#i miss my enji era like

[enjisbf]

this was so perfect and heartwarming and just what i needed after today :c Thank so much for this !!!!!

Imagine forming a domestic routine with Enji Todoroki. Most nights he comes back late, and you awaken from your dreams to sound of his footsteps coming down the hall. You close your eyes drowsily as you map out his path through the house by the noises such a big gruff man makes when he gets home, when he's trying to get comfortable. From slapping his boots down by the door in the foyer to the soft shuffle of slippers against the living room floors into the kitchen where he rummages for a snack or drink; the squeak of the down stairs bathroom room door, a rushing faucet, and finally his trudge up the stairs.

You wonder if he much quieter on stealth missions; he might as well be a freight train! But, then the bedroom door silently swings open and you know he's here, eyeing you in the dark, checking if he's waken you. For his sake, you try to slow your breathing and still the smile that tickles at the corner of your lips.

He's loud, but he's sweet.

Yet, he's not stupid. Despite your attempts to pretend, he knows his delicately light sleeping wife is awake. Therefore, he doesn't need to feel guilty as he climbs on his side of the bed and scoops you in his arms, listening for you little "surprised" gasp. You do know how to tease him as you snuggle more comfortably into place, breathing in his musky scent and savoring the new warmth radiating from this wall of muscle. Your old man yawns out a goodnight with a quick kiss to your forehead before drifting off to sleep himself.

It means the world to you every time he comes home.

[dannypuro]

Hi! In the last chapter and the 'Combeferre finds out that the idiots got their act together' bit you wrote recently, you mention that Combeferre picks Enjy up when hugging. First of all, that it adorable and I love it. Secondly, what was Enjy's reaction the first time that he did that? Also 'ferre repeatedly bullying bakers to make strawberry cakes for Enjy is perfect. Overall, something telling is awesome! Thank you so much for writing it!

(Hello! This is Something Telling verse (aka time-zapped, 1830s Enjolras, modern-era), and takes place somewhere between chapters 6 and 7. this ask has been sitting in my inbox for months, but i..... forgot that i had the draft sitting in my documents 😬. oops. anyways, thank you for sending it!!!!! here is the first Big Hug and best friends time. also.... exr pining, because it’s something telling and that’s the way it goes. but my asks are always open!!!! i accept all forms of questions and prompts!!!!!!)

“Combeferre’s coming back home tomorrow.”

Enjolras looks up from his book. He would not truly say that he had been reading it, per se, not since Grantaire returned from a morning of boxing with Bahorel in naught but a- a tank top, Enjolras believes he had called it, but the name of it is, in his opinion, much less significant than the way in which it clings to his back with lingering sweat, the way in which he can see the edge of his collarbone, the curve of his shoulders, the way-

Well. He had certainly been looking at his book. For the most part.

He clears his throat. “Pardon?” He manages.

Grantaire, thank the Lord, does not seem to notice his momentary… distraction. He sets his phone down. “Combeferre’s gonna be back from Morocco tomorrow. Joly says his flight comes in at four.”

Enjolras does what he can to parse that--even still, after weeks in this time, he cannot shake the semblance of strangeness, of unfamiliarity, that coats the words of everyone he meets. Even Grantaire, especially Grantaire, sounds, at times, as though he is speaking an unfamiliar tongue. (He wishes--God above, he wishes--to know it as he knows his own. To know Grantaire’s words, to know Grantaire, without the boundary of concentration required, without having to ask questions that must sound hopelessly stupid to everyone else in the world. To Grantaire. But-) “His… flight?” 

Granaire grimaces. Enjolras nearly wishes that he had not asked at all, aside from the fact that he does not understand. “Um. Okay. So.” He looks about himself, swears. Enjolras fights the urge to shrink in on himself, to tell Grantaire that it does not matter, to bury his nose back in his book. Only, then Grantaire sits down beside him upon the sofa, so. Perhaps he will not withdraw his question. “Um. Wait. Okay.” He draws in a breath. “Fuck.”

He flushes hot. “You need not explain if it is troublesome,” he mutters. 

Grantaire swears again. Enjolras fidgets with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “Um. So like. You know a boat?”

“A boat.” Surely, Grantaire is not asking if-

He nods, eyes wide and genuine and- and fucking caring. His shoulders are rather close to Enjolras’s own. He is still wearing no sleeves. 

He forces himself to breathe in, then out. “Yes,” he says, “I know of boats.” He does what he can to keep the ice from his tone--he cannot say for sure whether or not he succeeds.

Grantaire winces. “Oh. Yeah. Fuck. Obviously, sorry, I- Anyways, it’s like a boat that’s in the sky?”

Enjolras clears his throat. “You have lost me,” he admits. He does not feel guilty for doing so, for he is fairly certain that the fault does not fall upon him, in this rare instance. 

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. Um. Picture, like, a giant metal tube?” That means nothing. Enjolras nods, anyways. “RIght, and then imagine that, like, a bunch of people go into it and then it flies to somewhere else in the world really, really fast. And then you get out of the tube.”

And-

Ah. Of course. Grantaire is making some sort of joke, some mockery at Enjolras’s expense. He scowls. “I do not appreciate it when you make light of the fact that I do not understand your time, Grantaire. You know this.”

Grantaire sputters. He looks- not guilty, not truly, but regretful enough that Enjolras cannot help but to regret a bit of the harshness in his words. 

He sighs. “It is not- It is fine. Only- I haven’t really any other way to learn these things, but to ask you, and so I do not-” He shakes his head. “It is fine.”

“No!” It is sudden, just a mite louder than Enjolras had been expecting--he startles, despite his efforts. Grantaire curses, then curses again, but softer, and then says, “Enj, no, I wouldn’t, I’m not, just-” he fumbles for his phone, prods at it for a few moments, then holds it out to Enjolras. “I wouldn’t,” he says, again.

Enjolras squints down at the phone. The glass is illuminated, showing- Well, it does seem to be a large tube, as Grantaire had said, but he still does not-

The vessel in the video lifts off of the ground. He turns to Grantaire with a start. “There- There are people within?”

He nods. “It’s a plane. An airplane. Lots of people take them.”

Enjolras feels rather as though he is going to be ill. He cannot tear his eyes from the phone. “And Combeferre shall be… inside of one? As it flies?” His hands have taken to shaking; try as he might, he cannot seem to still them. He hands the phone back to Grantaire, instead, presses his palms to the cushions of the sofa. 

Grantaire nods again, and keeps talking, but Enjolras cannot- he cannot quite manage to pay mind to what he says, for-

Oh, but he does not fancy that idea at all, of a man being- being propelled through the air, as such. Particularly if the man in question is Combeferre, for Enjolras has only just met him, has only just managed to befriend him, and Combeferre is terribly kind and frightfully intelligent and funny in a way that makes Courfeyrac groan but that Enjolras quite likes, actually, and-

“Enjolras?”

“I-” his voice cracks; he tries again. “I feel I must voice my concern.”

Grantaire pauses, frowns. Enjolras feels somewhat as though he has said something foolish--but then, he often feels such, and this is too important for him to rescind, even if Grantaire does think him a fool, and- “Because of the plane?”

He nods. “I only think that-” he swallows, starts again. “It only seems as though it would be rather- rather hazardous, would it not be simpler for him to travel by ship? Surely- Surely there is much less risk of-” he breaks off, manages a jerky shrug.

There is a pause.

“Oh,” Grantaire says, soft.

He shrugs again, though he is fairly certain that it is not particularly convincing.

Grantaire is looking at him… oddly. Something squirms beneath his skin. “I mean- Enjolras, hey, he’ll be okay,” he says, but-

“You cannot know that,” Enjolras snaps, and he regrets it, as soon as he has, but he cannot seem to make himself stop, just yet, either. “I was not aware that you were an expert in- in aired plains.”

Annoyingly, relievingly, predictably, Grantaire does not even flinch, he just looks a little sadder. Damn it all. (He also presses a little closer, his arm bared against Enjolras’s own, damn it, damn it.) “People fly all the time,” he reasons.

“Foolish people,” he spits out. “Fools and- and geese, only, would elect to do such a thing.” He is being ridiculous, he knows it, but oh, he does not like this one bit, not at all. “Men are not pigeons.”

“Men aren’t fish, either,” Grantaire jostles him, gently. Enjolras fights the urge to lean into it. “We still have boats, though, dude. Continual progress, and all that?”

“And yet, if a boat sinks, its passengers do not find themselves plummeting to the earth, dude.”

Grantaire snorts a laugh.

“I do not find it humorous, Grantaire!” 

“Sorry.” Grantaire draws in a breath, scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

He huffs.

Grantaire hesitates, and then settles an arm about his shoulders. As though Enjolras would ever deny him that--as though he could ever quell that selfish, poorly-hidden bit inside of him that relishes in the warmth, the closeness, the impropriety of the act. “Want me to call him?” he offers, and again, Enjolras is selfish, and he nearly-

Nearly agrees, nearly jumps on the offer like he knows he shouldn’t, for he- he misses Combeferre, and he does not like the idea of him hurtling about through the sky, and yet-

“No,” he says, “You needn’t.” He swallows. “You needn’t bother Combeferre, when he is surely quite busy with his family. I would not wish to impose.” This is the polite thing to do, he reassures himself, Combeferre will be fine, and simply because he is one of Enjolras’s dearest friends does not mean that he does, or ought, hold similar ground in Combeferre’s heart, and it is fine.

It is fine.

Grantaire looks… sad, almost; it makes something ache deep beneath Enjolras’s ribs. “Enjolras-” he begins-

“It is fine.”

“Enj-”

Enjolras opens his book rather pointedly. Grantaire stops talking, but he doesn’t- he doesn’t actually remove his arm from Enjolras’s shoulders. 

And.

Well.

Enjolras certainly shan’t be the one to remind him that it isn’t quite proper.

.

Enjolras is poor company the following morning, he is aware of this. 

Being aware of it does not, however, quite mean that he is able to bring himself to do anything to correct his comportement. Rather, he leans his cheek upon his hand and picks at a whorl in the tabletop and does what he can not to flinch at the sound of a truck being unloaded outside the window, at the spray of grapeshot which fits so seamlessly into each echo that he cannot quite manage to convince himself that it is not real. (It was real, is real, in a way, but he cannot- he cannot think on that, not now, not when he already has so much to think on.)

Grantaire-

Grantaire is speaking to him, he realizes, from the kitchen, but he does not notice it until it is too late, until he can catch no more than “-up to you, really,” and then, because Enjolras has taken too long to speak, taken too long to parse what he would even be talking about, “Enjolras?” He pokes his head out of the doorway. (He is sleep-rumpled, soft, concerned.)

Damn it, damn it.

He clears his throat. “I apologize,” he manages. “I’m afraid that I was not quite listening.”

At times, he wishes- he wishes that Grantaire would just grow tired of him, of his horrid behavior, instead of being so endlessly kind; that, at least, Enjolras would know what to do with. (At times, Enjolras is so afraid that it will happen that he thinks he would give anything not to ever think of it again.) As it is, Grantaire frowns. “I just- I just wanted to know what you want for breakfast, I don’t- Enj, are you okay?”

Oh. He must look rather poorly. He had not, after all, gotten much sleep at all the night before; he supposes that he had been hoping that it would not show on his face. (It is a vain thought, as well, which is vaguely infuriating. Before he met Grantaire, he so rarely thought about things so inconsequential as exhaustion.) “You may cook what you choose. It matters not.”

Grantaire crosses his arms. His shirt is very thin. 

Enjolras presses his wrists to the table to stop his hands from shaking as he glares back. It nearly works.

Grantaire, infuriatingly, says nothing.

He grits his teeth, then sighs. “I slept poorly. This is all.”

Grantaire pauses, at that. Enjolras takes a moment to wonder as to whether he has had any coffee, this morning--likely not. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. “This is about Combeferre,” he says, at last, once he has collected himself.

Damn it.

Enjolras should have elected to become enamored by somebody who is less perceptive. 

Not that-

Not that he is enamored, of course. 

He forces a quiet laugh, hopes that it is convincing enough to draw the furrow from Grantaire’s brow. It is not. “I- I am being foolish,” he admits, eventually. “As you said, Combeferre will be fine.” It does not sound particularly convincing, even from his own mouth. Especially from his own mouth. Part of him wishes that Grantaire would say it again, instead.

His hands are still shaking. Perhaps, he finds himself thinking, they will carry on this way forever; it is difficult to imagine that he could ever fire a rifle straight, anymore.

No matter.

Grantaire makes an odd noise at the back of his throat. 

“It is fine,” Enjolras reminds him, for if he does not stop looking so very wretched Enjolras may- not cry, likely, but- but it stings, in any case. “I simply. Well. Combeferre is a good man, and I- Well. Ah. You see, he- He has told me that I am his friend, and I haven’t terribly many friends, aside from you, and I know that you trust these- these aired plains, but I cannot seem to bring myself to do so, and so I- I am simply rather anxious. It is nothing serious.” (Enjolras thinks of a young man, a boy, far younger than Combeferre, at his feet with his jaw shot off and his hand wrapped like a vise around his ankle, of blood soaking into the seams of his boots, of the spray of grapeshot against brick and against bone, and-) 

Grantaire looks, if anything, more distressed than before. Heavens, but Enjolras is poor at this. “I should call Combeferre,” he says, resolutely. He fumbles for his phone. “Yeah, I should-”

“I would not have you do so.” It comes out just on the side of too sharp, but Grantaire does not startle, he simply winces, as though pained. “There is no need to disturb him by imposing, as such. So kindly do not.”

He returns his phone to his pocket. “Okay. Um.” He does not return to the kitchen; rather, he continues to linger, uncertain in a way in which Enjolras is not accustomed to seeing him. “Do you want anything for breakfast? Like, anything specific?”

And, well, in the spirit of absolute frankness, Enjolras does not--he is not particularly hungry at all, but-

But he is beginning to get to know Grantaire a little better, now, and he is beginning to guess that cookery means a bit more to him than it does to most others, and perhaps, perhaps, this is something that he needs to be able to do for Enjolras, right now.

Enjolras may be selfish, may be too cruel in ways that he cannot avoid, but he can give Grantaire this. He thinks on it, but he does not truly- 

Ah.

Well, perhaps- Perhaps he is not completely without cravings. “Have we any more of the lamb sausage which you purchased at the market the other day?” he hazards.

Grantaire beams. (Enjolras’s heart flutters like a small, helpless bird.) “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, man, totally.”

He returns to the kitchen to make Enjolras breakfast. Enjolras tries very, very hard not to think of the way in which the soft, strong set to Combeferre’s jaw so resembles that of the boy whose hand he still feels around his ankle, before it got shot off. It nearly works.

.

It is not until mid-afternoon that he- that he truly cannot stand it, cannot calm his heart where it hammers out a stuttering rhythm in his chest; cannot still his hands from shaking, even for a moment; cannot bring himself to read, to write, to sit calmly; cannot manage to drive his mind from thoughts of fire and of life lost and of the sharp spray of grapeshot and of horrible, ridiculous contraptions plummeting to the earth, and-

“I would have you call Combeferre now, I believe,” he blurts out, when Grantaire has looked up from his phone to note him standing in the doorway of the parlor. “I- I believe that I- I cannot quite- I-” He forces himself to draw in a breath, but it catches in his lungs, freezes there- “I- that is, I-” He looks to Grantaire helplessly. 

He had not been expecting for Grantaire’s face to drop, so. Or for him to curse, and scrub a hand over his face, and say, “Oh, Enj, I don’t-”

Enjolras does not understand what he has done wrong, but it- it is clearly something, but he does not-

Grantaire curses again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I should’ve- I should’ve told you earlier, but I can’t- Fuck. You can’t call somebody when they’re on an airplane, the call won’t go through. Everybody has to turn their phones off when they’re in the air, and Combeferre’s flight would have taken off an hour ago.”

He does not understand.

“So I… cannot call him,” he begins, for it is easier to start with something that he knows and work backwards, “That- Why?” It makes no sense. What is the use of such- such foolish devices, if one cannot even contact one’s friends when it is necessary?

Grantaire grimaces. “It’s something to do with the networks, I think? Like, the signal from the phone tower messes with the instruments and the navigation and shit. Or, like, maybe it’s too high up to get a signal, or something, but I don’t really know about…” He fades off.

Enjolras feels, oddly, as though he may cry. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, so softly that he does not know what to do with himself, and then Grantaire is on his feet in an instant, and Enjolras finds himself being pulled into an embrace that is warm and gut-wrenchingly close and better than anything he has ever deserved.

He draws in a deep, shuddering breath and lets Grantaire tug him in closer still, presses his nose to the curve of Grantaire’s neck and cannot even manage to think of the impropriety, not when Grantaire’s arms are so warm around his back, his shoulders.

He would apologize, but Grantaire always seems a little bit sadder, whenever he does so, so he figures that it would be rather counterintuitive, all things considered. 

“He’s gonna be alright, you know,” Grantaire murmurs against his hair. “I know you don’t- I know I can’t really do anything to make you believe that, right now, but I promise he is. Planes are safer than cars.”

What a horrifying thought. Enjolras is quite glad that Grantaire cannot drive a car. He does not mention this; instead, he allows himself to wrap his arms around Grantaire in return, to clutch at the back of his shirt and be held closer still. “Okay,” he manages.

Grantaire hums; Enjolras can feel it, deep in his chest. “Wanna watch a documentary?”

“Okay,” says Enjolras, though he does not think that he can bear to do anything, aside from to stay here, like this, with Grantaire’s arm’s around him.

“Cool,” says Grantaire, but he does not move to let him go for a long, long time.

.

They watch a documentary. 

Or. Well. Grantaire watches a documentary. Enjolras sits beside him and leans his head on his shoulder and does what he can to focus on the weight of his arm around his shoulders instead of the weight in his chest. It does very little to calm the way in which his heart races, but it serves, at the very least, as a distraction, as something by which he can mark the hours that slog by.

He would feel guilty for imposing, as such, were it not for the fact that Grantaire holds him so closely that it does not seem possible that it is for Enjolras’s benefit alone.

It helps, he thinks.

There is a crash outside, all metal and glass; there is the jolt of a carbine under his hand and the spray of gunshot against brick, against bone, and he is staring down the barrel of his rifle at a young man with soft features who is staring back at him down the barrel of a cannon, and he can feel the ticking of a pocket watch deep in his palm, and-

There is another sound, sharp and odd, and it takes Enjolras just an instant too long to realize that it has come from Grantaire’s phone. He startles; Grantaire, mystifyingly, takes the moment to run his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, as though gentling a particularly skittish horse, or perhaps a feral barn-cat. He would be rather insulted, he figures, were it not for the fact that it seems to still something frantic beneath his ribs.

“Combeferre’s flight just landed.” It is soft, blurred at the edges, as though Grantaire had been drifting off to sleep over the course of the moving. Perhaps he had--perhaps that would account for the way in which he had settled so comfortably against Enjolras. (Enjolras is not accustomed to people being comfortable around him; he finds he- he likes it. Particularly when it is Grantaire.)

He clears his throat. “Ah,” he says.

Grantaire hums.

“And- And all is well?” he hazards, and he- he does not even know how he would begin to ask more, what he would even say in a demand for more information, but he- 

He-

“Huh?” Grantaire scrubs a hand over his face. (Enjolras becomes more convinced of the fact that he had been half-asleep, only moments before. His heart stutters, uneven, in his chest.) “Oh, yeah, dude, totally normal flight. Everything went fine.”

“Good.” He tries, then, to exhale, to relax, but cannot quite manage it. Damn this new  constitution of his, damn that it never lets him fucking rest, damn that it does not ever leave him be. (Damn that he- that he seems to have lost, somewhere along the way, any shred of the dignity which he used to be able to hold so easily, damn it, damn it. He shall have to work on it, somehow. He shall have to, if he is to keep living alongside Grantaire, and if his heart is to continue to beat such a frantic pace in his chest at his touch.)

Grantaire opens his mouth to speak; Enjolras knows what he will say, what he will offer, before he says anything at all, and- and yes, he wants it, all of it, for he is selfish, and he wishes for Grantaire to call Combeferre, and for Grantaire to embrace him again, and for Combeferre to go out of his way to visit he and Grantaire’s apartment instead of returning to his own, and absolutely none of it is his to ask. “Do you want-” begins Grantaire, and Enjolras pulls himself to his feet despite his every impulse resisting to do so.

“I believe that I shall go read for a time in my own chambers,” he blurts out, before Grantaire can protest, and then he goes to do so. 

He wants for Grantaire to follow him, too, to persuade him back to the sitting room, to call Combeferre anyways, but does not, of course he does not. 

Damn it.

.

And then-

Enjolras makes it three more hours of his heart hammering away in his chest, of gritting his teeth against the feel of a hand on his ankle, of hearing flashes of grapeshot in the rumble of the vehicles below his window. It is a very admirable length of time, in his opinion; his hands have been shaking so hard throughout it that his forearms have taken to aching. 

He ought to wait. He ought simply call on Combeferre tomorrow. There is no need for him to visit unannounced, particularly when he has been traveling, and when Grantaire has assured him that Combeferre has arrived safely, and when there is no reason for concern but for the fact that he seems to have thoroughly lost all sense of rationality, somewhere between the window and the cobblestone, back in June, and-

He sets his book down on the side-table and reaches for his jacket--he was not truly reading it; it is not truly cold. But he- he is frightened, and he is not used to this fucking century, with its- its aired plains, and its bared arms, and he understands none of it at all and he--he tugs on his shoes, does not bother to undo and retie the laces--he is tired, and he would like to see his friend, and-

“Hey, were you reading with the lights off, again?” Grantaire asks, hopelessly concerned, when Enjolras leaves his chambers--and it is jarring, sudden, and he is frozen in place in the hall, for a moment, as he runs the words over in his mind- “Wait, where are you-”

There is a knock at the door.

That-

That is odd.

On the sofa, Grantaire frowns. “Were you expecting-”

Enjolras shakes his head.

“Weird,” says Grantaire.

It is weird. Enjolras goes to answer the door, unlocks it, and-

“Hi,” says Combeferre, who is beaming and who is there, in the doorway, and who is fine, and safe, and-

“Hello,” says Enjolras, and he finds himself unable to keep the sheer relief from his voice, nor a watery smile from rising to his cheeks, and then he is being pulled into an embrace that is so tight his ribs ache.

“I missed you,” Combeferre says, presses against his temple, and then he finds himself being lifted off of the ground, feet dangling, as Combeferre holds him tight. He-

He has never been held, as such, before.

Enjolras’s heart stutters; he swallows down something thick in his throat. “I-” He swallows again. 

Combeferre, then, seems to realize that he has been holding Enjolras some distance from the ground. He sets him down somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, “I wasn’t-”

“I have missed you as well,” he blurts out, somewhat too loud, somewhat too brusque. He fidgets with the hem of his jacket, fingers twitching. “Very much so, I-” He looks to Combeferre, wills him to- to understand, to-

Combeferre pulls him into another embrace, and Enjolras presses his face to his shoulder and holds him in return. 

“How fares your family?” He asks, after a long moment.

Combeferre musses his hair as he lets him go. “Good. Numerous. I’ll show you a picture of my sister’s kid, she just started walking, and it’s- Actually, have you eaten? My mom made me take some pastilla back with me on the plane and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I brought it over here with me.”

He… He has not eaten, he realizes, and he shakes his head. Grantaire must not have wished to disturb him. Which- “Did Grantaire request you visit?”

Combeferre herds him into the kitchen. “No? Should he have?” He pulls a container made of square glass from his satchel; Enjolras fetches three plates, though he does not know if Grantaire has eaten. (He has not, most likely--he has come to realize that Grantaire tends to wait, now, tends not to cook unless it is for the both of them. He does not know what to think of that.)

He shrugs. “I was… concerned,” he admits. “Because of the aired plain. I thought that perhaps Grantaire informed you.”

He frowns. “No, I-” His eyes dip to look Enjolras over, then- “You were totally on your way out the door when I arrived, weren’t you?” It is not a question. 

“It is not of your affairs,” he tries, “Perhaps I was simply on my way to the convenience store. You do not know.”

“You were.” Combeferre is no longer frowning. Instead, a grin has risen to his face; Enjolras has only this as warning before he grabs for him, pulls him into a rough embrace before Enjolras can evade his grasp. “You were, you missed me. Admit it.”

Enjolras feigns struggle, hides his own smile against Combeferre’s arm. “Leave me. Release me at once.” 

“Admit it, admit you missed me.” Combeferre holds him tighter, musses his hair further. “Admit it and I’ll let you go.”

“Absolutely not,” Enjolras says. He struggles a bit more, though mostly only so that he is in a more comfortable position for Combeferre to continue to hold him close. 

“You’ve done this to yourself,” says Combeferre. Enjolras simply rests his forehead against his shoulder and shuts his eyes. Only for a moment. They shall eat Combeferre’s mother’s pastilla in a moment. He can hear Grantaire watching television in the other room; Combeferre’s arms around him are warm and comforting. Just-

A moment.

[quackerjaxx]

I AM LOSING MY MIND (i am so sorry guys it’s like 1am here)

OK OK SO LIKE IDK A WEEK AGO I TRIED TO POST A THEORY AND TUMBLR WOULD NOT LET ME AND IT DID NOT GO THROUGH. AND THIS IS BEFORE I SAW THE SPOILER IMAGE. SO LEMME TELL YOU ALL WHAT ITVWAS AND IDC IF SOMEONE HAS SAID IT OR NOT IM LOSING MY MINNNNDDDDD

OK SO, IT WAS ABOUT THE TOUYA THEORY AND HIS CHOICE OF STYLE.

IF DABI IS TOUYA TODOROKI AND HE WENT MISSING AROUND MIDDLE SCHOOL-JUST THINK-THEIR UNIFORMS WERE BLACK RIGHT- WELL WATCHING ANOTHER ANIME WITH UNIFORMS LIKE THAT I CAME TO THE REALIZATION

WHAT IF HE DRESSES IN A VARIATION OF HIS OLD MIDDLE SCHOOL UNIFORM BECAUSE HE CANT LET GO OF THE PAST!!!!?!!!!!!????????

Ok listen

This guy has had multiple chances to switch colors and styles. He really has. But does he? Absolutely not. Maybe I’m crazy but guys-if he is so deeply set on his past- then maybe that’s a way he holds onto it. When he was first introduced his clothes were obviously ratty and old and DIDNT FIT. THEYWERE TOO DAMN SHORT AND TIGHT. LIKE AN OLD UNIFORM. So perhaps he keeps that style from the era where all the bad shit went down. He wants Enji to know who he is without telling him directly. To have him find out? Because like-

AND HIS BELT-WHERE DID IT COME FROM BITCH IDC IF ITS A GIMMICK OR NOT, CANON OR HEADCANON I MEAN CMOOOONNNNNNNNNNNN

That big nasty fight DABI LOST HIS SHIT

HE WENT FUCKIN NUTS AGAINST ENDEAVOR

And if he is Touya........he would want to hold onto that past. Hold it deep to his heart and soul!!!!! And so maybe-the uniform trend he keeps...is a BLAST to the PAST bby.

And the spoilers going around? I guessed maybe one of the boys would somehow come across SOMETHING of his. His room...a PICTURE....something!!!! And they smart!!!!!!!!!!! And even if they don’t connect the dots if Enji so much as chooses to come CLEAN I WILL LOSE MY MIND

Its fuckinh late and i am dying idk what to do with myself

Me rn ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

[linphd]

endeavor x fem!reader | sidekick

enji todoroki x reader

female reader

Endeavor chooses (H/N) to be his sidekick. However, he ends up embarrassed of them working together since they slept together once and remembered it well.

warning : mention of sex even though it's not a lime nor a lemon

note : you're from another generation, you're not at Yuei at the same time as Shoto and the others, you graduated 1 year before the main characters even passed the entrance exams !! if it helps : Tamaki Nejire and Mirio are 1 year younger than you

          The girl arrived at the agency. It wasn't actually much bigger than the others she had visited, even though she expected it to be. Indeed, it was Endeavor's, the number 2 hero. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to accept to be the sidekick of her one-night stand, but he was still a very famous and recognized hero. It could beget a lot of opportunities to work with him.

          ''Hi, I am (H/N), I got asked by Endeavor to work with him...'' She didn't really know what to say. The man at the desk looked at her, like he thought it was a joke. ''Endeavor doesn't need any sidekick ? He says so himself.'' (Y/N) really didn't want to show her short temper to everyone on her first day, so she remained calm. ''Well, you can look at the papers and stuff, I know him personally and he asked me to be his sidekick. You're his secretary, he must've told you !''

         Okay, it was an average temper she was showing, I guess ? ''Well, he didn't.'' She just sighed, and took her phone, calling Endeavor himself. ''I am here ! ... what ? No ! I didn't mean to say it like All Might ! ... Oh God, could you just come downstairs so the secretary believe me ?'' She sighed once again when she ended the call. Maybe she should've sounded nicer with him. He could still say no.

           But he went downstairs anyway. He looked at (Y/N). ''Okay, you're in your hero costume already, cool. Let's patrol outside I'll tell you about the job, we can't waste time.'' She just followed him, while the secretary arched an eyebrow in confusion.

           Endeavor was walking at a fast pace, making the girl run a bit at the beginning to catch up with him -he was much taller, and she needed to take two steps when he was taking only one. ''So. You do know that I usually don't care about sidekicks and stuff ? It's even a bummer for me to work with people.'' She nodded. ''But I know you. And surprisingly, you could even be useful. And you're someone I respect enough to give opportunities. I mean, you'll be a famous hero being my sidekick, so imagine when you'll be a full pro ?''

         She didn't care about him talking too much and showing off. She didn't have to think about something to say when he wasn't letting her answer. It's not that she was shy, she just didn't really care.

        Actually, she knew Endeavor. She won the sports festival of Yuei during her last year, and was a part of the Big Three of her generation. Endeavor offered her an internship -they had an internship after each sports festival- and they met there. What a surprise when they ended up hooking up and sleeping together.

          The hero wanted to relax a bit so they drunk and maybe too much. And even if they both didn't talk about it after, they knew that they both remembered everything. Indeed, the looks they were giving each other the last 2 days of internship couldn't lie. However, he gave her his number, in case he needed her quirk or something. She was actually pleased. He was the number 2 hero after all, it's important to have contacts.

        ''I know we haven't talked since your internship, but I was really pleased with your performance so I wanted to give you another chance. And you won't be a bummer.'' Oh no, it sounded sexual. ''I actually watch the sports festival every year. So I know that you ended up third two years in a row before actually winning the first place. Thus, I know you can evolve and that you're still learning. You're not a lazy new hero. That's a good thing.''

         Yeah, she was sure not lazy on top of you, but you can still act shocked, Endeavor. Oh well, the tone changed after 3 minutes of silence, patrolling. Endeavor looked nervous. ''Did you talk about it to anyone ? I mean, during the internship. -Yeah, I know what you're talking about. And no, I didn't.''

             The man nodded. ''You weren't underage, that wasn't pedophilia.'' He commented. ''I was 17.'' The girl said. It just made him turn to her, his eyes widened. ''Wha-NO ! No, I won't tell, I was okay with it, no problem, no problem !'' She said, scratching the back of her head, a weird smile on her face.

          After some discussion about patrolling -like nothing happened- and the hero talking about the girl's job, he sighed. ''Look, (Y/N). I don't want things to be weird between us because of that.'' Oh, he used her real name. ''And I don't want people to know about this because even if it wasn't illegal, they will say it's weird and stuff. And both of us were drunk-'' she cut him off. ''It won't be if we don't talk about it, and I didn't complain to anyone. I agreed to it, don't freak out.''

         She started to sound like her normal self, not the 'it's my first day of work I want people to like me' self. That made Endeavor chuckle. ''Oh, (Y/N), if you start sounding like a brat I will talk about it.'' She raised an eyebrow. ''Why did you offer me this job if you're this nervous about it ?'' He raised an eyebrow too. ''Why did you accept ? You missed me ?'' He was smiling, and even if for anyone else it would be weird to seem him like that, it wasn't for (Y/N).

          ''No, I wanted opportunities and contacts for my future career.'' She simply answered, coldly. That made the man giggle. ''That's how you caught my attention, as well. First, your quirk. Second, your attitude.''

        He kept walking even though he was slower. Maybe he was just nervous at the beginning. ''You know what ? It's your first day, I'll go easy on you. Tonight we can drink again.'' She knew what the 'again' meant. ''You're the one who missed me.'' She said, grinning. ''I can't... really deny that. But you were still at Yuei. Now you graduated, we can hang out.''

        She raised an eyebrow. Endeavor fucking randomly because he's famous, okay. Endeavor wanting to hang out which meant to go on a date and to fuck with the same person again ? Even considering the fact that she was an high schooler and didn't want to ruin her graduation by calling her and stuff ? How weird that was.

        ''Does Endeavor, the Endeavor, wants to go on a date with me ?'' He snorted. ''We go to eat somewhere then we go to my house and the rest is History.'' She chuckled. ''I ain't your fucking escort girl grandpa, but you know what ? Fuck yeah. Your kids will be there ? -They'll be sleeping.'' But she knew. She knew that if she agreed to take the job, she had to take something else with it. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

girl i was on a an angst era I needed some funny innuendos okay ?

[cell0phan3]

FAVORITE SCENES FROM THE LAST BNHA EPISODE S4!

Tumblr FUCKED UP my post, it was really long. :)

My apologies for the change of format :)

So, basically.

Todoroki family is wholesome.

Let's protect at all costs our babies, Natsuo, Fuyumi and Rei.

TOUYA HAS RED HAIR CONFIRMED.

I always thought it was white (Spoiler) Because in the manga, people with different hair colors are shown having grey or black hair, and when they showed us the photo of Touya, he had white hair(? (End of spoiler)

THE TEAMFIGHT BETWEEN ENDEAVOR, HAWKS AND THE HIGH END NOMU WAS SO GOOD.

The animation was BEAUTIFUL. Endeavor's flames and special moves were awesome!

Endeavor got a nasty scar!

I realized how powerful Endeavor is. Wow, just wow

This is one of my fav arcs for a lot of reasons, the main one being that THIS is the start of an new era, with a #1 that needs to be reformed, and without All Might as the symbol of peace.

That part where Endeavor had like, fire wings, was so beautiful to watch.

EVERYTHING WAS BEAUTIFUL. Im amazed! This was well achieved. This whole season was. I will miss watching BNHA in saturdays morning :(

The shock, the fear of everyone faces.

(Spoiler) WHAT HAPPENED? WHERE IS DABI? 😭 I wanted to hear him say 'Todoroki Enji' :( (End of spoiler)

IZUKU HAD THE DREAM, AAAA. THAT CLIFFHANGER WAS SO GOOD, IM SO EXCITED!

NOW, APRECIATE MY EDITS OF THE SCENES.

WHAT WERE YOUR FAVORITE MOMENTS OF THIS SEASON? TELL ME! :D

See you until the next one!

Plus Ultra!