you” + sing me to sleep - Kelley's whole masterlist was in my reading list since quite some weeks now... And I recently literally FELL in her whole ART. 'Cause honestly, it's about art (and a lot of emotions, too). First, just look at her tumblr theme ? It screams ART. Then read her psychological works ? it screams FEELS, EFHGRGIH I just love how she writes, I discovered this way too late and now that I've fallen for this, I'll never stop supporting her and reading her work è.é LUV

@blkladyelle - Masterlist - Unforgettable -Ongoing FF - One of my very favorite Dabi / Hawks fanfic. Honestly, with Midnight, these are the two Fanfics who made me fall in Dabi and Hawks works. I'm just in love with these two Fanfics. Just read it, it worths the journey! ❤

@elysianseraph - Masterlist - How they say I love you / Arrythmia - Poetry. Just emotional poetry. Nothing more to say, these works are often masterpieces. Deserves fame!

@oikawaplssteponme - Masterlist - 7 signs you're in love - I only discovered this Tumblr recently, yet I'm already sooo deeply invested in it. Willow is just the cutest person on earth. She deserves all the support and love ♥ The little Fanfiction with Todoroki learning what love is.. is just a blessing for our feels. Honestly, it's so well written, so sweet, so full of good vibes, I just love it 💕❤ -

@thelawofmixingcolors - Princess and Hero + Midnight - Ongoing FF - ❤ Realllly one of my top favs. A really sweet person and an amazing author. Their work never fails moving me, they do really have a gift for writing. I highly recommend ❤❤

* ******************** *** ******************* *

Wherever you're on this crescendo list, regardless of the number of followers and interactions of your tumblr, it doesn't matter : just know that your art helps people. I'll quote @melloyellobeth post, 'cause it encapsulates my thoughts and feelings about Fandom writings :

“There will always be someone who enjoys your writing [and I’m one of them]. Remember that every like, reblog, and comment is one person who enjoyed what you wrote and i can assure you they (and I) want more! and remember, not everyone remembers to leave evidence that they liked your writing or they might just be too nervous to interact with you. invisible fans exist, and you’ve got them.

Going along with that last one, your writing has the potential to help others! you could write about a minority, or maybe you could publish a little something comforting at the exact time someone else needs it. ”

This is what your writings gave me. Comfort. Feels. A perfect exit from reality / anxiety / any bad moment in my life. Honestly, I would never have thought I’d become addict to the whole fandom’ universe, and yet here I am, unable to sleep correctly if I didn’t have my bed-time FF reading.

To put it shortly : your writings move, comfort, help, bring bliss, feels and amazing moments to people. So thank you for that. Thank you for everything. ♥

[bunnysuit-femboy]

End These Games

Armin x Reader

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: fingering, exhibitionism, mentioned masturbation - slight dub con

Summary: Reader has been watching her boyfriend play this stupid game for nearly an hour. She is in desperate need of some attention, but he is still ignoring her. Guess she’ll have to force him to pay attention to her by offering something he could never say no to.

Notes: I got inspired and wrote this in one sitting. Also, I don't know shit about Skyrim but... enjoy!

You never understood what was so intriguing about Skyrim. It was a low quality game about being an adventurer in a dangerous world. It was fun, sure, but not that much fun. It wasn’t fun enough to completely ignore your girlfriend after begging her to come over to your house. Nothing should be that much fun.

You watched from Armin’s bed as his fingers moved skillfully over the keyboard. His screen showed the game as his avatar maneuvered through the snowy woods. He talked into a headset, asking his friends where they were for the fight and where they were going next.

You had been watching your boyfriend for the last ten minutes, your face set into a permanent frown from boredom. You loved seeing him happy, but you preferred when his happiness was tied directly to you. Whether you were making him happy from the thing between your legs or from the words coming from between your lips, you didn’t care. You just loved making him happy.

You disappointedly threw your phone to the bed and slid to the edge. Armin didn’t notice anything in the room had changed, so you continued. You moved to his chair, placing your hand delicately on his shoulder before whispering sensually to him.

“Can I join you?” You asked, sweetly, your voice barely audible to the game-obsessed boy.

“Yeah,” Armin said quickly, moving back on his chair to give you enough room to join him. You grinned before swinging your leg over the boy.

He was used to you joining him while he was gaming, but never like this. He was used to you sitting on his lap, facing the screen and watching him play. You would even flick his fingers during stressful battles, much to his opposition. You would laugh as he playfully cried out, trying his hardest to keep his avatar alive on the screen, fighting battles with both you and the enemies from the game.

But, you now sat on him backwards than what he was used to. You straddled him, your chest close to his as you snuggled your face into the crook of his neck. He had his arms around your body, his fingers still moving across the keyboard. And, your arms were pressed in between your’s and his chests, bent at an awkward angle.

He continued to play, despite his initial confusion. He still talked to his friends through his headset and moved his avatar around the map. You thought sitting on his lap would be enough to calm your anxious heart, but you needed more from him. You didn’t like sharing your boyfriend’s attention with an inanimate object.

Inanimate objects couldn’t compare to you, they couldn’t make him as happy as you could.

“Armin,” You whispered into the soft skin of his neck.

“Yes, baby,” He said into the side of your head, giving a single peck to the hair above your ear.

“Remember when we first met?”

Armin smiled to himself because of course he remembered the day he met you. It wasn’t too long ago, but even if it had been a hundred years ago, he would have remembered it like it had been yesterday. He felt pity looking back on a version of himself that didn’t know true happiness yet, but he also felt warm and fuzzy remembering a time when everything you two did was new.

“Yeah,” Armin said with a grin, “I remember.”

The first time you had met Armin was purely accidental, a series of fateful events all leading towards the love of your life. You were invited to the event because of your close relation to Sasha, since you helped her study for her chemistry final exam. She wanted to pay you back for helping her get a good grade, so she invited you to Eren’s apartment for a small get-together.

At said get-together is where you met Armin.

You were awkward at first, sitting on Eren’s couch as they all played games on the tv. Sasha offered you excessive amounts of alcohol, to which you mostly accepted. Then, you drunkenly talked to everyone in the room, finally finding your way out of your own shell.

You made your way to Armin, the one person in the room you wanted to talk to more than anything. Ever since you walked into the spacious apartment, you found your eyes drawn to the blonde boy. You wanted to hear anything he could say. You wanted to be near him, you didn’t have to touch, just to feel his presence was enough.

That night made you certain that wishes came true. You talked endlessly with the boy - about anything and everything - and you even got his number before he dropped you off at your apartment. He went home thinking about you and you went home thinking about him.

It was the beginning of a cliche love story, and you liked that. You liked the boy so much that you even thought about him for the rest of night, with your hand in your pajama pants and panting breaths escaping from between your lips.

You leaned back from the boy, making eye contact with his blue eyes. You took in the sight of his up-close face, something so familiar yet so extraordinary at the same time.

“I think about that day a lot.” You smiled tiredly at Armin.

“Oh,” He said with perched eyebrows, “Why?”

You had directed the conversation to exactly where you wanted it. He was exactly where you wanted him to be. The prey making his way to the predator’s trap.

Your cheeks flushed and you looked away, feigning shyness, “No, it’s embarrassing.”

“I doubt it is.” Armin grinned. “Just tell me.”

“You promise not to make fun of me?” You tilted your head, smiling like a schoolgirl. Armin nodded, his mind no longer occupied on the game behind you. He’d rather talk to you anyway. “I have to hear you promise.”

“I promise I won’t make fun of you.”

Your grin was now gone, along with your feigned innocence. You leaned closer to the boy, your chest now flush against his own. Your hands found a new home on his sides, your fingers grazing over his ribs, feeling every bump under your fingertips.

You leaned your mouth to his ear, whispering sensually, “I masturbated to the thought of you that night. After meeting you, it hurt me, just how badly I need you - it hurts.”

Armin’s entire body fell into shock. His stomach tensed under your hands and his breathing came out ragged and broken. His lips were parted slightly, letting his breaths escape.

You knew him well enough to know what was going through his head. You knew he imagined the imagery you set before him. You knew he was thinking about you, lying all pretty on your bed, one hand down your pants and the other covering your eyes. As if you were ashamed to be unknowingly aroused by the idea of him being inside you.

He thought about the desperation in your voice as you confessed to him and he was suddenly hyper aware of your hands on him. You were so close to him, situated on his lap in the perfect position for him to hump up into the air and touch something. Something he suddenly needed as well.

“Oh,” Armin's voice came out as a whisper, “You did?”

You bit back your smile, “Yeah. I still think about it to this day. When I’m lonely. When you’re busy with class. I just think about you, and what I’d let you do to me.”

“And what would you let me do to you?”

Snap. The trap closed around the prey, much to the predator’s delight.

You looked intently into his eyes, “Whatever you’d give to me, I’d take it all.”

Armin’s thigh twitched at the sound of that. He thought about how many inches separated his cock from your entrance. And, his heart rate accelerated when he realized that it was only a few inches, maybe two or three. It would take one strong move and he could finally hear you moan out for him. But, he instead decided to work slowly.

One of Armin’s hands suddenly came to your arm, not even the slightest bit interested in the avatar running around a seemingly empty village behind you. He had his fingers wrapped gingerly around the plush of your bicep.

“Seriously,” Armin asked innocently, “You’d take anything?”

“And everything.” You stated with a glint of desperation in your voice.

Armin moved his arm under your own, his fingers now resting on your hip. You felt your chest tighten with the movement. You knew where his fingers were headed, and your heart couldn’t take the suspense of the moment.

“And,” Armin asked with a curious tilt of his head in your direction, “When do you want me?”

“All the time,” You whispered back to the boy.

It was exactly what he wanted to hear. He dragged his hand along the soft skin of your thigh, fingers digging into the skin and leaving temporary indents.

“And,” Armin said while he watched your eyes intently, “Would you let anyone else touch you this way?”

“No,” You said, “Only you. I only want you.”

Armin loved the thought of you subconsciously comparing everybody else you’ve ever been with to himself. And, he loved knowing they could never come close to him at the top of your mental list. He could even die happy knowing you would never leave him because you know that nobody would ever make you feel the same way. It didn’t matter how he treated you - though he treats you amazingly - he could destroy you mentally and you’d still come crawling back to him at the end of the day.

Armin brought his hand under the opening of your sleep shorts. His fingertips now played with the lacy fabric of your panties underneath. Even physical contact close to where you wanted it caused your core to throb desperately for more.

“Kiss me.” Armin demanded, insinuating a trade with his words. With every good kiss you gave, you’d get something you want in return.

So, you leaned forward and kissed your boyfriend. Your body moved closer to him with each second of the kiss, your back arching and your chest brushing up against his own. Your fingers, still on his sides, now dug into his skin, your nails leaving behind shallow marks to his soft skin.

The room, once filled with the sound of Armin’s mindless conversations with his friends about dragons and taverns, was now filled with the sound of lips smacking together desperately. You then pushed your tongue into his mouth to which he whined hopelessly onto your lips.

Armin’s hand made its way over the lacy panties under your shorts. His fingers brushed against your clothed core. Your boyfriend’s body lit with satisfaction at the knowledge of just how wet you were from only kissing him, sitting on his lap, and talking about how much you needed him. The wetness was already on his fingers, soaking through the thick fabric of your panties.

His fingers brushed the sensitive spot that needed him most and you moaned quietly to his mouth. His lips ate every whine you gave while his fingers brushed further into the sensitive area.

You moved closer to the boy as your hips tried to get even closer to him, desperately bucking into his hand as he teased your entrance. Despite the lack of space between you two already, you tried to connect further to both his body and hand. You wanted to feel everything he felt, you wanted to feel his body heat on top of your own.

Armin had now completely forgotten the game behind you. He wasn’t bothered by leaving his avatar in the middle of a random tavern that his friends had decided to meet up at. And, his friends weren’t bothering him through the headset, instead they all sat quiet on the other end of the call, patiently listening for your moans.

You didn’t know about the boys’ interest in your moment with Armin. And, Armin was too deeply indulged in you that the thought of muting his end of the call never crossed his mind. The boys’ made sure to mute their own ends though, right when they heard you say that first sentence of masturbating to the idea of him. They were sure the moment would progress and nothing was better than free porn, especially when the free porn was moaning so desperately into their ears.

You bit your lip, trying to quiet down your panting breaths, “Can you touch me more?” You whispered the words onto Armin’s lips. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

Armin nodded against your face, his lips finding yours before doing as you pleased. His fingers slipped past the wet fabric of your panties, pushing them to the side. His calloused fingers brushed the soaked area under the panties, dragging out a mostly quiet moan from between your lips.

“In, in,” You said desperately to his mouth, “I want them in.”

Armin smiled against your lips, “Be patient.”

You nodded and felt as his fingertips brushed delicately against the area. His fingers teasingly played with your throbbing core, only making the wetness problem worse. His middle finger leaned up towards your entrance, using the collected slick to enter without much trouble at all.

You let out a high pitched moan at the feeling of something being inside. You lazily kissed Armin’s mouth, leaving wet kisses down his jaw, neck and onto his collarbone as a silent thank you. He openly accepted the gratitude, moving his head up to allow more kisses.

You brought your hips further down, widening your straddle as best you could on the small desk chair. You opened yourself further, hoping the boy would get the memo of how badly you needed a second finger in with the first without you having to say it out loud. But, you knew Armin better than anyone, and you knew he loved to hear your hopeless pleas even if he knew what you wanted already.

“Please,” You whispered into the skin of his neck, “More.”

He listened to your pleas this time, whether because you asked so nicely or because he truly wanted to give you more, you were unsure. But, the logistics of the situation became irrelevant when he pushed the second finger into your entrance. You felt the pressure of the fullness of both fingers and let out a soft moan into his hair, trying to muffle the noise.

“I wanna hear you,” He said as he pushed the two fingers in and out of you, “If you want me to continue, tell me.”

“Please,” You cried out to him.

He loved seeing you so desperate. He loved watching just what a small part of his body could do to you. Whether it be his fingers or his tongue or even his half-hardened cock pressed against your ass while you make breakfast. He loved hearing just how badly you needed him, and only him.

You normally try to stifle your moans, hoping not to disturb a silent peace in the room. But, when Armin told you he wanted to hear you, he meant it as a bargain. If you were loud and desperate for him, he would give you something to be loud and desperate about.

And, loud and desperate was exactly what you were. You pushed your hips into his hands, trying to suck his fingers up further than what he was allowing. You let go of that mental filter in your mind and let your moans come out as they came to your throat. You sent each whine into the sensitive skin of his neck, to which he proudly continued pumping his fingers in and out of you.

The lewd noises coming from beneath your shorts could be heard throughout the entire room and even through the headset. The boys on the other end heard each squelch of your pussy, and mentally stored the sounds in their own heads. They could also hear your moans, and your desperate curses as Armin curled his fingers inside of you, finally letting his fingers hit your sweet spot.

“Armin,” You whined his name out, “I-I’m-”

“You gonna come, baby?” Armin’s voice asked sweetly, contrary to the crude words he had spoken. You nodded your head fiercely against his neck, in silent response to his question. “Then, come.”

And with that final word, you let yourself release on his fingers and in your panties. He rode out your high, letting his fingers stay put for a few moments while you tried to catch your breath against the skin of his neck. You gave the boy sweet kisses to the soft skin, silent thank-yous for what he had done for you.

“Baby,” Armin whispered as he pulled his fingers from under your shorts.

“Mhm,” You mumbled against his skin.

“Want me to fuck you?” His voice was once again sweet for such a crude question.

Your eyes snapped open, “Right now?”

You lean back and look at the boy in front of you. His blue eyes were darkened with a newfound lust from your shared moment. And, you could see he was smiling innocently, despite having just pushed you to climax only a few moments ago.

“Yes,” Armin said, “Right now.”

You nodded before nearly throwing yourself from the desk chair and off of his lap. On your way back to his bed, you ripped your shirt and shorts off before throwing yourself on top of his comforter. Once on the bed, your panties and bra made a dramatic exit as well, sliding off of your legs and arms.

Armin rose from the chair and quickly ripped the headset from his head. With the force of throwing his headset, they unplugged from the computer, much to his friends’ disappointment. Armin walked towards you, taking his clothes off as well and letting them mingle with your own on the floor. He then joined you on the bed, pulling you against him in one swift move and kissing you passionately.

[tobiotetsu]

the lovers

reversed (prequel)

chapter two: ten of cups

miya atsumu x f!reader

description: the lovers card was a blessing in tarot if pulled up right, with the meaning of true love, prosperity and unity. however, if pulled in reversed, it signified disappointment, foolishness and failure. if he was destined to be your soulmate, why was his presence accompanied by chaos and destruction? if miya atsumu was your fatal flaw, how could he possibly be your fate?

genre: soulmate au, 18+, angst, enimes-to-lovers

cw: family issues, mentions of death, grammar errors

a/n: SO excited to write the next chp!! feedback & reblogs are truly appreciated<3 (wc: 4.4k)

prequel masterlist ♕ chp three

From the outside, the Miya’s were a very well-known family with a prestigious family. Miya Kaito was a well-known businessman in Japan who took over his father’s Marketing company. Miya Izumi, the twins’ mother was much lesser known than their father but was still in the public eye. She was an author of a best-selling novel who lived in Sendai but moved to Kasai when she married Kaito. They had two twin sons who excelled in volleyball and were sure to go professional straight after high school.

They were picture-perfect. But to your eyes, they were everything but.

Atsumu’s prediction of his father's absence at dinner two weeks ago had turned out to be correct. You, Osamu and his mother had waited at the table for almost 40 minutes before coming to the conclusion that once again, he was not coming home.

The lavish mansion was a veil for a broken home.

A father who worked more than he saw his family, a mother who went on trips weekly to resorts to escape her life and two children who had to suffer at the hands of their parents’ actions.

You couldn’t help but think of their family dynamic as you were in the kitchen scouring through the fridge for breakfast, a day before your 18th birthday. Mr. and Mrs. Miya weren’t soulmates but they seemed like they didn’t even like each other. It seemed like their public reputation was the only thing keeping them together.

That was the last thing that you wanted with your soulmate. You were less than 24 hours away from turning eighteen and you couldn’t help but think about who they might be.

Do they live in the Huygo prefecture? Are they the same age as you? Are they kind? A romantic? Were they just as excited to know your identity? Would we have a physical or emotional connection?

Questions like these ran through your mind ever since you woke up.

Usually, your breakfasts were something solid to fuel you for the rest of the day, but you were so nervous for tomorrow that you could barely keep anything down. You decide that some fruit would be enough for now. You stack clear contains which green grapes, strawberries and cherries in one arm as you use your free one to close the fridge door.

Maybe they’re in California? You’d meet them there when studying for school perhaps?

The questions continued to flow as you sat down at the counter in the kitchen on a bar stool as you munched on the grapes. You were so wrapped up in your questions that you barely even noticed that someone had walked in.

You almost choke on the grape when you realize who she was. It was the same girl who was making out with Atsumu in the cafeteria two weeks ago. She also must have been the owner of those over-exaggerated moans that still made you sick to your stomach.

Even though you took a while to acknowledge her, she still hadn’t noticed you. Confused laced your eyes are you stare at her half-naked figure opening the fridge in front of you. The only thing covering her was a large white button shirt with two buttons together at her chest, which you assumed was Atsumu’s.

As you were studying her in slight disgust, she finally noticed your presence.

“Oh hi, I’m Yui,” she said as she tucked her dirty blonde hair behind her hair.

“Yeah, I know, we’re in the same calculus class,” you say before you place mother grape in your mouth. Judging by her reaction to your words, she hadn’t even acknowledged you, but you couldn’t care less.

She stood there in a slight shock before hesitantly speaking again.

“So, are you dating ‘Samu?” she asked as she leaned her body on the side of the fridge door. Her words caused you to choke on the grape that laid on your tongue.

“Samu? No!” You manage to squeak out between your violent coughs. “He’s just my friend”

She seems to be confused by your statement. You never had thought about Osamu in that way and you weren’t sure why she would think that.

“Well, then why are you around here all the time?” Now it was your turn to look confused at her words.

“Excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow as you reply.

“You were the one who knocked on Atsumu’s door, right? The one he called princess?” she said as she crossed her arms in front of her half-exposed chest.

Ah, now you understood. Was she jealous?

“Yeah, I was.” your tone changes as your patience was slowly seeping through your fingers like grains of sand.

She nodded her head before stepping closer to the opposite of the table. “‘Tsumu’s mine, so don’t come around here anymore if it's for him.” she spits out with a grin as if she had accomplished something.

You take a moment to respond to her. In one swift movement, you stand from your stool and start to close the container of grapes in front of you.

“One, I live here, I’ve been living here since I was 6,” you said as you snapped the containers louder than you usually did. “Two, the last thing I want is to be around Atsumu.”

You gather the containers and make your way in front of Yui. She said nothing as she stood and watched you place the fruits back into its assigned tray.

“And three, he’s not yours. You’ll be gone by the end of the week, sweetheart.” that was the last thing you said to her as you exited the kitchen. You didn’t stick around the see her jaw hang slack, appalled at the words that came out of your mouth.

You knew she attacked you because of Atsumu but was she that oblivious that she couldn’t see what laid between the two of you?

pure annoyance and animosity

“The audacity!” Stephanie exclaimed as you retold the events from this morning as you two sat outside the school waiting for the boys' volleyball practice to conclude.

“I don’t even want to think about it anymore, it gives me a headache.” you shook your head to the side as you try to forget the whole meeting. “Thanks again for giving me a ride today too, Steph.”

Your usual ride had to stay later than usual to make up his missed chemistry test and you rather walk the 30 mins than ask Atsumu to join him home. Stephanie was more than happy to drive you home after akaashi came out from practice. Because of Mara’s feelings for Atsumu, you never felt comfortable discussing him with her. You didn’t want her to feel bad for liking someone she despised. One can not control whom they love, so you spared her feelings and confided in Stephanie when it came to Atsumu.

“Don’t mention it!” she said as a smile pulled at her lips. “You excited for tomorrow? Finally going to be 18 and find your person!”

Your birthday completely slipped your mind as you focused on the Yui situation.

“I’m so nervous! hopefully, I can find him,” you said as you looked down at your hands. Stephanie could recognize your worry and placed her hand on your shoulder.

“Try not to worry y/n. You’ll find them. I remember the same feeling right before my birthday. The anxiety was eating at my soul but, in the end, everything was perfect. It’ll be like that for you too.” She empathized.

Akaashi and her were your only pair of soulmates to admire; They were the only two you knew. Your parents were also soulmates but you couldn’t see their love blossom due to his passing. You saw how much your mother loved and grieved him, but you weren’t old enough at the time to remember him loving her as much.

“I think they’re done,” Stephanie said as she held her hand. “I felt his signal.”

Akaashi and her shared physical touch. If in 500 meters of her, whatever Akaashi felt physically, so would Stephanie.

And as if it was timed, right after her statement the team came through the school's entrance doors.

“Hey!” Akaashi said as he waived at the two of you. He situated himself right behind his girlfriend. He muttered a small ‘hello’ as he kissed the top of her head and held her hand and rubbed small circles with his thumb against the back of it.

so that must have been their signal.

You could only wish your soulmate was as kind and loving as Akaashi.

You unknowingly stare at the couple in front of you as your phone starts to ring with your mother's picture displayed on the screen.

“Hi, mom” you answer.

“y/n! I need you to run to the store for me. I forgot a few ingredients for dinner today, could you get Osamu to drive you to the market?” Your mother said urgently. 

“Uh, I would but ‘Samu’s taking a test right now, he won't be done any time soon.”

“Then can you ask Atsumu to take you?” Her words made you cringe at the thought of being in such close proximity to him for that long.

“Mom, I-” but before you could finish your refusal she interrupts.

“Please, y/n. I’m desperate.” she pleaded.

You wanted to protest. You wanted to tell her that going with Atsumu would be impossible, that he wouldn’t even take you in the first place but then you remembered how hard she works. She worked this hard for you, so this was the least you could do for her.

“Okay, I’ll ask him,” you say in a slightly sombre tone as you accept your defeat.

“Thank you!! I’ll send you the list, love you!” those were the last words you heard before she hung up.

“Ready to go?” Stephanie asked as she swung her bag over her shoulder.

“Change of plans. You guys go without me, I gotta find Atsumu.” Both their faces synchronously scrunched together in confusion.

“Are you going to be okay?” akaashi asked, clearly concerned.

You vigorously nod your head and send them on their way, thanking them for offering the ride home.

A deep sigh escapes your mouth as you make your way inside the school to find Atsumu. Luckily, or unluckily, you found him immediately standing at his locker as he was laughing at something Suna said.

You debated turning back twice but decided to suck it up. With strong strides, you walk up to Atsumu’s figure.

“Atsumu” even though you aimed for your voice to come off strong, even you could hear the strain in it.

He wore his usual volleyball attire, identical to Osamu. White joggers with a vertical black stripe doing down the side of each leg accompanied by a black t-shirt, which clung to his body due to the aftermath of an hour-long practice.

You approaching him for a change, took him by surprise a bit, but even surprise he still managed to wear that smirk to antagonize you.

“What’cha want, princess?” he said as he placed his hands in the pockets of his pants.

There was that damn nickname again.

“Um, I need you to take me to the market,” you say bluntly. Sugarcoating with Atsumu would only lead to his enjoyment but, somehow your words managed to do so anyway.

His smirk grew as he leaned back on the lockers behind him.

“And where’s the person who ya wanted to take you?” he knew he wasn’t your first choice. Hell, he wasn’t even your third or fourth choice.

“‘Samu can’t, so can you or not?” you probably shouldn’t have given him an ultimatum, especially because you had the lower ground.

“Sorry princess, can’t,” he said without a care as he slid his arm through his maroon Inarizaki jacket. “Meetin’ with Yui”

Just her name was enough to remember this morning. Your face contorts in disgust at the thought of her roaming the house barely clothed.

“Oh, you don’t have to be jealous, princess.” atsumu says after witnessing your reaction and assuming it was because of him. You can't help but snort at his response.

“I think you’re telling the wrong girl that.” you can't help but laugh as you speak. Your words earn a slight head tilt from a confused Atsumu and an amused whistle from Suna.

You turn to take your leave from his presence, but before you walk out the school entrance you turn back one more.

“Tell your girlfriend to watch what she says to me next time.” Your voice was much stronger than before. You didn’t stay behind to see the distraught faces of the two men you left behind.

You couldn’t even hear the way Atsumu slammed his locker and Suna’s voice calling him as he rushed off.

You should have eaten more today.

That was the only thing that you could think while you scurried through the food aisles slowly compiling the ingredients your mother needed. Her listen was all over the place; enoki mushrooms, powdered sugar, sesame seeds, fatty tuna, vanilla extract, rice. The list went on longer than you expected.

All the feelings you were being put through today managed to stop you from eating lunch as well. The only thing that was in your stomach was five grapes that you managed to get down before your encounter with the unexpected visitor.

The last thing on the list was a jar of raspberry preserves, which of course was located on the highest shelf of the aisle. As you stare at it, debating if you should make a fool of yourself to jump while flailing your arms to reach, a voice came from behind you.

“Need a boost, princess?” His voice started you causing you to move backwards and stumble into his chest but quickly move away from him. Before you could respond Atsumu reaches up and grabs the jar that you were eyeing.

You turn around to him with wide eyes as he hands you the jar without his usual banter. Silently, you nod your head and take the preserves from him.

“Why’d you come? Weren’t you going to hang out with your girlfriend?” you asked as you placed the jar into the cart.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said firmly as he placed a hand on the cart to halt you from moving.

Why was he acting this way over this? It actually seemed like he was bothered by the situation.

You opened your mouth to respond but the voice that danced on your ears did not belong to you.

“Well, this is a sight I never thought I’d see.” A deep voice sounded from behind Atsumu. Both you and Atsumu whipped your heads in the voice's direction only to be met with two faces that put a smile on your face instantly.

“Aran!” Atsumu bellowed loudly, as he embraced his friend while you exchange greetings with Kita.

“What are you guys doing here?” you asked.

“We came back from college today, decided to go shoppin’,” Kita said as he lifted up the small basket in his hand.

“Now, the more important question is, what are you two doing here?” Aran asked as his eyes bounced between you and Atsumu. Aran was a friend of the twins ever since they were 9, therefore he was your friend as well. He knew exactly how you felt about Atsumu, so that would explain the way he was looking at the two of you, alone at a grocery store as the sky was enveloped by darkness.

“My mom asked me to pick some things and uh, ‘Samu was busy,” you said quickly, hoping that he didn’t think differently.

Aran nodded his head while pressing his lips together.

“Say, aren’t you guys graduatin’ soon?” Kita said as he shifted his basket from one hand to the other. “D’ya know where you’re going for school y/n?”

Now, this was the first thing that put a smile on your face throughout the entire day. “Yeah, UCI, California!” you said with a proud girn.

“America? What program?” Kita inquired with wide eyes.

“Journalism!” the one word made everyone’s eyes widened.

“Of course it’s journalism. She's the one-woman team that runs the Inarizaki newspaper.” Aran said with a wide smile.

You continued the conversation with Aran and Kita as Atsumu wandered off somewhere in the store. You weren’t sure where he had gone but you didn’t care enough to worry.

As you and Kita conversed, Aran spotted Atsumu at the opposite end of the aisle and slips away from the conversation.

“Bro, where d’ya go?” Aran asked slightly concerned.

“Just walkin’ round,” Atsumu said as he swung his keys around his index finger.

“So, y/n’s leaving Japan?” Atsumu had an idea of where Arans questioning was leading to as he slowly nodded his head in agreement.

“How does ‘Samu feel about that?”

ding ding ding

“Probably not too good,” Atsumu asked knowing exactly how his brother feels about your pretending departure. “I wouldn’t feel too good if the girl I loved since I was 6 was leavin’ the country either”

“So is he gonna tell her?” Aran whispered.

Atsumu let out a soft snort at Aran’s words. “He had 12 years to tell her, ya think he’s gonna now?”

Atsumu knew his twin brother loved you since before they even started playing volleyball. And ever since then, Osamu has never once attempted to tell you of his feelings. It drove Atsumu mad, but he never interfered between you and him.

Before the conversion could further between him and Aran, they both see Kita waving them down.

“Let’s go Aran, y/n has to get this stuff home before dinner!” Kita said as the two large men approached you.

“Happy early birthday, y/n,” Kita said as he gave you a small hug.

At Kita’s words, Aran checked the date on his phone in a panic. “It’s tomorrow!”

“Yeah, the only reason why Kita knew was it came up in conversation” you replied. You were never one to flaunt your birthday. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy big parties and multiple guests but, to you birthdays meant something else.

Your fifth birthday was the only one that you could remember before your father’s death. It was celebrated by only your mother, father and you, but it seemed like the most fun a five-year-old could have. Your mother always mentioned how your father enjoyed small birthdays and how they were sacred. he would say to “only share them with people who brought you pure happiness and expected nothing in return”. And that was now how you chose to live, just like him.

“Actually, I'm having a small dinner tomorrow, do you two want to join? ‘Samu will be there, so you could catch up with him.” Your invitation earned a smile from Kita and Aran but a deep frown by the blonde beside them.

You hadn’t invited Atsumu to your birthday dinner for obvious reasons and weren’t planning to.

The two men looked at each other debating whether to accept or decline but ultimately accepted.

You were expecting Atsumu to chime in but, he hadn’t. He only looked at you with narrow eyes and a frown.

His eyes were laced with an emotion that you couldn’t quite decipher. Anger? Annoyance?

It was only then that you missed Atsumu’s stupid banter because this Atsumu,

This Atsumu seemed to be a thousand times worse

Ten minutes had passed since you last left the market and about twenty minutes since you last spoke to each other.

You two sat in complete silence as Atsumu drove to the Miya mansion in Atsumu’s Red Lamborghini. Mr. Miya bought both the twins a car of their choice for their 18th. Osamu had gone with a black Benz jeep while Atsumu went for the most flashy option.

You debated speaking to him, to break the awkward silence that filled the space between the two of you but Atsumu had already gotten ahead of you.

“Not going to extend the invitation for yer dinner?” His tone returned to its usually annoying self.

You look at him with a blank face and tired eyes. “Are you joking? It’s not like you’d come anyways.”

It was hard to believe that you two were once friends. Now you two could barely be in a car together without it imploding. He was the one that left you out of things, he was the one that no longer wanted to be your friend when you two were 8 years old. So why was antagonizing you over an invitation he wouldn’t even accept in the first place?

He just wanted to pester you in every way possible.

Minutes passed and once again the car was quiet as a mouse. Till Atsumu, once again sparked up a conversation.

“Yui,” You whipped to face Atsumu in the diver seat.

“Excuse me?”

“Yui. What did she say to ya?” He spoke without taking his eyes off the road, foot shifting between the gas and the break.

You were too tired to lie or ask why he cared, so you answered truthfully. “Your girlfriend didn’t like your nickname.”

“Not my girlfriend,” he said curtly while turning the wheel to turn on to your street.

“Fuck buddy, whatever.” you aimlessly correct yourself.

“Not anymore,” Before you could even comprehend his response, you two passed through the white gate lining the mansion.

It was far later than you thought you’d be home. The moon sat brightly in the sky as it was surrounded by small stars. it was basically night You only hoped that your mother wouldn’t be mad.

Unexpectedly, Atsumu helped you carry the grocery bags into the house. He strung 4 bags on his arms as you were left to carry one. You insisted that you can carry half his load but he was already through the door.

“‘Tsumu! y/n! Bless your hearts, thank you kids so much.” your mother said as you two placed the grocery bags on the counter in the kitchen. “Thank you for taking her, ‘Tsumu.”

“Of course, Obasa-” before atsumu could finish speaking to your mother something had caught his attention from the dining room.

Or perhaps, someone.

Before you knew it, Atsumu ran to the dining room and stood in front of the table. Instinctively, you follow him to the scene in front of you.

Sitting at the table was Osamu across from Mrs. Miya, and in between them, at the head of the table, sat a man you had not seen in a long time.

Miya Kaito, the twins’ father

“Atsumu” his father's voice sounded cold and hard as it said his son's name. Atsumu must have thought the same thing as you could see him wince at the sound of his name rolling off his father's tongue.

“So now ya decide to come home? What, finally got tired of sleeping at the office?” Atsumu’s voice was blaring, anger coursed through his veins, the only thing he could see was red.

“‘Tsumu! Stop it!” Osamu shouted from his seat in hopes to stop his brother.

“I wanted to have a meal with my family, so just sit down, Atsu-” Atsumu cut his father off not wanting to hear what he wanted to say.

“Cut the bullshit dad! Yer too busy for us and yer too busy for ma. so don’t even fucking try to fix this family, ya broke it a long time ago!” Atsumu’s voice raised in volume.

“Atsumu!” Mrs. Miya shrieked for her son to stop.

“I’m here now, okay? So sit down!” Mr. Miya’s voice matched Atsumu’s in volume as he urged his son to stop.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think I’m gonna sit down and play house with ya.”  was the last thing Atsumu said before storming up the stairs. You stood there in complete shock at what just happened.

Your eyes scanned the room around you. Mrs. Miya held her head in her hands as Osamu's face grew in irritation. Their father stood there with distraught painting his face. Your mom was still in the kitchen, but she still glanced with worry with her hand over her mouth.

Everyone in this house was shaken because of him.

Osamu stood from his seat to go after his brother but you decided to instead. Osamu shouldn’t have to worry about his brother when he's going through the same thing.

You ran up with stairs faster than you ever have to catch up to him.

“Atsumu!” you called from him as you followed him up the stairs. He ignored you as he reached the top of the stairs and walked towards his room's door.

“Atsum-” Your second attempt was deemed successful in getting his attention as he turned around and pushed you against the wall, caging you in his arms.

“What do you fuckin’ want, y/n?” His voice dripped with pure anger. He looks distraught. His eyes were red and glassy and his skin was turning an unnatural shade of red.

“Atsumu, I know you’re mad at him but just go downstairs and talk to him! Everyone’s upset. Just give him a chance.”

“What the fuck do you know about how I feel? Ya got a good mom, yer going to a good school in America and ya live in a big house, which is mine by the way. Yer miss perfect! So don’t you fucking dare tell me what to do. This isn’t your place to speak.” He yelled inches away from your face.

You parted your lips to say something but he left before you could. The slam of this door was deafening to your ears. You stood there, in front of his door in utter shock.

You knew he had a right to be angry, and in no way you were denying that right. But Osamu had every right as well, and he was sitting downstairs beside his father.

Why was it different for Atsumu? Why should he be allowed to create this mess and let everyone drown in his actions?

Why couldn’t he just try?

Atsumu’s words about you left a burden heavier than any weight that has been placed on your shoulders. If you could not speak about his family, why could he speak so thoughtlessly about yours?

Broken families came in all sorts of shapes and sizes; he out of all people should have known that the best.

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[ameliajessicawilliamspond]

PART 3

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

The Mandolorian reached down, absent-mindedly pulling the scarf into his hands when something fell from it, landing with a light thud on the powdery snow below.

The holocron.

Din's voice caught in his throat. Luke found it! No wonder he was so insistent on recovering the scarf. He held the artifact up in the air toward the jedi triupmhantly, only to have that feeling shatter like glass the second his eyes settled on Luke's now limp body. Din nearly dropped the cube as he ran back to Luke's side.

"No, no no, cyar'ika, please, don't fall asleep. You've got to stay awake for me." Din begged, but knew he was fighting a losing battle. Luke barely stirred at his words. Din tried to get his hands back over the wound but they were too limp and slipped off. Din swore under his breath when he realized Luke's violent shivering had stopped.

That's when he gave himself a moment to panic. He reached down, grasping at Luke's shirt and placing the forehead of his helmet down on Luke's chest. A small sob eacaped his mouth. This wasn't supposed to happen. Something in him screamed that Luke should never be harmed. Not that he couldn't be, he was a person after all, and he was always near danger, but it just felt... wrong to see Luke like this.

The mandolorian broke from his moment of panic, knowing time was not on their side. Din set his jaw, whispering a quiet "okay, alright" to himself as he thought of a plan. He pulled the coat he had put over Luke tighter around his shoulders. He didn't have any bacta patches on him, so the wound would have to wait until they got back to the ship.

Carefully, ever so carefully, Din scooped one arm under Luke's shoulders and the other under both knees.

"Ni Ceta, cyre." He apologized, before hoisting the jedi up in his arms, pulling a whine from the young jedi's lips. Din held him close, tucking his head into his shoulder to protect him from the elements before activating his jetpack and rushing toward the ship.

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

Slamming the entry door behind him, Din rushed to deposit Luke in the ship's medbay. He needed to warm up. Right now. His lips were purple, his golden hair frozen to his forehead, and he had stopped shivering whuch meant his body had stopped fighting. Hypothermia had most definitely set in.

Reluctantly leaving the jedi's side, he rushed to the control panel and turned the heat up as high as it could. The circuit board blinked ten missed calls, three from General Leia and the other seven from Han Solo. He promised himself he'd call back at some point, but that was the last thing on his list of priorities at the moment. Setting the ship to auto-pilot, he left the cockpit and rushed back down to the ship's hold, putting water on to heat and collecting every blanket he could find.

Before he could smother the jedi in the warm blankets he had to stop the wound from bleeding. He gingerly lifted Luke's shirt, causing the young man to stir, a sudden presense in his head that felt like it was pushing him away and a trembling warning of "don't" echoed in his mind. Din shushed him, rubbing his arm to try and convey that he meant no harm. There wasn't much he could do for it now, not with the equipment he had available and Luke would need to be taken to a Medcenter, but he could at least stop the bleeding. Din tapped Luke's ice cold arm. "I'll be right back."

He grabbed two large bacta patches and a warm wet towel to clean the wound. Kneeling back down next to Luke's body, he gently reached down to wipe the blood staining the jedi's side. A sudden heaviness set in the air and that warning flashed through his mind again. Din shushed Luke again and tried to continue but there it was again, louder this time, and now he could feel an invisible force lightly pushing back against him.

Din tested it, taking his hands away from Luke's side, then back again, each time the feeling diapersed. Back and forth- push. Back and forth- push. Back and forth- push.

"Kriff it." Din swore as he tossed the rag away, knowing it was useless at this point. In one quick movement shoved one patch under Luke's side and the other on top.

A Force Wave burst from the jedi's body, shoving Din hard against the opposite wall.

Din shook his head, stunned by the sudden outburst before his eyes settled on Luke who was now semi awake and jerking violently in the bed. The mandolorian rushed to his side, one hand on his arm the other on his cheek.

"Cyar'ika, Luke listen, it's me! It's Din, you're safe. I've got you, you're gunna be fine." Din tried as Luke screamed incoherently, wide eyes struggling to settle on the Mandolorian. "Luke, you have to stop, you were shot, you're suffering from hypothermia, I need you to calm down. Let me help you. Gedet'ye, cyre."

Luke slowly began to settle, blind panic settling in to exhaustion and pain, his face falling as he started to cry. "I-It h-hurts." He managed.

Din's heart dropped into his boots.

"I know. I know, I'm so sorry. But you're going to be just fine." Behind him the water he had put on began to signal it was heated. Din turned to grab it but something freezing cold gripped his hand and he looked to see Luke hanging on to him like a lifeline. Din squeezed the cold hand, taking notice of how purple his fingers now were. "I'll be right back, I'm not leaving." He slipped out of the icy grip and grabbed the water and making tea. He helped Luke sit up and told him to drink and Luke did so with great difficulty. Once he had some warm liquid in his belly Din buried him in blankets.

After about 10 minutes the ship was like a sauna on a pleasure planet. Even after stripping down to just his pants after he got Luke calmed down enough to close his eyes, Din was sweating. Yet Luke still hadn't begun to shiver again. Din paused, looking at the jedi for a moment as he carefully considered his next move. He knew he had to get Luke's body up to temperature and fast and he knew the best way to do that.

"Luke," Din said, carefully approaching the jedi who barely mumbled in response. "I'm going to touch you now. Don't throw me across the room." He said, hoping for some reaction but getting none. The mandolorian took a deep breath and a chance.

Trying not to jostle Luke, he carefully slid in behind the jedi and pulled him close, the Luke's back leaning up against his bare chest as Din wrapped his legs around his sides, careful to avoid the injury there. Luke jumped momentarily before sinking back into the heat Din's body was giving off.

A long sit and a very sweaty mandolorian later, Luke finally began to shiver. And after, he stopped shivering naturally. Finally, Din felt like he could breathe again. He allowed himself to relax, knowing there was nothing more he could do now except wait. He hunkered down closer to Luke, resting his chin in Luke's hair. His eyes began to slide shut, rest finally calling him.

That is, until, something else called instead. A ping rang out through the room signaling an incoming call.

Din groaned, knowing he couldn't ignore the what was bound to be Han or Leia, but loathe to leave Luke. Regrettably, Din pulled himself from the bed, slipping on his shirt, chest plate, and helmet for privacy before answering the call.

"Mando! Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to call you !" Came the voice of a very stressed Han Solo.

"We ran into some trouble." Din said simply, wondering how many questions the man would ask.

"Where's the kid?" He said, his voice deadly serious.

"Luke's here. He's hurt." Din told him honestly.

"Yeah, I know." Din tilted his head in surprise. Han crossed his arms, clearly upset. "Leia and Grogu started freaking out. I thought Leia was having a heart attack, and Grogu won't stop bugging out, grabbing his head, running around, tryjng to tell me stuff but I can't understand a word he says."

Din sighed. Luke's force signature and connection to the two acted as a warning signal when something was happening to the other, sometimes even effecting them physically.

"He's... he's stable." Din started.

"I don't like the sound of that." Han said.

"We need the Medcenter ready to receive him when we land." Din said, desperately trying to keep his voice even. "He was shot."

Han sucked in a breath through his nose, his mouth separating in shock. "Blaster fire?"

Din shook his head. "Bullet."

Han's eyes blew wide. "Kark, that's... well that's just uncivilized! Anything else I need to know?"

Din pursed his lips beneath the mask. "He's suffering from hypothermia."

Han paused, his eyes distant for a moment and Din wondered, recalling what Luke had told him in the cave, if he was remembering the last time he himself saw Luke in that state. "Kriff." He swore, rubbing his hands over his face. "How did this happen? Where were you?" Han asked and Din felt a pang of regret.

"Luke was kidnapped while I was incompacitated." Din answered.

Han sucked in a breath, angry his friend and brother wasn't protected properly, Din knew, because he felt the same way. "Look, you can tell me more when you get here and we get him fixed up, alright?" the smuggler said and Din nodded in response. "I gotta go talk to Leia and explain all this. Let me know when you're close to landing, the Medcenter will be ready."

Before Din could respond, Han hung up. Din took the helmet back off, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was still hotter than Tattooine on board. He double-checked their course before returning to Luke's side, silently apologizing to the unconscious jedi all the way back to Endor.

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

It took two days and a handful of bacta baths and patches later to fully revive the jedi.

Two days of Din hoping he didn't mess up his field medication, two days of a cold jedi and a tired Han. Two days of Leia and Grogu fighting the pain in their heads from Luke's own pain.

Two days to sit with his failure.

Of course the first thing Luke asked for when he's conscious is the holocron.

"Are you going to open it?" Din asked when Luke didn't activate it, opting to fumbling around the cube in his hands.

Luke's eyes locked on his, two windows into the bluest ocean and Din knew he could drown in them.

"I wanted to thank you first. For saving me and for helping me find this." He said, his gentle voice filled with gratitude the mandolorian felt he did not deserve.

"I almost let you die." Din reminded him.

"I almost let you die." Luke retorted.

"No, you saved my life." Din corrected him.

"As did you." Luke countered.

Din sighed. "You're determined to contradict me, aren't you?"

"I'm determined to see the truth, and the truth is I was captured while failing to save you and you ended up saving me." Luke said matter of factly.

Din threw his hands up in the air. "Then we're at an impass."

Luke let out a small laugh, hiding his smile by ducking his chin down, his blonde hair falling over his eyes and Din decided that was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "I guess we are." the jedi said, before looking back up at the Mandolorian. "I've been meaning to ask you, when I was..." Luke trailed off for a moment. Din filled in the blanks, the image of Luke's broken body lying in the snow invading his mind. "...well, you said some things I don't think I understood."

Din felt a red hot flush crawl up his neck. He'd never been more grateful for his helmet. "Um...well I was worried, and when I worry I sometimes forget to stick to Basic and end up slipping into Mand'oa. It was just things like I'm sorry and such. Just slipped out."

"So, 'Cyar'ika' is 'I'm sorry?'" Luke asked, genuinely curious. Din silently cursed the fact that the man was a jedi, because anyone else wouldn't have remembered such details when they were busy dying of hypothermia and a gut wound. "Or is that 'Crye'? Or are they similar?"

This time Din ducked his head, not able to hold eye contact with Luke, even through the layer of his mask. "No." He said, hoping that was the end of it, but Luke waited, scooting forward in the bed ever so slightly, waiting for an answer. Din took a deep breath. "It...um...they are...terms of endearment?" He said, testing the waters. When Luke didn't react, Din continued. "Cyar'ika means...um, kark- it well...it means like... sweeheart o-or darling and-and Cyre means...it means beloved or...love."

Luke's eyes widen, a flush making its way across his cheeks. "Oh." He breathed out.

There was a beat of silence as Luke took it all in and Din let it sink in that he actually just told him that. The mandolorian stood. "I should go." He said, turning toward the door.

"No, Din, wait." Luke said, reaching for him and grabbing his wrist, gently turning him back to face him. Luke tugged him so that he was kneeling in front of Luke's bed. The jedi took both his hands first, then they made their way to his helmet. "May I?" He asked. Din, to his own surprise, nodded immediately. Luke removed his helmet, placing it delicately next to him on the mattress, before returning his hands to Din's. "I am happy you were there. You have become more important to me now then I would like to admit. Almost losing you on the bank of that river I...I couldn't breathe. I...I love you, too." Luke said, before turning beat red and pulling his hands from Din's. "That is...if that's what you...Oh, you probably just said those words in the heat of the moment, oh kriff, I'm an idiot..." The jedi stumbled over himself. "Um, I'm sorry i just assumed--"

Din chuckled, cutting Luke off with a kiss. Their lips connected and something ignited im the air around them. Like something so new and precious, but something that's always been there. The two melded into one and for a brief moment nothing else mattered. The events of the past week melted away like ice in the hot sun.

Luke pulled away, a laugh dancing off his lips as he mumbled an apology. Din wasn't sure what he meant until he noticed every object in the room was floating back down to it's correct spot in the room. Din caught the holocron before it landed back down, climbing up next to Luke on the bed, his free hand wrapping around the jedi's.

"What on this thing, anyway?" Din questioned, tossing it in the air like a ball for a moment.

Luke shrugged next to him. "Not quite sure, honestly. It's from the jedi temple, gotta be at least thirty years old. I'm hoping to be able to learn more about the jedi way but a lot of this information was destroyed during the rise of the Empire." He took it from Din, poking and prodding at it until a blue hued hologram lit up the sml medcenter room.

Before them stood a tall man with nearly shoulder length brown hair and jedi robes, darker than what Din had ever seen a jedi wear and Din's couldn't stop staring at his familiar blue eyes that were almost as blue as Luke's. Beside him stood a Togruta girl, no older than 16 with duo lightsabers Din recognized, fighting in what could only be The Clone Wars of old. Beside him Luke gasped, and Din tore his eyes away from the holographic pair to look at the jedi. His eyes were watery with unshed tears, his free hand clasped over his mouth. "That's...I think that's my father." Luke said. Din squeezed his hand. "I never knew him like this." Luke said, voice barely above a whisper as his eyes followed the holographic ghost of his father

Din's eyebrows knit together. "Who's the girl?" He asked.

Luke's eyebrows mimicked Din's. "I think thats my aunt."

"You're Aunt?" Din asked, looking at Luke, who's eyes still hadn't left the projection.

"Yes...I never met her." He said, distantly.

Din paused. "I think I have."

Luke blinked once. Then twice. Then turned the holocron off, turning fully to look at the mandolorian. "...You WHAT?"

THE END

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

And there we have it! The finale! Sorry took so long, but I hope it was worth the wait! Please enjoy and let me know if you liked it!

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[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N  Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months.  Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling.  Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies.  You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway.   The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head.  You people are a terrible influence!  Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those.   And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk.  The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality.  Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session.  The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb.  The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper.  It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world.  Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here.  Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended.  “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment.  Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.  

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services.  The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair.  People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms.   Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed.  They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible.  In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away.  The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.  

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really.  Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?”  But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile.  Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up.  And up.  And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley.  His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh.  As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product.  His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance.  But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea.  Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired.  He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled.  “That’s me.  And it’s pronounced Beecham.  Please, come in Mister Fraser.”  She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself.  Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied.  “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.”   She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached.  She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well.  His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment.  She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back.  The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh.  She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak.  This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal.  He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No.  That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid.  Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?”  His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time.  Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna.  Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.”  His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace.  She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused.  Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff.  Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office.  Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully.  “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser.  This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five.  There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea.  Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes.  I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression.  He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor.  I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do.  Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken.  She practically raised me.  And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face.  Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight.  As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie.  If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you.  That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting.  But I can handle it my own way.  I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits.  Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it.  The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it.  The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions.  None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you.  I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite.  Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea.  With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly.  When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment.  Maybe Geillis was right.  Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied.  “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out.  Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade.  If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all.  And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time.  It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art.  If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow.  Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?” 

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other.  Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?”  Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue. 

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.”  She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it.  Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air.  He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging  herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued.  It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic.  She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state.  Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up.  She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something.  Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape.  Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become.  Your sister obviously loves you.  Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes.  The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name.  No coded symbols flowed from her pen.  When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye?  Wee fox, tha’ one.  And he told me he liked my shortbread!”   Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.  “He’s very nice.”

“Nice!  Nice?  Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky.  Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”  

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know.  And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed.  “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late.  I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie.  Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself.  Jamie Fraser is your patient. 

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

Gn!reader comforting dante after a nightmare please?

Can you say: 'angst?' 😅 I hope you enjoy

(Cw just in case: angst, emotional distress, dmc 1 trauma)

Things have been...uneasy for Dante since his last job. 

He wouldn't talk about it, which wasn't exactly new to you, but ever since you and Lady returned to Capulet after a job that yourselves took that had you out of the area for a few weeks and you came back to the shop to find evidence the the place had been sacked and everything from the dusty busted up couch to the old desk that had been sitting in the same spot for a decade tossed around and broken, pieces scattered across the shop also not to mention there looked to be a fire at some point with how there were now charred marks on the floor and walls. When asked by Lady what the hell had happened his answer was simple, cold and dead: "Job." 

After you guys worked to clean the place up, as if you could physically feel the tension growing and growing from the man as he sat there on the only unbroken piece of furniture in the whole office, his chair, staring dead silent at the picture of his mother nicely propped next to him on the ground. The subject was quickly dropped.

It wasn't long before Dante's attitude came back to him, with his shiny new desk he could prop his feet onto and new array of furniture that you convinced Lady to go help you buy with your cut of the money from your job together filled his shop, things felt like they went back to how they were before. You and Lady were taking in the jobs that came in while Dante declared himself on 'vacation' that mainly consisted of him sitting at his desk with a magazine over his eyes - not that you minded, you just appreciated he was actually taking time to rest, but it wasn't long before what truly happened on that last job needed to be addressed again. 

You were in the kitchen making a cup of coffee while looking through the mail, going through all the normal things you expect to see when getting the mail; bills, sales ads, and even more bills. However one important thing you do see and one you've been seeing for quite some time now was postcards addressing Dante. Now in all your time you've known the son of Sparda you have never once gotten postcards from anyone and they were all signed with a woman's name you did not recognize; Trish. Now you never really read what neatly scrawled onto the back out of respect for privacy, but you trusted your boyfriend and every time they came in you politely gave them to him for he looked them over and put them in a drawer in his desk. 

You take a sip of your might of coffee before gathering up the postcard and bills into your hand and aim to drop them off at Dante's desk so he can look them over when he wakes up from his scheduled magazine nap of the day. A loud hellish crackle throughout the air and slam onto wooden flooring makes you drop the papers in your hands instead of the relative easy pace you usually take to come out from the kitchen and into the office you're quickly up to arms grabbing your gun from the kitchen table and ready to fire at any demonic threat the moment you bash through the door but instead your met with Dante in devil trigger on the floor fallen out of his chair, desperately clutching at his face. You waste no time running over and dropping to the ground next to him. 

"You alright?" 

You go in to touch him only for clawed fingers to push you away, taking you back a little but you shake off and apologize. He shakes his head as he finally does speak, his voice distorted but you can still hear the human shakiness in it. 

"No, I'm good. Just a dream - just a dream." The way he spoke sounded more like he was telling himself that more than he was reassuring you. 

He closes his eyes and quickly fazes out of his demon form, the human one flashing before you. Now you can see the sweat drenching his face that causes his hair to stick to his forehead. 

Now you've had deal with Dante having nightmares before, the ones about his mother and brother and how he blames himself for...everything that happened to them, main one you've heard from him is if he had just let Vergil read that damn book instead of bugging him to play that they might still all be together today. 

Words swell in your throat as you watch him go get himself back up, white hair slipping over to curtain your view of his eyes as he stood to his feet and plumped onto his desk. Your eyes sadden as you watch him as he wipes a gloved hand over his face to clean off of the sweat clinging to his flesh until it's all visibly gone but soon he stills and keeps his face covered leather clad talons digging into his own temples until there's a point you swear you can see blood - his whole then body seems to just…lax. In such a still stone fashion as it becomes unnerving to watch. 

It's a few moments of heavy tension filled silence before either of you speak again but when it does it's actually Dante to be the one to speak, the statue unstones as he just seems to light with life with the exact moment the mask of facade slips on. 

"You hungry? Because I'm starving and you know what they say? You're not you when you're hungry or some bullshit right? I'll get us a pizza." 

How he turns and picks up the phone like it was just like it was any other conversation and nothing even happened is heartbreaking. He goes to press in Fredi's number that he knows by heart but is immediately stopped by you as you jump up and slam your hand on top of his and crash the phone back into the receiver, your voice cuts out any bullshit that the son of Sparda could have possibly pull out of his ass as you look him directly into his eyes and call him out by his name, your tone soft yet abrupt and bluntly straightforward. He wasn't going to bluff out and run away from this, no matter how much he wanted to you wouldn't let him. 

You stand right in front of him, in between his legs and making direct eye contact with him, Dante shutters out a breath as his churning gut begins to shake his core less and less as he focuses on the touch on his hand, how warm yours is as it comfortably squeezes his and makes him more aware of himself. Had he really been shaking this entire time? 

Your expression softens the more and more that you look at him until eventually he lets you snake an arm that isn't holding his hand around him and just feel as he seems to just melt against you. 

The two of you say that way for a while, he buries his face into your neck/chest and lets you comb and pet your fingers through his hair. You collect your thoughts before pushing him back slightly and raise his chin up to meet your gaze. 

"You don't have to talk about it, Dante. But I'm not letting you just pretend like everything's fine when both you and I know clearly that isn't the case. Bottling in all those complex feelings isn't good for anyone, even, and especially for someone as strong as you who's been through so damn much for far too long. Just...hold onto me, okay? For as long as you want, anything you need. And if you do want to talk about it-" Your voice carries off. "-I'll always be here to listen."

He takes in your word, conflicted. His eyes flickered over to stare at the wooden flooring and you can actually see him go through and argue with his own thoughts before he looks back to you, opening his mouth with an airy pause before letting out a sigh. 

He tells you everything, in full detail, everything about his last job. 

From Mundus' resurrection plan on Mallet Island, to answering a few of your earlier questions about that woman from the postcards - Trish a demon Mundus made in identical image of Dante's mother, the trails he faced all over the island leading him into hell itself to defeat Mundus, and most notably, his reunion with his brother after almost ten years - who from what you understood was barely a shadow of his former arrogant self; corrupt, brainwashed, broken. How he fought him, he killed him with his own hands. How maybe none of this would've happened if he just let him read that damn book or if he just had grabbed and yanked his ass and stopped his descent into the further depths of hell, what turned him into...who he fought. 

It's hard to listen to him as he spills out every single unheld back dark thought of his, but you let him finish no matter how much it hurts or terrifies you, you let him finish until he's out of words and practically sobbing into your arms, then you only hold onto him tighter. 

He looks visibly tired by the time he recollects himself, he apologizes for it but you shake your head and hold the sides of his face and remain quiet only pressing a soft kiss to his lips before telling him how much you love him and how proud you are that he managed to tell you what he did. Talking through it is the first step to healing and all. He hums as he rests his head onto you and holds you close, succumbing to the feeling in his chest and closing his eyes for just for a little while, even though he knows he shouldn't sleep just sitting at his desk with you just standing there with how long you've been like this your feet are most like tired, but he absorbs every little touch you make as he slowly lulls away.

This was was from over, both he and you knew that, wounds and events are still fresh in his mind and it would still be a few years until he goes through the worst of it (*cough cough* there's still dmc 2 era to go through *cough cough*) but even when he's through his worse - but Dante's glad that he can feel at least a small bit of solace in the comfort in your arms. 

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@calamitysaiyan @blacktalonsb @lokilover476 @fandomtrashgoddess @radeendaweed

How to be added to the tagging list + additional info

[jayeray-hq]

Heyo! For your affection series could you add kunimi and goshiki? Thank you 🙏

Sure thing anon! Thank you so much for asking! If you haven't already seen it Kunimi is here!

Post Time Skip/Manga Ending Spoilers!

Warnings: None all Fluff!

How He Shows You Affection Master List - Character Masterlist

He Tells You About It (As Best He Can)

You watched your boyfriend pace back and forth in front of the TV as you leaned on the counter in your kitchen. Something was obviously bothering him, and had been since he’d gotten home from practice. He’d still greeted you with his normal exuberance, practically colliding with you the minute he spotted you, hugging you close, but something about his eyes had been off. He’d definitely seemed worried, which had started your suspicions.

Now that was pacing your suspicions were confirmed. Goshiki always paced back and forth when something was bothering him. According to him it helped him focus on his thoughts if he let his body move, so you’d left him to it. However, it had been something like forty-five minutes now, and you were starting to get concerned. Thus you decided it was time to attempt to intervene.

“Tsutomu, is something wrong?” you asked gently, your voice instantly snapping him out of his pacing as he turned to look at you, dark eyes wide in his face.

It seemed that your gentle prompt was all he needed though because he practically bounded across the room, carefully taking hold of your elbows in his large hands as he peered worriedly into your face and asked, “Do I tell you I love you enough?”

You stared at him blankly, trying to absorb the question, wondering what on earth could’ve prompted him to ask. However, your poor boyfriend had apparently taken your silence as either reluctance to answer, or no, because he immediately started to babble.

“Because I do you know, love you? I love you so much, more than anything, more than boiled flounder, more than the perfect serve, even more than my mom and Dai!” he floundered, staring at you a bit helplessly.

It took all your willpower not to giggle, when you knew he was being completely and utterly serious. Though you couldn’t help but find the fact that he’d told you he loved you more than his mother and his dog in the same sentence a bit hilarious, if utterly sweet. It was honestly a bit of a silly thing to be worried about, that he thought you didn’t know how much he loved you.

From the very beginning Goshiki had made it obvious he practically worshipped the ground you walked on. If you said jump, he’d be up in the air before you could even think to ask how high. He was always full of clumsy but well-meant compliments, and never failed to tell you I love you both before he left for the day and when he got home every night despite the fact that there were some in the more conservative Japan who looked down on expressing love for your spouse so openly.

He hadn’t ever given you cause to doubt his love for you, in fact there were only ever times when you wondered if you could live up to how much he loved you and return it equally. If anything you should be the one wondering if he knew just how much he loved you, not him.

“Tsutomu,” you interrupted gently, before he could get anymore worked up, “It’s okay. I know you love me.”

“You do?” he asked, with a worried frown.

You leaned forward to press a quick peck to the pucker between his eyebrows, earning a slight blush from your boyfriend, who despite how long you’d been dating still got flustered over the little things as you assured him, “I do. What brought this on?”

“Kiryu was telling the guys in practice that his girlfriend almost broke up with him because she didn’t know he loved her,” he explained readily enough, relaxing into your hold as you wrapped your arms around his trim waist, “I just wanted to make sure that wouldn’t ever happen to us.”

“It won’t,” you assured him with an affectionate smile, feeling soft at how cute he could be, even if he would argue until he was blue in the face that he wasn’t anything close to ‘cute’, “I’ve never once doubted how much you love me, Tsutomu. You know I love you too right?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, though the slight emotional waver in his voice told you it wasn’t quite as sure as he probably meant for it to be as he squeezed you close. You hugged back with a content sigh and made a mental note to tell him you loved him more often, because you knew how very much he loved you, you wanted him to know just how much you adored him too.

He Lets You Hang on Him

“Tsutomu!” you cheered, bright and joyful, waving at him from your place by the dividers that separated the court from the crowd.

You weren’t sure if he’d be able to hear you, what with how loud everything was, but low and behold the minute his name was out of your mouth his head was on a swivel searching for you. The minute he spotted you his whole face lit up, as he immediately jogged over to where you were standing.

Holding out your arms you were immediately indulged as he leaned over the dividers to give you your hug, completely unbothered by the crowd and the potential eyes on the two of you. The first time you’d done this you were the one who’d had to lean over the dividers, and your poor boyfriend had blushed up a storm the whole time, even if he’d returned your embrace.

Worried you might’ve made him uncomfortable you’d talked to him after the game and offered to not do it anymore and wait until the two of you were in private. To your shock your boyfriend had immediately protested, insisting you could reach for him whenever and wherever you wanted. He didn’t mind and he never would.

You’d taken him at his word, and slowly but surely, he’d stopped getting quite so flustered, and instead of you having to reach for him, he almost always reached for you first. It never failed to make you smile and feel appreciated and loved by your boyfriend.

It was special, especially since you knew that he didn’t reach for anyone else, and if they tried to reach for him he grumbled about it. Even his teammates weren’t exempt from this, as he always got huffy whenever anyone tried to ruffle his hair, or do anything that might mess with his image as the ‘cool Ace of the team’.

If it was you though he didn’t care a bit. Goshiki was more than content to let you hang all over him, giving hugs, lacing your hands together, linking arms or even the occasional chaste peck to the cheek. It had taken a little bit for him to get comfortable with it all, especially since he’d been so flustered at first, blushing and stuttering up a storm. These days though he barely batted an eye.

He accepted each and every physical gesture from you joyfully, a wide beaming grin on his face every single time. It was cute, especially since you knew if he was denied those gestures he’d get pouty and would shoot you the most devastating puppy dog eyes until you caved in and reached for him again.

“Are you ready for the game?” you asked him as you drew back from the hug, though your hands lingered at his waist.

“Of course!” he told you seriously, a proud, determined glint in his eye as he explained, “An Ace is always ready! We’re going to win this one for sure!”

“Of course you will,” you agreed, with a soft fond smile.

You reached up to press an affectionate kiss to his cheek, unable to help your amusement as he blushed and sputtered a bit as you told him, “Good luck Tsutomu! I’m cheering for you!”

Your poor boyfriend sputtered out his thanks and jogged back to his teammates, face still bright red, but with an enormous grin on his face. You giggled a bit to yourself as you watched his teammates gently tease him as he shook off his embarrassment and got his head in the game, feeling inordinately fond of your boyfriend, who loved you enough to do anything for you, even put up with a little friendly ribbing from his teammates.

You weren’t sure if you were looking forward to or dreading the day he became completely immune to the embarrassment of physical affection. All you really knew was that you were going to cherish each and every moment of it, and the adoration he had for you.

He Hypes You Up and Brags About You

“Alright, alright we get it already,” a familiar voice announced, sounding completely and utterly resigned. Something about the way it was said, making you pause in place.

You hadn’t been too sure about accompanying Goshiki to the reunion of his volleyball team from his high school days, mostly because you’d never met any of them before. However, you’d heard plenty from your boyfriend, who clearly admired them all a great deal, none more so than Ushijima Wakatoshi, the prize Ace of the Schweiden Adlers and one of his rivals.

You’d seen Ushijima from a distance before, as you’d attended the games when he played against your boyfriend, but had never had the chance to be introduced as he tended to leave quickly once the game was over. He was every bit as imposing and formidable as Goshiki had described him, though far quieter than you’d expected.

The others were all equally impressive and a little imposing. Tendou, Satori was MeTube famous, a sensation and an influencer known for his amazing chocolate creations. Semi, Eita was in a band who’s current song was in the top ten trending in the nation. Shirabu Kenjirou was a budding surgeon, and all the others were professional athletes of some kind or another. It was a very impressive crowd, and you suddenly understood a lot better why your boyfriend, strong and amazing as he was, could have such deep insecurities.

Still the group had been nothing but kind and welcoming to the two of you, and it was very obvious they doted on your boyfriend, who was something like the baby of the group as he’d been the only first year starter on the team. Even Shirabu, who constantly threw sarcasm at anyone and anything clearly only had Goshiki’s best interests in mind.

It had made you more than a bit nervous. Honestly, it was like meeting his family all over again. Luckily, it seemed to be going well so far, even so you’d had to excuse yourself to run to the restroom to freshen up a bit to give yourself a bit of a breather. They likely didn’t mean to, but the group was a little rowdy and overwhelming at times.

You’d been on your way back when you’d overheard what you were pretty sure was Semi, though it was hard to be sure given you’d only met them all that day.

“Your girlfriend is the greatest, we get it,” Semi continued, heaving a sigh, making you flush a bit. Goshiki was always hyping you up, and you’d caught him bragging about you to his teammates more than once. It was incredibly sweet, and flattering, if a little embarrassing at times.

“Aww, don’t be sad just because you’re a sad single Semi-Semi,” a voice that was definitely Tendou chimed in, “We should be happy for our cute junior.”

“You’re single too!” Semi hissed back, “And don’t call me Semi-Semi!”

“I think it’s nice that Goshiki is so happy with his partner,” a calm voice that you were fairly sure was Ohira put in thoughtfully.

“You don’t get to talk either mister married with a daughter,” Shirabu snarked.

“It’s nice to see everyone so happy with their partners,” Kawanishi mused, “you two look nice together.”

“She’s amazing,” Goshiki agreed immediately, with a dreamy sigh, that made your heart flutter and your cheeks flush, “I really don’t deserve her.”

You weren’t about to let that stand. Your boyfriend was really too sweet, and couldn’t be more deserving if he tried.

“I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you,” you told him, announcing your presence as you slid back into your seat beside him, clearly startling him though he didn’t protest as you reached for his hand, eagerly twining his fingers together with yours despite the pink flush to his cheeks.

“Gross,” Shirabu informed the two of you, though the small smirk on his lips gave away that he didn’t really mean it.

“I think they are nice together,” Ushijima announced, suddenly, cutting off the retort that had clearly been on the tip of Goshiki’s tongue.

There was a general murmur of agreement from around the table, Ushijima’s apparently the last word that was needed. You were glad to have seemingly gotten their approval, but at the end of the day the only opinion that really mattered was your boyfriend’s, and he’d made his perfectly clear to anyone and everyone that would listen.

He never failed to make you feel loved, which was probably why you were so head over heels for him, because there was no one else quite like Goshiki Tsutomu.

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[babyboy-cody]

unrequited (PART THREE)

PAIRING: Michael/Fem!Reader, Roman/Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: When Michael leaves for a business meeting, Y/N finds comfort in Roman’s presence.

WARNINGS: michael being an absolutel dick, roman being an absolute sweetheart, subtle flirting, bad thoughts, brief anxiety attack

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

“What do you mean you’re leaving? It’s our anniversary this week, Michael. You expect me to celebrate alone?” You weakly protested as he hurriedly packed his bags without sparing you a glance. “I made plans for us..”

“I don’t know what you want me to do, Y/N. This is a very important business trip and I need to leave in ten minutes. I’m not going to coddle you and have you change my mind, sweetheart. It’s not that big a deal,” he huffs and rolls his eyes. “Where the hell did you put my ties?”

You sighed softly and went into the walk-in closet that had Michael’s clothes on one side and yours on the other. You reached into a box and opened the lid to show him the neatly folded ties. “They’re where they’ve always been, Michael,” you quietly told him. You crossed your arms over your stomach as a defense mechanism when he stalked closer to look inside the box. He never once laid a hand on you or Aurora, but just his presence makes you uneasy. You had never felt this way before until now when he stood a few inches away from you.

“You know I hate when you touch my shit, Y/N,” he snapped and grabbed more of his things and went back out to the bedroom to continue packing. “From now on, leave my things alone. Got it?” He stared you down, nearly burning a hole into your soul when you meekly nodded.

Almost on cue, Aurora started whimpering in the little monitor you kept on the dresser. You breathed out a sigh of relief and hurried out into the hall, walking down a few doors away and into the little angel’s room. She’s holding onto the bars of her crib, bouncing happily when she sees you. You cooed gently and picked her up, cradling her in your arms as you breathe in that baby scent.

“Hello, my love,” you gently told her and kissed her cheeks, relishing her quiet giggles as she grips onto your necklace. “Did you have a good rest, hm? Mama’s got some new fruits waiting for you.”

“I’m leaving,” you hear Michael’s voice from behind you, causing you to gasp and hold onto Aurora tightly as you turn to look at the emotionless man. “I’ll.. walk you out then.”

You both walked down the long spiral staircase while Aurora babbled incoherently, mumbling “mama” every now and then. You hushed her softly and kissed her head, loving the smell of the faint shampoo you used on her this morning. Michael opened the front door and sat his suitcases on the top step.

“I should be home on the 23rd. I expect everything to be the way I left it. Do not go into my office. I will find out, okay?” He stared at you with such intimidation that it made you feel uneasy. You hesitatingly nodded and leaned up to give his lips a kiss, but he subtly turned his head so your lips would kiss his cheek. You felt a pang in your heart and sucked in a shaky breath. Michael’s motion almost felt like a punch in your gut.

“Let me know when you land,” you softly told him and took back into your home, not looking at him as you hold onto the knob. “I love you, Michael.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Y/N,” he tells you before picking up his suitcases and walking down the steps to the car waiting for him outside the gate.

You swallowed down a whimper as your eyes instantly filled with tears. Aurora whined quietly and looked up at you with a distressed look at the sight of seeing her mother so distraught and sad. You sniffled and shut the door gently, making sure it was locked before you pressed your back against it and finally letting the dam break. You’re not sure why it hurt so much after being so used to Michael’s actions. But not heating those words you so desperately needed from him was like a stab to your heart.

“Why?” You blubbered and shook your head at yourself. “W-Why?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

It was almost midnight when you had put Aurora down for her sleep. You watched her for a few moments, not having the heart to leave her just yet. She was the only good thing out of your marriage. She keeps you busy - keeps you on your toes. With her rosy cheeks and soft eyelashes, you’re almost glad that she looks like a mini vision of yourself rather than Michael. With one last brush of your fingers on her stomach, you left the room with the baby monitor in your hand. Now, you were left in a house of silence.

You can hear your heart thumping loudly in your ears as you shallowly breathed in and out. You shakily walked down the steps while grasping tightly onto the banister. You went into the kitchen, your vision blurry from the overflowing of tears filling your eyes. You grasped onto the counter and slow sunk down to your knees, desperately pressing your back onto the cupboards behind you. There was a faint ringing in your ear and your hands trembled so viciously that it was hard for you to grasp onto your knees to keep you grounded.

“No, no, no, no,” you whispered to yourself and covered your ears as you rocked back and forth. Your fingers gripped onto your strands of hair. The burning pain of your roots being pulled was enough ot bring you back to a sense of calmness. You hiccuped and struggled to take in a steady breath. You counted to ten in your head and finally became aware of your senses. Five things you can see, four things you can physically feel, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, one thing you can taste.

Five things you can see - the smoky maroon cuboards, the freshly watered plants on the windowsill, the hanging kitchen lights, your bright red painted toenails, and the little pile of notes on the counter.

Four things you can physically feel - the cold tiled floor under your thighs, your hair tickling your shoulders, your fingers interlocked with each other, and a small tear rolling down your flushed cheek.

Three things you can hear - the kitchen clock quietly ticking, Aurora’s soft snores on the baby monitor, and the neighbor’s dog faintly barking across the street.

Two things you can smell - your rose water facial spray and the cleaning spray you used to wipe down the counters.

One thing you can taste - your strawberry lip balm.

Your frantic heartbeat steadied and you were able to breath again. Your rest your head back and breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth a few times. The tears have now dried and your hands were no longer shaky. Aurora’s snores still sounded on the monitor and you had a small smile as you imagiend her lips to be parted with a small dribble of spit on them. But then, that feeling of loneliness soon hit harder than before. You stood up with a small groan, an ache in your joints after sitting on the hard ground for a few minutes. You opened the drawer next to the fridge that held notepads, pens, tape, scissors, takeout menus, and written notes. Rifling deeper and further inside, you pulled out the familiar napkin that Roman had written his number on a few weeks ago.

You looked around the kitchen to find your phone, letting out a small noise of triumphwhen you spotted it amongst the numerous books you laid out. You nervously bit your lip and played with the locket around your neck. After dialing the numbers, you listened as it rung. You felt the nerves again in the pit of your stomach. You swallowed and was about to hang up when you heard his voice.

“Hello?” He asked on the other line.

“Um, is this Roman Godfrey?” You softly asked him.

“Who’s speaking?” He sternly asked, now more alert than before. “How did you get this number?”

Completely caught off guard, you choked up a response. “Um.. this is Y/N.. from the coffee shop? We met a few weeks ago, I’m so sorry for calling you this late.”

“Oh!” He eased up again, and you can almost hear his smile through the phone. “I apologize, Y/N. I’ve been receiving a lot of spam calls and it’s been driving me nuts.”

“It’s alright,” you laughed smile. “Again, I’m sorry for calling you so late. I just.. had nothing better do to and you popped into my head.”

“Oh yeah? You been thinking about me?” He cheekily asked you, causing you to snort and roll your eyes as you felt a blush creep up on your cheeks. “I had nothing better to do either. I’m trying to find a good show to binge watch on Netflix.”

“Oh really? I have a few suggestions if you’d like?” You told him excitedly and grabbed the baby monitor before hurrying over to your comfy couch, grabbing the remote and immediately turning the tv on. “I think you’ll my wide variety of movies and shows.”

“Oh yewh? We’ll see about that,” Roman laughs quietly, smiling wide in the other line when he hears your laugh. “I like that laugh... hehehehe.”

“Oh God, please do not imitate that Justin Bieber meme,” you covered your mouth to hide your laugh. “You’re really funny, Roman. I never thought of you to be a man of humor.”

“I am incredibly insulted,” he gasped mock offended. “What kind of man did you think I was, hm?”

You shrugged to yourself, remembering that he couldn’t see you. “I don’t know.. a man of serious business.”

“A man of serious business,” he repeats softly. “Well if by serious business, you mean making you laugh and smile, then yes, I am a man of serious business.”

“Oh hush, Godfrey,” you sucked your teeth and blushed. “But thank you. I haven’t laughed like this in.. a while. It feels good.”

“I’m glad,” he quietly told you. “They say laughter is the best medicine.”

“I heard,” you laughed quietly and looked at the red Netflix logo on the television. “Okay, now the Netflix recommendations.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

TAG LIST: Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed <3

@lathraios @heda-mikaelson @queencocoakimmie @hecohansen31 @masterlaluri @bluebirdbts @kaetastic @midrunner3202 @henrysqueen @duncvns

[plussizeappreciationfics]

Series: Just the assistant..?

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Plus sized reader

Summary: [Y/N], Tom's personal assistant knows that she shouldn't have fallen in love with her employer but she just couldn't help herself. When she thinks that her biggest wish is about to come true, a third party arrives and makes her question whether she'd ever have a chance to escape her situation and simply be loved back by the person she loves the most...

Warning(s): adult language

Word count: 2,3k 

Picture(s) found on: Pinterest/Google

CHAPTER TWO: The boundaries have been overstepped

“I’m fine, just make sure that the stylist closes the door behind her once you’re gone” [Y/N] spoke into her phone before letting out a soft cough, her throat sore and itchy. She heard a long sigh from the other end of the line and rolled her eyes.

“Tom, this isn’t the first time I’m sick. So what, I caught a cold a three days ago, it’s not the end of the world” she couldn’t see the actor’s frown increasing on his face as he listened to her weak voice explaining her situation. 

Hours before, the assistant had been tossing and turning in her bed for quite a while, her body not being at peace because it longed to be held again by Tom. She couldn’t stop thinking about the dinner, how intense his stares has been and how he suddenly seemed so interested in her. [Y/N] was staring at the dark ceiling of her room and shook her head in contentment, having a feeling that something special would happen to her very soon.

He felt bad because he technically had been the reason his assistant had gotten sick in the first place; After their celebration dinner, Tom had ended up not being able to fall asleep, so he had called [Y/N] over and they ended up stargazing in his backyard, barely speaking a word with each other. They just sat next to each other, shoulders and arms touching and looked up the beautiful sky with a faint smile ghosting on their lips.

By the time [Y/N] had returned home, she was a coughing and sneezing mess and thus resulted in her having to take a week off because she had caught a nasty cold. She was on her 4th day off and pretty much enjoyed not having to do much physical activity besides feeding herself and taking her medication on time.

“Tom? Are you still there?” the assistant asked, wondering why he was being so silent. The actor cleared his throat and felt his stomach churn in discomfort, the intense need to take care of [Y/N] making it hard for him to focus on anything else. He couldn’t have a good day while knowing that she was in poor health and discomfort, he wished that he could heal her with a simple hug but that was obviously impossible.

Her thoughts had been interrupted by Tom calling her, nervously asking her if his call wasn’t a disturbance because the world was fast asleep. [Y/N] gently told him that she hadn’t been able to sleep either before happily accepting his invitation to stargaze in his backyard as he had one of the best views.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m still here…Just let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. Anything. I-need you-I mean we need you strong and healthy again” Tom added a quick fake cough at the end as he had realized that he was starting to slip, he had been thinking about his assistant a lot the past few days and had found himself calling and texting her more than usual, she reciprocated to his mood and energy though. So he knew that he wasn’t bothering her at all.

Her stomach was fluttering in delight and she couldn’t help but smile and stare into space. Something is happening, Tom has been very attentive and kinda needy of my presence the last few days…Maybe he’s starting to feel the same way…Or maybe he’s going through something and is gathering the courage to finally share it with me…

“I’ll be fineeeeee, just don’t forget to tell me who your costars will be on the play. Bye” and with that, [Y/N] quickly hung up the phone before releasing the breath she didn’t know she was holding in. She had heard the slip up and forced herself to not read too much in between the lines. 

“Anyhow” [Y/N] muttered to herself while getting comfortable under the warm sheets of her bed. She still had three days of peace and quiet and was enjoying them by getting as much sleep as possible and catching up with her reading list. Today she would’ve had a busy day ahead; Tom had 2 talk shows appearances. 

She thankfully already had helped him arrange his wardrobe for the appearances through her phone and laptop, the stylist only had to come by and deliver the suits, which would be in an hour, but [Y/N] already had strictly (but kindly) instructed her to do her job and make sure that everything was alright with the clothes.

Tom had gotten a fresh trim the morning and had decided to let his long curls stay the way they were (because [Y/N] had voiced a nice compliment about the way it looked so the actor silently decided to grow it out a little more).

His driver was also on his way as he preferred to be driven to public events. Tom’s fans were known for blocking entries and streets once they’d know he’d be present somewhere. He loved his fans to death, but he knew that driving himself through a sea of frantic people (with his already bad eyesight) could cause a serious accident. 

Everything that had to be done, was done. So, [Y/N] was able to relax and focus on getting her health back on track.

She took one final glance at her phone before locking the screen and placing it on her nightstand, feeling tired and sore. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep, with her special someone lingering in her mind…

“What are you doing here?” [Y/N] wondered in confusion upon seeing Tom welcome himself into her home, his jacket already removed along with the shoes. He then made his way over to the couch where she comfortably seated, her phone in her hand and looking through her mails. She silently was thankfully for the shower she had taken thirty minutes ago because she looked like her normal self and also smelled good.

“I am here to keep you company on your final days off as I know that you have missed my presence oh so much” the actor added a dramatic sigh while sitting next to his assistant and appreciating her beauty from up close. “Of course did I miss you, I can’t stand to be parted from you for so long, oh my dear Thomas” she reciprocated his dramatic and sarcastic tone, although she was being completely honest.

Three days later

“Then we shall enjoy each other’s company before the hectic and busy world seeks our attention again, M’lady” the actor spoke with a chuckle, the bright smile on his face still very much present. He was wearing a simple pair of blue pants and his famous dark blue sweater, he looked as scrumptious as always. 

[Y/N] had to swallow hard as she forced her eyes to not scan him from head to toe, it would make it obvious that she was attracted to him, emotionally and physically. These next few hours certainly would be trick and tempting…

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Tom suggested, placed his arm around her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze for no reason at all (Well…we all know the reason, don’t we?). “Sure, you can pick one out!” [Y/N] spoke with excitement, euphoria pumping through her blood as she now knew that she was addicted to his touch. No one had ever made her feel so comfortable. She was a confident woman but to feel this extra layer of security and comfort just soothed her soul on the daily.

“We can watch whatever you want, darling” Tom mumbled, feeling a rush of contentment himself from purely having her this close to him. [Y/N] took the remote in her hand and opened the Netflix app, she looked through her daily suggestions and the top ten of most popular movies that were currently trending. Tom’s soft fingers were playing with the material of her shirt, reaching the hem of her sleeve and then smoothly drawing random patterns on her soft skin.

“How about Spirited Away? It’s been years since I’ve seen that masterpiece!” [Y/N] happily suggested, “Plus the movie also shows how love can be so strong, even when the two people barely acknowledge or talk about it. It’s all about the actions”. Hearing the short description had the actor instantly curious and so he agreed to watch it, despite never having seen it himself.

Both relaxed against the couch (yes, Tom’s arm still around [Y/N]’s shoulder, now having moved even closer so that their bodies were in constant contact), before the movie was playing on the screen. [Y/N] randomly explained certain scenes that had the actor a little bit confused and once he’d understand the reference or meaning behind it, he couldn’t help but lean in and whisper his thanks into her ear. To say that the tension was thick, sizzling yet light and delicate was an understatement.

__

[Y/N] slowly opened her eyes, letting out a tired sigh while slowly acknowledging the conscious world again. “Mhm” she mumbled, realizing that she had fallen asleep sometime during the movie. She was about to sit up straight when a strong, but gentle grip around her thick waist pulled her back.

Fuck.

She turned her head to look behind her and saw Tom sleeping peacefully, having lied down behind her at some point. He grumbled softly in his slumber before pulling her warm body closer to him again. [Y/N] felt like she was about to have a heart attack. But she still slowly repositioned herself in her previous position and stared at the TV screen.

She knew that they had overstepped a heavy boundary of their professional relationship. But did she feel bad? Nope. She felt so at ease, it was like his arms were made just for her. The current moment was one she had often dreamed about and to actually have the privilege to experience it was just indescribable.

“[Y/N]….” Tom whispered in his sleep, his voice low and rich with smoothness. He was literally trying to pull her into his body, his hands gently squeezing one of her stomach rolls. She felt his toned chest against her back along with the body heat he was radiating onto her, his head now nuzzling in the crook of her neck. When his soft breaths tickled her sensitive skin, [Y/N] thought that she was about to burst into flames. The acts were so intimate yet tender, everything she had always assumed about him now being true.

Tom Hiddleston was a clingy sleep cuddler.

“Fuck” she whispered again when he let out a content sigh, already having tears brim her eyes as this all felt like dream. The man she had been loving for three years now was finally reciprocating her love. 

[Y/N] closed her eyes and enjoyed the amazing feeling of pure love and joy, she even reached her arm out and gently ran her hand through Tom’s soft curls and sighed in pure delight herself. She wished that she could stay like this forever, just the two of them. 

__

“[Y/N]?”

Her eyes fluttered open and she (again) took acknowledgment of her surroundings. She still was lying on her couch, But Tom was now sitting next to her, along with two bags of takeout resting on her coffee table.

“Mhm? I’m awake” [Y/N] mumbled once her brain recognized the sound of Tom’s soft voice calling out for her.

“Are you hungry? I ordered Thai as it’s almost six in the evening and you haven’t eaten anything yet” his gaze was soft and kind. The assistant nodded her head and slowly sat up, silently comprehending that Tom had woken up after she had fallen back asleep again. She felt a pang of disappointment churn in her stomach once she also realized that he was pretending like nothing had happened.

“Thanks Tom, I must have fallen asleep. My bad”

But she also understood and accepted why.

“Nothing to be sorry about, I fell asleep myself and actually had a great rest. The past few days had been very stressful, and I had really needed an afternoon of peace and quiet. So thanks again, [Y/N], for letting me enjoy your company”.

Tom’s appreciation speech actually mended the disappointment she felt, she hadn’t known about the few sorrows and stressed he had had because he hadn’t voiced them to her at all, despite having texted and called her plenty of times throughout the day.

Wow…

“You’re welcome, Tom” was all she was able to respond before reaching for the takeout bags and looking at what deliciousness were awaiting her. She ignored his piercing stare, not knowing why she suddenly was the sole focus of his attention. It was hard doing so because she felt like his eyes were burning holes on the side of her face.

“You’re very beautiful, [Y/N].

She turned to him, a bright smile creeping upon her face as her heart skipped a beat. “Thank you Tom, you are handsome yourself”. He chuckled and finally looked down at his lap, a slight crimson shade appearing on his cheeks as he felt flustered and appreciated.

[Y/N] handed him the second bag of food before removing the items in her own bag. 

“That’s amazing! Do you want me to book a table at your usual restaurant?” [Y/N] asked while feeling happy for Tom’s friends, she knew that he’d have a blast with the play and that sole thought left her smiling to herself while the actor continued to share the details of the upcoming play to her, still sitting very close to her and barely being able to keep her eyes off her beautiful face.

“By the way, I have great news”, [Y/N] hummed as in indication that she was listening while continuing to unpack her food. “Charlie and Zawe have been casted as the other two main characters in the play! We’ll be all going to dinner tomorrow!”

Tag list: @jamesbarnesappreciationclubub  l @pleasantdreamqueen l @disneymarina l l @harleycativy  l @sparklemichele l @melaninmarvel l @amethyst09 l @the-force-of-imagines l @bossyboyd03 l @pebblesz892 l @stars8melanin l @brittyevans l @toc1985 l @janeyboo l @badassbaker l @winters-beauty l @cannonindeez  l @ilovefanfic86  l @adorablespecialsnowflakes l @brittanyovens l @kanupps06 l @jazmynejack l @thebookwormslytherin l @theunsweetenedtruth l @talannalew l @littlexmissxfandomxlover l @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes l @crimsonash330 l @booklover2929 l @aranelgrey l @panda-duuu l @thisismysecrethappyplace  l @titty-teetee l @honey-anon l @princess-evans-addict l @hp-hogwartsexpress l @malindacath  l @letsdisneythings l @scorpionchild81 l @shado-raven l @alisoncdariel l @plutoneu l  @queenoftheworldisdead l @briannab1234l @miyaeadys-blog l @thenamelesscorpse2185 l @hihellogoodbyebruh l @nackrosor l @nerdgurl1985 l @2darkskinbeauty l @bugngiz l @african-melanin-goddess l @barnes-wilson-love l @ktiz90 l @let-the-love-in l @forlornfortitude l @robinredboob l @hopefuloperaangelnerd l @kola95 l @partypoison00 l @alwaysadreamingoptimist l @reniescarlett l @g0thicdream l @mayasopinions l @captaintightpants58 l @leillee​ l @kayleighsimone​ 

-Emmanuelle 💋❤️

[bnhasimpgirltm]

Why Is It That You Only Ever Hurt Me? (Bakugo Katsuki x Reader)

Pairings: Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2130

Genre: Angst? (It seems less angsty than it should but maybe my mental angst meter is all screwed up)

A/N: I had an idea and I acted on it. I hope it’s okay. It’s a pretty common fanfic idea, but I wanted to try and write one of my own. There is a lot of yelling, but I didn’t want to use all caps for loud yelling because it’s kinda annoying to read. Reader has a quirk that allows them to manifest emotional energy into a type of physical energy (i.e. Thermal, Gravitational, Sound)

Read Part 2 HERE 

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

“Why are you so damn clingy all the time?” Bakugo shouted out, alerting everyone in the common room of your current situation. You had these fights with Bakugo quite often, small things that were a little bit annoying. Your ‘clingyness’ was never the topic of any of them. Usually they resolved after you both got over yourselves and apologized, but little did you know, this wasn’t going to be a small fight.

Laughing cruelly, you roll your eyes. You weren’t even being clingy, just asking him if you two could go on a date later, to which he responded that he ‘had better things to do than go out with you’. He should have been grateful that comment didn’t set you off, but of course he had to take it further and call you clingy.

Narrowing your eyes at your supposed boyfriend, you stood there with your fists clenched by your side and the muscles in your face tensed up. It was taking everything you had not to let all of your anger out at Bakugo, because if you did, your quirk would most likely injure everyone in the common room.

Breath. Slowly. Deep breath in, 

1. . .

2. . .

3. . .

Exhale. Slowly. Repeat. 

“Aren’t you going to say something? Or are you going to just stand there like a dumb bitch?” He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

You let the dam crack, just a little , and the anger dripped out like a faucet. Everyone felt it, and they were all waiting for your anger to cause your heavily emotionally based quirk to lose control.

“You know what?” Your ‘yelling’ was barely above a regular speaking voice right now. You were still trying to protect everyone else in the common room, not losing control fully. Not yet, at least.

“What? Are you going to say something about how I’m an awful boyfriend? About how I neglect you and never want to go out with you?” Bakugo has a smirk plastered on his face, and his smug look makes you want to punch him into orbit. 

Your lip is still trembling, and your eyes are starting to water, the overwhelming sense of anger that you felt at the moment spilling from your eyes.

I will keep my emotions in control. I will keep my emotions in control.

You didn’t want to hurt anyone in the common room, especially not Bakugo.

Bakugo steps forward, yelling in your face, “Say something!” 

“Fine!” The dam broke. Your quirk causing the anger to become thermal energy, making the room hotter than a sauna. “You’re an egocentric, self-centered, tunnel minded, asshole-”

Bakugo cut you off, starting to yell again in his deep, threatening voice.

“What the hell did you just call me?” Explosions popped in his palms, an intimidating threat to others, but to you, it was just a childish antic of his.

You humored him, starting to repeat what you said earlier. “Do I need to repeat myself? I said you were and egotis-” 

He cut you off again, “It was a rhetorical question! I heard what you said the first time! God, were you always this shit brained?” 

That one stung a little, but you ignored it and kept going. “Were you always this selfish?” 

“You think it’s selfish of me to have a goal? At least I’m better than you! You’re just another damn extra in my way that has an incoviniently powerful quirk. You’re nothing without me,” he laughs and continues. “You’re worse than that half-and-half, icy-hot bastard. At least he uses half of his quirk. You don’t even try to use yours even half way. Maybe instead of asking me to go out again you should train so you can become more than a sidekick to a D-list hero.”

That was it. You thought that you couldn’t get any angrier, but here it was, punching you in the face, begging you to say something offensive back. Bakugo knew why you didn’t want to push your quirk to the max during training. He knew that you constantly had to worry about hurting your friends. He knew, and here he was, using it against you.

“You know exactly why I can’t push my quirk too far during training,” you say, trying to remediate the already out of hand situation, and also trying to push the anger to the back of your mind where it belonged. It suceeded, because the room slowly went back to room temperature, and the students of Class 1A in the common room visibly relaxed.

“I do know the exact reason, and you know what I think? I think it’s a load of bullshit.”

This shocked you. Bakugo was always so supportive of you and understood when you had to hold back sometimes.

“Excuse me?” You ask him, your anger reheating the room, making everyone tense again. 

“Didn’t you hear me the first time? I said it’s bullshit,” he repeats, emphasizing the ‘bullshit’ part of the sentence.

“You don’t know anything about my quirk! You don’t know how hard it is to con-” Once again he cuts you off. You should have left this conversation ten minutes ago, yet your pride wasn’t letting you. You wouldn’t let him win.

“You always whine and bitch about how hard it is to keep your quirk in control, but the only reason you can’t control it is because you’re a lazy extra who has no goals. You’re weak and a constant pain in the ass, and you’re so damn pathetic that you have to cling to me all the time because no one cares about you if I’m not there,” he scoffs and starts to turn away.

He absolutely does not get the right to walk away from this conversation.

“How could you say that about me?” You ask, tears brimming at your eyes. At this point you were more hurt than angry, but the mixed emotions running through your mind could seriously make your quirk act up.

“Because,” he stops for a moment, as if he’s thinking about his words, “I never loved you.”

Your heart shatters. Dumbfounded, you stare at him, the tears that you held back earlier escaping from your eyes and cascading like waterfalls down your face, the energy of your emotions shaking the room violently. You don’t care though.

“Was any of it real?” You ask, your voice trembling.

“None of it. You don’t mean shit to me,” he speaks at a normal volume for once, something that you wanted him to do more often.

You just didn’t think that it would be in a situation like this.

“I hope you have fun pushing people away Bakugo, because when you get to the top, you’ll realize that it’s pretty lonely up there. Maybe you’ll tell yourself that you couldn’t have both relationships and success, but just know that I would have been with you all the way.” You snap at him, but it’s oddly calm. Taking the finishing blow, you say, “You’re the weak one Bakugo. You’re too weak to show your emotions to others, to pursue things other than your goal to become the number one hero. I hope you’re happy with yourself Bakugo.”

For once, the explosive blonde didn’t have anything to say. 

You walk up the stairs, taking your broken energy with you back to your room.

“Bakugo, you obviously upset (y/n). They don’t want to talk to you right now,” Jiro, your close friend, glares at him, and he glares back. 

 Wordlessly, Bakugo follows you up the stairs, ignoring Jiro’s statement from a minute ago, and presses his ear to your door.

You were crying. Sobbing, actually, loudly, something you never did in front of people, no one except him. Usually you could restrain your emotions, somehing that you learned as a part of your training. He heard you scream, then go back to sobbing, and decided that he needed to apologize now. Fuck giving you time to cool off, he didn’t mean anything he said. Once again, he let his anger get the best of him, and this time, the consequences were too much for him to handle.

“(Y/N), let me in,” he says, knocking at your door.

“God just fuck off Bakugo!” You yell through the door between sobs.

“I didn’t mean anything I said babe. Let’s talk this out okay?” He tries to sound kind, but it comes off as annoyed and it pisses you off to an endless extent.

“I don’t want to talk it out, go away,” you choke out.

 Pushing him away was so hard for you. Every part of your heart belonged to him and it hurt so much when he tore it out and stomped the pieces on the floor. It hurt so much when he said he never loved you.

“I love you so much and I didn’t mean anything I said. I was angry for fucks sake,” he’s yelling through the door now, having a hard time keeping his emotions in check. 

You swing the door open, your eyes meeting his, and you see a relieved look cross his face.

“Thank god you’re not mad at me. Let’s go on that date you talked about-” 

This time you were the one who cut him off.

“I didn’t open the door so you could apologize Bakugo,” you snapped at him, making the infamous Bakugo flinch. “I opened the door so I could tell you that we’re done.”

“You’re fucking joking. Tell me you’re joking,” he yells, the attitude from earlier already rising again.

“All you do is train and pin for that spot at the top. You never were able to make time for me because you thought I would always be there to run back to you. Well news flash bitch, I’m leaving now.” The edge in your voice is tinted with a tremble, and Bakugo notices.

“You don’t fucking mean that.” Bakugo grabs your hand. “I love you so much and I know I never said it enough. I love you and I know you love me too (y/n). Please say it back.”

Bakugo had never begged for anything in his life, yet here he was, completely at your mercy.

“That’s the problem,” you start, “I love you with everything that I have, but all you do is hurt me. The fighting, the yeling, the neglect, and I still run back to you. Tell me Bakugo; Why is it that you only ever hurt me?” 

There. You said it back, just not in the way he expected.

Your voice projected through the hallway, filled with agony, longing, and sadness. 

He never wanted you to feel like this. He promised to protect you from these types of feelings, yet here he was, making you feel the very feelings that he vowed to protect you from. 

Once again, Bakugo was speechless.

“That’s what I thought,” you begin to close the door, laughing darkly, and leaving your hollowed-out soul for Bakugo to look at as a reminder of how royally he fucked up.

As the door shut, Bakugo stood in place, staring at it for hours. When he got tired of standing, he sat with his back to the door, hearing sobs rock you for what seemed like forever

At midnight, Kirishima and the rest of the Bakusquad snuck out of the dorms and came to check on Bakugo. 

There was no Bakugo in that hallway.

All they saw was a boy, a boy who had lost something so dear to him that the loss had torn him into two. A boy who had torn down his walls for someone so important to him, only to be crushed by the bricks as it all came crashing down around him. A boy who in the process of destroying the very thing that he loved, had self-destructed himself. 

Little did the broken boy know that on the other side of the door, there was another person, a person more broken than he was, a person who despite their heart being torn out and stomped on by the person who they gave it to, still loved the broken boy. 

Little did the broken boy know, you also had your back to the door, but you weren’t sobbing anymore, just staring off into the darkness of your room, not even bothering to turn the light on. 

He didn’t know you were almost back to back with him, the only thing separating you being the thin layer of the door, until he heard you speak.

You said the same phrase that you said to him earlier, except this time, it was hollow and cold. Despite that fact, it hit the broken boy ten times harder than it did the first time.

“Why is it that you only ever hurt me?”