#you're just giving him enrichment now

[syn0vial]

funniest part about the bounty hunter wars by K.W jeter is how palpatine thinks he's screwing boba fett over by hiring him to take down the bounty hunters' guild, completely ignorant to the fact that boba is a sicko who thinks making himself public enemy #1 of every bounty hunter in the galaxy sounds like the most fun he's had in ages.

it's literally like,

palpatine: that fool boba fett doesn't know that he is but a pawn in my nefarious plot to sow desperation and discord among the bounty hunters of the galaxy. he will be completely unprepared for the torrent of violence and retribution he is about to unleash upon himself. how wonderful it is to make a creature complicit in the workings of its own destruction! >:) boba, like 2 pages later: i can't wait to sow desperation and discord among the bounty hunters of the galaxy 😊 it's going to be sooo fun when my actions unleash a torrent of violence and retribution against me 😃 can't wait!

[sadlynotthevoid]

Why can't nii give Sakura interesting layers to his character outside " traumatized socially awkward teen" like any interesting new revelation about him? Give him close or special person " relative, friend" anything!

His distant and closed off personality is boring icl

From where? All the people who discriminate him?

If he had actually had people who had accepted him before, why would had him gone to try to gain a sense of self-worth by beating people up in the middle of who knows where?

Sakura's character goes taking shape as he gets to experience things beyond reject. Like how his favorite food is omurice, probably because it was (I suppose) the first meal someone has gave him because they wanted.

But if we're talking about something he is that can't be linked downright to his trauma and the shitty life he had, then that be his kindness. Bro doesn't have a single reason to be kind, he just is. Despite how people took that kindness coming from him.

There's also how bad at technology he is. You can't blame that on his lack of bonds. Suzuri has only just started playing games (finally) and he's already better at it than him. Meanwhile, Sakura has had his phone since before joining Furin and boy can't type a single message. Yeah, you could say he didn't have no one to text to, but has he never used internet? Google or whatever search engine Japanese people use?

To be honest, that only makes me wonder what did he do in his free time. I mean, teenagers without friends tend to spend their free time reading or online. Did he seriously just sleep? Did bro spent all day sleeping or fighting?

Bro, is this how you got so good at parkour? Did you go up in any given chance to avoid people to the point you can compete with cats?

This kinda just made his character funnier to me. Here there's a teenager with no friends nor social life, with an avaible phone, who never thought on using internet to waste time.

I got sidetracked. Anyways, yeah Sakura's trauma is a big part of his character. No, he probably doesn't have any positive bonds linking to anyone of his past. (If he had, then probably something bad would had happened for him to move away of them so...) Well, I don't think he has. And about the last part—

"Distant and closed off" is really just how he starts. He's defensive, yes. But he's terrible at keeping people away and literally can't reject their kindness. Just on the first chapters bro ended up carrying a mountain of food because he couldn't say no. He also finished it all.

There's also that funny scene when he carries granny Sato on his back all the way to Pothos— only for her to jump off his back and land in a superhero pose (we love granny Sato).

He also goes to Anzai's childhood friend (the girl one)— I don't remember if he went to know what was going on with Anzai or he asked because she was crying— and listened silently to her story. That's kinda why he followed Anzai and all that.

And then in the Noroshi arc, after getting his ass beat and finally winning Endo (in whatever sense you prefer), he still helped him to get to the roof to watch the Umemiya vs Chika (almost typed Chiaki— whoops, wrong fandom) fight.

He's not distant (despite his name), he's defensive (hence the tsundere behaviour), mostly when he's embarrased, and silent. He's also really naive ("Oh, you're foreigner?!" and literally every interaction with Suo, lol).

He also seems to be a fast learner when it comes to fighting (he literally uses Tsubaki's way of kicking after the gravel arc, has used one of Choji's move before, and then there's whatever he did in the bridge), seems to have strong morals, and he also hates hats and glasses. Though that last one is most likely related to his trauma (i think it was referenced before, but I could be wrong).

A pity you find him boring, I guess. You don't have to read it if you don't want. You can also read it because of someone else besides the main character.

[pomefioredove]

can I request house wardens + leech twins with a reader who doesn't eat enough bc Crowley doesn't give them enough for food, and they end up really ill and collapsing or something. I'm cravin some fluffy comfort rn, pls and thank you 🙏

I got you🫡🫡 as someone who's been through an eerily similar situation, I really liked this request

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ another crowley moment™️

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, floyd, jade, kalim, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, mentions of food and not eating

Riddle wouldn't even have to like you to rush to your side. but he does like you, which makes it all the worse

after checking your vitals, you're in the infirmary. he's got doctors for parents, after all, and he knows that malnutrition is bad

he should have seen the signs...

with exams coming, he's been so busy, and he assumed that you were just tired from studying

but he can feel guilty later. right now, he needs to focus on you getting well again, and not killing Crowley

(then, of course, he'll look for some legal statute or clause that he can threaten Crowley with so you're fed properly)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona noticed you'd been acting a little weird lately, but watching you collapse still puts him in shock

luckily, Ruggie and Jack are nearby to help you to the infirmary, so Leona can focus on hunting Crowley down like an animal

there are very few times where Leona is particularly grateful for his status, but this is one of them. just one word on how his family will be hearing about Crowley's neglect, and the old bastard is begging him for forgiveness

even after that, Leona still sends Ruggie with snacks and drinks to Ramshackle

and if you ever scare him like that again, you'll regret it (lovingly)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the news of you collapsing during flight lessons reaches Octavinelle rather fast. no one is particularly surprised, since Floyd had mentioned how easily you'd been bruising lately just the night before, but everyone is certainly worried

Azul is the first at your side, asking you all sorts of questions, worried sick. Jade has to remind him to give you space to rest, since you look exhausted (had you always had those dark circles? how could Azul have not noticed?)

now, Azul and the tweels could easily find a way to pressure Crowley, but they know better than to trust him

from now on, you'll be eating in the Mostro Lounge, free of charge

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

perhaps Kalim was just oblivious, because he really didn't think anything was wrong until you were suddenly on the floor in front of him

sure, you'd been a little moody lately, but he figured it was just a thing you were going through. and besides, you know that you can talk to him about anything... right?

Jamil hurries to check your pulse, and shouts for him to get the school nurse- which is jarring, because Jamil never shouts

when you explain everything to Kalim later, he feels... terrible. he should've known- no, he should've asked

Kalim insists you stay at Scarabia while you're recovering, and makes sure you have the most enriching, delicious meals money can buy

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil knew it was bad, but not this bad. if he had known you were on the verge of collapsing, he would've taken a firmer approach to getting you to eat

you're going to worry him to death someday, you know that?

after he's done verbally eviscerating Crowley, he'll insist on joining you at every meal. he'll eat at Ramshackle, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if that's what it takes

he's subtle about it, at least

if he notices that your plate feels empty, he'll just take some food from his and put it on yours. gracefully, elegantly, without a word

you'll come home one day to see your kitchen stocked with vitamins, supplements, and apples (courtesy of Epel)

<3 and a note that says he'll treat you to dinner whenever you want

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

never scare Idia like that ever again. he wasn't even with you when you collapsed, and he STILL nearly had a heart attack

listen, he knows he's not a great role model when it comes to nutritional eating, but you have got to tell him these things. he would've had Ortho go get takeout! or something!

typical Crowley behavior, SMH. what does he think you are? a rabbit? even the school horses get treated better...

no way that Idia is going to even bother with that old fart, anyway. you want something? he'll get it for you. you don't even have to ask, he'll just send food to your place (and have Ortho check your vitals more often but shhh)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

I would not want to be in the room when Malleus finds out about this

not even the building. you know what? I'd steer clear of the whole island, because it will not be pretty

when you collapse in front of him, it feels like he's dying, too. the panic sets in, and he sends Lilia to look after you, and Silver and Sebek to escort you to the infirmary, and then he casually threatens to smite Crowley. obviously

if the students and staff of NRC thought Malleus was scary just being Malleus, he's terrifying when he's mad

(rest assured that you will be getting ten times the amount of food from now on)

it's thunderstorms for days after, but he never leaves your side

[kittynugg]

okay now this is getting out of hand who gave stan mabel's sweater

there's a time traveler on the loose and they keep giving the youngins of new jersey accessories that arent supposed to exist yet

i dont think he likes pink

anywayyy reblogs appreciated as always, or like it or just scroll past it but if you want anyone else to see this you're gonna have to reblog :>

also i did one of little ford if you're interested shdfksdhkuh

insanity is once again below the cut

what was i DOING the scale was all off

"duhhhh uhhh whats hair"

i figured it out eventually like i always do

gave him a face, it is enrichment

did NOT know what i wanted the pose to be

eventually decided on this despite wanting to give him little dino hands instead because i cannot dra w hands

colored without shading

also i drew most of this with my cat sitting on my shoulders

my back hurty

[misssilversunny]

Ok wait i just had a funny idea

Why stop at just a yandere batfamily? Why not all of Gotham?

Like, imagine Bane kidnapping you, calling you his "firefly" or whatever because you're a fleeting light in the darkness or something, and you're more guarded than the actual thing he stole.

And despite that, Poison Ivy manages to nab you, her "little rose", while Bane is busy dealing with Batman. She takes you back to her apartment, where you greet the plants you recognize and introduce yourself to the new ones (There aren't many, you were here 3 months ago).

At some point you take a breath of fresh air through an open window, and Scarecrow grabs you, taking you to his lair, into a room which is also pumped with a special strain of fear gas that makes you cling to him for safety.

And then, shock of all shocks, the one and only, motherfucking Joker snatches you from the lair, leaving behind a dummy for Scarecrow to find. Unlike the others, Joker's obsession is in the fact that everyone else is obsessed with you. He finds it hysterical how one person can have all of Gotham in a spin!

Eventually, the Batfam grabs Reader from the Joker, since he's not actually obsessed so he has them the least guarded, maybe a short conversation with Batman, but even Joker knows he's in water too hot to joke about severe injuries, especially since he doesn't know if Red Hood is nearby.

Batman might not kill, but he cannot guarantee that anyone else wouldn't if he killed their favorite person, and he does not have the influence where he could get away with that.

You get returned to your nice cage room in the manor, where the Batfamily scolds you yet again for another failed escape attempt trip outside getting you shipped around Gotham for weeks!

At this point, you're pretty sure you not only can't leave, but also any attempts at a normal life are pointless. You mostly do this because humans are animals and animals need enrichment, and no, the cycle of games/quality time they're giving you are not a suitable replacement for touching grass and seeing new faces.

Even the brief moments of time between kidnappings, the short moments of normalcy that the other villains, the other heroes and vigilantes give you, are a welcome change of pace.

Bonus points if it's literally everyone in neighboring cities/Justice League, so Superman finds you and you're just like "Well shit" because now you're taken to his house, maybe his parents' farm, and you're kept there until someone catches on that Clark has you.

Also if you tack this onto Spoiled!Reader, this becomes infinitely funnier because In my mind I'm treating that AU as 90% a crack/lighthearted fic, and another thing is I think of them as being ~12 sometimes, so it's the entirety of Gotham fighting over a middle schooler.

If it's an adult Reader, it's more of a "This is fine" as they are carted from villain to villain to vigilante to hero because their family literally has a fan club for them, so their perception of what is "normal" levels of interest is severely skewed.

If you want to go for the Neglected!Reader, then it would be really interesting for them to try and figure out where is a good level of "interested in your hobbies", and doubts whether they're so uncomfortable because they're actually too invested in their day to day life, or if it's because they were neglected for so long that any interest feels overwhelming.

Btw all asks about Spoiled!Reader and this Reader are welcome!

[gremlingottoosilly]

Thinkingggg about a Reader who gets kidnapped by König but can’t be arsed to care all that much because a) he’s incredibly hot and b) her living situation was genuinely really really bad. Like to the point that when she tells him about it, it distresses him to know that his pretty thing had to live like that.

Konig being in a "Bitch, you live like this" situation with his pretty darling. He was actually fucking horrified when he first got to your place - he had seen war prisoner cells that looked better and torture chambers with much cozier setups. He also doesn't think that having three roommates who all look like they take and sell meth mixed with dish cleaner is a good environment for his darling wife. He is glad he took you away before something bad could happen - he is glad that the only thing you wanted from that rancid apartment of yours were some personal things that can be easily cleaned and given to you. He will get rid of them eventually, not wanting anything to remind you of your old, pathetic life - but he can indulge you for now since you're being such a good girl for him. You don't fight, you don't resist - you might be a little bit bored with sitting in his house the whole day, but he brings you plenty of enrichment. Games, books, whatever you want - he doesn't mind giving you limited internet access in terms of online shopping, as long as you're under his supervision and don't try to call the police. You don't ever try to escape, which worries him at first - while he is glad you're such a good sport about being kidnapped and dragged into his house where he barely even cleaned up his gans enough to make you a nice little play area, Konig is also worried, that this is all just an act, a ploy to make him trust you and then easily running away. But, then again - you're too fucking adorable to do this, you pretty thing. God, he fucking loves you. He needs to have you as his doll, adorable darling, but he is too weak and pathetic even to try to run anywhere he can't find you. You can try and resist him, of course, but he will always find you in the end - would always force his cock into you, always makes you put up at least a little fight so sex won't get too boring.

[dragon-ascent]

Hi hi hi!!! I absolutely adore your Zhongli fics your characterization of him makes me swoon he’s such a cutie

Out of curiosity, what’s your opinion on the Zhongli/Morax x reader trope of reader initially being a sacrifice to the dragon god only for Zhongli to be like “What no I don’t take sacrifices???” And just taking reader in as a sort of roommate or something like that. It’s a trope I find really interesting and funny and I’m curious to hear your thoughts on it :)

Hi hi and thank you! Zhongli's the cutest patootie :) <3 And I freaking LOVE that trope!!! Like, easily top 3 trope for Zhongli if you ask me. (I could make a whole tierlist of tropes for him, but that's a post for another day haha.)

Ik you just asked for thoughts but have a little write-up, as a treat. :)

xxx

Rex Lapis is a tad offended that he'd be perceived as the type of god to take human sacrifices, since he does everything in his power to ensure mortals feel comfortable and safe around him. But he's assimilated many groups of people into his land, so it's only natural some may still retain the beliefs and customs they did under the deities preceding him, as grim as that may be.

When you're left in front of his abode as a sacrifice, he sees how urgently he needs to rectify those customs.

You're a jittery thing, all nerves and shudders and, to his dismay, rather scantily-clad especially given the season. He does his best to push the implications of your clothing to the back of his mind as he brings you into his home and warms you up by the fire with some nice warm blankets too.

He assures you he will not lay a finger on you with malicious intent, but you're staring at him like a deer in headlights - like he'll throw you into the fire at any moment if you so much as breathe wrong. Every movement of his makes you stiffen, and even the tea he brews for you is met with trepidation in every sip.

He can't send you back to your people as they'll believe you're a faulty sacrifice and kill you off themselves - so Rex Lapis takes you in his care instead.

He feeds you, clothes you, and even lets you rest in his bed while he takes the floor beside you. You're mostly quiet at first, but as the days pass and there's no sign of him hurting, devouring, or killing you, a seed of trust in his words blossoms. You believe the God of Contracts when he gives you his word he will keep you safe and cared for.

Given the way he treats you, there's no reason to feel otherwise - you've become something of a close companion to him, someone to share the tender joys and sorrows of life with. He used to go on strolls by his lonesome, but now he finds that having someone to walk with is much more enriching, giving his evenings an added tinge of fulfilment.

People do stare and whisper when they see you by the god's side, but if this is how Rex Lapis chooses to make use of their 'sacrifice,' who are they to argue?

Some watch, agog, as the golden deity takes you to the market and practically splurges on you. You shyly point to a sweet treat that looks appetizing, and he boxes a dozen of them without a moment's hesitation. A pretty accessory catches your eye for a second longer than the others, and when you turn to move on to the next stall, Rex Lapis is having said accessory taken off display and handed to you.

"These are the calligraphy brushes I spoke of yesterday," he tells you casually as he runs a finger along the sleek wooden writing instruments. "Would you like to give the activity a try?" It only takes one meek nod from you for him to get you a whole set of the brushes, promising to teach you when you both get home.

It's a shocking sight to everyone who'd betrayed you, everyone who'd so easily given you up for some false belief they held on to so stubbornly: here you are, being treated like you're actually worth something to the god, what with the way he smiles and laughs softly at something you say, the way he gently touches your elbow to veer you away from the evening rush, the way his footsteps fall in rhythm with yours.

As you pass certain familiar faces, your head snaps down and you fall silent, and Rex Lapis immediately knows they're the ones responsible for your plight. He throws them a sharp, stone-cold glare over your downcast head, and they recoil in fright, quickly turning the other way to pretend they can't feel like a whole landslide of shame now hurtles along their spines.

Needless to say, he is greeted by no more human sacrifices at his door. The one he does have, he ensures a long, happy and healthy life for.

[h5eavenly]

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

Twenty - you're pretty when you're mine. warnings: smut and angst yipeee

Masterlist ✶ prev ✶ next

“What do you think?” you ask, foolish perturbation coloring the cadences of your voice. Your teeth sinking into your bottom lip with vigor the longer Jake’s silence stretches, the slower his teeth chew on the piece of dessert you had given to him with a glimmer in your eyes, a plead for his opinion.

“It’s good.” He answers shortly.

You release your lip into a pout, shoulders slumping down with disillusionment at the lack of buoyancy in his voice, yet the bags that seem almost permeant under his eyes, evidence of his everlasting fatigue that is pasted onto his features renders you mute. Aware that your pining for his approval is merely a desire to feed your hungry heart, woven with longing.

Jake’s eyes flit to your face then, taking note of the adorable disappointment awfully out of place on your face, it has his own heart softening, his fingers brushing across the skin of your arm with susurrates of your attention.

“I mean it. It’s really good bunny.” He reassures, attempting to demolish through your sulking. And you, with a heart as fragile as glass, one that is easy to peek through just as fast it trembles, only shake your head at him.

“You don’t look like you enjoyed it though.” You mumble, your pout enriching with the sway of your feet like a kid complaining how they didn’t get a taste of their favorite candy.

Jake’s smile disperses across his lips with fondness you don’t notice, his expression melting into endearment at the way you can never keep your words lodged into your heart for too long, your thoughts lingering at the tip of your tongue, yet he always manages to prompt them to spill.

“Have I ever lied to you?” he urges with a hum, titling his head at you in strives to catch your eyes and it works right away.

“No.” you shake your head.

“Then believe me this time too.” As if to make a point he takes another bite of the red velvet cupcake and this time it’s you who breaks into a smile tinged with fondness, like glass refracting light into a rainbow.

It’s directed at his kindness, at his attentive comfort towards you despite the heavy burden of simply existing weighing him down. You don’t get enough time for gratitude to unravel through your words because in a moment of your eyes falling into each other, a brush of his fingers in between the slots of yours, Sunghoon is standing between you two, a look of horrified disgust dancing between you two.

“Can you two not in flirt in the middle of work?” he comments with a roll of his eyes, one that has the tips of your ears tinting pink.

“We’re not flirting.” You defend weakly, your own words holding little to no conviction even to your own ears as you bunglingly retract your hand.

“Alright,” Sunghoon raises his eyebrow at you, tone dripping with irony “Can you shoo? I still need to dress Jake for his photoshoot.” He trails off, your eyes fliting to the couple pieces of garment he’s holding in his arms “Some of us need to actually work you know.”

“Hey!” you deliver a light slap to his shoulder “I work really hard! Tell him Jake” you turn your head to Jake with a pout of offense clambering over your face.

“I don’t know to me it looks like you’re slacking off right now.” Jake says, a sly grin is thrown at you and your mouth falls open with an overemphasized shock.

“Wow you’re really gonna betray me like that?”

“mhm. Are you gonna cry about it, little bunny?”

“As if! Give me back my cupcake” you attempt to snatch the half-eaten cupcake out of his grasp, leaning your body over the chair he’s sitting down in and yet it’s all deemed a failure when Jake stretches his arm out and away from you, a teasing smirk dispersing across his lips, eyes gleaming with mischief as your chest brushes against his shoulders.

“Jake!” you whine with facetious annoyance “Give it back! You’re not worth my treats”

“I don’t think so.” He mocks, watching with satisfaction etched onto his face at your futile tries.

You don’t get to register his other arm sneaking around your waist with a firm grip, ensuring you don’t end up stumbling onto your feet and falling over with the way you’re leaning over him. It’s such a saccharine gesture, one that comes as silently as a fluttering breeze sighing through petals of cherry blossom. A tincture of warmth spreads across your chest and you only feel it when Sunghoon has separated you two with an annoyed groan, reiterating his need to dress Jake.

“Shoo! Now!” He chastised and you had walked away with an overly dramatic pout drawn on your lips, throwing puppy like looks over your shoulder at them.

It only earned you a middle finger from Sunghoon and a snort from Jake.

You only think about his touch protracted moments later, when you still feel the heat of his body radiating off your waist, as if his touch has seared itself upon your skin. A coat of infatuation you can’t seem to take off. It’s the sole reason your heartbeat is abidingly fast even when his touch is long gone, even when his eyes are no longer on you but instead focused on Sunghoon’s face as they discuss his look. You remain a constant in a field of overgrown affection, your fingers itch – tinged with compulsion to pluck them out, you don’t have the energy nor the time to water them and yet, you don’t. your gaze glistening with heedless wishes.

Just a little longer.

You had yearned.

Even as the day unfolds like it always does, congested with Jake’s busy photoshoots and you running around in hope of making anything flow a little smoother for him. It’s only at the very ending hours of your schedule, the night sky had settled with a frigid air circling through the streets. As you sit in the backseat of the van with Jake’s head on your shoulder, exhaling tired puffs of air, and eyes closed.

Somewhere along the ride and in between seemingly unmoving traffic, he had rested his head on your shoulder, with mumbles about how tired he is. Albeit the days that have passed by with you snuggled between his covers or him falling asleep in your bed as if it’s his own, your body still can’t grow accustomed to having him so close.

Yet you still linger in your silence, putting on a show of having it all together as you scroll through your emails, mindlessly while Jay sits opposite from you, scrolling through his own end of work.

“Do you wanna go back to my place?” He whispers right into the skin of your neck, it has your fingers pausing across the screen of your iPad with bated breath, a shiver of something akin to excitement trialing down the length of your spine with fervor.

It isn’t an aberrant question, it’s one that you have heard for more days than not, one that you memorized the action that follows right after, the taste of his lips upon yours and the cruelty of his hands across your body. Yet how come they feel so welcoming? When did his light no longer blinded you but rather pulled you in?

“Sure.” You reply after a few silent beats, clearing your throat and adjusting yourself on your seat.

Jake only hums, and you smile to yourself as the amiability of his proximity filtrates through your essence. You smile, unaware of the heedless wishes driving you into the deepest end of the ground with promise of suffocation, unaware of the way Jay eyes you two.

Your night unfurls like it always does whenever you’re close to him, although with a few different elements it all ends in the same way. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you’re standing in the middle of his kitchen and amidst attempts to make a warm cup of tea that Jake didn’t even ask for. You grew a proclivity to try adding any weights of comfort to him, whether that was between the walls of his own home or dreadful hours of photoshoots and interviews.

And you enjoy it really, within your days you have accepted the fact that caring for Jake comes to you with no duress, in fact it is him that had always pushed you away from doing unnecessary things for him you’re not sure if he wasn’t used to the way you looked at him with genial amiability rather than reproach.

You enjoy it until you’re forced to be faced with the reality that none of this means anything cavernous than two lonely souls stumbling upon tender succour in blurry lines and scraps of affection.

You enjoy it until nights like these have your insecurity bubbling to the surface, protruding every sense of certitude he had whispered in your ears even when he didn’t have to. It all crumbles with vast impetus only because you saw a framed picture of Soojin on one of the tables in the living room.

You’re not sure how you never noticed it before, maybe because you and Jake never really spend much time outside his bedroom walls.

but you wish you didn’t. you wish you had gone blind for a moment or rather you wish you didn’t care as much as you did, there’s so much you wish for and yet none of them can be breathed into life in the same semblance you have to tie yourself back from tripping on questions you want to ask.

Is what between you and I merely a comfortable lie?

But none of it mattered, not when your chest had tightened with prodding thoughts, like knives stabbing at your heart with reminders that you will never be good enough.

Because you were feeling so good until moments ago, floating atop the clouds as Jake had muttered to you about how he needs to shower first, you took it upon yourself to ruminate through his displayed pieces, fingers grazing the soft petals of forget me not and eyes lingering on the singular painting he had hung up on one of the walls. You had paused with a dilated gaze, stupefied by the way fate seemed to work because you didn’t need to look at the signature to know who it belonged to you.

The art style was one that you couldn’t mistake for anything else, yet your smile had fallen from your face with enormous force as you took notice of the pictures of Soojin. You had to reason with your brain that they are close, even if you hate it but perhaps it was the fact that she holds space you never will, perhaps it was that you’re not even anything remotely close to what she is to him. You will never leave evidence of your existence behind.

Perhaps it was the fact that you and Jake do not mean anything outside the walls of his bedroom.

“Bunny?” you swivel your head around with surprise on your face as if forgotten where you were “What are you doing?” Jake asks– now freshly showered- leaning on the doorframe of his kitchen, his eyes darting over your figure rapidly.

“Making you tea.” You blink yourself out of your thoughts.

“Why? You don’t have to.”

“I know,” your smile tilts up your lips with ease, warmth that’s only ever entailed with whispers of his name “I wanted to.”

It’s only moments later when the both of you are on the couch of his living room, the entire space enveloped with darkness if not the moonlight seeping in through his open window.

“You’re awfully clingy today.” You comment as his arms tighten around your waist with dripping affection, pulling you against his chest impossibly closer and rests his chin on your shoulder. You don’t give room for yourself to waver even when he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Vanilla and cinnamon engulf his being with you.

“’m not clingy.” He mumbles, halfheartedly and with no intent for them to hold any meaning over your ears, so you don’t let them, only humming as your fingers graze the length of his arm, tracing over his veins, your fingertips leaving a trail of blossoming life behind “I’m just tired.” He adds after a while, as if his exhaustion is not a see-through flimsy excuse to have you closer, his chest pressing into your back.

“Do you wanna go to bed maybe?” you ask, concern inscribed into every stroke of your voice, as warm as the tea you had just made him and it has him smiling against your neck, evoking your smile to raise melting into a giggle “What?” you ask and when he huffs out a chuckle, yours sync with his colored pink like the flush upon your cheeks.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, hugging you tighter “I just wanna stay like this for a bit.” Your heart trashes around your chest, and you fail not to waver akin to spring air wisping through your hair in the daytime.

“We can stay like this for as long as you want.” You whisper and he hums in agreement.

As a tranquil silence settles upon the two of you, his humming continues, turning into a sweet melody that you don’t recognize evoking your curiosity from Paris to rise to the surface once again. Although it isn’t coherent singing it’s enough for your soul to perchinto a similar placid feeling akin to floating atop waters warmed by the unforgiving sun or maybe it’s simply the warmth that comes from falling in love.

“What’s that song?” you whisper, afraid to break through his tonality of serene.

“It doesn’t have a name.” he answers after a few beats of silence.

You contemplate on the urges arising to ask for more information. Your fingers itching with heedless wishes yet again, so foolishly selfish like unraveling parts of him, a heedless wish like diving into him, looking through every nook and cranny of his being, even the darkest place he wishes light never touches. You don’t really linger on why, on where this urge exactly comes from and instead your nerves take over, worried you might catch yourself too far in, so you hold your tongue instead.

Your eyes dart across the living room in rapid search for something else to talk about, as they land on the piece of art hung upon his sage colored walls and your eyes light up, reminder of the piece you share.

“That painting.” you start, and he peeks at it, looking where your eyes are glued.

“What about it?”

“It’s really pretty.” You reply, feigning ignorance as your eyes trail over the name signed on the corner.

“I bought it at one of those college expos. I don’t really care about art, but I liked this one I guess.” He explains and your lips curl up into a grin as your fingers smooth over the length of his arm.

“Why this one?”

“I guess I could see what the artist was feeling.” His voice is soft, almost getting lost in the folds of silence if not caught by your heart “and I felt the same at the time.” He continues, tone sliding even softer, abrading across the surface of your chest with warmth the same way your nails to his skin.

“What do you think the artist was feeling?” Your smile slowly melts off your face, your essence overtaken by curiosity.

The painting was darkened by colors of gray and black, leaning towards petrifying it was a figure with their head in their hands as if in the middle of an agonizing scream, a couple of hundred nails stabbed into the skin.

“Guilt.” He replies “I felt like the artist was really struggling to overcome his guilt. As if it’s a part of you that you can’t seem to shake off. A shadow that constantly follows.” He continues, tone vulnerable as if the same liability still bears his soul, as if that shadow still loiters behind him.

His answer has your chest tightening compulsorily, as your eyes flit across the splashes of paint once again the meaning comes to you the same. Unfurling from the depths of darkness you can’t help the pain of realization that settles, it floods your being with a similar laminate of guilt.

“Niki painted this.” You say, letting out a breath and Jake stills, leaning his head back to steal a look at your expression.

“Your brother did?”

“Yeah,” you answer keeping your eyes fixated on the painting, darting over every swivel of color “I never really looked at his paintings this deeply before to understand.” you let out a chuckle that lacks humor and Jake doesn’t answer but you feel his gaze on you, fits his fingers in the empty spaces between yours with a squeeze.

“He’s really talented.” He says after a few minutes with sincerity.

“He is. He’s always been amazing at everything he does.” Your gaze falls to your interlocked hands, the sight of his fingers in between yours stirs something cloyingly tender within you “I wish he didn’t have to feel that way.” You continue with a soft voice, as if unwittingly revealing the concerns haunting your mind.

“It’s not your fault. It’s not something you can take away.” Jake whispers back, his thumb brushing over your hand.

“I know.” You smile, turning your head to catch his eyes with yours and the benignity woven in them almost has you melting, the skin of your fingers craves to mesh with his.

I wish you didn’t have to feel this way.

You almost want to whisper to him, right in whatever blurry space has been built between you two.

“You’re doing everything that you could, and it's amazing.” His eyes are penetrating, filled with seas of truth that you plunge yourself into with no second’s thoughts, your heart trembles with each word, your eyes softening so marginally.

Will you

“Thank you.” your chuckle escapes you gravelly, tinting your cheeks with a blush along the way “in the past none of my partners liked how much I cared about Niki- i-it feels like no one understood” Jake listens intently, a smile twinged with incitement for your emotions to unwind, spilling with a hue of rare amenability “So thank you for saying that.”

Allow me

“I think you dated a bunch of idiots if they weren’t able to envelope your heart with the same kindness it radiates.”

A silly urge to cry takes over your being albeit no tears fill your eyes, and your lips slightly twitch upwards in a grin twined with nothing but warmth that comes from the glimmer present in his tired eyes or perhaps it’s the heat emitting from his body pressing against yours, maybe it’s in the sincerity that laces his voice so effortlessly as if peering through your veils comes as easy as breathing to him.  Whatever it is, it is in this fleeting moment that you feel no need to hide but rather strangely feeling safe enough to spill whatever substance have plagued your soul for years.

To stay

“Do you mean that?”

“That you dated a bunch of idiots? I thought that was common sense?” you roll your eyes with a chuckle, his own smile rising as you deliver a slight jab to his stomach with your elbow.

“Jerk.” His own laughter erupts with ease, stealing your heartbeat as you attempt to free yourself from his embrace, his arms tighten around you. denying you.

“Have I ever lied to you?” he whispers against the shell of your ear, and you squirm with a shake of your head “Then believe my truth this time as well.”  He continues plaiting his words with a hum, a squeeze of his arms around your middle as if he’s not the reason breathing grows harder and harder to catch. An endless chase.

By your side?

“Sometimes I feel like I barely have anything to offer maybe that’s why I end up with a bunch of idiots.” You admit after a while, hushed as if shameful of the insecurity coating your flesh “Yeonjun – my ex that cheated on me at work remember? Yeah-“you chuckle nervously, a bitter edge to your laughter as if the memory is still fresh in your mind “used to say that all the time- that there’s nothing particularly special about me.”

You’re silent for a few tantalizing minutes, your gaze turning hazy as if recollections of every painful word Yeonjun has ever muttered still surrounded you, they twirl around your mind with the same affliction.

“I wonder why do I crave to be something-“you pause with darting glances as if trying to find meaning in the gaping holes of your being until they catch his “special so bad?”

Jake’s have always known his incarnation to turn coarse, his propensity for honesty remains abiding and he never knew to sugarcoat his words, they come out harsh, sharpened like an edge of a blade. You are a paradox to his own existence, the complete opposite of him, a gentle soul with words coated in candied affection.

It’s baffling to him, how someone as extraordinary as you could feel this way.

So, he shouldn’t be surprised at the words of raising at the tip of his tongue, almost choking him with its sweetness merely because it is directed at you.

“Isn’t giving your heart away the most precious thing you could ever offer?”

“What if my heart isn’t good enough either?”

“How could it ever not be good enough when it’s yours?”

As your eyes dance around each other, his reveal nothing but pure, crude veracity. It dawns on your being so intensely you’re not sure you have even a mere moment to question the fastening beats of your heart. You’re not sure when was it exactly that your world has shrank to nothing but him. When was it exactly that chasing fleeing gazes and waiting for touches of lust upon your skin have turned into this?

“How could it not be special when every particle of your essence is you?”

You never knew comfort that comes so simple yet so vigorous with its weight, how could such a minuscule word have such a big impact on your glass heart, on your staggered breath and how could it water your hope so effortlessly?

Another seed of heedless wishes grows, venturous with desire like asking him if I gave it to you would you still think the same?

“I don’t know how you make words sound like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, even in the middle of his living room his eyes sparkle as if they hold specks of stardust, his lips twitch upwards in a smile like the glimmering moon.

You feel foolish with the transparent reverence flowing through every part of you, in the tips of your fingers and in the delicate sentiment of you. You grow sorry for the rest of the world for stealing the scintillates of the night sky, you’re in his arms and you’re awfully sorry because there’s no way for you to share.

“I don’t know how you make everything sound so magical.”

“I think you’re just soft for me bunny.”

“You wish.” You snort, your words lack meaning and more than anything power.

“Do you ever miss Yeonjun?” he murmurs after a few moments of quietness, and your surprise takes you like a storm passing by with vehemence, it has your eyebrow twitching with semblance of annoyance that you’re not sure why it filtrates through your thoughts.

You don’t expect it, maybe not when you’re on his lap and in between touches of tender affection.

“Do you miss yours?” you retort back, harsher than intended and bittered by his nonchalance.

“Sometimes.” He answers and your nails dig into his flesh lightly, not sharp enough to evoke his notice “But we ended on good terms and we’re still friendly.”

You poke your tongue in your cheek as your eyes trail over that picture of Soojin once again, you’re somewhat thankful he can’t feel the heat of your furious gaze as you glare at the unmoving picture, and yet you’re somewhat annoyed he seems unaware of your frustration the way it imbues your senses has you faltering with hesitation at an answer to give back, so you don’t. Instead, you dwindle into silence intoxicated by your rapid heartbeat and the feeling of his breath on your cheek.

It's only when your own chest starts heaving as his lips ever so slowly, softly pressing into your neck with a phantom of a kiss, almost imperceptibly. His fingers trailing under your blouse with purpose, his touch scalding hot as his fingers graze over your hipbone and your lips separate with an audible gasp.

“What?” he breathes out an amused chuckle at your response.

“I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“What were you expecting?” He whispers, his voice tinted with allure the same way his other hand travels up your jaw, denting them with his fingers as he turns your face to him, you grow breathless, stolen by how enchanting his existence remains to be.

“I-I don’t know.” You breathe out, your eyes unfocused on anything other than the soft looking skin of his lips, even when it tilts upwards in an all-familiar teasing smirk that manages to irk you each time.

The space between you grows smaller and smaller as he invariably inches forward, his exhales mingling with yours and your mouth falls open with a silent moan, his fingers – with desire emanating from them slip past the confine of your pants. Your body burns with the heat of his touch, longing colors your gaze the longer he doesn’t kiss you and his glisten with mirth as he keeps his lips atop yours, almost touching yet not close enough.

never close enough.

“For someone who pretends to be unexpectant you sure are wet.” Your face burns with a blush so deep you could only hope the dark aids in concealing it, even when Jake’s thumb is pressing onto your clothed clit and your throat bubbles with the threat of a whine.

His scorching gaze scouring over passing expression lingering on your face for not long enough, yet amply enough for his own breathing to rattle, for his own sanity to abscond, overtaken by an utter ache to have you, ache to have you falling apart it has his fingers moving on their own, with a losing battle trailing behind as he buries them in your underwear, your arousal coats his hand as it slips inside of you.

“Jake.” you fall apart as easy as the whine escaping your mouth, as easy as the groan he lets out when he slots his mouth against yours with a bruising kiss, his other hand trails down from your jaw to your throat and your heart reels.

“mhm? What is it baby?”

“I-I thought you were tired.” You mutter weakly throwing your head back on his shoulder as he works his fingers deeper into you.

“Never too tired to fuck you.”  he replies, eyes glued to the way your mouth falls open, your eyebrows scrunching up in pleasure.

Jake’s cravings seem to turn decadent whenever you’re in the picture.

It’s the same way he learns to press his cravings into your back that night, with touches and kisses that abide closer to tender love than the way he looks at you, the way you moan his name, his thumb trails over your spine with fervor, his lips press into your neck with purpose to imprint himself onto your skin, a desire for you to give him something diverting to wear beneath his blood.

“Fuck! Right there!” you moan loudly, your fingers gripping the sheets below you tightly.

“Yeah? feels good baby?” he still asks with a whisper drilling into the same spot as if you’re not falling apart with drool staining his sheets, you still nod with a whine.

“So- so good oh my god- I’m close, don’t stop!” your words are barely coherent, getting cut off by your whimpers.

“Me too baby- fuck you’re so good-“ you keen at the fallen praises from between his lips, the knot in your stomach growing impossibly tighter with the same way his grip tightens around your hips, his thrusts growing harsher, the slap of the skin sounds sinful, reverberating through the walls. A pleasurable groan escapes him at way the you squeeze around him after a particularly hard thrust.

“fuck-!" he growls fucking into you deeper, harder, faster anything to have you crying out "You’re so pretty when you’re mine.”

You’re not sure if you hear him correctly, if your mind had conjured up a couple of words to feed your delusions, convocation that they’re closer to reality than none yet your orgasm feels like it dissolves you into liquid with how hard it hits you, the sounds emitting from you are foreign to your own ears only increasing in volume when he follows with the same path, his come spilling into you.

You’re feeling hazy as he pulls out of you, the air heavy even when he kisses behind your ears with murmurs of needing to clean you up.

You have fallen silent the entire process and it’s not until the both of you had changed that he’s pulling you into bed atop his chest with a question lingering in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice soft with careful tenderness and you only nod your head with a smile.

“i’m just sleepy and tired.”

“My dick is that good?” You don’t need to look at him to know he’s wearing that same annoying expression he has whenever he teases you, a smirk and a glint in his eyes.

“Fuck off bro.” your hands react before your mind, grabbing one of the pillows and hitting him square in the face, the chuckle that erupts from his lips is otherworldly heavenly and your eyes soften, mind plagued with the words he had said earlier.

“Bro? What is wrong with you? I just fucked you.”

“No what is wrong with you?”

“A lot.” He answers and you arch a brow at him, biting back a smile when he rolls his eyes at you with endearment tinting his hands as he pulls you closer to him once again, your head rests atop his chest and you fall into tune with his heartbeat.

As he runs his hands through your strands, the both of you are quiet, something akin to a tranquil silence fills the room yet your mind races with everything that has happened the few couple of weeks, Jake remains unstable, days pass by with him saying a few words to you then fucking you only to fall asleep with the same silence between you, then other nights unfold similar like today, with you pulling effortless laughs from his lips, gentle kisses scattered on your skin.

you're so pretty when you're mine

Did he mean it? or did you imagine it? Have you finally gone mad?

Perhaps it’s that sole reason your hope climbs over every other feeling, perhaps is the heat seared onto your back with whispers of the words he muttered that have you slipping with a new devotion, one like foolishly wishing for your souls to intertwine.

Maybe that’s why you thought it would be okay for you to speak after a while.

A fatal fantasy -

“When we were in Paris.” You start with overflowing prudent, circling the air as you slightly tilt your head upwards with intent to steal a glance at him, his hum comes as encouragement for you to continue “you told me you want to love music the way you used to do but you never answered me when I asked you why.” Your voice is much quieter than before, and his body grows rigid in counted seconds, shorter than you could blink away your orgasm.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.” He replies with a deepened sigh, tone monotone and you chew on your lower lip with evident nerves at the lack of emotions radiating from him.

“I’m not gonna force you.” you say, hesitating for a few seconds before speaking again “I know things have been tough.” You’re met with quietude from him, one that has the tips of his fingers ceasing atop the skin of your back as if warning you to tie your tongue into a knot, do not break through your vows that took you countless enticing stares to keep.

Your heart abides a trivial piece of glass, yearning for him cuts through like the light of dawn coming to life with increasing heartbeat and woven with feelings you refuse to plaster labels on. Perhaps deep down your soul seeks for everything to fall apart.

“I know you must feel very lonely with how things are. with your mom gone and then your undiagnosed ocd-“you don’t get to finish your sentence before Jake is flinching away from you.

“What?” He sits up on the bed with a furrowed brow and a fire lacing his gaze as it lands on you, the heat of his body abandoning you has you itching “Are you trying be my fucking psych?” his tone - albeit does not change in volume, it still has apparent venom tinting every syllable. It has your heart trembling in your chest with the fear of stepping in too far, tripping on a ticking time bomb that explodes with a bat of your eyelashes.

“No I just thought-“  with nerves aptitude in your tone, limbs. You sit up as well, your fingers trailing over his arm in searched comfort, a reminder that mere minutes ago he was still entangled with you “I’m just trying to help and I thought-“you stumble, on your words and on your quivering heart as you try to find the right words to say yet your cognitive facilities shut down at the disillusionment sneaking into his irises.

“You thought what?” He lets out a short solemn laugh yet long enough to have your temerity crumbling as if daring you to speak.

“I opened up to you earlier and I thought maybe you’d be able to do the same.” You clarify with a whisper, eyes widened with pure longing.

A heedless wish.

“So, you thought you could talk like you fucking know a thing about me.” he grumbles, annoyance evident in the way he pushes his hand through his disheveled hair, and you watch with a shaking heart as he trudges out the bed with slumped shoulders.

“What? No, I’m trying to get to know you, Jake.” You defend, albeit debilitated by the obstacles of ice materializing in his eyes, you follow with the sun in yours.

“By treating me like a fucking project?” He’s growing angrier, it’s so visible in the cruelty that drips from his voice, in the way his eyes widen with a scalding fire threating to take you both down.

“I don’t treat you like a project.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit yn!” he swivels around to face you and you still in your trail with a bated breath “You think I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing? We talk for one night and suddenly you’re talking as if you have the cure to all my problems! Like you can fix me.”

“I’m sorry if it came out that way.” You mutter, your irises shaking with sincerity he doesn’t get to witness, not when he’s overtaken by anger, not when fear trickles in just as intense “When I saw that you had Niki’s painting I just thought-I thought we would be able to relate to each other. That there are sides of us we could understand.” He scoffs at your words, shaking his head in disbelief and your chest tightens, as if callous hands have made their way inside you with abhorrence, squeezing your fragile organ.

“Relate to each other?” He speaks, low and more to himself with displeasure written all over his face “You didn’t even understand what that painting meant until I explained it to you yn how the fuck are you gonna understand anything about me?”

“I know but-“

“God yn do you ever just stop and think about the way you act? The things you say?” As if a monster that has been unleashed, the shackles covered in rust, and they crack with the lump forming in the middle of your throat with a threat for tears to burn your cheeks with scalding trails “Do you ever stop and think about how overbearing you act sometimes?” Jake cannot stop, he feels it in the way his blood burns as it runs through his veins “why can’t you fucking listen to me when I tell you to stop? Why do you need to push me past my limits?”

“I’m sorry maybe I worded it wrong but my goal this time wasn’t to push you.” your words are not getting through to him, instead something akin to hideousness he’s all too familiar crumbles inside of him.

“I feel fucking sorry for your brother he has to deal with this kind of shit from you on top of whatever lead him to make that fucking painting.” His tone is cold and low when he speaks you but they break through your bones harsher than anything he had ever said to you and they crack, extending all the way to your heart, forming scars on the surface he had so delicately soothed not long ago.

You almost want to scoff at yourself more than anyone, how could you be so stupid to think of yourself as anything more than trivial glass that stays unaware of its imminent fate?

Jake regrets his words the moment they leave his mouth, not because of the bitter taste they leave behind but rather over the broken look that seeps into your face as quick as he inhales. His anger for you flees, tumbles to the ground right next to your puddle of blood, woven with your heartbreak and caused by the bullets he aimed at you while he wavers, colored with remorse.

It only penetrates him deeper when you grow quiet, your eyes fliting everywhere as if trying to find meaning in his words somewhere other than his face, as if you didn’t look at him you’ll be able to find different facets of them, ones that aren’t directed at you with only for hurt to unfurls throughout every nook and cranny of you. but then your eyes dart up to him, this time your eye contact doesn’t transpires with desire nor hidden giggles from you. This time your expression completely crumbles with excruciating agony.

“That’s too cruel to say even to someone like me Jake.”

Your words come out choked despite the tears glimmering in your eyes none fall, and it feels like punishment that dawns on him right away, he blinks rapidly at you, too aware of the harsh words that he let slip. There’s real pain in your voice, albeit your pure ability to display your emotions carelessly, he had never seen you this hurt, not in this unadulterated form and he falls speechless.

“bunny,,” he’s not sure what to say, his mind empty but it doesn’t matter because then you’re harshly wiping at your eyes with your arm and in mere moments you’re turning away from him.

He doesn’t know how long he stands in the dimly lit corridor, but it’s long enough to feel the weight of his own words pressing him down until he feels close to suffocating, he stares at his palms and fragments of your broken heart stares back at him.

You should have known heedless wishes were meant to break rather than mend.

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[pokemonshelterstories]

i'm taking a trip to alola in a few months, and am hoping to evolve my pikachu into an alolan raichu while i'm there. i'm prepared for the changes i'll have to make in caring for him, and i have some experience caring for psychic-types (i also have a gallade), but i feel like everywhere i look says something different about what makes alolan raichu evolve that way!

i'm pretty sure the thing about pancakes is an old wives' tale, so i haven't been feeding him any. for now, he's just been napping under the sun lamp we bring out in winter, and we're watching practically every surfing movie ever made. these all feel kinda vibes-based, but i'm really unsure what to do! is there anything i can do to prepare him to evolve before we get there? i feel like it can't possibly be as easy as just giving him a thunder stone as soon as we land :/

funnily enough, it really is as simple as using a thunderstone on your pikachu while you're in alola. the reason why pikachu evolve into a different form in alola is because of an environmental energy influence on them! it's thought to be the same kind of energy that causes totem pokemon to be the way they are and causes z crystals to appear.

good choice on not feeding the pancakes, as that's a lot of unhealthy carbs and sugars for a pikachu. but the sun lamp and movies are good enrichment and bonding time, so i don't think that's wasted time on your part! it won't influence his evolution, but if you're both enjoying it, there's no need to stop.

[diorcities]

with you (teaser)

spiderverse chronicles. haechan x reader, mark x reader genre fluff, action, mature content content spiderman au, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, selective mutism, sign language, smut (not in the teaser) more tba teaser wc 1.5k full fic est. 20k

an: since i'm making progress on the story (shocking) i'll share a little teaser. the past few days i've consumed a lot of spiderman content, it's not funny anymore. it was a sign of the times. i'm so excited to write this. happy reading ♡

description: after a catastrophic scientific explosion, chaos is unleashed in new york. a deaf girl must face the city that she once knew now submerged in a mayhem, pairing with a daily bugle intern to try to solve the mystery when one of the many affected with extraordinary abilities seems to have a duplicity between good and evil.

he can sense you're there.

just moments ago he had swept the area, now, he looks intently at the boxes loaded into the helicopter.

“planning on stealing the moon tonight?” he's growing bored. “you guys aren't elusive at all, you should practice a little at that.”

the ambiguity of his own reaction puzzles him. there was no hurry in his movements, nor the usual tension. instead, there was a deliberate pause, and this unbearable boredom.

he's quick to deflect a couple of bullets; it comes out spontaneously now. all his senses are enriched. everything vibrates. everything sings. he's sneaky instead of a fighter. and he's also fond to make jokes at inopportune times.

“isn't this labor exploitation?” he inquires. “i hope you get paid overtime,” he says again when in response, a dozen men point their guns at him. he reacts shooting his hands upwards.

“easy, i'm your friendly neighbor.” a man turns to him. the big fish. “oh, my bad, i mistook you for some lookalike with a bunch of small yellow people.” he also doesn't miss the opportunity to make an emphasis on his size.

wilson kingpin snorts, annoyed. “after months, i'd think you'd stop acting like a kid.”

“i am a kid.” he chuckles, removing the mask.

there was no point in hiding his identity when the old crow knew who he was from the very beginning, though it also made him a prospect for his tasteless jokes.

he takes a look at the containers when the man turns his back at him and shout instructions. “nano-technology prototypes...” his voice comes out in an interrogatory tone, sniffing through the large box.

the man in charge sees him snooping around when he speaks. “are you interested?”

“they wouldn't hurt,” he replies, distracted; something stirs inside him when you move closer.

“take a few, see if you put it to good use.” he sneers and he mimics him, nonchalantly.

he's pretty quick and elusive. skills, he guesses, his best traits; but even though, he might need some; he's been doing alchemy lately, so he grabs two and when the man looks away, grabs a few more. he can put good use to that kind of technology. “any other tasks you need me to do?”

he bristles when the man smiles, agreeing; he's been waiting for the moment. doing silly tasks, dirty work. finally he was getting closer to get what he wants. “yes. why don't you take care of that little reporter mouse?”

fisk goes back to his job as if he's bored, and his lips tighten into a grimace that he already knows, making him take care of you.

“was this what you wanted, to steal technology?” you ask to the wind. the men hardly pay attention to you, but he does.

he must acknowledge that you have guts even though fisk is giving you a window because you don't pose a threat. not because of his size, but because of his influence.

“what's in the boxes?”

“as if i were going to tell you.” he mocks, hiding behind the mask. “why don't you cover tonight's weather instead, family of murderers?” he sees you freeze. “why don't you leave these matters to us and you take care of yours? seems like you're in deep shit,” he says, taking one step closer.

when you realize it, he's in front of you and you have nowhere to run. yet your feet recede to the edge. “mmm? don't test your luck and stay out of it.”

he gives you recognition that you don't look even a little intimidated. “who are you?”

his smile almost reach his eyes, “as if i were going to tell you,” he repeats, morbid.

fisk growls behind you, and something dark spreads on his gut, “get done with it, bug.”

he does what he says. first, he steals it from you in one move. and you're not quick to protest when his hands half-push you and your feet stumble. doing silly tasks, dirty work. one more thing and it will end.

nevertheless, getting rid of you is hard for him.

your hands try to hold on but he pulls away, so you fall into nothing.

like a bullet, he watches you fall, waiting. and when a blue boost barely flashes around you, he moves away from the edge. afterward, you just fall into new york.

[hotchnersangel]

The Manuscript.

Aaron Hotchner

a/n; hey so i hate myself after this bc my heart hurtssssssss. Oh my god i cant breathe why have i done that ouch

warnings; implications of sex, heartbreak, age gap, light mentions of eating struggles, emotional hotch

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

You and Aaron had a loving and happy relationship for the most part, no, for the whole part. You always felt safe with him, content when in his arms and no matter what was going on, you knew that it would be okay because you had Aaron, but... now you didn't. You no longer had him and that was the issue, the root of your internal pain- the feeling of claustrophobia as you're trapped within your own body, being suffocated and closed in on very slowly and agonisingly.

Your relationship had happened hard and fast. One day he was your boss, the next you were entwined in his arms and suddenly all you knew was him. Now and then you re-read the manuscript of your relationship. A silly, stupid, gutwrenching piece of paper displayed with your handwriting. The only place the two of you were still together.

The concept seemed silly now but the two of you promised to write out letters to one another on extremely special occasions. It held a greater sentiment than leaving a message when it was handwritten. You had only one but that one manuscript was the bane of your existence, drawing you in like a moth to the flame. It was enough to sentence you to a life imposing as a lamb to slaughter, at his hand. You hated how he always had an effect on you, even after all these years, he was always your because. The manuscript in question? His hand written confession of love. You scoff looking over the paper, tracing your finger over the ink scrawling and silently curse Aaron Hotchner and his utter romantic mind.

'I'm not a donor but I'd give you my heart if you needed it.'

A sentence that haunted the ghost of who she had become.

It had been a very long and passionate night between the two of you. Let's just say age had not effected you man's ability to perform when it came to you. Over and over and over. You were laying in bed besides him, tracing his cheek with the pad of your fingertips, memorising the features of his face. "I don't know what I prefer, being given the opportunity to be this intimate with you... or being able to talk to you about anything and know you still care." "You don't have to prefer one or the other," you reply with a smile, kissing his nose. "You will always have both." "Don't say things like that uness you want to be pushing our baby's stroller," he jokes with a loving smile and you laugh. Your pretty sure your heart just burst with love and adoration for this man.

But, soon it was over.

The reason he broke up with you was 'simple', because of you age gap, he deemed it to be inappropriate. Sure, you were in your late twenties and he may be in his fourties but it had never been a problem to him before.

In the age of him you wished you were thirty, if it meant that much to him. Just a few more years and it would have been fine. You wouldn't have lost the love of your life. Your soulmate, your person. Because that's what he was. He understood you, he accepted you and most importantly- he loved you.

You had dreams while in the relationship and post-relationship about making coffee every morning before work in his fancy new french press. Coffee was a huge part of your job enrichment so to start with a genuinely good coffee was always a reason to smile that day. Though, your favourite part of that damn french press was the coffee scented kisses. Every morning before you got in the car, Aaron made sure to kiss you with every ounce of love he had for you, no matter if you were both running late or urgently called out, he never forgot. The kisses tasted like him, it's strange how the smell and taste coffee could be so distinct to a person; to the point where it takes over all of your senses. You haven't drank coffee since you guys broke up.

After the breakup, you went back home to England to stay with your parents. You never understood how much a breakup could effect you until you stayed in bed all day, not even your own, your mother's bed. She held you as you cried for days on end, trying to coerce you back into an everyday routine once again but soon giving up because she knew it would not work. She regularly brought you a bowl of cereal, trying to get you to eat something. Though, you rarely ate it, especially in the first few days.

"It was your favourite when you were little, I thought maybe some nostalgia could help." Your mom explained with a soft smile, holding you like you were still a baby, because you would always be her aby and all she wanted to do was protect you.

Eventually you started dating again, this time a boy who was your own age. Though, you couldn't help but compare him to your Aaron. This boy was immature, didn't know what he wanted and cared only about parties. A bad choice, you knew that not all boys your age care about so little but they would never compare to Aaron. A man who wrote you a handwritten confession of love and kissed you so gently like you were soon to be framed in an art gallery.

He often told you that you were wise beyond your years which you accepted as a compliment. You had to mature sooner, with the actions of your irresponsible father, you were forced to learn to live without him in your life. Maybe that's part of the initial appeal to Aaron.

Years ad passed since your breakup and life no longer felt real, maybe you over-depended on Aaron but it was far from unhealthy. Your life felt like a cruel drama you watch on an occasional weekend. In the time apart, you went to university back in England, studying a psychology masters with hopes of diverting from police work into psychological fields. But goddamn, everything reminded you of him.

The professor had told us that looking backwards may be the only way to move forward in life, not appealing to us, but to the degree, though it played at your heartstrings and you knew what you had to do.

You booked a flight out to Quantico, Virginia as soon as you could. The plane ride was like a death trap for you. A feeling of distraught ripping at your insides, something that had never truly gone away these past years. Suddenly you wonder if he had been feeling the same these past years. They say water holds memories so when the tears stream down your face with adamant precision, you knew that you were about to rip open a half stitched wound.

The sheet of paper was the only thing you brought with you.

You started to get nervous at seeing him again for the first time in many of years and hopefully, it was the last. Hopefully the dreams would stop, the reminders would stop and you will be okay again.

You walk into the FBI building, the security still recognising you and letting you through the building and you press level 6 when you get into the elevator, for the very last time. You exist the elevator and look into the familiar building, seeing the team in the bullpen as you walk through. Emily looks up and catches your eye, immediately shocked to see you. A ghost of her unit chief's past.

"Hello you- what are you doing here?" She smiles and pulls you into a hug dragging everyones attention. Soon they all swaddle you in hugs and welcomes.

"I'm not here for long, I just came to... drop something off." You say with a flat mouth and you know damn well they can see the effect it is having on you.

"Do you want one of us to give it to him?" JJ asks kindly, placing her hand on your shoulder, offering a polite smile.

In reality they can all see that you had yet to heal from your breakup, you still looked exhausted, you looked hollow. Like a part was taken from you and it seemed all too familiar to them because you looked like Aaron, maybe even in a better condition than him.

"No, I want to seee his one last time." You say simply and point up the stairs. "is he up there?"

They nod and so you knock on the door and open it, your heart shattering at the sight of him. He was far from looking after himself, you knew him enough to tell despite him looking professional. He looks up from his work load and stares at you, his mouth falling into an 'o'.

"What..."

You shake your head, "Aaron, hi." you breathe out softly, a huge weight on your shoulders.

"Hi... please come in." You do but you don't sit.

"I'm here to give-"

"How've you-"

You both overlap one another, letting out a soft sigh with a smile.

"How've you been?" His eyes are glassy, probably from how he was rubbing them to see if you were really stood infront of him or not.

"Fine."

"How's London?" He asks again, softer this time.

"Good. I needed my mom."

"Yes." He nods and looks at you longingy. The silence is thick.

"I- I came to return this." You say softly, handing over the sheets of handwritten paper. "I think it is inappropriate to keep considering our circumstances."

He takes the sheet, his finger brushing against yours and you feel your heart shatter in your chest. Tears burned your eyes and you handed him it and he took it, opening it to see if it was true. He looked at the paper and visibly frowned, tears mimicing yours in his eyes. "You're giving it back? You flew here to...give it back?"

"The only thing that is left in us healing is the manuscript-"

"Oh," he wipes his eyes, not even hiding his feelings. "Can I hug you?"

You nod, knowing this is the last time you will get to experience this again. "Take it as my last souvenir from my trip to your shores." You laugh through tears, holding onto him like it was the last thing you will ever do.

You cry into each others arms, holding one another so tightly. "I re-read that so many times and i realised... the story isn't mine anymore."

[pomefioredove]

Hello 💕 If you're still accepting headcanons requests, could you write something about a reader who seems normal and "ordinary" and even a little shy/demure but shines brilliantly on stage as if a completely different person (can be an actor, singer, idol etc.) with Rook and Vil and the Pop music club (separately)? Tysm 💓

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the opposite of stage fright

type of post: headcanons characters: cater, kalim, rook, vil, lilia additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu

introverts are Lilia's favorite people

...to torture

when you first started attending club meetings, he assumed you were some kind of groupie

I mean, who wouldn't want to fawn over him?

but he still tried to drag you into club activities

you just... refused to play anything, wouldn't sing, wouldn't so much as speak...

but Lilia was confident he could get you to stop holding back

so, the club got clever

at their next concert, Kalim ~magically~ has a sore throat

and who else to take his place but the only other member of the club?

manipulative little fae...

and, as he thought, you had been holding back

the concert is a rousing success

...and he's never going to let you forget it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil is like a bloodhound for talent

he can smell the potential on you from one look at your plain, slightly-disheveled self

he knows that any other student would have ignored you. but he isn't just any student

he knows you're holding out on him

and he'll crack that shell of yours no matter what it takes

that is to say,

once you've caught his eye,

you will never know peace again

...and maybe that sounds like an over exaggeration, but if you're a timid person, it's your worst nightmare

I mean dance rehearsals twice a week, vocal training, posture, projection, poise, presentation-

everything

the other Pomefiore students may give you odd looks as you walk by on their Housewarden's arm,

but he knows

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Kalim doesn't need a big performance to know that he's already proud of you

what can I say? he's got enough enthusiastic hugs to go around

and he definitely doesn't mind that you're shy

...honestly, the thought hasn't even occurred to him

even if you don't want to party or dance or say hi to everyone in the dorm every time you come over,

he like you. he doesn't need anything else

you're already amazing to him

and ... in a way, he kind of turns out to be right?

he had always said he could see the star in you, and here you are, performing on stage like a professional!

...not that he isn't surprised

Kalim is completely blown away

it's all he can talk about for the next week, actually

(much to your embarrassment)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook had a feeling

...and he's also listened to you singing to yourself when you thought you were alone

I mean WHAT who said that

he definitely just had a feeling

now, seeing you on stage, he's almost brought to his knees

having watched the seed of your beauty blossom into a beautiful flower is the ultimate enrichment for him

and unlike Vil, he waited for you to blossom on your own

a hunter is nothing if not patient, after all

though, he still can't help but feel a little accomplished...

even though he didn't push you, or train you, he kept the secret of your beauty all to himself

...which is a kind of guidance

admittedly, he wouldn't have minded keeping it all to himself for a little while longer, though

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Cater always just thought of you as...

...kinda cute. right?

you were shy and quiet, always avoiding his camera, meek, the kind of person that doesn't last long at NRC

...of course, he had to take you under his wing!

sort of?

really, he just liked that you let him talk your ear off

he didn't even mind that you never let him take your picture! ...kind of

and he thought he knew you pretty well, but...

...seeing you on stage after the music club's performance...

totally wiping the floor with them...

well, well, you still find ways to surprise him

of course, though, now that he knows you're a world-class performer, he's never going to let it go

he got a lot of likes on the videos of your performance, after all

I guess he finally got that picture he wanted ;3

[sincerelyhunnybee]

unchained | dark romance w. dabi

chapter 4

wc: 4.6k

cw: captivity/abduction, psychological distress, power imbalance, sensory discomfort, dubious morality, surveillance, toga being scary, dabi being soft ???(ooc)

ೀfrom bee: surprise, it's an early chapter drop! felt really inspired to finish this one quickly. the pressure of school is also upon me because i start a summer class this monday :(( hope fully my updates will stay consistent. i can only hope you enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it. :)) support on ao3!

Just a tray, waiting by the door. Food again—something warm. Something different.

For a moment, your body stalls, not from fear but from confusion. He always brought it in. Said something. Gave you a look, at least. But this time?

Nothing.

Your socked feet against the cold floor as you cross the room, slow and cautious, like something might lurch out of the shadows if you move too fast. You crouch by the tray and stare.

Oatmeal. A banana. A boiled egg. Not ration scraps or reheated soup. There’s more thought and care being put in to this meal.

You don’t touch it right away. You pick up the spoon, hold it like it might be a message folded in metal.

He’s trying to get in your head. Or maybe you’re already in his.

You eat. Your tastebuds not granting you the satisfaction of savoring the meal. But it’s not comfort. Not really. It’s just fuel in a cage with a semi-soft bed and hot running water.

After eating, you place your tray by the door, where he normally picks it up, and you sit back on the mattress, and wait.

And eventually—he shows.

The door whines open without warning. Dabi steps inside with a dog-eared paperback.

He tosses it onto the mattress beside you with casual disinterest.

You glance down. The Count of Monte Cristo.

“Subtle,” you say dryly.

He gives a half-shrug, eyes already scanning the corners of the room. “Figured you’d start talking to the walls if I didn’t give you something else to do.”

You run your fingers over the cover. “What is this? A hostage enrichment program?”

“You're welcome.”

You pause. Then smirk faintly. “Didn’t peg you as a reader.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you as the type to survive this long.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. Just awkward. Uneasy. Like two people trying to remember which mask to wear.

You look back at the book. “Is this supposed to mean something? Revenge and all that?”

“It’s a story,” he says simply, folding his arms. “Take it or leave it.”

You turn the book over in your hands, flipping through a few worn pages. The margins are underlined. Not recently. But intentionally. You don’t ask if it’s his copy.

“Did you used to read a lot?” you ask instead, not looking up.

There’s a pause.

“Before.”

That word again. Before.

“Sometimes,” he says eventually. “It's hard to focus when you’re on fire.”

You laugh—soft and hollow. “Fair.”

He sits across from you again, in the same chair, the one he always seems to claim like a ritual. The distance between you stays the same. The tension, however, does not.

You shift on the mattress, letting your legs stretch out over the side. “So. . . Are you planning on keeping me here forever, or just until you get bored?”

He doesn’t answer.

You look up at him. “Because it’s starting to feel like either way, I die here. Doesn’t matter if it’s by your hands or theirs.”

He regards you for a long beat. “You’re not dead.”

“Yet.”

“That’s more than most get.”

The weight in those words slams into you harder than expected. Like there’s a ledger in his head, and you’re still on the right side of it—for now.

You chew your bottom lip, then try again. “Do you even know what they’re going to do with me?”

Another long pause. “I don’t ask.” he states quietly.

You blink. “You don’t ask?”

He shrugs, eyes cast somewhere over your shoulder. “Nothing good ever comes from the answer.”

It makes you cold. Not because you believe he’s lying. But because you believe he isn’t.

“Why bother feeding me then? Why give me books and let me shower and—” You cut yourself off before your voice cracks. “Why pretend I’m not just another loose end?”

His jaw ticks. “You don’t scream.”

You freeze. “What?”

“You don’t beg. You don’t cry. You just… sit. Think. Talk.” He shifts, like the words are too sharp in his mouth. “Makes it easier.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

So you don’t.

The silence returns to fill the gaps in the words you both would to say, but don’t. This time like a wall.

You pick at the corner of the book again.

“…You ever miss it?” you ask, almost to yourself.

He glances at you.

“Normal,” you clarify. “Whatever that means.”

He lets out a faint scoff. “Normal’s just another lie people cling to.”

“That’s not a ‘no’.”

Glacier-like eyes stare into your own, bottom lid twitching. And before he can speak, someone playfully knocks. The door opens a sliver.

“Daaabiiii,” Toga sing-songs, head peeking through. “Shigaraki wants you. Something about a recon detail.”

She pauses when she sees you.

Her eyes flicker over you—curious, hungry.

You stiffen under her gaze.

Dabi doesn’t turn to look at her. “Out.”

Toga pouts. “I was being polite.”

“Get. Out.”

“You’re no fun.” She twirls a knife between her fingers and sighs. 

Then she’s gone.

The door shuts a little too hard, but not before she gives you one last wink and a smile.

A warning wrapped in teeth.

Dabi doesn’t move for a long moment. He brings his fingers to the bridge of his nose, rubbing it.

Sucking a deep breath, he finally stands. Doesn’t look at you when he speaks.

“You’ll be fine. Just read the damn book.”

He walks out.

And this time, the silence he leaves behind feels different. Less like prison.

More like something just waiting to cave in.

-

The screen flickers, casting pale light across his face in the dark.

Dabi sits at the desk where the monitor broadcasts the current enigma in his life. An elbow rests on the grainy wood surface, supporting his head up while he continues to observe the grainy black-and-white feed in front of him. His right leg bounces up and down as his mind races. 

You're sitting cross-legged on the mattress, the one he dragged in two nights ago after hearing the way your breathing changed when you slept on concrete. You’re touching the book he left—haven’t opened it yet. Just picking at the edges like you think it might burn you. 

Maybe it will.

He doesn’t know why he left it. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t want to admit it to himself.

Your movements are slower now, more thoughtful, like you’re trying to make sense of what your body remembers when your mind won’t keep up. You don’t talk to yourself. You don’t cry when you think you’re alone. You just sit there and exist like that’s enough. And it’s getting to him. Eating away at every thought.

He shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t matter.

But you do. You’re all he ever thinks about now. 

Dabi exhales slowly, and slings his coat over his shoulders. The door groans on its hinges like a greeting as he pushes it open. You look up sharply, but there’s no fear in your eyes this time—only guardedness. A flicker of suspicion. He feels like that’s worse.

He steps inside and shuts the door behind him with less force than usual. The room feels warmer than it should be.

"Hey," you say carefully.

He doesn’t respond. Just walks over to the chair, drops into it, and rests an ankle on his knee. You notice he’s fidgeting with his fingers.

There’s a long silence.

You break it first..

“I forgot to tell you that I saw someone the other day,” you say. “Blonde. Big eyes. The same one who called for you yesterday. Looked at me like she wanted to carve a heart into my ribs.”

“Toga,” he mutters. “Don’t take it personally. She’s like that with everyone.”

“Comforting.”

“She didn’t touch you, did she?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He doesn’t say what he’d do if she had. You’re not sure if it’s a warning or a promise.

You glance down at the book between you. Your fingers are resting on it again like a nervous tic.

“Did you actually read this?” you ask. “Or was it just lying around?”

His lips twitch, not quite a smile. “What do you think?”

You flip the cover open. A name is scratched inside in messy handwriting. Not his, probably stolen.

“It's about revenge,” you say, testing the air.

“Isn’t everything?”

You hum quietly, scooting back and leaning back against the wall. For a moment, there's no violence between you. Just steam-thick air, soft breath, the faint rustle of pages as you finally start to read.

He stays longer than he should.

At some point, his head drops back against the chair, lids lowered like he might drift off. You watch the staples along his jawline catch the light, you wonder how it would feel to run your fingers over them.

"Can I ask you something?" you say after a while.

His eyes crack open, one pale blue flickering with tired amusement. "Do you ever stop?"

You ignore the jab. "If they kill me, will you watch?"

The question hangs in the air like smoke.

When he answers, his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “I’d make sure it was quick.”

You flinch. But you don’t look away.

He holds your gaze in his for a long beat. “I’m not gonna lie to you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “That’s why it scares me.”

Another silence. He looks away first.

He watches the hallway camera feed from his phone this time, eyes narrowing when he sees Twice pacing two doors down. Muttering to himself again. There’s been talk about movement. Pro Hero patrols shifting east. Pressure rising.

He hears voices down the hall. Shigaraki. Compress. A disagreement.

And he knows your time here is running out.

You’re not a long-term plan. You were never supposed to become anything. But you have.

Dabi scrubs a hand down his face and exhales through his teeth.

When he walks past your door again, he stops.

Just for a second.

And then, against his better judgment, he opens the door

Your head shoots up from the book, you look surprised, even though you shouldn’t be. However, he never comes back twice in one day.

You wait.

“We might move you soon.”

Your heart stutters. “Move me?”

He nods once.

“Why?”

“I don’t ask,” he says again, but this time it’s laced with something else. A warning. A regret. A quiet kind of run while you can, even if there’s nowhere to go.

 “Just… stay sharp.” he softly states.

And before you can ask what that means, before you can ask if he’s coming with you, he’s already gone.

Door shut.

Boots fading.

And the room feels smaller than it ever has before.

-

The hallway is dim, its only light coming from the flickering bulb above the main junction where several of the warehouse corridors meet. Dabi rounds the corner with his coat pulled tighter than usual, trying to walk past unnoticed. He needs air. A cigarette. Something.

He doesn’t get far.

“Touyaaaa~”

Her voice cuts through the quiet like a blade.

Toga steps out from behind a support beam with her arms behind her back, swaying slightly like a child waiting to be praised—or punished. Her hair is a little messier than usual. There's dried blood on her cheek. Not hers.

He doesn’t stop walking.

She follows.

“I saw you go in again,” she says, voice lilting. “That’s four times this week. You usually get bored after once.”

“Maybe I’m just getting more patient,” he mutters.

She giggles. “That’s not it.”

Dabi stops.

Turns.

“They’re cute,” Toga says sweetly, and the way she says it makes his skin crawl. “All soft and scared and grateful. Makes me want to see what color they bleed.”

He doesn’t lunge. He doesn’t raise his voice.

But the heat rises.

“Toga,” he says, and it’s not a warning. It’s a promise.

Her smile doesn’t falter. “I didn’t touch her. You told me not to, remember?”

“You so much as look at them wrong again, I won’t repeat myself.”

Her head tilts, eyes wide, voice dropping to a whisper. “Why do you care?”

He says nothing.

Because he doesn’t have an answer he likes.

Just then, Twice appears from the side hallway, hoodie half-zipped, mouth already mid-sentence.

“I told you guys this was gonna get messy—wait, are we fighting? Is this a fight? Please don’t fight.”

Toga spins toward him with a dramatic sigh. “Our dearest Dabi is getting attached.”

“I am not,” Dabi snaps, too fast.

Twice blinks. “Dude. You brought them food. Like, not even the gross stuff. Real food.”

“They needed to eat.”

“You brought them a book.”

“They were going to start talking to themselves.”

“You put a bed in their room.”

“They were—” He cuts himself off.

Twice raises both gloved hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging. I think it’s nice! Creepy. But nice. But also creepy.”

Toga leans back against the wall, twirling a knife idly. “You better be careful, Touya. They’re starting to look at you like you matter.”

Dabi meets her eyes, unflinching. “That’s their mistake.”

“Or yours,” she sings.

Twice snorts, trying to defuse the tension. “Well, we can’t all be emotionally constipated murder machines, right? Right?”

Neither of them laughs.

Dabi turns back toward the hallway, boots scraping the floor as he walks away. “Stay out of their room,” he throws over his shoulder. “Both of you.”

Toga watches him go, expression unreadable.

Twice looks between them and sighs. “Y’know, this is how those enemies-to-lovers stories start. Just saying.”

Toga flips her knife and grins. “Not if I end it first.”

-

The warehouse halls feel colder when he leaves them behind.

Dabi slams the door to his room shut behind him and leans against it for a long moment. He should’ve burned that conversation to ash. Let Toga scratch her curiosity out on someone else. Let Twice run his mouth until it exhausted him. But no.

They’re all watching now.

Not just you.

Their face when I walked in… they looked relieved.That’s the problem.

He pushes off the door, drags a hand through his hair, and crosses the room to the corner where the monitor glows faintly, humming like a heart that won’t die. His thumb grazes the edge of the table as he sits back down.

The feed pulls him in again—grainy, black and white, but clear enough to see you curled up on the mattress, facing the wall. The book he left you is tucked under your arm like it’s something precious. Like it matters.

He taps a knuckle lightly against the monitor frame. Not hard enough to make a sound, just a ghost of a touch. Just enough to admit he’s still here.

They’ll touch them, he thinks, jaw tight. If I stop watching, someone will. Toga, bored and impulsive. Shigaraki, if the wrong idea takes root. Compress, if leverage becomes liability.

He’s seen what happens to people who get left alone in League custody.

And maybe you’re not supposed to be the exception. But you are.

That pisses him off.

He tells himself it’s just a habit now. A way to keep control. A way to monitor the variables, keep the rest of the idiots from getting creative. But when you shift slightly and curl your body tighter on the mattress, Dabi leans closer to the screen like that’ll let him feel the warmth too.

He sits like that for too long.

Boots kicked up, cigarette burning out in his fingers, face lit only by the pale glow of the camera feed.

He can’t trust them with you.

And the more he watches, the more he realizes—

He’s not sure he trusts himself, either.

-

You hear the door before you see him.

It opens quieter this time. Not Dabi’s usual impatient creak—this is something more theatrical. Intentional.

You glance up from the book, body already tensing.

The man who enters doesn’t move like Dabi. He’s smoother. Slower. Every step feels like it’s part of a performance. His clothes are more tailored to his body. His mask glints in the low light as he tips an invisible hat with a flourish.

“Well, well,” he says smoothly. “So this is the infamous guest.”

You straighten, posture taut. “You’re not him.”

“Correct,” he replies, stepping fully into the room, heels of his shoes clicking. “And judging by the way your shoulders just locked up, you already miss him.”

You say nothing.

He chuckles, a deep, velvety sound that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Relax. I’m not here to hurt you. Curiosity got the better of me.”

He walks toward the chair Dabi usually occupies, but doesn’t sit in it. Instead, he glances around the room like he’s assessing a gallery exhibit. His gaze lands on the book stretched out on its spine, the mattress that your body rests on, the towel folded on a table by the open panel of the bathroom.

“My, my. He’s really gone soft.”

You frown. “Why are you here?”

“To observe,” he says honestly. “To understand why a man like him would bend his routines for someone like you.” 

His words aren’t cruel—but they sting. You aren’t sure why.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you mutter.

“No one ever does,” he replies. “But it’s not about what you ask for. It’s about what you cause by being here.”

You look up sharply. “So what is it? What do you think I’ve caused?”

He finally sits in Dabi’s chair, resting one ankle over his knee like he has all the time in the world. Taking over the presence of your captor companion.

“I think you’ve stirred something dangerous,” he says lightly. “Not because you’ve tried to. But because he’s watching you like he’s looking at something he lost.”

Your heart thuds once, heavy.

“I think,” he continues, voice still polite, “that you should be very careful. Because when a man like Dabi remembers how to care, he starts to remember everything else too.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s not your bad thing,” Compress says with a shrug. “But it may become one.”

He stands again, dusting invisible lint from his coat.

“Do you want my advice?” he asks.

You don’t answer.

He leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough to send a chill through you.

“Don’t become a weakness. Because we don’t have room for those here.”

Then, just like that, he turns and exits with a dramatic flourish of his mannerisms, leaving behind the faintest scent of spice and smoke.

You stare at the door long after it shuts.

Suddenly, the room feels colder again.

Like no matter how clean you are, you’re still something they’re waiting to use—or discard.

-

The click of the door echoes louder than it should.

You don’t move right away. Just sit there, frame rigid, staring at the space where he stood like you expect him to reappear. Like it was all an illusion, some eerie theatrical piece performed for your benefit.

But the room stays empty.

You press your hands into the mattress, digging your fingers into the weathered material, grounding yourself, but it doesn’t help. Your skin still prickles, not from fear exactly, but from something colder. Something more corrosive.

Don’t become a weakness.

The words replay in your head, over and over, each pass cutting deeper.

You’re already a weakness. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here. Not because you’re powerful or important, but because you’re the opposite. Just some unlucky bystander who got dragged into the orbit of monsters playing pretend with power.

But now you’re something else too. A liability. A variable.

You glance toward the corner of the ceiling, toward the watchful eye of the camera lens.

And for the first time since Dabi cut the ties from your wrists, you wish you were still bound.

Because at least then, there were no illusions. No masks pretending to be mercy. No warmth passed off as indifference.

Your throat tightens. Fingers twitching like you can summon some quirk that could shield you from everything you don’t understand. But you're quirkless. Useless. 

You don’t cry. Not yet.

But it’s the first time you feel like maybe you should have, from the start.

Because Mr. Compress didn’t threaten you.

He warned you.

-

A tired creak emits from the door. The noise has conditioned you to flinch.

Dabi stands in the doorway, backlit by the dim hall light. His posture looks exhausted, one hand braced on the doorframe like he’s debating whether to walk in at all.

You straighten your spine, trying to bury the remnants of your unease. But it lingers in your mouth like ash.

His eyes scan the room. You. The mattress. The book, with extra dog-eared pages. His eyebrow twitches.

“What did he say to you?” he asks.

No preamble. No lazy sarcasm.

Just that.

You lift your chin. “So you were watching.”

His expression hardens. “I always watch.” 

You’re not sure if it’s meant to be reassuring or a threat.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say quietly. “It’s not like he hurt me.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

There’s something in his voice that’s more than curiosity. Something… sharp. Controlled, but only just. Like he's already bracing himself to torch the world if the answer’s wrong.

You look away. “He just talked. Said I shouldn’t make myself a weakness. That people like you don’t have room for them.”

A beat passes.

Then another.

You expect a scoff. A dismissal. One of his usual sardonic comebacks.

But instead—

“I told him not to come in here.”

Surprised by the bluntness. “Why?”

His eyes meet yours, unreadable. “Because he doesn’t know the difference between a threat and a warning.”

“…And you do?”

“I know what it looks like when someone’s already lost too much.” His delayed response coming out strained. 

Your breath catches in your throat. That wasn’t what you expected. And the worst part? It sounds like the closest thing to an apology.

He steps into the room and closes the door behind him—not slammed, not locked. Just closed. The air shifts again, heavier now, but not oppressive. Just… full.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of him,” Dabi says after a long pause.

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I’m not sure who I shouldn’t be afraid of.”

He exhales, steps closer, but doesn’t sit. He stays near the wall, like he doesn’t trust himself near you right now.

“You want the truth?” he asks.

You nod, slowly.

His voice drops low. “Everyone in this place is dangerous. Some of them more than others. Some of them are less honest about it. But I’m the one who keeps them out.”

You study him, heart thudding harder than you’d like.

“Why?” you whisper.

His mouth pulls tight. His gaze drops for a second.

And then, barely audible— “Because someone has to.”

The room is so quiet. You can hear the distant hum of the warehouse electricity through the walls. For a second, you wonder if he regrets saying it. If he’s going to backpedal, throw up that wall of cold indifference again.

He just stays there—standing in a room too small for how much space he takes up. For how much he’s taking up inside of you now. You’re still not sure if it’s fear, or something far more complicated.

You hug your body tighter,, suddenly aware of the way your shoulders still tremble—not from cold, but from the aftermath of Mr. Compress’s words. From the knowledge that your presence here is changing something that maybe wasn’t meant to bend.

“You . . . okay?” Dabi asks, voice low.

You almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Am I okay?

“I don’t think I’ve been okay since I woke up in this room,” you murmur. “But . . . I’m not falling apart.”

He nods slowly, like that’s the most he can hope for. Then, without a word, he moves to the chair—but instead of sitting, he lowers himself down onto the floor. Just beside the mattress. Not too close. Just enough to make himself… present.

You glance at him, confused. “What are you doing?”

He stretches one leg out, crosses the other over it. “Making sure no one else drops by.”

Your heart kicks a little harder.

“You’re staying?” you ask.

“Just for a bit.”

You lie back against the wall, still watching him. The mattress creaks beneath you. He keeps his gaze forward, focused on the wall, like looking at you too long might undo him.

“Don’t read into it,” he adds.

“I already have,” you reply, barely above a whisper.

That makes the corner of his mouth twitch—just a fraction, but it’s there. Something close to a smile. Or the memory of one.

The silence that follows isn’t heavy this time. It’s the kind that settles around two people who no longer feel like strangers, even if they haven’t decided what they are yet.

“You always sit on the floor when you’re being nice?” you ask quietly.

He shrugs. “Better than standing guard outside. You’d just get paranoid.”

“I already am.”

He glances at you then briefly.

“You’ve got more fight in you than you think.”

You hold his gaze. “You keep saying things that sound like compliments.”

“Maybe you’re hearing them that way.”

You both fall quiet again.

And slowly—carefully—you stretch your hand out, let it hang off the edge of the mattress. You don’t expect him to take it. You don’t even know if you want him to. But something inside you wants him to know it’s there.

He doesn’t move right away.

But then—softly, without looking—he shifts his hand just enough that his pinky brushes yours. Not a grip. Not even a touch, really.

Simply contact.

Enough to say, I’m here.

And for now, that’s enough.

It’s barely a touch.

Flesh to flesh, if you can call what’s left of his skin that. Just the edge of a pinky brushing against yours. The kind of contact most people wouldn’t even notice.

But he notices.

Because he shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be sitting on the floor of a room they use for leverage. Shouldn’t be close enough to see the way your breathing changes when you think he’s not looking. Shouldn’t be watching you the way he does every time you shift like you’re learning how to trust your body again.

But he is.

And now your hand is there—open. An invitation, or a challenge. He can’t tell the difference anymore.

You’re too clean now. Too quiet. Like a smoothed-over scar that hasn't started itching yet.

He told himself he’d just keep watch. That this was about control. About protecting the mission. That you were a loose thread he couldn’t let someone else pull.

But you're more than that now. You’ve become a variable in a system that’s supposed to be airtight. And he hates variables.

They make people soft.

They make people reckless.

And he’s been both before.

He tilts his head, just enough to see the curve of your cheek, the lashes resting against your skin. You’re pretending to sleep—or trying. He doesn’t blame you. Being watched wears a person down. He knows that better than anyone.

Your fingers twitch, ever so slightly, still hanging off the edge of the mattress.

His eyes narrow.

You’re not afraid of me anymore when you should be.

He leans back slowly, resting his head against the cold concrete wall. His joints ache. His scars itch. The room is filled with the intoxicating smell that is you. Pure.

He doesn’t close his eyes.

He can’t.

Because if he does, he might forget that this is a cage. That he’s supposed to be the one holding the keys. Not standing on the inside with you.

He tells himself again: Just keep watch. Just make sure no one else comes in.

But even he knows it’s a lie.

He’s not just watching you.

He’s protecting you.

And the moment Shigaraki figures that out, it’s all going to burn.

reblogs + comments are very much appreciated !

taglist (open + ask to be added): @reggieswriter @d4rlinxs @dabislittlemouse @jelliephia @tulnht @ninja-hxych

[syntheticsymp]

is Nikto's pet allowed to have hobbies? Pets need enrichment too

Nikto didn't think this through when he first stole you away. When he's home, he doesn't do much of anything other than stare at the wall and wait for the next mission. So, the hours you spent alone don't even cross his mind, until he starts noticing the little ways you start to unravel.

It quickly becomes clear that you need something to do, other than him. There are certain hobbies you picked up during your solitude. Particularly, birdwatching. Being out in the woods, you like to take note of the animals that pass by. You even start drawing, since you don't know the actual names of the birds. Once Nikto sees the small, labeled sketches lying about the house, he starts to ask about them. He loves listening to you talk, and it definitely beats starting conversation himself. Hearing your voice blocks out his own rambling alters, replacing their toxin with something sweeter.

"I call this bird the 'yellow-guy,'" you explain, holding the thin papers in your hands as you sat in Nikto's lap. "I call her that because she's yellow, obviously. I didn't have any colored pencils, though, so it's hard to capture--"

"We will find you colored pencils by tomorrow."

You looked up from your little notebook. "What?"

"We will find you colored pencils," he repeated, leaving no room for you to object. Then, pointed to the next page. "What is this one?"

Your smile was just as brilliant as the first time he had seen it. "I call this one the 'annoying-loud-bird.' Because he has an annoying chirp has woken me up on multiple occasions."

He continues listening to you for hours, his attention never wavering, his terrifying blue eyes never leaving you. He's making a mental note of all the birds you dislike; he'll make sure they will never ruin your view of your pretty favorites ever again.

It hurts a little, knowing you need more than him, but he wants to keep you alive physically and mentally. The amount of time you spend asleep, just waiting for him to come back, is concerning. So, he encourages anyway you find to entertain yourself.

He starts giving you small things he finds on the way home. Little toys for you to play with while he's gone, items to show his affection because he cannot express it. Knick-knacks, rubix cubes, even a little plush bear. The plushie quickly got booted after you started snuggling with it more than him, but other than that, he didn't mind the games.

A classic chessboard sits on the coffee table at all times now, pieces ordered carefully for your next match. You are learning, brushing up on techniques whenever he is away. Nikto has to admit, your tricks on the checkerboard are pretty impressive. He doesn't mind you beating him, because you're playing with him. It's like taking you on a walk, letting you stretch your legs to get your energy back. It's like it was before you shut down, you interact with a smile and sometimes wager a kiss on the cheek that you know you will give him regardless of who wins the match.

Almost instantly, he sees the difference. You seem more awake, your soul coming back to you. Just alive enough to move again. Coming back to him, his perfect little pet defrosting.

So, he continues his gift-giving. You don't always understand what he gives you at first, but you make do. There isn't much else to do around here.

But your favorite thing he has given you is a sewing machine. He pretty much just typed 'hobbies' into google and did what he could with that. The sewing machine was his mother's, still perfectly in tact when he went to get it from his family's old lockbox. Nikto wasn't sentimental, but he remembered the fondness his mother had for the machine, and he figured it would give you something to do. And, like the smart little thing you are, you taught yourself to embroider for hours on end, stitching little flowers and unique patterns into the tears of his shirts. It definitely wouldn't be appreciated if he wore that button up to KorTac, but you are just so proud of it that he doesn't care what people think. He wears it regardless, and promptly has to beat up the recruit who attempted to make fun of the cute detailing. Nikto later that night asks you to hem the rip in the fabric he had gotten from the fight.

He also gives you a pair of knitting needles, once he trusts you enough not to stab his eyes out. You're halfway done making him a bright blue scarf, having chosen the color specifically to match his eyes. You want to get it done by the winter, so he won't get cold while hunting. The deadline is self-imposed, Nikto couldn't care less about how long it takes for you to finish your project, but you like to keep a schedule. It's the little things that keep you sane.

[screamingforests]

Continuation of this

Read more bc its long

Days passed without you spotting a hair of Ghost. You knew he was on base, no missions had been assigned. He was just avoiding you, that was the only explanation.

You started putting on healthy weight again under the gaze of the 141 and medical. Every meal of your's was enriched and you got extra snacks, which wasn't anything to complain about. You didn't mind the attention - not really - but it felt empty.

It all comes to a head when you get assigned to a mission with the very man avoiding you. It was tense, despite just being an intel retrieval. The place was crawling with hostiles so you couldn't let your guard down.

"Door on your right corporal, get in there," Ghost's voice is tinny in the comms. You don't like it. It sounds nothing like him. "Wait for the hostiles to pass."

You breathe out an affirmative and slip into the room, taking the moment to recenter yourself. You could hear the footsteps as they stomped by, the talking in a language you didn't know.

What you didn't expect was them to suddenly walk into the room where you were hiding.

"Oi!"

Your eyes go wide, but your body moves, knives drawn in the blink of an eye. The first two hit the targets, deep in the enemy's throat. The last one just barely misses, which gives the enemy just enough time to land a lucky shot.

Pain flares through your abdomen, and you force through it, grabbing another knife to bury in the man's head. Your vision blurs for a moment.

"Corporal, are you okay?" Ghost's voice sound worried, which is odd.

"Fine, Lieutenant. Got caught in the abdomen, graze," you reported dutifully, even though it wasn't a graze. The bullet was deep in your abdomen, which helped to slow the bleeding.

You just had to last long enough to grab the intel. You needed to show him that you were strong enough to do this.

Ghost's guidance helps get you through the rest of the building, and you secure the intel. Your vision was starting to swim and it was difficult to focus on anything.

"Heading to evac now, Lieutenant," you state, already going.

~

Ghost's first thought when he sees you is that you look like shit. His second thought is concern. You had said that the gunshot was a graze, it was not a graze. Blood was caked into your uniform.

He rushes forward, catching you when you stumble. Doubt creeps into his mind, he couldn't even protect you when you were under his watch.

The want to scold you builds but Ghost holds it back, more focused on addressing the wound itself. He packs it full of guaze, flinching at every sound of pain you create. The want to soothe you, to try and help through more than just action is there but he has no words.

When you finally get into the evac vehicle, you nod on and off. You wanted to question Ghost, make him explain why he was so hard, and then suddenly backed off, but you didn't have the energy. Ghost was just silently staring at you.

"I wanted to protect you," is what he finally says. It isn't a comfort, but it helps to explain. "To help you grow stronger so you could also protect yourself."

It's hard to focus on his words. Your head swimming from the pain and blood loss. Ghost knew you would eventually nod off and most likely attribute this to a dream. Maybe after he could explain it better than he was again.

"But you hurt me, pushing me like that," you finally murmur, voice slurring. "I thought I wasn't good enough, that you didn't like me."

Ghost sighs, "I regret how I pushed you."

It's no apology, but it's an admission of guilt. It's enough for you to take comfort in to nod off again.

~

Waking up in a hospital is a scene that you're getting far too used to. Pain im your gut radiates out but its sting is dulled by morphine.

Ghost is sat off to the side, only his plain balaclava on his face. He wasn't Ghost, he was Simon.

"I don't forgive you."

Your throat is scratchy from dryness, it hurts to force the words out.

"I know. I don't expect you to."

Several moments of silence pass, only interrupted by the beat of medical machines.

"You remind me of an old friend," Ghost finally pushes the words out. "I couldn't protect him. I want to protect you."

"I didn't want this fucked-up notion of protection," you push it out. "It hurt, believing I could never be good enough, then for you to just ignore me the one time I failed? That leaves a mark, Ghost."

"I didn't-"

"But you did."

Ghost searches for the words. The ones to convince you. He wants to show you how much you mean to him, but he doesn't know how.

"Let me start this over, please, luv?" Ghost all but pleads, "let me show you proper how much you mean to me- to Simon, not Ghost."

You pause.

"You get one chance, Simon. Hurt me again and I leave for good."

The smile that makes his eyes crinkle would probably be prettier than the softest may flower.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Do you have anymore soft ideas for Hobo and Hoodie/Brian?

I hope you enjoy <3

Hobo:

Likes making you a nest. He's a bird, so he has nesting tendencies anyway, but once he starts dating you he tries his absolute hardest to make the nicest nest for you he can because you're his partner so you deserve a perfect nest. Normally when he makes his own nests he makes them pretty high up in his high hammocks in his room, but because you don't have wings he makes yours in his bed. It's a jumble of pillows, blankets, plushies, and anything that smells strongly of him (even though as a human you don't have the heightened sense of smell he has), and he spends a ridiculous amount of time making sure every item is in the perfect spot. Whenever you lay in it and get really comfortable (especially if you fall asleep) his heart literally explodes. He feels so, so incredibly happy because that means he's being a good mate and you appreciate his efforts, and it just makes him cling to you and refuse to let you go.

Likes watching people from above. He perches on the mansion roof all the time, and while he normally goes up there for peace and quiet, he also likes watching everyone go about their day around the mansion. It's kind of a bird predator thing like he's watching prey, but he just likes looking out and watching things, it's very enriching to him. You do have to be careful though, because if he sees someone he's very excited to see, he will swoop down from wherever he's perched really fast, and there is a chance of collision if you don't see him coming. He just likes popping down and saying hi, even if it gives people a heart attack most of the time because he flies completely silent and he lands quietly too. If he sees you wandering around whether you're his partner or best friend he always feels warm inside and is just like, "Look at them go :))) They're doing great :)))".

Brian:

Obsessed with puzzles lately. He has a table set up in one of the lounge areas, and he always has a puzzle on it that he'll randomly work on throughout the day. He also invites everyone else to partake in it too if they'd like to, and even with the help it takes a while because it's always like the 10,000-piece puzzles. It just scratches his brain in such a good way and is very stimulating for him, so if he gets stressed out in the middle of the day he'll go work on his current puzzle for a bit to relax and calm down. Once a puzzle is completed he'll glue the puzzle together and then hang it up on the wall so everyone can see it. He also just likes chatting and socializing with everyone while they're all gathered around the table, and a lot of bonding time in the mansion has occurred over Brian's puzzles. If you ever get him a new puzzle as a gift he gets so excited, and he always makes it the next puzzle he's going to do, and he honestly gets a little impatient about having to finish the one he's currently on, so it motivates him to work faster.

When Brian is in his summer mood, as it's now that season, he just wants to spend his days relaxing with his friends and partner. If you're his partner, he likes doing things like setting up a hammock in the shade and napping with you in it, or going for walks either by yourselves or with the others too, and he makes fresh squeezed lemonade all the time that everyone loves. You'll often find him outside on the back porch with a glass of lemonade or iced tea and a book in hand. I think he also really enjoys swimming, and if you do too he'd love to go swimming with you as much as he can during the summer months. It's good exercise and he loves being in the water, especially if he gets to spend that time with you. He stays out late watching fireflies and looking at the stars and just enjoying the warmth of the season and all the good vibes that it brings.