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#I wanted to make a more elaborate year reflection where I looked back at my favourite comics and jokes.

missrosegold · 8 days

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someone new

Synopsis: Post-war!AU. It’s the quite moments that Touya enjoys the most. Sometimes he still has a hard time believing they’re real. That you are real.

He has no problems allowing you to remind him of the latter.

Word count: 16K

Paring: Dabi x Reader (fem!reader)

Warnings: Mentions of post surgical interventions, Touya has hints of survivors guilt and some suicidal idealization if you squint, Smut and additional warnings listed below and on A03 so Minors or Ageless Blogs please DNI. This is rated 18+

Playlist: Omar Apollo - Evergreen (You Didn't Deserve Me At All)

Authors notes: Written for @shibaraki Komorebi collab! Thanks for having me love! Hope you enjoy!

Title is from Someone New by Hozier

**You can read it on A03 here if the formatting on Tumblr is throwing you off! I cross-post all my works onto my A03 account!

Sometimes Touya wonders how he got here.

It’s a loaded question and he knows as much. He knows exactly where he is, and he’s painfully aware of the series of events that led him to this moment in time – but he often finds himself struggling to believe it.

A part of him doesn’t want to believe it – a gnarled, still-angry part of what remains of his soul is convinced that it’s all part of some elaborate dream – one that will fade away and leave him alone and bitter once more as soon as he opens his eyes.

He falls asleep again and again, trying to prove his theory, but every time he wakes back up, he’s still in the same place:

He wakes up in your sun-lit apartment, more often in your bed, with you – always close by, never too far away.

It’s where he is even now: nestled into the soft sheets of your—no, the bed you shared together, even though it’s pushing noon on a Tuesday. Despite his body screaming at him to move, he can’t bring himself to get up just yet.

It’s not like it matters if he stays in bed anyways, he doesn’t have anywhere to be. He doesn’t have his court mandated therapy appointment until Thursday, and it’s not like he has a nine to five job like most people do. Christ, he can’t even leave your apartment building without you or a Pro-hero escort with him. (Who, ninety-five percent of the time ends up being Shoto, since he’s about the only person who wants to deal with him these days aside from you, his mom, and sometimes Fuyumi and Natsuo.)

He rolls over slightly and listens for you, trying to hear the tell-tale tread of your footsteps echoing through the halls, or the sound of you humming a gentle melody under your breath as you do your menial chores around the apartment; before it finally occurs to him that it’s a weekday and you’re at work.

He stifles a groan as he finally pushes himself up, and makes his way towards the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, flicking on the light and shutting the door behind him.

That was his biggest problem these days: not wondering when his next meal would be. Not obsessing over ruining his father’s life as he had done his. Not charring himself past the point of no return as a means of exacting vengeance upon the world of Pro Hero’s that had long since turned their backs on him. No. That was all in the past.

For the first time in his life, it was boredom that was getting to him.

That was a joke if he ever fucking heard one.

Looking at himself now it’s hard to believe that he was once a homicidal serial killer, with a rap sheet several miles long.

He looks different now. He fights the urge to snort as he turns away from his reflection in your bathroom mirror while he goes about his business.

Like a snake that sheds it’s skin every couple of years, he’s changed his form once again; though this transformation wasn’t up to him. He had no choice in the matter; what happened to him after the war was decided for him. His opinions be damned. (Though, if he thinks about it, he didn’t really give All For One and his fucked up scientist permission to piece him back together after he incinerated himself up the first time. The irony almost makes him laugh.)

He forces himself to face his reflection in the mirror as he begins the painstaking task of his skincare routine – burning turquoise eyes staring a little too long at who looks back at him.

The worst of his burn scars are gone, though the shadow of them remains. His two-toned flesh has been concealed by pale, raised skin, but he can still see the lines in his face from his first Escharotomy – a reminder of Dabi; always lingering, never fully gone, even if he wears a different face.

The rest of his body is like that as well. No longer is he marred by wicked burn scars and surgical staples; he is one even skin tone now. He is complete by all accounts, even though he feels anything but whole. The skin grafts aren’t perfect – they’re textured and prone to drying out, and the skin around his eyes always looks bloodshot – but for the first time in years, when he looks in the mirror; the person staring back at him actually looks like Touya.

It's not a perfect visual, but it’s still closer than he ever thought possible.

Truth be told, he still has a difficult time looking at himself in the mirror. It’s jarring honestly. He’d gotten so used to seeing the horrific scarring on himself, that seeing his reflection without them makes him feel like he’s staring at someone new.

The skin grafts he received at some point after his barely responsive body was all but dragged off the battle field, still itch sometimes, but he knows it’s all in his head. He can’t feel anything. He hasn’t been able to feel anything since he was discharged from the hospital he been taken to after he collapsed.

His memories of that time are hazy – he had been doped up on heavy narcotics and other nerve blockers as he was subjected to surgery after surgery in a desperate attempt to fix his scorched body – so much so, that he doesn’t know how long he was out for, or how much time passed while he was in recovery.

He remembers Shoto coming to visit him shortly after waking up from the worst of his many surgeries, and explaining that while the doctors had been able to successfully graft new skin onto him, (how his mangled body had been able to withstand another set of skin grafts was beyond him), they hadn’t been able to fix his damaged nerve endings, and had opted to cauterize the few that still worked; leaving him completely numb to any and all feeling.

Truthfully, he hadn’t cared at the time, he hadn’t been able to feel much of anything for years before that, and the little he was still able to feel was nothing but chronic pain, so at the time he has seen the news as a blessing.

And then he met you.

Shortly after that, he found himself cursing the fact that he couldn’t feel anything at all.

-----

He remembers the first time he met you.

After he had been cleared to leave the hospital, he had been taken to a heavily fortified psychiatric ward, eerily similar to the med-bay in Tartarus: all sterile white walls and armed guards. His room hadn’t been much better: just a mid-sized white box with a cot and a small window for him to look out of, though there wasn’t much of a view outside. He had no idea where the fuck he was anyways.

There he had started his rehabilitation.

It was hell. The first few months he spent there, he adamantly refused to speak to any of the doctors or physiatrists who came to work with him. Some were more persistent than others, poking their nose into his past (like he hadn’t just aired his dirty laundry out for all of Japan to witness), and those were the ones he got pissed off at the most.

In another life, Dabi would have had no qualms about turning the doctors to ash, just like he had done to everyone else who had annoyed him in the past, only; he wasn’t Dabi anymore. He wasn’t sure who he was now.

It didn’t help he had been hopped up on quirk blockers that canceled out his quirk, otherwise he probably still would’ve tried to incinerate them. But he couldn’t, and for the first time in his life, Touya Todoroki was fucking cold.

Turns out his quirk did a wonderful job of insulating him against the ice he kept hidden inside his chest all along.

He supposed he couldn’t blame them for rendering him quirkless while at the facility. Hell, he’d render himself quirkless if he was a staff member, having to deal with someone like him. Footage from the fight with his father and the all-out brawl with Shoto had been leaked to the public, showing his quirk’s true power in all of its devastating glory.

He had been told the aftermath of both fights had done irreversible damage to the surrounding areas, and no one was sure if they’d be able to fix the carnage he had created.

Good. The bitter, angry part of himself thought when he had been inadvertently told of the news. Suffer like I am.

He had been kept in isolation most of the time as the doctors tried to figure out what to do with him. His family hadn’t been allowed to visit him yet, and for that he was grateful – he hadn’t been particularly keen on seeing them after his recovery anyways. It was still too soon to face them, and he wasn’t ready to deal with the inevitable aftermath of what was to come. In the meantime, he still refused to respond to any of the medical staff who came to try and work with him, outside of sarcastic remarks and biting jabs that made the whitecoats squirm in their seats, much to his enjoyment.

Curiously, during one of the very few times he did speak to one of the doctors responsible for his treatment; he found himself asking about what happened to the rest of the League. Of course, no one would give him any answers aside from the fact they were alive and they were in custody.

He was more relieved than he thought he would be.

More time passed, and he still refused to open up to any of the staff who came to see him, though he had become more vocal with them – aggressively so – to the point he started to notice there was a continuous rotation of people now; it wasn’t just the same staff he was used to seeing when he first arrived at the facility.

Turns out, even the professionals were still scared of him – quirk or no quirk, his fiery reputation preceded him.

Eventually, the facility couldn’t keep cycling through their therapists, so they had switched tactics. Whether it was out of desperation, or the fact he made so many professionals break down after a session with him, he wasn’t sure, but he can’t say he regrets his actions, because in the end, he met you.

He remembers the day you met for the first time.

He had been forced out of his little cell and taken to one of the treatment rooms where he spent most of his time outside his own room. He had been shoved in there before he could make a snarky retort, and then… he saw you.

You had been sitting on the couch adjacent to the spot where he normally sat during his apptioments. He had been so stunned to see someone new, he’d been rendered silent. You’d looked up towards him, and for the first time since he arrived, you smiled at him.

“Hey.” You’d greeted him casually. He hadn’t responded, still unsure of who you were and what you were doing here instead of the usual staff.

You nodded to the couch across from you. “You wanna sit?”

He sat.

He fully expected you to introduce yourself, but you hadn’t. You’d just leaned back into the couch you were seated on and crossed your legs, giving him a content smile as you regarded him casually.

A few beats of silence passed. You didn’t speak and neither did he. A few minutes passed, then a half hour, and then an hour. Finally, one of the assistants came to bring him back to his room.

He stood up to go but you still didn’t say anything. He’d allowed himself to be taken back without a fuss but, he didn’t think anything more about it. The next day it was the same thing. He was taken out of his room back to the same treatment room, and surprisingly, you were already there waiting for him.

You gave him a little grin and nodded to the couch opposite you, and just like the last day, he sat.

Once again, you didn’t say anything, which was unusual, since all of the other doctors had always started off the conversation, but you sat in silence across from him – the gentle smile never leaving your face all the while.

A half hour of silence passed before he finally broke. “So, what exactly is this?” he remembers his voice sounding dry and scratchy after weeks of misuse. “This the part where you try and butter me so I’ll talk to you?”

You’d grinned at his remark. “No.”

“No? Then what the hell are you doing here? Is this some new technique the therapist’s showed you to try and get me to spill my guts to you? Reverse phycology or some shit?”

“Nope. None of that I can assure you. Actually, if I’m being honest, I’m not even a doctor.”

That caught his attention.

“The hell do you mean you’re not a doctor? How the are you in here then?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

He remembers being completely caught off guard by your answers, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit intrigued by you. He remembers squinting at you carefully – taking you in – and for the first time, he saw you. Really saw you.

He could tell that you weren’t lying to him about not being a doctor. You were dressed casually, though you were still covering up a fair amount of skin – no doubt something they told you to do ahead of time. You looked more alive than the rest of the staff in this place as well.

He was loathed to admit it, but you were pretty.

He remembers you flashing him a knowing grin, clearly able to tell he’s been shamelessly checking you out, and it was enough to make him recede back into his shell; his walls going back up once more, as he rolled his eyes condescendingly at you.

“So what’s your angle then?” He’d asked you. “You’re not a doctor but you wouldn’t be in here with me if you didn’t want something from me.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I was simply here to talk?”

That had gotten a laugh out of him. A short breathless laugh, but it was the first one he’d uttered since he’d tried to incinerate himself along with his father. It felt weird leaving his throat, foreign even, and he’d cut himself off as soon as the sound exited his mouth. So, he settled for snickering instead.

“Really now? You want to talk to someone like me? Why do I not believe that?”

You had sighed, and leaned forward so your forearms were supported on your knees, fixing him with a stern gaze. The intensity of it had made him flinch before he remembered who he was. He returned the look best he could, but it hadn’t deterred you in the slightest. Instead, you sighed again.

“Look I’ll be honest with you: the staff here filled me in on your situation. I don’t know what they’ve told you, but from how it was explained to me; your family wants you back home with them. They’ve made a bunch of deals with the authorities about getting you out of here and not spending the rest of your life behind bars, but you have to successfully go through rehab first. The reason you’re here is so they can determine that you’re not a threat to society or to yourself, but the staff don’t seem to be having much luck getting through to you, and they’re desperate. They sent out a request to bring in outside help and I applied. They picked me because we’re the same age, and well… no one else really wanted to. Turns out most people are pretty scared of you.”

“Fucking figures. And you’re telling me you’re not?”

“Of you? No.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not. I’m a little nervous maybe, but I’m not scared.”

That had made him pause. He’d swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling like it was packed with cotton.

“Why’s that?” he’d finally asked you after a moment.

You had gone quiet, seemingly mulling over his question before you finally responded: “I think you have a lot to say. More than you already have, and more then what people think. To be honest, I want to hear it.”

He had laughed again, but this time it sounded forced, even to him.

“If you watched my broadcast then you know it all already.”

“Oh, trust me, I think the whole world saw your broadcast, not just Japan. No one would shut up about it for weeks. But I think there’s a lot more to you. I think a part of you wants to talk to someone else – none of that scripted bullshit – and I want to talk to you. Honestly, I think you’re pretty fascinating.”

He had been very tempted as ask you if you had a thing for villains, but he held off.

“You must be crazy if you find talking to me enjoyable. The other quacks can’t even stomach me, let alone stand to be in the same room as me for more than a few minutes. Just how fucked up are you really?”

You’d grinned and wiggled your eyebrows mischievously at him as you leaned back and spread your arms out along the back of the couch. “The only way you’re going to find that out is if you agree to talk to me. I don’t just give up all my secrets willingly you know.”

It was his turn to go quiet as he thought about your words over and over in his head, taunting him. He hadn’t been in any rush to leave the facility and go back to his old house, even if his mother and siblings were waiting for him. On the other hand, this was the most enjoyable conversation he’d had with anyone since coming to this white hellhole they called a hospital.

He figured maybe he would entertain you for a little while. If nothing else it would get you off his back.

You were lucky you were attractive.

The sound of your voice calling out his surname brought him back to the present.

“Mr. Todoroki?”

“… Fine.” He had finally relented. “We’ll see who you really are, and for fuck’s sake don’t call me that. I’m not my fucking father.”

“What do you want me to call you then?”

“D—” he stopped short. Was that his name any more? Did he get to call himself that after everything was said and done? It was the name he had given himself when Touya died all those years ago, but for some reason, saying it now just seemed wrong.

“…Touya.” He finally muttered. “Just Touya.”

You had smiled at him and for some stupid reason, it made his heartrate pick up. Just a little.

“Okay then. Touya it is. It’s nice to meet you.” You extended your left hand, and he had clumsily fumbled around for a moment before shaking your hand. As soon as your hands touched, and he felt the gentle pressure of your hand in his own, he was struck with the realization that this was the closest to human he’d felt in God knows how long. The other doctors that would come in and out of his cell treated him like he was some kind of feral animal, but you had extended your hand to him without any shred of fear or disgust.

Once you’d both settled back into your respective couches, he’d shrugged.

“So, what now then?”

“Now we talk I guess.”

“About what?”

“I think that’s up to you. The people who brought me in here didn’t specify what we have to talk about, but I am supposed to tell you that I can’t talk to you about the UA students, politics, current or former hero’s, or the League.”

Fuck. It didn’t seem like he’d be getting any answers out of you regarding his former group either.

“…fine. Ask away, I guess.”

To his surprise, you shook your head. “Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I’m the one doing all the asking, then we’re only going to talk about things from my perspective, which isn’t the point. The only way this is going to work is if you talk to me first.”

That’d had thrown him through a fucking loop. Ever since he had arrived at the ward, all the doctors had done is talk at him, hoping he’d respond eventually. You may not have been a doctor, but you made for a better conversation then any of them ever did.

“…Well… Where am I supposed to start?” he’d finally asked, feeling like an idiot. To his immense relief, you’d simply shrugged.

Wherever you want. From the beginning maybe? It might be easier that way.”

He remembered swallowing hard. “Alright… from the beginning then.”

He remembers pausing and looking up at you, taking you in. “What the hell is your name anyways?”

You told him with a smile, and that was how it started.

For the next year, you came to see him almost every day.

He was taken to the same room where you were always waiting for him without fail at the same time every day. Even though at that point, he’d rather choke than admit it; he began to look forward to your visits – finding that they gave him a reprieve from his mundane existence at the mental ward.

He knew the doctors were always listening and recording everything you talked about during the hour you were together, but he found he didn’t care as much as you managed to keep the meetings interesting.

True to your word, you wouldn’t talk to him about current political events, or any news related to heroes (he knew better then to ask anyways), but you were open to chatting with him about anything that he wished to talk about, even though conversations were often hard for him to start – but you were kind and patient with him, more so than anyone had ever been to him for the majority of his miserable life.

He found himself growing found of you, the little smiles you give him when he’d sit across from you, bringing a hidden grin to his own lips, though he was quick to push it down, never letting his passive façade drop for more the a few seconds, lest his supervising doctors notice and assume shit, as they tended to do.

You may not have been a licensed doctor, but you helped him more than any of the ones who worked at the medical ward did.

There was a gradual shift in your relationship as time passed. Around the six month mark he could feel it, and he was almost positive you could too.

Your conversations had become more fluid, more casual. You were relaxed as you could be around him, and he found himself opening up more and more to you without being prompted. Most times he liked to keep the conversation light, but every so often, he’d tell you bits and pieces about his childhood – before everything had gone to shit. He never bothered telling you about everything that happened after Sekoto; he didn’t want to tell you about the years he spent on the streets, or his time in All For One’s medical center with the other children turned Nomu’s, and to his immense relief, you never asked him to.

In return for his openness, you rewarded him with tidbits from your own life growing up. You didn’t name anyone specific (he couldn’t fault you on that one), but you’d tell him about your childhood and some of the adventures you’d had when you were young, well into your teen years.

He learned that you were born an only child to your parents, raised in a caring household. All the idealistic, quaint things that he had wished from his own family. He’d told you as much one day, prompting you to laugh softly.

“Not always.” You’d told him quietly. “I had my own pressure on me when I was growing up. My parents and I fought a lot. We rarely saw eye to eye – they didn’t agree with a lot of choices I made when I was younger, but it was okay aside from that.”

“Still sounds like your parents were better than mine.” He’d told you with a bitter smirk. “My dad’s an abusive asshole, and my mom—”

It was then he realized that he struggled for words to properly describe her. Broken images from his fire fight with Endeavor had come back to him, and he remembered his mother’s fierce determination to try and cool him down – to save him – even as the heat was melting her flesh. She had thrown herself into the fray to try and stop him from ending it all without a second thought for her own safety. Up until very recently, he would’ve described his mother as weak and submissive, always bending to his father’s whims, even though he knew she didn’t have much of a choice back then, but now… that description didn’t seem to fit her anymore.

“—she used to be a doormat for dear old dad to walk over when I was a kid… but she’s changed. She’s a lot stronger than I remember her being.”

“I saw bits and pieces of your fight with… him.” You’d admitted quietly then. “I saw the aftermath. Your mom, your siblings… they all ran in to save you.”

He’d fallen quiet at that, not truly knowing what to say, but when he looked up again, you had offered him a gentle smile. “I’m sorry if this oversteps a boundary but… they never forgot about you Touya. Even if it felt like they did, they never stopped thinking about you.”

For once, he remembered being grateful that his tear ducts were permanently sealed shut, because he suddenly found himself in danger of crying. The tell-tale prickling behind his eyes caused his face to scrunch up as he pushed the thought of his mom and siblings down. He had quickly forced his expression to go back to neutral, and prayed that you hadn’t noticed the switch, but if you had, you didn’t comment on it – another thing he liked so much about you.

Instead, you asked him something that caught him off guard.

“Have you seen them? Your family? Since you were placed here?”

“No. Didn’t think they were allowed to come here. Why?”

“I think… maybe you should let them come see you – your mom and siblings I mean. Not you know who. I don’t think you’d be doing yourself any favours.”

“Why?” He remembers pressing you. “Have you seen them?” You’d shook your head.

“No, I’ve never met them, but I think it might help if you sit down with them and actually talk to them one on one. You must be getting so bored just talking to me day in and day out.”

“No!” he remembers saying a little too quickly, causing another one of those knowing smirks to creep up your lips. “I—no, you’re fine. I like talking to you.”

“Do you not want to see them?” you had asked him seriously. “Is it too soon? I understand if you’re not ready. That’s a decision you have to make on your own. No one can make it for you.”

“… I’ll think about it.”

Because in truth: there were things he wanted to say to them, and conversations he wanted to have.

In the end, it was you who finally convinced him to let his family visit. They had been cleared to see him at the faculty a few months prior, but he had always declined a visit from them, not wanting to see them so soon, since the last time they were all together had resulted in him almost melting his mother, Fuyumi and Natsuo.

There had been strict rules set in place for his family’s visitations: only one person could see him at a time so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed. they weren’t allowed to talk about outside events with him, and finally, under no circumstance was Endeavor allowed anywhere near the faculty. He was fine with his mother and siblings coming to see him if they wished, but he didn’t want his father to be anywhere near him.

He wasn’t ready to see him again so soon. Even after his apologies. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to see his father again.

Thankfully the faculty had minimal difficulty honoring his last wish, as it seemed that Enji didn’t want to be around him either – or maybe he was purposefully keeping his distance. Either way, the old bastard wasn’t around him, and he figured it was for the best.

Once again you had been right; seeing his family again had been as cathartic as it had been terrifying.

There had been tears (from his family – he still was unable to cry), and there had been a lot of long, overdue heart-to-heart conversations with them of things that should’ve been said long ago.

It had been hard to sit down and listen to each of his family members without feeling the intense urge to get up and run when the guilt became almost unbearable, but he had forced himself to sit through it all for their sakes (and even his own), and soon he found himself scheduling more visits with his family, as well as seeing you for your daily interactions.

You never prompted him to tell you how his now daily visits with his family went, but he’d told you anyways – not what was discussed, that would stay with him – but he had told you about his favourite visit. Hilariously, it had been with Shoto; something he never thought he’d ever say.

He’d told you about how Shoto had brought him lunch from the outside the day before. It wasn’t anything special; just piping hot udon noodles with vegetables in pork broth. They had sat down in silence and eaten together, sharing a meal for the first time in their lives. Nothing had been discussed, and yet everything had been said.

It had been nice. Comfortable, even.

He remembered telling you with a soft smile on his face, and you had pointed it out, causing him to scoff and wave you off.

“It’s better food then the shit they feed me in this prison. Seriously, that was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

“Well, once you’re cleared to leave, I’m sure you’ll be able to eat all the udon you want with your brother.” You’d told him as you tucked your feet under you. He’d shrugged, brushing you off, but you were ever observant, and had called him out on it.

“Do you not want to go back to them once you’re able to leave this place?”

It was a simple question in theory, but it wasn’t easy to answer.

He’d shrugged again. “Don’t really know if I can. Not after everything. I won’t go back if he’s there.”

“I don’t think they’d push so hard for you to come back to them if he was.” You reasoned with him gently. “Where would you want to go, if not there?”

You and your questions. Most of the time they were harmless, but sometimes they really made him think. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had an answer for you at that point, and you had quickly switched the conversation topic.

At that point, he’d be lying if he said he was thinking about what he’d do once he was released. Truth be told he hadn’t thought about it much at all. To him, it felt like he’d be in the psychiatric ward for the foreseeable future. He had no real plans for what he’d do once he was out. Maybe he would go back to his old house with his family, or maybe he’d try staking out on his own since that was what he was used to, if he was even allowed to go off on his own. He wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do once he was let out – but he certainly wouldn’t be free, he knew that much.

Maybe he’d try and reconnect with the League – assuming that any of them were even allowed to be released from custody.

It still bothered him on some level that he had no idea about what happened to them after the dust had settled. He had been carted off the battle field before any of them, after his attempt at going nuclear failed, and had been in and out of the hospital and the physiatrist wing ever since.

When he had first arrived, he’d asked the staff about what had happened to the remainder of the League, but they hadn’t told him anything aside from the fact they were alive – but he wasn’t sure how much of that he believed.

The only one he’d really trusted in the whole building was you. He knew you weren’t allowed to talk to him about any villains or heroes, but maybe if he asked you discreetly, you’d be able to tell him something more than what the medical staff had. He didn’t want you to get in trouble, but the curiously was eating away at him.

Finally, one day he risked it, and asked you if you knew anything about the fates of his former teammates.

You had paused after he’d voiced his question, and went quiet for a moment, seemingly debating on what you could say to him. For a moment you looked like you were almost about to tell him that you couldn’t say anything, but the look on his face must have been desperate enough that you cracked.

You had given the cameras in the room an unreadable look before sighing loudly. “I don’t know where they are exactly. I never looked into it, and it isn’t public knowledge anyways.” You told him gently. “What I do know is that they’re alive, and they’re in different treatment centers receiving help. I know they were beaten badly and some of your friends almost died – but as far as I know, they’re doing okay.”

You’d then sat straight back up on your chair and loudly proclaimed, “I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to say that much to him, right? Don’t take it out on him or me once we’re done here.”

It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but at least they were alive, and were in similar situations to him. It made him feel slightly less alone.

When the timer beeped shrilly, signaling that your hour was up, you had stood up to leave just as you always did, but before you could say goodbye to him, he’d quickly lunged forward and grabbed your hand, incasing it with his large cold one.

You’d stared at him in shock, as he’d never made a move to touch you once in the six months, you’d been visiting him, but before any of the guards could rush in and pull him off, he’d let your hand drop, but not before muttering a quiet “thank you” under his breath to you, before backing off and allowing the armed guard to escort you out of the room.

He distinctly remembers feeling the pressure of your small hand in his own, but he hadn’t been able to feel anything else aside from that. He hated it. He suddenly found himself hating that all of the nerves in his body had been severed, rendering him unable to feel anything. He couldn’t feel the texture of your skin against his own, or if your hands were cool or warm like his.

He was forced to admit to himself that for the first time since he’d left the hospital; he wanted to feel something again.

He wanted to feel you. But he couldn’t, and it aggravated him more than anything.

There was another thing he remembered distinctly about that day as you were leaving him behind: For the first time since you had started your daily interactions with him; you had looked back.

You had looked at him like you were seeing him in a different light.

He didn’t see you for a few weeks after that. When he had been pulled from his cell, and into the room where you usually met him, he was instead greeted by several doctors that had overseen his treatment when he first arrived.

He had asked them where you were, and when they refused to answer his question, he had immediately become hostile and threatening. The walls that were slowly starting to lower since he first met you went straight back up, and Touya turned into Dabi once more.

For the first time in roughly seven months, he lashed out (quirk be damned), and was immediately taken back to his room and put on lockdown. He wasn’t allowed visitors, and the only times he was allowed to leave his cell was to go back to the same room with the same doctors who poked and prodded him – asking him increasingly invasive questions, until he shut his mouth and refused to speak to them once more. One last act of defiance on his end since he still didn’t have use of his quirk.

When it had become apparent to the doctors and specialists that he refused to speak to any of them, they stopped taking him out altogether. He spent countless hours staring out the tiny window in his room, basking in the weak sunlight and taking in the menial views he could see from his window.

He had wondered where you had gone; if you had been forcefully sent away after he had asked about the League. He hoped that wasn’t the case – he liked you, probably more then he should if he was honest with himself – and you were just about the only person he could actually carry on a conversation with in this shitty place.

A few more weeks in solitary had him about to snap. He had reached a point where he was about to try and strike a deal with the overseeing doctors about bringing you back if he answered their shitty questions, when one of the armed guards opened up his door and guested for him to follow.

Once again, he had been taken back to the same observation room, but to his pleasant surprise; you were there waiting for him.

You had beamed at him and before he could think about what he was doing, he had crossed the room towards you in three long strides until he was standing directly in front of you. He had begun to lift his hand up towards you, only for his action to halted by a curt bark from the guard who was still standing at the door. You had shaken your head, motioning to the guard you were fine and sent him on his way. As soon as the door had closed, he rounded on you.

“You left.”

You had nodded, a small, sad smile on your lips. “I did, yes. Not really by choice though.”

“Why did you go?”

You’d barked out a laugh. “I’ll be honest, the supervisors weren’t too happy with me when I told you about the League. I broke one of their rules, so they told me I had to go for a bit.”

He’d narrowed his eyes, confused. “But now you’re back.”

You’d given him a slight smirk. You turned to sit down on your usual spot on the couch, but this time, instead of having him sit across from you, you’d gestured for him to sit beside you, which he’d done so embarrassingly fast.

“You’re very stubborn.” You’d told him with a light laugh. “From what I was told, you refused to talk to anyone after I left – heard you got downright nasty with some of the staff, and they put you on probation. They called me a few days ago almost begging me to come back. Guess they felt you made the most progress when you were talking to me.”

You’d given him a look that was hard for him to read. “Why did you snap at them?”

He figured there was no point in lying to you – you’d find out somehow. “Didn’t know where you went. Fuckers wouldn’t tell me, and they kept prying into my shit. Didn’t want to talk to them so they put me in solitary.”

He remembers you looking sad at his answer. “I heard you were in there for several weeks. I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to happen to you. Not on my account. I didn’t… I don’t want to be the reason your release got delayed.”

For some reason, it bothered him that you blamed yourself for what happened, and he reached out to gently take hold of your wrist. To his surprise, you hadn’t stopped him, or made any move to pull your hand away from his, so he allowed himself to rub circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, even though he couldn’t feel it.

“Not your fault. Don’t worry about when I’m getting out. It’s not like it really matters anyways.”

“Do you know why they were pushing you so much?” you’d asked quietly, still not making any more to remove yourself from his hold. He’d shook his head and you’d simply leaned into him, damn near making him freeze up in surprise at your boldness.

“They told me that they’re planning on releasing you soon – with restrictions of course – but they were thinking that you’d be able to leave here sooner than expected. That was before your outburst, but if you’re willing to just hear them out and answer their questions, it’ll help speed up the process.”

“They seriously think that I’m fit to send out into society again?” he remembers scoffing, hardly believing what he was hearing. “Pretty sure the majority of them think I’m an irredeemable sociopath.”

“They’ve seen the way you act around me and your interactions with your family. You’re not perfect, but you’re trying, and sometimes that’s all you can do.”

“You do realize I have killed people, right? I’ve maimed countless others. They’re… not exactly wrong about me.”

Surprisingly, you’d simply rolled your eyes at his statement, acting like he’d just told you the sky was blue. “Of course I know that Touya. I’m not overlooking what you did. But they—your family – are fighting hard to try and get you another chance, a fresh start. They think you deserve it, and they’re out there right now, day and night, trying to convince others that you deserve a second chance too.”

You had twisted your hand in his so your palms were kissing, fingers laced together, and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears as you gave him that damn smile of yours.

“You’re right: the past never dies, but that doesn’t mean that it has to be your future as well.”

That simple statement had stunned him. For the first time in a long time, he hadn’t had anything to say in response to you.

He remembers fighting an internal battle in himself, trying to find something to say to rebuttal what you were telling him. A part of him understood why his family was fighting for his uncertain future outside the psychiatric ward, but on the other hand… he didn’t necessarily believe that he deserved it.

What kind of life would he be able to have even if he was allowed to be released? He had never planned on living this long, as morbid as that was. His original goal had been to go out in a fiery hell-blaze with his bastard of a father, but clearly that hadn’t happened. He was known a global terrorist, the right-hand to the symbol of fear. His quirk was legendary for all the wrong reasons. How could he possibly be allowed to live on the outside? There was no way the rest of Japan wanted him released, let alone wandering around. What kind of future could he possibly be allowed to dream about? Did he even dare to think about it? He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what he might do if he was ever allowed out of the ward from time to time, but now that his impending release seemed like more of a possibility; he was starting to think maybe it was better for everyone – and maybe even himself – if he stayed locked away.

Thankfully, you and your perspective nature had picked up his internal struggle. You’d leaned into him and taken his hand in both of your own, allowing him to breathe again.

“What do you want Touya?”

What did he want? Christ he wasn’t sure.

“I… don’t know. Honestly: I never planned on living this long from the get go. Everything has always been decided for me. I kinda figured that this would be the same.” He had admitted quietly, the gentle pressure of your hands on his own, grounding his rapid thoughts.

“Do you think you’re ready to leave soon?” You’d asked him gently, prompting him to laugh, a bitter, ugly thing, but you hadn’t flinched.

“No.” he’d admitted after a moment, scrunching up his nose. “Dunno if there’s much of a point. I’ll never be free. No matter where I go, I’ll always be a prisoner. What kind of life could I even have outside of here? I don’t know how to live any other way aside from how I’ve been living since I escaped that damn—” he’d cut himself off last minute, reminding himself that you didn’t know about All For One’s hellish medical facility he had woken up in, and he had no plans on telling you about that.

“I just…” he remembered breathing out hard through his nose as he tried to collect his thoughts, focusing on the faint heat he swore he could feel emanating off your hands and leaching into his cold skin. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if they decide to let me out. Dunno if I can go back to the old house after everything that happened, and I’m not sure if I could bring myself to live with my mom or my siblings after… well, you saw bits of what happened on TV already.”

He hadn’t needed to say it for you to know that he felt a tremendous amount of guilt towards his mother and siblings – especially Fuyumi and Natsuo – for nearly charring them in the heat of battle. He may have held onto so much resentment and anger towards his family for his mistreatment as a child, but he was also self-aware enough to know that it hadn’t been their faults, and they had tried to help him in the only ways they knew how.

You had been quiet as you let him vent to you. You hadn’t said anything for a while afterwards as you mulled over what he’d told you. Finally, you had nudged his shoulder with your own.

“I think that everything you just told me is proof enough that you deserve a chance to have a life outside of these walls.” You admitted. “What you said isn’t something an ‘irredeemable sociopath’ would say. That’s something a self-aware person says. You’re not perfect Touya, but Christ if you’re not trying. I can see it, your mom, sister and brothers see it, and I think a lot of your other doctors are starting to see it too. I think there’s a point, even if you don’t think there is.”

In that moment he’d been convinced that if he could cry, he would’ve been.

“Yeah? Well, thank you sweetheart.” He’d muttered into your hair, fighting hard with himself to try and keep his voice steady. “I have no fucking idea why you’re so nice to me, but it’s… yeah.”

“I think someone needs to treat you like a normal human being, because I don’t think anyone did for a long time.” You’d looked up at him pointedly, but he’d seen traces of something else in your eyes when you’d asked him, “Did they?”

A simple flat look from him had been answer enough for you, and prompted you to squeeze his hand. “Didn’t think so.”

You’d both lapsed into a comfortable silence aside from the steady ticking of the clock, and he’d known without looking up that your time with him was coming to an end. Now, he was dreading it more then he normally would’ve been. You’d spoken up again, but what came out of your mouth next, had shocked him.

“When you’re released… If you’re still unsure of where you want to go afterwards… I could… if you can clear it with the people overseeing your progress once you’re cleared to leave… Maybe… you could come stay with me.”

He remembered staring down at you, shocked. “Is that even allowed?”

You’d shrugged in response. “I’m not sure. I think you’re going to have to initially stay with your family for a while, but if you’re really having a difficult time staying there… maybe I could work something out with your family, as long as it’s approved. It’ll probably take a while, but I can try.”

He had a difficult time allowing what you were implying to sink in. How? How could you be so trusting? To even suggest the idea of someone like him staying with you? Forget if it was even possible or not, the fact you’d even offered in the first place was mind-blowing. Before he could think about what he was saying, he’d voiced his thoughts to you:

“I’m sure your parents would be thrilled, you bringing a villain back to your home.”

You’d simply given him a small smile. “I’m sure they wouldn’t like it… if they were around that is.”

“Oh. They not in the country, or—”

“We’ll go with that.”

Ah. Seemed like he wasn’t the only one with secrets. That was fair, you were allowed to have your own. He wouldn’t pry.

“Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t know.”

You’d both fallen back into the same silence from before. You were still leaning on him, his hand trapped in your smaller one, yet he’d made no move to remove it from your grasp. Honestly, he was shocked the guards from before hadn’t barged into the room and forced him away from you. The close proximity must have been violating a rule of some kind, and yet no one had made any move to separate the two of you, Maybe the medical staff really had been as desperate as you’d claimed, and were willing to let some things slide. Either way, he wasn’t complaining.

“You’re a lot colder than I thought you’d be… with your quirk being what it is and all.”

He’d glanced down at you, only to see you staring down at your intertwined hands. You’d squeezed the appendage again, prompting him to respond.

“It’s the quirk suppressors. Haven’t been able to use my quirk since before I got here. The quacks made it so I’m hopped up on suppressors around the clock, just in case. Turns out I’m pretty fucking cold without my flames. Must be from the ice side, but I can’t use that either.”

“Well, maybe if you keep being nice, you won’t have to be on them indefinitely.” You had tried to give him a hopeful smile, but he knew what the likelihood of that happening was, and you must have too, since you didn’t say anything else on the matter.

The timer had sounded then, signaling the visit was over. Before the guard could come to collect you, he’d quickly pulled his arm out of your grasp, and had wrapped it around you tightly, much to your initial surprise. He’d begrudgingly let you go so he could help you stand, sending the guard at the door a pointed look as he’d seen him casting an unsure look between himself and you. You hadn’t been the least bit bothered by the anxious glances the guard was trying to send you as you stood slowly and sent him one of your little smiles he’d come to expect from you.

“You’re coming back?” he’d blurted out before he could stop himself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time.” You’d told him confidently as you’d turned to leave, brushing your knuckles against his. “Don’t worry Touya. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time since someone had promised him anything in a very long time, he’d believed you.

In the end, you’d kept your promise.

It had taken close to another year before he was allowed to leave the psychiatric facility (some minor setbacks had pushed his initial release date back), but you had come to see him almost every day at the same time.

Over that time, you’d grown exceptionally close to each other, even more so from when you’d first started visiting him initially. It was almost impossible for him not to grow attached to you – you were his constant source of company, his companion. You were the one person he could tell anything to and not have to worry about being scrutinized for his thoughts. You were his safe space – something he��d never thought he’d ever say about someone else – and once he’d worked out how he saw you; it had been game over. He’d fallen for you fast and hard before he’d realized it, and by the time he did, it’d had been too late. He was hopelessly and utterly drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.

Surprisingly, you’d felt the same as him.

You’d openly admitted it to him one day near the end of his stay at the ward – even at the cost of possibly being prevented from seeing him again, since both of you knew you were crossing boundaries you hadn’t been meant to cross. He’d warned you as such, heart pounding in his ears at your confession, but you’d told him that he’d deserved to know with a simple shrug.

“Besides; if you keep up the good behavior and don’t have any more outbursts, you’ll be out before the end of the year anyways. Even if they don’t let me back after this – you can find me on the outside.” You’d told him matter-of-factly, boldly taking his hand in your own, before sending a shit-eating grin to the cameras set up around the room – knowing the doctors were monitoring every move.

He'd been certain that he could’ve kissed you right there and then.

Surprisingly, the medical staff had allowed you to continue coming back, even though it was apparent both of you cared for each other in ways that crossed professional boundaries. As much as the doctors were against how close the two of you had become, they couldn’t deny how far he had progressed since meeting you. He had gone from being the bitter, angry husk of a man, to someone who was still, and would always be forever scorned by the past, but overall, in a better place mentally.

Not too long after he’d sorted out his own feelings for you, he’d made you a surprising request:

He wanted you to meet his mother and siblings.

The meet up had taken almost a month of careful planning on the medical staff’s end, and had initially been met with some hesitation on both sides, but eventually you had agreed to it, and you’d sat down with him and the members of his family who he kept in contact with.

His father hadn’t been invited for obvious reasons.

The medical staff had allowed him out of his normal room so he could meet with you and his mother and siblings in one of the spacious sitting rooms normally reserved for guests. A row of floor to ceiling windows lined the far wall, allowing him to get a view of the outside gardens. He remembered the outside weather was slightly overcast that day but warm rays of sunshine would occasionally stream through the gray clouds, as you and his family slowly met with one another under his watchful gaze.

His mother had taken to you almost immediately, as well as Natsuo – both seemingly happy he’d bonded with someone who was relatively normal – Fuyumi and Shoto had taken a little more convincing. Shoto was more curious of you, while Fuyumi had been downright distrustful. She’d asked you right off the bat what your intensions were with him, but he’d seen right through her: she was concerned that you were somehow affiliated with the now disbanded League, or maybe even the Paranormal Liberation Front.

Thankfully, you weren’t so easily put off by her upfront questioning. You had been calm, almost amused, as you answered her questions; reassuring her that you were in no way affiliated with any criminal organizations, and how you were someone who’d been presented with an opportunity to help with his rehabilitation, and had taken a leap of faith when no one else would.

“Why though?” he remembered his sister pressing you. “Why would you want to help him even after knowing everything he’s done?”

You and him had shared a look then, and he’d known what you were thinking before you said anything.

“I guess I wanted to understand why things went so wrong.” You’d told her honestly, your shoulder brushing with his as you spoke. “I wanted to get his side of the story – the unscripted one. When the chance to talk to him in person came up, I took it. Everyone deserves to have their story told, and I wanted to hear his.”

“You’re a lot closer than just a support person to him.” Fuyumi had countered, making him bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snapping at her to back off with her invasive questioning, knowing that he’d only land himself in trouble with the medical staff overseeing their visit if he had any outbursts.

To your credit, you’d simply shrugged, totally unbothered by her statement. “Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you see someone basically every day for over a year. Same time, same place. For as clueless as he is at normal relationships, your brother can be pretty charming when he wants to be.”

He’d been pretty sure the only reason you were outright lying to his sister was to try and make him look better in her eyes, but he almost hadn’t been able to stop the laugh that threatened to escape past his lips. Almost.

His sister had almost deflated then. Whether it was from disappointment in being unable to shake you, or relief, she’d simply nodded; finally accepting your answers.

“Well… if he’s happy… then that’s all any of us really need, I guess.”

The rest of the visitation had gone incredibly well, not that he was complaining. Plans for future meetings had been put in place, and from there, you and him had gotten into a semi-regular routine of seeing his mother and siblings, or whoever was available to come.

He never wanted to admit it to you, but the visitations you helped arrange with his family made his transition from the psychiatric hospital to his eventually moving into his mother’s new house after he’d been cleared for release, far smoother than he thought it would’ve been.

Eventually though, he was proven right about his earlier assumptions on living with his family – or rather – his mother and his siblings, again after so long:

He couldn’t do it. It felt almost wrong.

He’d felt like a ghost, wandering up and down the halls, looking at the pictures that lined the hallways of his mother’s house; comprised largely of his younger siblings. He’d watched as they had slowly grown up in each one, filling him with sense of melancholy.

He’d missed the opportunity to watch them grow up. They’d done that without him. That was time he couldn’t get back – memories that weren’t there.

He’d felt isolated, and no amount of comfort or reassurance from his mother could change that deep-rooted feeling in him. Not even Natsuo’s constant presence in the home made him feel better, much to his younger brother’s disappointment, though thankfully he understood.

He’d lasted two months before he’d finally cracked and called your number which you’d given him immediately after he was released. You’d both stayed in contact, texting every day (under strict monetization from police tech sectors), but you hadn’t been able to see him in person since he’d gotten out, as you’d both agreed that it would be better if he focused on trying to settle into his new home. He’d missed you terribly during that period – not used to not seeing you for such a long period of time.

He'd called you in the dead of night, and asked if your offer to have him come stay with you was still open. From there, you’d gotten in contact with the authorities in charge of his release to try and gain permission for him to come live with you, while he had the difficult task of trying to explain to his family why he couldn’t stay with them any longer than he’d already had.

As expected, you’d been met with resistance on both sides, but eventually his overseers had come to an agreement: he would be allowed to live with you, but he always had to have a tracking monitor on at all times, he had to be on constant quirk suppressors, he couldn’t leave your building without you and a Pro hero escort of some kind, and finally, he had to attend mandatory therapy sessions at least once a week, as well as call his probation officer weekly and give them updates about what he was doing. If he failed to meet any of the rules set out for him; he’d earn himself a one-way ticket to Tartarus, no questions asked.

As much as he’d wanted to argue some of what they wanted from him, he’d agreed to their stipulations, knowing full-well unless he agreed to their terms, he’d be stuck at his mother’s for the rest of his life, and while he didn’t hate living with her and his siblings, it was too awkward for him to try and face them every day, knowing his past atrocities towards the rest of the country and even them, would continue to haunt him for the rest of his days.

He couldn’t pretend that he was still the same person he was when he’d burned up at the tender age of thirteen. He was different, older, harder. Things would never be able to go back to what they’d once been, and honestly: he didn’t want them to. He couldn’t go back to living with them after such a long time apart, because he had no idea how to co-exist with them normally.

Thankfully, as much as he knew it hurt his mother to hear him express his innermost thoughts, she seemed to understand how he felt the most, and had simply told him that he was always welcome in her home, and she still wanted him to come stay with her from time to time.

“You’re my son Touya. No matter how old you get or no matter what you do, you’ll always be my baby.” She’d told him gently just before he’d left her house, wrapping him into a tight hug.

Sometimes he found himself grateful he couldn’t cry anymore. He’d just wished this side of his mother had been more prominent over ten years ago. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently if it had.

He’d seen you then for the first time in several months when you’d come to pick him up. He’d managed to keep himself calm while you spoke to his mother, but secretly he was elated to see you again after months apart. His excitement over seeing you again had probably shown on his face, since you’d made it a point to keep yourself close to him as his brothers had moved his important possessions into your car.

It was as you were talking to his mother; he’d learned that you had moved to a new apartment building some weeks ago, following the news that one of Japan’s former most wanted was coming to stay with you. Naturally, the people in your old building hadn’t been pleased, so you’d forced to switch buildings to an apartment located near several hero agencies, where the residents hadn’t been as concerned about an ex-super villain moving in, due to the multitude of patrolling heroes in the area. The change had been frustrating for you, but it was the only way he’d be able to stay with you without anyone kicking up too much of a fuss.

Eventually you’d both been on your way back to your apartment with Shoto in tow to help with moving his things into your apartment. Your new place wasn’t massive, but it had two bedrooms and a decently sized living room and kitchen. Shoto had helped him set his things up in the spare bedroom before departing, but not before giving you his number with instructions to call him if you ever needed help.

As soon as the door had shut, he’d been on you.

He’d slammed you up against the door, causing a started yelp to escape your lips, as he grinned down at you wolfishly.

“What’s the matter sweetheart? Nervous? It’s not like we haven’t been this close before.”

You’d turned beet red as you shyly traced your fingers up his chest. “No, but we certainly haven’t done this.”

He’d grinned as he dipped his head down so you and him were eye to eye. “Tell me no then. Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t feel the same as me.”

He’d listened to your breath hitch, watching with delight as the flush deepened on your cheeks. “You wanted me to talk right? To be open with you about how I’m feeling? Well, I want you, and I think you want me too.”

You’d looked up at him through your lashes, reaching up to lace your hand around his neck. “I do.” You’d told him gently, and your simple admission had made up his mind.

“Fuck.” He’d muttered, just before he’d dipped down and captured your lips with his.

The effect had been instantiations. His lips molded with yours, breathing in your air, as his hand cupped your cheek, long fingers curling around the back of your neck to keep you close to him.

You’d slowly peeled yourself off the door and grabbed at the collar of his shirt, pulling him with you further into the apartment, and into your bedroom. You’d managed to slam your door shut, just before he’d pushed you onto your bed – his lips never leaving yours as he pressed you further into the mattress.

He couldn’t keep his hands off you as you helped him take your clothes off. He could touch you, really touch you the way he’d wanted to for so long now. Nothing was there to hold him back, no cameras, no guards, no medical staff dictating his every move. It was just you and him.

He’d almost froze when he’d seen you’d laid out bare beneath him, soft and glowing against the pale sunshine streaming in from your bedroom window, warming your frame. You’d beamed up at him, tracing your hands up his arms.

“You can touch me.” You’d told him gently. “I trust you. Just be gentle.”

Gentle. Now that was a word he was certain he didn’t have in his vocabulary – but for you, he’d try.

He’d traced your curves gently, listening intently as your breath hitched, or how a small moan would escape past your lips when he touched a particularly sensitive area. Finally, you’d reached up to tug at the hem of his shirt, but he’d grabbed at your hands, making you pause.

“It’s not… I’m not… the scars… aren’t much better under there.” He’d tried to warn you. You’d given him a gentle smile, cupping his cheeks with your hands.

“I don’t mind Touya. You know I don’t care about all that.” You’d smoothed your thumbs over the raised skin of his face. “I love you for you. Regardless of what you look like.”

Love. You… you loved him, didn’t you? Even after everything he’d done while he was an active criminal – you’d somehow grown to love him, while most of the world hated him.

He didn’t necessarily think he was deserving of your love, but hell if he was ever going to point that out to you. He’d almost been tempted to ask you if you were a little bit crazy yourself, but you’d even told him when you had first met that he’d have to find that out for himself.

Maybe you were – just a little bit – but that suited him fine.

A normal girl would never have been able to handle him anyways.

He’d allowed you to help him out of his clothes then, and to your credit, you hadn’t batted an eye at the less than perfect skin covering his body. He may not have been held together by surgical staples anymore, and his body may not have been a mess of burnt patchwork skin like it used to be, but the new skin grafts were raised and patchy – never fully settling properly. It wasn’t often that he got self-conscience about how he looked, but you were different.

You had run your hands up and down the length of his body and marveled him like he was some work of art. He didn’t think he was, but you clearly saw him differently. You’d kissed his marred skin, and if he’d been able to cry, he would have.

You had pulled him down onto your bed and climbed on top of him, much to his surprise. He’d tried to prop himself up, only for you to gently push him back down onto your mattress, giving him a knowing smile all the while.

“Let me take care of you.” You’d whispered to him softly. “We’ll go slow. Gentle. It’s just me and you now.”

It wasn’t like he’d never fucked someone before, but it had been a while, and it was just that: he’d fucked, never loved. He wasn’t sure if he knew any other way when it came to sex, but he knew that he didn’t want to be rough with you like he’d been with his past flings, and so he had relinquished control to you.

He had allowed himself to relax into the mattress as you’d hovered above him, lining him up with your entrance. He was already painfully hard, his body reacting to yours as soon as he’d kissed you. You’d bent down to kiss his throat, relishing how he’d let out a shuddering breath as you’d sunk down onto him. He’d cursed as your tight heat had enveloped him, leaving him boneless and shaking.

He’d brought your face down to his to kiss you as you started moving, moaning as you slowly moved up and down on his shaft. You’d knocked the breath out of his lungs as you whimpered against his lips, still moving your hips against his own.

“Shit.” He’d growled as he’d reached up to wrap an arm around your hips. “Fuck baby. You feel so good. You’re so good for me.”

“You feel so good.” You’d sobbed. “I want you – want to make you feel good.”

“You do. Fuck you do. I want you. I need you.” He’d grunted as he planted his feet into your bed, pistoning his hips up into your body.

“Fuck.” You’d cried out, as you continued to bounce on his cock. “Touya!”

“I’m here. Fuck I’m here, with you. I love you.”

He’d remembered your eyes blowing wide at his confession, just before your body had stiffened up, and your mouth had opened up into a silent scream, as your orgasm had ripped through you – your end triggering his own.

You’d both stayed there for a moment, trying to regain your breath, before you’d slowly separated yourself from him. He hadn’t let you go far – pulling you down to lay beside him, and wrapping himself around you as you nestled into the broad expanse of his chest.

“Stay.” He had rasped as he held you close to him, curling around your smaller frame protectively. He’d known what he was saying was nonsensical – he was in your apartment, you weren’t going anywhere, not really – but thankfully, you seemed to understand what he was trying to say without him outright telling you. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere Touya.” You’d breathed, placing a kiss on the side of his temple. “You’re home now. With me.”

That simple sentence had brought him more comfort than he’d experienced in recent memory. He’d passed out sometime after with you still nude and curled into him, sharing in his warmth.

That had been the best sleep he’d had in years.

After that, he’d fallen into a steady routine of normalcy with you. You’d go to work, while he’d keep himself entertained during the day. Normally, he’d open up the windows in your living room and perch himself on the couch near them, soaking up the feeling of gentle sunbeams on his face, and watching the outside world go by as he waited for you to return later in the evening. You had set up therapy appointments for him every Thursday, and either you or Shoto would take him depending on your schedules. Life settled down, and the outside world continued on around him, even though his world now consisted of your apartment and what he could see outside from your windows.

It wasn’t a coincidence that three pro heroes moved into the building roughly a month after he had moved the last of his menial things into your apartment.

He couldn’t say that he was surprised by the less then subtle way the newly reformed hero commission chose to keep an annoyingly close watch on him, but he was still allowed some freedoms with you, so he figured he could keep his jabs to himself for the time being.

All and all, life with you was simple easy. For the first time in his life, he could say he was appreciating the little things he never could’ve before his life had turned into a living hell.

For the first time in a very long time, he had hope – something he’d never allowed himself to have before, because what had been the point? He had fully planned on taking himself out in the final fight against Endeavor… but life was strange, and it turned out that it had different plans for him.

While he couldn’t be sure what those plans were yet, they had brought you to him, and that was enough.

He had you, and in the end, that’s all that really mattered—

-----

The sound of one of his skin care products hitting the floor snaps him out of his reprieve. He blinks, and once again, he is standing in your bathroom with the sink running, halfway through the skin maintenance routine that you forced on him once he came to live with you.

He swears under his breath as he bends down to retrieve the plastic tube with his right arm, only to freeze as he suddenly remembers:

His right arm is gone. He tore it clean off in the brawl against his dad.

He finds it surprising how often he forgets he doesn’t have both his hands anymore. Half the time he swears that his right arm is still intact because he can feel the damn thing, only to look down and see it’s still gone from mid bicep down. You once called it a ‘phantom limb’ and he thinks you might be onto something with how often he’ll go to do something with his right, only to remind himself the arm doesn’t exist anymore.

It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. Natsuo had offered to set him up an appointment to get him fitted for a prosthetic, but he hadn’t made up his mind on it yet – finding most things pretty manageable even with the lack of his right arm – but he does have days where he wishes he had all of his limbs, and there are certain tasks were having two hands would be more useful than one.

His extensive skin care routine is one of those tasks.

Hilariously, it was one of the conditions of him coming to stay with you initially: for the first time in his life, he was being forced to look after himself.

He had protested initially when you had come back home one day with a plethora of different specialty products for sensitive skin – not seeing the point – but you had insisted that he use them to take care of the newer skin grafts, telling him that if he wanted to continue to stay with you, he’d have to start properly taking care of himself, or you would do it for him.

He had begrudgingly accepted, and he gradually incorporated it into his daily routine. Realistically, he knew he didn’t have much to complain about: he didn’t have many responsibilities as it was, and you had promised him if he kept up with it, you wouldn’t tell his parole officer that you weren’t forcing him take his quirk suppressor medication – one of the conditions of his release.

He grins inwardly to himself as he turns the sink off and pats his face dry. You hadn’t seen the need to enforce that particular rule, seeing how you were quite confident he wasn’t going to burn down your apartment building, and he didn’t have any plans to – lest he be forced to return back to his mother’s home.

Besides, after spending over a year feeling unnaturally cold without his quirk, he was in no rush to return to the weak, powerless state the psychiatric ward had left him in. Even if he couldn’t use his quirk to it’s full, destructive potential like he used to, just knowing that he still had use of his quirk intact was a comfort to him.

He makes his way out of the bathroom, flicking the light off behind him and, pads over to his side of your shared closet, stripping out of his sleep clothes and pulling on a loose shirt and baggy sweats, before heading out into the small living room.

If his younger self could see how he lives now, he’s sure he would’ve turned his nose up in disgust before calling him a sell-out, and a gnarled part of him still thinks that to some level, however; when he thinks back to how he used to live on the streets for close to a decade, he’ll take the easy, comfy life-style you allow him to live in your home in a heart-beat.

He used to wonder about where he would get his next meal – now his biggest inconvenience is that he’s bored whenever you’re not at home. How the times change.

He turns on the T.V. and sets it to a low volume as he moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out a few miscellaneous items and setting them on the counter, before getting to work on prepping the food.

He doesn’t eat much, even now his metabolism is still messed up from the years of cumulative damage his body sustained, but he found himself making food for you when he first moved into your apartment as a way to keep himself occupied while you were at work. Most of his cooking attempts consist of cup noodles, and whatever else was easy to make, but every once in a while, he’d put a bit more effort into what he made, so long as you had the ingredients for it.

He curses to himself as he painstakingly prepares an easy meal of miso soup and yaki, his lack of a right arm slowing down his progress. Eventually he finishes his meal prep and puts his creation away as he waits for you to come home, moving to his usual spot by the window on your living room couch, before sitting down and indulging in some mindless reality T.V. show.

He watches the show absentmindedly, barely paying attention to what’s playing on the screen as he basks in the warm sunlight streaming in from outside. He glances over to his left to see his reflection staring back at him from a hanging mirror across the room, and has to fight the urge to flinch at what’s staring back at him.

Even after all of the love and tenderness you allowed him to experience while living with you, he still looked rough, and there were days where he felt it more than others. He may not have been able to feel pain in the normal sense, but his body aches constantly and there are additional issues he deals with daily.

He’s painfully aware that he probably doesn’t have a lot of time on the earth. He’s in his late twenties, too damn early to be faced with his own mortality, but he knows there’s no use in trying to dance around the subject. With his body being what it is, he’d be surprised if he made it to fifty, but he knows better than to voice that out loud. The one-time he had confessed his inner thoughts to you, you had damn near burst into tears, and he found that he couldn’t stand to see you like that, so he keeps his morbid thoughts to himself.

The sound of the apartment door opening snaps him out of his depressing reprieve. He looks up, only to see you closing the door to the apartment, hanging your keys up and kicking your shoes off. He gets up off the couch and pads over to you, greeting you with a little smile.

“You’re home early.”

You turn around to face him, smiling. “Yeah, I finished early today. Figured I’d come back and see what you were up to.”

He snorts as he takes your bag from you, setting it down on the small bench you had set up near your front door. “Not much, you know that. S’not like I can leave the building without you or Shoto escorting me.”

You roll your eyes, gracing him with a teasing smile. “How is he anyways? You talked to your family at all recently?”

He shrugs. “Not really. You know my phone usage is heavily monitored anyways.”

“I told them that – your mom reached out to me recently – she was hoping to meet up with you for lunch soon, and she hadn’t heard from you in a bit.”

“Ah. I don’t look at my phone very often. Tell her that I’m down. I’ll reach out at some point.” He nods towards the kitchen. “I made dinner.”

You beam at him. “You didn’t have to do that.” You lean in to press a kiss to the rough skin of his cheek, and he feels his heart speed up in his chest. Even though the physical affection you gave him isn’t anything new, it’s still amazing how much of an effect you had on him.

The fire that he keeps buried in his chest flares to life as you turned away from him briefly, but he doesn’t let you go far. He snakes an arm around your middle, pulling you back to him, causing you to look up at him.

“I’ve missed you.” He mumbles quietly into your hair. You simply wrap your arms around his torso and snuggle into his chest.

“Missed you too.” You tell him quietly. He swallowed thickly, as he allowed his hand to splay further down your back.

“I really missed you; I mean.”

You smile up at him gently, wiggling your eyebrows. “Did you now?”

“Mmmm.”

His hummed response causes your grin to grow wider. “Wanna show me?”

He doesn’t humor you with a response – instead opting to take you by the hand and lead you towards your shared bedroom with teasing grin of his own. He allows you to kick the door closed behind you, before dipping down to bite on the skin of your neck, causing a giggle to escape your lips as his hands wander up and down your frame.

“Off.” He grunts, tugging on your clothes. You smirk at his demand, pulling at the hairs at the nape of his neck to get him to look at you.

“I think you could ask me a bit nicer, right?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “Please.”

“That’s better.” You smile sweetly at him, separating yourself from him long enough to shimmy out of your pants and strip out of your shirt, leaving you in your bra and panties before him.

He kisses the back of his teeth as he closes the distance between you, wrapping a muscular arm around you as he captures your lips with his rough ones. He feels you sigh into the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck.

It wasn’t often that he initiated physical contact like this – he not shy by any means, but he’s not used to having such close relations with another person. He’d been a loner for such a long time after escaping the hospital, and any physical contact he somehow managed to receive from woman he’d met in sketchy bars during those miserable years had never been meaningful or fulfilling. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

But you wanted him, and you weren’t shy about letting him know just that.

He had no problems letting you remind him of the latter.

He feels your hands travel down from around his neck to the bottom of his shirt, tugging on it. “Off please.” You murmur against his lips, and he separates from you long enough to yank his shirt off, before coming back to embrace your soft body with his own hot one.

He presses you back against the bed, gently pushing you down to lay on the mattress as he hovered above you. He dips back down to seal his lips with yours, as he feels your fingertips trail down the rough skin of his stomach until they reached the waistband of his sweats. He smirks as he feels you undo the drawstrings and push them down his slender hips, pushing them down low enough for his cock to spring free.

“Seems like you’re just as eager as me.” He sniggers as he sits up long enough to shuck them off, giving you a moment to unhook your bra and toss it across the room.

You don’t humor him with a response as you sit up to stroke his cock, causing him to hiss as your fingers wrap around his shaft. He lets you have your way for a moment before gently pushing you back down onto the mattress, causing you to look up at him quizzically as he shakes his head.

“Not today babe, let me do the work.”

He feels his heart pound in his ribcage, as a look of realization passes over your pretty features. A smile pulls at your lips as you open your arms and beckons him down to you, which he eagerly accepts. He nips and kisses the skin of your neck as he makes quick work of your panties, causing you to moan softly as he runs his fingers up the length of your dripping slit.

“God.” He groans as he attacks your lips again. “So, fucking wet for me. You want me, right?”

“Yes Touya.” You breathe against his lips, allowing your fingers to trace patterns into the scarred expanse of his back. “Always. Always you.”

He feels his destroyed tear ducts sting slightly at the sincerity of your confession. Even though you’ve assured him you only want him countless times before, it was something he never quite got used to hearing.

The entirety of his life before you was spent in fire and hardship. Kindness was something foreign to him, and being allowed to be vulnerable with another person was something he never even considered. He never thought he’d live long enough to be able to do so regardless – accepting that he destined to spend what was left of his life alone – and so the thought had never crossed his mind.

But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Not since you had unexpectedly come into his life.

He had you. Body, mind and soul, he belonged to you. He knew there was no way he would ever have the words to tell you that, so he hoped that he could convey his message clearly enough by showing you just how much you meant to him.

He taps your leg, getting you to wrap your legs around his lean waist, as he lines himself up with your opening. You thread your fingers through his soft white spikes as he slowly begins to push himself into your pussy, causing you to whimper as he begins to stretch your walls out.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He growls as he bullies his way into your tight heat. “You’re perfect for me. Just you – you’re the only one I want.”

“Me too.” You gasp as you dig your nails into his shoulder to ground yourself. “I’m so glad I got to meet you. S-so glad you’re here with me—”

Your eyes open impossibly, as he suddenly snaps his hips forward and drives himself home deep inside your walls, causing you both to moan. He barely gives you any time to recover before he starts moving. He fists his hand in the sheets beside your head as he focuses his energy into keeping his thrusts deep and strong, just how he knows you like it.

He grins down at you almost sadistically, watching as your eyes roll back from the force of his thrusts. “S’matter? Don’t tell me you’re giving up already?”

“N-no.” you moan as he gives you a particularly hard thrust. “I just—oh, fuck!” you wail as you feel him hit a practically sensitive spot inside you, causing him to grin wickedly.

“Eyes on me gorgeous.”

“You’re mean.” You huff, but center your attention on him regardless, causing him to chuckle, and reward you with another harsh thrust.

“I know.” He practically purrs as he shifts his weight to his knees. He grabs the meat of your hip, and starts pounding you harder than before, making you keen and fist your hands into the sheets as his pelvis brushes up against your clit deliciously.

“Fuck, Touya! I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum!” you cry out, warning him of your impending release, but it only makes him double down and fuck you harder, determined to see you climax before him.

“Yeah? Well, go ahead sweetheart: come on this cock. C’mon, c’mon; I know you’re going to, I can feel you squeezing me just right, so do it. Let go for me pretty girl, just let go.”

He feels your walls convulse around him and your back arches slightly off the bed as you climax with a desperate cry at his words. The sight of you coming undone beneath him is so hot it does him in a few strokes later, spilling deep inside your walls with a feral growl of his own.

You both stay like that for a few minutes, fighting to catch your breaths, before you unlock your legs from around his waist, allowing him to pull out of you. He pulls back to grin at the combination of your fluids that leak out from in between your legs, and you roll your eyes. He makes a move to the bathroom to grab you a towel, only for you to shake your head.

“Later.” You murmur, as you pat the spot on the bed next to you. “Come lie with me for a few minutes.”

He laughs quietly at your antics, but obliges your request, and climbs over you to collapse into the vacant space on the bed next to you, and you don’t hesitate to move over to him.

“God, you can be relentless sometimes.” You pant as you curl up into his side. He simply snorts at your assessment as he drapes his arm around you protectively.

“Maybe. I am a villain after all sweetheart.”

“You were.” You manage to grumble as you make yourself comfortable, eventually settling on resting your head on his chest so you can hear his heartbeat. “You’re not now.”

“Yeah, well. Attitude never changed. Surprised you put up with me for as long as you did.”

“You weren’t so bad.” You murmur softly, tracing shapes into the rough skin of his stomach. “If I thought you were, I wouldn’t have come back after we first met.”

“Why did you come back after the first time anyways? I can’t remember if you ever told me.” He suddenly raises his head so he’s looking at you. You meet his blazing turquoise irises with a calm gaze of your own and wink at him teasingly.

“I’m crazy remember?”

“Must be, if you came to see one of Japan’s most wanted almost every day for damn near two years straight. But seriously, why?”

You’re quiet for a moment before you answer him. When you do, you shift your head slightly on his chest so you can see his face better.

“I suppose it’s because all your rage… all your anger towards the injustice of everything you’d gone through up until that point… it reminded me of myself, in a way.” You admit softly, causing him to quirk a snowy brow at your confession.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things you said on your initial broadcast—" you continue on before he can ask. “—like how there were a lot of shitty things about hero society you weren’t wrong about. Honestly, for a long time there, I felt just as pissed off with some of those so-called “Pro’s” as you. Some of them were only doing it for the money and fame, you could tell.” You exhale through your nose.

“But, on the other hand, there were so many good things happening to change those problems that you didn’t see because you were on the outsider.” You fall silent for a moment before adding:

“You just seemed so hurt, so raw with everything you were saying. I told myself there and then, if I ever got the opportunity to meet you, I’d show you not everything is as bad as it seemed. Never thought I’d get the chance honestly, and yet, one day, the opportunity to meet you face to face practically dropped into my lap. How could I not take the offer?”

“Was I what you’d thought I’d be?” he finds himself asking you, not completely sure if he wants to know the answer. You simply send him one of your glowing smiles that sends tingles down to his stomach.

“No, you were better.”

He snorts, shifting his arm so he’s tracing his warm fingertips up and down your nude body. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m serious. Even now, you’re doing so much better with handling everything then I thought you would. You’re resilient, and you adapt when you need to, but you’ve definitely changed… in a good way. You’re not as hateful anymore… you’re calmer, more accepting.”

“Yeah well, the shrinks have you to thank for that. Far as I’m concerned, they don’t do anything. I just see them so I can stay with you.” He grumbles, prompting you to giggle, before shifting you so you’re lying on your sides, facing each other.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, inwardly softening as he watches you lean into his warm touch, before dropping his hand back down in between your bodies.

“I know I’m not very good at these sorts of things, but… you know I love you, right?”

He’s hopeful that you understand. He doesn’t say it often to you, and he knows he probably should, but even after all the time he’s spent with you, that involves you showing him what a healthy relationship looks like, it’s still not an easy thing for him to say. Hell, he has a hard enough time saying it to his own mother, let alone anyone else.

He’ll probably always have a difficult time admitting it. Love is an emotion he’s never had a good understanding of, seeing how it was so sked for him a s a child. Even now, the concept is a foreign one for him to understand, but thankfully, you seem to be more aware of this than anyone else.

You find his hand with one of your own and lace your fingers together, squeezing it tightly.

“I know Touya. I’ve always known.”

FIN

#dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya x reader #touya x y/n #touya x you #post war!au #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi x reader smut #touya todoroki x reader smut #tw: mental health #see a03 for more detailed tags

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7ndipity · 7 months

Text

Matching Costumes

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi realizes he likes your costume idea more thank he thought he would.

Warnings: Yoongi’s dressed as a vampire(yes, I think that requires a warning), suggestive, joke about biting, reader wears a dress(?) not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! It’s a little short, and a lil self-indulgent, but I hope you’ll still like it!

Masterlist Spooktober m.list

Requests are open

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Truthfully, Yoongi wasn’t really the biggest fan of Halloween, but he knew that you were, so when he mentioned that the company was having their annual Halloween party and asked if you wanted to go as his date, he knew perfectly well what he was getting himself into, but he couldn’t resist. He loved seeing the way your eyes lit up in excitement, immediately beginning to brainstorm costume ideas for the two of you.

“What do you want to go as?” You’d asked as you scrolled through ideas online.

“Eh, whatever you want to pick is fine,” He’d said easily. “I trust your judgment.”

“Really?” You quirked a brow at him.

“Mmm, to an extent,” He clarified, grinning. “But I’m reserving the right to veto if you choose something too weird.”

“So, no gender swap Mario and Princess Peach?” You teased.

“Definitely not.”

“Damn, back to square one then.” You pouted as you turned your attention back to your phone, making him snicker.

In truth, you’d known what you wanted to get as soon as he’d asked you, but you wanted to browse around a bit before you bought them, just to be sure. You knew it was a lil bit of a cop out and cliche, but you couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease Yoongi a bit, getting you matching costumes in the theme of ‘Dracula and his bride’.

It’d been a running joke between the two of you since before you had even started dating that you thought he was secretly a vampire, due to things ranging from his primarily nocturnal work schedule to his consistently cold hands.

Yoongi had rolled his eyes when you showed him the costumes, but hadn’t said no, much to your delight, so you’d quickly ordered the outfits and waited impatiently for the night of the party.

…

“I don’t have to actually wear the fake fangs, do I?” Yoongi asked as he finished buttoning his dress shirt.

“Not unless you want to.” You called from the bathroom, where you were putting on the final touches to your own look.

“I don’t.” He replied, fidgeting with the long, black cape as it refused to hang right over his shoulders.

It wasn’t a bad look on him, he had to admit as he studied his black clad reflection, reminding him faintly of the suit he’d worn for a photoshoot with one of his friends last year.

“You know, we don’t have to actually go to this thing, we could just go to din-?” His suggestion died on his lips as he caught sight of you in the mirror as you entered the room, turning around quickly to see you properly.

The main costume was just a long black dress, cinched in at the waist to emphasize your figure before the skirts flowed down over your hips, your hair styled and pinned back so it showed off your neck, including the carefully painted bite marks you’d placed just above you collarbone. It wasn’t the most elaborate costume, but it had still managed to make his mouth go dry as he took you in, unable to tear his gaze away.

“You’re staring.” Your voice snapped him back to attention.

“No, I wasn’t.” He denied instantly, despite the faint rosy hue that was creeping up his face. “I was just admiring my partner.”

“Mhm.” You nodded.

“I was!”

“I’m not arguing with you.” You laughed, raising a brow at him. “Sheesh, you’re acting like this the first time you’ve seen me in a dress.”

“I have, just not like this.” He said, pulling you in by the waist.

“Like what?” You asked.

“Matching.”

“Really?” You looked up at him in amusement. “You like this?”

“A little.” He admitted.

“Should I get us matching hoodies or sweatsuits too?” You grinned, making him scowl at you.

“Don’t tease me, I’m trying to have a moment here.” He complained, tightening his grip on you.

“Alright, I’m sorry.“ You chuckled, pushing up on your tiptoes to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes, studying his face. “You look really handsome, by the way.”

“You haven’t seen the whole costume.” He said.

“I wasn’t talking about the costume.” You said, grinning as you lightly pecked his lips.

That did it. He quickly ducked his head, chasing your mouth with his, letting out a deep, contented sigh as he caught you in another, longer kiss.

His lips moved slowly against yours at first, before quickly growing more needy and trailing down, latching onto a spot just under your jaw, eliciting a gasp from you when you felt his teeth scrape lightly over the skin.

“Yoongi.” You whined, but not trying to pull away.

“What? You’re the bride of Dracula, it only makes sense that you’d have a few bite marks.” He chuckled, lightly sucking another spot before switching to the other side of your neck to make it match.

“We’re gonna be late.” You stammered, trying to keep focused, but he wasn’t making it easy.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, making your eyes widen at the red that was smudged around his mouth before reaching up to touch your neck.

“Agh, you smudged my makeup!” You realized, your brief alarm shifting to annoyance.

“Like I care.” He smirked, trying to lean back in, but you pulled back just out of his reach.

“Nu-uh, we’ve got a party to go to, Dracula, remember?”

“Do we have to though?” He asked. “I mean, we could just stay here and-”

“Nope,” You stopped him. “I told the other’s we’d be there, we have to at least make an appearance.”

“What if I convince you to stay home?” He questioned lowly.

“And how do you plan to do that?” You asked, foolishly letting him catch you in another kiss.

You never made it to the party.

#yoongi scenarios #yoongi drabble #yoongi fluff #yoongi reaction #yoongi smut #yoongi imagine #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #bts x y/n #bts x reader #bts reaction #bts one shot #bts fluff #bts requests #bts imagines #bts drabble #7ndipity

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unofficial-writing · 1 month

Text

Promise

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Maybe the tiniest ounce of angst, so much fluff I’m sick

Summary: After the battle you two stumble upon the mirror of Erised and now’s a good time as any to propose.

Word count: 856, short and sweet

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You stood back by the doorway, gazing out the slim hole in the stone. Dirt and blood painted your face, likely covering smaller wounds that hadn’t been tended to yet. Even with your current appearance, Fred was completely taken by you.

His lips turned into a smile, allowing his eyes to move drift away from his girl to scan the room. “As surprising as it is, I’ve never been here before.” He announced, his green eyes landing on the object in the center of the room. A tall golden mirror. It shined as if it were new, yet had a weathered look to it at the same time.

“I haven’t either.” You responded, turning on your heels to catch up with Fred, who moved around to the front of the mirror. He fumbled with the ring in his pocket— which was surprisingly still on his person after all that had happened. It seemed so long ago that he was at his desk, engraving “I promise” onto the inside of it.

Fred stood before the mirror, seeing both you and him in horrible shape. You were both bruised, bloody and exhausted. But despite all that, your smile never failed. Smaller but never gone. The sight of it summoned a warm feeling to his chest.

He turned away from the mirror, glancing at you just in time to see your expression completely change. Your mouth fell open, staring at your reflection in awe.

Confused, he followed your eyes and his heart jumped at the picture. It had completely changed. Where you both were looking practically homeless, you now stood completely cleaned up. Fred was in a sleek black suit staring down at you— you. Oh my god, you were breathtaking. You were in a flowing white dress, a vale draped over your h/c hair and the biggest smile he had ever seen.

His lungs failed him. Seeing you in a wedding dress sparked thoughts. Just the thought of getting to marry you made his head spin.

“Are you seeing this?” The real you took his focus back, but he could only nod. “They’re beautiful! Are they ours?” His brows furrowed and your question and he pulled his eyes back down to you.

“Who?”

“Well, probably the little ginger you’re carrying! And the one George has over his shoulder.” You went on describing the scene and it sunk in what you saw. Both of you saw the perfect future together. it made his mind drift to the ring he carried.

He slipped his hand back into his pocket for it, hesitant. You smiled up at him, making up his mind for him. Throwing his big plans out the window, he pulled the ring out gently, as if it could break under his touch. “Y/n.” He started, glancing from the ring to its future wearer.

“This is less extravagant than I had hoped it would be.” He was aware that his tone gave away how nervous he was but you didn’t care. You were shocked and through your face, that was given away too.

“Since we’ve met, we’ve probably been through more than most couples, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. During these past few years, I’ve fallen in love with you in every way possible.” Your smile was brighter than the one in the mirror.

“I want to be yours as long as I’m alive, if you’ll have me.” Fred beamed. “Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n, will you marry me?”

You were pretty much in tears now, which immediately prompted him to copy you. “R-really?” You got out. You didn’t even wait for a response before dropping to your knees with him and throwing your arms around him.

Fred managed to get out an emotional laugh, as your shaking body settled into his arms. You lifted your head to meet his eyes but he interrupted and pressed close to a thousand kisses all over your face, finishing with a sweet kiss to your lips.

To you, this was all you wanted. Whatever Fred’s elaborate plans were didn’t matter at all to you. You were overjoyed to be able to marry him. After all the jokes and teasing, it was finally real.

“Looks like I’m finally going to be a Weasley.” You smiled at your new fiancé, who pulled you back to him, wrapping his arms around you.

He exaggerated a sigh. “We’re gonna have to dye your hair now.”

“Absolutely not.” You replied while Fred slid the ring onto your finger.

“We’ll see, love.” He teased, running his fingers through your hair. You kissed the spot just under his ear and buried your face there.

There were a few moments of silence as both of you processed. Fred breathed deeply, holding you tightly. “I’m yours, Y/n.” He whispered, smiling when you melted into his embrace.

“Forever?” Your voice sounded like music in his ears.

“Forever.” Fred responded, brushing his thumb over the ring, which was now occupied by your delicate finger. “I promise.”

#fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred wealsey fic #harry potter fic #weasley twins #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley x you #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fandom #Weasley twin fic

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obscure-entity · 4 months

Text

ok so going back to this post from wayy back in august (rbing it again would be a mess)

i think it'd be important for me to give a reflection on what this was about. i was making a planning-presentation months ago, which i shouldnt be so afraid to show but rereading my writing produces the same guttural yuck and fear that looking at my old art used to. and it led to all of these pieces. click for full view bc some of them are cropped

writing being the one thing im horrified of is ironic for me asking. but i have to ask if anyone's sincerely interested in my personal analysis of these ? i considered video format but if i wuss out of using my voice i might find some other way

and um. as for how i feel about them, i love these to death and can feel my hand aching thinking about every colored-pencil motion but i just dont feel like i attached myself to these in the way i wanted to. EXCEPT the second piece where a lamb is being snatched by the sky itself. although they do live up to their own messages to me

i discovered that, while i wanted to focus a lot on the aspects of feeling inhuman as a personal identity, in the second half it shifted more to perception. every individual is some sort of monster, creature, or animal because they are not "known" or acknowledged by hypothetical human-set standards, thus making them "unknown." this entire mini-portfolio is literally about the "unknown." the "unknown" is something i keep repeating a lot when im trying to grasp at this same concept. if a person cannot read your expression or wants to mischaracterize what you're thinking, you are "unknown." its really basic nature to be afraid of the unknown, but it's another step to invent new reasons to be afraid via an untrained disgust reaction for anything not reasonably comfortable, familiar, safe. and the attempt at creating "familiarity" is through assigning labels to things around you, simply put. which is just a bandaid shutting the teeth of some beast, to me

after all these months i still dont know what part of me this is about by the way. something behavioral. for example im pretty sure i weird people the FUCK out by staying silent or keeping to myself. and it took me years to realize that actually has a reason to scare people

what im saying is. dear marginalized ppl please keep depicting yourselves as weird monsters that scare people and bite. or some other strange thing that accomplishes the task of Just Sitting There.

im so happy this is essentially completed by the way ? i had another piece i never finished (im not sure i want to, colored pencils fucked me over hard) its just that i didnt think the months would pass that fast. writing about it was really nice when i was trying to kind of realize the mindset for my future personal art too. idk if anyone from the old post is still here but thanks again for the resources :)

#text #nudity

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hotpinkrathian · 2 months

Text

Ahhhh so I have to admit I have been working on something, it's a very big project for me.

It's 30 000 words long as of now, and I estimate to be about 1/2 - 2/3 of the way through the story. I'm super excited about it, however I don't want to get to a point where I'm almost done and don't finish, which is why I am writing it so much.

I want everyone in the kyalin Fandom to be right there with me when it's ready. So I'm going to do my best to finish it before I start posting.

How would I describe it???

A Kyalin mystery slowburn

Here's a snippet from Chapter 3 (spoilers ahead)

“Here,” Tenzin said, passing Lin a notice.

“So secretive,” Kya joked, pretending to lean over.

“It's not that secret,” Tenzin said, “two more came forward getting letters, bringing the total to-”

“Forty-nine.” Lin finished. The names added to the list weren't familiar to her. An Earth Republic mayor, and a fire nation general. “Something tells me there's one more out there,” Lin said.

“You think? An even 50?”

“Stopping at forty-nine would be good thinking on their end,” Kya said, “I mean, it would have everyone worried over the 50th letter, which doesn't exist.” She elaborated.

Lin raised an eyebrow, shrugging it off.

“What are the odds they get out anyway?” Kya asked.

“You mean the dirt?” Lin clarified.

“Yeah. Are the threats… real? Do you think they actually know something, or is it… broad enough to make yo- people think they did something.”

“Well we've bounced around that idea for a while,” Lin said, “but I think the general consensus was that… they were a little too close for comfort.” She looked to Tenzin, whose harrowing eyes reflected the anxieties of her own.

Her own letter bounced around in the back of brain, waiting to be unpacked. She had divulged so much into dealing with the case, and worrying about Suyin, she hadn't put much thought into how she would deal with the information revealed by her letter.

What she would do.

What she would say.

She didn't inherently think she had anything to be ashamed of, but there were plenty others who wouldn't see it that way.

It would be career ending, perhaps enough to chase her out of town in search of a fresh start.

If Suyin was still alive, Zaofu could make for a nice retirement place.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she said, getting up. She made for the bathroom down the hall, but instead opened the window at the end of the hall.

Delicately, and with precision, even in her wine-induced stupor, she climbed outside, hanging onto the ledge.

She'd done it a thousand times in her teen years. Scaling the air temple had been a right of passage, and a necessity, when she was with Tenzin.

It was second nature to her as she hauled herself to the upper floor.

Luckily, the window wasn't locked and she got back inside with ease.

She walked quietly down the hall, praying she didn't wake the kids. It was as she remembered. Almost nothing had changed, and a strange wave of deja vu overcame her.

It ended when she entered the left door, and not the right.

Kya's room was one she hadn't been in much, especially as she got older. It looked as she had envisioned. It was tasteful and colorful. Lin envied her ability to pick out pictures and tapestries of varied colors, still managing to make them go together.

First she checked the nightstand, which had a lot of interesting things, but nothing she was looking for.

She checked the duffle bag on the chair, nothing but clothes and towels.

She sighed, looking around.

She noticed the bed was lifted slightly off the floor. Tenzin used to keep… stuff under his bed.

Perhaps these airhead all thought alike.

She got on her knees before laying herself gently onto her stomach.

She outstretched an arm under the bed, feeling around until her palm landed on a box.

She pulled it out, and allowed herself to stand up before setting it on the bed and opening it.

The unmistakable waxy green seal.

The inky handwriting on the back with a clear name designation.

The clear indication that it had been open and removed multiple times.

She held it in her hand, her fingers frozen.

Fifty

#legend of korra #kyalin #korrasami #atla #lok #lin x kya #tenzin #pema #korra #asami #mako and lin #bolin x opal #post cannon #kuvira #should i hide a secret in the tags #mystery

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

Note

AITA for not refusing to have my picture taken?

I (18NB) really hate taking pictures. It's a combination of privacy concerns (big social media gets me really paranoid), not udnerstanding the point, and, admittedly, a self-image problem. To elaborate on the latter two, I don't really understand the point of taking photos, no matter how much it's explained to me, maybe because I'm not a sentimental person. The concept of "having a memory immortalized" feels unnecessary (what's wrong with forgetting?), and posting it on social media... see point number one.

When it comes to self-image, that's a lot more touchy. I'll be honest: I really hate how I look, especially in photos. I guess I'm just not a photogenic person, but I always come out looking unideal, for lack of better term, to the point that even seeing a picture of myself makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

Here's where I think I might be TA.

Last school year was my senior year in high school, so naturally, my friends and I made lots of memories together. But no matter where we went, if we took a picture, I adamantly refused to be in it, even if they pleaded with me. A lot of the time, it'd turn into a huge, often public, debacle: my friends, frantically waving or shouting at me to get into frame, or reshuffling to get me into frame, or dragging me into line to take a photo (we're touchy-feely people, so this isn't weird for us), and me, walking away as fast as possible.

Reflecting on it, I feel like I did them a disservice. A lot of people like looking back at pictures (and one of my friends also really loves photography), and I think it wasn't right of me to refuse them that, especially since I wouldn't even be looking at those photos. I'm also a private person who hates airing out dirty laundry. For that reason, I framed my argument as more of a philosophical one than one on personal comfort, so to them, I just act the way I do because of some weird moral high ground. I also feel like it made them feel like I don't want to remember them, and that now that we're separated, I'll happily forget them. And, since this would happen when we were doing fun things together, I really feel like I kept ruining everyone's days or lowering the mood for the sake of my personal comfort.

I don't know. I really feel like I keep blowing up a normal, small thing, but at the same time, I can't help feeling the way I do. Please tell me: AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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whitexwolfxx310 · 1 year

Text

New Years Eve 2/2

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: You spend New Years Eve with Bucky at a big event which your ex happens to also be attending.

Warnings: Y/N, 18+, Cursing, **Graphic sexual content**, Smut, Oral (M to F), sexual asphyxiation, slightly physical encounter with ex, jealousy, edging.

Word Count: 4895

Gif: Credit goes to buck-n-cap & lowkeysebastianstan

A/Ns: This is the second part to my New Years Eve post. Thank you all so much for reading! If you want to be added to the Taglist, just let me know!

Previous Part

Masterlist

Today has been kind of a big deal and it’s far from over. It’s a declaration of your relationship with Bucky going public, even in front of your own father who has made it very clear that he disapproves.

Standing in the lobby of the elaborate hotel, you catch of glimpse of your reflection in the glass door. You smooth the sides of your long, simple, burgundy dress. Turning from side to side slowly seeing how the gown accentuates your hourglass figure. A coolness on your bare lower back causes you to suck in a breath through your teeth.

"You look beautiful." Bucky reassures as his warm breath grazes against your ear. Your cheeks instantly blush from the embarrassment. "Also," He starts, "I got us a room." Pulling back slightly from him, smirking and raising an eyebrow at the forwardness, his nose scrunches with an amused laugh. "Not what I meant. But I like your thinking." He says, planting a gentle kiss on your temple.

"Hey, Buck!" Both of you become aware of Steve and Peggy. "Wow, you guys look great!" Steve says energetically. God, it's like night and day with Bucky and Steve. The men greet each other with a small hug and firm pat on the back. Stepping forward, you acknowledge Peggy with a small kiss on the cheek.

"You look...wow. Peggy, you look fantastic!" You say, astonished by her classic, yet sophisticated, look. The bright red lipstick matches her dress, which accents her pale skin and dark brown pin curled hair.

“Likewise.” Peggy smiles “Good to see you, Y/N.”

“And Steve… handsome as always.” You say as you reach up to give him a friendly hug. He smiles, taking Peggy’s hand.

“Let’s head in, don’t want to be late.” As the couple starts to walk off, Bucky smirks and rolls his eyes.

“With out without the suit, he’s always Captain America.” He laughs, placing his hand around your waist, bringing you in nice and close as you walk into the party room.

The night is still young and reserved. Everyone is being cordial and polite. Give it about an hour or so when they’re all a few drinks in and it will be a different story.

It’s not a traditional party with decorations, it’s very organized and structured with speeches and awards, etc. The only type of display to distinguish what type of event you’re attending is the memorial board on an easel with the stone faced, uniformed pictures of those who have died. While you’re trying to actively avoid looking at it, you keep side eyeing it looking for your brother Luke’s picture.

For once, you’re the one who has the tight jawline. A gentle rub on your upper arm reminds you to try and relax, that you aren’t alone. You glance up at Bucky, attempting to smile. “Thank you.” You say softly.

“I know this isn’t easy for you. I appreciate you being here with me. ‘Till the end of the line, sunshine.” He says, giving a small wink along with a smile. And just like that you feel as though you could just melt onto the floor. For more reasons than one…

As soon as you feel the uneasiness drift away, it comes crashing back full force as you spot your parents talking with someone. Already knowing where they were, Bucky plants a small kiss on the top of your head. “You can’t avoid them forever. C’mon.” He gently encourages but waits for you to make a move. Taking a determined, deep breath you make your way over to them. If it weren’t for Bucky by your side, you wouldn’t have the courage to confront them.

Your steps become smaller the closer that you get, but he’s with you every single step along the way. Clearing your throat to get their attention, you give them a polite smile. Moms eyes instantly light up at the sight of you, reaching down to match the big smile from the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, honey!” Taking a few quick steps forward she quickly embraces you. Awkwardly, you hug her back, not letting go of Bucky. Not even for a second. The notion grabs your fathers attention, but it doesn’t seem to phase him. He nods slightly in acknowledgement, but nothing more. A part of you feels instantly crushed, knowing that he is still holding onto the last conversation the two of you had. About your life. About your choices. About Bucky.

“Dad.” You give him a small hello in return. His lips are a tight, thin line as he glances Bucky over.

“Sir.” Bucky says, holding his right black gloves hand out for a hand shake. Dad indulges, but most likely for appearances sake. A flash of amusement crosses Dads face, instantaneously making you feel as though you’re going to be sick.

“James.” He greets, his attention drawn to behind the both of you. “We were actually just catching up with Christopher.”

Christopher. You have to remind yourself to breathe as you turn around. And there he is. Fuck. Tall, dirty blonde hair, tan, green eyes that stand out even more so with his olive green class A’s and the obligatory Army crew cut.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s been a long time.” Chris steps in to hug you and your body goes completely stiff, not moving an inch, holding your breath. Bucky is looking between you and Chris, instantly understanding that this isn’t necessarily a happy reunion. Bucky’s eyes narrow as Chris steps back into his place, also putting his hand out to shake his as well.

“Nice to meet you, Christopher.” Bucky practically spits out as he looks him dead in the eyes.

“Sergeant Barnes.” Chris returns the same slender gaze along with a smirk as he puts his hands into Bucky’s. After an extended moment, Chris goes to pull away his hand but is met with Bucky’s gloved left hand closing over both their fists. Right away Chris flinches, the vibranium hand enclosing their hands just a little too hard.

“Hey guys!” Steve gets everyone’s attention as he walks up. Bucky and Chris hands fall to their side, looking like two children that were caught fighting over a toy. “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Steve smiles. Always the peacekeeper. He places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I was just about to head to the bar. Would you two like to join Peggy and I for a round?”

“Sounds great!” You chime in, locking arms with Bucky and follow Steve to the bar where Peggy is sitting with a round of drinks. Grabbing the one that looks the strongest, you slam it back instantly. Everyone is quiet, looking between themselves extremely confused. You then feel a soft hand on your shoulder.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Steve asks, concerned.

“I’m fine! Totally and completely fine!” Your voice comes out way too high pitched and is utter bullshit. Bucky and Steve exchange a nervous look between each other as you finish another one of the drinks. You can feel the tension, so much so that you could cut through it with a knife.

“So… are you going to tell me what is going on?” Bucky asks, his tone flat. His concern comes out in the form of resorting back to shutting down. The fact he hasn’t been dragged out of here kicking and screaming is already progress. In the words of Bucky: ‘Fight first, questions later…. Maybe.’

“So um-“ you start, taking in a deep breath. “Chris is, I mean… was, my brothers best friend.” There seems to be a collective understanding nod within the group. “He made it back and Luke just… didn’t.”

Bucky’s face softens at the realization, now knowing that Chris is a constant reminder of your older brother who is gone.

“But…he’s also my ex.” You’re holding your breath as Bucky continues to look into your eyes, no reaction whatsoever. Peggy’s fire engine red lips purse out as she stands up from the bar.

“Looks like we’re in need of more drinks. Steve?” She beacons for him to come with her, leaving you two alone to talk.

“What?” Bucky asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. He still hasn’t blinked. Or moved. Or even fucking breathed.

“It just didn’t work out between us. We all knew each other since we were kids. Him and my brother grew up together, enlisted together, deployed together-“

“And had you in common as well.” He says, matter of factly as he still remains calm. Which actually is the scariest part. Is he… jealous?

“Bucky…” You start, placing your hand over his. “I don’t care about him. He is nothing to me. His presence just brings back painful memories.”

He just sits, staring into your eyes, looking for a glimmer of lies. But, it won’t be found. Because this is, in fact, the truth. This is it. This is the moment where Bucky’s growth is put to the test. His reaction is everything. His jaw shifts slightly as his tongue runs across his top teeth, his lips still firmly pressed closed. He’s trying. He’s trying his best to keep his cool. You’re still holding your breath as you wait. Wait for him to explode. Wait for him to say that you two are done. Wait for him to walk out of this building, go under the radar as the Winter Soldier and never be heard from again. You’re mind is already racing at the thought of possibly losing him over something so trivial- but he takes a deep breath in through his nose.

“It’s in the past.” He murmurs. And, as if a lightbulb turned on, it suddenly makes sense. Bucky has tried now for many years to let go of what was, it would be hypocritical to hold something against you. A sigh of relief escapes from your mouth.

“But-“ he starts, making you hold your breath again. “I’m not above kicking his ass.” He’s smirking, but the truth of the matter is… he would and not think twice.

“Bucky!” You lightly slap his hand in a playful gesture. Suddenly, Steve and Peggy are back with more than just a few appreciated drinks.

“How about we find our seats.” Steve suggests “Ladies first.” He steps to the side, allowing you to walk side by side with Peggy. You give him a thankful smile as you get up from your seat at the bar. Bucky and Steve hang back for just a moment, talking low to one another so that they can only hear the conversation. Steve grips and ruffles Bucky’s shoulder, giving him an encouraging nudge.

After getting to your assigned table, the award ceremonies and long speeches start to blend together. Thankfully, there’s a never ending circling of servers so the drinks never stay too empty for long. Your attention gets drawn to your left thigh, where there is a warm hand gently caressing. You look to the left where Bucky is sitting next to you, being met with a small smile trying to disguise his concern. In return you mimic his smile to hide your uneasiness.

A familiar voice starts to ring through the speakers strategically placed through out the room so everyone is able to hear the person speaking. Dad. Swallowing down what feels like a rock in your throat as you watch him start to address the crowd for the next award, you look between your father and Bucky. Suddenly feeling antsy and unable to sit any longer, your hands smooth down your dress on your thighs.

"I'll um- I'll be right back." You say as you quickly get up from the table.

"Y/N..." Bucky says sympathetically as he moves to get up as well.

"It's fine." He stops midway, frozen in a squat position, as he struggles internally to be there for you but also respect your boundaries.

"Really..." You lean down, planting a small kiss on his lips. "I'm just going to freshen up." He places his hand on yours, reluctant to let go as you go to move away.

Walking out of the ballroom and into the main corridor to catch your breath, you feel a slight pull on your hand from behind.

"I said I was fi-..." Turning around expecting Bucky to have followed you, but instead you're now standing face to face with your ex. "Chris?" You say in repulsion.

"I know, I know. I just wanted to see how you're doing with everything." His tone is soft, concerned even. You scoff as you try to pull your hand away.

"How I'm doing? W-What? Let go of me!" You insist, trying to pull back, but he doesn't let go.

"Listen, Y/N. I know we didn't end on the best of terms, and I'm sorry I didn't reach out to you after Luke died-"

"Don't you dare talk to me about my brother!" You spit out, still trying to get your wrist out from his grasp. "I said...Let g-"

"I just want you to understand…" Christopher's grip is now getting firmer around your wrist to hold you in place. "It was hard for me too and I just didn't know what to say-"

"What part of 'let fucking go' are you not understanding?!" You yell, struggling to get out of his grasp.

"I'm here now! We can honor his memory…together! It’s what he would have wan-" Chris stops mid-sentence, realizing that a third person has placed their hand over his. He looks away from you to be met eye to eye with Bucky, who's vibranium hand is now clasped over his. This is probably the only time you'll be thankful for how stealth-like he can be.

"You heard her.” Bucky says, with an eerily calm tone which is met with no response. “Let her…the fuck…go.” He enunciates.

Christopher’s eyes narrow, not blinking as he grinds his teeth, thinking about how he wants to handle the situation. Your eyes dart between the two men, your wrist still held in place. Chris’s brows furrow as the grip around your wrist tighter, causing you to suck in a sharp breath between your teeth.

“Okay then.” Bucky says, matter of factly. Within what seems to be a blink of an eye, you’re free and now standing behind Bucky who has placed himself between you and Chris.

“Look, Barnes. I don’t want any trouble…” Christopher says, his tone less confident than before.

“Trouble will follow any man that puts his unwanted hand on a woman. Now go. I’m sure you’re next in line for some bullshit speech or medal.” Bucky says, assertively.

The air is thick and tense as the stare down between Bucky and Chris continues, knowing that even the slightest twitch would send them into a brawl. The question is, would Christopher be stupid enough to go toe to toe with a super soldier? Chris’s eyes move passed Bucky to make eye contact with you, which instantly makes you look away from how uncomfortable it feels.

Suddenly, Chris turns on his heels and heads back into the main ballroom. He has always been more concerned with appearances and will not do anything to jeopardize his career. Bucky doesn’t move until he’s out of sight, turning around and looking you up and down concerned.

“Are you okay?” He asks, not getting closer but gently takes your wrist, inspecting it.

“I’ll be fine.” You mutter, unable to look at him, your stomach still tied up in an enormous knot from the encounter. Bucky continuously looks you up and down, letting out a long sigh.

“Let’s find somewhere quiet. Somewhere private?” He suggests, and you nod slightly in agreement.

Bucky’s hand gently wraps around your waist, pulling you softly into his side as he leads you down the hall. You can’t but help but notice out of the corner of your eye, Steve had been standing there the entire time. Ready to have Bucky’s back, just as he always has.

Your head is spinning. What would have happened if Bucky didn’t intervene? Why did Chris want to have this conversation now, of all places? Was my father somehow behind this because of his dislike for Bucky? Would he really go that far? This is so embarra-

“This is us.” Bucky’s soft voice interrupts the never ending questions running through your mind. He takes out a plastic card, swiping it into the door. A small light beeps and turns green, allowing access. Opening the door, Bucky allows you to go into the room first, following closely behind and locks the door. The hotel room. You didn’t realize where he was leading you due to the rapid thinking.

Taking a few steps into the room, you glance around. On the king sized bed is two carryall bags; one for you and one for Bucky. He must have packed for both of us ahead of time, prepared for what was supposed to be a romantic night, turned into this. Looking out the large window at the dark city scenery, you smooth your dress down along your thighs; a nervous habit you’ve developed over time. Turning around, you find Bucky still standing close to the door, arms crossed and looking you over. You let out a long sigh as you take a few steps forward, unsure of what to say.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His tone is soft and slightly confused. Talking isn’t something that he is necessarily used to. The only person he has ever been willing to put everything on the line for, is Steve. This is new territory. For him. For you. For us.

“Not really.” You reply, honestly. Taking a few small steps forward, Bucky mirrors the motion. You place the side of your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around him as you do so. He returns the notion, placing his chin on top of your head as his arms wrap around you entirely. The warmth, comfort, and protection is more than welcomed. His arms are the safest place in the world.

Pulling your head back to look up into his eyes, you still need to stand on your tippy toes to plant your lips on his. His tall frame leans down to meet yours. The soft kiss starts as a way of saying thank you, showing gratitude for him being there for you. But it quickly turns into necessity, needing Bucky in every sense of the word. Your arms unwrap from around his torso, reaching gently to cup each side of his face as you pull him more to you. His hands on the small, bare part of your lower back, pressing you slightly more into his body.

“Get me out of this dress.” You demand between kisses. He pulls back a bit in surprise.

“Y/N… I don’t know if-“

“Shut up. And get me out of this dress, Bucky.” You say, sternly. Taking his right hand in yours, and placing it right at the zipper. Giving in, he pulls it down slowly. You shimmy slightly to shake the dress onto the floor, you’re now left in a black lace bra, and a matching black lace garter belt g-string clipped down to black thigh highs.

“You’re killing me here…” Bucky says, eyeing your body in the lingerie.

“I want you to fuck me.” You say, confidently. You’ve reached that level in your relationship that you can be crystal clear about what each of you want.

“I-“ He strains. Also hungry the same desire, but at the same time not wanting to feel as though he is taking advantage of your vulnerability. In return, you aggressively unbutton his fitted black suit jacket, bringing it down his shoulders and arms and it falls to the floor. You take his right hand and sensually remove the glove, also discarding it to the floor. When you take his left hand, he is more reluctant. Still self conscious of his vibranium arm when not using it for its original intention. Lightly sterner this time, you take his hand and also take off that glove. The coolness to the touch instantly gives your body goosebumps. You once again take his right hand, gently kissing the pad of each finger while looking up into his eyes. The flicker of more than usual craving ignited in his eyes.

You pull him closer by the buckle of his belt, eagerly undoing it along with his dress pants, leaving them to collapse to the floor. Bucky’s hands instantly find your waist, pulling you in to show his lust through kissing. Firmly, you unbutton his dress shirt, leaving him in only in a gray undershirt and matching boxer briefs. Your hand slips down between the heat of your bodies, cupping his growing bulge. He releases a deep breath, moan combination at your touch.

His reaction causes a surge of frenzied dopamine to be released. Your hand grips him just a little harder, moving it forward and back in rhythm with the aching throbbing deep in your core. Sensing the growing intensity, Bucky lifts you up into his arms, coaxing your legs to wrap around the trunk of his body. You oblige, your arms wrapping around his neck as well. Maintaining the fierce kiss, he pulls your body more into his own. Feeling your body’s press more into each other forces the urgency of him being inside you grow exponentially.

Taking a few steps towards the bed, Bucky lays you down, now hovering over you. His hips compress down into yours, causing your back to arch up into his chest and a small whimper to escape. Propped up on his left arm, his right hand grazes the curves of your body, leaving an anguished trail behind. Bucky's lips migrate from yours and down your neck. His deep breathing in your ear pulsates through your body, syncing with the gnawing, and growing, passion. He sits back on his knees, between your legs with an astonished look on his face.

"What?" You ask, laughing. He shakes his head, rubbing the palms of his hands on top of your knees, moving them up your thigh slightly on both sides, his fingers flicking against the straps against the thigh highs.

"You are just..." His eyes ricochet between different areas of your body. "So fucking beautiful." The statement makes you blush, gently biting your bottom lip in anticipation.

Bucky's tongue brushes across the front of his lips. He then takes hold of your hips, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. His hands only leave your body for a moment, pulling off his shirt and tossing it onto the floor. Staring up into his eyes, you start to become more restless, grinding your hips down into the cotton comforter. He leans over your body, meshing his lips eagerly into yours. While face to face, Bucky pulls down his briefs half way, allowing them to remain on his thighs.

Standing up, his chest is already rising and falling rapidly. Using his pointer finger, he hooks it into the bottom of your panties, pulling them to the side. While keeping the fabric in place, he bends down, his metal arm gripping your thigh as he places his tongue flat against your opening. Just pressing the wet warmth against you send a lightening bolt through your body. He drags his tongue up...and then down. Once, twice, and then pulls away. The instant chill and lack of stimulation leave you disgruntled. But he quickly rips the fabric he had been holding to the side, exposing you to him fully.

He brings his hand up to his mouth, spitting onto his fingers before rubbing the head of himself. He presses against you, only a few millimeters in, and you both suck in a sharp breath, already being able to tell just how narrow you are.

"Oh god..." Bucky's head tilts back slightly in gratification. "You're so tight..." He acknowledges, slowly pressing into you, deeper and deeper.

When pleasure is this fierce, it can cause your body to spasm. Almost as if it's too much to handle and tries to escape. But he doesn't let you. Tenderly, he takes your legs and rests them against his shoulders, kissing the inside of your ankle as you writhe softly underneath him. It doesn't take long to conform around him. He draws himself almost all the way out and then presses back in. Your body squirms in response, moaning as your way of demanding more. Bucky's hips glide in and out, also putting an extra thrust against your g-spot once he's fully in.

"Mmm..." You moan into a deep breath as your eyes slightly roll back. Once you make eye contact with Bucky again, he's smiling. Knowing that he can satisfy you in every meaning of the word.

Letting go of your legs, he falls forward, bracing himself on the bed, hovering while still inside you. He presses his forehead into yours, looking into your eyes as his hips collide into your own.

"Say it." He requests, but your slightly confused. No need for you to say anything, because as if he can read your mind, he responds:

"Tell me I'm the only one..." He breathes. "Tell me that you're mine."

"I'm yours." You indulge, truthfully. "Always." It comes out as a whisper. Within that moment, you press your lips up into his. He hungerly kisses you in return.

Pulling back slightly, but not pulling out, he continues to hover. His cool, metal fingertips outlining your collarbone. Bucky raises his eyebrows, not needing to say what he's thinking out loud. Without hesitation, you nod in approval. He's slightly taken aback by your answer but eager to indulge.

"Let me know if it's too much." Bucky holds your gaze as the palm of his left hand flattens at the base of your neck.

"I trust you."

And with that he slides his hand slightly forward, placing your neck between his thumb and pointer finger. Gradually, the grip gets tighter. But Bucky continually searches your face, looking for any sort of discomfort. The additional pressure along with his quickening rhythm, put you into a state of euphoria. The most perfect, metallic ice necklace. Each stroke ripples through your body, intensifying with each passing second. You've been holding your climax off, edging yourself intentionally so that you can orgasm together. Although, it is apparent that it is becoming more and more difficult for you both.

"Do you want me to come?" He asks, loudly enough to be heard over the sounds of body slapping intertwined with moaning and heavy breathing.

"I'm ready." It comes out as a plead.

"How much?" He grins.

“As much as you can.” You whisper, giving him a small smirk in return.

He let's go of your neck, bracing himself on the bed with both arms now. His dewy chest creating friction against yours as he quickens his pace just a little more. Your nails dig into his back, scratching down a little harder than you care to admit. But, something tells you that he really doesn't mind all that much. Bucky is moaning into your ear, the most gratifying sound, as you feel warmth start to fill inside of you. It instantly sends you over the edge, contracting around him in quick intervals of pure ecstasy. The world stops when the two of you are together. This just feels so right, so perfect. Regardless of what some people say, it's meant to be.

Laying together in bed, coming down from cloud nine, your leg is draped over his. Your fingers slowly trace the damp, defined lines of his muscles. His chin rests gently on the top of your head, breathing deeply as he resonates in the moment. In the distance, you can hear loud voices. You and Bucky look at each other, and then at the phone on the nightstand, laughing in understanding. Even across the hotel and away from the ballroom, you can hear the collective

Ten....Nine....Eight....Seven....Six....Five....Four....Three....Two....One. Happy New Year!

Using his pointer finger, Bucky lifts your chin up to give you a kiss.

"That is one hell of a way to bring in the new year." He laughs.

"Yeah..." You giggle a little. Looking at him, in this moment, this beautiful moment, it slips out. "Would it be super cliché if I said 'I love you'?"

His eyes widen. Oh no.

"I-" You sit up, scrambling for a bed sheet to cover yourself so that you aren't exposed physically. Just emotionally. "I'm sorry. It-It's too much." Shaking your head in embarrassment, clinging to the sheet that is masking your chest, unable to look anywhere aside from down at the bed.

"Hey..." Bucky says, tenderly as he sits up in the bed. His hand palms your face gently, coaxing you to look at him. "It may be the first time that you're saying 'I love you' to me, but just know that I will never grow tired of hearing it." He's smiling affectionately as his thumb grazes against the side of your mouth. "Would it be completely predictable to say 'I love you too'? Because I do, Y/N. You have made this old man the happiest he has ever been and ever expected to be. You are everything I could have dreamed of and more."

Squealing in excitement, you drop the sheet and quickly hop into his lap. Kissing him once again behind teary eyes.

Tag list: @peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead

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beekeeperspicnic · 1 year

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What a nice day to reconceptualise my entire game

Last night I reblogged this lovely post from @inkonice-main talking about Holmes and Watson's relationship as a great love story (whether romantic or platonic), and it's been clanging around in my brain ever since.

Just in case you stumbled across this post randomly, I'm currently making a cosy mystery Sherlock Holmes game set in Sussex, which has Holmes trying to put together a picnic for Watson. My plan is to write them in a close platonic friendship or queerplatonic partnership because that interpretation means a lot to me, but to keep it shipper friendly and leave the possibility open that they are a romantic couple.

The problem I've been toying over for the entire six months of development so far is WHY Holmes has decided to drop everything and make this ultimate picnic for Watson. What's his motivation, dah-ling?

And I've cycled through a few ideas:

He doesn't need a reason, elaborate theatre is how he shows affection. Perhaps true, but that doesn't give much of an emotional base for the game.

It's all sparked off by Watson writing and publishing the Creeping Man, the story with all the "The relations between us in those latter days were peculiar" content. But it never quite flowed for me. If Watson is happy with Holmes in Sussex, why is he writing so discontentedly? It also felt like telling-not-showing for players.

I thought perhaps it could be spurred on by Holmes having a nightmare where he's back on a case everything goes wrong. He realises that both he and Watson are in the twilight of their lives and if he doesn't tell Watson plainly how he feels, he may lose the chance. This is closer to working for me, but I think a dream being a character's primary motivation is silly and lazy, and this anxiety Holmes has doesn't seem reflected in the fact that they're living together happily. To the player it's obvious Watson already knows Holmes loves him, so there's no tension.

Then I read that post, and it all clicked. Because let's look at the Canon: it is a love story, but like most love stories of glorious intensity, things have not always run smoothly.

Holmes has withheld truths. He pretended to be dead for years. He constantly toys with his health and causes Watson pain and anxiety. All the paths Watson laid out for his life have been disrupted by his adoration of this brilliant but challenging man. Years of living together at this frantic, breakneck, head-over-heels pace seem to have taken their toll: Holmes suddenly wants to retreat from the world and take up his beekeeping, and Watson remarries and doesn't follow him, as he needs to live his own life. By His Last Bow, it seems they haven't seen each other for years.

"We heard of you as living the life of a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farm upon the South Downs," says Watson, suggesting he's never visited. But they reconnect, and thankfully the spark between them is still there. War is looming on the horizon, and both fear it may take their lives - "Stand with me here upon the terrace, for it may be the last quiet talk that we shall ever have," says Holmes.

That's where we leave them, looking out over a moonlit sea waiting for the dawn, exchanging words that they fear will be parting ones.

But the reader is left with the hope that perhaps they won't be parted again this time. War can't separate these two, surely? Nothing can.

So. That's where the picnic comes in, as a last coda in this great love story.

The War is over. Holmes and Watson have reunited. Perhaps Watson visits Holmes more often now, widowed once again. And Holmes realises that what both of them need now is to be together.

Except how does he say that, as someone who does not share his innermost thoughts easily?

The picnic represents the one chance that Holmes feels he has to say, I've treated you badly. I've made mistakes. But we can get through them, because we love each other. Let's not be parted ever again. Come and stay with me here.

The picnic isn't just a picnic.

It's a proposal.

So like, no pressure, players. :P

EDIT:

Just to clarify because I think my wording confused some folks - My plan is still to write them in a close platonic friendship or queerplatonic partnership and to keep it shipper friendly and leave the possibility open that they are a romantic couple.

The change is just that in my original storyline Watson had been living with Holmes for years, and now I'm playing with the idea of exploring the picnic being the moment when they commit to living together for the rest of their lives.

#beekeepers picnic #sherlock holmes #his last bow #johnlock #acd johnlock #holmes and watson #sussex retirement #game dev thoughts

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eemcintyre · 10 months

Text

Thirty Minutes (Tom Cruise)

TW- some saucy dialogue and innuendos; some hot vampire moments ™️

Summary- You're making last-minute preparations for the Halloween gathering that you and Tom are hosting. Since you have a tendency to go overboard with these kinds of events, Tom has to remind you to have some fun.

Y'all gave me the go-ahead to post an autumn-themed one-shot in June, and who am I to deny the voice of the people? 😆 But, in honor of the fact that I've already bought my first autumn decorations of the year, here ya go and there will definitely be more where this came from 🙃

To commemorate the upcoming Halloween and bring some life into the spacious Colorado house, Y/N had suggested to and pleaded with Tom to host a Halloween party.

Tom wasn’t as enthusiastic about the idea- not because he didn’t think it would be fun to catch up with friends for a few hours, but because he knew Y/N’s tendency to get way too wrapped up in projects like this. Events that were supposed to be lowkey could quickly turn into absolute ordeals that occupied her every thought. Then, each time, she would inevitably get overstressed, and Tom had to talk her down and provide copious amounts of Advil and tea.

He knew it was probably just the production designer in her that wanted everything to be aesthetically pleasing; his motivation and risk-taking as an actor also frequently emerged in real life. Still. He would be just as happy skipping it all for a quiet, romantic evening with Y/N alone.

He loved his wife.

And because he loved his wife, here he was, studying his costumed reflection in the bathroom mirror, outfitted in a black button-up shirt, vest and pants with a silver cross hanging by a red ribbon. His face was covered in a faint dusting of white powder, and a small amount of fake blood stained one corner of his mouth.

He opened his mouth and made a face at himself in the mirror, revealing a pair of fangs, and then shrugged, resigned to his fate. After “Interview with the Vampire,” he figured that would have been the end of his time in plastic fangs and red corn syrup. But he figured that, since he was all decked out, he might as well have some fun with it.

Tom crossed from the bathroom mirror, dotted with leaf and pumpkin-shaped window clings, into the hallway, where the accent table was decorated with an arrangement of festive knickknacks. Y/N was in the kitchen, in the middle of crafting a pumpkin pie for their guests.

He treaded silently to the kitchen entryway, watching from around the corner as she worked intently on shaping the crust. She too was sporting an elaborate vampire look, in a form-fitting black mini dress, red capelet, white powder, and dark red lips with fake blood dripping from the corners. Tom enjoyed admiring this outfit, to say the least, and for a few moments he just watched her work.

But then, he crept up behind Y/N and lunged at her with a roar, throwing his arms around her. She jumped and screamed, hands flying from the pie crust up to Tom’s arms that were looped around her shoulders. As soon as she realized it was him, she stopped screaming but continued to struggle against him.

“Fuck, Tom! You almost ruined the pie,” she said irritably. It was too close to the long-awaited party for her to put up with any kind of shenanigans.

The pie was especially important to her- she wanted it to be perfectly smooth and still warm from the oven when their guests arrived, so she was cutting it close time-wise with less than an hour to go. But Tom was not to be dismissed; he was determined to remind Y/N that this was all supposed to be fun.

“Didn’t Ashlee say she would bring a storebought pie?” he murmured, playfully swaying the two of them back and forth.

“I will purposely crash my own car before I serve a storebought pie to my guests…”

Tom chuckled and shook his head. His wife truly was an all-or-nothing kind of person, just like him. He dipped his head and brushed his fangs across her neck.

“Tom…” Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “Later, okay? I really have to hurry. Please?” She craned her head to glance back at him flirtatiously.

“How long does this thing bake for?” he inquired, gesturing to the pie dish in front of them.

“About an hour. Why?”

“An hour?” Tom exclaimed, bewildered. “Baby, we’ve pulled fast ones before that were, like, fifteen minutes...”

“I have to finish hanging the spiderwebs while the pie is baking,” Y/N pouted.

“Later?” he gazed at her hopefully and she nodded.

“Now, down, boy,” she whispered, kissing him on the nose, and his face broke into a boyish grin. “You’re going to ruin both of our makeup.”

As he let go of her and circled to the opposite side of the counter, she added “Y’know, you’re not as scary as you think you are.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe not, but I can still make you scream.”

Y/N turned bright red as she tried to return her attention to the pie crust. “If you keep hanging around here, I’m going to make you help with the cooking.” She was trying so hard to look and sound serious and keep her voice from wavering into a giggle.

“Oh, I mean…” Tom was about to reply when a thought occurred to him. “Wait, now, hear me out on this… what if I hang the spiderwebs while you’re wrapping this up… I mean, that would give us at least… thirty minutes?” He shrugged, tilting his head, not breaking their intense eye contact all the while.

After some thoughtful contemplation, Y/N decided that this was indeed a good way to kill two birds with one stone- and who was she to stand in the way of efficiency and productivity? She flashed Tom a knowing smirk, giving him all the confirmation he needed to head in the direction of the living room and the bags of fake spiderwebs.

“Now, if I come in there and you just threw them all around…” she warned. “Don’t make me regret inviting you to participate in my creative process!”

“Yes, ma’am,” his voice sounded from the other room, slightly muffled by laughter, and she grinned to herself. She had never finished shaping a pie crust so quickly.

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theambitiouswoman · 10 months

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Why does nobody love me ? Actually let me elaborate on it for you . I have been a good girl who is friendly with people, I greet them, help them and if they consider me as their friend , I will always be there if they need me but , not just a single person , all the people just turn their backs to me when they have no more favours to be done . I passed my senior secondary school this year and was in my last school for the last four years , I had two girls as my 'besties' , I loved them the most but in the end I found out I was just a timepass person for both of them and everybody else . When they need me , they find me otherwise they won't even know my birthday or wish me . Is there an improvement to be done in my personality or how do I deal with it cause it hurts .

I'm sorry to hear that you're feeling this way. I really am. It can be incredibly painful when it feels like the people around you don't appreciate or reciprocate the love and kindness we give them. Please know that your worth as a person is not defined by how others treat you.

The actions and behaviors of others are not always a reflection of your own value or worthiness of love. Sometimes people can be self-absorbed or take others for granted without realizing the impact of their actions.

Instead of blaming yourself or thinking there's something wrong with your personality, it might be helpful to focus on building healthy relationships with individuals who truly value and appreciate you. I would genuinely advice you to not pour so much love and care onto others without knowing where they stand in your life. You are a great soul, but you cannot abandon yourself. Equally as important, realize that not everyone has the same heart as you. Not everyone deserves the type of love you have to offer.

Sometimes, we crave so much love and affection from others, that we pour too much of ourselves, we depend too much on those relationships emotionally, and end up disappointed when it is not reciprocated.

I used to put everyone before me. I used to want love so much from others that I would do too much. It felt good and natural to me. I wanted to do it. But people would take it for granted. Take me for granted. Use me. I realized that I was making everyone else's life a priority but mine. That I was looking for fulfillment through others because I wasn't taking the time to give myself that fulfillment. That my worth was tied to peoples approval. And people came, and went on with their lives and I would be stuck in the same place.

Learn to live for you. Learn to celebrate yourself. Do things you enjoy. Set boundaries with others. Find love within yourself. Give people a chance to get to know you. You do not have to abandon yourself for the comfort of others in order to have friends. Those are not friends.

Not everyone you encounter will treat you the way you deserve, but there are individuals out there who will appreciate your kindness and friendship.

Please remember that you are worthy of love, kindness, and meaningful connections. You are not alone, and there are people who will appreciate and value you for who you are.

You are very lovable. And I am sure you are loved. Make sure you love yourself more than anyone else first.

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fragileizywriting · 3 months

Text

“Just because I like his cock doesn’t mean I like him,” Marinette hums, powdering her face.

Ah.

She’s missed a spot.

To be honest, there’s no need for it, given that today with be mostly the day where she uses the gloryhole, but it’s habitual to dress up. As a succubus, getting ready is part of the deal: feathers, pins, elaborate combs made of precious stones make her feel complete— not to mention makeup. Besides, with the powder, even the roughest throat fuck won’t ruin her makeup. She’s bulletproof. A long coat of mascara glides across her lashes already rimmed with gold, graphic liner. She’s stained her cheeks a shimmery orange so that it’ll reflect gold when she unglamours herself into her true skin. Beaded gold chains looped already in her hair like glass-cut rosary beads; red lips complete the look and gives her that signature demure smile.

She’s wearing the earrings this client gifted her, though he won’t be able to see it. But it turns demons really on to be able to just hear all the jewels and sparkles twinkling from the other side of the hole, and isn’t she here to deliver? Wearing jewels and rings and necklaces that they gave her?

Adrien is having none of this, fuming on her bed with his arms crossed. “I don’t believe you.”

“Adrien,” she giggles, turning to him from the giant mirror. A prominent pout of those beautiful lips makes him look rather younger. She’s always liked them young, youthful vigor that she won’t ever be able to replicate, and Adrien is as young as she can get given her strict parameters. He’s a five-hundred year old new-held. Her boyfriend is still such a novice about everything in life, and it shows in moments like this. Thick brows meet in the middle of his face; a smear of jealousy washes across his face like a sponge bath. She licks her teeth, facing back towards the mirror, closing the compact and reaches for a brush, wondering if she should make that frown of his disappear. “There is only one man in my life that I love, and it’s you.”

He’s call bullshit with a resounding: “I see the heart eyes you get when he comes down your throat.”

“Is that so? Oh, are you forgetting that I see the heart eyes when he fucks you?” she quips right back. “You can’t fool me, Baby.”

“That’s different!” he stammers. “It’s— I’m— it’s just part of the job.”

“And mine isn’t?”

Adrien goes quiet, combing through his bangs in frustration. “He’s… good at what he does.”

“Maybe a little too good?”

“Yes.” Then, like a punch: “No. He’s adequate.”

“Kitty-cat, you can like what he does. No one’s stopping you.” When he doesn’t reply, she sighs. “He’s very good at what he does, which is good, right? Would you rather this be a bad experience?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“I just… don’t want him to be better than me.”

There it is. That’s the worry that was bleeding out of him, tense like he’s pulled up on strings. That’s… well, she expected this, really. When she turns, she moves with her whole body, ready to stand if necessary, and gives him a little smile. “He’s a demon with a big dick, but he’s not better than you.”

“You like him,” Adrien reiterates. “I know you do. It makes me worried.”

“Again, I think if anything, you like him more.” She gives her thighs a pat, wondering if she should walk over to him and ease that grimace off his face with a few kisses. She’s walking before she can even blink, sultry and sweet on heeled shoes. “You’re not replaceable— you’re still my boyfriend. Even if I’m servicing someone else. It’s only with him that you’re this jealous of, why specifically him? Have you two met?”

“I think I saw him yesterday.” He quiets down into a murmur, hands sliding up her thighs when she reaches him and stands between his knees. With him on the bed, he has to look up, and she uses this opportunity to finger his hair and hum until his eyes close gently at the noise. Nestled right into her cleavage, Adrien’s lashes leave butterfly kisses against the valley of her breasts. “Through the door when I finished. He’s… beautiful.”

They don’t usually get to see who’s behind the wall. They lick and fuck anonymously, which is safer for both client and worker. No one can be blamed if there is no name on either side.

“More than you?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

“I’m not so sure.” After all, Adrien is gorgeous. He’s a blonde beauty, with amber skin and light green eyes, and he’s just so, so cute, with innocence written all over his face like he isn’t the one who licks her clit until she’s almost peeing. He still has that baby fat in his cheeks, made more evident when he pillows into her chest and hides there, taking a breath in while she kisses those angelic, golden curls. “You’re so pretty, Adrien.”

“He’s more.”

“How so?”

“His nose is crooked,” he mumbles into her cleavage. He’s always felt more safe this way, buried into her chest. “It’s lopsided like he got into a fight but in a way that implies he’s won. He’s got crows feet; he’s old. Almost forties.”

She snorts. “Forties isn’t old.”

“Ancient,” he continues. “And his eyes, wow. Gorgeous. They’re blue, like yours.”

#speakizys #demon lovin #knowing me this might take a few months (years) to show up on ao3 in entirety. here's a treat!

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nythtak · 1 month

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you know i gotta do it to ya 🥸

The dresser is completely covered in makeup, jewelry, magazines, and a scattering of gin and vodka bottles - they all have interesting or pretty shapes so Venetia collects them, and it makes for easy gifts so long as Felix is willing to trawl through a bunch of shops. Farleigh is to blame for the six-litre light-up vodka bottle currently glowing pink at the very edge of the dresser, the one they all made themselves as sick as dogs trying to drain a few years ago.

xD Thankee now I've got to remember but THANKFULLY mostly do lol

I kinda rambled a bit?? So, under the cut here

Venetia's room was very much influenced by Alison Oliver's interview (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygMQn0viPcE) where she describes the room as being full of makeup, jewelry, mags etc (Elspeth's effect shining through here), and very pink and black.

And just the general MESS in Saltburn really heaping up for Venetia's room as an extremely deliberate choice of hers. A sort of control/ownership in it, especially since she's there all year around, and it can be so comforting to have a bedroom as an escape and let it be a complete tip that's just yours, no one else's.

The gin/vodka bottles are inspired by my sister specifically xD She doesn't collect them the same, but the prettier ones do get kept sometimes (and we even had this MASSIVE whiskey bottle (think knee-height) filled with coins never above a 10p in our living room for years that was my granddad's), and it's kinda impressive how elaborate some can go.

SO for Venetia, it's a few things.

The casual alcoholism across the board with the Cattons, the idea of underlying fucked-ness with so many bottles of pretty but cheap, mass-produced glass and the lingering smell of the alcohol inside, a few drops where it wasn't cleaned out properly and maybe some still half-full, reflecting the lights on the dresser and her distorted reflection back at her, lovingly enabled. The half-hidden sentimentality of her keeping the gifted ones on prime display, but mixed in among a whole load of mess so there's too many things to draw your eye. And they're all very cheap in the grand scheme of it all, but these end up being what last for years on a dresser used every single day, compared to priceless gifts tossed in a pile and forgotten.

(hi yes I'm still going??? Oops) Now, the vodka bottle specifically...Again, blame my sister for being super into vodka and flavoured ones until she got really sick on it once and then stopped drinking it xD Also, blame a google search for 'pretty vodka bottles' or something like that, and a light-up one popped up which felt too perfect.

Flashy and objectively cheap but it's 'saw this and thought of you' and 'isn't this silly' and 'let's get sick together for no good reason just to celebrate you and us' and 'here's something for you to look at and think of those memories when it was just the three of us when we're not here but you still are'.

Pretty pink and tacky and a shared mockery but if *any* of those bottles were moved even a centimeter, Venetia would notice. Left at the very edge like she wants it to fall, but would *absolutely* cry if it ever broke.

(Felix is the one who got the sickest on their binge attempt, and would've fallen into the pond if Venetia and Farleigh didn't grab him in time.)

(I COULD RAMBLE MORE BUT IM STOPPING NOW ISTG-)

#az asks #fic: maneater #THANKEE but also DANG my brain i didnt know i wanted to ramble on about venetia so much

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five-rivers · 2 years

Text

When You Wake part 2

For Dannymay Day 4: Videotape.

“Alright,” said Tucker, jumping off the stepladder. “One video camera installed and ready to catch your freaky sleep disappearing act.”

Danny sat on his bed, and rubbed the sole of his right foot. “Do you really think it’ll work? I mean, it’ll only show me getting up and leaving, not why or where I go or anything.”

Tucker shrugged. “I don’t know, but if we can get you getting up on tape at least we can be sure you aren’t being kidnapped by ghosts. I understand that’s a big concern.”

“Ugh,” said Danny, collapsing back onto his bed. “Don’t talk about that as if it’s an actual possibility. I get enough of it from my parents.” It would be good to ‘rule it out,’ though. Maybe then they’d be able to start looking for the real problem.

Tucker’s lips twisted. “Yeah, haha. Sorry.” He sat down on the bed next to Danny, who promptly threw a pillow at him. “Hey! Show some respect, I’m helping you out here.”

“I knowwww,” said Danny, rolling onto his front.

Tucker patted him on the back. “Man, you know what would be great? If we could stick, like, a camera to you, too.”

“Don’t those exist?”

“Not that I can afford,” said Tucker.

“Mom and Dad paid for this camera.”

“Yeah, well, I have no idea what they think is reasonably priced. But it’d be great to figure out your blackouts in general, not just the sleepwalking thing.”

“I wish.”

Tucker was quiet for a long moment. Then he sighed with a note of… relief?

Danny looked up, but Tucker wasn’t doing anything odd, just looking at Danny’s ceiling with a slight frown on his face. “Is your ceiling different, by the way?”

“Oh,” said Danny, brightening and sitting back up. “Yeah. I kind of revamped my constellations! I wanted to make them more realistic, you know?” He shrugged. “It’s a work in progress.” He was pretty proud of it, even if it wasn’t perfect. It reflected the night sky much better like this.

“It looks pretty elaborate. You’re not doing this instead of sleeping, are you?”

Danny winced. “At first, I guess, but that didn’t help any, I’d still black out, so…”

Tucker put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze. “You’ll get through this, man.”

“Thanks,” said Danny. “And I can just pop the tape out?”

“Yeah. Here, there’s a remote. Just turn it on before you go to bed, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Danny stumbled back into his room and glared at the camera, its red recording light staring at him.

He limped over to his nightstand to dig the camera remote out of the avalanche of volunteer opportunity brochures and hit the button to pop out the tape, then realized that he didn’t have the stepladder, so he was too short to actually pull it out. There was no way he was jumping for it tonight. Something had happened to his leg. It felt bruised all up and down its length, as if a giant had grabbed and squeezed it.

Which was just great. A mysterious injury was definitely a thing he needed on top of everything else. Maybe it wasn’t the first mysterious injury, but it definitely hurt. He hated this. He hated this so much.

“Dad?” he called. “Can you come get the tape? I want to see what happened!”

It was like unleashing a stampede. When Jack burst into the room, it evolved that he’d brought the entire TV and the VCR with him.

“Um,” said Danny, as Jack set the TV down in the center of the room with a clunk.

“So you don’t have to do the stairs, Danno! We noticed you were having some trouble on the way up!”

“Oh, thanks,” said Danny.

Maddie followed while Jack was trying to plug the TV in, and sat down next to Danny on the bed.

“Can I see your leg?” she asked.

With a wince, Danny pulled the leg of his pajama pants up. Maddie frowned, the expression pulling on lines that Danny could swear she hadn’t had earlier this year, before his accident.

“Those are some bruises,” said Maddie. “But I think they are just bruises. We have some cream.” She held up a small tube.

“Store bought?”

“Yes, it came with the first-aid kit.”

“No added ectoplasm?”

“Not this tube,” said Maddie, with the grace to look embarrassed.

“Okay, then,” said Danny, reaching for it. She didn’t give it to him, but unscrewed the cap herself and started applying it. “Mom,” he said, not really complaining, but still.

“You aren’t hurt anywhere else, are you?”

“I don’t think so,” said Danny. “I’m just tired.”

“Alright!” exclaimed Jack. “Let’s find out what ghost keeps taking Danny.”

Danny rolled his eyes very deliberately. “Come on, give me the VCR remote. It’ll be hours before anything happens. I turned it on at like, nine.”

“I can do it, I can do it!” said Jack, who did indeed fast forward… straight into the part where Danny was gone and his bed empty.

It took a bit of finingling to get it only a few minutes before Danny left.

He leaned forward. Even if this was going to be an underwhelming example of him wandering around like a zombie until he made it out the door, it was still something.

Danny watched his image on the screen breathe in and out, smoothly, dead asleep, apparently unaware of anything about to happen. But then he shuddered, a full-body tremor, and went completely still.

Then, slowly, he sat up, turned and…

“What,” Danny whispered, his hand creeping up to his eyes. “What is that?”

“I knew it!” shouted Jack. “You were overshadowed, Danny-boy! This is great! We can fix this!”

“What? No, no, that has to be… It has to be a– a– I don’t know, a weird red eye effect.”

He knew it wasn’t.

“Danny,” said Maddie, gripping his shoulders. “Calm down. Breathe.”

“Those aren’t–”

The Danny on the screen vanished into thin air.

The next thing Danny knew, he was in the park and the sun was up.

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay 2022 #dannymay 2022 day 4: videotape #when you wake

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drdemonprince · 1 year

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hi devon! i recently binged all your medium articles, your writing hits so close to home and has opened so many doors of self-reflection for me, thank you. one of your latest ones was about porn and autism, i have some differing opinions on porn itself, but i enjoyed your perspective on it.

i would love to hear your thoughts on autism and hypersexuality in a broader sense. i’m someone that’s recently realised how much my premature exposure to sexuality and porn in childhood made me hypersexual in a way that really stunted my personal growth and had me traumatising myself with my own compulsive sexual behavior. as an undiagnosed autistic adhd kid i was just grasping after any form of stimulating and self-soothing behavior, but also looking after ways to make myself more interesting and appealing to peers and most importantly boys (because interest from men = value as a human i learned early on). i think i could’ve figured out gender and sexuality stuff a little earlier and avoided my comphet phase had it not been for how obsessed i was with sexualising and objectifying myself in my tweens and early teens tbh. i hope to see more people talking about autism and sexuality. my heart breaks thinking about how so many demonise kids with problematic sexualised behavior when they’re literal children trying to figure out this having a body thing and there’s usually grown-ups around them standing idly by doing nothing effective to help.

Hi there! I love hearing from people who don't share my perspective completely but can still get a lot out of my work.

I alluded to this yesterday, but I don't believe hypersexuality or hyposexuality are a thing. Where do we draw the line where it becomes pathological, and why? Clearly humans have varied in how much they desire and think about sex since the beginning of time, and while we still have not figured out a respectful, appropriate way to cope with the fact of it, children also sometimes have an interest in sex and masturbation and a curiosity about it that is completely value neutral. It's just a thing that happens because children are living human beings.

Unfortunately we inhabit a paradigm where this is supposed to be either ignored or punished and discouraged, and anyone who does bring it up is viewed as having some ulterior motive beyond the liberation of children from abuse. And so if a child is curious about sex or driven to explore it in some way, they only means they have of pursuing that interest is by consuming adult material, which a lot of people look back on having done with a variety of different feelings. It sounds like you saw a lot of porn from a young age that really gave you unhelpful expectations for yourself and others and that it really hurt you, and I'm really sorry to hear that.

I consumed a lot of adult content as a child and a teen, not just porn but also real life gore and jump scare videos and elaborate, violent sexual stories, and of all those experiences, the only one that seemed to scar me was the jump scare videos. Seriously, newgrounds fucked me up, and not because I was playing games like Orgasm Angel. It was shit like kikia that fucked me up. The potential that my most beloved friend, the computer, could start screaming at me and showing me dead babies at any moment meant I was on edge and obsessively read all the comments on every video I ever viewed for like... seven or eight years. Even if a friend or classmate wanted to show me a youtube video, I forced them to read through all the comments and convince me it wasn't a jumpscare video first. For like years.

It might be that the only reason I was able to watch and read and play a lot of porn online as a kid without any real adverse effects was because I had a really specific fetish, and so most of the content I was able to view was of an obviously fictional and fantastical variety or was made directly by the people who starred in it. As I wrote in my essay, I'm glad that I started watching brainwashing gifs on weird websites and masturbating to them as a kid. It helped me feel less alone in my fetish and it didn't scar me, and provided a sexual outlet that was actually pretty safe and private and didn't put me in contact with any adults. It was a really nice pressure valve, a way to stim and zone out and regulate my breathing and get off, and finding content like that helped me to realize there was a whole big wide world out there where freaks like me could be okay.

THAT said, I can understand your experience! Porn didn't fuck me up as a kid, but I did learn some really pernicious sexual norms as a teen, because I had abstinence only education at school and I obsessively read Dan Savage's advice column Savage Love as a replacement for having any kind of credible sex ed. I used to worship Dan Savage. I met him for pancakes once, you can read about my whole complex relationship to him and his work in a very old piece I wrote pre transition here:

Dan Savage's work was really influential on me and on a lot of people of my generation. From his stuff, I learned that I should be good, giving, and game for just about anything a partner wanted -- which meant I pressured myself to do things I didn't always want to do. He normalized a kind of casual, unarticulated nonmonogamy among people of my age group including everyone I dated -- and so being open without really discussing what that meant was the norm for me from age 19 until about age 23.

Dan Savage wrote that blowjobs come standard and that any model who is not equipped with them should be returned to the lot -- thats really how he described women who didn't do oral. As broken cars. Dan Savage said that asexuals should only date other asexuals and probably werent real anyway. He said vaginas looked like canned hams dropped from great heights. He said a gay trans guy who couldnt take T for health reasons was 'delusional' for wanting to date fellow gay men. Reading Dan Savage fucked me up, and it's not even his fault -- he was just an outspoken faggot with an advice column that was always clear in reflecting his biases and agendas, and I was just a horny confused kid with no sex education and no where else to learn about sex other than porn and the back of the local alternative mag.

So, this is all a very long and meandering way of saying that I'm sorry you also got attached very young to untrustworthy sources of sexual information and that they also scarred you and left you pressured to be something you were not. I was there. I think many of my generation were and some still are. and not just the Autistics. I know so many people who got swept up in the messages that conventional porn and writers like dan savage had to peddle -- straight people, queer people, poly people, disabled people, everyone. The sad part is that Dan Savage for all his faults was still a lot more progressive than where many of my peers turned, which was sites like efukt or the predecessors to the chan sites and shit. It was brutal out there.

It's also the case that many of us Autistic people are prone to intense fixation and rumination and obsession, by neurotypical standards, sometimes to our detriment, sometimes in a completely neutral way that would cause us zero harm if it weren't for all the societal stigma and judgement. and that can mean that, especially when we are lonely and closeted teens, that we retreat into a lot of damaging digital messages and imagery, and I think a lot of bad, sexist straight porn unfortunately played that role in a lot of people's lives. My version of that was instead compulsively reading pro ana livejournals (as a teen) and then later terf detransition blogs (in my 20s). So again I don't think it's necessarily a phemoneon of porn per se, but obviously there is a lot of really toxic shit out there that has warped a lot of people's viewpoints around sex and relationships, I can't deny that.

I wish I knew what the solution was to help prevent future generations of kids from going through the kinds of damage you and I went through, but I think we are so far from being prepared as a culture to have this conversation that most attempts to broach it end up making things worse for kids in all kinds of scary new ways -- parents heavily monitoring and controlling their kids browsing habits for example. That sure as hell isn't going to help a closeted queer kid who is exploring themselves in most cases. Instead of building a world that is more liberatory and supportive to kids, we just keep trying to control them more and more, and impose more and more strict standards on them, which always hurts the weirdest and queerest among us the worse. It fucking sucks. Shit. i really am going to have to write about about child liberation one day wont i

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radellama · 1 month

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Do you outline your plots? If yes, what does an outline look like?

Ooh boy do I ever. This is something that I've struggled with for YEARS and it's taken a lot of self reflection, refinement and a bachelor's degree to figure out how I work. To quote one of my greatest creative influences:

"I think I realized very early on that you can spend a lot of time constructing a really perfect scene in final draft and just end up throwing it away because you didn't figure out that mathematics of the story first."

- Brit Marling

In general, I tend to get carried away with my ideas and craft stories that quickly become more grand and elaborate the more I work on them. I love layers and thoughtful execution of characters and plot, so I want to pass that on to my readers, too. But, when my ideas become so dense, it's hard to keep up and make sure that all my details fall into place and that I'm not fucking myself over. As I'm a more visual thinker, I've found it most helpful with my largest stories to just write out the important moments for plot and characters that I absolutely MUST have in the story, and then pair them in little groups that work well together. Then, when I've got enough food a nice and weighty chapter/section, I start ordering those groups into the greater narrative and seeing what order will best suit the flow of the story. This stage, when ordering clusters of plot and character moments, is often where I'm able to let that gut instinct take over and do what feels right - I've worked hard at analysing and creating stories for so long that I trust myself with what feels right, and arrange it like a puzzle. Then, when there's an order that makes sense to me, I can fill in the gaps and ensure things flow nicely and that the parts that are important to me are given room to breathe. This helps me in multiple ways, because not only do I have a conspiracy board that clearly outlines the plot, but I also have a checklist per chapter/section of things I need to hit. Visually seeing the plot points in front of me helps immensely, and I'll often draw concept art or make calendars/timelines to help me as well. I've found that when I've set up enough stuff that I'm confident in knowing what the goal is for that section of writing, I won't get as lost or distracted or overwhelmed by the greater narrative. And while I love the visual on the paper, and usually stick them up on my wall as encouragement/reminders, I'll usually type up everything into a document so that it's easier for me to find particular things quickly with control+f. And even then, I'm often adding comments and notes to myself for things to research or focus on when writing haha.

It's just really important to me to get all the details I want into the work, as I hate reading it back after it's too late and realising I forgot a part that was super important to me in the early concept!! Or to read it over and realise there's a fucking plot hole or massive oversight that irks me to no end!! I don't do EVERYTHING in as dramatic a detail as this, smaller scopes don't need as much planning when I know what I'm doing, but the general concept of breaking things down and giving myself a clear guide in smaller chunks is what helps keep me on track and avoid executive dysfunction issues, and piecing together a story like a puzzle is super fun for me.

Send me some writing asks

#rads asks #anon #thank youuuuu #i hope i articulated this well but if there's part of this that needs better clarifying just lemme know fhhkkkhgfff

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