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strawberrystepmom · 4 days

Text

pairing: Toshinori Yagi x F!Reader -> Mirio Togata x F!Reader

word count: 7.8k

contents: Canon divergence for final war arc and beyond, friends to lovers with history, reader has a defined quirk (magnetism) and is a support equipment safety consultant, reader is 29 and Mirio is 30, appearances from other heroes (Deku & Bakugou and they are married, in their 20's)

cw: major character death and discussions of aspects of caretaking for someone at the end of their life, discussions of loss and grief

notes: This idea could not have come to fruition without my most beloved @izvmimi and @bakvrue so thank you to them for always being the very best. I have really been having a Mirioaissance lately and as you all know I love Mr. Might so here goes. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading ♡ | crossposted to ao3

“I’m dying.”

Mirio Togata nearly chokes mid-swallow, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to prevent droplets of tea from seeping out of his lips. It’s a rare Wednesday day off for Lemillion and sunlight pours into the expansive room used as an office at. He’s a guest in the home of one of the most prolific heroes of all time, as he often is, though today he was invited by the man himself instead of showing up to pop in and say hello.

All Might, Toshinori Yagi, is dying.

Technically he has been for years though hearing it from the man’s own mouth feels different than the vague conversations about ‘terminal’ and ‘incompatible organs’.

“No,” the younger man starts but Toshinori raises a hand to stop him, shaking his head with a chuckle.

It’s no secret he has been rapidly looking more and more frail as autumn faded into winter which is now melting into the bright green of spring.

“It’s true. No matter how many times you tell me ‘you can get better’ or ‘medical technology is improving’ it will not change the fact that my time has a finite number on it.”

There has been a finite amount of his life remaining for a very long time, he’s simply managed to dodge it for as long as possible. Running away from the truth is no longer an option, the years he has been given since the War and its finish already leaving the man feeling like a perpetual cheat. He was supposed to die then, and then after that, and then again and again and again…

There are no more ducks and dodges left in him.

“Midoriya knows and has accepted it. It’s time for you to do the same.”

The words would be harsh coming from anyone other than a beloved mentor turned friend though Yagi has always had the natural ability to soften blows when necessary. Mirio nods, blue eyes trained toward the ground and refusing to meet those of the man in the comfortable chair next to him. He dares to take a peek at the man who will forever be known as All Might, the thinness of his hands and arms and wrists alone a surprising sight. Time has run out. No medical science or quirk or act of God can reverse the inevitable. A transplant cannot save him, medicine will not save him, and he’s made the decision to be as comfortable as possible over the remaining weeks to months he has left.

Togata’s mind unconsciously drifts to you in all of this. You are the young woman who has devoted the latter half of her twenties to taking care of this iconic man, tending to his illnesses and the complications from them with a smile and a joke, a reassuring hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his forehead. The younger of the pair has witnessed this kindness himself on more than one occasion and he remembers when you were simply a Support course student at UA high school a year younger than Mirio himself. You assisted with equipment in the war and it has followed you through your adulthood, your support item safety consulting business thriving and helping build a safer world.

The way you care about everyone is so admirable, it’s difficult not to view you as a hero in all of this. Mirio raises a brow and balls his hands together into a fist, letting it rest in his lap.

“How does she feel about, well, everything?”

It’s a daring question to ask given the older man is well aware of the younger man’s affection toward you no matter how discreet he thinks he is about it. It’s the perpetual elephant in the room. Toshinori sighs, shifting in his chair and positioning his hands in his lap. Mirio’s eyes dart from them and toward the older man’s sallow face, noting the hint of a smile at the mention of you.

“She was the first person to know. It’s the least I could give her for wasting her youth on a sorry old man like me.”

Togata offers a tight smile and tilts his head to the side. The self deprecation isn’t anything new, it has been like this the last several years, though it never sits well when the man he has attempted to pattern his own morals over says something so blasphemous about himself.

“That’s a pretty downer way to look at things, All Might.”

This gets a chuckle from the older man, the sound of his head shaking against the back of his chair causing the younger one to look up at him curiously.

“It’s a pretty downer thing to die but telling you it’s coming isn’t the only reason I asked you here today.”

The older man clears his throat, wiping his thumb against his bottom lip and looking away, joining his hand in his lap. How can he properly phrase what he’s asking his young friend to do without it seeming sordid and disrespectful? He’s leaving you his legacy when he goes. His home, his royalties that will keep you well taken care of for the rest of your life and, well, he’s planning on leaving Mirio Togata the one gift he deserves the most - you.

He simply lays the plot down, hands still folded in his lap.

“How long have you loved her, kid?”

Mirio feigns shock that his mentor, the one who came after the one he lost years ago, is onto him. He has always played off his affection for you as friendliness and lingering glances as simply curiosity and assumed he has been doing it well enough that nobody notices.

“It’s not like that.”

Toshinori laughs, a weak cough wracking his body and he raises his fist to his grinning mouth to cover it. Mirio leans forward in his seat, reaching for the man who waves him off and instead leans to grab the bottle of hand sanitizer on the desk next to him.

“You are a grown man, Togata. Own up to it. It’s not going to offend me.”

There was no expectation of a trip down memory lane set for the younger man prior to arriving for this visit yet his mind launches into years of fuzzy and undefined memories. Evenings he’d come to visit you in the Support course workshop when he was younger with fewer scars covering his arms and torso, the few times in your early twenties you sat thigh to thigh with him in dimly lit izakaya hanging out with your mutual group of friends and their respective partners who are also heroes. He remembers too much and too little at the same time, skin crawling.

Shifting in his seat, he unclasps his hands and claps them against his thighs.

“A long, long time.” He finally responds and Toshinori chuckles in response, leaning back in his own chair and sliding one of his hands out toward Mirio. “Since I was in high school.”

The truth doesn’t hide forever. It makes him feel childish that he was so easily caught by the older man, replaying years of interactions in his head. Did he smile a little too wide at you? Glance a little too long? Pine a little too openly?

There is no way for him to change anything that has happened before now and the usually easy going man tensely lifts his head, meeting Toshinori’s soft gaze. There is no anger even if these events crossed boundaries, something the man is infinitely grateful for, and he reaches across the desk to take his mentor’s offered hand.

“I know.” He weakly squeezes the younger man’s hand, his lack of strength more evident than ever. Mirio feels emotion welling up inside of him and blinks it back, taking a deep breath. “That’s why I am asking you to give her the life I never could, Togata. Take her traveling when you can. Remind her that she’s brilliant and will probably keep this country safer than any hero ever could. Just…be there for her. For me.”

The request carries more weight than the older man could ever possibly understand. It’s not merely a responsibility but a strange kind of bequeathing. No formal paperwork, no meetings with officials, just two men discussing a woman they both care about deeply and how to best assuage her in the sorrows to come.

It also brings another question to Mirio’s mind he has contemplated for many years - do you have lingering feelings for him too? A far younger version of you, magnetism quirk engaged and using it to make him laugh, certainly did. He assumed those feelings just vaporized over time and with responsibility, your heart belonged to another man before he could ever ask that it be his.

A noble man. A good man who you did not want to see live lonely, by himself in his ailing years. A man Togata spent his entire life trying to emulate.

There’s a flutter of hope through the sorrow of knowing the end is coming for his friend and the younger man is the one to squeeze the older mans’ this time, gentle firm pressure to ensure it doesn’t hurt.

“I know it’s a big request. I don’t blame you if it makes you uncomfortable or if you’d like to say no,” Toshinori adds quickly. “I simply know that she cares about you a lot and always has.” His voice cracks and he swallows his sadness, only grateful that his life has been so glorious the last few years thanks to your gentle touch and your silly stories and your tendency to ad-lib songs to make him smile. “She deserves to be happy.”

The younger man couldn’t agree more. He nods, emotion continuing to rise, breaking eye contact to gaze down at his lap to allow him a moment to compose himself. For his entire twenties, he regretted losing his chance with you despite his gratefulness for the care and love you gave Toshinori. Now, entering his thirties, he gets the opportunity to try again. To speak up when he should and to put the feelings he has harbored for more than a decade to good use.

“I will do everything I can to make sure she is, you have my word.”

Even if it means you want nothing to do with him and keep yourself away from everyone forever. Whatever makes you happy, Mirio Togata will make sure you have it.

“I only have weeks. Months if I’m lucky but I don’t think I’m all that lucky anymore.”

The words make Mirio look up from his lap, brows furrowed. He didn’t think there was so little time left but he is a man of action and nods.

“Then let’s make these next few weeks memorable. What do you need me to do?”

A chuckle from the older man as he finally drops the younger one’s hand gently, tucking it back into his lap to join the other.

“For now, just be around if you can make it work.”

That he can do and he does for three more weeks.

On a warm spring day, a little past the end of cherry blossom season, the world loses All Might.

‘The days I spent with you were the happiest of my life. Let me take care of you for the rest of yours. - Toshinori’

The note he left you, the one you were handed by some man in a suit you’d never met before in the days following his death, rests on your desk. It feels too soon to tuck away the increasingly wrinkled piece of paper and you’re far too grateful for the life he has put between your two palms to stop glancing at the note every few hours each day.

It doesn’t answer any of the questions you have about what becomes of your life now though.

Emotion wells up in you again, a lump in your throat you have to swallow down to continue working, the results from your audit of the Dynamite agency’s safety audit on the screen of the tablet in front of you. They’re generally highly rated, Bakugou’s fastidious tendencies seeping through even the smallest detail of safety and care of his employees, but you have to look away. You close the screen cover and slide the device aside, standing up from your spot at the kitchen table to walk into the living room.

The house feels like a mausoleum even if it’s now yours and yours only. Being alone for the first time in weeks leaves a strange taste in your mouth and you fold your arms over your chest, padding across the wooden floors to plop down on the overstuffed couch you picked out three years ago. Deku’s wife spent a week by your side, the first seven days after the tremendous loss ensuring you ate and slept, sleeping in your bed with you and letting you cry on her shoulder. The day she went home hurt almost as badly as the day you lost the man himself, the encroaching loneliness feeling claustrophobic.

Thankfully, the second week was dotted with various visitors, your former classmates and long time friends of Toshinori paying their respects posthumously by being good to you in his departure. Dynamite’s wife tended to you and forced you out of your house, inviting you over with the promise of visiting with her eager to see you children.

The third week was much of the same, even chatting with his old friend David and accepting condolences from other heroes former and current. Your refrigerator stayed full, your mailbox overstuffed with more cards than you could open wishing you well and thanking you for taking care of him.

The fourth fewer people came but you still stayed busy. The fifth, same. The sixth, seventh, and eighth all followed suit although the amount of visitors thinned. Ninth, tenth, eleventh your house became empty outside of your close friends and Mirio. Now you are twelve weeks past his death and facing down a lifetime of uncertainty in a house that feels too large for you but too small for your pain.

Your heart swells recalling the love you’ve been given but it shrivels when you look around, wondering when it will start to feel full of life again; when you will.

Standing, you lumber over to the wall adjacent to where you sit, admiring the artwork and memories on the wall. There are photos of a freckle-faced teenager who became a freckle-faced man with his wife and children alongside Toshinori. Photos of Mirio grinning and giving a thumbs up in a vintage American All Might t-shirt that was almost too small for him. Photos of you and Toshinori smiling side by side when he was still well enough to attend the occasional event, you in glittering floor length sequins and him in a custom suit built to accommodate his ever weakening body.

Sighing, you reach out and brush your thumb along the frame. The photo doesn’t move, anchored into the wall, and you know that all of the care you gave him wasn’t wasted for a moment. He truly made your life better and you believe you did the same for him, though your eyes flit back to the photo of Mirio for a moment.

You took the picture a few years back while cleaning out the spare bedroom used solely for merchandise and collectables Toshinori had been given over the years. You accosted the younger blonde for pulling a shirt that was clearly too small for him over his head but snapped the photo anyway, grinning behind your phone at his silly posing.

Mirio.

He has been here for you almost as much as your closest friends, popping by daily if able with food or stories or just…sunshine, which is exactly what he is and always has been for the time you’ve known him. Even when the two of you were back in high school he knew your favorite candy and delivered it to your desk daily while spending his evenings sticking paper clips to your arm or the side of your face while your quirk was engaged.

Reaching into your pocket, you grab out your phone and dial his number. He answers before the first ring can even finish its trill.

“Hey-o, what are you doing?”

You giggle at his greeting though he hears the strain in your voice that indicates you are feeling down. He tucks his phone between his shoulder and ear, pulling his sweatpants on in the changing room of the agency, ready to head home.

“Nothing. I tried to work a little bit today and couldn’t focus. I’m sure Bakugou will bitch at me but his audit will simply have to wait another week.”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckles, rising to his full impressive stature and heading toward the exit.

“Do you need a distraction? I could come over.”

The offer is appreciated but you wrestle with how to respond to it. What you assumed were long forgotten feelings for Mirio surface every time you are around him and in your grief and confusion, you struggle to separate them from reality and what’s a balm to make you feel temporarily better. Would seeing him now, only three months removed from losing Toshinori, be appropriate? Is it what’s best?

“You don’t have to, I’m sure it was a long day.”

Togata scoffs, using his coded keycard to exit the building. The sun is still somewhat up, a hot summer evening encroaching and he does not want to go home when he could be spending time with you. The day exhausted him a bit, lots of petty crime picks up during the summertime, but he’s never too tired for you.

“Actually, this was the easiest shift I’ve had in a long time.” He’s lying and you can tell by the lilt in his voice, a particular tone he takes when he’s pretending everything is fine you’ve heard before but you are in no condition to press the issue. “I can pick you up in about thirty minutes and we can just drive if you want?”

You shake your head although he can’t see it. Part of you wants to say no, to rebuff your own feelings once and for all, but you’re weak and hurting and needy.

“We don’t have to go anywhere, we can just stay here if you want to come.”

And come he does, in that promised thirty minutes. He doesn’t bother to knock on the door anymore, punching in the code and announcing himself with a boisterous smile, then plopping down on the couch next to you.

It feels a lot more like coming home than it reasonably should but every time he feels guilty for envisioning his place in his life, next to you, he remembers the promise he made. He will make you happy no matter what that looks like.

Time passes so quickly when he’s around and it’s welcome to have something besides your own loneliness to listen to while he explains one of his heroic saves of the day, enthusiastically explaining phasing through a tree to capture a runaway attempted bank robber.

“So I caught the guy and somehow managed to save all the money too, which is crazy when you think about it. I thought the wind would carry half of it off but not today.”

You smile at him fondly, eyes crinkling at the corners, but he can tell something else is on your mind. Repositioning himself on the couch, he turns toward you and props his head up with his fist.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He has always been able to tell when something is bothering you and your brain screams that you should say no. You should turn down all of Mirio’s kindness and lock yourself inside of this home with your grief forever, a timeless pseudo-widow trapped in a prison of her own making.

But the warmth of his gaze encourages you so much, words bubble out of you before you can stop them, your hands instantly flying to your face to be pressed against your cheeks.

“Despite what people have said, I loved him.”

Mirio’s face falls into a concerned frown when he notices your eyes welling up, your glance firmly trained on his face. The papers were pretty harsh to you when the news of his death and your subsequent appointing the heir to his agency, legacy, and image were announced. Opportunistic seemed to be the media’s favorite term, honing in on the age and vitality difference between the two of you rather than the fact a fairly selfless young woman took care of him not knowing any of this was in her future.

You never took care of him in hopes of getting anything, only out of compassion for a man who has made the lives of others so much brighter. Who heals the healer? You took it upon yourself to be the one and you do not regret a moment of it, sitting cross legged at twenty-nine with a sense of pride despite it all.

“Maybe not in a conventional way. I never had,” your face falls a little, as though you’re fearful of reaction toward what you’re about to say. “You know…sex or anything with him. We kissed a few times, we held hands on occasion but my days and nights revolved around him for five years.”

Your voice breaks and immediately you push your thumbs against your eyes to keep yourself from crying where someone else can see it although the sniffling gives you away, sharp little inhalations through your nose.

“What do I do now?”

The question appears to be rhetorical though he feels compelled to answer, wrapping a reassuring arm around your shoulders and gently pulling you against his side. The lack of personal space between the two of you is honestly nothing new, certainly more so since Toshinori’s departure, and you settle into the warmth of him. It’s a comfort you need desperately, his fingers drumming a little beat of four into your shoulder.

“Whatever you want.”

You remove your thumbs from over your eyes, sensitive and red rimmed as they are, glancing at the man next to you carefully. The brightness of your living room causes you to squint and he reaches his free hand to wipe tears from your bottom lashes, his crooked index finger pressing delicately against your skin.

“I know that sounds callous and it probably is the wrong thing to say but your life isn’t over just because he isn’t here to watch you live it.” Now it’s Mirio’s voice that cracks and he clears his throat, hand flexing against where it rests on your upper arm. “He left you the tools to live however you want. You have a successful business, you are young and beautiful and…”

He trails off and you blink at him silently. The true feelings he has tried so desperately to hide for the years he has known you are seeping out of him. How much longer can he possibly hold it in before the pressure starts to cause cracks? Before it spills out of him wildly, an ode to you from a boy who has loved you since seventeen?

You stop him from spiraling, opening your mouth to speak while tears escape over his finger and roll down your face.

“I think I’m scared, Mirio.”

This is the first time you’ve admitted it, even to yourself. An undefined future is a terrifying prospect and while Toshinori was here, you were guaranteed to always have him. Scheduled pills and injections, showers and quality of life activities. Even your work is unstructured outside of your scheduled annual audits, only being called upon when you are needed.

He holds you against him, leaning down to press his lips against your forehead. This could be just what you need and although he worries about pushing boundaries, you prove his worries wrong by snuggling further into his side. Your tears drip onto the cotton of his t-shirt and he uses his second hand to begin wiping them away, shushing you gently and affectionately.

“It’s okay to be afraid, he wouldn’t judge you for that, but don’t let it make you waste the opportunity to live exactly how you want.” His words are comforting and you nod against his chest, sniffling. “There is no right or wrong way to handle this.”

This is the first time anyone has told you that it’s okay to not know what to do right now. Not that you’ve ever asked, too fearful of making missteps to try and prevent them at all. You need reassurance and although you’ve been given it, it’s hard not to seek it from a man you’ve found so much comfort in over the past few months. He has been vulnerable with you, it seems only right to do the same for him in return.

Sighing, you unbury your face from his chest. “Do you think I’m doing okay?”

There is a version of you, more than a decade younger than you are now, that lives in Mirio’s mind and he sees her in the way you look up at him with uncertain eyes. It strikes him how long the two of you have known each other; how long he has been dancing around his feelings for you. He nods, removing his arm from your shoulder to cup your cheeks in his palms.

The urge to kiss away those tears is strong but he talks himself down, tilting your head until your gazes fully meet. All of the love he has kept to himself for a decade further threatens to spill out. He stops himself, self restraint a requirement of being a hero after all, and his thumbs gently stroke the rose petal soft skin beneath them.

“You’re doing better with all of this than anyone else ever could.”

There are no words he has ever meant more than these besides the ones he decides to keep to himself, saving the oft considered ‘I love you’ for another day.

“Thank you. For everything. I kind of worry I’m asking too much from you,” you rush to apologize and he keeps his grip on your face gentle but firm.

“You can ask me for anything you need.”

He means it more than he meant his promise to the last man that loved you.

“Alright, I think we’ve had as much fun as we are going to have. Babysitters get paid hourly, you know.”

Katsuki wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her close to him beneath the same lights the six of you used to drink under a long time ago while saying his goodbye. He has never been much of a drinker and hasn’t indulged even a bit tonight but his wife’s relaxed expression gives away how many beers she’s had and you giggle at her, squeezing her hand as she walks by on their way out.

“Be careful you two,” you call after them, Mirio turning to look at you while you glance over your shoulder. Only Midoriya and his wife remain seated across from you two, snuggled in the corner of their side of the booth. Deku’s ever lovely better half raises a brow and nudges her husband in the ribs gently, subtly motioning toward where the pair of you sit.

This is the first night you’ve really enjoyed yourself in the six months since you’ve lost Toshinori. It has been a great walk down a memory lane you haven’t bothered to explore in a long time.

“Gosh, he’s so grumpy,” you laugh to yourself and Mirio giggles beside you, looking as smitten as he always does. Izuku notices it and looks down at his wife, the two of them communicating wordlessly by the time you glance at them. “I’m guessing you two are next to head home?” You tease, your own brain slightly hazy from the few beers you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in.

A little voice in the back of your head made you fear showing your face in public, especially after the scrutiny that came so few months ago, but nobody has taken a second glance at your group of friends despite all of the men in the group landing in the top five of the Hero standings. It appears whatever backlash was sparked has faded quickly. You make a note to thank the classmates you had that now work in the media who were likely behind it, hoping you remember it later.

You haven’t just had a good time tonight, you’ve had a great one. Smiling gratefully, you look over at your two remaining friends.

“Like Kacchan said, babysitters are paid hourly,” Deku raises his brows and shrugs. His wife kisses his cheek, beginning to slide out of the booth while he holds onto her hand and follows.

Mirio nods at Izuku and smiles at his wife, having known the two of them since high school as well, the same story with the now gone Bakugou’s.

“Get that beautiful wife of yours home safe, Deku.” He jokes with a chuckle and his friend laughs in response, reaching across the table to pat his shoulder and then yours.

It’s hard for him to believe how much has changed over these years but how much has remained the same simultaneously. His close friends married their high school sweethearts and settled into their family life, kids and recitals and dinner parties. A piece of him has wondered for years if that could have been the two of you as well if he’d left less up to chance as a young man.

Does it do any good to wonder? Mirio doesn’t know yet he does often, tonight especially.

“You ready to go?”

A little lost in your own world, you look up at him with your eyebrows raised and nod slowly. He looks so handsome, even in this poorly lit room, and heat rises in your face straight to the tips of your ears. It has been a long time since you’ve felt that particular heat, the kind that makes your stomach flip flop.

Would it be wrong of you to ask him if he wants to hang out with you for a little while longer? You don’t have ill intentions in wanting to spend time with him, at least that’s what you tell yourself, and the few beers have made you feel brave.

“Do you wanna hang out with me for a little while? We can just go back to the house or find somewhere else or…” you trail off slightly, a little self conscious. Do you seem desperate? Lonely? Annoying? “If you don’t want to though, I understand.”

Finishing your question hurriedly, you glance up at Mirio who looks at you with that same earnest stare he has given you for years. There are depths in those pretty blue eyes, humor and pain that he has experienced and joy and so much. There is simply so much more to this man than most people know and unexpectedly, it isn’t just your face that feels too hot, it’s the entire room.

“Of course I do. Let me just take you home and we can hang out there, that way I’m not keeping a lady out too late.”

He knows he’s taking a risk by being outright flirtatious with you after months of trying to keep it subtle. He is but a man and knows that look, though. That ‘through the lashes, lips slightly parted, beautiful woman who wants to spend time with you’ look. He’d be a fool to say no, even if you two do nothing but talk for hours. There’s nothing else he’d rather do with the remnants of his night anyway.

“After you,” he offers with a bright grin. The few beers he has had make his cheeks pink and you want to reach out and touch them but refrain, uncertain of how to do all of this correctly. You’ve never really dated, outside of a few hookups in your early twenties, so this is truly foreign territory. It’s a lot to wrestle with the guilt of moving on, something you have reluctantly admitted to yourself it seems you’re doing, and the weight of grief on your shoulders at all times.

When does it ever get better or at the very least, when does it become less of a struggle?

Saving those questions for another, less fun evening you slide out of the booth and he follows after, placing his hand against your back to walk you out of the bar. It feels natural, his fingers splayed across your spine and heat once again blooms. It’s embarrassing to feel so excited by sheer touch.

Your relationship with Toshinori was never sexual. Always a companion more so than a lover despite the deep love that bloomed between the two of you, you spent a lot of nights in a different bed exploring your own body while he slept in his own room down the hall. This was always the arrangement, comfortable for both of you. He was physically incapable of having sex and you never wanted to make him feel like less because of it, still complimenting his appearance and doing your best to make him feel attractive. Which he was, even until the end that smile and those jovial blue eyes had the ability to light up a room.

It’s just different with Mirio. This isn’t the first time that heat has bloomed beneath your belly button, begging you to follow it all the way down a rabbit hole you aren’t quite sure you are ready for and the alcohol is making it worse tonight. If he can tell, he’s being a gentleman about it, something to be grateful about.

The two of you stand in the now cool autumn night air, the city still noisy outside. The breeze chills your warm cheeks and you look up at him to find him glancing down at you, wearing an expression that tells him some of the same things on your mind are on his.

“What are you thinking about?”

The question is laced with humor, as most of what the man says tends to be, and you feel caught with your pants down. Playing it off with a giggle, you decide to push back; to make him feel like he’s the one being surveyed instead.

“Why didn’t you kiss me when we were in high school?”

The topic of first kisses came up tonight, your friends reminiscing about how they’ve shared their first everything together throughout the years, and you recall yours being lackluster. Some guy you went to college with named Dai who slobbered all over your face your first year.

Certainly not who you would’ve preferred sharing a kiss with.

Your question has caught Mirio off guard and he rubs his neck, scrunching his nose and refusing to make eye contact with you. The truth is that he was simply too afraid to make a move and by the time he was able to, it felt improper given the conflict and all that happened.

It was hardly a time for making a move on the girl you had a crush on and the two of you just went your separate ways after that. He became a Pro Hero, working his way up into the top 15 within his first year and then the top 10 the next and only climbing from there, you went to college to pursue your public safety certification. By the time you were able to reconnect in your early twenties, your lives had diverged so wildly it no longer felt appropriate to, well, go after you.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I think I was afraid you didn’t like me back.” Snorting, you attempt to stifle your laughter. He glances down at you, tilting his head, feigning offense.

“Really? I’m being honest with you and you’re going to laugh at me?”

Wrapping your arm around his bicep, you attempt damage control by resting your head against him. A breathy sigh leaves you and you glance upward to catch him staring down at you once again.

“I had such a crush on you that even Hatsume gave me shit about it.” You speak through your nose, attempting the now most sought after equipment outfitter in all of Japan's higher voice and inflection. “Where’s your little boyfriend, magnet girl?”

The two of you devolve into a fit of childish giggles, not unlike the ones you shared back then, and without warning he leans in close to you. You still cling to his bicep but he’s bent at the waist, lips inches from yours, one of his hands reaching to rest against the side of your neck.

“Can I make up for it now?”

Ocean eyes search yours, pleading for an answer. All of that heat courses through your body at once and without putting too much thought into any real consequence, you nod. Just a kiss won’t hurt either of you, for old time’s sake regardless of what may or may not be blooming here. Mirio closes the distance between the two of you and gently brushes his lips against yours, gentlemanly and chivalrous even in the throes his tremendous need to touch and feel and be close to you, and you whimper when he pulls away sooner than you liked.

“Was that okay?”

Giggling, you lean in and kiss him again to give him his reply. It was more than okay, it was everything you’ve ever dreamed of. His lips are soft, a sharp comparison to the well kept and bulky rest of him that you have had to stop yourself from eyeing hungrily on more than one occasion. His mouth tastes like salt and beer and love.

Pure love lives on his tongue that is working its way into your mouth while he hurriedly backs you two into a narrow alleyway between the bar you just left and the building next to it. His knee rests between your barely parted legs and your hands reach for anything they can grab, forearms and biceps and his shoulders and chest. You touch recklessly, one hand sliding up the side of his neck to cup his jaw and the other rubbing circles just beneath the hem of his shirt, above his belt buckle.

“Hey,” he stops you unexpectedly to catch his breath, chest heaving while he glances down at you. “I want to keep this going but I have to tell you first that I love you.”

There it is. The thing he has been keeping to himself for twelve long, torturous years. Mirio loves you so fiercely he wonders how he’s managed to even breathe the last 12 years without you by his side, your laughter and light filling his days and nights no matter how they go.

How could he ever live without you again? He isn’t sure that he could.

Blinking up at him, you slide your hand further up his face and tousle his blonde hair between your fingers.

“I don’t care if it’s too soon for you to say it back or if you ever will but I love you. I have for such a long time it hurts to keep it to myself any longer.”

The smile on your face turns into a full blown grin, fingers still snaked in his hair. Maybe it’s too soon, maybe lust is winning the battle between your wits and your heart or maybe this is a chance to say something you’ve felt for longer than you realized.

“I love you too, Mirio.”

It doesn’t make your love for Toshinori any less real to admit you love the man who has been by your side for virtually 24 hours a day for the last six months and long before that too.

He leans back in and kisses you again, silencing any thoughts other than the two of you and it leaves you breathless, gently grinding against his jean clad thigh and sucking on his tongue. Another pause and he pulls away, cupping your face.

“Take me home with you.”

It isn’t a plea of desperation but one of pure unadulterated need. He needs you, any way you’ll let him have you, tonight.

Nodding, you close the distance and press your lips against his.

“Let’s go.”

In all the time that has passed since you lost Toshinori, your home feels a little brighter when you arise in it each day.

It feels like somewhere you can build your own life now instead of living trapped inside the memory of his. You were concerned that changing anything about this place would rob you of the comfort of having once loved the man who left it to your care but you know he wouldn’t want you to stand in one place for long. All those months ago, Mirio was right when he told you that Toshinori would want you to make the best of what you’ve been given.

Move forward, he’d assure you if he were still here. Be yourself and find happiness.

Despite all the ways you’re still healing, you have.

You think about him every day. You will forever, regardless of the nature of your relationship and how other people view it. Some days the memory of him cuts through you like a knife, especially the last year of your life with him spent doing a lot more caretaking than you’d done the prior four, and other days it’s a gentle breeze. A whisper and reminder that he’s watching you, he loves you, he’s proud of you.

You’ve done the All Might legacy well, donating a large chunk of his fortune back to the communities he so committedly served. Scholarships for students who want to go to hero academies but may not have the pedigree or wealth to let them in, rebuilding the last remnants of an over decade old war that still scar areas of Musutafu tourists don’t visit.

The dreams you have yet to fulfill with what you’ve been provided make your future seem more full than ever. Hospitals bearing his name, education about the balance of hero life and personal life, safety equipment becoming better than ever. Your ambitions are big and you will make them all come true, a vow you made to him on the day he died even if he wasn’t cognizant enough to understand what you were saying.

This is all for him, dearly departed, a man you cared so deeply about you would’ve taken care of him for ten more years if you had to. You’re grateful it didn’t come to that if only for his sake, the suffering his ailing body was facing more than you like to think about even today, but all things considered it was a good life.

Even the papers have commended the woman they once referred to as an amoral opportunist.

Maybe you aren’t so bad after all.

And today when your feet hit the ground, the sun rises and fills the room with light through the gauzy curtains you put up a few months back. The cat you recently adopted twines himself around your legs and looks up at you expectantly, breakfast already a few minutes late. You couldn’t go long without having something new to take care of, the cat was once a beat up little thing brought to you by Lemillion himself one evening after a shift that has grown into a demanding beast.

“Saving little lost cats is a bit cliche, isn’t it?” You joked when he unzipped his hooded sweatshirt and produced the fuzzy, green eyed lump that mewed at you the moment he saw you. Mirio grinned and half shrugged. “Yeah but I’m good at it, right?”

Good he is, you think looking over at his still sleeping form in your bed.

For some, it may be too soon to cautiously lend your heart to another man. You love Toshinori and always will, the impact he left on your life is profound in ways you’ll discover for years to come, but a part of you has always loved Mirio even if circumstances prevented the pair of you from being together. He was once a silly teenager who was too afraid to ask you to be his girlfriend when he graduated high school, satisfied to leave things up to fate, and now he is a grown man who has been by your side through the most painful loss of your life so far, holding you together on the days when you were worried you would crumble.

Both of you are grateful that fate decided well although she took her time and brought a lot of pain on her way.

Instead of getting out of bed, you lean down and pick up your now purring cat and slide back into bed beside him, his hands instinctively reaching behind him for your thighs to pull you closer.

“I didn’t think you were awake,” you whisper and he chuckles, scarred hand running up the expanse of your thigh while your cat climbs onto his shoulder and licks his face. There’s no use in trying to carefully swat the creature away so he lets him settle onto the pillow above his head.

“I always notice when you get up and I have to fight the urge to follow you.”

Giggling, you wrap yourself around his back and rest your cheek between his bare shoulder blades.

“Why’s that?”

He finally turns to face you, blue eyes glancing down at the thing he has wanted for years. Your unmade, half awake face. The domesticity of your cat purring above both of your heads. The promise of packing to take a week off from heroics to go and enjoy a far off destination neither of you have been together.

“In case I ever lose you again,” he admits vulnerably and you smile up at him, hand reaching to cup his cheek.

The half awake mumblings have more truth to them then you could possibly imagine, fear that something else will hurt you or pull you away from him. Fear that he’s going to waste his time again, precious days he has always wanted to spend with you meaning nothing because he’s too cowardly to fight for what he wants. Maybe a younger version of Mirio Togata would have let this happen but not this one, older and wiser that he is.

The ring he plans on proposing to you with this week is nestled in his suitcase, buried beneath too many pairs of socks and probably too few pairs of boxers. He won’t even mind a long engagement, if you need one, as long as he knows forever with you is what waits on the other side.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I think we’re stuck together for life after all we’ve been through.”

As he promised his mentor a few months over a year ago, he will ensure that you are.

#all might x reader #toshinori yagi x reader #mirio togata x reader #lemillion x reader #kendall writes #cw death

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two-white-butterflies · 1 year

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THE ALCOTT - a. targaryen

You tell me your problems (Have I become one of your problems?)

Description: As Rhaenyra's oldest daughter — you were expected to marry for the gain of your mother's fraction. Aemond Targaryen sees you in Winterfell, your heart feels like jumping out of your chest.

When the snow falls and the white wind blows. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives. Winterfell was colder than you expected, as a lady far used to the warmth of a dragon — it blew your mind how northerners lived in never-ending snow. The guards were cautious of your dragon. He was known as the Cannibal, who preyed on every animal — even those of its own kin. At the same time, you couldn't help but notice their lack of fear, like they were used to seeing dragons this big. "My princess!" Cregan came quick to your side.

The sides of your lips turned upwards, heart heaving with joy at the sight of the man you trusted like a brother. The sight of him made you less worried about war. "My lord," you smiled while wrapping your arms around him, aware of the fact that you stink of dragon and ash. "My mother, the Queen Rhaenyra, extends her gratitude for offering Winterfell as a safe haven." you breathed a sigh of relief, as the dragonkeepers began to usher your dragon away to safety.

Losing the war was your biggest fear. There was no doubt in your mind that your uncle, Aegon the Usurper, will execute you if you ever decide to surrender. He takes a deep breath, carrying a heavy burden on his back. "It is not much of a safe haven as you believe." he stares at you from the side, his hand was placed upon the small of your back — leading you inside of his warm castle.

"What do you mean?" you asked, eyebrows bumping into each other. Winterfell and Kingslanding were your second home, the thought of either betraying you was stupid, yet the latter managed to do so. "Fellow northerns lords have spoken about your house falling from grace. The house of the dragon does not know who rules it —" he explains but you interrupt him in annoyance.

"My mother is the Queen, my uncles are mere usurpers who stand against the throne." you correct, nose scrunching in disbelief. Shame flooded your features. The house of the dragon does now know who rules it, but you do it was fire and blood — the same two that will consume the Hightowers with avarice. "Not everyone believes that." he retorts, you take your gloves off — freezing at the sight of ... Aemond Targaryen. Your uncle, whose aided your sorrows for seventeen years in Kingslanding. Has he come to murder you now?

"My lord, if you wish to offer your loyalties to the Usurper. You are free to do so — but attempting to ambush me?" you accuse, he places a hand on your shoulder, Cregan's eyes staring deep into your own. Your mother called him 'sweet-summer boy' for he was born in the longest summer. He was sweet and kind, but also cold and dangerous. There was no doubt in your mind that he would execute you in the name of the greater good.

"I am not here to hurt you, sister. He arrived here a fortnight ago, offering his hand for one of my cousins to marry but I declined him, because I know that his brother is an usurper who does not deserve the throne. Gods be good, if I allowed a drunken charlatan to ever become king." Cregan's eyes pierced into Aemond's soft skull. He takes a deep breath, eyes trailing away from the Prince he welcomed into his home. "But my council does not offer the same sentiments." he scratches his nose, eyes pulsing with rage. Cregan Stark was loyal to your mother.

"And you thought that it was appropriate to welcome him here? When I am set for a visit?" you questioned, playing with the dagger inside your pocket. You couldn't trust anyone, not the lord beside you nor the uncle who has been with you for seventeen years.

"I am not here for him, my niece. I am here for you?" he admits, breaking the thick wall of ice. His good eye stared at you, lips puckered and pink from the cold. The man that you loved was gone, there were only mere traces of him left. "Are you still mad because of your eye?" you question, taking on a stance for fight. You were well trained in warfare, equipped enough to take his only eye.

"I've long forgiven you, but my sister?" he chuckles for a few seconds, lips smirking at the thought of Rhaenyra. "But still, we are merciful — return home. We'll imprison your mother in Dragonstone, your brothers will be cupbearers and squires for the King. And you, my lovely niece, we'll find a match worthy." he offers, laying out the terms in a way that seemed appetizing.

You stared at him. Blinking, but not thinking.

"Which side are you on?" he finishes, taking a step forward. He was a few feet away, but you could see him perfectly. He had a neat stubble, his left-eyebrow had a thin horizontal line on the center. He has aged more in three-months than he has ever had in his entire life. "The last thing I want is to be on your side." you insult through gritted teeth, Cregan stares at the both of you back and forth.

"No harm will come to the both of you under my roof. My princess, I'm sure that you are tired of all the traveling, it is best to retire. And my prince, the finest wines need your tasting down the Great Hall." Cregan tilts his head to the other door, pulling you away before you could ever start a fight.

----

The owls were chirping outside of your window, nocturnal animals prowling at night for their next prey. He knocks on your door, body standing rigid in front of your window. "My princess," he whispers, trying his best not to awake Cregan whose room was parallel yours.

Your hands reach the door, hands twisting to open the door-knob. You trusted Cregan's promise of no harm coming to you. It was favorable, for you wouldn't be hurt but the same thing couldn't be promised to your uncle.You meet his eye.

A Lavender Lazuli eye that showed you spectrums of different colors. "Aemond," you answered with no respect. No respect is given to rebels. "Go home with me." he offered and you leaned on the door-frame. His voice was low, breath stinking of ale — his eye was downcast and filled with melancholia. He missed you, but you weren't sure of feeling the same with him.

"My home is in Dragonstone. It is where I was born." you replied curtly, lips pressing into a thin line. He placed a hand on the doorframe, stopping you from shutting the door on his face. "Your mother is not the rightful heir. A woman can't hold into power, not in our times." he rasped, earning an eye-roll from you.

You are Rhaenyra's heir. The Queen after her.

"Not in this world yes, but we have always been queer with our customs. In Valyria, women can rule without fight — are you not Valryian, dear uncle?" you taunt, playing at the thought of his Hightower blood. You were not the daughter of Harwin Strong. You were either of Laenor or Daemon's. But one thing was certain, Valyria flooded your veins more than it did to him.

"That is not what I mean." he breaths.

"We waste too much time in fighting this damn war! I'm losing you, qogralbar ziry" he cursed, fist bumping into the wall beside him. Fuck it. He thought about taking you, and marrying you. "You are losing me because of your pride. Your belief of women being incapable of ruling." you rolled your eyes, walking away from him — but he takes ahold of your forearm, pulling you back in front of him.

"I do not think that you are incapable of ruling, I merely believe that your mother should lay down her arms and accept my brother as king." he asserted, keeping his hands on you. "The first thing you desire, is the last thing I could ever dream of." you scoff, pushing him away from you.

By this point, you were both outside of your room — feet barely stepping over the line that divided your room and the hallway. "That is our problem!" he raised his voice slowly. You bite the inner corner of your lips, imagining his murder. "I am one of your problems, uncle." you reply taking a step backward, returning inside your room.

You were just about to close the door, but he collapses unto you — knocked out by the strong northern ale. "I want to forget you." he mumbles before closing his eyes.

taglist: @scarwicht@nyctophilic0vitnir@witch-of-letters

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bloodmoonmuses · 1 month

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it waits for dawn | lee taeyong

requested by an anon! send me an ask!

genre: taeyong x reader, friends to lovers, summer coworkers, non-idol au, fluff sorta kinda :)))

wc: 2.3k

warnings: mentions of blood, some swearing

summary: while working your summer job, you meet an eclectic boy who's obsessed with stars and the beauty of the universe.

Working at the planetarium was an odd summer job, sure, but it was about the same pay as the ice cream shop or (God forbid) the zoo. The facility remained pretty empty most days, save for the occasional field trip or savvy tourist. For the first two weeks you worked there, it was just you and the manager, Taeil. Then, one day, Taeil says he finally found another lackey- some guy who just finished his undergrad.

You’re not sure why a college graduate would be slumming it at a planetarium, but you don’t question the matter any further. At least now you’d have someone to split responsibilities with.

“He’ll be here any minute,” Taeil tells you.

When he walks in, you’re a bit taken aback. His cotton candy hair and smattering of tattoos almost clashes with the nerdy polo and khakis he’s wearing. You assume this is his attempt at looking “professional”, which is funny because you’re in a band tee and cut-off shorts and Taeil is practically in pajamas.

“I’m Taeyong,” he says bashfully, dipping his head as a greeting.

You shake his outstretched hand and his ears turn red. He has the biggest eyes you’ve ever seen, like a drawing almost. The prevailing word at the front of your mind is “cute”. He’s very cute.

Taeyong is a sticker book come to life, eclectic and vibrant against the dullness of the overcast day. You’ve never seen him around before. You would’ve remembered. He must be new in town- or a figment of your imagination. A part of you wishes it’s the latter.

“I’m ____,” you say, fixated on your still conjoined hands. When Taeyong realizes he hasn’t broken away from the hand shake, he drops his arm quickly, coughing to fill the awkward silence. Taeil is none the wiser.

“If you could show him around the place, that’d be nice.” Taeil says nonchalantly. He walks back into his office, going to take his daily three hour nap. Taeyong looks at you confusedly.

“If you had any worry about this being a strenuous or uptight job-” Taeil’s snoring interjects, “-I can assure you, it is not.” you contend. “It’s like a movie theater, honestly. We run the projection presentations every other hour, and when there’s field trips, we walk the kiddos around for about 45 minutes or so.”

“Ah, really? That’s it, huh?” Taeyong looks a bit disappointed.

“Yeah. Pretty easy,” you say, shrugging. “Oh, and we stock the gift shop.”

—

The next day, Taeyong somehow manages to bomb his first real shift.. You’re shelving plushies in the gift shop when you hear a loud crashing sound. When you make your way to the supply room to see what happened, Taeyong is buried in a pile of commemorative cups on the floor.

“You okay?” you ask, trying not to laugh. The moon phase tumblers are the most popular of the gift shop items, constantly needing to be restocked.

“I think so,” he says. As you help him stand, you notice blood on his hand.

“Need a band-aid?” Taeyong’s eyes shimmer with tears, and he places his cut finger into his mouth, pouting a bit. He nods and you grab the first aid kit off the wall. It’s covered in a layer of dust from lack of use. You blow on its surface.

“How’d you cut your finger?” you ask, still giggling a bit.

“I tried to catch the box as it was falling.” He winces as the air hits his wound. “Ouch.”

You “tsk” at him, shaking your head as you open the first aid kit. “Taeyong, you gotta be more careful. Taeil doesn’t care if we live or die!”

He chuckles. “That’s not true! I think he has a soft spot for me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this cleaned up.” You take some alcohol and soak a cotton ball. Then, you clean his (minor) cut, unwrapping a bandage and securing it around his finger. He looks at you with wide eyes.

“Kiss it better for me?” he asks, jutting out his lower lip and extending his hand towards you.

“You wish.”

—

Taeyong and you become quick friends. If he comes in for a shift after you, he brings you ice cream. If the two of you close together, he walks you to your car. If you take a day off, Taeyong sends you pictures of Taeil sleeping.

He’s a great conversationalist as well. You learn a lot about him over the summer. He wanted to be a firefighter before falling in love with art, dancing and music. Now, he has a bachelor’s degree in visual art. He shows you videos of him dancing and lets you look through his sketchbook. He talks about his sister and how she’s just as kind as him. He tells you about his love of stars, and how he mediates on them as if they’re lost lovers.

Despite the warmth Taeyong’s eyes fill you with, there’s also an underlying sadness in them- stress beyond his years swimming beneath their sparkling glory. He doesn’t speak much of it, but you can feel it. You can also see that stress leaving his body everytime he cranks up the projector for the solar system presentation. His favorite planet is Saturn.

You’re quite fond of Taeyong. You realize this when you catch yourself staring at him on a particularly slow day. A few elderly couples have come to see the permanent exhibit in the front of the facility, but other than that, it’s just you and him here. Even Taeil has taken a day off, the sloth of summer’s near end seemingly blanketing the entire town. The day progresses in slow motion.

Taeyong’s sleeves are rolled up, exposing his arms. You study his tattoos, committing them to memory. His ever changing hair has been black for a few weeks now, which was a bit out of the ordinary for him. He looks a bit pedestrian, if that’s even possible, and not elven like his usually colorful hair makes him seem.

Despite the snail pace of the day, Taeyong is working way more than is actually necessary- always a self-starter and ready to please.

“Take a break, Taeyong. You’re gonna have a heat stroke.” The A/C unit is busted. Again. You’ve plugged in a few portable fans, but they’re not doing much.

“Inventory’s gotta get done eventually.” You’re enamored with the multitudes of Taeyong’s character. He’s often an easy going guy, but stern when it counts. Not a killjoy, or anything to that extent, just more upright than you’d assume at first glance. Such is the issue with assumptions; they’re just asking to be subverted.

You feel bad watching Taeyong lug around boxes by himself, so you push your laziness aside and begin helping.

“I got it,” Taeyong says.

You continue to lift a box, following him on the trek from the supply closet to the gift shop. “I know you’ve got it, but you’re gonna die if you carry all of these on your own.”

“I’m not gonna die,” Taeyong says, blowing a few strands of hair out his face as wobbles about.

“Tell that to the red flush covering your whole body, Superman.”

Taeyong huffs at you. “You’re so mean to me,” he says. There’s that lower lip again. It’s becoming your weakness, the more he pouts at you. Sometimes you tease him just to see it more often.

“Fine. Want me to stop?” you say, putting down the box you’re carrying. You pretend to walk off.

“No, don’t leave! I feel like I’m gonna die!” Tayong shrieks.

You deadpan at the cartoon of a human standing in front of you.

It’s a field trip day and the planetarium is packed. Unlike the usual, Taeil is actually helping, saying something along the lines of “all hands on deck” as if that doesn’t entail a total of six hands. The children stream in like a school of fish, neon summer camp shirts glowing in the bright sun. They’re beaming at one another, skipping and running around with boundless energy. Their liveliness sparks something in you, smiling so much that makes your cheeks hurt. What hurts more, however, is seeing how sweet Taeyong is with the kids. He takes the lead on showing them around the permanent exhibit, explaining the solar system and composition of stars and other space rocks. You watch from the back of the crowd, blaming the flush of your face on the temperature and not on the fact that Taeyong’s smile makes your breath hitch.

You should think he’s the nerdiest person in the world right now. This whole exchange would be great material to tease him with (-something about how he’s a softie and a loser or whatever). However, all you feel is a terrifying fondness taking over you, ripping at your chest as if it’d been ravaged by a lovesick wolf, its claw marks creating deep caverns where your heart lies. It fucking hurts how much you simply like him. You don’t even want to imagine- no, you can’t even imagine what’d it be like to fall in love with him.

One of the kids asks about Saturn and Taeyong nearly erupts with excitement. He talks in detail about its rings, tracing his fingers along the ridges of the replica of the planet. His eyes are sparkling, mirroring the faux stars above him.

When kids leave, you glance at Taeyong. A tired smile is plastered on his face and he contently sighs. “That was so much fun.”

“I’m not sure who enjoyed it more- you or the kids,” you state. Taeyong chuckles.

“Definitely me. I almost don’t wanna go home,” he says.

“Then let’s stay.”

After finishing your closing duties, you and Taeyong meet in the planetarium’s theater. In the center of the rows of seats is a projector.

“Lemme start the presentation,” he says, queuing up a video about Navajo astrology and constellations. “I’ve never actually gotten the chance to watch Southwestern Skies from the seats.”

After he presses play, the two of you sit right in the middle of the theater. The video comes to life on the dome shaped ceiling. Your jaw drops in wonderment, feeling less self conscious when you see that Taeyong’s mouth is also agape in your periphery. Then, you’re drifting in outer space with him, your seats floating away into the ether as you become completely absorbed into the stars that surround you. You rest your arm on the divider between your chairs, subconsciously inching your hand towards Taeyong’s. As it draws nearer, your desire to interlace his hand in your own grows. The nerve endings at your fingertips buzz. Taeyong is magnetic.

“This is my favorite part,” Taeyong whispers, awestruck. You try to break away from looking at him, to instead look at the display above you, but you can’t. Instead, you watch the stars in the reflection of his eyes.

The dome bursts with an explosion of stars as various constellations fade into view. Orion’s Belt, The Big Dipper, Libra and Virgo- Taeyong had told you about them in detail, insisting on thumbing through his astrology textbook as he explained. (He stole it from the library, leaving five bucks on the counter to rid himself of any lingering karma.) Finally, the Milky Way comes into view- referred to as It Waits for Dawn by the Navajo people. Taeyong audibly gasps.

“I think the whole thing is your favorite part," you tease.

“Mmm.” He nods in agreement.

Distantly, your mind wanders to how the summer is coming to a close. You’re not sure what will come of you and Taeyong’s friendship. You hope he won’t be a memory, or strangers like the two of you started as. You want him to be a fixture in your life- a constellation to familiarize yourself with and never tire of, even as the universe expands.

You realize you’ve been laying your head on Taeyong’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” you mumble as you move to sit up.

“It’s okay,” he says. Then, he places his hand on your head, guiding it back to his shoulder. “Unless your neck hurts, or something. Then, I won’t force you,” he adds hurriedly.

“No, no. It’s good. I’m good,” you say, returning your head to its original position. When the presentation ends, the lights in the theater automatically come up. Suddenly, the moment feels too intimate for daylight, and Taeyong must agree, because he’s tense. You can feel it in his shoulder, the anxiety radiating off of him in waves, but he doesn’t tell you to move, so you continue to rest your head on him

“Does the universe scare you? All the stars and planets and the unknown...” Taeyong says out of nowhere. Before you can respond, he says, “Ah, nevermind. Forget I asked.” He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck as he backtracks.

“I like the question, silly!” You consider your answer for a moment, lost in thought. “ How infinite it is, yes. But the universe as a concept is very romantic. Like, philosophically speaking.”

“How so?”

You shrug. “It brought us together.”

“What a pretty thought,” he says.

Life’s a bunch of little universes sewn together. Self contained and finite worlds that exist within infinity. Like your summer with Taeyong- a blip in the grandeur of your life, simply due to how little time he’s spent in it. You want to sew a little bit more of him into your universe. To make him more than a blip. To make him your entire universe.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask suddenly, throwing caution to the wind.

“I’d like that,” he contends.

You lift your head from his shoulder and place a delicate peck to his cheek. Taeyong gently grasps your chin, guiding your face to his. He then kisses you on the lips, tenderly, his lips just barely grazing yours. The moment seems to stretch on for infinity, though only lasting a few minutes, and you make haste to sew it into the fabric of your memory.

a/n: unedited + feedback is always appreciated!

#bloodmoonmuses #nct 127 #lee taeyong x reader #taeyong fic #taeyong fluff #nct 127 fic #lee taeyong #nct taeyong

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kiwanopie · 2 years

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ran across this picture of pro!hero shinsou and immediately died of brainrot. part time college professor shinsou x bimbo!reader [if you think this is ooc then maybe you should just kiss me on the lips then.] suggestive

Seeing your face in full for the first time is already enough to twist his stomachs in knots. Fold it over itself a few times until it’s tightened in a neat little hitch, and his lungs the pretty bow on top the moment her mouth opens. Plump lips that kiss each word on its way out and nearly leaves him envious. His brain barely registers what’s actually been said until he’s taking a moment to revise.

And then he short circuits.

“Are you interested in having sex?”

Shinsou stands there a little stiller than he should as his student stares up at him curiously, doe eyes blinking expectantly at the older man as the cool training ground air dries out his slightly gaped mouth and his brain buffers at the reality of things.

You breathe in a little briskly before nodding again, looking away briefly like you’re chiding herself. “Oh, sorry,” You redouble. “Are you interested in having sex with me?”

This is his reality right now.

Shinsou Hitoshi is not a religious man, a spiritual man, sure; but he has never been quite so comfortable with the idea of god’s and otherworldly forces - so powerful that they foresee the outcome of his and the lives around him. He doesn’t like the thought of greater powers or deities of any kind. Invisible men that pull his strings or any leveraged omnipotence that could disrupt the equilibrium of reality or nature. He believes in Then and Now, and any paths he may take in the latter are his choice and his doing. His fate will always be in his hands.

….Although - He stares at that familiar soft tawny now softened by the evening sun. Exposed shoulders veiled by dark thickets of bouncing curls and about eight months of over the shoulder glances and lingering stares that are apparently being cashed in right before him. Even a man so dead set on his ideals might have to reconsider at an opportunity like this. Maybe there is a big man in the sky. Maybe he’s been watching him piss away his love life for the past twenty seven years and decided that this was the time to knock him on his ass about it. Maybe this is a gift?

Maybe this is a test.

There’s a long second he spends blowing out empty air before his voice can seep into the atmosphere.

“Wha-…You’re… seriously asking me this?” And he can’t tell if he means that out of disbelief or genuine curiosity.

You must take it as the latter, because you nod so genuinely - so cutely. That his teeth instinctively start to grind against each other. ��I hope this isn’t an inconvenient way to ask. You’re usually really busy outside of our training bumps and I doubt your assistant would take me seriously if I made an appointment for this reason.”

“It’s also…” And he almost feels like the weird one for saying this. “…Wildly inappropriate.”

“Oh...” You pause, and for a moment he expects you to finally tune into how bizarre this situation really is.

Until you’re hitting him with another curveball. “Rejecting me would also be fine then, Sensei.”

That makes him openly grimace - throw his head back a bit and remind himself that: No, that isn’t the worst thing you’ve said since this conversation started. And yes, rejecting you was always a valid option. You say it so cooly that he’s almost afraid that you’re indifferent about the whole thing to begin with. Which begs the question:

“What’s this about?” Shinsou furrows.

You finally move your gaze from him to an empty corner of the wall as you fidgets on your feet a few tense seconds, wrapping your arms around yourself with a short hesitant shrug of your shoulders and pout in a way that can only be described as troublesome.

“I’ve… I can’t put all of my focus on climbing up the ranks anymore. Or on studying… or on anything else for that matter,” You start shyly. “All I’ve been thinking about for the past few months is you.”

The more you continue the closer he gets to self-destructing. “To be fair, I thought I admired your skill and resolve. - Which I do. It’s just… I like the sound of your voice and how it sounds when you talk to me. And the way you handle us trainees, and me whenever I mess up. I like the way your fingers feel on my leotard.”

The fact that he can see you riling yourself up at the thought of him, redistribute the weight on your feet like you’re looking for friction - His mouth doesn’t know whether to dry or salivate and for his sake he hopes his suit is thick enough to hide the bulge that’s steadily forming.

“All I can think of is having sex with you, Sensei.” You say truthfully. “And at least if you reject me then the humiliation of that’ll-“

“I’m not gonna reject you.” And the way your eyes light up makes his lungs feel near to bursting. Seriously, have you seen you? What chump would be so out of his mind to pass up something like this?

But he steps in a little closer, enough to get a whiff of oat and honey, and finely scrubbed in sugars. It’s an ego trip to see you start to fluster a bit. Although he’s sure he’s not faring any better.

You’re bathing in his attention. “But _____ - Sweetheart, it sounds like you just have feelings for me.” Shinsou exhales a little breathlessly. “A regular confession would’ve done just fine, and we could’ve gotten to the good parts later.”

“I feel the same way about you, y’know?” He pinches one of your cheeks. “‘Have for a while, actually,”

You simper. “You have?”

He nods with a warm hum. You’d purr in his hands if you could. “And now that everything’s out in the open, don’t you feel a little better? ‘Can finally think straight, huh?”

“No, now I wanna do it even more.”

Ah,

He pats your cheeks a few times as he raises his back to look over at the rest of your fellow classmates, flashes an innocent little lazy smile toward the field as he looks out for any wandering eyes and prays that that overhead bell is close to ringing.

Shinsou finds a secure grip on your jaw when the coast is clear. “Okay,” His smile sharpens. “That’s okay. - Hey, how about you try and make it through this bump and if you can do that; I’ll sneak into the ladies locker room and fuck you stupid. How’s that sound?”

The way your lips form into a pout by the force of his grip nearly has him pulling you forward to press his against them. “S’good, shensei. Thawnk yew!”

#there are some physical descriptors in this unfortunately #i was very much in my own world while writing this #shinsou hitoshi x y/n #shinsou hitoshi x reader #hitoshi shinso x y/n #hitoshi san #mha shinsou #my hero academia shinsou #bnha shinsou #shinsou x reader #shinsou smut #bnha x reader #bnha #bnha shinso hitoshi #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha x reader

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tindomizel · 6 months

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Trinimac, Creator of Death

In light of Douglas Goodall's new lore text, The Soft Doctrines of Magnus the Invisible, I have a new theory to propose: Trinimac, by killing Lorkhan, created death, and by extension Arkay. Hear me out.

“Only the shape-taker's respiration emptied the arc for the thief's eye”

This is a quote from Enantiodromia, the second part of the four-part text. The shape-taker is obviously Trinimac, who is known as such because of the Boethiah incident, and the thief's eye is referring to Arkay, who is associated with the Thief constellation. To me, this quote is implying that the former made room for the latter to exist (made it possible for Arkay to exist). Expanding on this, before Mundus death did not exist, the et'Ada were infinite and without limitations, which is why Lorkhan created Mundus; to teach their progeny, through the application of limit, how to become without limit. I believe that, when Trinimac killed Lorkhan at the behest of Auri-El, the concept was created. I find it highly likely that Lorkhan always intended for death to be invented, but I'm undecided on whether he planned for it to be created by Trinimac killing him. It does fit nicely into the theory that Lorkhan always intended for his heart to be ripped out– this heart is the heart of the world. Regardless, the first death was a murder.

That quote also somewhat evokes an elven ballad from ESO, Folly of Man, which laments the rise of mankind: “You'll learn what the Corpse-God wrought. Even Trinimac didn’t know, with his final blow, just how badly he'd been caught”. If Trinimac did indeed create death, based on everything we know about him, it's unlikely that he did so intentionally.

‘Enantiodromia’ itself is defined as the tendency for things to change into their opposites. Is that not what eventually happened to Trinimac?

On Orkey and Trinimalarkay

Orkey is the Nordic god of death, considered a fusion of Arkay+Malacath by many, and is most known for “stealing the Atmorans’ years”, or shortening their lifespans, which is exactly what Trinimac would have done to every mortal by creating death. On top of this, in Nordic legend, Orkey summoned Alduin who “ate almost every Nord down to six years old”. This is interesting because Alduin is, of course, connected to Akatosh/Auri-El, who ordered Trinimac to kill Lorkhan. Trinimac and Auri-El are both responsible for the death of Lorkhan, and both Orkey and Alduin have stolen years away from the Nords/Atmorans.

So who is Orkey? Is he Trinimac? Isn't Tsun Trinimac? Yes and no. For a long time people have tried to equate Trinimac/Malacath with Arkay through Orkey, and while I don't believe they're the same being, it does seem likely that they're connected. Arkay was created unintentionally by Trinimac through the murder of Lorkhan, and their relationship is somewhat similar to Peryite and Akatosh or Lorkhan and Namira. They are connected but Arkay is still ultimately a separate being. The Nords combined Arkay (‘death’) with his creator in an attempt to explain how he came into existence. This would explain how Tsun (who is theorised to be the Nordic equivalent of Trinimac) is present in the Nordic pantheon alongside Orkey, and how Trinimac is present in the Altmeri pantheon alongside Xarxes (who is theorised to be the Altmeri equivalent of Arkay).

And finally, tri-nymic and Arkay, Zenithar and Stendarr.

“Trinimac is probably one of the least understood underpinnings of the whole pantheon. I like him that way, but I would study Mithras if you really want to find out more” -Michael Kirkbride

To summarise, Mithras was a Greco-Roman god, inspired by Mithra, the Iranian god of the sun, justice, contract, and war. Mithra was part of the Ahuric Triad, along with Ahura Mazda (the creator deity, god of the sky), and Apam Napat (god of water). Although this may be boring, I believe tri-nymic is simply a reference to the Ahuric Triad. The Ahuric Triad reminds me of Padomay, Anu and Nir as well. Padomay is, of course, Lorkhan and Anu is Auri-El. What if Trinimac is Nir (the catalyst, the first possipoint)?

Finally, I am a big fan of @ayem's theory that Trinimac was always padomaic. Trinimac pretended to be anuic– and tried to be anuic– so that he could serve Auri-El, but ultimately he could only be Mauloch. The Roads seems to be about how one can only be what they are, which is a recurring theme in The Elder Scrolls.

“Hue is governed by momentum. As much as manifold Meridia loves the Blind, even orphans cannot change their color.”

This quote is obviously about Meridia, but I think it also applies to Trinimac. There are also countless parallels between Meridia and Trinimac: they were both champions of more powerful gods, they both tried (and failed) to be something else, and, in my opinion, Meridia assumed Trinimac's role as ‘warden’ of Nirn after his ‘death’.

Narratively, I think Trinimac accidentally creating death is a very important moment in his story. It's the moment that proves to him, without a doubt, that he will never be able to escape or erase what he is. He tried to be something static, unchanging, and yet he created death– the final destination, the unavoidable end. What is death if not the ultimate transition? No matter how hard you try, you cannot escape your nature.

Some more random thoughts:

In Nordic legend, Alduin/Orkey's curse is thrown onto the orcs by Ysmir Wulfharth, who is believed to be a Shezarrine. I feel like this could be a reference to how the orcs were also transformed/suffered when Trinimac was defeated by Boethiah (who hoped to avenge Lorkhan).

Additionally, Malacath's realm is the ashpit and ashes are associated with death.

#tes #malacath #trinimac #also lorkhan and trinimac were boyfriends #judas and jesus.#alexa play judas' death #sorry i only care about trinimac i haven't even started trying to understand the rest of the text yet

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happyely2 · 7 months

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Pairing: Portuguese D. Ace x Fem!Reader

Rating: For everyone, even if there will be mentions of blood, physical and mental wounds, needles for stitching wounds and some small hints of cuddles (the right amount, because we like it that way). If you are sensitive to descriptions of blood or wounds skip the story. At times comical and at times a little sadder, I hope you enjoy this one as well as Cozy Autumn Prompts.

Summary: Being the girlfriend of Portgas D. Ace, the infamous pirate commander of Whitebeard's second fleet, isn't always easy. You know well that life as a pirate is a constant gamble, but every now and then you just want your man - and all the people you care about - to return to your room without wounds to patch up. It's fine that you're a scrupulous and attentive nurse, but damn these men don't have the slightest bit of restraint when they have to attack a ship or a new island, and Ace is the first to throw himself into the fray, but you love him so much that you are willing to always take care of him.

🪡Taking care of a lover’s injury 🪡

“Oh God, what happened?!” You whispered as you caught a bottle of alcohol that was about to fall to the floor. The ship had been shaken by a violent blow, it was as if someone had rammed into it and if someone had succeeded it must have been a very large ship.

“Put all glass bottles safely away and prepare emergency kits. I'm afraid we'll have twice as much work to do today!” You said to your colleagues as you adjusted your white shirt so that it wouldn't get in your way during the fight.

The New World was increasingly full of hotheads who aimed to become important pirates and to do so they targeted the ships of the big boys. Calm and tranquility were words unknown to Moby Dick.

"Goodmorning sweetheart! How was your morning?” Satch and the other men had set up a trench with the kitchen and dining room tables, you ducked to dodge the bullets and stood next to the commander of the fourth division, while the latter loaded a rifle with gunpowder to pass it to one of your companions.

“It could have been better! Who is attacking us?” You said as you opened your bag to get needle, thread and some alcohol, some of your people had been hit by bullets and needed to be treated immediately, quickly extract the bullets and stitch them up to avoid losing a limb or too much blood.

“A rookie, he has a stupid Mohawk. What poor taste.” Izo was next to you and in a short time he had fired three shots that all hit, but the enemies seemed to multiply. Meanwhile, you had finished stitching the leg of one of your companions who immediately picked up the rifle again and started shooting.

“Be careful, I just got the stitches!” You said while you were taking care of another wounded man, this time he had been hit under the cheekbone and almost lost his eye.

Luckily the barricades protected most of your comrades from even more serious injury, but the rifle fire continued to rage.

“We're running out of bullets here, we need to move on to strong weapons.” Satch was next to you, sooner or later the enemies would have to run out of cartridges you thought as you carefully looked at the enemy fence, those bastards were making excuses with thick metal shields.

“The main bridge? Do you have any news?" You asked quickly gathering your stuff inside your bag and placing it over your shoulder. Attacking the left flank where the kitchens and infirmary were located was a dirty diversion, your enemies were aiming for the main deck where Whitebeard generally remained to dictate orders, the left flank was less controlled than the others.

“None, they cut off communication, but everyone else is here, I don't think there will be any problems.” Izo said as he handed you a spare slugphone: “Try this one, it's another line.” He said as he continues shooting wounding five more enemies.

"Ready? This is the kitchen, main deck, can you hear me?”

“Main deck, we hear you loud and clear Miss.” Vista's voice made you breathe again, even though suspicious noises could be heard in the background.

“The Vista situation?” You asked without wasting any time, your other companions were arriving with more medical supplies, ready to follow you to the main deck.

“A bit bad, we have too many wounded among the new recruits. Nobody seems to be serious, Santa is organizing the boarding of the opposing ship." Vista replied as a sword blow could be heard cutting something in the background.

“Dad needs to rest dammit! Satch we have to pass now, there are injuries that need to be treated.” You said as you ended the conversation. Whitebeard may have been one of the most feared men in the New World, but at that time the treatments he was undergoing were so delicate that they could aggravate his physical situation.

Furthermore, the enemies had chosen a perfect day to attack, Marco had gone to deliver important messages to your allies, without the first commander you were at a disadvantage, his phoenix power was very useful in those situations and if Marco was missing it only meant a what: Ace was about to lead the boarding of the enemy ship.

The cook didn't have to be told twice and his entire division went on the attack while Izo's covered his back. It took some time before you and the other nurses made it to the command bridge safe and sound because neither Satch nor Izo would let anything happen to you, and once you got there you immediately started rescuing your crew.

Maybe Vista didn't want to alarm you, but the situation was quite inconvenient. You just hoped you wouldn't have to amputate any limbs.

“More enemies are coming!” Fossa, the captain of the fifteenth division, had raised the alarm. There was too many wounded who needed to be transported below deck, the infirmary would not have contained them all.

“Damn this was a trap.” You said as you approached the railing to check with your own eyes, the girls behind you were working to treat those who were at greater risk.

Four more enemy ships were arriving at great speed.

Your captain's laughter made you all spin. It was like him to laugh in those situations: “Let them come, they will only find defeat waiting for them.” Luckily Whitebeard wasn't injured, you breathed a sigh of relief and continued to move the injured below deck, so that they were safe and could be better cared for by the ship's doctor, you and your colleagues.

The cannon shots seemed to tickle your ship, but they were becoming closer and more precise.

Whitebeard had given the order to return fire and so all the men got busy.

“We need to get off that damned ship.” Satch said as he leaned out to see the damage, with the figurehead they had entered well into the side, destroying part of your house, you were with the fourth commander to understand the damage and to see if there were men to recover, they certainly were medical supplies have been affected.

“Ace comes here!” You said catching the second commander running across the bridge. Damn he was hurt! That idiot had gotten himself hurt and he had a Logia as a fruit of the sea.

“Love you are here! I didn't see you and I feared the worst. How is it going, do we have so many injured people?” He asked turning towards you and smiling warmly at you, she hugged you instinctively to check that you weren't hurt.

Either he was under the influence of a huge amount of adrenaline or Ace had such a high perception of pain that those injuries didn't bother him. This was a question you would never find the answer to.

“How the hell did they hit you? Ah, you're bleeding, stop here..." You looked at the long wound on his chest and the one on his right arm worriedly, his devil fruit made it difficult to stop the wound because the blood was too liquid due to the heat that his body was giving off.

“Some have Algamalotite weapons. They also resist my attacks which is why it took us longer.” He said Ace showing one of the weapons in question to the rest of the crew. He then explained how traps were scattered around the ship which had injured other people that his men were bringing on board.

Better and better.

“Where did they get them?” Asked Halta as he looked at her carefully, the workmanship of the sword was good, too good to have been made by any one person.

“We'll deal with this later. We need to free the ship and sort out the ones that are coming.” You said taking a needle and thread to saturate Ace's wounds, but your girlfriend stopped you in time and after placing his hair on her head he headed towards the Strider: "I can block them if I move now."

“ACE COME BACK HERE NOW!” You shouted trying to follow him but were quickly stopped by Izo before you jumped off the ship to chase him.

“Don't worry, he is not alone.” He told you looking up at the sky, Marco was back and was following Ace to give him back up.

“I swear that as soon as he comes back I'll sew him up properly!” You said the same as you watched the two commanders strike at the opposing ships. Whitebeard laughed loudly, commenting that you young people were so carefree that he envied you a little.

You sighed and turned towards the main deck, there were less serious injuries waiting to be treated and recovery operations to be carried out, so you rolled up your sleeves and started patching up your companions while who was still all entire effort was made to free the ship.

A couple of explosions followed one another in the following hours, marking the end of the fight. Ace and Marco had laid waste to the enemy ships and were returning, the strider was going slower than its normal speed and Marco was flying too low for his standards.

“Go on and check that everything is in one piece, big sister, we'll take care of it here.” Said one of your colleagues while you finished stitching a wound. You left the final directions and grabbed a new medical kit before heading to the main deck.

As soon as you arrived you immediately noticed the two commanders surrounded by the others who were asking for details of everything and more.

“Before you ask for anything, let me patch them up.” You said as you opened your bag and took out everything you needed, no one dared to argue. Marco had been wounded by the same weapons that had hit Ace, but his devil fruit was already taking effect so you fixed a couple of bandages and disinfected the wounds well, until you noticed a deeper one on his shoulder and that's when you cursed.

Ace was worse than a rag, lying on the ground and with his head spinning, he was kept conscious by Satch and Izo. He had lost too much blood, that imbecile.

You breathed in and out to calm yourself down and started lecturing them both, while everyone else laughed out loud.

“ESPECIALLY YOU ACE! IDIOT!" You said as you took the bottle of alcohol and opened it to clean the wound on your arm, it was deep, but it hadn't severed the nerves or any important blood vessels, Marco meanwhile was rearranging his shirt and was careful not to damage the stitches you had put.

“Stop squirming Ace!” You told him while using alcohol.

“That stuff bothers me.” Your boyfriend said with a grimace, then he told what had happened on one of the ships, that he had found other Algamalotite weapons, which now lay on the bottom of the sea and which all bore the same symbol, a skull with a sword that it pierced him in half.

There had been no need for anesthetic, the adrenaline was doing his job.

A couple of sutures later and you had completed the job, while Ace had finished his report: "I don't like this." You said as you put your tools back, everyone agreeing with you, it wasn't a normal Jolly Roger, it looked more like an anti-piracy symbol.

Ace leaned on your shoulder and held you close to him for reassurance, you all suspected that a fight like that was something premeditated and thought out down to the smallest detail, it was no coincidence that they attacked you at such a time. Marco's absence and the fact that we were without your other ships must have studied you for a very long time.

And if they had done something like this, none of you could rule out the possibility that they had thoroughly studied every single member of the crew.

“Daddy have you taken your medicine?” You asked turning to your captain. Ace was worried about that question too, because he knew how meticulous you were about reminding old Whitebeard about his medications.

“I hadn't gotten them yet. Are you afraid of something?” The man replied, then taking his favorite bottle of sake. Sooner or later you would have had to lock him up.

“It was too strange an attack dad, they hit us knowing our weak points too well.” He said Ace sensing your thoughts, thinking about it now, ramming the Moby Dick with a large ship on which traps and strong men were positioned was a diversion that didn't convince any of you.

Marco meanwhile was taking note of everything that needed to be repaired while with one ear he paid attention to the direction the conversation was taking.

“Attack or not, we should be more careful, anyone who can walk come and repair the ship, or at least let's try to fix it to get to the next island. Little sister tries to fix as many men as possible and give me an inventory of the medicines we lost." The first commander said, starting to give orders, conspiracies and suspicions would wait for the evening, for now you had to fix the damage suffered.

"See you this evening." She said Ace in your ear and leaving you his hat.

“Don't overdo it too much as the stitches might pop out and no devil fruit Ace.” You told him as you watched him run towards the hole to be repaired together with all the other men. You then gave the medicine to Father, because you always kept a reserve supply in case he didn't take it, and you said goodbye to both him and Marco to go below deck.

You had men to stitch up and put back together, and many of them.

“How bad is it?” You asked Satch in the late afternoon when you went to see how the men were doing, who as soon as they had been stitched up and treated had rushed to repair the ship, without even receiving the green light. And Ace was among them, not only had he rushed to free the ship, but due to the injuries he had suffered and the loss of blood he had also fallen into the sea and Satch and Izo had jumped in to save him.

Now your boyfriend was sleeping blissfully on top of your legs, covered in bandages from head to toe.

“It could have been worse, luckily the ship is repaired and thanks to you girls the men are back in shape immediately, or at least all of them and there is no one missing.” He said the cook as he took off his yellow handkerchief to wipe away the sweat. They had taken all the surviving crates of food and placed them safely on the other side of the ship.

“I hate how Ace put himself in situations like these.” You said while stroking his black hair rocking him to sleep, you knew him well, he had squeezed out every last crumb of his fire, he had saved many of your companions but this would have put him out of action for quite a while in the days to follow.

Satch laughed heartily and then helped you carry Ace into his cabin, you checked on him one last time and went out leaving him a note on the bedside table, in which you warned him that you would be back later.

You continued your tour with your colleagues, you had distributed medicines and painkillers to the men and then you went downstairs to take inventory of the medicines. By writing everything down meticulously, you realized that the situation wasn't the best.

“We've lost more than half of them Marco, and I can't ration the supplies we have because they don't even cover a third of the crew.” You said as you handed him the report you had made.

The first commander read the numbers you had collected, despite everything he remained apparently calm.

“We have to grit our teeth for a while, we have two days of sailing to the next island, with the ship in these conditions. We will have to work miracles." Phoenix said as he put down the book and checked the route she had chosen. Under normal conditions the Moby Dick would have arrived in less than half a day, but the ship risked taking on water and one of her engines was showing signs of failure.

Resisting for two days in those conditions, with the adverse weather of the New World would not have been so easy.

“Don't worry about my shoulder it's already recovering, go see Ace.” He told you immediately afterwards with a hint of a smile to reassure you, Marco had seen Ace fight and had confided in you that his health conditions worried him a bit.

“Okay, see you later Marco.” You replied, but not before leaving him a couple of painkillers. You quickly left the door and went towards Ace's room, the dining room was destroyed, so the fourth division would have brought food to everyone else and many accommodations were in bad shape, the men had organized themselves as best they could with mattresses, bunks and hammocks in the corridor.

You went to the infirmary to see if there was any news but your "little sisters" reassured you that everything was fine, you still said to call you in any case. They would have slept in the infirmary, because your rooms had also been hit.

When you entered Ace's room you didn't expect to see him already standing, you sighed and closed the door behind you joining him.

“Hey Love!” He greeted you with his usual smile, as if nothing had happened, you huffed but also smiled, luckily Ace seemed to be indestructible.

“You should stay in bed and rest.” You told him as you checked his bandages, they needed to be changed and surely a few stitches had popped off.

So you didn't waste any time and made him lie down on the bed, not without some protests.

“Wounds like this take longer to heal Ace.” You told him as you sutured him again, you had given him a shot of anesthetic, at least to not make him feel pain but his devil fruit quickly burned what was injected into his body, it was no small problem.

Ace was trying not to say a word or let out a single cry of pain, he was trying to hold on so as not to worry you further.

“I know it hurts, honey, I promise it's just for a few more seconds.” You said, better fixing the last stitch that had opened and then bandaging everything with a thicker and tighter bandage, at least in this way the stitches would have to hold up for the night.

Ace threw himself on you, complaining a little about the rest of his body hurting, so you asked to show you where he hurt. You discovered that he had at least a dozen bruises scattered here and there.

So you rolled up your sleeves and took some lotion from your bag to sober them up it can be absorbed more quickly.

“What is it Love?” Ace asked you as he ran his hand through your hair to caress you, he could see that you were tense.

“I hate seeing you in pain.” You responded, leaning against one of the pillows on Ace's bed. You had rubbed lotion on him and now you were lying next to each other. You traced the outline of his abs with your fingertips and with a light touch so as not to hurt him.

“One sleep and I'll be as good as new.” He said Ace smiling at you and kissing the tip of your nose, then your cheeks and finally his lips. He was an incurable romantic.

“If everyone were like you. We have two days of travel ahead of us, said Marco, supplies of food and medicines must be heavily rationed, but luckily no one has lost their lives." You said caressing his face and lingering more on his cheeks to play with their softness.

“It'll be fine, you'll see, we've faced worse and Marco will have chosen a fairly calm route.” Your boyfriend had taken your hands to bring them close to his lips to kiss them. He then slowly went up until he reached your neckline where he rested without asking your permission: "You're an excellent pillow and I'll recover faster this way." Ace had started purring like a cat rubbing against you and you had laughed, not chasing him away but holding him tighter to you.

“Are you still thinking about the symbol you saw?” You asked after a while, noticing the serious look that Ace had made while looking at the sea from the porthole of your cabin.

“Yes, I don't know why but I have a strange feeling.” And that strange feeling more simply translated into trouble ahead.

“They could hang up on us but they know that at this point Dad might intervene with his devil fruit.” You said playing with the locks of his hair, they had grown a little more, he would have to cut them soon.

“You know his power is so strong that it would wipe out the continent, and then I don't think it would be good for his health.” Ace had started drawing invisible circles on your back, slowly and in an almost hypnotic manner.

“Someone here doesn't want to sleep…” You whispered in his ear making your lover smirk.

“Come on Love, so I can heal faster.” Ace breathed on your neck allowing a rush of shivers to travel down your spine.

“You are recovering.” You insisted, standing up and straddling him.

“In fact, I won't make any movements, you will do everything, are you my personal nurse or not, Love?” Ace's warm hands ran along your sides rubbing against the bones of your pelvis, he knew that was a delicate spot of yours and that you loved when he squeezed it like that.

You held back a moan, just to not give him satisfaction, but the blush on your face made him smirk again.

“So I have full control? Can I start this visit?” You asked as you unhooked the clasp of your bra and Ace helped you take it off throwing it away on the floor of his room.

You wore a white top that tied in a bow at the back of your neck, it was Ace's favorite.

“Of course Love.” Ace had settled in better, he loved it when you took control in bed, it was a shame you weren't wearing a uniform.

You didn't have to be told twice and you gave him a kiss on the lips, then moving down to his chin, to his neck where you bit a little harder, drawing a small sigh of satisfaction from him, and then continuing your descent of kisses on his his abdomen.

Here you were a little more careful not to bite too hard and you helped yourself with your hands to tease him a little more. You traced the grooves of his muscles with your fingertips and went down to the V carved on his groin and dared to bite a little harder.

You smiled as you saw Ace's gaze starting to become full of lust.

You wasted no time fiddling with his belt, you knew it too well by now and knew how to remove it quickly.

“So far the control seems to be going well.” You said while playing with the elastic of his boxers.

"You say? I keep feeling something isn't right." He had said, caressing your cheek with his warm palm which you rubbed against.

You were about to continue, wanting to give him more pleasure, until the alarm went off all over the deck of the ship and made you freeze on the spot.

“Fuck.” He cursed Ace as you quickly got dressed to go check. You rushed out of his cabin to find yourself in a critical situation.

They were attacking you.

“I thought we were past the bad part.” She said Ace as you two reached the main deck. The sound of bombs hitting near the ship.

“These people here don't intend to give in, they attacked us waiting for us halfway.” Satch had arrived before you and handed you the binoculars to get a better look.

“That's ten ships! But what do they think they are doing!” You said as Ace grabbed your waist and quickly lowered you to avoid a cannon shot, he had grazed your head.

“They have the same symbol as the others, they must be allies.” Izo said taking cover as well.

“There's only one thing left to do, let's attack them.” Ace was about to come out, the Moby Dick was surrounded, Marco stopped him in time.

“It's not the right time yet.” The first commander had said, the ships were not within range, the snail near us had started to ring incessantly.

“This is the infirmary, where is the big sister?”

“I'm here, what's happening?”

“They hit us and we are seriously injured, come help us quickly.”

Damn, that's all you needed, more serious injuries to operate on in a situation like this.

"I am coming." You said, closing the conversation and turning to Ace: “Don't bullshit honey.” You told him and he smiled back at you.

“Go save our comrades.”

You ran downstairs to find yourself in total chaos, you quickly rinsed your hands and immediately put on gloves, there wasn't a second of time to waste.

“The situation upstairs?” One of your companions asked, handing you the tools to remove the pieces of wood that had stuck inside the body of one of your shipmates.

“Quieter than ours. The commanders were pissed off." You responded by starting to extract the largest pieces and immediately moving on to disinfecting and suturing.

The roars of some cannon shots or the sound of swords being drawn did not distract any of you while you operated.

You had lives to save and no one would die on your ship.

Twelve hours later the infirmary was a mess of needles, bottles of painkillers, scalpels, various instruments and blood. But fortunately all the most critical patients were stable, even those who had injured themselves on the command bridge and had been rushed to the infirmary.

The battle above had ended with the explosion of the enemy ships and Whitebeard had also played his part, he had regulated his power but this had cost him his health.

“Don't you dare lie. I can see it hurts.” You said as you set up his new IVs and increased the dose of antibiotic and painkiller to make him feel better.

“Enough is enough.” He replied, placing a hand on your shoulder: “You did a great job, you and the girls.” He added, looking at each member of his crew covered in bandages and painkillers.

You smiled, forcing yourself a little, the adrenaline in your body was starting to decrease: “Thanks dad.” Ace was next to you, his bandages stained with blood, but he was well enough to stand and support you. The fight had burdened him and despite this he also had responsibilities as a commander, he had to grit his teeth and set a good example for all your men.

Marco examined the nautical charts, the ship had suffered further damage and navigation would become more difficult, the island you wanted to reach was too far away.

“Hey…but that's an island!” You couldn't believe your colleagues' words, the girls were leaning over the bridge to get a better look.

In the end they were right, an island had appeared on your horizon.

“Marco please there is an island we can go to.” You had talked to the other girls, and all of you had introduced yourself to the first commander to convince him to go down to the island that you had spotted that morning at the first light of dawn when the smoke from the other ships had cleared.

Ace had tried to dissuade you, but he had no say in the matter.

“It is not part of our territories.” The first commander said while drinking his cup of bitter coffee.

“And whose would it be?” You asked for all your colleagues as Ace tried to calm you down. The island was only two hours away from you, you could have stopped to stock up on food, repair the ship and treat the wounded better.

“Del Rosso.” Marco replied, cursing himself for having taught us girls to navigate and knowing how to read a map and he cursed himself even more for having answered, the girls and you, hearing that name, had headed to Whitebeard to tell him to dock on the island immediately.

“They don't have a shred of restraint.” Satch had said, understanding well that landing on an island belonging to another emperor was not something prudent.

“It's Shanks the Red, of all people it's the best guess that could have happened to us.” Ace said, your boyfriend hadn't moved an inch after you glared at him, as if to say either you're on my side or I'll kill you. You could have a civil discussion with him, but it was still a risk.

“The problem is that knowing them they would face it without even thinking about it. Especially your girlfriend Ace.” He had said Izo, adjusting his Kimono to hide a bandage.

“Don't tell me anything, I have no say in the matter.” She said Ace, resigning herself to the fact that when you set your mind to something you managed to get it done. The boys started laughing heartily, your fervent spirit had brought back some joy to the crew.

In the end however, partly due to everyone's tiredness and partly because it was urgent to repair the ship, you had prevailed and for this reason you headed towards the island.

You could have expected anything when you got off, but not to find the Red's crew on dry land.

“Hey Whitebeard!” He had greeted the emperor with his usual smile that you couldn't identify. It was an idiotic smile. That's what the only explanation was.

"Red."

“Please, no fights.” You said, placing yourself between the two and glaring at both of them. You were sick of a lot of clashes and battles. The deathmatch for the sake of the good old days could wait.

No displays of Haki, no weapons being drawn. You breathed a sigh of relief and left the two emperors chatting while Marcus began supervising the construction of a camp. The redhead's crew also helped you, Ace was right to say that of all the emperors Shanks was the best case that could have happened to you.

Six hours later you were finally leaving the infirmary you had set up to get some fresh air. You had rechecked all your patients, fixed and splinted broken legs, destroyed wrists and sprained arms, all injuries that the men had hidden from you and for which they had received a severe lecture.

“The injured, even the serious ones, fortunately, they are all stable. Two days and they'll be as good as new.” You reported to your captain, explaining who the most critical ones were and what medicines needed to be taken as soon as possible.

“The ship has suffered quite a bit of damage, we should stop here for at least a week.” Marco said, listing the damage suffered, and it was quite a bit, but luckily it could be repaired.

The meeting was going to last late and Ace noticed the bags under your eyes and the fact that you couldn't pay attention. The lack of sleep was making itself felt.

“You should rest.” She had told you, making you sit on him. Nobody had said anything, in fact the discussions had continued.

“I will rest when I need it.” You said, trying to continue listening, even though the warmth of her body was an invitation to sleep, you had to resist. Three hours later, in the late afternoon you had emerged from the meeting room tent. From what had emerged, Red and his men had also been attacked in a similar manner a few days earlier and from the rumors circulating, an alliance seemed to have formed to eliminate the old emperors.

Better and better. If this was true you would have expected a clash in the days when you set sail again.

It was better to go and stock up on medicines.

“Let's go get the medicines from the village and come back.” You had told Ace leaving a kiss on his cheek. You had quickly changed by borrowing one of his shirts.

“Are you sure I don't have to come with you?” Ace didn't want to let you wander around alone, ok you were with your colleagues but he still preferred you to avoid it, despite everything there were bounties hanging on your heads that would have attracted many bounty hunters, but the sooner you went to get the medicine the sooner you could go back to him you answered him.

“Sure, just think about regaining your strength.” Ace had collapsed a few seconds after you had left the meeting room, sleep, narcolepsy and the wounds that had not healed had drained him of his last strength and carrying him to his tent had been a titanic undertaking.

“We'll be back in three hours.” You reassured him and left the tent, going to the girls and walking towards the nearest town.

Three hours later you returned as you promised and the whole crew breathed a sigh of relief that had not gone unnoticed by any of us.

“What do you want me to tell you, our nurses are known to be quite troublesome.” You could finally treat Ace with the right dose of painkillers and antibiotics, one that she would only wear off the next evening.

“We troublemakers?” You laughed as you took some cotton and soaked it in alcohol, you had to clean the wound on his chest and Ace was already glaring at you.

“Don't be such a baby, it's just rubbing alcohol.” You said placing it on his chest and pressing softly. Luckily the stitches hadn't broken in the previous clash.

“I never liked that thing.” Ace said glaring at the new cotton ball that was getting closer to his wound.

He was a child.

You gave him a kiss on the cheek to distract him and it happened.

“Big sister!” One of your girls had entered the tent: “Did I interrupt something?” She asked then noticing how you looked. You sitting on Ace's lap in a position that couldn't be misunderstood.

“No don't worry dear, tell me everything.” You responded, taking the gauze and starting to bandage it. Ace's torso, your boyfriend wanted to say otherwise but he held back.

“We found some natural hot springs, you have to come and bathe with us now! Commander Ace I'm commandeering our head nurse for the next two hours.” Your subordinate had said, grabbing you by the shoulders and dragging you out of the tent.

"HEY!" Ace was following you ready to catch you but the other girls prevented him: "This evening will be all for you, but for now we want to be with the big sister."

Luckily Izo and Satch had grabbed Ace by the shoulders and carried him to the other side to distract him. Telling him that it was right to leave some space for us girls.

“You are impossible, I don't even have a costume!” You said as the two of you arrived at the shores of the Hot Springs.

“Who said you need a swimsuit, we are all women!”

After all, they were right, but you regretted not spending time with Ace, you had been interrupted a few too many times for your liking in those hectic days, the only thing you wanted was to spend some intimate time with the your boyfriend.

But the thermal water was a panacea for your nerves that you would regret in the next few days. Only you girls, no man nearby and a lot of calm interrupted here and there by some otters that came close to smell you, were the inhabitants of that place and we had taken a liking to you.

There was so much calm that at a certain point you couldn't stand it anymore. You kind of missed the chaotic life that was with your sailing companions, but you missed Ace so much, you wanted to go and hug him, lock yourself in his tent and stay with him all night.

The spa had only partially dissipated the stress you had accumulated during those days, you knew well how to dispose of the remaining part with your fiery boyfriend.

“I'd say we go back to camp.” You said as you walked out and put on your underwear and white top. The cold air of the evening went perfectly with the feeling of warmth that the spa had left in you and this had made you even more nostalgic for Ace, usually he was the one who created that sensation that you liked so much.

"Already? But can't we stay a little longer?”

“It's been more than two hours, they'll be worried about us.” You replied as you looked around for your shorts and trying not to fall on the otter pups that must have been spinning around frantically. What naughty little brats.

“But boss, we're not enjoying this calm!”

“That's right and men can be alone, what could happen?”

You looked at each of your friends and just your look was enough to convince them that it was best to go back. You could already imagine what could happen to that rowdy gang of Pirates with the absence of you girls.

“We will come here more times in the next few days.” You finally said making the others laugh, they all agreed to go back to having some relaxation: "They took my shorts!" You added as you weaved through the vegetation to look for them.

The girls also noticed that a couple of their clothes were missing, but the otters that had kept you company were starting to get restless and seemed to want to tell you to forget about it and go back.

"That have?" You asked yourselves, not understanding the sudden agitation.

A sudden movement of air above your heads made you suddenly spin.

“Damn I didn't get them!” About ten men had appeared on the other side of the baths. A shiver ran down your spine as you slowly approached the others, that symbol they carried with them, a skull with a knife dividing it in two, were the men who had attacked you in the previous days.

“It's okay, just come here.” She tried to say one of them with a dodgy face, yellow teeth and some missing, his face marred by scars.

You remained f trying not to make any rash moves, you couldn't escape because they were surrounding you and you were disarming.

"Damnation." You said as the girls pressed closer to you. How long were they watching you? Had they come to you before? Did they know about the camp? Had they already attacked him? How was Ace?

It seemed to be a nightmare that didn't want to end, those men possessed Algamalotite weapons, Ace possessed a devil fruit and risked being seriously injured, he even risked his life.

You couldn't allow something like that.

Another blow forced you to duck to avoid a scythe hitting you, only then did you notice a scalpel on the ground, how it ended up there didn't interest you that much, it was always something to defend yourself with.

You took it without hesitation, hiding it inside your hand.

It was the seven of you against more than a dozen armed men.

You had to play smart.

And while the men surrounded you starting to list the worst things to do to you you tried to find a way to escape, the main path was out of the question, if they were intelligent they had put some men to guard it.

The forest seemed like the only way out, but it was characterized by such dense vegetation that it would only hinder you.

But it was the only option available.

“At my signal, run as fast as you can, no one looks back, let's be clear.” You said as one of the enemies approached you. If they had captured you you would have become a dangerous medium of exchange. You knew Santa so well that he would have done anything to bring you home safely, not to mention Ace, oh god if only he had found out about the danger you were in.

You couldn't let your boyfriend risk his life with the injuries he had. No, you would never forgive yourself.

“Big sister…” The man was a few steps away from you and the girls.

You inhaled deeply and only when he was one step away from you did you use the scalpel to hit him in the jugular. Blood splattered everywhere but you didn't care.

Some of the girls screamed at what had happened. The men in front of you were stunned. It was just what you needed.

“Leave now!” You shouted grabbing one of your little sisters and starting to run, you had the element of shock on your side and you had to make the most of it. The camp wasn't too far away, once you reached it you could have notified everyone.

Two gunshots made your blood run cold. Warning shots, they wanted to capture you without doing too much damage.

They wanted to avoid the wrath of your captain and his commanders.

“No one was hit. Let's run boss."

“In the vegetation! Hurry and don't scream, not even if a shot passes by you!” You immersed yourself in the forest among brambles and branches that hurt you every time you passed, your wounds burned and your muscles ached, but you had to keep running, soon the gunshots would no longer be a warning.

You were just thankful that you and your classmates had been through so much that you weren't scared so easily. The oxen and the silence were your best allies at that moment, but the voices of your opponents were too close, they seemed to have grown louder to boot.

And the camp fire still seemed to be so far away.

“Hold on, we're almost there!” You said as you saw Whitebeard's flag along with Red's flag waving in the night. Driven by a new spirit you overcame the last obstacles by starting to shout to attract attention, to hell with not getting caught,

“ACEEEE” You screamed seeing your boyfriend's hair near the fire.

The dark-haired man turned around looking for you until he saw you and he became alarmed along with the others. Ace started running in your direction without wasting time, without waiting for the others.

“Take them!” The men chasing you had increased and the shots were not sent as a warning but were trying to hit you.

“Run, don't turn around.” You said as you jumped over a log and helped one of your classmates up after she fell to the ground.

“Come on, come on!” you said starting to run again hearing Ace call your name.

Ace was running towards you, everyone was coming.

Then a gunshot and your world became darker. You fell to your knees as you tried to pack the wound on your pelvis. The blow was so strong that it knocked the bullet out and your body stopped reacting the moment your knees hit the ground.

“Run you fools!” You said trying to send the girls away but no one moved petrified of what had happened.

You felt the blood flow out of the wound, hot and thick and spilling onto the ground.

Ace stood in front of you motionless as if he was trying to act but he couldn't, but in his eyes you could see a fire you had never seen before.

He caught you before you fell to the ground and held you close to her: "Don't worry love, I'm here." He said standing up and facing the enemy.

There were few who had seen Ace's true anger when someone dear to him was attacked or hurt, and there were still few who had survived to tell the tale.

You felt Ace hand you over to someone else, you couldn't keep your eyes open from all the blood you were losing, but you felt Ace place his hair on you and tell you to hold on.

Then he went all dark and muffled and a white light covered your vision.

Waking up wasn't the best, you heard the sound of the machines you had in the infirmary intermittently and you couldn't focus on what was around you.

Breathing hurt, and the oxygen mask you wore scratched your cheeks. Only then did you notice a mass of black hair leaning on the same mattress as you and an orange hair, which you knew well, resting on top of you.

Ace was sleeping, he knew how long you had been unconscious or if he had been struck by an attack of narcolepsy.

You stroked his hair, lulling him to sleep and observing his expressions, until he opened his eyes.

“Hi Ace.” You greeted with a smile.

“Well woken up Love” He replied, leaving a kiss on your forehead and caressing your face and staring at you for endless minutes.

"What happened?" You asked trying to get up but being stopped by Ace.

“You pay attention to the points.” The brunette said as she helped you up without you trying too hard.

“She woke up! You woke up sweetie!” Satch's voice said as she walked in with a tray full of lots of breakfast things. Immediately afterwards she entered half the world into the infirmary.

“Big sister you recovered!” The girls did nothing but cry loudly, while the men tried to comfort them and make them calm down, they were full of bandages and plasters, only superficial wounds fortunately. Each one told how difficult it had been to operate because of the blood you had lost and that they hadn't stopped until dawn. Red Shanks' doctor had also come to help you.

The girls continued to cry and you were moved by that reaction and you also tried to calm them down, but they started crying more.

“You should have seen Ace after they took you and then the girls didn't let us get closer even with threats!” She had said Izo sitting on a stool near the bed and Ace had turned red with embarrassment.

“Not only did he knock out all the enemies who were chasing you, but this wretch here went straight to their camp, burning everything and everyone, without waiting for us.” Marco continued, hitting your boyfriend on the head with a newspaper.

“Ace!” You said, turning to him, “Stupid, you don't have to face so many enemies alone.” You grabbed him by the cheeks.

“Come on Love, they hurt you, I had to punish them properly.” The dark-haired man said, freeing his cheeks and squeezing your hands.

"Unconscious." You said with tears in your eyes.

God you nearly lost him, because if he had been injured you wouldn't have been able to treat him in those conditions.

“Commander Ace don't make big sister cry!”

A small argument had developed between Ace and the girls, Izo had promptly pulled you out to prevent your health from worsening while the others tried to calm the two parties down.

It was your captain's voice that called your attention: "Let her rest, Ace, keep an eye on her." So everyone had slowly left the infirmary and the two of you alone, the girls had first relieved you of all the devices and drips to which you were attached and now you felt freer.

They made sure Ace didn't do any harm and were very direct in saying in no uncertain terms that I shouldn't force myself in any way and then they left.

“Come close to me Ace.” Ace didn't have to be told twice and got into the infirmary bed with you, you were a little tight but feeling him so close made you feel good.

“Aren't the girls going to hang me somewhere?” He had asked as he kissed your cheeks.

“Don't worry, I'll stop him.” You said touching his bandage and looking when she was covered in blood.

“Ace…” You whispered, trying to get a better look.

“It's not mine…it's yours…” Ace said rubbing your back with his warm hands to calm you down. You could only imagine the pain Ace had felt seeing you lose all that blood.

“I didn't know how to fix this.” He whispered looking at your bandage and slowly caressing the area: "I was very scared, they held it down like you told me to do, but you kept bleeding and I..." Ace's eyes were shiny, you knew him well that yes he would have stopped himself from crying, but he needed it right now.

You held him tightly to you, hiding his face in your breast and whispering in his ear: "Love, I'm here, safe and sound, Grace and you, if you want to cry, do it, I'm sorry for having made you worry so much." Ed Ace had held you close to him and salty tears had started streaming down his face.

He had told you what he had felt in that moment, so much fear. His flames had become uncontrollable due to those emotions and he was grateful to be alone at that moment.

“Actually there was Marco who turned me off just in time.” He added as you wiped the tears from his cheeks. You couldn't see him in that condition, Ace never cried - the only time he did was when he told you who he really was and about his past.

"Unconscious." You whispered, kissing him lightly: "You can't do these things if I'm not there to take care of you." You added, kissing him again.

“I don't like that the roles have been reversed.” Ace had said as he kissed you back.

“For once we can take a few days to ourselves.” You told him, kissing him again and biting his lower lip.

A pang had suddenly taken you from his side all the way down to his stomach. Ace had noticed this and immediately put himself in a different position, raising your torso slightly even though you said you were fine.

“You're clearly in pain! Please, just help me.” He said checking your bandage, luckily everything seemed to be fine.

“Ace don't worry.” You tried to reassure him, in a couple of days and some painkillers they would have you back on your feet.

“Don't you want to go back to work right away?!” Ace had placed you on top of him, you were now leaning against his chest and the tray full of Satch's food rested on your legs.

“How long has it been since you ate?” He asked then taking a grape and bringing it to your lips.

“How long has it been since you ate?” You responded with the same question by cutting a slice of meat and giving it to your boyfriend.

“For once I can take care of you.” He said to, Ace exasperated and leaving kisses on your neck. You laughed and then you continued breakfast, during which Ace told you what had happened at the camp, Redhair had already left the island and there had been no farewell fights or anything like that.

You chatted and exchanged small outpourings of love until the doctor came in and decreed that you could leave the infirmary but that you absolutely had to rest.

“Losing a girl like you! I really don't think about it, Ace don't make her get too tired please." The doctor said, giving another direct and blunt lecture.

“But why is everyone like this?!” Ace was carrying you in his arms, he had been adamant, he wouldn't make you so tired. You laughed and hugged him. Only you knew the delicacy that Ace put into every gesture that concerned you, even when you made love, no one would have ever said it but Ace - in addition to being fiery and passionate - was extremely sweet and kind. He cared a lot about making sure he didn't hurt you and making sure he respected your every need.

Yet you were happy to only know this sweet and delicate aspect of him.

“Ace let me change your bandages.” You said, getting up from the bed and grabbing the medical kit you had brought with you.

“I should be the one to change them for you. My wounds have already healed.” Your boyfriend had said stopping you from grabbing something and double checking your bandages, they were still clean and perfect.

A suspicious noise had made you freeze on the spot, voices calling for help and the nurses had reached your ears.

“Oh God, not again…” You said ready to leave to go see the situation.

"Do not even think about it." Ace said taking you back to bed and snickering.

“Ace but what if someone is hurt?” You protested once on the mattress, you tried to get up, but there was no way Ace would die.

“The girls are here, you absolutely need to rest.” Your boyfriend said, kissing you between your collarbones and slowly unbuttoning the shirt you were wearing at the time.

No other alarming voices had arrived from outside so the situation was under control.

“Will you take care of me?” You asked, settling yourself better on the pillows and waiting for your boyfriend to come closer.

“I will be your personal doctor.”

He kissed you, a kiss full of passion and tension accumulated in the previous days, a kiss that only tasted of so much love that you absolutely wanted to give him to heal those wounds that had remained in the soul and not in the flesh of both of you.

You kissed him back as his hands came down to cup your hips.

At that moment only the two of you existed and nothing else.

#one piece #portgas ace smut #ace smut #ace x reader #portogasdace #op #portgas ace x you #ace x oc #portgas d ace x reader #one piece ace #Happy_Ely🪷#portugas d ace

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tsukimefuku · 5 days

Text

forgiveness is a collective resource ✦ satoru gojo

summary: as you're telling gojo about your most recent fallout, he ends up telling you in return the last question geto posed him before leaving.

tags: jujutsu kaisen, f!reader, platonic! gojo x reader, implied higuruma x reader, fluff, angst, our beloved white haired, blue-eyed sorcerer receives some well deserved comfort.

wc: 900

notes, etc: i wrote this to the sound of i'm only human. it felt like a good fit. i wanted to write this one for so long, but never knew where i'd put it on the story. i'm happy to have found its place.

✦ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist for fics listed in chronological order of events

I'm no prophet or Messiah ✦ You should go looking somewhere higher ✦ I'm only human, after all ✦ I'm only human, I do what I can ✦ Don't put the blame on me

"So, that's what happened," you concluded, taking another bite from your sandwich.

"Yeesh," was all Gojo mustered up to say, not being the best at comforting people.

You and Gojo were having a snack in the woods that surrounded Jujutsu High's HQ, and you had just told him about Hiromi's departure to Morioka.

"Having people leaving is shit," you noted, "especially when you care deeply about them. Feels like being left alone to fend off for yourself."

At that, he fell weirdly silent, and you wondered if maybe this would be the best moment to inquire about Geto. After a while, you had learned everything about their fallout — the death of Riko, how Geto had a sharp descent into madness, how he murdered an entire village and had been awarded the death penalty for that.

"The last thing Hiromi told me before he left was that he loved me," which was a twisted, painful little kindness, you thought. "What was the last thing Geto told you when he left?"

You noticed Gojo's demeanor changing a little, and his body becoming stiff. You gave him a few moments before he'd resume his talking.

After a sigh, he ensued.

"'Are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest, or are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo?'" He took a bite from his sweets, and continued to speak with a half-mouthful of sugar. "That was his final question to me before he left."

"What a stupid question."

"Huh?"

"What? You don't know the answer to that?"

He was silent.

You sighed. "You really think that low of yourself? Ugh. The latter, obviously."

The sorcerer was thoroughly surprised and somewhat dumbfounded, so he simply stayed silent in order to hear your observations, something that could be considered the highest form of respect Gojo Satoru was able to display for someone.

You shook your head before proceeding.

"First of all, Geto didn't know what he was talking about, because he wasn't seeing you, only a distorted reflection of his own resentment towards you for supposedly leaving him alone to spiral down madness on his own. Stop blaming yourself. You did what you could, all of you did."

You involuntarily sighed, trying to push the heaviness away from your heart.

"We sorcerers really need to put our God complex aside and learn to forgive ourselves."

Then, you took a pause to sip on your soda, proceeding.

"I blamed myself for years, just to have it all blow up in my face a decade later. Hiromi left a good new life he had built for himself to chase ghosts from the past," and Nanami, arguably the best one of us all, made a terrible decision that rendered him miserable, you thought, "all because of this wicked little thing called guilt. Guilt weighs us down, tethers us to the past and prevents us from moving forward. So here it is: I forgive you. Have my forgiveness."

"Your forgiveness? For what?" Gojo asked, slightly confused.

"For whatever you want to use it for. Use it to forgive yourself, since you couldn't find it in you for your own benefit. Have absolution. Forgiveness is a collective resource, and we can all forgive each other for our shortcomings. We're all human, after all."

For the very first time ever, you saw Gojo's expression softening underneath his blindfold, and you wondered if the one looking back at you right now was the teenager that failed Riko Amanai and Suguru Geto so many years ago.

The real Satoru Gojo, underneath all the silly cockiness.

"And just to finish answering the question Geto posed, that's precisely why you're the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo, and not the other way around. It was from your failure that the strongest could emerge, and your fallibility stems from you and your humanity."

You now knew how those days went, especially Toji's plan of wearing Gojo down to strike, and the way Gojo told you mindlessly about the first time he let his infinity turned on for days on end.

"You tired yourself in Amanai's benefit, and it put you in a vulnerable position, something only Satoru Gojo, and not the abstract concept of 'the strongest', would ever do. That's why that question is fucking stupid and offensive. You're more than the six eyes and infinity, and more than the people you couldn't save. Let it go," you concluded, taking another sip from your soda.

You were both silent for a moment, and you briefly wondered if you hadn't stepped over a boundary.

"Please, get up" he solicited, an indecipherable voice and expression to his blindfold covered face, getting up from the ground himself.

"Oh, okay," you answered, slightly surprised at the unexpected request.

In a second, Gojo leaned down his huge frame and embraced you, remaining still like that for a minute as you hugged him back, having your chin hooked above his shoulder.

At this moment, even if he was a giant in comparison to you, he seemed and felt remarkably small.

"Thank you," he said, his voice but a whisper behind your head.

You smiled, tightening your grip around his back, happy you could finally reach him and keep him true company.

"No problem, pretty boy. You saved my ass so many times. Thought I'd try to return the favor, which you should know is not something easy to do, since you're the strongest," you said with a laugh, "not all kikufuku in the world would pay off that debt."

He huffed a brief chuckle, letting go of you, feeling he might not be so alone anymore.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #jujutsu gojo #satorugojo #jujutsu satoru #jjk satoru #gojo saturo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen gojo

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i4bellingham · 1 year

Text

THE PERFECT CUDDLE BUDDY : jamal musiala x reader

in which something as mundane and as simple as waking up entangled in each other's arms can either boost to start one’s day or be a reason to laze around, your boyfriend uses it for the latter.

posting short pieces for now because of writer’s block, i don't like this situation at all 🤧 anyways i’m finishing a request for jude so it will probably be up by tmrw or the next day idk i’m not really sure but it will be posted for sure!

Jamal knows he should be getting up.

It's already past 6 am and the day is not going to wait for him to leave the bed, pause the time itself so he can prepare his stuff for another day of grueling training (which in his defense he actually enjoys).

But really? How could he even leave the comfort of his soft bed when he's got the most perfect cuddle buddy wrapped around his arms like a missing puzzle to solve the enigma that is his life?

You're there, all secured and warmed up in his arms as he nudges his cold feet in between yours underneath the duvet. He knows you'll probably notice the coolness of his skin soon enough and will most likely chide him for bugging you out of your sleep because of that but really, he wants you awake just as much as he is even though he doesn't straight up wake you up.

“Your feet’s cold J.” You mumble sleepily before kicking his feet away, making Jamal chuckle from your attempt of keeping him from your warmth when he plops an entire leg over your waist.

He rubs the back of your head to make up for his early shenanigans, trailing soft kisses on the crown of your head before you're burying your face against his chest.

“Don’t you have training today?” You ask him, patting his thigh that was over your hip. “You’ll be late if you don’t move now.”

“Nah... think I’ll be fine being late just for today.” He replies, reaching over the bedside table to his right to take his phone. “Or should I just skip training today? Tell the team I got cold or somethin’?”

“And for what reason would you pull this lie?”

He taps on his phone for a few moments before he's chucking the device back on the bedside table, shooting you a mischievous smile before tackling you in a hug that had you squealing.

“No- Jamal! I swear to God I’ll kick your ass if you don’t get off me right now!”

Jamal pushes his luck by completely letting his arms and legs go for support, letting his weight fall down on you as he snuggles against your chest comfortably.

“But you're soft, and warm and I’m tired baby... just let me recharge real quick yeah?” You boop his nose, rolling your eyes but saying nothing else except letting him lay on top of you like a sack of potatoesㅡ a fine sack of potatoes.

“But seriously though, are you heading over to training?”

Jamal nods his head. “Yes but I texted the team, told them I’ll be late because someone caught a cold...” He ends his sentence with a cheeky smile, grinning wider when he notice that you're contemplating who on Earth caught a cold.

He thinks it's cute the way your eyes visibly widens as the realization dawns on you about what he did, slapping his back playfully for a good measure before you're lovingly chiding the life out of him.

“No way you lied to your team! I did not caught the cold did I? Why would you lie love seriously?” You huff.

“But I want to spend some time with you... such a good day outside, bright and beautiful don’t you think?” He points at the windows, watching the sun rise above the horizon in all it's sunny glory.

You gently flick on his forehead, rubbing on his skin when he whines about your flick being too painful (even though you both know it's really not and he's just whining for some extra affection), you cuddle him close to you still.

“Or you could have just asked the team for a day off like a normal person would?”

“And have Phonzy blowing up my phone?” He asks with a shake of his head. “No thank you, I’d rather do this instead.”

“But you'll attend training later on the day, won’t you love?”

A soft smile blossoms in Jamal’s lips, most likely done by the familiar pet name you normally call him on a daily basis as he nods his head in affirmation.

“Yes Ma'am.” He nuzzles his face back on your chest as you wrap an arm on his back, rubbing your palm over his shirt up and down. “I’ll leave when the clock hits 9:30 yeah? Just let me lay down here with you... You're so warm and soft how is this possible...”

#☆ i4bellingham writes.#☆ jamal musiala #jamal musiala fanfiction #jamal musiala x reader #jamal musiala x you #jamal musiala imagine #jamal musiala x fem!reader #jamal musiala

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jaxthejester · 4 months

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I will love you forever if you keep feeding my alloaro ass FWB fics. Any pairing. Every pairing. I just... It was so cathartic to read something non romantic and I always want more

i tried my best! hope you enjoy!

Shaymien - Pretty Handsome, Awkward

"Hey, Dames?"

Damien's eyes didn't leave the screen. "Yes, Shayné?"

"I'm horny."

"Ah. Can I finish this level before we start anything?"

"Oh! Shit, yeah. Of course. I'll be in my room."

"Cool. Be there in a few."

Shayne quickly got up and made his way to his room. He opened a bedside drawer and retrived his small bottle of lube, setting it on top of the table it just came out of. Some would argue hunting down the lube mid-act made things more arousing, but Shayne would disagree. He laid down on his bed, waiting for his friend to join him.

A loud "DAH, SHIT!" followed by a shaky breath came from Shayne's living room. Shayne chuckled, knowing full well Damien had failed his level. After a moment, Damien joined Shayne in the bedroom. The former tsked after giving the latter a once over.

"Man, couldn't get a head start by taking off your shorts or anything?"

Shayne sat up on his elbows. "Hey, at least I got the lube out!"

Damien chuckled, leaning against the door frame. "Good. I swear, if you ever try to fuck me without lube again, I'll kick your ass then and there."

"You'll kick my ass while I'm in you?"

"I have a black belt in karate. Don't try me, bitch."

Shayne rolled his eyes. "C'mere, dumbass." Damien quickly made his way to where Shayne laid. He quickly pecked Shayne on the lips before moving to his neck and planting sloppier kisses.

"Damn, moving on so q-quickly?" Shayne questioned. Damien paused his actions momentarily.

"You taste like the takeout we had for lunch. Stale chicken isn't a turn on for me." With that, he returned to Shayne's neck.

"Haah... fair."

Damien's hands began tracing Shayne's frame, pulling his shirt up. Shayne used one hand to help toss the article away. Damien sat up to remove his own shirt.

"How do you want me?" Damien asked. Shayne began to palm his hardening dick.

"Mmm... you feelin' like riding?"

"Yeah, I can do that. Help a bud out and ditch your shorts and shit while I do the same?"

"Of course, man."

Damien hopped off the bed to work his way out of his pants, while Shayne manuvered his hips to slide his shorts and underwear off without getting up. He slowly started to stroke himself while waiting on Damien.

"Damiennnn c'mon, my hands giving me more action right now than you are!"

"Hold on man!" Damien finally freed himself from his pants prison and rejoined Shayne. "Get your hand outta here, that's my job." Shayne let go of himself, letting Damien's hand replace his own.

After a few pumps, Damien put his mouth to the tip and slowly sank down.

"Ho-oh shit, that's the ticket." Shayne muttered, putting a hand to Damien's hair and tugging lightly. Damien whined at the act and began bobbing his head, each time taking more down his throat. "You're so good at this, Dames..."

Damien pulled off, opting to slowly stroke Shayne's dick. "Hah, t-thanks," he said with a dopey grin. "As much as I love blowing you, all this is getting me pretty hard and..."

"I c-can tell."

"Okay, Mr. Comedian. You think you could start stretching me?"

"Oh, y-yeah, for sure. Get on your back."

Shayne moved to sit on his thighs as Damien took the spot he was just in. Grabbing the bottle of lube from the bedside table, he quickly coated his middle and index finger. "You ready?" A hum of approval was all he needed before pushing his index finger into Damien's hole.

"Oh god... mhm, yep, that's it." Quiet babbles of approval fell from Damien's lips as Shayne worked him open, quickly picking up his pace and adding a second finger.

"Sha-Aayne, hurry u-up, I'm fine!" Damien moaned.

"Fine, fine!" Shayne remove his fingers and grabbed his lube once again. Laying on his back, he got the lube over his hand and started readying himself as Damien lined himself up.

"Ready?"

"Go for it."

Damien lined Shayne's cock up with his hole before slowly lowering himself onto it.

"O-Oh god..." Damien moaned lowly.

"Fuck, how are you so goddamn t-tight?" Shayne hissed.

"Hhnn... j-just... give me a second..." Damien steadied his breathing before pushing all the way down. "Hnng- oh fuck... let me adjust..."

"Take a-all the time you need..."

A moment passes by before Damien is fully adjusted. He ran a hand through his hair to ground himself.

"Okay, c-can I move now?" Met with an enthusiastic nod, Damien slowly pulled up before pushing back down, both men moaning at the feeling. Damien had intended to try and take it slow, but that flew out the window.

He was now moving at a quick pace, slamming down hard against his friend's pelvis, making Shayne cry out in pleasure.

"Shit, shit- are you- oh god, are you close?"

"Mm, oh my god, I a-Aam, yes, yes, please-"

Shayne reached an arm up to Damien's hair and tugged harshly. That was all it took for Damien to cum, spilling onto Shayne's chest. Shayne grabbed Damien's hips, holding him in place so he could fuck up into him, causing Damien to cry out in overstimulation.

"Fuck man, I'm s-so close. Do you- fuck- want it i-in?"

Damien, still coming down from his orgasm and being pounded, tried his damnedest to remember how to even talk.

"Haah- nng, out- please- shit, out. Face- oh shit-"

Shayne had fucked Damien enough times to get the general idea of his insane babblings. Hands still gripping Damien's hips, he quickly pulled the other man off his cock and put him on his back. Shayne knelt above Damien's face, furiously pumping his cock. Damien stuck out his tongue as Shayne's orgasm hit. Ropes fell over Damien's face as Shayne tried to catch his breath.

"Hoh god... that was... great." Shayne said with a smile. He picked up his discarded shirt and tossed it to Damien. "For your face. You look ridiculous."

Damien grabbed the shirt and began wiping his face off. "Please, this is 90% your fault."

"Suuure, bud, sure."

#smosh #shaymien #spicy fic #thank you for the ask!#cross posted on ao3 #if you like my fics pls leave kudos there!

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formulatrash · 9 months

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What's your take on the hockey booktok thing? Since you mentioned it on twt

my initial take would be that all these people scare me so much I don't want to get into it but also people keep messaging me to be like did you know people ship carlando" off the back of it and yes. I did know that.

my understanding of what's happened on booktok, which I absorb any information about only twice a year during whatever version of this is blowing up at the time, is pretty limited. partly because I'm not on tiktok and partly because I can't read. but the crux of it seems to have come down to people writing disgustingly thirsty comments on a hockey player and his wife's posts, regardless of what they were about, somehow feeling empowered to be horny not just on main but in someone's face because of booktok.

that's, clearly, not remotely acceptable. if there are communities of people out there that thirst about me I don't know about them (although the cold tendrils of horror about the Wikifeet page have just gripped me and no, oh god, that isn't the phrase I should've used at all get me out of here) but there are loads of people who fucking hate my guts. that's like, fine, it's their own business; if they keep it on discord or whatever and away from me it doesn't do me any harm. lord knows, I have committed the act of hating and indeed being horny, sometimes simultaneously, when I was at a safe enough distance for none of the subjects to ever know.

this is a thing about fandom. if you post "Max Verstappen looks breedable" on here then he's extraordinarily unlikely to ever see it or probably know what it means. if you comment that on Kelly's instagram posts, even if you don't like her and even if that's for valid reasons, that's very different.

as I gather it, the booktok thing has exploded into RPF in general. which, I gotta say, RPF and sexually harassing a dude and his family are in fact very different things. one has a rich history, both as actual ways of telling history (Anthony and Cleopatra: RPF, Chernobyl: RPF, the god damn Gran Turismo movie is RPF about an uncomfortably large number of people I know IRL and to be fair it looks like it slaps I'm gonna see it) and as a longstanding artform. RPF's history of horny is even extremely longstanding, with obscene RPF being used by both the French and Russian revolutionaries to undermine the concept of royal divinity.

RPF is political because it involves an interpretation of real events and people. and the perspective from which that's written will always be political. RPF can, certainly, be feminist; there's quite a lot of retellings of classical stories that fit this. RPF can, also, be fucking weird horny shit. or terrible man takes. or incredible, tender, queer retellings; Kaz Rowe's graphic novel about real-life surrealist Claude Cahun is an obvious example of the latter. Pride, the film about the miners' strikes and the AIDS crisis, is another.

so yeah, it is a legitimate and recognised form of literature and art and also uhhhh. well. I mean the omegaverse is definitely recognised, legally, in court because of that one case but I don't know that even its fiercest enthusiasts would really be all that keen on describing it. not as like, literature or anything just I think most people would rather literally never have an IRL conversation about that. ever.

I'm not 1000% clear on how carlando got into this but clearly that's broken containment a long time ago anyway. when you had Sky doing love heart interviews 15 races into them being teammates or whatever, there was an obvious amount of gay chicken being played by the producers that frankly, as a queer person in motorsport, I'm a lot more comfortable with the fan version of.

no, obviously, I do not think they are dating - or want to think that tbh - but frequently-queer fans projecting the wish fulfilment of seeing a kinder and more representative world for their desires, in places hidden from the subjects, is a lot less weird than leering, laughed-at dating questions and milk baths. in an ideal world it wouldn't have to be a secret, yearned-for alternative because things would be safe and open enough for there to be real queer stories everywhere but that, unfortunately, is not the one we currently live in.

wish fulfilment and telling stories are not the same things, necessarily. sometimes you tell the stories to remind yourself it's ok to have wishes or to work out what those even are. I don't think there's anything necessarily harmful about what names the characters have in those, provided the line between reality and any real people's privacy is kept.

clearly, with the booktok thing, that's where things went extremely wrong. generally tiktok as a whole seems to have a very odd perception about other people's agency, whether it's pranking videos or like the girl who filmed people peeing at Spa. if you regard everyday people as content opportunities (spoiler: the law does not think this and particularly in the EU you cannot film people without their consent) then I guess it's easy to slide over to seeing an athlete as a target for what I suspect very few of the people doing it recognised as very unpleasant and invasive harassment.

there's nothing wrong with fancying athletes. there's nothing even wrong with sexualising them, provided you respect some boundaries and provided it's not part of the conditions of their working contracts. there's a lot of difference between there being a discord where, idk, people say Mitch Evans is hot (he is, although somewhat implausibly he genuinely does not know this) and sponsors for female tennis players wanting them to wear revealing outfits and stay skinny or teenage girls being encouraged into provocative photoshoots by people who promise them roles, etc. teenage male athletes being pressured into doing things they don't want to yet or maybe at all to prove they're men, queer athletes being forced to hide who they are or repress it entirely.

would it be a little bit odd to find RPF of yourself? yes. I won't lie, I would judge the characterisation. I already do judge that on the frankly very weird things people write about me. you have never seen RPF as strange as the narratives people will make up about you in the comments of an article about hydrogen and frankly those scare me a lot more than whether someone thinks I'd be assigned beta or whatever.

stumbling across something, rather than having explicit sexual fantasies forced into your face, especially on what's your own social media pages where people you know in real life can see them, is very different though. some people who engage with RPF cross lines, whether that's weird conspiracy stuff about girlfriends being faked or stalking people's friends accounts etc.

RPF doesn't inherently cross lines, even when it's public; there's a very interesting interview here with Jann Mardenborough and the guy who plays him in the Gran Turismo movie about, among other things, portraying a fatal crash he was involved in. clearly, Jann is not only aware of but is the executive producer of what's ultimately fiction about himself and there's an ownership there, of course. but some parts of the movie are made up, for sure.

obviously I'm like, the not-very-secret infiltrator here because clearly I am On Tumblr and know what AO3 is. I follow a bunch of people who write fanfic because they also make nice gifs of my favourite blorbos and I like to think we can all make peace with our own boundaries about that kinda thing. also I read every single Shane/Ryan fic in like 5 weeks and honestly, not going to apologise except to myself for persisting with a few that didn't pay off.

but like: you do not have to make RPF or any fandom activity unethical. the way you conduct yourself does that and some people step way out of line.

#misc asks

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historicity-was-already-taken · 1 year

Text

Women of the Warsaw Ghetto

Keynote delivered in honor of Yom Hashoah, on the 80th anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. Event sponsored by the Jewish Federation of Dutchess County, New York.

The version of my talk below includes some pieces I had to edit out the live version for timing purposes. Majority of talk under a cut for reasons of: length, content relating to the mercy killing of children and the elderly, general genocide. I will also be posting a version of this talk to my instagram: @historicity_wasalreadytaken.

What I am about to read is an abridged version of Rachel Auerbach’s poem, “Yizkor, 1943,” translated from the original Yiddish, originally printed in David Roskies’ The Literature of Destruction: Jewish Responses to Catastrophe.

I saw a flood once in the mountains. Wooden huts, torn from their foundations were carried above the raging waters. One could still see lighted lamps in them; and men, women and children in their cradles were tied to the ceiling beams. Other huts were empty inside, but one could see a tangle of arms waving from the roof … At a distance, one could see mouths gaping, but one could not hear the cries because the roar of the waters drowned out everything.

And that's how the Jewish masses flowed to their destruction at the time of the deportations.

Sinking as helplessly into the deluge of destruction. And if, for even one of the days of my life, I should forget how I saw you then, my people, desperate and confused, delivered over to extinction, may all knowledge of me be forgotten and my name be cursed like that of those traitors who are unworthy to share your pain.

Who can render the stages of the dying of a people? Only the shudder of pity for oneself and for others. And again illusion: waiting for the chance miracle. The insane smile of hope in the eyes of the incurable patient. Ghastly reflections of color on the yellowed face of one who is condemned to death.

Condemned to death. Who could—who wished to understand such a thing? And who could have expected such a decree against … such low branches, such simple Jews. The lowly plants of the world. The sorts of people who would have lived out their lives without ever picking a quarrel with the righteous—or even the unrighteous—of this world. How could such people have been prepared to die in a gas chamber? The sorts of people who were terrified of a dentist's chair; who turned pale at the pulling of a tooth.

Even the sweetest ones: the two- and three-year-olds who seemed like newly hatched chicks tottering about on their weak legs. And even the slightly larger ones who could already talk. Who endlessly asked about the meanings of words ... Five-year-olds. And six- year-olds. And those who were older still—their eyes wide with curiosity about the whole world … Girls who still nursed their dolls off in corners. Who wore ribbons in their hair; girls, like sparrows, leaping about in courtyards and on garden paths … to whose cheeks the very first wind of summer seems to have given its first glowing caress. Girls of eleven, twelve, thirteen with the faces of angels.

And pious Jews in black gaberdines, looking like priests in their medieval garb: Jews who were rabbis, teachers who wanted to transform our earthly life into a long study of Torah and prayer to God. They were the first to feel the scorn of the butcher. Their constant talk of martyrdom turned out not to be mere empty words.

And still other Jews. Broad shouldered, deep voiced, with powerful hands and hearts. Artisans, workers. Wagon drivers, porters. Jews who, with a blow of their fists, could floor any hooligan who dared enter into their neighborhoods...You were swept away in the flood, together with those who were weak.

Grandfathers and grandmothers with an abundance of grandchildren. With hands like withered leaves … Who already trembled at the latter end of their days. They were not destined simply to decline wearily into their graves like rest-seeking souls; like the sun sinking wearily into the ocean's waves. No. It was decreed that before they died they would get to see the destruction of all that they had begotten; of all that they had built.

“I have so many names to recall, how can I leave any of them out, since nearly all of them went off to Belzec and Treblinka or were killed on the spot? … Absurd! I will utter no more names. They are all mine, all related. All who were killed. Who are no more. Those whom I knew and loved press on my memory, which I compare now to a cemetery. The only cemetery in which there are still indications that they once lived in this world ... I may neither groan nor weep. I may not draw attention to myself in the street. And I need to groan; I need to weep. Not four times a year. I feel the need to say Yizkor four times a day.

Remember, Oh Lord, the souls of those who passed from this world horribly, dying strange deaths before their time. And now, suddenly I seem to see myself as a child standing on a bench behind my mother who, along with my grandmother and my aunts, is praying before the east wall of the woman's section of the synagogue … And just then the Torah reader, Hersh's Meyer-Itsik, strikes the podium three times and cries out with a mighty voice … ‘We recite Yizkor.’

Auerbach composed this piece in November 1943, after the liquidation of the Warsaw Ghetto, after its Uprising, and after its destruction at the hands of the Nazis.

Born in 1903, Rachel Auerbach studied psychology at the University of Lwow. A talented and prolific writer, Rachel began her literary career in 1925, moving to Warsaw, home of the largest Jewish community in Europe, in 1933. She thrived there, among the city’s numerous theaters, publishing houses, cafes, art galleries, libraries, and museums; and socialized with the city’s Jewish intellectual elite.

When Poland fell to the Nazis in September 1939, Jewish historian Emmanuel Ringelblum recruited Rachel into the Aleynhilf, the Jewish “Self-Help” Organization of the Warsaw Ghetto. Ringelblum put Rachel in charge of a soup kitchen, a position which allowed her to observe a wide swathe of the ghetto’s inhabitants. In 1941, Ringelblum recruited Rachel into the Oyneg Shabbes, or “Pleasure of the Sabbath,” his underground group dedicated to documenting life in the Warsaw Ghetto as it happened, without analysis or commentary. He asked Rachel to write for the archive regular reports on her experiences in the soup kitchen.

In both these reports and her post-war writings, Auerbach described the ordinary people she worked with each day at that soup kitchen on Leszno Street. There was the efficient bookkeeper, Halina Gelblum, whose competence soothed the nerves of the rest of the staff. There was the sixteen-year-old Henie, who was always smiling and flirting with the boys who worked in the kitchen. There was Gutchke the cook; talented, yet often at odds with Auerbach’s fastidious approach to hygiene. She would sing to herself in Yiddish as she bustled about the kitchen, talk to the pots and pans, and test the soup with her fingers.

There was Dama, a once-wealthy woman who, as Auerbach wrote, had “been wearing for many weeks a black georgette cocktail dress, dragged down at the bottom in uneven tails, the seams plastered with nits; on her head a cloth jockey cap, yellow with brown strips, perhaps from some skiing costume; and over her shoulders, weighing her down, inseparable collections of large bags and small handbags stuffed with what few possessions she has left.”

Ringleblum so valued Rachel’s reports that he soon gave her additional assignments. One of these, was to conduct interviews with those who had escaped from the Treblinka death camp and returned to the ghetto. These escapees were brought to the attention of the Oyneg Shabbes through the work of two young female underground couriers: Chavka Folman, and Frumka Plotnicka—who once smuggled grenades, hidden in a basket of potatoes, into the Warsaw Ghetto. Those interviews became critical to alerting the outside world of the extermination of Polish Jewry.

After the War, Rachel—with fellow Oyneg Shabbes survivors Hirsch and Bluma Wasser—was critical to the recovery of the archive, which the Oyneg Shabbes buried beneath the ghetto in summer 1942, when the Nazis liquidated the Warsaw Ghetto, rounding up 90% of its inhabitants, over 300,000 individuals, and sending them by cattle-cars to their deaths at Treblinka. In April 1946, at a meeting held to commemorate the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising on its third anniversary, Auerbach—the only female speaker present—stood up, and said:

“We cannot rest until we dig up the archive. Even if there are five stories of ruins, we have to find the archive … I will not rest, and I will not let you rest. We must rescue the Ringelblum Archive!”

Eventually, through her persistence, and assistance from the Jewish Labor Committee in New York, the search began that summer, 1946. Thanks to Rachel Auerbach, the majority of the archive was recovered from beneath the ruins of the Warsaw Ghetto, and would become one of the most vital sources on daily life therein.

The Aleynhilf was not the only organization of its kind operating in the Warsaw Ghetto. Most homes in Warsaw were built in clusters of four, with a shared courtyard between them. During the initial occupation of the city, and the first months of the Ghetto’s existence, “house committees” began to emerge in these courtyards. The house committees provided to the clusters’ residents child-care, communal kitchens, and illegal educational and cultural activities. By April 1940, there were 778 house committees operating in the Warsaw Ghetto; by early 1942 there were 1,108, with 7,500 members between them.

One such member was a young woman named Hannah Fryshdorf, who would go on to fight in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, and escape the burning ghetto through the sewers under the leadership of Zivia Lubetkin, the highest-ranking woman in the Jewish Fighting Organization. In an abridged section of a talk she delivered after the war, “Memories of the Warsaw Ghetto,” Hannah briefly discussed the illegal educational activities conducted by the house committees; activities in which she took part. This source was provided to me by Hannah’s niece, Ettie Goldwasser; according to Goldwasser, this is the only public statement Hannah ever made about her experiences in the Holocaust.

She wrote:

What has not been spoken of is the important role the hoyf (courtyard) played in the life of the ghetto … Because the police curfew began at 6 p.m., effectively prohibiting anyone from leaving the apartment after that hour, life within the confines of the four hoyf walls took on unprecedented significance.

Let Genshe 33 serve as an example … Before the war some eighty families lived in this building. Though acquainted with one another, they did not socialize much. But during the ghetto years, over one thousand people—those who had been driven out of nearby neighborhoods and those who had originally lived in Warsaw outside the ghetto walls—were crammed into the building.

When curfew fell at 6 p.m. and the gates closed, people, including children, began gathering in the hoyf to walk around until late into the night. In the courtyard they exchanged news about daily life, discussed the miracle of surviving yet another day, and gave voice to rumors true and false, recounting them over and over. Gradually, the inhabitants of the hoyf became more and more intimately connected, and the hoyf itself actually became a shtetl.

Quite naturally there arose a wish for an organized cooperative way of life, and…it fell to a group of the older activists to organize and create a hoyf committee. The organizers felt that it was their responsibility to look after the spiritual and bodily well-being of those who lived within the hoyf's quarters.

The first job was to raise money for feeding the hungry, since there were people close to starvation. It was difficult, yet funds were found and a soup kitchen was started. Every day several women volunteered to work there, cooking and serving supper … One good meal a day saved dozens of families from starvation.

Some 40 teenagers would meet every evening in a small room and spend several hours together, talking, discussing, reading books … For a few hours each night they were able to forget their cares and their hunger; for a few hours they were young again. And these same youngsters took it upon themselves to be concerned with those even younger, helping them to live a little, making them laugh, sing, and play.

So a ‘children’s corner’ was created, a kind of ghetto school. During the day it accommodated the smaller children, and at night the 18-year-olds. And it was terribly hard work to deal with shivering and starving children in a cold unheated room for six or seven hours a day. How much ingenuity and effort were summoned by untrained teachers to keep the children interested, to keep them from running out into the streets to grab or steal something to eat. And what strength it took for the teachers, cold and hungry themselves, to stand for hours at a time, teaching kids between six and thirteen, in one room without educational materials, without toys.

But they accomplished their aims … Both teacher and student knew what awaited them should they be caught attending this clandestine school, but fear held no one back; no child gave up his or her place.

… Back then we put in so much of our heart and hard work; and this was a time when hundreds of people were dying of starvation and illness, when not a single household was without a member stricken by typhus … a time when the Germans snatched people off the street for work details and dragged young men from their beds at night … At this moment when energies were being depleted, it became important to find comfort, to give each other hope.

These house committees quickly became the center of public life in the Warsaw Ghetto. And more often than not, these committees were managed and staffed by female volunteers. And for most of these women, this was the first time in their lives that they were able to step into leadership roles. Many of them thrived, finding within themselves strength which they had never before had reason to access.

However, this change in women’s traditional behavior went beyond the confines of the courtyard. One such process is illustrated in the recollections of Feigele Peltel, better known to the world as Vladka Meed, a courier and arms-smuggler for the Jewish resistance, and later, a Holocaust educator.

During the siege of Warsaw in September 1939, the Jews and the Poles experienced a brief moment of unity as they rushed to their city’s defense. Yet, the food, water, gas, and electric shortages which accompanied the German siege put a quick end to this showing of camaraderie. As the Germans marched into the city, they fanned the flames of Polish anti-Semitism. For example, as they set up soup and bread lines for Polish civilians, they encouraged the Poles to drive Jews out of the lines with such statements as: “the Jews deprive the Poles of their spoonful of soup!”

On September 28, 1939, a cheerful Jewish man named Shlomo Peltel was standing in one of these lines. He’d encountered German soldiers during their occupation of the city in World War I, and had found them to be friendly and courteous. But, as he stood on that bread line, the Poles around him began to mutter that he was a Jew. As their mutterings grew louder, a German soldier grabbed Shlomo, pulled him roughly out of the line, and beat him. According to Feigele, his oldest daughter, this experience was traumatic for Shlomo, and, afterwards, he retreated into the family home “a broken man,” no longer able to support, provide for, or protect the family as he had in the days before the occupation.

Before the war, Shlomo had owned a modest haberdashery. When the store was struck by a German bomb in the early days of the invasion, the Peltels were able to salvage some of the merchandise; merchandise, which could be sold for cash on the black market. Those sorts of transactions, however, were only conducted in the parts of the city declared off-limits to Jews. The shattered Shlomo certainly couldn’t undertake such a mission, but Feigele, a Bundist activist with features more Aryan than Jewish, certainly could. And so, Feigele loaded up their wares, sold them on the black market, stood in the breadlines, and just like that, took on the role of family provider.

Shlomo was not alone. Finding themselves unable to act as breadwinners and protectors, Jewish men struggled, and often, failed to adapt, leaving their wives and daughters to support the family.

Further, men were the typical targets of Nazi forced labor round-ups. German gangs would seize Jewish men at random, and force them to engage in all manner of labor—from road construction to forest clearance—typically designed to exhaust even the most physically fit of men. These forced laborers were subject to random and brutal violence, and many died from a combination of exhaustion, hunger, heart failure, and exposure. As husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers returned from work assignments sick, beaten, and traumatized, and retreated into the home, their wives, mothers, daughters, and sisters emerged from its confines. As Emmanuel Ringelblum wrote in his diary:

Women’s perseverance—the main providers. Men don’t go out. When [a man is seized for forced labor], the wife does not let go. She runs after [the kidnappers], she screams and cries ‘please, Mister’—she is not afraid of the soldiers. She stands on the long line—some are seized to work … The beautiful hats have disappeared. In wartime [women] put on scarves. When there is need to go to [the Gestapo] the daughter or wife goes; in the worst scenario they stand and wait in the hallway … The women are everywhere since the [men] have been taken to all sorts of work … When a husband escapes … his wife has to be the sole provider. [Women] who never thought of working [out of their homes] are now performing the most difficult physical work.

While women expressed satisfaction, and indeed, newfound empowerment, with their new roles and responsibilities, the enforced starvation, terror, and poverty of daily life in the Warsaw Ghetto took their toll. Women abandoned their children on the front steps of orphanages and self-help institutions, in the hopes that there, their children might have a chance at survival. Some women worked as smugglers and prostitutes to provide for their families, often with the tacit approval of their husbands and parents. Once-wealthy women took work as house-cleaners, while female nurses and doctors worked relentlessly at the impossible task of containing the typhus, dysentery, and tuberculosis outbreaks which plagued the ghetto.

Some of these doctors and nurses described their own attempts to shield their patients from pain and suffering, even as the Nazis were forcing Jews onto the cattle cars which would bear them to their deaths. In her memoir, I Remember, Nothing More, Dr. Adina Blady-Szwajger recalled:

… Sister Mira came for me—I can’t remember her last name but I still see her face in front of me as if she were here now. And she asked me to go downstairs with her for a moment. When we left the ward, she said—and I can still hear this — ‘Doctor, please give my mother an injection. I can’t do it. I beg you, please. I don’t want them to shoot her in bed, and she can’t walk.’ So I asked her what was in the syringe and she told me it was morphine.

… We went to the first floor where the families of staff were ... And so, that grey-haired lady smiled at me and stretched out her arm. The sister put on the clamp. And I injected the morphine into her vein. And then I saw a few more people who didn’t have the strength to move. I asked Mira what we should do and she said: ‘Help them, surely.’ So we helped them, too. And by the window there was this woman, swollen from starvation, and suffering from circulatory insufficiency, and she kept on looking at us, pleading with her eyes. She was the last one we gave an injection to.

… When I left the room, I held out my hand and got two large containers of morphine. We didn’t say a word to each other, just squeezed each other’s hands, I think.

I took the morphine upstairs. Dr. Margolis was there and I told her what I wanted to do. So we took a spoon and went to the infants’ room. And just as, during those two years of real work in the hospital, I had bent down over the little beds, so now I poured this last medicine into those tiny mouths. Only Dr. Margolis was with me. And downstairs, there was screaming, because the…Germans were already there, taking the sick from the wards to the cattle trucks.

After that we went in to the older children and told them that this medicine was going to make their pain disappear. They believed us, and drank the required amount from the glass. And then I told them to undress, get into bed and sleep. So they lay down and after a few minutes—I don’t know how many—but the next time I went into that room, they were asleep. And then, I don’t know what happened.

These ordinary women rose to meet circumstances unimaginable to them even two years earlier. Their resistance was not of the military variety that comes to mind when we discuss the concept of resistance, but each act; each dose administered; each child taught; each person allowed to live one more day, was an act of resistance.

There were women in the Warsaw Ghetto who did engage in resistance as we typically think of it: as fighters, arms smugglers, spies, and commanders. And, despite what 80 years of novels, comic books, films, and theater would have us think, women were present and vital at every stage of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. I have already mentioned several of these women: couriers and arms smugglers Chavka Folman, Frumka Plotnicka, Hannah Fryshdorf, Zivia Lubetkin, and Vladka Meed.

The female couriers acquired guns, explosives, and ammunitions, smuggled them past the German guards, and into the Ghetto. They slept with chemical explosives and instructions for the manufacture of homemade bombs under their pillows, and smuggled dynamite into the ghetto through labyrinthine passageways of the factories which abutted the Ghetto.

In her memoir They Are Still with Me, Chavka Folman wrote of one such mission:

For a short while I lived in the same room with Tema Schneiderman … Under the bed was … a suitcase containing pistols and grenades … Tema and I brought the grenades to the ghetto ... Each of the girls hid a grenade in her most intimate place, her undergarments. From a suburb of the city we took a streetcar in the direction of the ghetto. I recall our odd behavior during the ride. Tema stood at my side and asked: ‘What would happen if a gentleman invited us to sit beside him?’ We broke into laughter; hiding our fear in this way…

Jewish Fighting Organization commander Yitzak “Antek” Zuckerman wrote that he would never forget the celebration which took place in honor of courier Frumka Plotnitcka when she smuggled the Jewish Fighting Organization’s first weapons acquisition—those basketed grenades—into the Warsaw Ghetto.

Stories such as these proliferate through the diaries, memoirs, autobiographies, and testimonies of surviving members of the Jewish Fighting Organization. Male and female resistance leaders alike made it very clear in their post-war writings and testimonies that no uprising could have happened without the women, many of whom were discovered, tortured, and murdered over the course of their missions. Indeed, a courier named Hasia began her underground work in a group of 23 women. Only five survived.

When the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising began on April 19, 1943, women served as sharpshooters, reconnaissance officers, fighters, and commanders.

Today, the 27th of Nisan, is the day of Yom HaShoah, as set by the Israeli Parliament in 1953 to align with the events of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. Today, as we approach the 80th anniversary of that Uprising, we remember these women of the Warsaw Ghetto; their courage, their loss, and their resistance.

Thank you.

#holocaust #holocaust history #warsaw ghetto #warsaw ghetto uprising #yom hashoah

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