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userlando · 7 months

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call me your fool — oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader [1.7k] summary: he's pretty good at making your legs shake, but he's even better at taking care of you in the aftermath. warnings: 18+ implied smut & explicit language, aftercare and fluffy banter a/n: wrote this initially as a blurb, but it took on a life of its own and I just kept expanding on it until I got this. thank you for all the love lately, it means the world to me!! please don’t hesitate to leave feedback <3

It feels like your breath has been stolen from you, sucking in air through your mouth because simply breathing through your nose isn’t enough. The ache in your lungs remind you of when you go for those intensive runs with your boyfriend, where your ten kilometre jogging makes you tap out as your side cramps, whining until he eventually leads you to the nearest shop to treat you for an ice cold drink.

The sweat on your skin lays like a film, clammy and warm and it takes a while for you to blink the spots away from your eyes. It takes even longer to turn your head where it lays on the pillow, finding brown eyes staring back at you with a smile dripping with so much amusement that you would’ve laughed if you had the strength to.

“You alright?” Oscar asks, like he hadn’t just rocked your world and simultaneously turned it upside down fifty times over.

There’s a lot to be said with the way your legs are shaking, splayed out in front of you on the bed. He eyes them up appreciatively before reaching for the covers to cover your lower half as best as he could. It makes your chest expand with adoration for him, a smile playing on your lips when he scoots closer to you.

“It feels like I’ve ran a marathon.” You reply after a beat, throat dry as you swallow. “Your stamina is on a whole new level right now.”

It makes him laugh when your eyes widen in amazement, reaching a hand up to smooth your hair away from your face. He watches your skin pebble at the touch of his hand, trailing a finger up the side of your throat to your jaw.

“The perks of being a formula one driver, I guess.” He says it so modestly that you laugh, your warm huff of breath hitting his finger when he thumbs your lower lip lovingly.

You accept the kiss when he bends to give it to you, a little chapped from the previous activities but you lick into his mouth like you’re starved. It makes Oscar’s stomach turn, how needy you always are for him. It makes him feel good. Great. Like he can conquer anything if he has you by his side.

He can’t help but trail his unoccupied hand up to grasp your throat, hearing you whine and feeling you swallow against the palm of his hand. You press into his hold, almost urging him silently to put pressure on it but Oscar knows that you’ve reached your limit for tonight, you’re way too sensitive and he’d hate to cross the line even though you’re asking for it so prettily. But he can’t resist his hand travelling down your sternum, feeling the pudge of your stomach and the way it dips when you suck it in, in anticipation. Like you’re waiting for him to touch your centre and bring you to the fifth high of the night.

He stops right over your bellybutton, smiling against your lips when you stop kissing him to glare. Your faces are too close and it makes the both of you go almost cross eyed. Oscar pulls back a little to get a better look at you, breath hitching in his throat at the way your eyelashes frame your eyes so prettily; How kissable your mouth looks. You look well and truly fucked, and Oscar’s chest inflates in pride because he did that.

“You’ve really missed me, huh?” He bites his bottom lip to keep the smug smile at bay, and you roll your eyes even though your mouth is twitching with a held back smile.

You act like you hadn’t missed him, but you really had. Granted, you’d only been away from each other for two weeks but they had felt like years. There was only so much video calling and texting you could do before you grew tired and sad, wishing that the distance between the two of you could lessen and you could touch.

Oscar knows how much you had missed him, not only because you’d voiced it out loud, but because he’d missed you just as much; If not more. That’s mainly why he’d skipped the dinner with the team in Singapore in favour of locking the both of you in his hotel room, determined to make the most of this night before the race sucked every ounce of energy from his body.

“Only one part of you.” You grinned as you palmed the top of his thigh, watching him squirm at your touch as you got dangerously close to where he was sensitive and spent.

He needed at least half an hour to recuperate, but there was no stopping the slight twitch in his groin when your thumb nudged him.

“You’re a shit liar.” He leaned his head down far enough to bite your shoulder, making you squeal with laughter. He always loved how ticklish you were.

“You’re a shit boyfriend.” You said with no heat behind it, the smile on your face defeated the purpose of it. “You’re supposed to be carrying me to the bathroom and draw me a bath. Where’s my bottle of water and the tiramisu you promised me, Piastri?”

Oscar’s smile grew wider the longer you rambled, watching you silently. He loved when you got into these moods, playful and teasing after sex. Especially when he’d wrung you dry of orgasms and could get his fill of you by looking at you, letting you playfully jab at him when just moments ago, you were begging for him to be nice to you. To let you come.

“You’re not allowed to leave this bed.” He said lastly and your eyebrows shot up in amusement.

“Oh really?” You sat up in bed and stared him down. “What if I starve to death?”

“Then you’ll just have to resort to cannibalism and eat me. I hear it’s a trend these days.” He offered and you stifled a giggle.

“That’s a generous offer, I’ll take it.” You said with a nod, scrambling to swipe away the covers so you could swing one leg over to straddle him.

Oscar’s hands immediately found your hips, placing them there as you palmed his chest for support. You almost got lost in his beauty, how he managed to look as gorgeous as he did beneath you. The pink of his cheeks and the redness of his lips, it was all too breathtaking.

“Now, where to start?” You posed the question to yourself, bending down and making a show of inspecting his body. Like you didn’t know every inch of it already.

Oscar suppressed laughter as you hummed.

“This looks like a good place.” You said, touching his collarbone. “But this does too.”

His breath hitched in his throat when your fingers stroked the delicate skin of his throat, right over his pulse. It jumped in excitement under your fingers, and you must’ve felt it but he didn’t have time to analyse your face before you bent down completely to mouth at his neck.

The way you licked and sucked was way too aggressive not to leave marks, but his nerves sang with pleasure and excitement because a big part of him wanted you to mark him up. It would make things more fun when the both of you arrived at the paddock tomorrow, and he’d surely go for a shirt that did fuck all to cover it.

Oscar stroked his hands up your naked back, mouth falling open in wordless pleasure as you found his sweet spot; Right under the lobe of his ear.

You were so into it, his heavy breathing in your ear and the taste of his sweat on your tongue that you barely noticed when one hand left your body. What you did react to was when his palm made contact with your asscheek, a resounding sound echoing in the room and you jumped at the contact.

Oscar was grinning when you sat up, eyes wide and mouth gaping in shock and he didn’t dare to blink as he gripped a handful of flesh in his palm; Watching your eyelids flutter in pleasure.

“No funny business.” He warned you and you opened your eyes to pout at him. “Don’t give me that look. I’m fucking spent and you are getting in the bathtub.”

“Aren’t you getting in with me?” You frowned sadly, finding one of his hands to grab.

He pulled it closer to his mouth and separated each finger to kiss the tips of them. The little loving gesture made your stomach tighten.

“I’ve got some room service to order, don’t I?” He smiled. “You wanted that tiramisu, no?”

You gave him a slow smile as you slid off his body, swinging both your legs over the edge of the bed and Oscar took a moment to stare at you. His eyes flitted from head to toe and you squirmed a little under his attention when he sucked his lips into his mouth; Like he was holding back on saying something.

He didn't have to say it though, everything was showing in his eyes and the flush that was creeping up his neck and blossoming gorgeously over his cheeks.

"I think I want a different kind of dessert." You said, stretching a hand out and wiggling your fingers dramatically.

It made your boyfriend smile, and eventually grab your hand so you could pull each other up. It was a struggle and your legs were still shaking like your legs were bambi on ice, which was a little embarrassing. Oscar placed both hands on your naked hips in silent support, guiding the both of you into the vast bathroom of the hotel room.

"What am I gonna do with you?" He asked the question in your ear, voice low enough to send shivers down your spine as you craned your neck to peer up at him over your shoulder. "So insatiable."

The grin that you were working to keep off your face finally broke out, and Oscar leaned his head down to press a kiss to it.

"With you? Always."

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x female reader #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 fluff #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fluff

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kingkatsuki · 3 months

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Old man Bakugou (who isn’t even that old, but god I want him)

Warnings: 18+, retired!Pro-Hero Dynamight, Bakugou is 50, reader is like half his age or more or less idc but Bakugou is older.

Bakugou retires at fifty. It’s much younger than a lot of other heroes that have paved the way for him, and yet he’s accomplished so much that it’s time for him to step aside for the future Pros. The ones that still have so much drive and energy, and are ready to conquer their dreams just like he was.

It gives up a place in the top five rankings for another younger, keen Pro-Hero to take his place. But of course Dynamight is still popular, and he’s still got a loyal fan base that continue to adore him even into his retirement.

Bakugou is still recognised when he goes out to restaurants and coffee shops, full of people trying to grab his autograph or share stories of how they grew up with him and watched him reach number one.

And then there’s you— he meets you one night at a bar when he’s nursing a beer, trying to adjust to having a free schedule instead of protecting the city. And he can’t help but notice the way your eyes glisten when you notice him, leaning against the bar beside his stool as you tilt your head inquisitively.

“No way, you’re Dynamight? My mom used to love you.”

And once again Bakugou is reminded of just how old he is, his blond hair now mixed with wisps of silver, the thick stubble that frames his jaw well on its way to being a beard, his muscular chest now curved with soft pudge and blond hairs and his back aches as he sits on the barstool.

“She had the biggest crush on you when she was younger,” You take a seat beside him as you sip at your own drink, “Had posters and figures up of you and everything.”

Bakugou doesn’t know how it happened— or why a pretty young thing like you wants anything to do with him. He’s gotta be twice your age, maybe more— but the casual conversation continues and you’re practically leaning into him now, pretty eyes glazed over as you stare down at his lips.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fuck an old man,” You tease, but you should be careful what you wish for, “Can you even still get it up?”

Bakugou reckons he should have you over his knee for that comment alone, but that’s all it takes for him to have his beer bottle slamming down onto the bar as he grabs you by the wrist.

Barely ten minutes later Bakugou has your knees pushed up to your chest inside the dingy dive bar bathroom. Your knickers bunched around them to keep your thighs together as he rams his thick, hard cock inside your tight cunt. The ferocity of his thrusts unlike anything you’ve felt before and you’re certain you can feel him in your lungs. Your naive hole squelches around him, your essence leaking out of you and soaking his heavy balls as the only words that leave your lips now are incoherent babbles. Your hands cling to him for some semblance of reality, painted nails leaving crescent-shaped moons in his forearms. Your grip rough enough to break his skin and join the multiude of scars that already marr his body.

Your head knocks against the mirror with each cant of his hips but you could care less. The pleasure surging through your veins has your mind hazy, his hulking body practically folds you in two as he looms over you, burying his cock inside you to the hilt as you feel so full.

You’re positive you look debauched. Your pretty lipstick ruined as it’s smeared across your lips and cheeks, certain you’re drooling down your chin as he fucks you within an inch of your life. It’s nothing like the inept men around your own age you’d been with before. With age comes experience, and you’re certain you see heaven when a calloused thumb slips between your bodies to press against your puffy clit.

“Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” He groans, “This old man’s gonna have you gushin’ all over his cock.”

#Bakugou smut

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sagaduwyrm · 5 months

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DCxDP Idea - Tucker x Tim Soulmate AU:

Now on AO3

So the Justice League believes the Fentons and the GIW. Not completely, but enough. That’s the bad news. The worse news is that they have Danny, and are apparently planning to use him in some kind of spell to banish all the ghosts from the living plane. Which, okay, sure, not the worst idea, except that trying to banish a Liminal is a great way to kill them instead, and guess what everyone in Amity Park is? Not to mention what powering such a ritual could do to Danny.

Tucker is not having a panic attack. He might have one later, but right now he has a job to do.

So the thing about the Justice League is that they’re powerful and together they cover each other’s weaknesses, but individually they are, if not manageable, then at least survivable. They can’t take on the entire league, but Ghosts and their ilk have fangs for a reason, and every predator knows how to divide and conquer.

Technus and Skulker are using Lex Luthor’s tech to deal with the Supers. Jazz has got emotional manipulation and FrightKnight’s sword to take down the Flashes. Desiree agreed to start a mage’s duel with the Justice League Dark. Sam, Ember, Johnny, and Kitty hopefully have the watchtower in hand, with Walker playing backup to get Danny free.

Tucker has two jobs. One, work with Technus to take down the Justice League communications without making it look like anything is up. Two, for the love of the Ancients, do not let the Bats realize something is wrong.

And you know what? He’s got this. Duul Aman was the most feared sorcerer of his time. Tucker isn’t him, not really, but he’s no slouch in the magic department. Egyptian magic, the way Duul Aman knew it, was almost like code. Relearning it was as easy as breathing, but the real reason Tucker’s job is to deal with the bats is because he took it further than his last life ever could. Sure, he’s a dab hand at illusions, his curses are almost as nasty as Sam’s, and instant sandstorms are never not useful, but where he really thrives is with tech. Afterall, if ectoplasm can be combined with computers, why can’t magic?

Tucker is the world's first technomage and he’s goddamn proud of it.

It’s his saving grace now. Infiltrating Oracle’s system took weeks, and he still wasn’t able to look at or do anything important, but it was enough of an opening for his magic. He wormed his illusion through every single piece of bat-tech he could reach, whispering in their ear, Gotham needs you. The Justice League is fine. Gotham is where the problems are.

Weeks of work and sleepless nights, and he still doubts he’ll be able to keep them from noticing anything for more than a few hours. Luckily, by that time Danny will be free and Tucker will be long gone from Gotham.

This confidence lasts until he brushes hands with another guy in the cafe. He can feel the bond snap into place, a soulmark crawling across his body. Tim Drake stares at him, eyes wide but sharp.

Tim Drake.

Red Robin.

Shit.

Time to see whether fighting ghosts extends to fighting humans, because he is not letting this asshole mess up Danny’s rescue.

+++

The first thing Tim notices when he meets his soulmate is the rage in the man’s eyes.

They’re really pretty eyes. A bright, glowing gold, lined in kohl. Almost certainly a sign of magic.

They look at him like the man wants to turn him inside out and burn the remains. Tim’s a little offended, beneath the shock and awe.

“Fuck,” the man hisses. Tim’s offense is starting to supersede his surprise. He’s a catch, thank you very much.

He says as much. The man laughs, and it’s almost friendly. The cafe is empty. The people of Gotham have good instincts, and there’s something in the air around this man that puts Tim’s hackles up.

“You know, I think that’d be more believable if you hadn’t started this.”

Tim’s brow wrinkled. He felt like he’d remember starting something with his soulmate though? What was he supposed to have started, anyway? Saying ‘this’ wasn’t very specific.

He rolled and dodged to avoid the sudden lash of golden sand. Ah. A fight. He could do that. Figure out why his soulmate was angry later, defeat him now.

He reached up to call for backup and only got static.

Shit.

He was on his own. Time to show this bastard why underestimating a bat was a bad idea.

#There's a part two to this now #Check the notes #Enemies to Lovers #potentially #Tim’s gotta put some work in #Tucker’s usually pretty chill but…#fandom #danny phantom #dpxdc #dp x dc #batman #fandom stuff #dc #tucker foley #tim drake #Tucker/Tim #technogeek

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togglesbloggle · 3 months

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Voltaire's Prayer

“I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: Oh Lord, make my enemies ridiculous. And God granted it." -Volaire’s letter to Étienne Noël Damilaville, 16 May 1767

I’m inordinately fond of sex, in the political sense. It’s saved us so often from the worst parts of ourselves.

As far as anti-authoritarian elements of the human experience go, sex is right up there with curiosity and the search for truth- maybe even more so. When a new tyrant comes to town, shutting down the universities and the libraries is only the second thing they try. The first thing is to regulate human sexuality to within an inch of its life. Rules for marriage, rules for courtship, rules for which genitals may touch and where they may touch and when they may touch. Rules for who and rules for whom. Rules for which kinds of sex must doom characters in literature, rules for which things may be described as sexy, rules for which things may be described in a sexy way.

Of course they do! If you’re trying to bind a large polity together under a common ideological narrative, to render people predictable enough to quash dissent and legible enough to exert power through them, the last thing you need is a bunch of folks running around being horny about stuff without permission. Nature gifted us with a great capacity for reason and community; we have the innate opportunity to learn about ourselves and our neighbors, and to form complex societies based on that understanding. It was Aristotle who first called us the political animal, and the fruits of that extraordinary capacity will always be within our reach, if only we can come together within a shared understanding. The invention of the city is the great triumph of our species, and with it we conquer the universe.

But also this extraordinary, reasoning mind has been sculpted from the raw clay of a biology that’s anchored in sexual reproduction, and this ends up being very, very funny.

The problem isn’t so much that the sex instinct exists, per se. It’s how it’s implemented. Like most biological forms, the full complement of 86 billion(!) neurons in your brain aren’t encoded in a particular configuration; the brain is much too complex to be described so precisely in the only ~725 megabytes or so of human DNA. The particular shape of your brain is in there somewhere- the lobes and subregions responsible for vision, memory, cognition, all that- but only up to a point. The genius and fundamental limitation of genetics is that, below a certain level, the genes instead describe a process for the production and reproduction of specialized cells, and simply constructs them in such a way that they can be relied upon to order themselves as they go.

This is all well and good when we’re talking about kidneys and livers, but the fact that you can encode any kind of specific behavioral instinct in a brain this way is nothing short of a minor miracle. Think about it! Spiders don’t have a ‘spider web’ gene, the gene is for ‘proteins that come together in self-assembling electrochemically sensitive gelatin tissue which, when complete, encodes patterns that operate organ systems such as legs and spinnerets in such a way as to reliably create silk webs.’ This is absurdly impressive, and also completely insane.

What I’m getting at is, powerful behavioral instincts in a complex animal aren’t precise instruction manuals by which we pursue evolutionarily advantageous behaviors. Sex and eros are prior to logic or language, let alone strategy. Sex is a double-thick electrical wire discharging lightning bolts right through the middle of our cognitive centers, installed in the brain by a surgeon wearing mittens. It’s an untethered firehose whipping chaotically through the cathedral, unpredictably spraying golden reliquaries with substances unmentionable. It’s the first and greatest anarchist.

I really can’t overstate my gratitude for this.

Obviously this results in any number of deeply goofy outcomes by way of kinks and odd sexual practices- it gets tangled with pain centers, with random bits of anatomy and proprioception, with our taboos and aversions, with our greatest terrors or our greatest yearnings or just arbitrary stimuli from adolescence, and of course it gets enmeshed so often with our notions of power and submission. It imbues these things with a fascination and potency out of all proportion with their mundane meanings. And ultimately, you end up with human pleasures and human values that diverge so far from banal evolutionary imperatives as to be all but unrecognizable.

Even when this process somehow manages to propagate through the brain in such a way as to drive behaviors that are legibly aligned towards some adaptive constraint- e.g. heterosexual mating practices resulting in biological reproduction and careful childrearing- it’s still madness. Love and sex penetrate deeply across tribal and national and racial boundaries, across economic interests, across battle-lines and enmities. We become traitors, apostates, emigrants, and artists. Declare a law, and in short order some hot-headed young people come along to break it in the name of sexual passions you could not possibly have seen coming. Divide your neighborhood into us and them, and by the time the ink is dry on your proclamation there will be a forbidden relationship across the fence. There is no social order, no ethical system, no theory of human nature that can entirely withstand contact with the full spectrum of human sexuality, because sex and eros are always going to be exactly as bonkers as the complexity of the human mind and culture will allow, plus a little extra just to be sure.

This isn’t always a delight, of course. Many prohibitions exist for a very good reason, and the chaos of human sexuality makes no exemptions for true evil. Some of us end up really, truly victims of this process. But for all the dangers, the chaos at the root of all this isn’t oriented towards evil. Chaos just means chaos, essentially arbitrary and hence absurd in character.

And in the grand analysis, we are so lucky to have this thing moving through our communities, this ridiculous madness that guarantees that there will be cracks in every wall and slips exploding cigars in the pockets of the powerful few. Not in everybody as individuals, of course, and not everybody the same amount; asexuality is certainly one of the outcomes that all this mad gallivanting through our brains can produce. Sexuality would never be so predictable as to guarantee its own existence, after all. That’s part of what makes the joke so funny.

But all of us, regardless of sexuality, get to live in a world where the grand anarchy of sex is constantly driving home this lesson that no category is inviolate and no law is perfect. That we should not and cannot take ourselves too seriously, or forget that we’re animals. That we don’t exist only for the sake of others, or within their understanding. That cities are made of cooperation, grace, and forbearance- not conformity or mere compliance.

People sometimes worry about immortality. In the political sense, I mean. They worry about eternal dictatorships and unconquerable gerontocracies. This fear isn’t entirely unjustified; death has often played a role in progress and liberation. But as long as enough of us are still getting horny without permission, still falling in love in stupid ways, I think we’ll be okay. Romeo and Juliet don’t have to die at the end to make a difference in the world, as long as they’re brave enough to get weird with it.

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earthtooz · 4 months

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how would you write wriothesley needing reassurance?

x : TO LOVE A GOOD THING :*+ﾟ

in which: wriothesley thinks he loves you more than you love him.

warnings: 1.4k words, reverse hurt/comfort with angst, wrio being insecure sorry, gn!hot-headed!reader, reader gets into a fight, wrio patches you up.

a/n: thank u @sixosix for helping me out during my my hard times. this fic was already half written before I got this ask but then it was like the stars aligned and anon came to save a fic that might have never made it out of the drafts. anyways, idk if the writing is good, but i came, i saw, i conquered. enjoy!

Wriothesley thinks he loves you more than you love him.

If he voiced these thoughts to you, you’d shut him down without another breath. He can almost picture it now, the way your nose would scrunch as a precursor to all the statements you will make rejecting his. He can hear all the things you’d say, insisting ‘that’s just not true!’, and then he’ll laugh to cover up the way his chest will swell with pure adoration.

But it is true.

Loving you is easier than breathing. The heart that sits in his chest beats harder for you than the circulation of oxygen in his lungs, but he breathes because it keeps him alive. If he’s alive, then he gets to see you, the best thing that’s happened to him his entire, unfortunate life.

He thinks he loves you more than you love him because you once told him your favourite flowers were glaze lilies. However, when you complained that they only bloomed during the night, Wriothesley knew that he would wrestle the sun just so the moon could shine a little longer.

He thinks he loves you more than you love him because you linger in the crevices of his mind. Down in the Fortress of Meropide, the days may pass excruciatingly slow sometimes and the only cure for him is yearning for the one he loves most. Perhaps if he wishes hard enough, you’ll burst through those doors with a declaration of a new discovery and sit on his desk, avoiding the paperwork.

Most times, his wishful thinking doesn’t work out. On the rare occasion it does, Wriothesley will be fortunate enough to end the work day with your palms on his cheeks, gently motivating him to finish what’s left.

You’ll peel stickers off his body, ignorant of the fact that he saves them up just for an excuse to feel your hands on him, then he’ll kiss you in thanks, eyes fluttering closed. Near you, he can finally let his guard down, let the gauntlets and coat fall as he sinks into you.

Wriothesley already feels bad whenever you come down to a place so unforgiving and confronting. He tries to brighten up the place sometimes, but metal can only shine so much before it rusts again.

Is it pathetic to want to better yourself for another person? Or is it love?

Wriothesley thinks he loves you more than you love him, and he’s perfectly fine to continue living with that fact. As long as he’s the one you return to every night, he’ll be fine to live with whatever burdens you press onto him.

He just didn’t expect that one of said ‘burdens’ would result with you, Sigewinne’s infirmary, and your face littered with cuts and bruises.

“You should have seen the other guy,” is your poor attempt at humour as your lover frets everywhere, pacing back and forth as the small nurse tends to you. His heavy boots resounding against metal floors.

“Seriously, Y/n, what were you thinking?” The warden clearly isn’t amused by your joke, the only thing keeping him back from completely lecturing you is Sigewinne and that stun gun of hers.

A small yelp slips past your lips when she applies some balm on your sore knuckles and Wriothesley winces, as if feeling your pain. “They were talking bad about you, Wriothesley, what did you want me to do?”

“Nothing!”

Sigewinne gives him a look. He immediately shuts his mouth. “I can’t do that,” you insist.

“You can, and you should’ve. I can defend my own honour. Besides, you didn’t need to lower yourself to the level of crooks just to prove a point.”

“But-”

“-The guys you beat up were just admitted here. Normally after receiving a life’s sentence, the first name that’s slandered is mine as an outlet for anger. This is normal, Y/n, they’ll continue on to realise that the Fortress of Meropide is not their standard prison and reform. You, however, might have just set back their progress.”

Your head drops, a little in shame, but mostly because you don’t have anything to say in retaliation. Silence envelops the dim space, none of you brave enough to break the tension that came from Wriothesley’s scolding. With a few final words from Sigewinne about what medicine to apply, when, and what not to do, she leaves the room quite hurriedly, as if eager to let you and Wriothesley talk about it alone.

Immediately, he crosses the room to where you sit, closing in on your personal space.

“The things they were saying about you were unforgivable. Meropide’s great duke may forgive, but I won’t.”

“Nothing is as unforgivable as you getting hurt.” Care laces his voice this time when he talks to you.

“You won’t throw me in prison for this, right?” You ask with a bashful smile, one that sends him reeling.

“Not prison, no,” he coughs. “However, I can’t not reprimand you.”

“Fine. I guess this just means that I love you more.”

He knows you’re kidding, that you’re only trying to make him feel better because the grin on your face is nothing short of mischievous. Part of him falters, cracks like an earthquake splitting the land apart and pulling him under. To stabilise himself, his rough palms find purchase on both sides of your jaw and his forehead is pressed flushed to yours.

(You don’t love him more, how can you love someone as ragged as him?)

“Impossible,” he murmurs against your mouth.

“Really, let these bruises be a reminder,” you chuckle. His thumb ghosts over a bruise on your cheek and his heart aches at the way you wince, even if just slightly. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be here, sat on a hospital bed with wounds he inadvertently caused.

You wouldn’t be here, in a dingy, dreary Fortress that you’re only obligated to visit because of him.

(Oh, but he hopes you never leave. The day you go and never come back is the day Wriothesley will turn all of Teyvat upside down just to search for you. Where is his place if not by your side?)

There’s a warm poke to his cheek that’s quickly followed by a damp residual. Wriothesley quickly realises that you wiped a tear away, and he curses the following few that spill. You shouldn’t waste your efforts on him: a man half-coherent, and wholly undeserving of you.

“Love, oh, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the bruised area. “Why did you do this?”

“I already told you,” you hum. “Because I love you.”

“I’m not worth it.”

Your hand stills. “What do you mean by that?”

“This happened because of me,” there’s pain in Wriothesley’s voice when it cracks. “You didn’t need to harm yourself for me, I’m more of a burden than you think, Y/n, nothing good will come out of loving me too much.”

For a second, everything stills. The beating of his heart, your breathing, the dull humming of the fortress’ mechanics, it all becomes silenced. The world only kicks up again when you speak.

“How could you say that about yourself?” You reprimand, shaking his face lightly. “A ‘burden’? Are you hearing yourself right now, Wriothesley? You’re not making any sense right now!”

There’s a passionate look in your eyes. One he doesn’t think a man like him deserves.

“I do not love you for ‘good things’ to come out of them, I love you because you are the good thing, and I will do anything for you to remain the way you are.”

Oh, he might cry again. Are there tears in the corners of his eyes? How can he help it when you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him?

“Don’t write me off as some poor soul whose subjected to your love,” you whisper, but he hangs on to every word you say. “Your love is not a burden I bear, but rather, the most fortunate thing I’ve ever had the luxury of cherishing.”

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Wriothesley presses his lips to yours in an all-consuming kiss. He drinks up all of your praise and lets it settle in his gut to bloom, untethering himself from the chains that rubbed his wrists raw. You love him, you love him more than he thought possible.

How lucky he is that you pull him closer, selfishly taking all of him.

#earthtooz: genshin impact #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #wriothesley fic #wriothesley x you

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elenawritesxx · 3 months

Note

Hiiii your writing is SO good hun. Could you do a fluff fic where the reader has low self confidence about the way they look and bucky’s all Nuh uh.

Thank you so much hun

IN YOUR EYES

PAIRING - bucky x reader

SUMMARY - in the ask box

WC - 455

requests are open

EXTRA - established relationship, reader feeling insecure, use of pet names (doll, baby), no use of y/n, lower case intended

NOTES - hi angels, sorry for disappearing (again) just lost some motivation to write lol. but thanks for the ask and the compliment it made my day🫶 hope this is what you were looking for💞

PS - english isn’t my first language so if you see any grammar or spelling mistakes please don’t hesitate to point them out<3

—

the soft glow of the evening sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue across the room as bucky lounged on the couch, engrossed in a book. you, on the other hand, sat across from him, absently fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, lost in your own thoughts.

a sigh that escaped your lips caught bucky’s attention, only to notice your distress look. he knew you like the back of his hand, he could read you like an open book, so of course it wasn’t a surprise when he noticed immediately your discomfort.

his eyes filled with concern as he set the book aside, now fully focusing on you. "is everything okey, doll?"

you couldn’t look at him, because you knew he was already looking at you and if you did, the tears would fall. you hesitated, feeling a lump form in your throat as you struggled to voice your insecurities. "i don't know... i just... sometimes i look in the mirror and... i don't feel good enough, you know?"

bucky's heart ached at the vulnerability in your voice. without a second thought, he crossed the room and knelt in front of you, gently taking your hands in his huge compared to yours. "baby, look at me," he urged, his eyes searching yours with unwavering intensity.

reluctantly, you met his gaze, feeling a surge of warmth wash over you as you drowned in the depths of his ocean-blue eyes.

"in your eyes," bucky began, his voice soft yet resolute, "i see beauty beyond compare. i see strength, kindness, and a soul so pure it takes my breath away. and every flaw you think you have? they're just reminders of the journey you've been on, the battles you've fought, and the strength you possess."

tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to bucky's heartfelt words, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders with each reassuring syllable.

"i love every part of you," bucky continued, his voice barely above a whisper as he brushed a stray tear that escaped from your cheek. "and i'll spend the rest of my days reminding you just how incredible you are."

with bucky's words echoing in your heart, you felt a newfound sense of confidence bloom within you. leaning forward, you pressed a tender kiss to his lips, pouring all your love and gratitude into the gentle embrace.

in that moment, surrounded by love and acceptance, you realized that true beauty lies not in the eyes of others, but in the unwavering love of those who see you for who you truly are. and with bucky by your side, you knew that together, you could conquer any doubt and insecurity that dared to cross your path.

#fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #mcu x reader #x reader #bucky fic #bucky x y/n

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vlrspace · 10 months

Text

0:35, todoroki x reader

wc: 0.3K

cw: no triggers

as the lecture went on, shoto found it harder to focus. he wasn’t sure when it became his habit to stare at your back during a lecture, but he knew if he didn’t stop soon, then it’ll take a toll on his grades and that would be very unconventional.

shoto’s mind wandered to you quite often nowadays, thinking of holding you close, brushing his fingers through your hair, kissing you…

the bi coloured boy abruptly grabbed his pen at that last thought and began writing down notes in his book, furious at himself, he used to be much more collected, level headed and didn’t start blushing in the middle of a lecture because of some girl.

but you weren’t just some girl.

you were the epitome of kindness, a gentle soul who conquered his ghostly heart, filled with void and unworthiness, without even knowing. shoto knew you were like that with everyone, there isn’t a single bad bone in your body and your presence brights up the whole room. he was also mesmerised by your looks, your glowing face and radiant smile, your whole being is beautiful.

“shoto, your book is burning” momo’s voice with an urgent tone, pulled him out of his thinking process and shoto began to cool off his table and save the remaining pieces of paper, feeling many pairs of eyes on him, including yours.

“i’m sorry” he mutters quietly, but his voice was loud enough in the silent classroom for everyone to hear and they all turned back towards aizawa who blankly stared at the boy before continuing with his lecture. shoto looked down at his destroyed book, the evidence of his lacking focus laughing in his face and he wished the ground would swallow him up, leaving no trace.

though, his heart felt rather full when you showed up at his dorm on the same night, with a brand new book, filled with all of the notes he accidentally burned and a warm smile adorning your features.

shoto knew right then and there, this is his chance to ask you out on a date.

#bnha x reader #shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x y/n #todoroki shoto x you #shouto x reader

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azullumi · 4 months

Text

“midnight calls and comforts” ; alhaitham

summary — you call him in the middle of the night, unable to sleep and only wishing to hear him.

pairing — alhaitham (w/gender neutral reader)

tags — fluff, established relationship, modern settings, never proof-read ; ficlet/scenario

words — 776

note — hello hehe, did i put aside all of my drafts and did this instead? yes, i did

a ring crashes through the silence of the night, abruptly disrupting the tranquility of it. the continuous sound of tapping being put on halt in the process.

alhaitham who was up and working on his laptop briefly wondered who would call him at this time of the night, it was already well past midnight and most would have been asleep at this point—except for you, whose name was displayed across the screen with the sign ‘<’ and the number 3 next to it.

“yes, love?” he answers, placing the phone against his ear, “calling at this hour seems a little late, isn’t it? is something the matter?”

he maintains the same tone that he always speaks whenever he’s with you, a gentle melody laced with affection, but this time, there was a subtle shift: a touch of worry embracing the usual symphony. just the sound of his voice reassures you of your worries, like a gentle tide that caresses your feet lovingly as it crashes against the shore or a soft touch of the wind as it passes you by.

he hears a sigh coming from the other line before he hears your words: “i can’t sleep.”

“it appears so.”

“are you… busy?” he can sense the hesitance in your tone, afraid that you might be bothering him at this moment. he looks over the open document with the last paragraph left unfinished, the several windows splayed across his laptop screen, and the many tabs that conquers the very top of his browser, and then answers: “no, not as of the moment.”

a short silence ensues before you reply, “are you really?”

he didn’t fail to notice how the call became quiet for a little while after that; alhaitham doesn’t know what to say at that moment, if he should press on with his fib or admit that he was indeed occupied with many things; sure, he was busy but he’s (never) not too busy to spend some time with you, especially at this instant that there seems to be something clouding your mind, persisting and preventing you from falling asleep. besides, he has to admit, he misses you for a bit in this loneliness that this hushed night brings—hearing you does indeed stir some motivation in him, pushing him to finish the last of his work.

“can i stay on call with you?” you speak up once more.

“if you wish so, of course.”

the both of you didn’t speak for a while but the silence that rests wasn’t uncomfortable. alhaitham resumes with his work as the sound of keys tapping did—it was the only thing that you can hear from the other line, yet it was enough to tell you that he was there, that he’s right there with you always, and just the thought of it eases some comfort in your bones.

“what are you doing?”

“just working on a paper, aiming to complete it tonight and clear my agenda of any lingering tasks."

you hum, “have you had any rest?”

“i was able to, even though it was brief.”

in the ensuing quiet that persists, time drifted by. the sole audible sound consisted of hushed breaths, subtle shuffling, and the continuous tap-dance of fingers on keys, occasionally interrupted by the soft scribbling of a pen against paper and your voice that calls out to his name.

“alhaitham?”

he hums as an answer.

“oh, nothing.”

a moment slips by again.

“‘haitham?”

“i’m here.”

it didn’t require an extraordinary intellect to discern that you were simply asking for an assurance, a subtle dance of your intentions were very much clear to him. a delicate tether ensuring his presence remained entwined with yours. and he doesn’t tire of providing you with such assurances if it was to ease your mind, this gesture of his proving to be a testament to his commitment and affection to you; alhaitham was your anchor in the ebb and flow of uncertainties.

a moment passes by once more, fleeting. alhaitham had already finished the last of his work, closing the laptop and setting it aside. he takes notice of the other line of the call being completely silent, no murmur of rustling sheets nor an echo of your voice reaching out to him. there was only nothing but the soft cadence of your breathing filling the quiet space, proving the peaceful surrender of sleep that had claimed you.

a soothing warmth settled within him, painting a tender smile on his lips. he whispers into the serene stillness, “goodnight, my love.” pressing a kiss upon the cool surface phone screen, a silent yearning for it to be your lips beneath instead.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin x you #genshin #alhaitham imagines #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham genshin #genshin alhaitham #genshin fanfic #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff #alhaitham fluff #azul.writes

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shibaraki · 8 months

Text

THE ARSONIST’S LULLABY ┊ TODOROKI TOUYA

synopsis: the theory is everyone has a metaphorical part of themselves frozen in childhood. a symbolic, younger version of the self that can still be saved.

dabi comes home with what seems to be a sleeping four year old in his arms and the look of a man who has just seen a ghost.

tags: GN reader, reader is a civilian, sorta established relationship (dabi is paranoid and allergic to labels), accidental child acquisition, angst and fluff, pre LOV (like right before), alludes to past canon child abuse, dissociation, family feels (dabi shithead big brother tendencies)

wc: 8K

“What the fuck—”

“Don’t,” Dabi hushed you frantically, far more frayed than you’ve ever seen him. Affronted, you open the door wider all the same, allowing him inside.

He’s careful with his movements as he kicks off his boots and ducks into the living room. The lump bundled in his jacket does not stir. Dabi lowers to a crouch and settles a young child on the sofa cushions. You note the deliberate care in which he slides his arms out from beneath the boy's body.

The coat lapels have slipped to reveal a child that can surely be no older than four years old. Waxen skin, full cheeks and a wind bitten nose. Most notable is the red hair, thick and fanning across the decorative pillow in undefined waves.

You feel inclined to tiptoe as you approach. Navigating the short space cautiously, knowing where to set your feet; avoiding the creaky floorboards you’ve long since memorised. Dabi lets out a shuddering breath and slumps back against the coffee table. Not once does he look at you even as you enter his vision.

Knelt at Dabi’s side, you evaluate the things laid out before you. The air remains tepid. There are no remnants of smoke clinging to his clothes. Your gaze sweeps over his body. He isn’t running hot, and the sutures aren’t weeping. Not a blood stain nor a burn mark to be seen. He is simply frozen, staring down at the boy.

The child, too, is unscathed. Under a thin T-shirt his small chest rises and falls. He wears an expression that can only be described as tranquil; part of this disturbs you, and tempts you to poke the kid, if only to make sure he isn’t a doll.

You brush your knuckles along his jaw. The kid runs cold but he’s warmer than expected after being rushed through the late evening streets without sleeves. No shoes on his feet either. Odd, considering his socks are clean.

There are a million questions clamouring in your head that you lose the opportunity to ask—that all lead to a single, heartbreaking answer—because the little boy stirs at your touch. His eyelids scrunch together as if to protest his own consciousness, then gradually open, irises as blue as early spring periwinkles peeking through slits.

Nausea grips you. A dark amalgamation of anger, anxiety, confusion and jealousy knotted itself deep in your gut. Those eyes—eyes just like Dabi’s, staring back at you, head tilting with a blank expression.

You take far too long to notice that he’s stopped breathing. Stuck in place, likely frightened to be somewhere unfamiliar, crowded by people he does not know. “Hi there sweetheart,” you say, willing yourself to smile reassuringly. “I know this must be scary for you but I promise you’re safe. We won’t hurt you”.

At that the little boy puffs up. “I’m not scared!”

Dabi scoffs. He hasn’t looked in the boy's direction since he woke up; you nudge his side, brow furrowed in disapproval. “Good. 'Cause you've got nothing to be scared of,” you tell him, glare softening as it slides back to the couch. “Do you think you could tell us your name?”

The silence is oppressive. You’re stared at as if you were a battle to be conquered. You sigh, “Alright. You don’t need to tell me. Stranger danger, right?”

Oddly enough, the boy doesn’t appear disturbed about his surroundings at all. You’d prepared yourself for tears, or some wailing. Instead he casually pushed himself upright into a sitting position and stretched his short arms high over his head, as if waking from a routine nap.

You draw air through your teeth, gasping as his shirt lifts with the stretch and reveals his belly. Dabi’s jaw winds at the sight. The air around you expands, thick with ephemeral warmth. He’s considerate to keep it there, boiling violently under his skin. His reaction nags at your conscience, and you want to grab him when he stands to walk away, but you’ve no choice but to prioritise the situation in front of you.

There are burns around the child’s midsection. Mottled pink and swollen. He rejects your touch as you reach out to examine him further. “You’re hurt, kiddo. We can help. Let me—”

“No!” he yells. You startle at the genuine heartbreak in his voice. He scrambles down and shoves past you. Rabbit footed, he sprints to the bathroom and slams the door. You strain to listen, relieved that he does not turn the lock, and debate going after him. Something about that childlike anger is deeply familiar.

Ice crawls through your chest; it’s a dread that lingers in your periphery yet evades perception the longer you try to put a finger on it. You throw another glance down the hallway as you stride toward the genkan. “Dabi,” you call firmly. His hands, bloodied with the runoff dirt and ash, continue scrubbing at the sole of his boot in an almost mechanical fashion. “Touya,” you try again, quieter, exercising caution when wielding that name. And his movement stutters. “You can’t just—go! Not now. He’s badly burned. Where did you even find him?”

You’re patient as he exhales a harsh breath; seems to grapple with his thoughts, a distant look in his eyes. Seeing him so unsettled is scaring you. “Does it really matter? He’ll probably be gone soon,” he mutters. A wave of defensiveness on behalf of the poor child bubbles to the surface. But before you can argue, he is tugging his cleaned boots on with sudden force.

Dabi stomps to settle the heel and pulls open your front door. It rattles on the hinges. A cold evening breeze billows into the apartment and bites at your bare arms. “I’ll be back later. Just pretend he’s not here,” he grunts. “He won’t notice the difference”.

“Wait, baby—!”

And he’s gone again.

You smother the frustrated yell that follows into your hands. There’s a faint sense of abandonment on the fringes, creeping in and forming a lump in your throat. Dabi always had to run first. You rub at your eyes until the sting disappears and exhale until all the air in your lungs is gone, taking with it your frustrations.

Somehow the hallway stretches that much longer. This time you press weight onto the old floorboards and hear them creak, making your presence known as you approach. There’s no noise behind the bathroom door. Your fingers curl around the handle but a gut feeling begs that you pause.

The soft knock of your knuckles to the frame echoes through the apartment. “It’s me,” you say. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, little guy. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in pain”.

Your ears prick at the quiet movement inside the bathroom. The latch clicks as the handle turns and you move away as much as the narrow space can afford, the front of your sweater bunched up in your fist; it mirrors the child’s own stance, shifting in place gripping his shirt.

Now under the cheap flickering light you notice an uneven patch of white in his hair. There is something uncomfortably broken about him that you can’t place. A dissonance between his outline and the world, as though he were a pencil drawing in a watercolour canvas.

“M’not little,” he insists with a stomp, looking like he might cry. “Stop talkin’ to me like I’m a baby”.

“Alright. You’re not a baby, you’re a big kid,” you settle on your knees in front of him, lowering your voice in a way a child might consider more ‘grown up’, “But I still have to make sure you don’t need a doctor. So is it okay if I ask about the marks on your tummy?”

This time his reaction is far more subdued. Exhausted from his earlier anger, maybe. Or resigned to the fact that you will not let the injuries go. He jerked his shoulders and crossed both arms, staring down at his feet.

“Has someone been hurting you—did they do that to you?”

The kid huffs, indignant. “No,” he mumbles with a pout. Your eyes follow his fingers where they begin to anxiously clench and unclench. “My quirk”.

The admission is clearly difficult for him, like he has to force the words out of his mouth. You unfold your legs from beneath you and dip to try to meet his eyes, “Your quirk hurts you?”

“Not all the time!” there’s that flash of emotion again, racketing through him like thunder. If he were a kitten you think all the hair on his body would be on end. “If—if I train more I bet it wouldn’t,” he sniffs. “But father told me I can’t do that anymore”.

“Oh,” you’re taken aback at the mention of another father figure. You feel a growing dislike for the unknown man. “Well that’s kinda silly. How will you ever learn to use it safely if you don’t practice?”

Finally, the boy’s glassy eyes snap up and meet your own. He’s practically glowing; awestruck, as though you’d turned his entire worldview on its head with just a few words. “Right, right?” he begins to bounce on the balls of his feet. “I’m gonna be the bestest, strongest hero. Better than All Might!”

Your thoughts stall, reaction delayed. Only Dabi would bring home a kid who loves heroes—that is if they’re related at all. You find it hard to believe. Those eyes do not lie.

“That right?” you let yourself be influenced by his enthusiasm and mirror his grin. Whatever Dabi did or did not omit it’s not the kids fault. “Well, I’ll be cheering you on from the sidelines. How about that?”

“Yeah! You’ll see!” your heart clenches at the sight of his little leg stomping excitedly as he rubs at his eyes. A hiccup wracks his body. Telegraphing your movements you rest a hand at his back, rubbing back and forth to calm him. Such an extreme response to such a simple praise.

After some gentle cajoling you manage to get him to sit on a stool in the kitchen with some apple juice that you miraculously had in the fridge. Your eyes linger on the glass in his hands as you apply the medicated cream to his stomach, barely big enough to hold it.

You exhale, fingers pausing by his waist. The sight is hard to swallow. The tissue is smooth to touch and irregularly shaped, as though the scar had outgrew the initial wound. Even as you reached the inflamed sections he hadn’t so much as flinched; again you're reminded of Dabi, his impassive expression perched on the edge of your bathtub, skin swelling around his sutures, a merry scarlet waterfall weeping from the exposed wounds.

“Where did that man go?” he asks, pulling you from your reverie.

“Ah, he needed to go get something,” the lie is unconvincing even to your own ears. Discomfited, you clear your throat and add, “You can call him Dabi when he’s back”.

You search for his discarded shirt while he tests the name with his own voice. Small mouth shaped around the syllables, da-bi, and spitting it out quick again, dabi. “That’s right. Dabi. You like his name?” the kid staunchly shakes his head, hair falling over his eyes. He pushes it back with both of his hands.

“S’dumb,” he says. The bluntness makes you laugh.

“I bet your name is cooler, right?” that catches his attention. He nods once with a firm hum. “You wanna tell me it now?”

Your efforts seemed to fall flat. The child would not tell you his name; during the numerous attempts in the hours that followed, you got the sense that he couldn’t tell you. And he would get this odd look about him, as if it was you asking that was confusing to him. As if you should already know.

Far more concerning to you is that he never asks to go home. Not once does he mention his mother or father of his own volition. After countless questions you can discern that his knowledge is strangely limited. He seems frozen in time, with no real memory of how Dabi found him.

The hours pass uninterrupted when your curiosity veers away from his circumstances and closer to him. To things he loves, and the like. You carry him on your hip, surprisingly light, and settle him back on the couch as he rambled about Caped Kid and Supertoon and the old All Might animated shorts that you forgot even existed. He kicks his feet along the cushions excitedly when you find some pirated clips online for him to watch.

By the time Dabi comes home the kid has fallen asleep, right back where he first left him. Your arms cross over your chest, the earlier anger rising once more, but something about his expression wills you to temper it.

Dabi is wet through. Soaked to the bone, clothes hanging on his frame. Black streaks are running down his cheeks, and despite your disappointment you hastily tug your sleeve over your hand as you start forward, bringing it up to dab away the dye before it seeps into his sutures.

It’s a relief that he doesn’t flinch away. Not even as his gaze drifts to the TV, which has automatically started up another All Might clip. No vitriol comes. A warm, savoury smell fills your senses and you notice that he’s carrying a plastic bag.

“Brought food,” he rasps. You look back up and meet his eyes, unnerved at how far away he sounds.

“Thank you,” you murmur. Casting a final glance to the young boy on your couch—laying suspiciously still—you wrap fingers around Dabi’s cold wrist and coax him into the kitchen. He sets the food on the counter and in letting go the plastic handle is left upright, misshapen from the responsive heat of his quirk.

He inhales, readying himself to speak, but you gently interrupt, “I think you should shower first. Change into something comfortable. I’ll… I’ll serve the food”.

Dabi sighs but slinks away to the bathroom at your suggestion. You watch him bristle and glare halfheartedly at the head peeking up from behind the couch cushions and the boy shrinks back. Not a moment later the door slams and he flinches, chubby fingers clutching tight to the upholstery.

“Is Dabi mad?” the small voice asks. Sullen in a way that draws you closer to comfort him. Your hand comes to rest on the crown of his head, petting him now that he’ll let you.

“No, no,” you demurred. “Well. Maybe he is, but he’s just having a lot of uh, big feelings”.

“Big feelings,” the boy nods. Then he peers up at you searchingly, “…Is he melting?”

Having expected him to ask literally anything but that, you give a soft laugh. “Dabi isn’t melting. It’s the colour in his hair. He painted it and if it gets wet it washes out, like you saw”.

“Oh”.

The kid is calmer now, no longer ready to bury himself between the cushions. “He brought food back. Smells like curry,” you tell him. “Want some?”

Returning to the kitchen after an enthusiastic ‘yes’—pushed out between a big yawn—you unwrap the takeout boxes and begin to portion them. Dabi finished his shower, dressed in the loose fitted sweatpants and t-shirt you kept for the nights he felt comfortable enough to stay, and accepted the plate you put in his hands.

Together, you eat around the kotatsu in relative silence filled only by the limited ramblings of the child Dabi brought home. He’s the type to express things with his entire body, the type that cannot sit still, and you find yourself shooting Dabi the odd furtive glance, worried he might snap, almost daring him to try.

But Dabi does not snap. He doesn’t look at either of you. You note the tension in his shoulders, winding tighter with every mention of the word ‘hero’, and how his fist clenches and uncurls, knuckles white where the blood recedes. He keeps his head down, forearm curled protectively around the food on his plate as he eats, and doesn’t say a word.

You’ve never met anyone else who can so readily act as though they’re unfeeling. The embodiment of feigned indifference. Dabi was so confident in his detachment, with the scathing comments, comfort in violence and purposefully unapproachable demeanour, but you knew what lie underneath; you can tell when it’s an act and when it’s real, and right now he’s never been more transparent.

The boy starts to droop into his food some time during the next Caped Kid episode. Your hand shoots out to cup his chin when his head wobbles on his shoulders, close to using the rice as a pillow. “He’s all tuckered out again,” you comment aloud, licking your thumb to wipe at the sauce around his mouth. “Can you take the—?”

Dabi is already standing, stacking the plates atop one another without so much as trying to be quiet. You roll your eyes to the ceiling, seeking strength, and tuck the little boy to your front, hoisting him back up into the couch. He stirs and blinks around the room as though seeing for the first time.

“It’s alright. Go back to sleep,” you whisper. He yawns, jaw stretching around such a tiny squeak that you can’t help but to kiss his hair.

Dabi is standing at the sink, back turned to the dirty dishes and leant against the counter. Your eyes meet, but you pointedly look away and say nothing as you step forward to gather the empty takeout boxes and throw them out.

He speaks, if only to fill the silence, “I shouldn’t have walked out”.

It’s the closest to an apology you’ll probably ever get. “Y’think?” you hesitated for a long minute, speaking only as you sensed his presence at your back. “Actually, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Really, your relationship with Dabi has always been chimerical in nature. Some strange patchwork attempt at being human. You fucked, kissed one another at the door, shared parts of your lives that you wished you never had. Labels only drove him away, like identifying the thing you’d woven together would bring it to actuality, make it corporeal, ridding you of plausible deniability.

It was never a question why he brought the kid here. This is where you play house, after all. Dabi’s shoebox apartment was empty, simply a place to go when he wasn’t out doing who knows what, like a waiting room. A space between spaces. Yours was far more appropriate for a child, and you’d thought that maybe—he chose to trust you enough, to finally ask for help, rather than doing it out of convenience.

Heat soaks through your shirt as his mottled, slender hand settles on your waist. You turn on your heel to face him directly, resolve weakening at the careful squeeze of his fingers. You sigh, palms brushing featherlight up the uneven flesh along his forearms and follow as he retreated backward to lower onto the nearby breakfast stool.

“I was hit with a quirk on my way back”.

“What?” your inner conflict falters. Concern superseding your anger you cup his jaw to tip his head back and side to side to get a good look at him. “When? Are you hurt?”

Dabi snorts, relaxed by your gentle countenance and fretting. “Not now. Earlier. Some middle schooler without a handle on her quirk yet. Quit fussin’, I’m fine,” he continues and shakes free of your hands, so you settle them on his shoulders. He walks his fingers behind your knees, cupping the back of your thighs, uncharacteristically restless.

“It’s where the…“ his jaw clenched and he pressed his forehead hard to your stomach, burrowing into the fabric. Anticipation grips your lungs when he doesn’t immediately explain.

“Talk to me baby,” you run your fingers through his hair and they come away stained black. “How did—what does the quirk do?”

“Fuck, I hardly had time to ask about specifics. The stupid kid knocked into me and suddenly I had my arms full,” Dabi’s snarling dwindles. He licks his lips, hesitant, and casts his eyes to the narrow space between your bodies. Quieter this time, “It’s where he came from”.

You register his words. The realisation slides through you with sharp clarity. It swells in you, all encompassing and painful, like love and heartbreak at the same time. “He’s not yours, is he?” you say, reminiscent of a whisper. “He’s you”.

“My inner child. Some pseudo bullshit like that,” Dabi supplies, as though the distinction was important. He looks up, the column of his throat pressed to your sternum, and your chest loosens a little, some of the fear ebbing. “Did you seriously think I knocked someone up?”

“Plausibly, what else was I supposed to think?”

“Not that,” he scoffs. “Either way, I don’t know how long we’re stuck with him”.

“Don’t talk about him like he’s a burden,” you frowned. Dabi’s eyes squint, and he makes a low, dubious noise. “Why didn’t you tell me straight away?”

“Didn’t want you to know,” he shrugs. It shouldn’t sting the way it does. This is hardly the first time Dabi kept something from you. “Thought I could make the kid keep his mouth shut about my family”.

Inwardly you think he needn’t worry about that. They were as secretive and stubborn as each other, in that respect. Hell, it took Dabi three years to give up his name and that was only because he’d been delirious at the time.

“But you left anyway”.

“He woke up,” Dabi says, like that was enough explanation. You give a commiserate nod, cradling his rough jaw, because maybe it is. “Needed to blow off some steam. Figured I might look for the twerp that caused all this but she’d probably run if she saw me again”.

“Don’t tell me you scared the poor girl shitless?”

“Alright. I won’t tell you,” he snorted, biting at the heel of your hand when you mutter his name disapprovingly.

“So we just wait for him to go?” you brush the remaining skin between his eye and his cheek with your thumb, following the curve of his sutures. “Maybe it is psychological then. Make your inner child happy and the quirk might cancel out sooner”.

There’s something dark in Dabi’s expression when his mouth pulls wide into a smarmy grin, eyes burning as his fingers dig into your thighs. “Looking to rehabilitate me, sweetheart?”

You soon put that to rest, guiding him into a kiss. His grip falls slack, and then returns, more needy than dangerous. Dabi’s lips pressed back, insisted, softer than you thought possible. “Course not,” you murmur, admiring the resentful flush on his face as you draw back. “Maybe I like you as you are. Just a little”.

“Bad taste,” he breathes. His nose scrunches the way it always does when he’s feeling too much, and you kiss that too. You recognise Dabi’s flaws for what they are, and you’ve given yourself to him knowingly. Even so, in the confines of your mind, you do wish he might’ve had the chance to be something better.

This inner child incident could be a small step. You don’t expect his perspective on society will change; he could learn compassion and forgive himself for whatever led him here. But what exactly is an inner child?

The theory goes that everyone has a metaphorical part of themselves frozen in childhood. A symbolic, younger version of the self that can be talked to, supported, and guided—that can still be saved.

Dabi informs you with great reluctance that this little Touya was probably closer to five years old, and stuck in the time right after his first brother was born. You never knew he had siblings.

“Did something significant happen around that time?” you worry at your bottom lip, glancing out toward the living room, shrouded in darkness now that the TV has switched to standby. “Do you remember what you wanted most, from before?”

You hear your name. You’re startled by the intensity in Dabi’s stare, unyielding and sharp. A primitive part of you wants to shrink back from it. “Don’t push it,” he says.

It was on the tip of your tongue to remark something equally catty. Instead you swallow them. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you muttered. Through trial and error you’ve already memorised the ley lines that make up Dabi’s boundaries and know well enough that prying too far into his past, or encroaching on his future plans, is a hard no-no.

“We’re going to need a cover story for him if he’s here longer than a day,” you continue, a smile creeping in alongside your teasing inflection. “Guess you’re a dad—”

“Not a chance in hell,” Dabi grimaces, skin taut around his scars. “If it comes to it, say he’s my nephew”.

“You’re no fun,” you concede. “Fine. Uncle Dabi”.

The discussion leads nowhere in the end. Dabi is unwilling to delve any further into his childhood and you know a losing battle when you see one. You turn your attention to the sleeping arrangements, and decide that it would be best to roll out your spare futons in the living room, just in case something happens.

And Dabi, despite his objections, despite puttering around with pillows under each arm and cursing under his breath, throws them down and sprawls out across the blankets. You feel his stare as you move Touya—as you’ve taken to calling him in your head—from his resting place to the space between your bodies.

Touya isn’t yet the light sleeper you know Dabi to be. His eyes shift behind closed lids and his lips curl in momentary discomfort but he doesn’t wake. “Does he have to sleep there?” Dabi all but sneers when Touya curls into your warm chest, much the way he would like to.

“Aw. Don’t be jealous,” you pillow Touya’s head on your shoulder and reach across to take Dabi’s hand, entwining your fingers through stubborn means. “He’s just a baby”.

A fresh wave of heat ripples around your hands and Dabi’s grip is solid, as though you’ve been soldered together. “He’s not a baby. He’s already five,” he mutters with a faraway look in his eyes, indifferent to the callousness in his words.

Your palms kiss and you aim for a lighthearted tone, “Stop being a dick. You’ll have me to yourself again soon enough”.

Dabi grunts and some of the tension is relieved from the atmosphere, his face thrown into stark relief by the sliver of moonlight flooding through your curtains. Not for the first time, you wonder if he feels the after aches of childhood—if the hollow inside him felt that much deeper now that Touya was out here, safe in your arms—and suddenly holding his hand is not enough.

You entangle your legs and distract yourself with the feel of his boney ankle. Some things are better left unknown, you reason. A mantra that encompasses your relationship. Better not pick and prod. You’ve done quite enough of it already, more than you’re entitled to. Sometimes you worry that one day you’ll unravel the wrong thread and he’ll never stop bleeding.

Touya clutches tighter to your shirt. Kicks a tiny foot against your pelvis in protest of the movement, surprisingly hard. Dabi snickers at your restrained groan. “Guess you’ve always been a restless sleeper”.

“That's what you get for giving him my spot,” Dabi says, the beginnings of a smile in his voice. “Was worse when I was a kid”.

“Clearly. A fly could sneeze and wake you up,” you remove the heel from your stomach and let it tangle with the blankets. Touya suddenly flips onto his back, arm cast out toward Dabi, not far from smacking him in the face. “Atleast he feels safe, I suppose”.

The night settles, your apartment alongside it. Walls quietly groan as the wind picks up a fraction. “We should take him somewhere tomorrow,” you think aloud, staring at the hairline fracture in the ceiling. “The arcade, maybe”.

“Now why the fuck would we do that?” Dabi’s voice is lower, muffled, and a quick sidelong glance confirms that his mouth is half squashed into the pillow, fatigue starting to weigh on him. “Don’t even have clothes for him”.

“Kano-san might let us borrow some,” you offer tiredly. Though your neighbour's four children were all over five years old you had no doubt she kept hand-me-downs. “It’s not fair to just keep him holed up til he disappears”.

“I refuse…” Dabi mumbled. You snort, resting your chin on Touya’s crown, swaddled by warmth. Shadows creep in and blur the edges of your vision. You’re gently coaxed into sleep, final thoughts being the hope that Dabi would still be there tomorrow.

What you receive is far more. Where soft moonlight once drifted in through the cracks, harsh sun is striking through the dim room, right against your closed eyes. You flinch away from it, turning into your pillow. Half-awake, you aren’t quite in and not quite outside yourself, but you are conscious enough to hear Dabi laugh at your displeasure.

The weight in your arms is gone. Pawing at the yawning emptiness, you abruptly sit up and whip your eyes around the room. They land on Dabi, who is laid on his back and surrendering to his current predicament. He pointedly avoids acknowledging it.

Time stretches thinly as you take in the scene. At some point in the night, Touya had made his way over to Dabi and laid himself on top of him. Chubby cheek squished to Dabi’s sternum, lashes fluttering as he dreams. Fleeting, you consider that he may be trying to crawl right back into him.

“G’morning,” you sigh, blood rushing to your limbs as you contort and stretch. Unable to resist, you shuffle across the futon and press yourself to Dabi’s side, nuzzling into his shoulder. You tilt your head up to find Dabi looking down at you. “Kiss?”

“Your breath stinks,” but he kisses you anyway. His own is hardly better. You nip at his lip, licking over the faint sting and drawing back before he can reciprocate.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” his hands gesture toward the lump on his chest, “until this shit happened”.

“Now he’s taken my spot”. You could point out that Dabi had every opportunity to move the boy through the night, or however long he’d been there, but didn't. “Though it makes sense he’d want to be near you”.

“He doesn’t want anything. He’s not real,” Dabi drawls. He’s betrayed by the arm that supports Touya from beneath as he sits up exceedingly slowly, the other holding the back of his head. Dabi pivots the small figure into his lap, acting like a cradle.

Limbs akimbo, Touya lies on his back, mouth open and ribs expanding with each breath. His clothes are askew. Shirt ridden up his round belly, loose pants bunched up at the knees. To your relief the burn marks look no worse than the day before.

“Even though his body isn’t suited to his quirk, he still…” your voice is but a murmur as you sit up to trace a fingertip over the swell of his pink cheek. “He’s a very brave little boy”

Dabi held the toddler delicately in his arms, a fraction away from his body, and paled whenever he stirred a little. You see how his pupils soften, tension seeping from his shoulders bit by bit. “Or maybe he’s just stupid," he rasps.

“Well, many heroes are both of those things,” you offer, mouth curling as you hold Dabi’s half lidded gaze. His mouth presses thin so as not to give you the satisfaction of making him smile. When your attention returns to Touya an unfamiliar quietude comes over you.

“Last night,” he starts. “I left because I thought it would be harder”.

You pause, peering up from the little boy curled in his lap. “To what?”

“Not to hurt him,” he says, quietly. “Or you”.

Then Touya sputters a first, clean breath, breaking into a drawn out sob that drags you from processing what that could mean. Dabi grows tense and your hand flutters across Touya, rubbing over his chest as you coo and hush. The louder he cries the stronger the tremor in Dabi’s hand becomes.

“There there, little guy. We’re right here,” you slip an arm around Dabi’s back, and suddenly your murmurings begin to soothe Touya’s distress. Red rimmed eyes squint up at you. “Did you have a nightmare, buddy?”

“Heroes—” Touya eventually hiccups and jolts. Frustrated he hits himself, face twisted in devastating anger. “Heroes don’t—have nightmares!”

You move to still his fists but Dabi beats you to it, fingers circling a pair of wrists and holding them firmly. “They will if I have anything to say about it,” he says.

“Really, Dabi,” you admonish, pursing your lips at him. He wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out in response. Muffled giggling fills the room and you realise it’s coming from the bundle in his lap.

Dabi looks as if he’s been struck. A finger pokes at the skin above his puckered cheek. “Dabi made an ugly face,” Touya grins.

“Oh yeah?” Dabi growls and leans forward, spine bending uncomfortably just to get into the boy’s personal space. “Well I’ve got bad news for you, kid”.

Whatever the desired effect, Touya’s chime-like laughter only doubles, and while watching their interaction you feel warmth ignite behind your breastbone.

Not long after, you return from Kano-san’s upstairs apartment with a cotton sweater, discoloured patches sewn onto the elbows, and a pair of pants. They’re size five yet too big for Touya, so you roll them to the ankle. “How’s that?” you ask, getting to your feet. “It’s not itchy on your burns, is it?”

Touya wriggles. You’ve come to learn that he really can’t sit still, especially when you’re fussing. “No,” he says, flapping the sleeves that fall over his hands, silently asking that you roll those up too. “Where are we going? I want to train!”

“No training inside. You’re going to set off my fire alarm,” you reply, absentminded as your fingers gently fold back the shirtsleeves to his wrist. “And we’re going to the arcades first. You can beat Dabi at all the games”.

“Yeah!”

“Fat chance,” Dabi calls from the bathroom. Light footsteps echo through the hallway and his voice grows louder. “We’re not going anywhere near Musutafu,” he adds, shucking on his dried black coat over a plain t-shirt and jeans that may as well have been painted on his legs. He pulls something out from his pocket and throws it, “Put that on him to be safe”.

You catch the lump one handed, bringing it down to inspect it. A beanie hat. “Is that really necessary?” you murmur, releasing your grasp when Touya decides he wants the hat for himself and stretches it haphazardly over his head.

Dabi rounds the couch and hooks his chin over your shoulder, watching the kid struggle. “Can’t have him being recognised…” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching at a thought that suddenly crosses his mind. “Or maybe we should. Hey, kid,” Touya’s head whirls around the room in search of Dabi, vision blocked by the beanie; he pushes it up above his eyebrows, periwinkle eyes peeking beneath.

“Wanna go to my old house and scare someone?”

Touya’s lips thin and his nose crinkles, managing to look down at Dabi despite being so much shorter. “Heroes aren’t ‘posed to scare people,” he argued.

“Whatever. This guy isn’t good,” Dabi huffs, wincing at the click in his knees as he crouches in front of the boy to fix the hat seam, and Touya positively preens under Dabi’s direct attention. “This guy hurts people. Hurts his family. Probably deserves it, right?”

You watch in disbelief as Touya hums and begins to consider it. “Okay that’s enough,” you circle and coax them toward the genkan. “We aren’t scaring anyone. We are going to the arcade and we’re not going to cause trouble. Yes?”

Dabi and Touya share a long, knowing look. You can’t say you’re unhappy that they’re connecting—they’re unbearably cute when standing side by side, dithering as you slip on your shoes. “Yes?” you repeat yourself with more emphasis.

They nod in tandem.

“Good. Now who is holding my hand?”

Daylight feeds in through the sparse grey clouds, upper wind guiding them east where they darken, likely raining over another part of the city. The pavements are wet, rainwater fed into the uprooted cracks. A couple smile at you as they pass. It is rare for anyone to glance your way when Dabi’s at your side; he knows the image he projects and he likes it that way. But today, with Touya in the middle holding one of each hand, you paint a far lovelier picture.

You think you must look like a family, on the outside. It’s nothing you ever imagined for yourself. Especially not with Dabi, who was seemingly hell bent on getting himself arrested, or killed, in his spare time—not that you knew the finer details, but you weren’t dense.

“I can feel your street cred depleting,” you quietly tease as you stop at a pedestrian crossing, bridging the gap while Touya is preoccupied with counting down until the red man turns green. “Uncle Dabi”.

Dabi’s upper lip curls and he lurches half a step, as if to attack you, and you pull away laughing.

Your neighbourhood doesn’t see much in the way of funding, or heroes, and that truth is reflected in the surroundings. Buildings half constructed, shutters down, people lingering on the streets. Touya presses a hairsbreadth closer to Dabi, sensing how eyes turn to him, and you catch the way Dabi squeezes his small hand in response.

“Scared?”

Touya straightens, “No!”

Dabi snorts, “Thought not”.

The arcade isn’t far. Well beyond its years, an old musk clings to the carpets despite the open windows. Light bulbs flicker here and there. You can taste electricity buzzing in the air. The machines are outdated, but they work. High pitched, quick paced music paces from all directions. If you had to, you'd describe it as the embodiment of sensory overload.

As luck would have it Touya recognises most of the games, having been released around his time. He steps on your shoes to watch raptly while you try to win him a prize on the claw machines, and he kneels at your feet to steal any ticket away before you can grab them.

He frees himself of your grip the moment he spots Crimson Fighter. You sidle up beside Dabi as if to shield from it all. His knuckles brush the back of your hand and you smile to yourself. So starved for affection yet so intensely humiliated by it—that and the fact that he cannot seem to let Touya out of his sight, only a few feet away.

You loosely entwine your fingers and he relaxes. “Not gonna play another round with him?”

“Why don’t you?”

In that instant you hear the repeated call of your name. Touya bounces from left to right, waving you over. “Look at me! Come watch!” he beams. “Look at me, I can win!”

Dabi’s fingers flex, tighten, digging crescent moons into your knuckles. You shoot him a worried glance but the light in his eyes has dimmed once again, and you tug him over towards Touya like a kite on a string, keeping him tethered until he returns from whatever memory he’s lost in.

“I’m looking, I'm looking,” you titter, standing behind him and tilting to watch the screen. Dabi’s presence lingers. Your heart pangs when Touya stands on the tips of his toes to reach the controls. He picks the Endeavor avatar and the game opens up onto a floating platform, All Might standing at the other end.

“Fight!” Touya whispers in sync with the narrator, mashing all the buttons without direction or strategy. He clicks and clicks and clicks until Endeavor’s quirk bar is maxed out and he releases; pixelated flames burst across the screen, doing significant damage to All Might but not enough—and too much to himself. The Endeavor avatar drops to his knees, overcome by dehydration and exhaustion, defeated by his own flame.

Apparently brought back to the present, Dabi laughs.

“No…” Touya’s eyes grow round in disbelief and then harden. He kicks the machine with as much force as he can muster. Before he can do it again you’ve wrapped an arm under his armpits and herded him outside. “Let go!”

“Absolutely not,” you grasp his elbows and settle on your haunches. Touya turns his head away from you in dramatic fashion. “That isn’t okay. These games belong to someone else. They’re not yours to damage”.

“Shouldn’t’a picked Endeavor,” Dabi remarks.

Your neck aches as it snaps up to glare at him. “Not helping,” you hiss through gritted teeth. He puts his hands up in a show of surrender and you inhale until your lungs feel tight. Exhale.

Touya has fallen suspiciously quiet, chin tucked to his chest, and thankfully nobody inside noticed his brief outburst. “Hey,” gently, you run your palms along his shoulders. “Talk to me, kiddo. I promise you’re not in big trouble”.

Your ears pick up fragmented parts of his mumbling, “Lost… M’weak… Endeavor… stronger… not ‘posed to lose”. Something about his reaction is both fragile and momentous, and with Dabi nearby your instincts are telling you to tread carefully.

“Hey, listen to me. I don’t know much but I do know you’re not weak,” you begin to smooth down his sweater, and fiddle with the seam of his beanie while you talk—fretting, admittedly, and determined to wipe the heartbreak off his face. “You’re the strongest little dude I know”.

Touya sniffs, unconvinced. He waddles further into your embrace and you take it as a win “Gotta be stronger than All Might”.

“One day you could be,” you reason, gathering him against your front and hoisting him up as his legs wrap around your waist. A firm body stands behind you. Dabi is closer than anticipated and you falter, meeting his half lidded eyes. Reality stomps over the little charade you’ve created—recalling that the boy in your arms, so desperate to reach the pinnacle of heroics, will one day be Dabi, the self proclaimed villain.

“Y’know, even All Might didn’t become the number one hero until he was thirty,” you tuck a wayward curl back into Touya’s beanie and use your sleeve to wipe his damp cheeks. “He had to learn to control his quirk and get through hero school, just like you will. It takes time”.

“R—really…?” you’d be remiss not to notice the hope in his voice as he fists at his sweater, stretching the fabric further. “But I need to be strong now,” he insists thickly, a fresh round of tears at his waterline.

Dabi steps closer as more people pass by, nudging you into a dead end alley. There’s heat emanating from his skin, making ripples in the air. You hold his gaze with purpose, turning until Touya is once again enveloped by your bodies, and the boy instinctively reaches for his adult counterpart.

“You are strong,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to Touya’s temple. “Wanna know what Dabi and I were talking about while you were sleeping this morning?”

Touya’s mouth quivers, sneaking a furtive glance. He nods. You narrow your eyes at Dabi, try to tell him that this could be it, and he relents, accepting the weight as it is passed to him.

Touya settles in his arms. “We…” Dabi’s jaw ticks. There’s a depression in his cheek where the inner flesh is held between teeth. “We said that you’re brave”.

You circle your arms around his middle, around Touya, and rest your cheek on his shoulder. Touya blinks in awe. “Brave?”

“Brave for trying so hard to reach your goal,” Dabi continues. The harsh edge to his voice has puttered out into melancholy. “Even when it hurts. Especially then”.

“I am?”

“You are,” you murmur, cradling the back of Touya’s head. There’s an odd sheen to his skin. Translucent almost. Your heart jolts. Conflicting emotions swell in your chest, leaving you torn. “I heard heroes have that in spades”.

Eyes bright and wide, undoubtedly that of a child, Touya looks at Dabi, and Dabi looks back. “You’d be one of the good ones, kid,” he rasps. It comes like pulling teeth but he means it, and Touya must know—the quirk must hear the sincerity, because the little boy beams and the air tastes sharp. He lights up, eyes first, like dusk catching on stained glass windows, robin egg blue overcast with shades of pink, heat suffusing through his bones until—

Your fingers enclose around the limp fabric of Touya’s beanie. Dabi shudders an exhale. The patched sweater falls limp over his crossed arms.

“That… worked?”

Dabi’s mouth opens and closes, lips shaping around words he doesn’t know how to say. You cannot read his expression at all. You yourself can hardly register Touya’s absence, left like a bruise that you just know is going to start aching the second the adrenaline wears off.

“I guess it did,” he finally agrees, quietly. Not quite whispered, but his voice carried no strength. Through the discomfit cuts an abrupt, shrill beep. Dabi swallows, and after pulling out his phone his expression sours.

“Who is it?”

“An associate,” he says, hands an unsteady counterpoint to the surety in his voice. Another blatant cover that you know better than to peel back. “…He wants me to meet his new colleagues. He thinks I’ll work well with them”.

“Do you need to go now, or…?” your skin prickles with unease, leaning into him as close and psychics would allow, not wanting to part with him.

“Think you’ll miss him?” Dabi asks instead, bordering on hesitation. Your head tilts at the sudden change in topic. His gaze dips low to avoid yours. You rest your hand over his chest. His heart beats against your palm, hard and steady. You wonder what, if anything, Touya’s time here might’ve changed.

“I don’t have to,” you tell him, choosing your words carefully. “He’s right in here”.

Dabi hums in that way he often does when he thinks you’re being ridiculous. Your thumb moves back and forth, shifting the fabric of his shirt. “…He deserved better,” you say, heedless of the cold determination setting into Dabi’s bones. And later, despite being the truth, you would come to regret voicing it.

He looks back at the message on his phone, typing out a reply with his screen tilted away from prying eyes. “You’re right,” he mutters.

“He did”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader

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the-daily-dreamer · 1 month

Note

The targaryen ruled 130 years without dragons. And the most capable kings were all targaryen. After them it was a decline for the throne. Robert, joffrey, tommen, cercei were all sith ruler .

I see targ stans are investing in high quality air to fill their heads lol

But anyways. “The most capable kings were all targaryens”. You know who else were targaryens? The worst rulers of Westeros. Robert, Cersei, Joffrey, and Tommen aren’t even close to the worst kings and queen to rule. And bringing them up as evidence to show that the targaryens are good is so disingenuous.

Maegor the Cruel, Aegon the Unworthy, The Mad King Aerys, Rhaenyra (yes, I know that’s controversial), and Daenerys (yes, I know that’s even more controversial) are all far FAR worse than anyone you mentioned.

Maegor killed his wife and her entire family. He was a usurper (apparently it’s good when the targs you like do it lol), a kinslayer (also a thing only good when it’s targs you like doing it), raped and tortured many people, wiped out entire houses, killed any and everyone that he saw in any way as deserving, and created a huge war with the faith of the seven.

Aegon the unworthy was corrupt and lazy and legitimized his bastards leading to the blackfyre rebellions that led to endless bloodshed for 5 generations.

Aerys was so bad he had a rebellion staged against him that ended his family dynasty. He burned fathers and sons together. He tortured people and burned them alive. He abused and raped his wife when he would burn people alive. He wanted to kill the entire city of kings landing.

Rhaenyra (who like it or not went down in history as one of the worst rulers) known as maegor with teats taxed her people to starvation. She had daily executions. She had knights inquisitors hunt down and punish people.

Daenerys burnt down kings landing, was complicit in the rape and enslavement of hundreds, ruined city economies so badly slavery was a better option, then profited from said slavery, abandoned the people she conquered (no doubt ensuring they will be enslaved much more harshly after supporting her), raped a “free” slave that she admits still acted like a slave because that’s all she knew, oh yeah and again, SHE BURNT DOWN KINGS LANDING. And this is after the people you listed.

And this isn’t including non Targaryen rulers that ruined lives like the blackfyres. Or rulers that are bad but weirdly beloved like Aegon I who basically conquered people by threatening to kill them and everyone they loved, subjugating a country for hundreds of years.

The best rulers I admit were Targaryens. But that’s because they were the only rulers save for 4 people. Of those four, two were bad and two were incompetent. Not nearly the sadistic “mad” people I described above. And funnily enough, as soon as a Targaryen came back to power…things got worse again. Funny how that is.

Oh and by the way. Going with the histories of Westeros. Guess who is among the best rulers according to small folk Aegon II and Alicent. Seethe :)

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seresinhangmanjake · 5 months

Text

The One I Want: Part 3.5 - Jake POV

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Warnings: This chapter is written in first-person (warning you now so don't come for me later if it bothers you pretty please) Judgment related to weight. Cursing. Fluff. Angst. Eventual smut (alluded to/or other). Self-esteem issues.

Note: These Jake POV chapters are not necessary to read to understand or follow with the rest of the story!

Words: 1115 (i told ya it'd be shorter)

The One I Want Masterlist

Jake:

“If she doesn’t end up going for you, send her my way,” Javy whispers so only I can hear.

Turning sharply, I whack him upside the head. I tell myself it's mostly so Javy stops looking at you the way he is, but I know it’s also a way to release my frustration at realizing my brain is only the slightest bit faster than my instincts. My brain just barely held me back from instinctually snapping ‘mine’ the second you walked into the place and I saw the look on my friend’s face. But thankfully it did. Because you’re not mine. Not really. Not at all.

You don’t notice the smack, and Nat and Bradley have seen the same interaction enough to know it’s not genuine. Although, this time I can’t fully say that it isn’t. Their eyes find you and you blush under all four pairs; mine included, of course, since I can’t seem to manage to keep them off of you anyway. I don’t try anymore.

“H-Hi,” you say with a lick of nerves.

The look on your face screams ‘too much; too many people; too many eyes’, and I would instantly feel like an ass if it weren’t for the fact that when you agreed to meet them, you seemed happy about it. After a month and a half, you were finally willing to learn more about my life, integrate yourself into my world, and I wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass me by. But seeing you now, in the aftermath of putting my excitement above your anxiety, the guilt creeps up on me.

“It’s good to see you again,” Nat says, carefully wiping away the deer-in-headlights expression off your face. Your shoulders settle and, albeit tentatively, you smile. The same smile I thought I would’ve grown immune to by now, but no. It still kicks my heart into overdrive in a way no other has.

And that’s the problem. That’s the thing not allowing me to surrender in my efforts to open you up to me. I just want more; crave it; each day contemplate how I can coax new pieces of you to the surface.

There was a brief period in those first three days when I prayed that what I saw in you was merely a challenge. A beautiful woman who doesn’t want me is rare, as ridiculously vain as it is to say. But it’s the truth. I know the game of cat and mouse well. The playful back and forth that inevitably ends up with the woman in my bed. And damn, did I want to play. But what I had allowed myself to assume was a need to conquer grew into genuine interest. It grew so quickly, in such an all-consuming manner, that I didn’t know what to do with myself.

I still don’t.

Instead, I act on impulse, and that usually leaves me doing what I must, asking what I must, to get to know you. At times, successfully. Others, not so much. Never before has the phrase ‘one step forward, two steps back’ applied so heavily to my life.

You ease yourself into the kitchen and Javy takes it upon himself to give you his name and wrap you up in a hug; muscled arms irritatingly just barely bigger than mine squeezing you tight. It’s returned, though much less enthusiastically.

When his arms have been around you far too long for my liking, my fingers fist in the back of his shirt and tug until he releases you.

“I’m Bradley,” my final friend—potentially my new best friend if Javy keeps his shit up—offers with a wave.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” you reply.

I feel my lips curve all on their own at the rising confidence in your voice. You entered, took a moment to adjust to the room and the people occupying it, and then found your footing. A familiar adapt-to-survive skill I am slowly learning you possess.

My friends smile, then look at me. Which is fair, considering the silence filling the room is my fault. I told them not to ask you too many questions. Not to pry into your past. Not to be too curious about your plans while you’re in the area. I left them with nothing and nowhere to go.

“How was your morning,” I ask.

“Good actually. I got a job.”

I stand a little straighter. “You did?”

I know I'm coming off a little too eager at that information, but it’s the first indication you’ve given that says you intend to stick around for a while. So far, you’ve not made an effort to find friends, you haven’t bought yourself anything that can’t fit in a backpack, and, until now, hadn’t found a job. It was a developing pattern that kept me in a state of wondering if I’ll wake one morning to find you gone. But if you got yourself a job then that has to be a good sign of things to come.

You nod. “It’s not much. Just cashier at the gift shop across from the beach, but at least I’ll be able to start paying you for last month's rent.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. You don’t have to pay me,” I say. Because it’s true. Having you around, knowing I come home to someone every day, is enough. And the reality of it is, I don’t need the money.

With a raised brow, Nat smirks, and I wonder if it’s too obvious. If I’m too obvious.

“I’m paying you, Jake,” you state with an edge of harshness that has ‘two steps back’ repeating in my brain. And before I can think to argue with you, you’ve muttered something about taking a shower and have disappeared into your room.

When I look back to the small group at the side, my brows dip in irritation. Nat is still smirking. Bradley is shaking his head. And Javy’s lips are pinched tight to hold in a laugh threatening to burst.

I sigh as I lean my weight against the countertop of the kitchen island. “What?”

“‘Oh, don’t worry. You don’t have to pay me,’” Bradley mocks in a voice much higher pitched than mine.

“You’re making fun of me for being nice?”

“No, No,” he corrects, glancing between Nat and Javy before once again meeting the glare in my eyes. “It’s just interesting. It was only two months ago that you were expecting Brit to pay rent and she had your dick inside of her a few times a week. She never even got a discount, but this chick lives here for nothing.”

A beat passes.

Then Javy’s laugh finally breaks free.

---

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happysparklingshadows · 3 months

Text

𝙱𝙶𝟹 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜 ✿ 𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚜-𝚂𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝙼𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚢! 𝚃𝚊𝚟

Note: some spoilers for Act 2 and Act 3 of the game. Some mentions of smut but mostly fluff.

Lae’zel

-When Lae’zel first met you, she didn’t notice your body too much outside of usefulness. At first, she had her sword your throat, and then when you fought together, she noticed your swiftness and cunning. Once she could be around you more, she started to notice. Women where she is from don't come so curvy or lush by any means. She is fascinated by the way your body curves and jiggles. The big breasts and hips were very new to her, and at first, she rejected the fact she liked such an alien look on a person. I mean, it’s ridiculous? But like most people who reject what they want the most, she couldn’t help but obsess with your body. She wanted to conquer this obsession before it distracted her.

-Lae’zel isn’t one to be gently parented; she is firm and doesn’t listen to things that don’t make her stand at attention. Mommy Tav, I feel they need to be stern in some ways with her. A firm “No, Lae’zel.” is like a commander's word to her if it comes from you, but you must have earned that right to speak to her like that.

-She isn’t one for open affection or love. It was ingrained in her that it is weak and needless for a warrior. She at first finds that helping people without benefit to yourself is aimless and indulgence of your time. It annoyed her and made her eyes roll often behind your back when you talked to these random helpless creatures running around. But slowly, over time, especially after she turns her back on Vlaakith, she noticed the strength underneath all your fussing and helpfulness. You wanted to help people because you could. You did it just because you could, and you wanted to, and you would kill anyone who got in your way. The way you smiled with bright eyes at a child were the same eyes that happily killed goblins that caused their pain, and you would be damned if you wouldn’t make them happy and safe. Lae’zel grows to understand this mothering energy from you. She thought the way people of this plane were disgusting for how they reproduced and thought it odd how needy people were for their parents, but she learns why it was so hard to leave such a warm embrace.

-Lae’zel doesn’t mean to be mean, and she doesn’t understand sometimes when her words cut more than usual. She was raised to cut others with words like blades, so when your eyes flash with surprise and hurt when she says something, it makes her feel horrible. She would never admit guilt, but she does try her best. She is annoyed by herself for hurting you and even more annoyed that she cares about you.

-The annoyance doesn’t last long, though. It almost melted as your hands touched Lae’zel’s shoulder softly when she did well in battle, or the way you smiled at her when she talked about her studies in crèche K'liir, or the way you always seemed to have food for her to eat on the road. She wasn’t dense enough not to notice how you care about her, even when she is being mean and doesn’t know how to feel about it. It confused her, and it made her feel nervous.

-Lae’zel is swift with claiming you. She knew she wanted to taste you and be your lay, but she couldn’t handle the possessiveness that overcame her at the thought someone else could have you. Your sweet hands touch someone else, soothing them as they do her? How soft you were was for her alone. She isn’t very soft in many ways but feels soft with you.

-Lae’zel is beyond protective over you. Her hand is on her sword if someone speaks to you in a tone she doesn’t like. She would have their eyes dug out with her thumbs if she thought you would look at her with those warm eyes and be pleased with her.

-Lae’zel realizes being with you that she has had a hunger her whole life. A hunger for acceptance and unconditional love, she chased it from Valakath since the time she hatched. She found it with you. With her head in the crook of your neck and soft body pressed against her lean body, she feels a warmth that has thawed more parts of herself than any accomplishment for Valakath could.

-She doesn’t like most of the food she is given. No fault of your own, but it isn’t what she is used to expecting. But she loves apple pies and spiced meats, and her eyes sparkle when she sees you near the hearth cooking. Her ears quirked up as she heard the hissing meat in the pan. She intensely stares you down before hovering over your cooking. She is like a cat who likes to be in your way. She just wants to observe and be a part of it, even if she isn’t doing anything but watching you.

-She gives a sharp “chk” when you kiss her bandaged wound you dressed, and she moves away from you when you do that. She doesn’t like how it makes her feel so weak at how good it feels. You just chuckle, knowing at this point of your relationship that she isn’t rejecting you, and say, “Well, when it heals faster, you will not be so against it, my champion.”. And after that point, she would expect you to bandage her wounds and kiss them each time.

-Lae’zel needs guidance and patience, as well as a teacher. She needs someone to educate her on this plane and how to act in certain situations on this plane that doesn’t end with bloodshed. But she needs someone who doesn’t hate her for being reckless and violent that she is.

-Lae’zel takes some time to learn how to love and be loved, but for a soft mothering person, that isn’t very hard to be patient with her. She learns from example the easiest, and that love is as warm and fulfilling as killing, if not more so.

-Lae’zel was beyond happy when Xan was hatched, and she couldn’t think of someone better than the source of her joy to co-parent with her. Lae’zel gives off avoidant Midwest dad vibes that are really focused on teaching Xan to fight and giving him the discipline to achieve anything he longs for. It eases her that Xan doesn’t have to be beaten into a ridged warrior like she did because he is loved like the children of Faerün. With kisses and hugs, soothing words for laughing, and tickles for cheekiness. In a different life, she would have scoffed and killed you for treating a gith with such tenderness to ruin his resolve at such a young age, but now with you at an inn together. She can only bring herself to chuckle at the scene of Xan wiggling in giggles on your lap, happily content with her family.

-Lae’zel would one day be laughing with the two of you, Xan giggling in your lap, and realize she was where she was always meant to be with you, and Xan giggling over the most minor thing that wasn’t even funny. It wasn’t becoming the strongest warrior to make her happy, but having a family she could protect was all she needed.

Karlach

-When Karlach first met you, she saw you. If you aren’t used to someone openly hitting on you, now you do. There is a whistle when you bend down or jump; her tone always becomes soft, and the words “baby” become your new name, and she openly stares at your breasts when you speak (no cleavage needed). Karlach doesn’t care because she can handle a whole lot of woman happily. Just wait until she can get her hands on you.

-Karlach is a partner who needs to be gently parented, but she is so sweet that it is used sparingly. Karlach sometimes needs a sharp look to stop talking in front of some people or someone to talk her out of violence gently. Karlach is a sweetheart, but she has a temper that sometimes needs to be chilled, and your soft hands rubbing on their biceps are just that.

-Karlach starts daggers into the knocked-out Drow as you softly rub her biceps, “Baby, calm down. You’re going to burn the whole place down. Baby, breathe slowly, deeply.” And she looks down at you, her eyes melt as soon as she sees your worried face and closes them. She takes deep breaths to calm her temper down; she needs to chill out, or she will burn down this whole place.

-When Karlach can touch you, she loves to rest her head on your stomach. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath of you in. Her hands constantly touch you, finding safety on your waist or shoulder. Her lips kiss the back of your neck when you read, her heat being felt close behind you.

-Karlach NEEDS some soft tender care and knows it. She unironically purrs when you put your hand on her cheek; she leans in your hand always. Karlach is very much someone who loves when you baby her and is always so grateful about it.

-Karlach is a munch in so many ways, she will eat whatever you place infront of her, and it is the most delicious meal she has ever tasted. Karlach always hovers over you when you cook, always ready to be a helper in the kitchen out of curiosity and love. Karlach relates food with love because of her mother, and I feel like in Act 3, after stopping by the graveyard, you are on a mission to find Karlach Sr. Cookbook.

-Karlach would cry happy tears when you found a stew her mom wrote, and she sobbed when she ate her mom's cooking in a good way. She missed her mom a lot, and not having the heart her mother gave her made her feel this emptiness. And she is forever grateful to have known you, loved you. She would softly pull you into her lap and hold you close, crying and eating.

-Karlach REFUSES for you to leave camp without her and doesn’t let you carry heavy things anymore. Did you get camping supplies? A gunpowder barrel? Mama k got it.

-Lowkey is possessive and clingy with you once you say, “Karlach, I’m yours.”. Karlach has you move your things into her tent and sleeps with her big arms wrapped around you tightly. She doesn’t like the idea that someone else could have you even when she couldn’t touch you, but she was being fair. Now she can touch you. There is no question you are hers, and she is yours.

-Karlach loves to suck on your nipples and just suckle on you. It feels so comfortable and pleasing to her. She likes the heat of your breasts and the way the breast touches her cheek. She likes to see and have them in front of her, but she doesn’t pay attention to much else. She loves how they hang on your ribs and bounce with each step of your body. She usually, on tiring days, just curls up to your chest and rests her head.

Shadowheart

-Shadowheart was so frantic and scared when she first saw you that she didn’t think much about you, but she noticed your protective nature as you focused on getting her out. She almost felt uncomfortable when your caring hand helped her off the ground when she fell. When you both were safely on the ground of the beach, she noticed when you walked over to her that your body had a sway to it. An almost unconscious sensual from the way your hips perk softly as you stride towards her. But also, how strong you seemed in the moment and how determined you looked had a heat run through her. She blushes and keeps it to herself. She decided to travel with you since you saved her and because she didn’t mind seeing the back of you for a while.

-Shadowheart is similar to Lae’zel in that she pushes her feelings aside and denies them. She noticed how you took care of people and liked to comfort people, and she saw how you smiled when everyone praised your food. She keeps herself quiet for the most part, but she does thaw her heart to your seemingly endless warmth.

-She realized she was denying her feelings once she opened up about her past and earliest memory. You actively listened and softly touched her forearm when she finished; all you said was, “Thank you for sharing with me. I promise that I will help with whatever I can for you.”

-Of course, she falls for you. It was hard. But she would be hard to get, and she wanted you to prove yourself more. She was waiting for you to make a mistake.

-But there was none. You were no hypocrite and were this caring and nurturing to your friends. You were a person wrapped up in goodness and light and beauty.

-Shadowheart's defenses crumbled, and she quickly told you her feelings when she learned more about herself. Something for her that didn’t cause pain or suffering. Something good.

-Shadowheart eyes melt when you come close to her.

-Shadowheart would benefit from gentle parenting but is so stubborn that you have to be occasionally firm with her. She likes to be talked to softly, and how you look at her like a precious gem. But a little pain of rejection or shame doesn’t hurt her at all.

-Shadowheart, at night, always cuddles into your back. She sighs contently when her head rests on your pillow. She could bury her face in your back for decades if she could. Her hand resting on top of her beloved hips and pulls you in closer to her body. Shadowheart loves to hold and be held.

-Shadowheart's favorite thing to do is be buried in between your plush thighs, having her ears silenced to the world with your flesh wrapping around her head. It was warm and welcoming, with your beautiful sighs of pleasure.

-Shadowheart confides in you a lot after you two become official. You are the first person she goes to for advice to help her think clearer about a situation, even with her disillusionment of Shar, which was talked about with you. She is typically secretive and calculates what to expose about herself, so getting her to talk to you about her feelings is very big.

-Shadowheart finds out that she does have a soft side, and you comfortably reside there. She looks at you with her big blue eyes melting when you speak to her. She doesn’t care if this makes her reject Shar. If she wants a life with you, she will do it. She could do anything to have a quiet and peaceful life with the woman she loves and be healed some more by the unconditional love she has found.

Minthara

-Minthara has daddy energy, and she likes that you compliment her with the mommy energy you give off. She, however, is not one to be guided or nurtured but loves to be babied (in Drow terms) when she gets the chance.

-Minthara knew that she would have you when you walked into her chamber. She felt a low hum in her body when she noticed the way your body carried itself. The breasts, the arms, the stomach, the hips, the legs, Hmm. But she didn’t have many plans for you, not until you proved yourself to her with blood. She was thrilled to find out that under the soft, innocent look, there was a murder underneath. She felt some kind of pride knowing she found someone to fight alongside her that was actually worthy. She was smitten even if she wouldn’t admit it.

-Minthara sees weakness or softness in any light besides malice. Weakness needs to be beaten out of a person until they are strong. She wasn’t blind to how you seemed sweet and caring and how your eyes seemed coquettish under her gaze. She didn’t know how to feel about this seemingly powerful but weak leader helping her on her mission for the absolute. She would peek into your mind when you weren’t noticing and could tell you were this caring and murderous.

-Obviously, she grows soft towards you with time. Even when she tried to kill you, she wanted it to be mercifully quick and painless. She couldn’t have your warm eyes on her. She does want to be known by you, and she wants to hold and caress you. You made the world quiet, from gods and her self-doubt. Your tender cuddle at night after a fuck, the delicate rubbing of her back as she lays on your breasts, it was everything she had ever craved from any god.

-Minthara doesn’t like surface food at all, and she doesn’t make any comments when she is given food. She does watch from a distance as you cook the group their dinner, and she says a “thank you” when you hand her her portion. She eats all of it for strength and has been trying to get used to the plainness. To her, everything tastes like oatmeal and soulless.

-Her heart almost dropped when she noticed you walking up to her with a bottle of Underdark wine and a wheel of cheese from her rival house's family. She doesn’t know what to say when you happily explain that you had killed a horde of rich drows and then found this and that it made you think about her, handing over the items. She feels herself blush and stares at you. She puts the items down in her tent and drags you off to be claimed again by her.

-Minthara knew she loved you at Moonrise and surely knew when you saved her from Moonrise. Her eyes melted as soon as she felt your figure again. She didn’t even allow herself to hope that you would come, and yet you did. You did with a fierce protective energy as you escorted her out of the castle and killed the guards that kept her.

-Minthara, like Karlach, is possessive and clingy with you once you two become official. She doesn’t like the idea that someone else would get to know this tender and sweet person. She would kill someone over weirdly looking at you. Minthara hovers over you wherever you go and is your plus one in everything. She would scoff and laugh at the mention of you leaving camp without her, and it’s not going to happen.

-Minthara would have a breeding kink so hard with you once she is settled in with you. Minthara would know very early on that she couldn’t imagine a life for herself now without you, and she wanted to keep you beside her forever. She wanted to have a family and continue her bloodline as a noblewoman should, but she wanted you to carry her baby. Trust and believe that Minthara will find some magic device to get you pregnant after you finish the Netherbrain

-Lowkey knew she would marry you and keep you with her for the rest of her life. She quickly knew you were wife material for her and acted like you were already married.

-Minthara doesn’t listen to you even when your tone is strong and demanding, like a mother's. She has enormous dom-daddy energy, and she will not take commands from her sub (except in the bedroom; she is a consent queen).

-“Minthara, stop.” You say as you watch her tower over a dwarf with her poisoned knife to his throat. She doesn’t react at all as she puts the fear of the gods into the poor man, “Minthara!” You hiss to her as you start to walk away. Minthara doesn’t listen to you and slices the dwarf's neck, but she quickly drops him to get beside you. You give her a soft glare, and she glares back as playfully as she can muster.

-Don’t get me wrong, Minthara has mommy issues and she does use you as some kind of new mothering figure. She lays in your breasts at night for safety and comfort, she holds your soft skin with adoration now that she loves you-knows you.

-Minthara likes to grab your hardened nipple sometimes to surprise you and have you make that breathy moan of shock. She likes to pull you in closer with a hand firmly planted in your ass; she pulls you into an intense kiss. She likes to have control over you and to have you writhing with pleasure because of her.

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