#something something about deaths of heroes that never were..... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cloversnstrawberries · 2 days ago

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"palentine" parental!platonic yandere!supervillian & gn!neglected!hero sidekick!reader [oneshot] ! !

intro | masterlist

description; You and Malpractice spend your first Valentines day together. You just don't know it's Malpractice you're really talking to, and not local college student Jenny Schüler.

additional notes; hi!!! happy valentines day :)) since malpractice seems to be the most popular, he gets valentines day special privileges. don't mind how I have an actual cupid character I could use. you're getting terrifying plague man and his inherent desire to adopt reader on the spot.

warnings; Child abuse, neglect, and generally immoral conduct involving reader (done by the agency), possessive behavior, violent thoughts/plans to kill, overprotectiveness, corpses, talks of decomposition processes and dehumanization(?) (involving Malpractices 'puppets'), manipulation, mentions/plans of kidnapping, and if there's anything else I missed, please let me know!! the moment i write something, i'm afraid it disappears into the void :[

w/c; 2.8k

Malpractice has never been one for holidays.

Of course, nowadays holidays were a much bigger event then they were in his time. Especially Valentines day, which had morphed into something nearly unrecognizable (from his point of view) than the minor holiday he once knew it as.

Before he was... well, what he was now-- when he was still lesser than, still human; he'd get the occasional card with a silly pun on the front every one in a while, usually given by a co-worker out of self-imposed societal necessity.

But other than that, there was never much stock put into the occasion. Personally or otherwise-- as compared to now, where it was practically impossible to walk into a store and not see some sort of gaudy display. Full of red, white, and pink-- hearts and glitter that transfers to your skin.

At least, that's what Malpractice observes from afar. He's not much for stepping into your run of the mill Pharmacy these days-- not even with his macabre sort of puppets, made from some of the more in-tact cadavers he can snag from the local Morgue.

He tried not to let them be seen by anyone besides you-- there was always a chance that someone who knew who the cadaver had once been, who knew of their death; would be around.

Besides, there'd be no need for it-- unless he simply wished to spark terror. It's not like he had a prescription to be filled, after all.

Which, at the moment, he was actively avoiding-- he was avoiding making himself anymore known than necessary. Because if he did, than he's sure he'd scare you half to death.

You were such a delicate thing in his mind, and he often likened you to that of a baby bird. Because, in his mind, you really were. Fragile, even if you could sustain quite a beating out in the field.

The field you shouldn't be anywhere near, if he had it his way.

But, as it was, the agency had their claws stuck deep into you. Not emotionally wise, but legally; with you being in a sort of... ward of the state position, was the most comparable term he could manage.

Malpractice wished to dig his claws deeper, deep enough to rip whatever influence the agency had over you and take you for his own.

Metaphorically, of course! Oh, Lord knows he'd never hurt you. He'd find a way where you don't get sick with being around him-- get to a point where you won't be afraid of him afterward.

That wasn't quite in the immediate future, sadly. He had to stand by and wait, be patient-- he'd never been one to rush, but something about you made him feel an uncharacteristic amount of restlessness.

Maybe it's the fear that, if he waited too long, you'd slip through his fingers. You weren't made for the work you were being put through-- even if you weren't as young as you are, if you were of an adequate age for this sort of career,

You were still much better suited as a medic, maybe like he had been. Stay back in the medical ward-- you didn't have a flashy sort of power. But, then again, maybe the agency wanted to keep you as beaten down as possible;

Hoping that the little aches and pains that kept you up at night would make you less of a threat than they perceived you as. All because you had such a unique ability; he'd treasure it, just as he'd treasure you once he got you safely into his arms.

Unlike that blasted agency, that made you feel less than. That put you under a strict curfew, only allowing you waltz around on your own for a few hours at time-- even then, you'd have to alert them at least a week beforehand.

It was that controlled sort of 'freedom' that you despised, and had told him on multiple occasions.

...Or, to be more specific, had told various different 'puppets' the same complaint over the few short months he's been visiting you personally. You never knew it was the same sort of mind behind all the bodies, but with how you told every single one-- that was enough to rest his case that you hated it.

You hated how the agency tried to make you feel like you had a choice in the matter, when you really didn't. When your ability to go outside unmonitored and 'off the clock' was dependent on either how well you'd be preforming, or if the person reading the request had any semblance of empathy left in them.

Recently, you've been using all the time allotted to visit these puppets. You believed each to be a different person, unless you were a better actor than you caught on. Each having a different story-- to both enter, and subsequently leave your life before another cropped up shortly after.

Oh, how he hates to see you saddened by your 'newfound' friend having to skip town... but he'd try to wait until the very last minute until he did so. To the point where spots of necrosis were beginning to appear in more visible areas.

You never commented on the smell of death that'd follow the puppet during your 'last' meetings, maybe you'd become used to it-- with how you were, how your life had turned out.

But today, it was thankfully overcast; Malpractice was able to guide the puppet directly to the secluded, forested grotto he usually meets you in. That cut the commute about by about 10 minutes, since he didn't have to try and weave the puppet through the most sunless path possible.

When the puppet got to the grotto, you were already sitting on the crumbling stone bench in the middle of it. You didn't notice him-- until the puppet cleared its throat, and your head swung around to face him.

It was adorable, seeing how your face lit up. He'd thought that with all your 'new friends' coming and going, you'd become bitter. Develop a hardened shell, like he thought you'd already have by now--

However, with every new puppet, you were still as friendly yet disbelieving as you'd been while meeting the last. Like you just couldn't believe someone would want to be friends with you.

This puppet had been a jane doe, around her early to mid 20s. Due to the colder weather, this one had lasted longer than most; and it almost hurt him to know that eventually, the puppet would begin to rot despite his precautions-- and he'd have to find a new one.

You were rather attached to this one. Despite himself, he hopes he'll be able to keep this puppet until he can reveal himself-- only a few weeks more, and you'd finally be safe.

"Sorry for making you walk in this weather..." You started with, a sheepish, apologetic smile on your face, as the puppet sat beside you. "Not a problem, I'm more than willing to risk a cold to see you. I know how... rigid your routine can be."

With a little nod, you hummed before casting your eyes down and saying "Oh-- uhm, thank you." You always got flustered, whenever Malpractice-- or his puppets, he supposes-- shows you any sort of care.

Like you weren't used to being a priority-- because from what he'd seen, you very much were not. He'd even read parts of your intake records made shortly after the Agency took you in; they'd considered euthanizing you like a dog. That caring for you might've been too resource heavy-- until the sick bastards realized they could find a use for you and your unique ability.

It made him ill-- emotionally speaking, he obviously doesn't get physically sick anymore. He's practically the physical embodiment of it, it'd be silly if he could catch a cold like your normal, every day joe.

The unintentional stretch of silence was broken, as you jolted slightly-- as if remembering something. You swung around and grabbed something sitting by your other side--

Then, you turned to the puppet, and held your hands out. In them, was a little mesh bag of tin-foil wrapped chocolate hearts. The kind that'd be sold near the checkout lane at a grocery store during Valentines.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I just got you this." And-- oh, you looked so proud. He knew you didn't get much freedom at all, and you must've sneaked by to get this.

You may have have even stolen it-- there was a little bit of guilt lingering in your eyes, along with a strange sort of fear. Fear of rejection, he supposes. That whatever you'd gone through to get this wouldn't be worth it.

The puppet's hand reached out, before retracting slightly-- immediately, you noticed. Your little smile fell "Do-- are you lactose intolerant? I'm sorry--" And Malpractice laughed--

Not the puppet, so much. He's sure that, if you were a little older; better trained in your position, then you'd realize something was off with it. Some strange, uncanny value to it.

It wasn't cruel, he made sure of that. It was endeared, of course it was-- but he could never manage to quite quell the madness inherent to his tone. Not while he was laughing, at least.

"No, no not at all." The laughter died down, and the puppet gently took the bag of candy in its hands. He held it like it was the most precious thing in the world, and in his mind, it truly was.

A gift from you. He always treasured these sorts of things, but the previous gifts had been things you picked up off the ground-- pretty rocks, little knickknacks, an unordinary plant...

But this, you must've gone far out of your way to get this. And to just give it to him... he wonders, had you gone out with the intent to get it? No matter what, to just have something to show for valentines day?

After a few moments, Malpractice remembered that he should probably respond. The puppet looked at you-- fear and concern obvious in your eyes, deathly afraid that he'd reject the gift.

A soft smile broke out on the puppet's face, before he sighed and looked down. "Well, I don't have anything for you, is the problem--"

It wasn't a regular occurrence, you cutting him off. The Agency had all but tortured that possibility out of you, trying to make you into a perfect little cog more than the child you were.

Despite all that, your true nature shone through. You could never truly smother a children's light, he supposes.

"No!" You waved your arms frantically, shaking your head. You calmed down quickly, looking a little embarrassed from your own outburst. "No-- Uhm, I mean... well, you don't have to get me anything. I just wanted to do this for you,"

Malpractice went to respond, but it didn't seem like you were quite done just yet. He waited patiently, as you continued "Oh, and-- and I have something else." You dug into the pocket of your bland, practical gray coat; part of the few pieces of civilian clothing the Agency was willing to provide you with.

When he has you safe and sound, away from those (soon to be dead, if he had his way) maniacs; he'd be sure to let you express yourself however you'd like with your clothes.

He wouldn't force you into generic garments, given to you out of pure necessity.

You fished out a piece of paper from your main pocket, handing it to the puppet. It was an envelope-- handmade by the looks of it, held together by staples and closed with a small piece of scotch tape.

He turned it over to the flat side, finding it addressed to this particular puppet, written in shaky and inexperienced cursive. Jenny, he'd had you name it-- he did this often, with puppets. He'd have the puppet ask something like "well, what name do I look like?" And the first name you said, he'd take it-- the puppet would always respond with something like "Wow, are you psychic? That's actually my name!"

A shame, it was addressed to this false sort of person. This walking cadaver he took control in order not to scare you-- one in a line of many, but hopefully one of, if not the, last one.

Maybe next year, he'd receive an envelope addressed to himself. Maybe he'd even let you use his human name. He could help you with the cursive as well, even if it'd result in him basically addressing it himself.

He hasn't used the name in so long, hasn't felt attached to it for even longer; but with you, he doesn't think he'd mind you knowing him by it. To have an envelope handed to him, addressed to Maxwell S. in his own handwriting.

The puppet hummed, and flipped the envelope back over. He took his time, trying to use the puppets limited fine-motor skills to avoid ripping the handmade envelope.

Even if it was plain in nature, and not perfectly done by formal measures-- he'd still hate to mess up your handy work. It took some time, but eventually the tape was pried off and he could open it.

Inside was an index card, something you must've nabbed from the office section of the Agency; probably like the rest of the materials, if he had to guess.

It warmed his heart, to think that you'd risked so much-- even if they were meager supplies by most's standards, you'd really done a wonder with what little you had.

On the blank side was a little drawing, of a tiny cartoon version of you-- hugging this particular puppet. When he flipped it to the lined side, the words 'be my pal-entine?' were written in bright crayon, the letters alternated between green, yellow, blue, and red.

The puppet stayed quiet-- you were getting antsy, afraid of upsetting your friend. You leaned forward a little, Malpractice catching the movement out of the corner of the puppet's eye. Your brows furrowed, as you hesitantly asked "...Do you like it? It's not weird, is it? I've never really had a friend to do this with--"

You made the most adorable little squeak when, suddenly, the puppet surged forward and threw its arms around you-- it was cold, freezing to the touch; no way to retain body heat, but you didn't mind regardless. You leaned into it, despite the obvious shiver that ran through your entire body.

Sad, how he couldn't really feel what the puppet was. Oh, how he longed to hold you in this way, truly-- to feel your warmth, hear your heart beating and the blood rushing through your veins.

To know you're alive, you're safe within his arms. That you're far away from any wretched creature that dares to try and hurt his little bird.

Something annoying, something nagging that he thought he'd long since killed-- whispered in the back of his mind, telling him to just have the puppet pick you up and carry you back,

The impatient, quick-to-act sort of thought process he was known for when he was first reborn. It'd been hard to control the urges then, to act on every little whim just because he could. Just because nobody could feasibly stop him, not in a way that mattered.

The puppet held you a little tighter, and you said nothing of it. He presumes that you hold may have tightened as well, with how the puppet shifted in such a way as it did.

"So..." You said, muffled slightly as you pressed your face into the shoulder of the puppet. "Does this mean.. you, uhm, accept it?" Oh, you were so adorable that Malpractice felt like he might die right then and there, if it was possible for him to die at all-- of course.

The puppet didn't retreat, simply held you there as you melted into its cold, unnatural embrace. You must've felt it, how strange the skin felt due to the chemicals used to keep it fresh-- you either didn't want to upset them, or just plain old didn't care. Seeking any sort of comfort, not caring if anything seemed amiss.

Almost as an afterthought, too caught up in the moment-- Malpractice remembered to respond. You must've been so relaxed, so touch-starved, that you didn't notice the sudden shift in your friends speech patterns. How Malpractice didn't bother to keep up the facade of modern speech.

"Why ever would I not, especially when you've gone through all the trouble you have?" and you hummed, a soft laugh muffled by the fabric of the puppet's functionally useless coat. "...So you like it, then?"

The puppet, almost robotically, guided their fingers over your hair-- a comforting gesture to you, but it only made Malpractice feel anguished-- that he couldn't truly be here, couldn't feel you held within his embrace.

"Of course, little bird."

#oc: malpractice #yandere x reader #yandere oc #platonic yandere #platonic yandere oc #platonic yandere x reader #yandere #soft yandere #yandere horror #my writing #reqs open #requests open #my ocs <3 #gn!reader #neglected reader

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joelalorian · 2 days ago

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Life is for the Living

Marcus Moreno x wife!reader | wc: 3560 | masterlist

Summary: What if you, Marcus Moreno's wife, didn't die like everyone thought? What if it was just a curse mimicking a death-like state and you were secreted away to a bunker deep beneath Heroics HQ to be monitored and studied? What if Marcus' undying love and granting of something you always wanted brought you back to life on Valentine's Day? Listen to the song that inspired this story: Hell or High Water by Billy Raffoul

Tags/Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, and pure fluff. Just a story about love and miracles for Valentine's Day. Very little to no descriptions of reader (she's you, boo). No use of y/n. Divider courtesy of @saradika-graphics

Hope you enjoy my little contribution to the Bouquets of Pedro challenge hosted by @happypedrohours! My prompts were Marcus Moreno & serenade. Please check out all the great works contributed for this challenge, as well as all the other fun activities and goodies the lovely and creative Sara & Mel have put together for everyone's enjoyment. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!

To the world, Marcus Moreno was a hero, a leader, and a man who dedicated his life to protecting others.

But in his mind, the greatest role he ever played was your husband and father of your beautiful daughter, Missy. And the worst part of that was, for all his purported superpowers, he couldn’t save the one person he loved most.

He couldn’t save you.

And nothing could save him from the grief that refused to fade over that fact.

He spent the last few years trying to hold himself together, forcing himself to wake up every morning, put on his Heroics uniform, and lead his team like he wasn’t falling apart. Years of keeping his voice steady when Missy asked if he was okay, of pretending to believe the lie when he told her yes.

It hadn’t made it easier. It only made the silence louder.

Your absence was everywhere. In the empty side of the bed that still smelled faintly of you, in the house that had lost its warmth, in the countless little things that reminded him you were supposed to be here. But most of all, in your daughter's sad, heartbroken face.

Some nights, he barely slept, haunted by the memory of holding you for the last time.

Marcus remembered every heart-wrenching detail of that day, the day he lost you.

The day started like any other. The three of you were at home in your daily routine: Getting Missy ready for school, watching the news as you ate breakfast together, and dropping Missy off at school before continuing to HQ. The call from his mother redirected your commute.

That dreaded call changed everything in the blink of an eye.

What should have been a simple takedown turned into a battle for your lives as you waited for the other Heroics to back you up. They arrived in time to witness the fatal blow that struck you down.

You had been so still. So cold.

So… gone.

The cold February air bit at Marcus’s skin as he knelt in the frost-covered grass at the base of your gravestone. The sight of your name etched into the marble caused the never-ending mix of grief and guilt to crash over him in waves. Titling his head back, he stared at the muted gray sky as his dark eyes clouded over with tears and the dull ache in his chest sharpened until the pain pierced his heart.

It was Valentine’s Day.

It had been your favorite. You never cared for the grand gestures associated with the lovers’ day – no elaborate dinners or expensive gifts. No, you preferred time and attention from the ones you loved. The two simplest gifts he could give you, yet it never felt like enough to him.

You insisted on making it a tradition to spend Valentine’s Day at home, wrapped in blankets, listening to music, and slow dancing in the kitchen. You used to beg him to sing for you, teasing that his deep, rumbling rasp would be perfect for whatever song happened to be playing at the time.

Marcus always refused.

He only ever sang to himself in the shower because he thought he sounded terrible. He was too embarrassed to sing in front of you, to you.

And now, here he was, standing alone on Valentine’s Day, talking to a stone instead of the woman who had been the love of his life.

These few years felt like the longest, loneliest of his entire life. He would have fallen apart long ago if not for Missy. She was the only thing that kept him going anymore. She already lost you; he couldn’t let her lose him, too. So, he fought. Every day he fought to keep going, to not give into grief.

His fingers brushed over the bouquet of dark red roses he’d bought on the way to visit, a perfect match to the ones he gave you on your first date, and every Valentine’s Day since, but he hardly noticed them. His mind was too consumed by memories of you to consider anything else. The way your laughter used to wrap around him like a warm embrace. The way your touch could steady him in and outside of battle or send him burning with need. The way your lips had tasted of honey from that lip gloss you loved and promised he’d never let go of.

He should have moved on by now. Everyone told him as much. Even Missy, though she never said it outright, wanted him to heal, to give love another chance.

But how could he?

How could he ever love again when his heart still belonged to you? It would always belong to you.

Marcus Moreno already had his great love story, and it ended in tragedy because he couldn’t keep you safe. He didn’t deserve another shot at a love like he had with you.

The cemetery was quiet, the late afternoon sun hidden behind gray clouds that matched his mood. His eyes remained glued to your name carved into the headstone.

“I miss you,” he murmured, tracing the letters of your name. “I miss you so god damn much.”

With a shaky breath, Marcus pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and pressed play, the song he selected already queued up. The music filled the air of the empty cemetery, its raw melody floating through the air like a whispered prayer.

He pushed his black, plastic-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, something invisible compelling him to sing along with the lyrics that spoke so clearly to his shattered heart.

It was yet another thing he wished he would have done while you were still alive – serenade you. It was something so simple. He hated himself for every time he refused to.

You never know what tomorrow may bring

The woman lyin’ next to you

Could be a memory

I’ve idolized, I’ve memorized your face

Just in case I need it to last for eternity

It’s a shame that it ain’t enough for me

Life's for the living, I won't be giving up 'Cause you taught me how to, you taught me how to love Take all I cherish, beat me 'til my body's numb

But, life's for the living, I won't be giving up On you

His voice was quiet at first, but the longer the song played, the more he let himself go until he gave in completely to the moment. His voice was rough and heavy with emotion as he sang, but Marcus didn’t care. It was the only thing he could still give you.

I should have known, should have tried to hold on And never left your heart where it don't belong If the wind would change, bring you back again, my love Come Hell or high water, we will rise above You are what I believe in You are enough

His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop.

He didn’t care.

Marcus didn’t care that he was crying again, didn’t care that he was pouring his heart, his soul out to a gravestone. All he knew was that every word, every musical note, was a love letter from his heart to yours.

When he finally drew a stilted breath, Marcus felt like he was breathing for more than just himself for the first time in too long.

Deep beneath the Heroics Headquarters, alarms blared.

“Code Red, Code Red,” a computerized voice announced repeatedly.

Scientists in white coats scrambled toward a glass-enclosed room whose sole occupant had been silent and still for several years, their voices frantic and hands shaking with disbelief as they watched the impossible happen.

Your chest rose.

Your fingers twitched.

Your heart, which last beat three years ago, suddenly pounded with life.

The monitors surrounding your body flickered erratically before settling into a steady rhythm. The curse – or whatever supernatural force that held you in the stasis of its cruel grip for three years – had been shattered.

But how?

The entire world apart from the six scientists in this hidden bunker and one Anita Moreno – your mother-in-law – believed you died in battle. Everyone mourned you, your husband, and your daughter most of all. But Anita Moreno, a staunch believer in miracles and possessor of uncanny omniscient abilities, simply had a feeling that you weren’t dead. She never gave up, keeping your body hidden under constant monitoring in this secret bunker.

She never mentioned a word to her son.

That belief in powers beyond even the superhero-level shit the Heroics were used to finally paid off, so it was worth all the secrecy in Anita’s mind.

When you awoke, confusion wrapped around you like a heavy fog. Your body felt foreign, sluggish like you had been trapped in a dream for far too long. The sterile white walls around you were unfamiliar, and the voices – so many voices – made your head spin.

You tried to sit up, and the moment you did, the scientists gasped.

“She’s awake,” someone spoke. “You need to get down here now!”

“What the hell is going on?” you croaked, the sound barely audible to your ears. The last thing you recalled was fighting beside Marcus against an unexpectedly strong enemy, an odd language slipping from the villain’s mouth as he struck you down. After that, it was just… nothing.

Had you died?

Judging by the reaction from the six shell-shocked scientists surrounding you now, you must have.

So, how the hell were you suddenly alive now?

Despite your repetitious questions, the scientists could tell you nothing. They just poked and prodded, running any number of tests, none of which provided any answers.

The arrival of your mother-in-law served as a much-needed reprieve from the incessant testing. Her watery smile and warm hug eased your nerves.

“It’s good to see you awake, mija,” Anita said as she sat at the side of the bed. “I was beginning to doubt that you would ever wake.”

“How am I even alive, Anita?”

She explained it the best she could, but really, no one had a clue. The rest of the team had killed the villain before Anita could tell them otherwise, so she did not have any concrete explanations. All she knew was a feeling deep in the pit of her stomach telling her you were not, in fact, dead. That you would come back to them someday.

“And today is apparently that day,” Anita concluded. With a cheeky wink, she added, “Seems fitting as it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Marcus barely had time to process the call from his mother before he was sprinting through the halls, his heart in his throat, his entire world tilting on its axis.

He didn’t believe the words coming out of his mother’s mouth. He almost thought she was having a stroke, uttering impossible nonsense, until she snapped at him, demanding that he come to see for himself. He’d deal with the fact that his own mother knew you were hidden away in secret some other time. For now, his brain, his heart could only focus on you, on the fact that you’re even alive.

The elevator ride down to the restricted bunker in the depths beneath HQ that he didn’t even know existed was interminable. Marcus could hardly breathe by the time it settled at the bottom and the doors opened with a soft hiss.

“Hurry!” Anita said, forgoing a greeting as she rushed him down the hall to a room lined with windows.

The sight beyond the glass left him clutching his chest, gasping for breath.

You sat up on a gurney, your eyes searching the room and the view beyond wildly. He was nearly brought to his knees when your panicked gaze met his.

“Marcus…” He couldn’t hear your voice but watched your lips form his name. Tears lined his lashes as he stepped forward, practically breaking the metal door off its hinges as he burst into the room. He hesitated just past the threshold, as if afraid that you’d disappear in a wisp of smoke if he got too close.

“I—I thought I lost you,” he choked out.

Your mind was still a bit foggy from years of inactivity, but one thing was clear. Marcus.

His presence.

His warmth.

His love.

That love was a tangible thing, visible in his eyes and nearly graspable in the air. You knew, without a doubt, that no matter how much time had passed, he had never let you go.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up, and no thought was given to the muscles weakened by years of inactivity.

You crashed into his arms.

For the first time in years, Marcus Moreno held you again.

Tightly.

Desperately.

As if he would never let you go.

And this time…

He wouldn’t have to.

After days of study and testing conducted by a team of scientists, you were finally allowed to leave that dreaded bunker. No answers were forthcoming but none of you cared. The only thing that mattered was you were alive.

The drive home felt surreal. The world outside seemed unchanged yet starkly different at the same time.

Marcus refused to let go of your hand the entire drive, his fingers laced tightly with yours as if anchoring himself to reality. His other hand gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, stealing glances at you every few minutes like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked.

It was overwhelming. The world had moved forward while you had been trapped in stillness. You watched the city pass by outside the window, familiar buildings dotting the skyline but new shops lined streets you once knew like the back of your hand. Time had continued without you.

But Marcus hadn’t.

His love remained, unwavering, unshaken by the years. Even when he believed you dead, he never stopped loving you, never moved on.

And now, you were finally coming home.

The house was the same, yet different. The front porch still had wind chimes – yours, the ones Marcus had always teased you about but never took down because you loved them too much. The rose bushes in the yard had grown wild, untamed as if even the plants had felt your absence.

You barely made it past the threshold before you heard footsteps racing toward you.

“Dad! Did you forget the ice cream or –”

Missy froze.

Her wide brown eyes – the ones that looked just like her father’s – locked onto yours, her face going pale as if she was seeing a ghost. Which wasn’t far from the truth.

Your breath hitched.

She had grown. The last time you saw her, she was still a little girl, always clinging to Marcus’s side. Now, she was taller, her face less babyish, her hair a little longer. But those eyes, those beautiful eyes, were the same.

And in them, you saw the same heartbreak Marcus had carried.

Tears welled in Missy’s eyes. Her bottom lip quivered.

“Mom?”

Her voice shook, that one word so fragile, so full of hope and disbelief that it shattered you.

Your legs barely held you as you stepped forward, hands trembling.

“Missy…” Your voice broke on her name.

She didn’t wait. With a sob, she flung herself into your arms, hugging you so tightly it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

You held her just as fiercely.

She was real. You were real.

You could feel her tears soaking into your shoulder, feel the way she clung to you as though she was terrified that you’d slip through her fingers again.

“You’re here,” she whispered, voice cracking. “How are you here?”

“I’m here,” you promised, kissing the crown of her head. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry for leaving you. I don’t have a clue how, but I’m here.”

Marcus stepped behind the two of you, his hand resting on your back, grounding you both.

Missy pulled away just enough to look at you, her tear-streaked face breaking into a watery smile. Her wide eyes darted between you and Marcus. “Dad was right.”

You blinked, shooting Marcus a curious look. “About what?”

She turned to him then, love and admiration filling her gaze. “He always told me love could fix anything.”

Marcus let out a soft, teary laugh, shaking his head as he swiped at the tears slipping down his face. “I didn’t know it would take this long, though.”

You laughed, too, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat syncopate with yours beneath your palm. “Worth the wait?”

His arms wrapped around both you and Missy, pulling you close. “Always.”

As the three of you stood there, tangled in each other’s warmth, the world outside didn’t matter.

Because you were home.

Together.

The living room was warm, filled with the golden glow of the evening sun filtering through the curtains. It smelled like home – like spices and citrus, like the faint hint of Marcus’s cologne, like memories waiting to be remembered.

Missy hadn’t let go of your hand since you arrived. She sat curled up beside you on the couch, staring at you with wonder, as if memorizing every detail of your face.

“Dad never let me forget you,” she said softly, tracing patterns on the back of your hand. “Even when I started to forget things myself.”

You swallowed hard. “Forget?”

Missy hesitated before nodding. “I was still little when we lost you – not the wise pre-teen I am now. Some days, it felt like you were just… gone. Like a dream I had once but couldn’t quite remember.” She sniffled. “But Dad wouldn’t let that happen.”

Sitting across from you, Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes met yours, filled with the weight of years spent missing you.

“She’d ask for bedtime stories, and I’d tell her about you instead,” he admitted. His voice was rough with emotion, but his smile skittered softly across his face, crinkling his kind eyes behind his glasses. “Not just the big stuff. Not just about how much you loved her, but the little things, too. Like how you’d always made up silly songs when you packed her lunch, or how you used to race her to the car in the mornings and let her win every time.”

Missy giggled. “And here I thought I was actually fast.”

“You were,” Marcus said, eyes sparkling with love. “But your mom was just faster.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the memories swarmed around your head. “Barely. I just had longer legs.”

Missy brightened. “Dad would take me to your favorite bookstore every year on your birthday. He’d let me pick a book I thought you’d like, and we’d read it together.”

Your throat tightened.

“She’d always pick the ones with the strongest heroines,” Marcus added, his soft voice full of pride.

Missy nudged his arm. “Because Mom’s a hero, duh. You both are.”

Tears stung your eyes as you squeezed her hand. “And so are you, sweetheart.”

“She takes after you,” a voice interrupted from the hallway, warm and familiar. “Missy is the best part of both of you.”

Anita Moreno stood there, watching the tender reunion with teary eyes and a knowing smile. You hadn’t noticed earlier, but the years had added a few more gray streaks to her dark hair, but she was still the same – fierce, steady, and always carrying the wisdom of generations.

“Mama,” Marcus said, standing to embrace the woman who had been his rock for the last few years. He would have fallen apart at the seams without her guidance and loving support. She allowed him a brief hug before beelining to you.

“Mija,” she breathed, and you rose on instinct, falling into the motherly embrace you ached for since she embraced you back in the bunker. She held you the way only a mother could like she had been waiting for this moment for far too long.

“I told you earlier, I knew this day would come,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I knew you weren’t truly gone from us.”

“I still don’t understand how?” you questioned in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Me either. I just felt it,” Anita admitted pointing to her heart, “deep in here. I knew you were locked away somewhere, waiting for my son’s love to bring you back to us all.”

You nodded, swallowing back tears. “You always told me love never fades.”

She pulled back, cupping your face with gentle hands. “And neither does family. He never gave up on you. We never gave up on you.”

Marcus ducked his head as your warm gaze flashed toward him, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just…” he exhaled. “I couldn’t let you disappear. I couldn’t let go.”

You reached for him then, your fingers curling around his. He looked up, his brown eyes like molten pools of love locking onto yours.

For a long moment, nothing else mattered.

Not the lost time.

Not the sadness of believing you were gone, the torture of holding on.

The only thing that mattered was this, you.

Only the love that had been strong enough to bring you back mattered.

Marcus sang the song that brought you back again that night, finally serenading you the way you always wanted.

fin

tagging the usual suspects: @yxtkiwiyxt @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69 @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @inept-the-magnificent @wannab-urs @thundermartini @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @sunnytuliptime @vie-is-punk @lovely-vamp-princess

#happypedrohours #happy pedro hours #pedro pascal #bouquetsofpedro challenge #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x f!reader #marcus moreno fluff #just a bit of heartbreak first #marcus moreno serenades you #valentines day #we love marcus moreno in this house

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kittenscookie · 22 hours ago

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Ooh I'm a bit new to the Modern Epic PJO AU, how does Luke, Camp Jupiter, and Jason start out? Does Luke just meet Jason, realize the marks on his arm is branding and not a tattoo, and just finds Camp Jupiter out of sheer rage alone?

Okay, I apologize because this is gonna be long.

Because of the whole "died while by possessed by an evil time titan" thing Luke was out cold for about a week after getting back to camp. During that week Annabeth demanded that Jason hide his spqr as best he could and not say shit about Camp Juniper. Because both she and Percy knew that when Luke found out about that shit he was going to be enraged. Annabeth was trying to figure out how to break it to him in a way that wouldn't lead to the second most diabolical crash out she'd ever bore witness to, Thaila's being the first. She was going to tell him—she was—but...

Her brother was back—her big brother had been dead for months and now he was back and she just...Logically she knew the sooner he learned about it the less likely he was to go ape shit, but emotionally? Emotionally she didn't want to upset him, emotionally she wanted to make up for the time they'd lost due to him being fucking dead, wanted to make his recovery as smooth as possible—didn't want to put any more stress on his mental state. This was a situation where her emotions were beating out her logic, specifically because he'd been dead, they'd spread his damn ashes.

In the end she'd put it off too long, because there was no way Luke and Jason weren't getting close.

Luke was the general, war veteran, oldest demigod of his generation, survived a quest given by his father, hero of fucking prophecy. There was no way Jason wouldn't look up to him—respect him as a senior. But above that he'd been Thalia's best friend for years, her closet confidant. Luke was one of the last ties to his sister (oh shit there'd be some complicated feelings there 😬) and Jason was Luke's last tie to his old friend. So them getting close was a given, Luke is basically Jason's dad in this au.

It was pure coincidence that Luke's eyes lingered on the mark—that he noticed that it wasn't ink staining his skin. He'd had Jason's arm in death grip before the teen could even blink. Jason is strong yes—but he's still a teenager, Luke is a grown ass man. He couldn't have gotten his arm out of his hand if he tried.

"Jason"

"Yes?"

"This is branding"

"..."

Someone branded him—someone branded his kid like fucking cattle.

"What do these lines mean?"

"It's my years of service—"

"Years of service? You're fucking sixteen, who did this to you?"

And Jason wouldn't know how to react to this because he'd have never seen Luke that angry before. That enraged over something so normal to him.

"Jason Grace...Who did this to you?"

Soldier mode is activated because Luke isn't speaking in that calm laid back tone he has with teenage campers, not the kind soft one he reserves for children and family(Jason is family now), his voice is cold pragmatic—he is giving him an order. It doesn't take long for Jason to start talking. Luke is at Camp Juniper by the next day, and had he not been a decent man he'd be there for a slaughter but all he wants is to see the gods forsaken place burn.

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo x epic #luke castellan #jason grace #modern epic pjo

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samhadjblog2 · 3 days ago

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The reason why I think people don't talk about Viktor, Jayce's and Mel's stories is that there very half-baked narratives that just are flung around by the narrative. However even with that in mind I feel like there is still some important things that you didn't look into

For instance when Viktor came of the cocoon, and saw that Jayce used the core to save him as well as seeing that Jayce was making Hex-tech weapons again. He knew that they were going on different paths in life now, and that whatever Jayce was a part of he didn't want to be a part of it. Its meant to be a similar scene to how Jinx accepted her new found identity, and cut ties with Vi.

As for Jayce its a similar thing to how Vi accepted that Powder was now Jinx.

And in all truth I think his healing powers were kind of interesting.

However I won't deny that a vast majority of his story is rushed. Because essentially what happened was that Viktor for saw the events of Jayce shooting him the chest, and accepted that this was going to happen. And seeing how Jayce actions led to him to do this he came to realize that no matter what choice we make it will always lead to violence. Which leads to him believing that free-will only causes problems and sought to get rid of all free-will. And what he is about to accomplish this Ekko "breaks the cycle". Which allows Jayce to finally reach out to Viktor. (Look I know it was dumb for Jayce to go and shoot VIktor and not explain that he met his future self. I'm just explaining what the story was trying to do with Viktor in the later half of S2.

And yeah I'm not going to lie the whole "Viktor is the mage all along" (While as some people have pointed out that there were many parallels to Viktor and the wizard stretching all the way back to S1. Which I find somewhat interesting). Isn't that great of a twist and just creates a lot more confusing implications on the series as a whole. And its left me so exhausted.

As for Mel its another "I like the general idea, of what its trying to do but don't like how its executed". Because generally speaking the whole deal of her story this season is her coming to recognize that being a manipulator alone isn't going to get her far in the world. Which comes to ahead when she is captured by the black rose who trap her in a prison where she forced not escape via underhand manipulation but by brute strength. The real problem with this arc is that it just boils down to her being trapped in a dark room until she awakens her powers. Which isn't compelling story telling.

And as for Jayce, this one is also a tough one to talk about because so much of his story like Mel and Viktor is reliant on him being sidelined for most of the season. However the whole deal of episode 7 has him see the dark future of "The glorious evolution" and how a world without conflict is a wasteland. And he go's on an arc that is jump started by his hammer "A Symbol of his ego and narrow minded pursuit of being a hero" crippling him. And so has to climb up and make his way through Zaun in a similar manner to how Viktor had to climb up the social ladder in Piltover. And here he was able to see how the hard-ships we face make life worth living. And here were shown how he regrets building Hex-tech (Something I have a lot of issues with) when he confronts future Viktor. And as for him "killing Viktor" its clear when he shot him in the commune he was very much conflicted in his thoughts. And this go's back to the main issue of this season his arc is just reduced to just "An episode". Which is all just cheap. As for his statement of saying "Viktor was never broken" its less of "Hey dude you shouldn't try to get rid of your cancer" and more like "You were never lesser for any of these things". And to me this story fumbles a lot because at the end of S1 Viktor already accepted that he can't cheat death and made peace with it. So having Jayce tell him "You don't need to change who you are" feel awkward it also doesn't help that "He's the one that pushed Viktor into becoming the Herald".

One thing I can fundamentally agree with you on is that so much of the characters were pushed by the story. Compared to how S1 had the characters make there own choices.

How s2 betrayed Viktor, Mel and Jayce by making them passive characters

I had initially started to write a long post about the reason I didn't like Viktor, Mel and Jayce in s2, but I figured it would be better to just get to the point, which is : they do not work in s2 because they have become passive characters.

See Viktor : in s1, he is a determined inventor, has a strong will (manifested by his presence at the Academy, his desire to help Jayce, to break into Heimerdinger's office despite the risk, his refusal to be limited by his body, etc.) and a strong intellect, which is used to reach his personal objectives. He has strong opinions about his environment, about his work, and he has his own personality. He is shown taking action (ex : trying to cure his leg). His tragedy is that his health will not let him accomplish all that he is capable of. He is an active character : his desires, his skills, his choices move the plot forward.

But then in s2 : he gets fused with the hexcore while he's unconscious. He's magically cured. He isn't a scientist anymore. His relationship with Jayce isn't important anymore. He has a few lines before more or less disappearing from the story until the finale.

And before continuing : that scene where Viktor gets out of the arcane cocoon and talks to Jayce was the one that convinced me that s2 had given up on itself. Has anyone else realized how devoid of tension, of meaning, of scenaristic conflict it is ? It is not very long, but each line is like a wet fuse. They don't talk about the fact that Jayce made weapons out of the Hextech. They don't talk about the fact that Jayce betrayed Viktor by not only not destroying the Hexcore, but also using it to save him. They don't talk about Sky's death, they don't talk about the radical changes Viktor made to his body using the Arcane and shimmer, about the extremes he could have reached. They don't talk about the attack on the Council and how it ruined their efforts, how they were so close to making a great leap forward in realising their dream (I cannot believe that this major plot point, the cliffhanger of s1, the tragedy of the Council being attacked while voting freedom for Zaun, is not addressed by the two people who should feel particularly concerned about it. How are they not horrified by it ? How come it had so little impact on them they don't even mention it ? How come Viktor doesn't bring it up with Jinx ?).

Each conflictual plot point, which should have been used to create tension and make the story interesting, was very carefully ignored. When Viktor walks away, Jayce doesn't even try to talk to him, or express any real sadness. This scene is just Viktor going "bye" and Jayce going "kay" (before he is whisked away by the scenario but we'll get back to this later).

Anyway, it doesn't get better for Viktor in the story. Somehow he gets magical healing powers, which is lazy writing. He does nothing when Jayce is clearly hostile, he lets him destroy the commune. Then he suddenly wants to turn everyone into puppets for one episode, before Jayce comes back in the story with a grand declaration, and then he changes his mind again because the show needs him to. All of this is passive : he is no longer a fully-fledged character but an OOC doll that the writers string along and put in a drawer when they don't know what to do with him.

And don't get me started on the "Viktor was the mage" revelation, which is the final nail in the coffin. In short, saving Jayce from jumping, inventing Hextech, their projects, their dream, their bond, all of that loses impact because it was not even their own decision. The main interest of Jayce and Viktor's arc is that they met each other by chance, decided to embark on a seemingly unfeasable project (carried only by their determination, their belief in each other, and their talent), tried to change the world for the better, and failed to protect their creation from the corruption of the real world. If it was all written in the stars, if it happens in other dimensions, then it loses most of its interest. If it isn't really their choice, it has no meaning anymore. It makes them passive pawns in their own story.

The same analyse can be done for Mel and Jayce :

Mel in s1 is a smart politician, strategic, cunning and manipulative at times. She is a nuanced active character, one who wishes to avoid violence and does not take pleasure in suffering, but who also places her own interests first and is not that concerned with the common good (as a council member and the richest person in Piltover, she is also guilty of abandoning the Undercity by her inaction.) Then her mother arrives and adds another nuance to her already moraly-grey character : we understand Mel's upbringing, her exile and her desire to not follow her mother's footsteps. She has difficult choices to make : should she prioritise Piltover over Zaun ? Piltover over Noxus ? Is it being a pacifist to refuse that weapons be made out of Hextech, or is it dangerous and naive to pretend your enemies won't use it ?

But then s2 happens, and you can scratch all of that. Writing political conflict is too complicated, let's just get her kidnapped instead (passive), put her in a magical cell for most of the show, and watch all this meaningless Blackrose subplot unfold (who cares about her father ? Neither her supposed nor her real father appear in the story, and Ambessa clearly is the Noxus leader, so what does her being an illegitimate child change ? Nothing. Also, lineage is a passive character trait). Now Mel has magical powers, without having done anything to acquire them. She gets out of the cell not because of her intellect, or because she cracks a code, or because she accomplishes any action, but simply because she magically knows the solution (passive). And then, the resolution of her conflict with her mother ? A most unsatisfying magic fight. That's it. She didn't even struggle to master her powers. Just like Viktor, she didn't accomplish anything as a true character : she was just put to the side until the writers needed her.

And the exact same happens to Jayce :

Most of Jayce's characteristics from s1 are basically erased. He barely appears in the first episodes, then disappears in the wild runes for most of the series, and comes back towards the end, and suddenly he's on a rampage. His character arc is completely forgotten : remember when Jayce was slowly getting corrupted by power, popularity, politics ? Remember when he was an idealist getting dragged into choosing sides in a violent conflict ? An inventor who broke his own vow, made a weapon out of his own invention (against his partner's will), hated it so much he campaigned for Zaun's independance, only for a rocket to explode in the council room at the critical moment ? What does Jayce think about all this ? Well Jayce doesn't think at all in s2.

When he comes back in the third act (and no character cared about his disappearance, much like the writers didn't care about him), all of his previous dilemmas are erased (because that was easier than writing a satisfactory conclusion) and he has no problem using violence, killing people, and even killing Viktor while he is defenceless. We never get to see any psychological nuance for him : (barely) no regrets for inventing the Hextech and summoning the wild runes, no regrets when deciding that the commune must die, no regrets when hunting Viktor (serioulsy, he should NEVER have accepted to kill Viktor so easily). He gets out of the wild rune and suddenly he's the Terminator.

Until the last ten minutes of the show when he joins Viktor in the Arcane and now he's love incarnate. Then the writers desecrate his corpse one last time by making him spew the strangest lines at Viktor (he was dying, Jayce ! Remember s1 Jayce who was desperate to find a way to save his partner ?).

Again, Jayce did not do anything as an active character : he became a puppet who only moved when the scenario needed him to.

I'd continue with Ekko and Heimerdinger, but you see the point.

The scenario of a series such as Arcane is supposed to be moved forward by active characters making decisions, thus creating and resolving conflict. In s2, the scenario decides what it wants, then twists the characters to bring them where it wants, regardless of coherence or good writing. And even if Viktor, Jayce and Mel had been better written, they had so little screen time, the writers cared so little about them that their stories could not be anything but a disappointment.

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hinderr · 1 year ago

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The only thing Gideon in the httyd is missing is the helmet,,,,,, oh the moment grogu sees the schematics and blueprints for it,,,,,,, ough

OHHHH ANON YOUR MIND.....in my head Gideon and Grogu get plenty of opportunities to talk in an even casual way (^ author when the opportunity to make these two fucked up arises) so Grogu probably gets to see them really quickly...maybe Gideon even shows it to him.....

#the mandalorian #grogu djarin #moff gideon #hinderr asks #anon asks #httyd au #^ author when grogu and gideon.......these two can be soooo fucked up if i play them right #ive decided gideon is like this travelling mercenary/warlord/dragon hunter thing that absolutely wows grogu's village whenever he passes by #something something about deaths of heroes that never were.....

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daisybell-on-a-carousel · 1 month ago

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When Superboy Prime accidentally resurrected Jason Todd, it was described something like the universe righting itself. And, from a purely physical point of view, Jason never died. It brought his body back to it's state before his death, his injuries there but with just enough he could still survive

So, now I'm imagining like. What if there was an au where it was more than Jason just physically "never dying," but it affected memories of those around as well

Joker not remembering killing him, Dick not remembering hearing the news, Batman and Gotham not remembering the 6 months between Jason's death and resurrection, but not thinking much if it

Its all as if Jason never died

#the way im personally thinking about going about this is like. mystery #theres a grave for jason todd but its empty. 6 months of your memories are glossing over something. all of Jason's stuff is gone #rambling #this is hard to get to work you have to fuck around with alot #you could go FURTHER. jason has no grave at ALL. he just woke up in Ethiopia one day #maybe wandered around just the same until the league found him? goes from there #but the POINT #is imagine waking up and your son is gone and you cant remember any thought you had about him the past 6 months #imagine waking up and not knowing that no one remembers you died #imagine seeing memorials for every hero but you (i mean thats still canon) (but imagine there was a reason for it)#this would change bruce Alot #oh hey if you go further with it where decisions made in response to jasons death dont happen (funeral. hiding his things. etc)#you can keep in the fanon where all of Jason's stuff is left in the manor untouched. instead of hidden like it actually went #no jason victim blaming from bruce to cope with the death. that changes how everyone sees jay bc bruce controls the narrative on jason 👀!?#jason being the only one who remembers. thatd be so fucked. what if no one tells him that memories of his death were just wiped away #that his death just never happened #but what if they do? how does he deal with that? all very exciting to think about #jason todd #red hood #batman #dc comics #i dont know the EXACT timeline so whats happening to tim. is he just here now with his own robin suit and not sure why #man this would be a fun mystery to force bats to chew on

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creativesplat · 1 year ago

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ok... so Lambert x Eve...

Eve and the two Blaiddyds

Lambert and the two Fierenes

The step-siblings

@blaiddydbrokeit and I were talking, and they have now sent me down the wonderful rabbit hole that is Eve and Lambert getting married and looking after their children.

#Dimi desperately needs a good mother figure (y'know rather than his idealised image of Patricia who never really loved him and didn't pay #attention to him no matter what he says to himself (you know only having that one memory of her where she was looking out the window and ig #ring him) and then tried to murder him adn his whole family) anyway #Eve would be good for Dimi #and Lambert and Alfred and Celine would get up to all sorts of shenanigans #but also Lambert might be able to help Celine understand and overcome her fear of other's deaths #Dimitri in particular would be able to understand that fear and sympathise with her #and alfred is just having a great time with a new brother and dad because everything is awesome all the time and his old dad would have lov #d his new dad and he tells alear all about it and she's like ooh!#anyway an adorable meet the step-dad step-brother situation for the couple (you know my alflear loving heart can never resist an opportunit #anyway #other tags were originally messaged to a pal when we discussed the idea but I thought they would work under the picutres too:#crack ship or not Lambert and eve are adorable in my brain #lambert egitte blaiddyd #queen Eve #fire emblem engage #fire emblem three houses #anyway maybe in a heroes universe or something; or dimi revives Lambert using some sort of magic and then Lambert and eve meet up in a Fodl #an and Elyos meet and greet sort of ball and they become friends and then they discuss being widowed and through a long series of meet ups #realise a political marriage between them both would be good for Fodlan and Fahrgus and good for Fierene and Elyos and they're also in love #anyway they both visit each other's spouses graves on the anniversary of death #like they would both really respect their partner's deceased spouses and not be jealous at all when the other gets upset and is like #I really miss them. Because they both get it

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scopophobia-polaris · 2 years ago

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Arn seeing Timie on the street: aw what acute lil guy sure hope he isn't tormented!

Bro absolutely messed up, wanted to be a good boy and help someone because this mirrors shit that happened to him but instead found out that Timie is filled with 10thousand problems and somehow knows Arn to a weird degree withought ever really talking to him and he cant...figure out why..... can you really meet someone in a dream?

And now poor Arnold got a little guy that wants to cling onto him when they're sad

#Arn is gonna be a cuddle buddy if he keeps up with being nice to Timie by accident #Timie is like a hissing kitten in my opion all ready to rip your fingers off until you pet them once and now theyre your best friend please #hold me NYYYYAAAAAAAAAA NYAAAAA #i just think its gonna be funny writing Arn slowly pieceing shit together over time until its jusg oh mf youre the hero of time arent you #no WONDER youre so messed up #but for right now hes just super confused about what just happened he just hugged Timie becaue it seemed like the right thing to do #and now youre bound to this dude by invoking destiny maybe we were supposed to meet again insane ass you just became #inexplicably tied to this dude and you will die all through one thing thats manifested itself as a red string of fate around both of you #congrats arn your kindness has just doomed you down the path that all dudes in Hyrule take when they get to close to the hero #(REDACTED) oh right wait thats massive plot shit thats something i dont wanna reveal #ITS NOT DEATH IT REALLY ISNT I AINT GONNA KILL HIM like forreal i killed arn once never again but its gonna be so silly goofy what his ass #just got tied up in all from just trying to help #maybe you shouldnt of been their canon event in the adult timeline being the one person they couldnt save but fucked up

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fangdokja · 22 hours ago

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I don't know if anyone else has told you this, but you are a really captivating writer. Maybe it's just me, but when I read your writing I feel genuine fear, it is almost as if I've jumped into the screen and experiencing the story myself.

Hook, line, and sinker, I am reeled in by your words. Thank you for sharing your talent to the world!

WARNING: Semi-formal rambling + Library Recommendations, based on what emotions you want to awaken inside you.

Aww, very wholesome message, Anon :)). That’s very nice of you. I’m honored you think of me as a captivating writer, your genuine support and honesty it’s appreciated. Thanks for taking the time out of your day to leave such and encouraging message here with me, thank you.

Don’t worry, you aren’t the only one. I’ve gotten comments even from those who have read horror and yandere content for years, and don’t react or feel much, even personality-wise. They did say that they felt genuinely afraid or immersed in the story.

And now you too. That honestly makes me so happy :)). I always aim to create extremely immersive stories, characters, and worlds after all. Especially grounded in some form of moral grounds and logical world building, even if it takes place in a fantasy setting.

One of my musts as a write is that I always want my Readers to actually live in the role, to feel that they’re actually in the stories. Fully immersed and not simply reading it passively, or as a third person with a safety net. Especially when it comes to horror yandere content.

Whenever I write, I always aim to awaken and touch the emotions of people. Whatever emotion I’m aiming like for Yandere! Valentines! Special:

Yandere! Valentines Special

Novella : Red Roses, Black Hearts

This Valentine’s, your heart might be the last thing you give away.

Yandere! Yan-Apocalypse

Drabbles

The perfect Valentine’s present: something personal, thoughtful, and won’t scream anymore.

And Yandere! Otome Game, it’s full of dark humor and comedy.

Yandere! Otome Game

♡ Characters Included. Yandere! Crown Prince, Archduke, Supreme Mage, Demon King, War Hero, Master Thief, Enemy Spy, Demon Assassin

Drabbles

How do you escape a yandere harem? Asking for a very distressed friend (me).

How to Turn ‘Till Death Do Us Part’ Into a Very Literal Situation.

"Romance is a garbage genre, but if I have to play, I might as well do it on easy mode."

The love interests were bad. The backup plans are worse.

One of them wants to marry you. The other wants to make sure he never does.

Headcanons 1 : How to Survive a Reverse Harem (You Don’t) (General)

I hate it here.

System: “Would you like to resume the main storyline?” You click ‘No.’ They click ‘Yes.’

Imagine hating me so much that you chase me across lifetimes. Imagine being that obsessed.

It’s made to make people laugh and enjoy lighthearted feels. Dark humor is my lightest yandere content, and people love it. They laugh, enjoy, comment, etc. I consider it a huge success already for me if you found it funny or amusing.

Other times, I aim for fear, dread, panic, feelings meant to be inspired in horror. The best Yanderes for this would be my personal “Unhinged Yandere Collection”.

Other people already freaked out a bit in Yandere! Alpha! Hybrid Wolf.

Yandere! Alpha! Wolf Hybrid & Little Omega

Drabbles

“You look prettier when you cry.”

“Do you know what I love most about you?”

“You don’t get to decide anymore,”

“And treasures don’t get to escape.”

“You’re waiting for someone to come for you, aren’t you?”

“Cry for me,”

“But don’t worry, darling. I’ll fill it with something better. Me.”

“You’ll only ever have one choice with me,”

Novelette 1 : Marked and Mated

🔞Run all you want, little omega—I love the chase.

But the truly unhinged Yanderes I have? We currently have three who are part of this collection: Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss...

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss

♡ Main Story. 🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

Headcanons 1 : The Bride of Blood (General)

To him, you're perfect. To you, he's just a mission.

🔞"I don't need your love, I need your submission."

And, Yandere! Author.

Yandere! Author

Headcanons 1 : Fate’s Final Draft (General)

He’s the hero in his own story… and you’re his latest toy.

🔞"You like happy endings? Too bad. I don’t write those."

There’s a third one, but those are major spoilers lol.

Or how about sadness, despair, and pain? Yandere! College! Bully did really well in this, which was what I was aiming for.

Yandere! College! Bully & Loser

Oneshots

The worst part? You’ve stopped trying to fight it.

Novella 1 : Torn Between Us

In a world where no one cares, he’s the one who notices you… and that’s frightening.

Trust no one. Not even yourself.

Or maybe bittersweet and wholesome? Comforting, realistic, yet warmly wholesome. Ironic considering the character I wrote it for. Yandere! Light Yagami.

Light Yagami

Novella 1 : In the Name of Love

Two hearts, one unspoken promise—forever best friends.

The sweetest kisses are often the most dangerous.

And of course, we have the gaslighters who make you question reality, full on gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

Scaramouche / Wanderer / Kunikuzushi

Novella 1 : Lover or Captor?

Your body is chained, but your mind? Still free. Or is it?

Mixed Character Stories

You tried to break up with him… but did you ever really want to? (Chrollo Lucilfer, Johan Liebert, Geto Suguru)

I’m genuinely curious on what your favorite story is or who your favorite characters are, Anon. This is just me usually being curious on my Readers’ personal takes and perspectives. Plain curiosity. You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable or the like. Just have fun and relax, you’ve already done a lot just with leaving me this wholesome message :))

Haha, I liked how your described your feelings. “Hook, line, and sinker, I am reeled in by your words.” That makes me sound like a fisherman, and also reminds me of the verse, “Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men (Matthew 4:19).”

And no need to thank me. You’re welcome though. This also goes for all my Readers. The thanks is appreciated, but don’t need to thank me or anything. I enjoy writing, it’s healing for me. It’s not as if it’s a job or anything. I’m genuinely happy writing stories.

And, honestly? I’m genuinely shocked how much people are reading my stories. Engaging and even being genuinely impacted it, makes me really happy. It honestly feels like I’m running my very own social entrepreneurship project. Technical terms, it’s not. But, just the vibes.

Nevertheless, thank you for all the support. From you, Anon, and to the rest of my Readers.

Thank you very much for reading, immersing yourselves in my stories, having fun and relaxing, commenting, reblogging, and sharing your thoughts with me.

Actually all of you Readers have varying personalities. Most of you are lurkers, but it’s interesting to see this growing diversity in community.

∘₊✧ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐒 ✧₊∘

❝ 𝘈 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘣 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘥 & 𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘦. ❞ (✦ 𝙰 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝚂𝙰𝙽𝙲𝚃𝚄𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙻𝙸𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝙷𝙴𝙳𝙾𝙽𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚂 ✦)

I’m well aware it’s not really a social hub, which is why I’m genuinely shocked with the influx of inbox messages. Though, even then, it’s a generally quiet community. And that’s alright. I don’t want any of you to feel pressured to engage beyond just reading if it makes you uncomfortable. All I want for each of you is to just relax and enjoy the stories here. It’s your digression if you want to do more or less. No worries. And no need to feel pressured with outside factors and people.

Life is already difficult enough as it is, so think of it as a breather in a life that’s always moving, always asking for more. In a way, it’s about appreciating the moment and present, the blessings you have. And slowing down to think, ponder, and relax in immersion.

Hope that’s understandable.

But if you want the short answer?

Please do continue to have fun and relax in The Library Of Forbidden Texts.

We welcome you all here. Whether you crave our dark humor cafe snacks, or the sophisticated erotic horror dining, we have it all here for you to enjoy.

All you have to do is read and relax. :))

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infizero · 1 year ago

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great now im thinking about sa2 again. it always circles back to this

#specifically thinking about eggman and tails' conversation at the very end. that shit is so insane i NEED more stuff like that #there is something about sa2's story that has never been replicated exactly again. and i think a part of that is just how much #the end of everything there seemed to affect just about everyone involved.#sonic and rouge were both saddened by shadow's death. and from the way eggman talks about it in shadow the hedgehog when admitting #that shadow isnt actually an android. it seems like he was also kind of shaken up from it. even tho of course most of it was his fault #like sa2's end just had this feeling of being So crazy and serious and a huge threat. theres been other times that the whole planet was #at risk of being destroyed. but i think what separates it and makes it feel so much more impactful is the aftermath #like not only did everyone including eggman have to team up to stop this threat. which already ups the stakes #but afterwards. that brief moment of peace. im constantly thinking about that ending cutscene #everything was so serious and impactful that after it was all over. they couldnt just go back to normal. everyone involved had to just.#take a moment #the fact that eggman just stands there. and speaks very genuinely to TAILS of all people. about his grandfather and how he idolized #him as a boy. i cant recall any other scene in the whole franchise where something like that happens. where for a brief moment #they arent fighting and eggman just. chills there with them. and speaks to them as if they aren't heroes and villain #they've had other alliances sure. but nothing like this where they just. coexist.#ive always been so obsessed with it. god #serena.txt #infizero.analysis

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coweye · 7 months ago

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The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice.

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was.

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot.

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired.

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face.

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her.

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised.

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features.

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully.

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling.

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red.

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man.

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry.

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits.

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie.

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?”

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed.

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping.

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline.

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers.

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted.

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet.

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists.

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.”

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp.

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?”

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form.

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue.

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now. “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-”

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily.

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other.

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion. “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that.

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground.

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind.

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him.

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy.

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you.

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead.

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do.

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip.

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura.

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan.

He’s just Logan.

You bury yourself deeper in his neck.

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut.

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs.

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?”

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you.

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back.

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not.

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue.

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter. He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips.

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his.

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist.

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart.

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you.

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close.

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve.

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him.

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him.

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional.

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he.

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth.

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you.

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-”

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you.

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch.

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth.

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast.

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole.

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin.

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it.

He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach.

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin.

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard.

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy.

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you.

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers.

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go.

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does.

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing.

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably.

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down.

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh.

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection.

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again.

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind.

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence.

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched.

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“AGH!” Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you.

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend.

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous. Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands.

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you. Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?”

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously.

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest.

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different.

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours.

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back.

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #worst logan #worst logan x reader #worst logan x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine you x #wolverine deadpool #wolverine smut #wolverine x you #wolverine #james howlett x reader #james howlett #james howlett x you #wolverine deadpool fanfiction #wolverine fanfiction

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fanaroff · 7 months ago

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Dp x DC Prompt: Space Like An Ocean

An alien had taken up residence outside of the Watchtower. Its first appearance immediately started a panic with most of the heroes that could survive in space converging on the station to see whether it was friend or foe. In the end, it did not seem either.

In fact, it seemed fine with just basking and napping wrapped around parts of the Watchtower that made up the outside. It wasn’t the size of the Watchtower, but off and on it was a very near thing.

Humanoid, yet distinctly inhuman. White whispy hair sat atop its head, pointed ears, and the only feature that could be made out of its face were two bright green glowing eyes. A color that sent Batman into a research frenzy. Its skin was void-dark. Almost looking as if a piece of space itself had separated from the cosmos and took and almost snake-like form. Or maybe an eel?

The most notable thing about the creature were its injuries. Multiple lacerations covered it, leaking a green that never touched the Watchtower and seemed to evaporate not long after leaving its body. Any silent attempts to collect it for study and to figure out what it was were met with emotionless green eyes and a bare hint of fang. They backed off quickly.

Flash liked to call it a mer-eel. “Cause it’s got an almost human torso, two arms, and the rest just kind of curls up!”

Wonder Woman was unimpressed with this. “That would suggest it is more like a naga.”

To which Green Lantern replied, “No, no, he’s right. There’s an almost white fin-like bit that goes down the tail like an eel’s does.”

Any more attempts to identify the creature led to nothing and soon the “eel” became a silent fixture of the Watchtower.

It was ages later when Zatanna entered the Watchtower to discuss a completely non-connected case when she stumbled immediately upon leaving the Zeta Tube and had to lean against a wall, breathing heavily.

“Something feels like Death.” Was all she could get out before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she dropped to the ground. She wouldn’t wake up, dead asleep. Immediate worry all around lead to Justice League Dark being contacted in full.

Constantine with Deadman in tow were ultimately the ones to solve the mystery. It took but a moment for Deadman to be seen thanks to Constantine’s “magic” and awe was the first thing apparent on his face. Deadman didn’t even need to leave the Watchtower to know what it was.

“Oh,” he whispered like a prayer. “So that’s where he goes when he takes a break.”

Queue questioning.

“He” turned out to be Phantom, the Ghost King who had apparently decided the Watchtower was a perfect basking spot. Confusion was abound at this.

“No, see,” Deadman tried to explain. “He has two Obsessions and the Watchtower feeds into both. Heroes who protect, as he is a protector spirit himself and probably feels a kinship, and space.”

Constantine and Deadman explained as best as they could, but when the questions finally settled, the last was “Why isn’t Constantine affected like Zatanna? Why aren’t the rest of them affected like Zatanna?”

“That’s easy!” Deadman piped. “None of you are attuned to death magic! I’m a ghost, he’s my King. Zatanna is a magician with experience in most magics. And Constantine doesn’t own enough of his soul to feel the death!”

In the end, a request from Deadman was all it took for things to change. With barely a rumble, Phantom pulled himself from the Watchtower and drifted far enough away for his aura to no longer affect Zatanna. The heroes could only watch in awe as the eel-like god returned to the open ocean of space.

Addition:

There were a giant green eyes observing the conference room. Every hero inside was frozen in place, staring back at the eyes and trying their best not to move a muscle. Phantom had moved from atop the station. Phantom had acknowledged them. Phantom was staring at them from a window of the Watchtower.

No one knew why he was there. Just that suddenly he was. The bright green lighting the entire room with its shine was the only warning they got. They stared. He stared.

Slowly, he moved. A hand-shape pointed with a claw. They were confused. The hand made a pointing motion again.

The table?

Ah. Several shards of kryptonite sat on the table. The topic of the discussion as someone had somehow gotten ahold of the shards and used them against Superman. They needed to know who supplied them.

The hand pointed again.

Why did Phantom want the shards?

Apparently, it wasn’t up to them to question as the pointing hand phased into the room, palm up. Waiting. No one moved for a moment until a white narrowed slit formed in Phantom’s eyes.

Green Lantern was quick to grab the shards (Batman made a token protest, those were his damn it) and placed them in the palm. He shivered as his finger brushed the skin, ice cold washing up and down his spine.

The hand closed, retracted and approached the face. The eyes stared as a large mouth opened (fangs, sharp sharp fangs laid in green) and a tongue popped out. The shards were placed on the tongue and the mouth closed with a sharp crunch.

Phantom grinned almost smugly before he drifted away from the window and back to the top of the Watchtower.

“Did- Did Phantom just ask for a snack?”

#danny phantom #dp x dc #ghost king danny #danny phantom fic #fanfic #mer danny #eel danny #mer eel danny #kryptonite is catnip to ghosts #kryptonite ghost snack #I’m not good at titles

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lightseoul · 1 month ago

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CASUAL CASUALTIES (10.6k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. what was meant to be an innocent trip down to the bridge becomes a national sensation when you get outed as #15 pro-hero dynamight's soulmate on live tv. inconvenient, yes, very much so—but it's not like you have to do something about it. but then the bakugou katsuki himself seeks you out, and you find yourself getting into a whole lot of trouble. inspired by @/andypantsx3's fingerprints. (read on ao3)

c.w. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up, post-timeskip/ch 431, soulmate!au, lots of cursing, reader is ill, depictions of mental illness (mentions of depressive themes and suicidality), mentions of death, nsfw/mature themes, minor manga spoilers

a/n. here it is, y'all! while i know the word count and tags are quite daunting, i really hope you give this fic a chance because i'm extremely proud of this one, which i haven't felt about my writing in a while. if you do end up reading it, thank you and i sincerely hope you enjoy it <3

to be fair, you were just…weighing your options.

taking a short trip down to shizuoka’s famous ayumi bridge wasn’t part of your itinerary for the day, not that you’ve been having exceptionally busy itineraries for who knows how long. it was a spur-of-the-moment decision that you periodically second-guessed on the way there, the vivid picture of your unmade but comfortable bed weighing heavily in your mind.

still, and despite yourself, you couldn’t deny the need for fresh air, nor the relief that filled your renewed albeit fatigued lungs as you finally arrived at your destination.

from where you are now standing with your arms folded on top of the relatively short railings, you look past the barricade and down onto the cloudy river below you.

it was an innocent gesture—one borne out of curiosity minus most of the morbidity—but it apparently wasn’t innocent enough, because one moment you were studying the ripples in the distant water, and the next, you’re violently yanked from behind.

you let out an unintentional ‘oof’ as you stumble backward, your body helplessly tugged alongside the blouse that you vaguely register as the thing that’s being pulled back. you probably stagger a few feet away from the edge of the bridge, before unceremoniously falling on your butt.

and as if out of nowhere, pro-hero dynamight emerges right in front of you.

“are you crazy?” he spits out, frenzied. “do you have a fucking death wish?”

you blink. “i—”

he throws his arms up in what you think is defeat, cutting you off, although he’s looking more pissed than resigned. “fucking menaces,” he mumbles loudly under his breath.

a surge of indignation instantly shoots through you, and you open your mouth to spit something back at him, but you don’t get the chance to, because he holds out his hand.

robbed of all words, and quite frankly, barely registering what’s happening, the best you can do is blink at him. again.

his eyebrows furrow, irritation surely bubbling in his veins. his hand stays put, though. “what are you waiting for? get up.”

you hesitate, eyes drifting from his face and down to his hand. unlike his gloved left, his right is bare, and riddled with a plethora of scars. you didn’t know about that, at least from his pictures on tv and social media, unlike the one on his face that is constantly broadcasted for everyone else to see.

you don’t dwell on it further, though, deciding then and there that you want to go home right the fuck now.

you quickly take his hand and help him by pulling yourself up. once you’re upright, you’re just as quick to let go, opting to brush off the dirt stuck to your clothes.

“thanks,” you start, forcing yourself to meet his piercing gaze that’s indubitably boring holes into your face. “…i guess.”

“you guess?” he spews, incredulous, before shaking his head. “never fucking mind.”

“dynamight!”

startled, you whip to look at the source of the voice, and your eyes comically widen when they land on a group of people who look suspiciously like the media. and right behind them are a few police cars dotted with several police officers.

you turn to face bakugou, about to clarify with him if he knows what they’re doing here, but he’s already staring at you, an inexplicable expression etched on his face.

“what?” you can’t help but ask.

he sighs, cocking his head toward the closely approaching herd. “get ready.”

“dynamight!” the woman decked out in a blazer and pencil skirt exclaims, completely oblivious to the concept of personal space as she thrusts her microphone into bakugou’s face. you feel yourself shrink from where you stand slightly to his right, unsure as to whether or not you’re being filmed right now.

you hope you aren’t.

“two negotiations in a row,” she breathes out, disbelieving. “how did you do it?”

negotiations?

“what kind of stupid question is that?” he barks out. “i simply was in the right place at the right time with the first one.”

“oh, you’re too humble!” she quips, signaling the cameraman to steady his shot of the pro-hero’s face. “we came as soon as we could when we heard about what was going down here.”

“yeah, and you could’ve caused the situation to escalate even further than it already did,” he retorts without missing a beat. the reporter’s face falls. bakugou takes that as a sign to go on.

“you’re lucky i arrived and intervened when i did. and how did none of you dipshits think to call the fucking police?”

“i—”

“you’re all too preoccupied with getting your next scoop that you lost your fucking grip on reality and failed to help,” the pro-hero chastises.

he pauses for a second, and you’re about to think he’s finally done with his spiel for the woman’s sake when he glances at you, looking like he’s got something more to say.

and as you find out in the next, excruciating seconds, he definitely has.

the man shoots his arm up, his thumb sticking out, pointing conveniently at you.

“case in point,” he states. “we could’ve had a casualty.”

you gawk at him.

a what?

“i’m sorry,” you start, turning to face the ash-blonde, acutely aware of the inquisitive eyes peering at you, “i think you’re misunderstanding. i wasn’t going to jum—”

“oh my god.”

miffed, you turn again to look at the woman, but now her countenance has gone all pale, looking like she just saw a poltergeist. seemingly speechless, she doesn’t try to get a word out, but what she does is point at bakugou’s wrist.

the man beside you shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. “the fuck are you—”

whatever bite the pro-hero was about to unleash on the reporter gets stuck in his throat when he flips his hand and freezes.

and when you see the familiar-looking timer written on his wrist that reads 00:02:57, you stiffen.

it can’t be.

still, you’ve got to make sure.

and so with bated breath, you slowly lift your right hand, turning it with the palm facing up.

and sure enough, your timer—the one that’s been at zero your entire life—reads just a few seconds after bakugou’s.

he thinks he’s fucking spiderman.

you mentally roll your eyes as you replay the clip of bakugou that went viral a few days ago.

you were able to put two and two together on the way home from the bridge, your conjecture proven correct when you got home and checked your social media accounts, which were crawling with articles and posts about the jumper who the #15th pro-hero dynamight was able to talk down.

he was a middle-aged man who apparently lost custody of his only son in light of his divorce, and couldn’t find a way out of the agony apart from death.

you couldn’t get a good view of his face, since the shots were all focused on bakugou taking his glove off to reach out to the guy, but you figure that’s a good thing. the man’s already fucking suicidal—the last thing he needs is for his privacy to be breached.

you can only laugh at the irony as you parse through your notifications, because lo and behold—they’ve already found you out.

because of course! what story sells better than a notorious hero’s successful negotiation with a jumper?

a notorious hero’s successful negotiation with a jumper who also happens to be his fucking soulmate.

nevermind the fact that you weren’t actually planning to jump that day.

“excuse me?”

you look up from your phone to find a teenage girl peering at you timidly from across the counter.

you tuck the device in your pocket and put on your most cordial smile. “hi! how can i help you?”

she puts what seems to be a fantasy duology on top of the surface between the two of you, before shooting you a shy smile back. “just these two, please.”

you peek at the titles and immediately light up. “great choice! my friend loves these.”

she lets out a delighted sound as you ring up her purchase, and you make small talk as you take her card and pack her books in a brown paper bag.

“have fun reading!” you say as she accepts the package from you, mouthing a quick thanks.

you watch the girl exit the bookstore with a grin you didn’t know you had on your face, which you only catch wind of when you shift your attention back to the next person in line.

because one sight of them has it wiped off your mouth in an instant.

even if they’re decked out in the most unhelpful disguise of a baseball cap, hoodie, and face mask.

still, two can play at this game. and quite frankly, you’re up for roleplaying rather than having a confrontation anyway, with this ridiculous get-up he has on.

and so with the most friendly tone you can muster, you ask: “how can i help you?”

even behind his whole guise, you can see the darkening of his gaze when you put forth the question. “are you serious?”

you tilt your head to the side in fake innocence. “what do you mean, sir? you’re at the counter at a bookstore…”

apparently, that’s enough to rile up the great explosion murder god dynamight, because he angrily tugs his mask down before bobbing his head as if saying ‘seriously’?

you pretend you’re just figuring it out, going the extra mile by letting your mouth form the shape of a small ‘o’, but you can tell he’s not buying it. he glares at you, and you’re smart enough to know it’s a warning, so you cut it out despite yourself.

“the question’s still the same, by the way,” you offer when he doesn’t say anything. “how can i help you?”

his eyebrows furrow. “are you always this fucking nonchalant?”

no, you answer in your head, but he doesn’t need to know that it’s less nonchalance and more apathy. you shrug, “it's either that or panic about the whole situation.”

this time, his eyebrows shoot up. “so you’re not frazzled? like, at all?”

you stop yourself from rolling your eyes just in time. “of course, i am. kind of—at least. the last thing i need is to be scrutinized by the public.”

“that one’s on you, showing up at the same bridge as that jumper.”

you bristle. “i told you, i wasn’t going to jump!”

only belatedly do you realize that you just said that last bit quite loudly, and you hurriedly scan the room to see a few curious faces have glanced your way. you bow slightly in apology, before turning back to regard the pro-hero.

he huffs. “let’s say you weren’t. it doesn’t matter, because we still made contact and now the news is out.”

“so? i don’t see how we have to do anything about it.”

“believe me, i agree.”

you laugh. “wow, who knew the dynamight doesn’t want a soulmate, let alone meet and be tethered to one?”

“laugh all you want, dumbass,” comes bakugou’s reply. “but what i’m about to say is not a laughing matter.”

“do pray tell.”

“fucking—” he starts, before taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. once he’s expelled that air, he fixes his gaze on you. you subconsciously straighten up.

“i need you to put up appearances with me.”

you squint at him. “huh?”

he presses his lips in a tight line. “i’m dropping in the rankings, and i’ll drop even further if i don’t—”

“i don’t see how any of this is my business.”

“—if i don’t do anything palatable about the situation,” he presses on. “it’s costing me and my agency, as much as i fucking hate to admit it.”

you only stare at him, letting the gears in your head turn in light of the newfound information. and when you don’t say anything, bakugou finishes.

“it’ll only be for a while.”

pft.

a while?

you hesitate. of course, you would. there’s absolutely no reason for you to get involved with the pro-hero, especially not now nor in the near, foreseeable future. in fact, you don’t even want to think about how he found out this is where you worked part-time. and you know there’s more where that came from.

you shake your head, “i’m sorry, but there’s no way i can—”

“i’ll pay you.”

you whip to look at him, shocked. “what?”

“you need the money, right?” he asks, and you hate how he’s right. “pr is offering an amount.”

you gulp, hating even more how you’re actually considering this. “how much are we talking about?”

he tells you. you barely catch your jaw from dropping to the floor.

with that amount, you’ll have the luxury of quitting this minimum wage job that you’ve barely been able to keep doing and then some. you’ll be set on your monthly expenses for a couple of months, and maybe even have enough to splurge on the few things that you’ve been wanting to get for yourself but haven’t had the means to.

and all that just by pretending for one to two months, tops?

your name and face are already common knowledge, anyway. there shouldn’t even be a debate.

you stick your right hand out, the one with the ticking timer on your wrist, for him to shake. he extends his, and the sight of the matching numbers sends an unidentifiable sensation down your spine. you try to ignore it.

and just like that, you shake on it, and the deal is on.

besides, you’ve got nothing to lose, anyway.

you push the glass door open, mindful of not adding any more handprints on the already marked surface. the wind chimes you didn’t know were hanging above it from the inside resonate as you enter, and you find yourself suddenly grateful that you at least managed to put on a bit of makeup for today. a few people seated near the entrance glance to look at you, which is probably a good thing for once.

right before bakugou left the bookstore a few days ago, he suggested you exchange numbers, which you agreed to gingerly. you expected radio silence for at least a week and hoped for forever, but a text eventually came later that night, asking for your availability so he could schedule a meet-up in public.

you told him you couldn’t meet until today, probably giving off the impression that you were busy with something, when in reality you were just tired and needed the time to process what was about to happen.

which brings you to now, standing at the doorway of a hip café in the heart of musutafu, scanning the faces for vermillion daggers he has for eyes.

it takes you a second, what with the afternoon crowd slowly encroaching on the establishment and filling up the tables, but you eventually locate him, with the help of the scarred hand he raises to get your attention.

“hey,” you greet when you reach his spot near the back, and he nods at you in acknowledgment. taking a seat across from him, you make it a point to study your position. “are you sure you want to sit here?”

he raises an eyebrow, which you can now see clearly without the shadow of the cap from before. “what, this table not up to your standard?”

exasperation shoots through you, as it always does, but you shake it off. instead, you toss him a tight-lipped smile. “no, it’s just that people might not see us back here. which, you know, kind of defeats the purpose?”

he doesn’t say anything for a beat, gaze fixated on you, before he breaks eye contact and shakes his head. “don’t worry,” he offers. “calculated move. we’re still gonna be spotted, trust me.”

you nod…slowly. you guess that makes sense. if you seat yourselves smack dab at the center, it may come off as the both of you seeking attention, consequently undermining the authenticity of your whole charade. a real high-profile couple would want to keep it low-key.

you snort at what you just called the two of you.

“what?” bakugou asks, defensiveness bleeding into his tone. you look up at him, and you take a second to study his appearance. he ditched the cap and hoodie, only sporting a black shirt and what you think are loose joggers and sneakers.

and with his infamously unruly hair trimmed?

well. you hate to admit it, but he actually looks…nice.

you smile at him, genuinely this time. “nothing.”

he narrows his eyes at you, like he thinks you’re lying out of your ass, but he lets it go. luckily enough, and as if on cue, the waiter arrives to give you the menu and complementary water, and bakugou orders iced tea while you request your go-to drink. you thank the guy before he dashes off to tend to other customers.

“so,” you start when silence falls upon the two of you. “how exactly are we going to do this?”

he picks up his glass. “do what?”

“you know, pretend?” you gesture vaguely with your hands. “do we have to do pda or something?”

you didn’t plan to cause it, but regardless, bakugou chokes on the ice-cold water he was just in the middle of drinking. you reach out to—what, rub his back?—but he holds his hand up to stop you as he coughs his lungs out. you sit back down, and you watch him as he gathers his bearings, wiping the tears that pooled at the corners of his eyes.

“sorry,” you supply, “great job, though. you just announced our presence to everybody.”

at that, bakugou snorts, and you can’t help the chuckle that bubbles out of you. he shakes his head, “dumbass.”

“but no,” he continues, back to being serious, “well, at least for now. as far as pr is concerned, we just have to be seen together until the whole thing dies out and the volatility of my ranking dissipates.”

“okay. that clicks, i guess.”

“you’re still up for it, then?”

now it’s your turn to narrow your eyes at him. “we shook on it, didn’t we? i’m a woman of my word, bakugou.”

“well—”

“and for the last time, i wasn’t going to jump.”

that makes him bark out a laugh so loud that it startles you. grinning, he waves you off. “yeah, yeah. don’t need to get all worked up, princess.”

blazing right past that cursed nickname—you’d first go through hell and high water before you let yourself be flustered in front of this man—you shoot him an expectant look. “well?”

“well, what?”

“are we just gonna sit here and stare at each other for two, three hours? we’ll have to do something, smartass.”

if bakugou is anywhere near bothered by your nickname for him, he doesn’t let it show. instead, he takes the bait. “whaddya have in mind?”

“we can play a conversation game. the one that has prompts?” you fish out your phone from your bag, and you quickly thumb through your apps until you find the one. you click on the button that says ‘play’ and place the gadget at the center of the table.

“there,” you point. “i ask a question and you answer. then we switch and so on and so forth.”

he examines the screen. “sounds lame.”

you scoff. “lamer than sitting and waiting?”

he doesn’t answer for a few seconds, until he finally sighs and nods at you, shifting in his seat as if bracing himself for what’s to come.

“i can go first,” you volunteer, straining to look at the words on display. you cringe when you read them. “do you think i was popular in high school?”

“seriously?” he snickers, and you shrug.

he doesn’t even take a moment to think about it. “well, you work in a bookstore, so no.”

“fair enough. your turn,” you swipe on the screen and turn it 180 degrees so he can see it.

you laugh when his face contorts as he finishes scanning the question. his eyes dart up to glare at you. “who came up with this stupid ass game?”

“just read the question, bakugou.”

he splutters for a beat, ultimately relenting, seething the words through his teeth. “when it comes to relationships, do you think i’m looking for something casual?”

you’re pretty sure you know what the answer is, but you still squint at the man to mess with him.

“are you fucking with me?” he grits out, bug-eyed. “does it fucking look like i’m capable of being casual about anything at all?”

you can’t help it—you throw your head back and laugh.

“stop laughing at me, dumbass.”

you press your lips together in an attempt to quell your mirth, but you burst out laughing again when you catch a glimpse of his reddening face.

“hey—”

“sorry, sorry—it was just—your face—”

“i get it, now quit it.”

eventually, but not immediately, you do. to your relief, bakugou doesn’t forfeit like a sore loser after that round, instead choosing to press on and find an equally incriminating question for you. you bounce off of each other, mainly talking about your respective pasts, like your education, families, and upbringing, although staying considerate enough not to overstep and pry on confidential information.

there were quite a few questions directed towards the present—what you’re currently doing, any nearing plans, current events—and you were okay enough to answer them with minimal detail. the future-oriented ones, though, you barely manage to skirt around and not respond to. you noticed bakugou looking at you a little too closely during those instances, but you feigned indifference.

that’s all you could do, really.

even then, and without you noticing, the hours pass by, and by the time you actually look past the prompts and up to your phone’s clock, it’s already 5:05 pm, a good four hours past your agreed-upon meeting time.

when you glance back up at bakugou, his face reads the same—mild shock at the fact that you were too engrossed in your conversation to notice the sky getting dark and the streetlights illuminating the walkways beyond the coffee shop’s glass walls turning on one by one.

“sorry,” you say as you swiftly take your phone and lock the screen. “i didn’t mean to keep you.”

“no,” he counters, pocketing his own. “i didn’t notice, either.”

you smile at him as you put on your bag. “still think it’s lame?”

“yes,” he promptly replies, a smirk now decorating his sharp features. “but i had fun, or whatever the fuck.”

and for the nth time that afternoon, you laugh.

he texts you first that night, to your surprise.

(8:38 pm) bakugou katsuki: thanks. for coming out today.

from where you were sprawled lazily on your mattress, hair still wet from that shower you almost didn’t take, you thumb out a response.

(8:39 pm) you: no problem, boss 🫡

you press send before you can overthink things. instead, you let the warm feeling of someone else’s gratitude bloom in your chest and bask in it. that doesn’t get to happen for too long, though, because another message arrives.

(8:40 pm) bakugou katsuki: don’t call me that. by the way, did you see the news?

you feel your brows crease.

(8:40 pm) you: what news?

ping.

(8:40 pm) bakugou katsuki: bakugou katsuki sent you a link

you immediately click on the string of words, and you’re redirected to an article. it takes a while to load—the internet is sometimes spotty at your modest condominium unit—but when it does, your jaw drops.

because right at the center of which is an image of you and bakugou at the café.

“holy shit.”

before anything else, you zoom in on your face, because priorities, right? you stare at the bunch of pixels for a good few minutes, before ultimately deciding there’s nothing you can do about it anyway. besides, it’s not like this was the first glimpse the public has had of your appearance. despite yourself, you check bakugou’s, and of course, the man looks like he just came straight out of a magazine shoot.

you then read the title, which must’ve been written in haste in an attempt to get ahead of a random netizen going viral. soulmates spotted: pro-hero dynamight seen with the girl from the bridge.

well.

at least they’re not calling you a jumper.

still.

(8:44 pm) you: seriously? girl from the bridge?

another ping.

(8:44 pm) bakugou katsuki: still at the fucking headline? hurry to the end, dumbass.

you roll your eyes, mainly because you can—perks of living alone and all. skimming through the sentences, you mouth the words to yourself—a rehash about who you are, the contact from a few days ago, eyewitnesses and accounts from today—until you land on the thing you think bakugou’s been trying to highlight.

in light of recent events, bakugou katsuki, who recently dropped several spots due to unfavorable encounters with citizens, has risen in the charts to #13.

you beam.

you and bakugou hang out a couple more times over the course of the next few weeks.

your get-togethers mainly depend on his schedule—which you gawked at how hectic it was when he first described it to you—even more now that you’re officially unemployed. your contractual obligation at the bookstore ended just in time as your first paycheck from the dynamight agency arrived, and you took the impeccable timing as the universe’s way of telling you to quit so you could instead spend your time freely on hobbies that you haven’t had the energy for.

on the days that you do meet, though, you end up dedicating a huge chunk of your waking hours to the endeavor. it’s like that meme of a google calendar, with the get ready for meeting, meeting, and recover from meeting blocks taking up the entire 9 to 5.

this was definitely the case for your fourth rendezvous, which you spent at a park near the bridge where you first met. he didn’t give you any details, so you walked into it blindly with a full face of makeup, hair done, and a tote bag full of finger food and some beverages in tow. needless to say, you were surprised when you arrived to the bakugou katsuki on a plaid orange picnic blanket, with what looked like handmade sandwiches displayed for hungry onlookers to see.

“don’t start,” he preempts when he sees you eyeing the snacks as you sit down.

you blink at him innocently, a smile tugging at your lips. “i wasn’t going to.”

he frowns. “quit grinning, would you? i just thought it’d be nice to get some fresh air.”

nodding solemnly, you bring out your share of rations. “sure.”

you brace yourself for any snide remark about your pitiful food—at least, as compared to his handcrafted ones—but they don’t come. instead, what you get is a side eye, before: “why’d you look like you’re going to an event, or some shit?”

you whip to face him. “huh?”

he gestures to your face.

“oh, this? i just don’t want to look ugly in the photos, is all.”

“ugly?” he spews, as if the word in itself was as hideous as it meant.

“yeah,” you retort defensively, placing the cans of juice on the ground before shifting to look at him. “not that you have to worry about that.”

a pause.

“what’s that supposed to mea—”

“do you have anything you want to do?” you cut him off, changing the topic.

“i—uh—” bakugou stammers, caught off guard. “we can just talk, or something.”

you light up at that, and he scoffs when he sees. “same game?”

“why the hell not.”

he texts you again after the picnic, right as you step out of the train and onto the platform of your stop. you smile when you catch a glimpse of it.

(6:05 pm) bakugou katsuki: at #9 now. thanks.

as you walk up the stairs and onto the streets, you find yourself wondering why this whole ruse has been working like a charm, and the answer is quick to arrive.

humans love narratives, after all.

and what better way to forward the age-old, comforting, and redeeming tale of soulmates than through the prickly, explosive pro-hero they know so well?

you don’t hear from each other after that. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you nervous just the tiniest bit—he was right, after all. you needed the money, especially after having quit your job. but you tell yourself it’s only been a couple of days, to trust that he’ll text when it’s time to make another public appearance, and that he’s way above ghosting you like you’re easily dispensible, regardless of whether or not you do feel that you are.

so, in an attempt to stop obsessing over this thing you’ve got going on with bakugou, you drag your ass out of bed and head to the nearest mall to run a few errands. you realize when you get to the supermarket that you forgot to catalog the things you actually needed to buy, cursing yourself when you do. still, you try your best to get on with it, relying instead on your hazy memory of what needs replenishing.

a good thirty minutes later, and with your grocery–filled tote bags hanging from your shoulders, you trek towards the pharmacy and fall in line. as always, there’s a long queue, but you eventually reach your turn, promptly buying your necessary meds and hightailing it out of there.

you consider booking a taxi instead of commuting home when you eventually feel the strain of the weight on your shoulders, but decide against it. the temperature is pretty decent anyway, you think to yourself as you walk and relish in the cloudy yet slightly windy weather. you study the buildings that you pass by, partly to distract yourself from how your bags are getting heavier and heavier by the minute, when your eyes land on a particular complex and you stop.

it’s either you’re going crazy, or you’ve been passing by the dynamight agency a million times and you never noticed.

you stand there for what feels like an eternity, peering at the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and letting the internal tug-of-war play out inside your head, until you ultimately let the curiosity win. slowly and with caution, you take a few steps towards the entrance. you honest-to-god weren’t planning on stepping foot inside the establishment, but apparently, the equally glass doors are automatic.

you falter for a moment, eyes wide as saucers like a deer caught in the headlights as the “gates” slide open for you, before making the split-second decision to enter. it was either that or look stupid in front of everyone in the lobby who’s now staring at you, anyway.

luckily, you don’t get to stand there—awkward as shit—for a second longer because one of the receptionists hurries over to where you’re positioned.

the lady beams at you. “good afternoon—”

“hi,” you supply, “i was just—”

“y/n, right?”

crap. “uh, yes.”

her grin widens. “you’re just in time! bakugou-san just clocked out.”

“oh, i wasn’t—”

“y/n?”

the two of you whip to look at the back of the large room, and sure enough, the owner of the increasingly familiar gruff voice is looking right at you, just as shocked at you being here as you are.

you can only watch him—in all his regularly clothed, duffel bag-carrying glory—as he briskly walks towards where you are.

a waft of his heady perfume hits you just as he arrives at your side. “what are you doing here?”

what the fuck are you supposed to say? “i, uh—”

“she must’ve come to visit you, sir,” the receptionist pipes up chirpily.

at that, bakugou regards her with a look—one that says, do you mind? and you guess he must use that a lot around here, because she snaps her mouth closed in an instant, and bows before retreating to her spot behind the counter.

you keep your eyes trained on the woman as she scurries, wishing the ground would swallow you up before you’re forced to look at the pro-hero. but then he says your name again, and your head creaks to face him as if it’s got a mind of its own, its automaticity akin to that of vines winding to get the smallest peek at the sun.

“well?” he demands, brow raised in waiting.

“i was just going home and noticed your building was on the way,” you answer truthfully, a tad bit embarrassed. you shouldn’t have stopped and let your curiosity get the better of you.

he studies you for a second longer before his gaze drops to the things you’re carrying. “you were walking home? with those?”

“yeah…” you respond, voice small. “don’t worry, they’re not that heavy,” you lie.

and before he can call you out on your deceit, you throw the question back at him. “how ‘bout you?”

the second it tumbles off your lips, you knew it was fucking stupid.

“…i work here?”

there it is. in a last-ditch effort to save face, you let out a laugh, although it comes out a bit stilted. he narrows his eyes at you, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the man was amused.

“let me drive you home,” he offers out of the blue, you almost choke.

“what? no, i’m okay.”

“your shoulders are about to give out,” he says pointedly. “don’t be fucking stubborn.”

“seriously, i’m alright,” you insist, and he sighs. you turn it right back at him, “don’t you have somewhere to be? you’re actually leaving early for once.”

and strangely enough, he is. from the few weeks of knowing knowing him, you’ve learned that the man puts in overtime almost every single day, which has been one of the reasons why your hangouts were always scheduled on the weekends.

“‘m visiting my parents,” comes his curt reply.

you beam at him. it’s funny how picturing this hulking brute of a man as his parents’ son makes you feel warm. “that’s so nice of you.”

“‘s nothing,” he dismisses, before: “they’ve been asking about you, you know.”

“me?” you repeat lamely. “what about me?”

he shrugs. “just basic information about you, how we’re doing, and all that crap…”

and when you don’t say anything, he just goes straight for it. “they want you to visit.”

you gape at him.

“but don’t be pressured, and shit,” he backtracks. “i know that’s a tall order.”

huh.

“…i’ll think about it,” you eventually offer with a nod. and you will—later. when you’ve got your wits about you. but for now, you hastily go through your bags and pick out the thing.

“here,” you say, just as you thrust the small bouquet of orange tulips toward him. “give these to your mom. or dad. or both, really.”

his eyes dart between you and the flowers and then back at you again. great, you think to yourself. you’ve successfully rendered the man speechless.

“take it,” you assert after a moment. “they’re better off in you guys’ hands, anyway.”

he examines them for another while, before he finally takes them off your hands.

“thanks.”

you only smile at him. to your pleasant surprise, he flashes a small one back.

(9:06 pm) bakugou katsuki: i’d tell you to check the news but i know it’ll take you a century. i’m at 6th now.

the drowsiness that was just clouding your brain wards off like smoke that’s being fanned away. you sit up on your couch, rubbing your eyes with one hand while you type out a response with the other.

(9:07 pm) you: ha. and congrats!!! that’s great to hear 🥳

you barely get to adjust your butt’s position when a notification pops in.

(9:07 pm) bakugou katsuki: thanks. and my parents loved it, just so you know. the old hag especially.

you smile. another message.

(9:08 pm) bakugou katsuki: she wants you to come over for dinner this weekend.

your face falls. shit. you didn’t see this coming.

(9:09 pm) you: so soon?

your default ringtone resounds across your one-bedroom unit.

(9:09 pm) bakugou katsuki: she’s in a rush. say no if you don’t want to.

you pause, suddenly acutely aware of the guilt that’s stewing in the pit of your stomach. is deceiving his parents necessary, when all you need is to put on an act for the general public? still, bakugou did say his mother was in a rush. maybe he just got sick of her insistent nagging.

you take a sharp inhale.

(9:12 pm) you: i’m down 🫡

and just because there’s nothing more fun than pulling at his leg:

(9:12 pm) you: …granted i’ll get paid for it 😊

ping.

(9:13 pm) bakugou katsuki: you and your greedy ass. fine.

“and so that’s how i got masaru here to say yes to a date!”

you laugh as mitsuki loops an arm around the shoulder of the brunette sitting beside her, who only chuckles to himself, a faint pink sitting high on his cheeks. you chance a glance at bakugou, and sure enough, he’s rolling his eyes at his mother’s finishing line.

“what?” he quips defensively when you toss him a pointed look. “i’ve heard this story a million times.”

“and you’re gonna hear it again, tsuki,” mitsuki replies unapologetically.

bakugou only groans as you smile at the couple from across the table. “i think that was an excellent story, mitsuki-san.”

“thank you, y/n. but enough about us!” she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, and you feel your stomach drop. “how ‘bout you two, huh? what’s the deal?”

“the deal is you’re being nosy as fuck,” comes bakugou’s snappy retort.

“come on, katsuki,” masaru implores, a playful lilt in his tone. “we’d love to hear about how things are going between the two of you.”

“is the press being all up in your ass?” mitsuki demands, “because i can tell them to fuck off if you need me to.”

“sure, if you want to fucking embarrass me.”

“you know what, i’d actually love to do that.”

“fucking hag—”

you worriedly watch the two ash blondes as they go at each other’s throats, before you look at masaru for help. he only shoots you a meek albeit unalarmed expression, which is enough to tell you this isn’t an uncommon occurrence in the bakugou household. thankfully, though, they calm down after a beat, opting to glare daggers at each other instead.

“to answer your question, mitsuki-san,” you take the gamble and interject, and everybody whips to look at you, “they’re being quite harmless. you know, minus all the circulating information about my life.”

at that, mitsuki’s joyful countenance morphs into one of sorriness. “i’m afraid that’s part of having a soulmate with a high profile, dear. it doesn’t help that you were being filmed when you both found out.”

“yeah, well, there’s not much we can do about it,” you offer with a genuine smile.

“is that why you’re just leaning into it?” asks masaru. “hanging out in public and all?”

“uh—”

“obviously,” bakugou cuts you off. you turn to look at him, stunned, before shifting back to face the couple.

“uh, yes,” you continue, “we figured there wasn’t any point in hiding anymore.”

that seems to perk mitsuki up. “hide what, tsuki?”

and when neither of you says anything: “are you trying to tell us something?”

you sneak a glance at bakugou, only to find him already looking at you. you stare at each other for what feels like a minute short of forever, before he breaks eye contact and cooly says the next thing.

says the next thing while simultaneously pulling the rug from under your feet.

“we’re dating,” he declares, and you sit there, witnessing his parents’ eyes bug out in surprise, hoping yours aren’t betraying the very same emotion you’re feeling right now.

“really?”

“oh my god! since when?”

bakugou huffs, practically exuding annoyance. “yes, and just recently. end of discussion.”

masaru laughs in delight while mitsuki pouts, although you can tell she’s fighting off a grin.

“and here we thought you were gonna die alone, tsuki,” masaru jokes.

“shitty fucking—”

“no, but seriously,” interrupts mitsuki, “i was getting nervous, katsuki. what with my diagnosis, i thought i’d never get to see you be happy with someone.”

you pause, looking at the man beside you. “diagnosis?”

“oh! he didn’t tell you?” mitsuki queries, tone laced with worry. “i don’t mean to be a party pooper, but i just got diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer a few months ago.”

shit. “i’m so sorry, mitsuki-san—”

the woman waves you off, a beautiful smile adorning her familiar features. “don’t be, dear. the doctor says the outlook is good as long as i strictly adhere to treatment.”

despite that, you can’t help but frown. “how are you feeling these days?”

“i’m good!” she supplies cheerfully. “masaru and i have been spending more quality time together, and katsuki’s been visiting more often. and of course, you being here is an added bonus.”

you toss the woman a grateful look, which she returns generously. mitsuki talks some more about it before shifting the conversation back to less depressing territories, like what bakugou was like growing up and her and masaru’s plans for retirement. eventually, minutes turned into a few hours, and came the time to go home. you profusely thank the couple as you begin to head outside, while bakugou steps out to his porsche to get the engine started.

“i’ll be hoping for your speedy recovery, mitsuki-san,” you say as you step out onto their front porch.

“thanks, dear. and i’ll be hoping that things go well between you and katsuki, okay?”

you force a smile on your face and the words out of your mouth. “i hope so, too.”

the air is tense between you and bakugou as you step out of his car at your complex’s parking lot, then through the doors at the guarded entrance, and even during the elevator ride up to your floor.

neither of you says a word the entire time, sharing only a few nods and glances with you leading the way. you were fully expecting him to just drive off the second you got out of his pristine vehicle, but he ended up exiting with you and following your trail like a shadow.

thankfully, not many people are still around to see you in the lobby or on your floor, even if it’s still 9-ish on a saturday. you both were all for being spotted together, but maybe being seen at either of your residences will cause more trouble than help. you are about to say this to break the ice when you arrive at the end of the hallway and in front of your unit, but bakugou beats you to it.

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you.”

you freeze, blinking at him. “didn’t tell me what?”

he sighs, and suddenly the lines that you were convinced weren’t on his face a second ago are now evident—along with the exhaustion that’s carved right into it. “that my mom has cancer.”

you frown. “there’s nothing to apologize for, bakugou. you’re not obligated to tell me.”

“still,” he insists, seemingly growing more tired by the moment. “it blindsided you, hearing it from her. i should’ve just told you earlier.”

“maybe,” you admit, “but i understand your apprehension.”

he grumbles, but doesn’t reply. you decide to just go for it.

“can i ask you something?”

he looks up from where he was staring at the off-white tiled floor, expectant. “what?”

“is she part of the reason?” you begin, treading carefully. “why you wanted to put up appearances?”

he stares at you for a beat, perhaps a beat too long because you find yourself slowly regretting bringing up the query in the first place. you are about to backtrack and apologize for asking when, to your surprise, he nods.

ever so slightly that it’s almost imperceptible, but enough of a motion for you to see it.

“i just wanted to seem like i’m putting myself out there,” he mutters, “just in case something happens.”

you nod, ignoring the way your heart is stinging at his sincerity just now.

“she’s always been on my ass about finding someone, but then things happened and you showed up, and i figured why not just hit two birds with one stone, or some shit.”

a pause.

“personally i wouldn’t want to be the stone hitting not just one but two poor birds, but i get it.”

that must’ve caught him off guard, because bakugou snorts. you grin at him when he snickers and calls you stupid under his breath, the atmosphere taking a vastly lighter turn.

now, you didn’t notice it before—much like how you didn’t notice his agency’s building being part of your regular route to the mall—but bakugou has a dimple. a tiny one. and similar to his nod from a short while ago, it’s a subtle little thing, but it’s there—especially now that he’s smiling.

and right next to his dimple are his lips.

which are looking ungodly moisturized compared to your undoubtedly chapped ones.

wait.

your eyes shoot up from his lips to his eyes, a tidal wave of equal parts shame and humiliation ready to crash over your entire, pathetic body. but just as it is about to metaphorically collide with your frame, it freezes—just as you do.

because you catch him—and no matter how much he might try to deny it, you saw it with your own two eyes.

he was staring at your lips.

but apparently denying it isn’t part of his agenda for the night, because he does the exact fucking opposite.

he dives in and presses his lips onto yours.

and you were right—they are sinfully soft, even if you haven’t seen him apply lip balm in the handful of instances you hung out.

and as far as you can remember, this is the last coherent thought that crosses your mind, because the next few minutes go by like a blur. you vaguely recall him pulling away and looking straight at you, as if waiting for a reaction, before leaning right back in when you pull him closer by his shirt. what you don’t remember is who opens the door or how you manage to use your keys without breaking the momentum, but you magically do, just as magically as how fast clothes are shed on the way to your bed.

you recall him eagerly towering over you as your back hit the soft sheets of your mattress, as well as the honest admission of his inexperience yet willingness to learn against your neck. you remember guiding him, telling him how to touch you and the right places to do so—where to rub and lick and thrust not just his fingers to drive you over the edge.

and he does—drive you over the edge. over and over and over that you lost count. and you equally returned the favor, shocked at your own desperation and unusual determination to make him feel good. you recall his being vocal—which you loved, if the incessant wetness between your thighs that lasted the entire night was any indication. you don’t remember when you finished for the last time—when you both crashed out from sheer exhaustion.

but it eventually happened—otherwise, you wouldn’t be laying here, naked under the covers, with a sleeping bakugou illuminated by the sunlight peeking through your black-out curtains.

this wasn’t part of the plan.

the whole pretending to be amicable soulmates plan, sure. but perhaps more importantly, your short-term plan that consists of…well, today and tomorrow.

the last thing you need is to actually be tethered to a person this late in the game.

still, and despite the palpable regret that sits heavy on your chest—the one that’s very bare at the moment albeit concealed under your freshly-washed blanket—you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want it. besides, you don’t have anything else to blame for your behavior last night other than your own free will.

but why do you still feel so empty?

“you okay?”

ripped out of your stupor, you whip to look to your left, and you don’t know who else you were expecting, but your eyes still widen in surprise when you see a naked bakugou, slightly propped up by his two elbows that strain under his hefty weight. unable to sustain his gaze, you keep your line of vision trained on this one vein that runs along the length of his arm as you merely nod in response.

unsurprisingly, he doesn’t take that for an answer.

“i’m not asking again,” he warns, and your eyes shoot up to meet his in disbelief.

the words are out before you can rein them in. “are you always this mouthy even in the morning?”

“i’m not a morning person,” he simply spits back, as if that’s enough of an explanation in itself.

you furrow your brows at him, having half a mind to lock in on this staredown until the fluid in your eyes dries out and you finally, finally die (or go blind, whichever comes first), but then just as quickly as it possessed you with his challenge, the fight within you dies out, leaving your body limp with numbness and fatigue. you break eye contact when it happens, shaking your head in resignation.

you settle with: “it’s nothing,” and blindly hope he leaves it at that.

“‘s not nothing if it’s clearly bothering you,” he retorts to your chagrin.

“i don’t want to be embarrassingly vulnerable if it’ll make you uncomfortable.”

at that, he scoffs. “we fucked. multiple times last night. it can’t get any more vulnerable than that.”

you flush at his brazenness. “yeah, well, that’s the thing. we…you know,” you lower your voice for the next bit, “had sex, and now the lines are getting blurry and it’s all confusing.”

and when he doesn’t say anything for a moment, you tie your spiel with a mangled bow. “i told you it was gonna be embarrassing for me.”

that seems to rub him off the wrong way, because his nose flares in irritation. “why’re you talking like i’m some cold ass fuckboy? i told you, didn’t i? there’s nothing fucking casual about me.”

“i didn’t mean it like—”

“let me talk first,” he commands, and you shut up.

he sighs when you do, letting his head droop between his shoulders. “i don’t regret it, but if you do, then i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have made a move.”

you sit up from where you were lying down, the motion causing him to look up and at you as you shake your head, “don’t apologize, bakugou. it’s just…”

you trail off, weighing on what you can and cannot say.

“it’s just what?” he prods.

you let out a long exhale. “it’s just things are a bit…complicated, to say the least.”

that makes the pro-hero frown, but he doesn’t get to push you to expound on it because a booming voice erupts throughout the room, entirely juxtaposing the earlier quiet. you startle, then ease up when you realize it’s all might’s, and that it’s merely a ringtone. bakugou scrambles out of bed to fetch his phone, and you manage to look away just in time to avoid catching a glimpse of his massive dick.

which, after last night, is really just for courtesy purposes at this point.

thankfully, you don’t have to stare at the ceiling for too long because he retrieves it in record time, before hurriedly crawling back and flinging the covers on top of his lower half.

he eyes you as he brings the device up to his ear and speaks into it. “what is it, nerd?”

you strain to listen in on the voice at the other end, but you barely manage to pick up on a few words. you resort to observing bakugou’s facial expressions instead.

“cut to the chase,” he spews, and you find yourself feeling bad for the other person. “i’m busy right now.”

you watch as bakugou listens to the “nerd’s” reply, stiffening when the pro-hero curses under his breath.

“it’s next weekend? why’d you have to book it this early, then?”

was he planning to meet this person somewhere?

“shit. fine, i’ll ask her.”

you don’t even get to wonder who her is before bakugou swiftly brings his other hand up to cover the microphone, regarding you straight-up.

“shitty deku and round cheeks want to hang out next weekend,” he explains, slightly hesitant, before: “you up for that?”

you make a quick survey of bakugou’s face. can you even say no, at this point? technically, you can, but an inkling deep inside you points at your needing a distraction, because otherwise…

otherwise…

no, now’s not the time for that.

instead, you nod, forcing a smile on your lips. “i’ll go.”

bakugou stares at you for a beat, gaze borderline scrutinizing it makes you uneasy. but then he nods, and you find yourself taking a sharp breath as he goes back to his phone call.

“we’re in.”

“once again, serving time will be 15 to 20 minutes, and i’m haruhi, your server for this evening.”

you collectively thank the waitress as she beams at the four of you while serving your glasses of water, before turning around to return to the kitchen.

“this restaurant’s really hard to get into, you know,” shares midoriya when the girl is out of earshot, catching your attention. “but i heard their katsudon is really, really good, so i worked hard to get us a reservation.”

“worked hard, my ass,” sneers bakugou without missing a beat. “you pulled some strings. i recognize the owner, he’s the father of one of your top students.”

“kacchan—”

“don’t tease him, bakugou,” the brunette interjects, an adorable pout etched on her pretty face. “i was with him, he was on the phone for thirty minutes with the receptionist begging for a slot.”

“and you two are begging to be teased,” comes bakugou’s snarky quip. “quit it with the whole defending him, would ya?”

you fail to stop the smile that invades your lips as the new couple blush at bakugou’s remark, an unmistakable tinge of pink flooding both of their cheeks.

“if it’s okay to ask,” you start, tamping down the shyness that looms in when the two across you regard you pleasantly, “how long have you been dating?”

“uh, about three months, right, izuku?” uraraka replies quietly, the pink from earlier now blossoming into a more apparent red as she looks at the man.

“y-yes, three months,” confirms the greenhead.

from where he’s seated to your left, bakugou snorts. “it’s been a long time coming, if you ask me.”

“you make it sound so simple, bakugou,” counters uraraka, before shifting to face you. “it really wasn’t easy to get to this point, y/n. i’m not sure if bakugou’s told you, but we went through a lot in ua and even after that, which made entertaining anything beyond hero work impossible. plus,” she adds timidly, “there’s this whole soulmate situation on top of everything.”

curious, you ask. “what soulmate situation?”

and, as if they’ve gone through these motions countless times before, both midoriya and uraraka lift up their right wrists and thrust them forward for you to see. you lean forward to get a better view.

you look at midoriya’s first. his looks just like yours before you met bakugou a little over a month ago—opaque and conveniently set at zero. you then glance at uraraka’s, but to your surprise, hers looks different. a huge number is written on her flesh…

but it’s static and greyed out.

you look up at the woman, confused, and she’s quick to explain. “my soulmate died a few years ago.”

she shrugs, “and izuku’s…well, he’s never heard of them.”

“not that we wouldn’t be with each other if they were both around,” clarifies midoriya, who says it so quickly he almost stumbles over his words. “it’s just that because of these circumstances, our relationship is a bit…unconventional.”

“i understand,” you promptly reply with the most gracious expression you can muster. uraraka shoots you a grateful look, while midoriya bashfully scratches at his head.

you sense bakugou’s gaze on you through your periphery, but you ignore it.

you wouldn’t be able to hold it, anyway.

“it’s romantic, isn’t it?”

you round the corner, careful not to brush against bakugou when he does the same to your left. a sigh of relief threatens to wrack over the entirety of your frame when you’re met with the sight of the familiar-looking street, brightly illuminated by an array of streetlights dotting the entire length of it.

“what,” he says more than asks, effortlessly keeping up with your pace with his long strides.

you take a fleeting glance at him, before shifting your attention back to the pavement in front of you. “midoriya and uraraka, and how they chose each other.”

“i guess…” he responds, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “but i’ve always seen it from lightyears away.”

you pause, although you’re quick to step back into your rhythmic walking. “really?”

“they’ve always had each other’s backs even before ua,” he explains. “it’s creepy how similar they are to each other, too. it’d be weird if they didn’t end up together.”

he says it so seriously you can’t help but laugh. you catch him looking at you, smirking. “you’ve got an interesting way with words, bakugou.”

“sue me.”

you, in fact, don’t sue him, but you do unleash a cutting wisecrack in his direction, which he counters with his, and this goes on and on without pause that you don’t even notice you’ve already arrived at the front of your condominium unit until he points it out.

and as the weighty realization of this dawns on you, so do the memories of what happened when you were last here together. you rush to suppress them, and pick up the conversation from where you left off.

“i don’t know about you,” you quip, tossing him a grin, “but i take comfort in the fact that people can find someone beyond their designated soulmates.”

to your dismay, albeit somewhat unsurprisingly, bakugou doesn’t return it—the grin nor the sentiment, apparently—because he only stares at you weirdly, like you just said something…off.

great, you think to yourself. now you’ve ruined it.

might as well ruin it even further at this point, right?

finally, and to your brain’s relief, you let the damned grin fall off your face, let your shoulders sag from the strenuous effort to seem tall and confident for the last few hours, and you heave a heavy, heavy sigh. you sense bakugou stiffen at your palpable change in demeanor, but you pay it no mind.

“look,” you start, willing yourself to look up to meet his eyes, which you instantly regret because now they’re laced with obvious concern. still, you press on and gulp. “i didn’t want to do this, but i guess i have no choice now, do i?”

“what are you—”

“i know things are weird right now, and i just had to go ahead and start catching feelings like a lunatic, but i—”

you trail off, uncertain, before deciding fuck it. “this can’t go on, bakugou.”

the second you let the words out, you can only watch with anticipatory dread as a million emotions dance across his features. you stand there as he opens his mouth, before closing them, and then opening them again, although nothing comes out.

what seems like an eternity passes before he finally gets something out.

“…why?”

you press your lips into a thin line. “it’s because i’m sick.”

there.

but then he says something that completely throws you off balance.

“i know.”

you feel your eyes widen in surprise as he diverts his gaze. “what? how?”

“i—” he starts, reluctant, before: “i noticed.”

instantly, you flame in embarrassment. you thought you had this whole masking thing pinned the fuck down. and all this time you hadn’t?

you must’ve looked distraught at his admission, because he swiftly tries to soothe you. “don’t hide,” he says, and only then do you realize you’re shrinking in yourself like you do when you want to disappear. he frowns, “the last thing you need to be is fucking ashamed.”

at that, and despite yourself, you snort. you don’t have the heart to tell him you can’t remember the last time you felt shame over your condition from how long it’s just been there—an unwavering part of your life. still, you force a reply. “thanks.”

and before he can say anything uselessly placating that’ll only chip away at the very little you have left, you beat him to it. “i should head inside.”

“but—”

“good night, bakugou.”

and just like that, you spin on your heel, open the door with your keys, and close it shut in his face.

the conversation from earlier wouldn’t leave his head.

even as he tosses and turns on top of his king-sized mattress, and even as the clock ticks past the usual, strict bedtime he’s set for himself as early as high school, he finds himself wide awake, his steady heartbeat the only thing that’s breaking the monotonous quiet of his lonely bedroom.

so much happened in the course of the few minutes in front of your place, that while he prides himself in his acuity and general sharpness, he admits even he couldn’t have responded the way he should have despite desperately wanting to.

which fucking reminds him.

he didn’t get to say he likes you back.

he was so wrapped up in you implicitly trashing your soulmate connection, as well as you calling it quits that he barely registered your hasty confession. not when you immediately followed it up with an acknowledgment of what’s been causing you pain.

and as he stares at the dimly lit ceiling of his room, bakugou arrives at a pivotal realization—his feelings should be the least of your worries.

but that doesn’t mean you didn’t deserve to know.

so with a renewed sense of determination, the pro-hero promptly sits up and reaches for the phone that’s perched idly on his nightstand. 10:07 pm, it reads. you should still be awake by now.

he types out a message.

(10:08 pm) me: you awake? can i call you?

he presses the send button before he can back out of it.

what feels like five minutes pass without a single chime emanating from his phone, at which point he finally allows himself to let the anxiety creep up his neck. he stares at your caller id, debating whether or not you’d get mad if he just went ahead and called you.

eventually, and after five more minutes, bakugou decides he’d rather face your wrath than deal with his own regret.

so he calls you. once, no answer. second attempt, sent straight to voicemail. third, fourth, and fifth, and that’s when a ghastly chill envelopes him.

it couldn’t be.

still, with bated breath and immense dread pooling in his stomach, he slowly lifts his right wrist to check.

only to find that the timer has stopped.

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