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borreloadsavagedragon · 1 year

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Give Kaito essay (for the character meme)

Oh god, I’ll read more this because it’s gonna be a journey and that's also why it took so long gjdaslgk-

And the standard zexal and arc v spoilers warning message-

1. how long have i known about them A LONG time though it didn’t get to like he’s my whole world status until pandemic era-- MalindaChan did her cosplay for him back when I was still a certified Yugiboomer who entertained GX and 5DS because "lol abridged series jokes" and that’s when I first remember seeing his design? I tried watching Zexal briefly when it was actively airing but just couldn’t get far bc Boomer Brain ™, but I remember him being cool but the "Kaiba-likeness but not being Kaiba" Yugiboomer wall couldn't be overcome right away, I had to train my skills Then 2020 happened, I watched Vrains to understand Link Summoning, got SUCKED into it, and was like wow past me was dumb, ALL of the spinoffs are GREAT Zexal reached a hand back out to me when I was kinda struggling with the Vrains community and I'd decided to start writing more spinoff muses with some mutual friends and that's also when I realized I’d be subconsciously collecting Galaxy and Photon monsters since they’re pretty + space themed but also because they were inside of ALL of the Kaiba support sets(because DUH) so it was like,,, well, let’s try that again

Now I’m In Hell And It’s All His Fault Do you think I ENJOY playing Photon competitively? Well yes, but also NO. It means learning new decks is HARD because I can't look at dragons and knights in SPACE.

2. whether or not they’ve ever made me cry Moon duel? W,, what Moon duel,,, I don’t,,, remember any space dueling, ahaha, isn’t that another yugioh, the rush of the go,,,,,,, In all serious though, yes lmao The duel against Zexal when he tells you his reasoning for why he’s the Number Hunter and he looks so broken, that got a solid few tears The flashback of him trying to break Haruto out of the city got some tears The duel with Chris is also really good show of his character at the root, the thing that gets him back to his feet is the moment Chris even considers Haruto as part of his suffering, g o d The moon duel of course. That’s. That one was brutal. Yeah.

3. whether or not i have any merchandise/objects with them uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

There’s a wall scroll behind my work desk that sneaks into my Zoom calls, there’s a canvas print he’s on that sits at my work desk, my ita bag has a handful of charms, pins, and buttons for him(still hunting for artists who draw him with merch wink wink)

I guess my Photon tcg deck counts? The tcg is just one big merch machine if you squint enough-

My Book of Moon themed binder is literally just all of my collector Photon and Galaxy/references to Kaito cards + a small page for Miza since Tachyon is a Galaxy Eyes

Do cosplays count? Because I’ve got all but his space suit basically done + his duel disk

4. what about their personality i like How seriously he takes himself despite literally everything else about his character

He’s often off to the side with his arms crossed, pouting or frowning, having the cool guy edge lord behavior But also he’s screaming in the rain, jumping through a window on a kite glider he made himself that also doubles as his robo-butler, flying to the whole ass moon because a rock told him to, and beefing 14 yr olds, he’s just a legend

I also love that he's like... very clear about himself and on how you should treat him. He straight up says he's going to hell for what he's done and just continues to be there because that's how he'll atone because atonement isn't forgiveness, like he's not ours to forgive. Love him so much.

5. what about their backstory makes me emotional Honestly, most of it

Watching Kaito slowly lose his autonomy (his brother whose been his responsibility for what could be read as since birth, his father just becoming a figure head in his life versus an actual parent, Chris walking out on him with no closure until they duel, being watched by and trained under brutal conditions by the government, failed escape attempts, getting lied to and used, etc) and then knowing one of the people who he attributes half of that loss and suffering to is someone he never gets closure against is very hard to watch

Even in Arc V, he loses his entire family in a way that makes him cut ties with every single person left in a desolate city and hunt his enemies down one by one to pay them back for his suffering, and it happened before we finally actually get to see him or hear of him for the first time so god knows the details

He really just gets put through it time and time again, yugioh be nice to that onion challenge

6. the moment of theirs that made me the saddest there was no duel on the moon in yugioh zexal

But actually, Kaito dying is tragic for a few reasons

THEY JUST LET HIS BROTHER WATCH IT HAPPEN? FAKER??? HELLO?

He was... ok with it happening-

He was killed off before the final duel and before he could reunite with Yuma and Ryouga again, and even though he came back as a spirit, it felt like a such a cop out

7. the moment of theirs that made me the happiest The pure look of joy on his face reuniting with his brother after they defeat Vector the first time, it’s so good The first time Prime Photon is summoned, goated, perfect, all boss monsters should be willed into existence like that But also Arc V, Kaito watching Dennis duel Yuya after everything with Zarc and clapping for him is so sweet omg

8. something about them that made me laugh HIS ONE LINERS, yugioh really gives the rivals the best solo lines I swear to god

Ok listen, dub and sun debate aside, I watched both because I’m a mess and need as much Kaito as I can get, but the dub has some heaters and Kaito’s got a few good ones, ESPECIALLY when he's talking to Mizael

The one to Shark, “You’re quite the romanticist”, who the fuck says that out loud to another person Kaito talking to Dennis is also a fever dream, the dub especially is so jarring, I love them

9. my favorite canon outfit of theirs White coat with the gazer tattoo, you can never go wrong with the Photon coat Numeral Hunter is also based, I know that's not like HIS look in any show, but... I HC that would be his Vrains Avatar, he could go to Vrains very easily, Solflare is an exploitable card in his deck

10. my favorite moment with them in canon UUUUGGHHHH CHOOSING ONE IS HARD

Uhhh, episode wise Shark Hunter is prooobably my favorite(for obvious reason but besides those LOL) because it’s such a tone setter for who Kaito is and also I could listen to these two bicker all day long, we really didn’t get nearly enough of their side rivalry as opposed to like Kaiba and Joey or Takeru and Ryoken

And then the Moon Duel is like my second favorite duel in the whole franchise, only outclassed by Soba and Revo in Vrains, you really get to see just how strong he is because he's half blind, still actively dying by dueling, and gets his helmet cracked in the vacuum of space, and he's still able to win

Character moment, the duel against Chris comes to mind again because it shows a lot of Kaito to his core, but also Kaito hauling ASS to get Yuma to Astral world to reunite with Astral is iconic, Kaito's always ready to take the plunge when everyone else says not to because he just KNOWS he's right

11. my favorite relationship they have with another character sweats profusely, I said it above somewhere I think- removing shipping from the equation entirely, I REALLY like all of the bff / rival dynamics across all of the shows, I love how well done they are and I fully find them more interesting than the standard protag/rival ones, even with KaiRyo having like the least amount of time dedicated to theirs comparatively. Ryouga and Kaito being treated so similarly by the hands dealt to them to where they'd understand the other one like looking in a mirror and yet they cannot stand each other, I eat that shit up. But also knowing the other person so well that they don't even have to talk and also realizing that person is their one of their only option to success? Give me MORE of that I also really love the foil between Mizael and Kaito a lot, I REALLY wish it got the time it was rumored to get, guess I gotta do everything myself In Arc V, Kaito and Shun's dynamic is really good for the little bit we're allowed the time to see it, Shun being one of the only characters who actually goes back for him after leaving so abruptly between Arc V and Zexal... tugs on the heart strings I also love that Kaito took ONE look at Edo in the safe house and decided to speed run the enemies part of the enemies to lovers arc they were going to have, I wish they could have spoken in canon more, hell GX Edo and Zexal Kaito would also be such an interesting dymamic

12. what i like about the way the fandom portrays them Everyone drawing him like >:D all of the time, keep doing that The white lab coat look too? Like not the Photon one, like a standard white lab coat? Perfect, DO NOT change that

nsfw next but also just how everyone knows he's a bottom no matter which ship it is lmao

13. what i dont like about the way the fandom portrays them that no one talks about him except in “WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE RIVAL” polls fndhxjshxbs

I’m going insane in my thoughts alone over here, I need to convert everyone to watch Zexal

14. what i liked about the way canon portrayed them Ok here we can get heated for a bit because I’ve seen an argument somewhere that Kaito didn’t develop at all from season 1 to 2 of Zexal but he 100000% did and I honestly like how it's done

Season 1 Kaito was purposefully talking to the air Astral could be in to avoid even looking at Yuma because he thought so little of him despite how much clawing to get on the same level as him Yuma did

Season 2 Kaito is jumping in to keep Mizael from killing Yuma without a second thought, he's going to the arctic despite ALL of the protests to build the bridge to Astral

His development is subtle, but it's very there, not to mention he can now stomach being in the same room as Faker, gave Chris a second chance, his dying words to Yuma are all the more apparent how important Yuma became to him Like the ONLY person we should have seen an actual conversation touching on Kaito's actions with WAS Ryouga but... be honest, Ryouga's not accepting that from Kaito, they're both very much people of action and they established their bond through the snark and bickering, that's how they communicate Plus Kaito's also outward about not being a good person, telling Yuma he sold his soul to the devil, telling the gang in the first episodes of Zexal II he's already going to hell because that's what his guilty soul deserves Ryoken and Kaito would be SUCH an interesting duo, I'm just saying

15. what i dont like about the way canon portrayed them Oh boy now here we go LOL

The duel against Mr Heartland. - This one's unbelievably bad for so many reasons, mostly because there’s no universe where Kaito struggles against Heartland of all people in a duel, but also this is the person who’s been THE symbol for most of his trauma and trials up until that point. There is no chance in hell he struggles, gets crippled by him, and has to have Yuma take over. That was and always should have been his duel to win, but Yugioh has the unfortunate "this is a story through the protag's eyes" shonen protag bug at its core (Yuma sweetie you’re lovely and wonderful, it’s literally not your fault)

Arc V giving him literally no time for their version of Kaito to have a more satisfactory character arc because of how long and bad the Synchro Dimension/Friendship Cup arc was. Just another victim of the Synchro Arc, sighs. The dub also puts this weird and bad attempted joking line about how Kaito doesn't do family and like have you literally watched any of Zexal, you're the whole ass studio Kaito just doesn't feel very Kaito the same way in Arc V, it's very sad, lots of shit you know og Kaito wouldn't let fly that just goes by in Arc V, but different versions, dimensions, stories, etc etc, it's just such a whiplash coming from Zexal where he's just so much more

OCG Structures was a coward and didn’t want to play with dimensional physics because Kaito 110% could find a way into that timeline I haven't read the Zexal manga in full just yet because I wanna collect them all physically so that'll be later- And a little bit for the games since Konami wanted at least one of those to be canon thanks to Vrains world-

Cross Duel literally had you consider killing kids for him but honestly this one is more funny than infuriating, everyone's a worst version of themselves in Cross Duel agjdaslkgj Duel Links is usually pretty good, but since Kaito’s first launch event where he's hunting you down, he’s been very much more like an NPC for the Zexal world events, just seems weird to me, I'm sure that'll get thrown out once Chris' unlock event actually happens coming up here and when Miza gets added... then that digital world won't know WHAT to do

#THIS WAS FUN THOUGH #kaito really is the character of all time in this house #kaito and takeru fight for favorite spot in my head all the time #asks #answered #kaito #kaito tenjo

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roboromantic · 1 year

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hm I was gonna post Earthspark liveblogs two or more episodes at a time like I did with RB(A) but uh. I’ve kinda written a Lot for the first two + there’s pics so maybe I’ll just do one by one. anyway here’s episode 11

That’s a very clunky way to introduce their status as siblings but ok

Hey uh. Hm. Y’know what I ain’t saying anything let’s move on

Actually is this the first time Bee’s Beetle alt has had stripes? I feel like probably not but I also don’t know any other continuity with it off the top of my head

Gd Twitch and Thrash are so TINY

Hjsfgjkldfghdjfg

Lol at the “Trans” former not wanting to have an altmode. kinda feels a bit like they’re saying “trans people don’t need to hide who they are!!!” or something equally well-meaning but it just ends up othering them even more imo. Where’s the Knuckles pic

Jawbreaker honey y’all were JUST talking about how Bee changed his altmode, you should KNOW you can change yours if it’s not perfect

Twitch that is a HORRIBLE hiding spot and also that’s gotta be the largest cart return shed thing I’ve ever seen

SHDFKJGHFKSJHGKSJHFSDJKF THE GHOST VAN JUST CASUALLY AT THE SUPER MARKET……………………

HOW ARE THEY NOT INSTANTLY RECOGNIZING WHAT’S HAPPENING IT’S LITERALLY THEIR JOBBBBBBB

>“I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you!”

>just watches as Hashtag drives into the side of a cliff when she didn’t know there was a secret entrance

Okay so they have the security stuff but surely they also have surveillance cameras watching the front door, right? They’re gonna know Twitch knows where they are now

Behold, the most useless tape measure in existence! Like okay I don’t expect them to have all the numbers but would it’ve killed them to throw some black lines on there. They don’t even have to vary in length but SOMETHING other than blank yellow woulda made some sense. I’m nitpicking let’s move on

OUGH SHE’S SO CUTE

“Doesn’t do anything” so does she like…………………………………………have her “eyes” closed/off when she’s messing around in cyberspace? Bc that’s kinda hard to miss

Like obviously they don’t have their eyes in a vehicle altmode and beastformers have like. A whole-ass other set of eyes. So I’d think pretty much every Cybertronian has at least two ways of seeing – and like they’ve gotta be able to see things like what color a stoplight is so it can’t be sonar or anything like that I don’t think. And they probably can’t be used at the same time, which is my way of explaining why they don’t just use that to see whenever their eyes are covered or have been blinded by something. Anyway.

Gd I love Schloder he’s so cringe

What exactly is the gas supposed to do. Please explain.

Oh THAT’S interesting

“Core”? Is that this continuity’s version of a spark chamber or am I forgetting/missing something

So there ARE cameras and no one bothered to look at them when the alarm went off???? Or did they not bother bc they thought it was just set off by the agents returning bc technology is stupid sometimes and it might just be acting like my car alarm

SEE HE GOT IT IMMEDIATELY

Hm yeah that icon looked like eyes to me

So she DOES know it turns off the light?

Okay now I’m even more confused bc she says none of them did anything but she did also know how to turn off the lights so What Is The Truth

What’d he say? Multibots? I wish these had subs

HTYE OUT HERE USING DIAL-UP IN 2023 (I know it’s an audio gag but still. The implications are Very Funny)

Now I guess she has more control over stuff so she can see and use the internet at the same time? idk. We’re probably not supposed to think about it this much

*Gravity Falls voice* Ancient meme! Ancient meme!

Bruh are you really treating him like a fuckin pet

Wait why’d the ceiling break. We’re going back to that right

OH WAIT DUH it’s Malto-bots 🥺

Hm exactly how much time has passed? Bc I mean I feel like by the time Nightshade had everything put together they’d already found another solution or at least be resigned enough to not be complaining abt the barn space like they were earlier

Lol I was wondering if she was actually a hotspot

D’aw

#Earthspark spoilers #Chal watches Transformers

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i-can-bench-220 · 2 years

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we are feeling emotional about the mystery solving talking dog cartoon in this chili’s tonight

#i didn’t have enough space for everything in the actual meme so i will continue to lovemail it here #i love how the characters are unique and relatable yet still somewhat blank/tropey enough to allow for so many creative headcanons for them #i love how it encourages young children to question what they see around them and that they have the power to right wrongs in the world #i love how it’s been passed down from generation to generation #and that my parents grew up with the same cast of characters and their silly adventures and loved it enough to introduce them to me #i love how familiar and iconic its recurring gags are and how they’re self aware about them #i love how its spooky aesthetic led many people to explore things like the horror genre or goth fashion as a teen/adult #i love how formative it ended up being for many lgbt kids #and the list goes on……..#feel free to add more if you like!! i’d love to see why you love it too ;o;#scooby doo

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howggswouldreact · 3 years

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📏 The Only Tall Maknae | Wonyoung

Request: hii can i request an izone wonyoung jealous cuddles scenario with shorter fem!reader? thank uu Plot: Wonyong and the small idol Fem!Reader are in a relationship. During MAMA, Wonyoung gets jealous of her girlfriend. Words: 2,661 Genre: fluff Notes: tried to write it in a way that was closer to the thoughtless attitude of teenagers inexperienced in having a relationship as idols. there are spaces for prequels or part two, maybe. if you want, send me a plot and i will write more from this universe! hope you like it! have a nice week!

Wonyoung was happy to be at MAMA again. What made her even happier, in addition to performing and receiving all the love from Wizones, was that you were there, with her. Not exactly with her, since the location of the tables was made so that her group and yours were somewhat distant, but you both were there, giving sneaky glances at each other and dancing excitedly during more animated performances by groups you liked. You had to control yourselves, trying to be discreet, even though almost all the idols in your circle of friends already knew your closeness was something more. There were cameras there and they weren't kind at all.

You met through friends and have been dating for almost a year. Staying with her took away all your tiredness, reinvigorated your energies and left you with a happiness never felt before. She was the most beautiful and adorable girl in the world. And you were lucky to be her girlfriend. Very lucky.

Your group had made the second comeback in a year and, for the first time, your schedules were proximate. You were doing your best and she was doing her best, and you were able to meet in the meantime.

You just didn't expect to be nominated for Best New Female Artist, but Wonyoung was rooting for you, and when it came time to announce the winning group, you focused on her again and sighed.

"You are just a silly in love.", Soojin's voice sounded low in your ear, clearly mocking your "heart eyes" towards Wonyoung.

You felt your cheeks getting hot. The pros and cons of being a maknae... even though you were spoiled in many moments, your group really liked to make jokes about how you lost the bossy pose when you were with your girlfriend. And also the difference between your height and hers. It was extremely evident! But you loved it, after all, you could hide your face on her neck while you hugged.

"I'm not silly!", you said, smiling.

You turned your face to the stage, where the MC's were about to read the name of the award-winning female group.

Your eyes met Wonyoung's for a moment, looking for strength in case your group didn't win, and you gave her a bigger smile, getting back the most beautiful smile in the world.

Until they announced the name of your group.

There was a round of applause and you were a little lost, in shock, looking at your group mates for answers. Did you imagine things or did you really win? Your expression was so shocked that, at the same time, several fans were already turning into a meme on the social media. Feeling goosebumps come and go through your entire body and a light tug from Soeun on your arm, you got up and went from your table to the stage.

After that, everything went very fast. The leader, Soojin, said gratitude words to the fans, the staffs, everyone who supported the group, promises to continue working hard to deliver a good message through music, etc...

Wonyoung was very proud of you and, as your group came down from the stage and went to a part on the side of it for pictures, Yujin made a joke that she couldn't understand, but it was about the two of you. She looked at Eunbi as if she was seeking approval to come to you, but Eunbi was in a conversation with Nako about the award.

"It was pretty obvious that they were going to win, they are the best!", Yena exclaimed, when a new presentation started.

"You guys make a couple of very powerful maknaes, despite the height difference!", Chaewon whispered, from Wonyoung's left side, making her smile.

A few minutes went by and Wonyoung wanted to be able to go directly to you to congratulate you, even if not in the warm way she would do backstage, with a very tight hug and soft kisses on your lips, calling you "my love". Looking for you at your table, Wonyoung frowned. Your whole group was there, even the prize was there with them, but where were you? Were you at the bathroom?

"Where...", Wonyoung's question died in it's beginning. A few tables on the left, there were you. Holding another girl's hands. And that was enough for Wonyoung to feel her cheeks flush with jealousy and her heart sinking into her chest.

"I can't wait to take several selfies with it! It's so beautiful!", whispered Yein beside you, thinking about the award that was in Soojin's hands.

You nodded as you went up the stairs, until you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning aroung, shoulders and a smile that formed an enlarged heart were the first things that took over your vision, indicating that the person who called you was tall. You focused your gaze on the face, raising your head, and realized that the owner of the smile was Yeeun, as known as J, a member of StayC. And your friend and classmate.

"Hey!", she greeted you, still smiling, and held your hands. "You rocked up there! I only got time to listen to your group's album yesterday, but it's really good! Congratulations on the award!"

"Oh, thank you so much!", you came a little closer to her to allow the girls to go up the narrow stairs. "I'm in love with your album too. ASAP always manages to make me very happy, even on days when my mood is not... good."

You were not praising each other for no reason, you had known each other long enough to not need formal praises.

"I know how hard you and your group worked for it and it was really deserved.", she had a caring glow in her eyes. "I know I haven't been on this idol journey for a long time but if you need anything, I'm here. I know there may be some difficulties but we will get through them together!"

"You can count on me too, Yeeun. This is not easy at all, but we are managing to achieve our dream almost together! Can you believe it?", you said, smiling excitedly.

Until you felt the lighting of the place get a little darker.

Yeeun's eyes landed on a spot above your head. You turned around to see the reason why there was a shadow on you, and there she was. Your girlfriend.

Yeeun greeted Wonyoung, bowing, while she was standing there, beautiful and in that black outfit full of sparkles that left you mesmerized since the beginning of her presentation.

"Hello, bab-sun-babe-nim!", you stuttered, impacted by the beauty of your girlfriend.

Almost calling her "babe", you tried to fix it by calling her (actually trying to call her) sunbaenim. Even though Yeeun knew about your relationship (you had already told her since you were friends), you didn't want any strangers to know. And that place was full of cameras and ears everywhere. It was risky. But your correction to the soft nickname you used to call her only made Wonyoung raise an eyebrow. There was something in her eyes and you knew it wasn't because of the makeup.

Yeeun greeted her and Wonyoung used a polite education towards the girl of almost the same height, differentiating by a few centimeters almost imperceptible, but that, with you between them, made you look much younger than them, even though the three of us had almost the same age.

Wonyoung praised StayC's performance and Yeeun thanked her before saying bye to you both and heading to the table where her group was at.

You raised your hand to Wonyoung's but the tall girl crossed her arms.

"Hey, what's up?", you asked.

"Nothing.", her tone was harsh and you felt a small pain your in your chest, but she had a smile on her face. A fake smile. "I wanted to be the first to congratulate you, but someone has already done that.", The smile was still on her face, for the cameras, but the tone of voice was still kinda rude towards you. "I can't even hold your hands without hear you saying that some people might be surprised by it, but apparently it's just with me. But, congratulations on the award, Y/N. It was well deserved. The girls and I congratulate your group.", she turned and started walking in towards Izone's table.

"Hey, what's up, Wonnie?", you asked, hurrying to catch up with her, but keeping an expression of false happiness on your face.

"Nothing.", her tone of voice cut into your heart, she hadn't even bothered to turn around.

"Hey, you know I can't keep up with your stride, that's not fair."

She stopped on the stairs, in the corridor that led to where her group's table was, turning to you and you almost ran into her, taking a few steps back.

"Just don't!", her gaze on you was as hard as her voice, but the smile was wide open on her face, it was petrified there.

You stopped as you watched your girlfriend move on without looking back.

"I can really do whatever tomorrow morning, I don't care, I just need to get this sorted out as soon as possible."

"I just think it's too late for you to go there...", Soojin had some concern in her voice.

"Have you texted her yet?", Jiyoon asked, stretched out on the living room floor.

"Several times and she doesn't answer nor even reply my texts since yesterday.", you paced back and forth in front of the television.

"If you keep walking like this, we'll find petroleum," said Soeun.

You sat on the floor next to Jiyoon.

"None of the girls answer you?", asked Seojeong, stretching.

"Hyewon replied that she is in a bad mood and locked herself in the room after dinner."

"What did you do, huh?", Yein asked.

"I don't know!", you almost shout, hiding your face in your hands.

"Oh, go on then because one in a bad mood is one thing but two in bad mood in different groups is a punishment! Go, go!", Soojin pulled you by the arm to get up and started pushing you towards the door .

"But what about the manager..."

"We'll find a way to cover you up, don't worry!", Seojeong said and Soojin closed the door.

You went down the stairs, calling an uber.

"Do you know how late it is?", asked Hyewon, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

"I know you don't usually sleep early, Hyewon. But it's a life-and-death situation!", you replied while removing your shoes in the lobby, only your socks on your feet.

"Death for whom? Only if it is for us, right? The sour mood she was in... I asked if she wanted salad and she almost killed me with her eyes!", with a tone of indignation, Sakura started to speak. "What did you do, huh?"

"I don't know!", you were about to cry. "Can I go and talk to her?"

The two girls nodded and you crossed the room to the hall like a bullet. When you opened the door, the room was dark and you already knew the way to Wonyoung's bed because you visited her sometimes. But instead of lying down, you knelt beside the bed, even in the dark, and whispered her name. You wanted to hold her hand but you were afraid. If she was upset with you, she probably wouldn't want you even there.

"Wonyoung?", you called again, this time in a louder tone.

"I can't believe you came here even after I treated you like that."

You didn't understand what the phrase meant.

"Can I lie down?", you asked, receiving in response Wonyoung moving her body to give you some space.

You embraced her in a hug, hoping she wouldn't reject it, even with her back to you. Again, her answer did not come in words. She held your arm around her.

"What did I do? Tell me so I won't repeat it.", your face was on her back.

"I'm feeling ashamed."

"Of me?"

"No! Of you??? Never! I'm ashamed of myself. I can't even look at you...", she confessed.

You were still confused, but you hugged her tighter. You wanted her to feel you there.

"You don't have to. You didn't do anything wrong, Wonnie..."

You heard a loudest sigh and she turned to you, resting her hand on your neck and touching your foreheads.

"I... I was an idiot. You, your group, had just won one of the most important awards of the night! I myself know how it feels to win it, I know how rewarding it is and... at the moment I-I didn't support you because I was... jealous.", you knew you shouldn't interrupt her, she was venting out. "I wish I could've hugged you and praised you... I feel so proud of you and everyting that you have achieved... but I saw you with that girl and she was holding your hands and she was smiling with such affection, I don't know what I was feeling other than jealousy.", her voice showed a little bit of anger and fragility but she kept her hand on your neck, caressing it. "I was wondering if she was special enough to show affection like that in front of so many cameras... if you liked tall maknaes and...", at that moment you laughed. "Hey, don't laugh! This is not funny at all!", she slapped you lightly on the shoulder.

"No, babe, what's funny is that you think I could have eyes for anyone but you."

"Yeah, you go ahead and think it's funny! And if it were me with, I don't know, a short maknae like you, holding her hands, wouldn't you be jealous when you saw it from a distance, without having an idea of what's going on? Would it be funny?"

"Yah! I get it! Don't even make me think of you with someone else.", you took her wrist and stroked it. "Yeeun is just a friend from school and she was congratulating me. There was nothing else. There would never be. She knows about us and gives the greatest support! I just didn't get to introduce you decently because there is never enough time. I want you to see that you don't have to feel jealous because you are the only tall maknae I love. I love you. "

"I'm sorry for ruining everything and making you come here almost at the dawn. You shouldn't have come so late!", she pulled you into a tight hug. "But at the same time I'm so glad and relieved you came.", she whispered that last sentence.

"I would come at anytime.", you whispered back, kissing her cheek.

"It's too late for you to leave. What are you going to do? We can arrange everything for you to stay.", you were going to talk but Wonyoung wouldn't let you. "We can really work it out, make up a very good lie for the managers, take you back to the dorm quickly tomorrow very early. I imagine you have a lot of commitments now that you've won the award but... it's so late... and I want you to stay with me."

"Okay, I'll stay.", you replied, without thinking. "But I need some clothes to sleep."

"Okay, you can borrow Nako's pajamas."

"Hey!"

"I'm kidding!", Wonyoung laughed. "You can borrow one of mine. It'll be huge on you, but you look beautiful anyway."

Embarrassed, you hid your face on her neck and felt her presence for a while, a warm embrace full of a young love that was blooming beautifully. The next day, you would have to deal with your manager scolding you a lot, knowing he would be right, but for now, you would enjoy your time with Wonyoung. Whatever happened next, it wouldn't matter. What mattered now was to be with the only tall maknae that you loved with all your heart.

#izone scenario #izone scenarios #wonyoung scenario #wonyoung scenarios #girlgroup scenario #girlgroupscenarios #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung imagine #izone imagine

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restapesta · 3 years

Note

hii emina!! #14 for valentine’s day 💌 (for the february ask meme) <33

Tami couldn't help but feel fucking jealous. Offended too, for that matter.

Lip forgot fucking Valentine's Day—Valentine's day—and now Tami was forced to sit in the kitchen with the gathered-around Gallagher & Co, watching how Ian and Mickey annoyingly proved the fact that she could do so much better than fucking Lip.

For fuck's sake, he didn't remember goddamn Valentine's day. It wouldn't have been a big deal had he not almost forgotten their anniversary, too. Tami got that shit was stressful these days—that Lip wasn't all that happy with his delivery-boy job and their 'temporary' stay at the Gallagher house with his abundance of siblings, but seriously. That didn't mean she had to sit around stoically on fucking celebrate-your-love day, knowing she had been forgotten, while simultaneously watching the it couple of their family making kissy faces at each other.

Maybe they weren't making kissy faces, exactly—Tami would pay to see Mickey do anything in that realm, really—but did they have to be so obnoxiously in love? All while Tami was mourning her own loss of a Valentine?

She wasn't a teenager anymore, goddamn it, but she deserved nice things, at least once or twice a year. Some fucking day where she could feel special and completely in love, despite living with ten other people and kind of, sort of being in debt.

Tami was in love with Lip. She was fairly certain he was in love with her too, but did he have to forego this one thing from his memory? Did he have to invite Mickey and Ian over for a family dinner to rub salt into the wound?

Tami was fucking fine with Ian and Mickey on most days—it wasn't even as if she saw them all too often now that they had moved out (she even sort of missed them)—and their displays of affection were more sweet to her than anything.

It was cute seeing Ian pull Mickey into a kiss randomly before he went off to work at the warehouse. Or Mickey wrapping his hands around Ian's waist while they cooked dinner together, prolonging the creation of the simplest of meals, like boxed mac-and-cheese, just so they could hang around each other domestically, a little bit longer.

Nobody minded it all too much when they did those small things, and they were pretty much used to the constant sex-talk, however inappropriate and explicit. Somehow even the never-ending bickering stopped bothering them so much.

But god-fucking-damn-it, why did they have to rub it in her face now?

Ugh, fine, we get it, you're celebrating Valentine's day like a normal couple, being all lovey-dovey and shit. We get it.

They probably spent the entire day being sickly sweet and in love, like fucking teenagers. So gross.

Why the actual fuck did Lip forget?

Tami shot daggers Ian and Mickey's way, watching as they, in the middle of the Gallagher cluster-fuck—they were having dinner like usual, a cacophony of noises filling the slightly-renovated space up, something Tami had already gotten used to—talked lowly amongst each other, slight smiles on their faces.

They were so happy about fucking nothing as they sipped on respective beers, matching rings glinting on their fingers, now blinding to Tami's eyes when they had only been pretty before.

When would Lip propose?

Nope, nope, nope. Back to the current married couple, Tami thought.

They pulled apart, their heads no longer huddled together in some secret, husband talk. Ian placed bread onto Mickey's plate, reaching across for the salt, murmuring something about, Mickey liking everything unbelievably salty like a crazy person.

Fuck off, Gallagher. At least I don't like spicy shit.

Well, I don't think you should be surprised I like spicy things. I married you, didn't I?

A beat as they stared at each other lovingly—yuck, ew, disgusting—and then came Mickey's reply.

Sap.

Her eyes narrowed impossibly as she watched them steal fucking glances when the other one wasn't looking. Fucking glances, like teenagers who just discovered their crush liked them back and were about to have their first fucking kiss.

Ugh, why did they have to be so goddamn in love all the time?

Tami even remembered meeting Mickey for the first time, thinking how there was no way in fucking hell he and Ian were together. No way they were anything more than, what, fuck-buddies?

She also remembered the look Mickey wore once Ian entered the room, in all his beautiful glory, his entire face just lighting up like a fucking street lamp when the sun goes down. Eyes crinkling at the corners, an upturn of his mouth, a goddamn gleam appearing in his features.

Tami couldn't believe that the guy who literally just got out of prison was staring openly at his—boyfriend?—with so much intensity and love. The moment Tami had slipped out of view, she saw them share a kiss, all smiley, and shit.

She couldn't believe it then, but she could believe it now.

Why were they so in love?

How could somebody be so in love?

Tami had fallen in love a couple of times. She'd had unrequited crushes and first boyfriends, and older men who appeased to her daddy issues—still, she'd never quite had what Ian and Mickey had. Not that she thought anybody did.

Pulling herself out of her thoughts, she interrupted whatever conversation the two men in question were landing. They were talking still, bodies practically pressed together as they got unnaturally close at the dining table.

Tami was curious. She wanted to know.

She wanted to know how. How in the holy hell did somebody fall in love so fucking hard that they never let each other go? That they went through every single fucking obstacle they stumbled upon, still walking out alive in the end?

With Lip and their relationship, it was just good until it wasn't and until Tami was a second away from picking up their child and walking away, no matter how good of a father to her child her boyfriend was, and how much she actually loved him.

With Debbie and Sandy, it was being attached by the hip, together in all ways, until all of a fucking sudden, Sandy was gone. Gone from their lives as she had never even been there, replaced by somebody completely insane.

There was Carl, who Tami had never even seen in a committed relationship.

She didn't even want to mention fucking Frank and Monica if the stories Lip had told her were any true.

So, Tami asked.

"Can you guys tell me something," Her tone was only slightly accusing, the bitterness seeping through as she found herself going through a third bottle of Old Style. Even Lip raised his eyes up from the food and over to look at Tami as she addressed everyone's favorite gay couple.

"How in the holy fuck do you manage it?"

Ian and Mickey shared a glance—a fucking glance like they were reading each other's minds—before Ian raised an eyebrow.

"Manage what?"

"Being this seemingly perfect couple."

Lip nudged her foot in question just as Mickey snorted, placing the beer away from his lips so he could properly laugh. Ian rolled his eyes at it.

"We're not fucking perfect," was Mickey's simple answer.

Tami shook her head. "No. No, listen. I get that you're not perfect but I just don't get how. How do you just have this relationship?"

Ian seemed confused. "And what do you think this relationship is?"

"Do you guys even hear yourselves ninety percent of the fucking time?"

Debbie snorted at that. All eyes went to her. "Course they don't. They probably wouldn't be doing them if they did."

"What are we doing?" Mickey asked, and Tami scoffed when she noticed him moving his chair slightly away so he wasn't practically sitting in Ian's lap.

"Why are you asking this shit?" Lip whispered from beside her, apprehension in his gaze. Tami hoped he was slightly offended.

She was really fucking offended.

So, she continued, downing her beer in almost one go.

"I'm talking about how you're joined at the hip."

Ian shook his head. "No, we're not."

Liam made an 'eh' motion with his hands, chiming in, "You live together, you work together. You probably spent the entire day together."

Tami nodded at the boy in agreement. "How do you not get, like, bored of each other?"

They briefly shared another look before Ian shrugged. "I like hanging around him. Mickey's fun company."

Tami groaned, not realizing how they managed to just be so casual about things that didn't make sense to her.

"See?" She said. "I'd probably die if I had to spend more than a couple of hours with the same person, let alone my entire fucking day."

"We get annoyed with each other," Ian defended. "We fight, like, all the time."

Mickey shot him a glare. "Not all the time. Just when you're being an annoying bitch."

"Of when you're being an annoying bitch, Mr. Know-it-all."

"Fuck you, I do know it all."

Ian took a sip of his beer. "Uh-uh. Mr. Milkovich, knows everything about everything."

"Well, I gotta know shit if I wanna put up with your ass the rest of my life."

Ian's face softened suddenly from the playful bickering, sending Mickey a soft smile.

"What are you smiling at, dork?"

Ian's happy expression didn't falter. "You said the rest of your life."

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Duh? Thought we were married?"

"Just," Ian shrugged. "Makes me happy to hear it."

Then they smiled at each other all soft, and Tami just barely suppressed a gag. She felt like she'd just been dumped and was forced to attend some love rally.

How to feel single 101.

"Do you, like, not see my point here?"

Mickey looked towards her, eyes narrowing slightly. "Why do you care so much, right now? It's not that big of a deal that Ian's a complete and utter sap," He shot a playful look in Ian's direction. "We're married and we've been together for a fucking while. We're allowed to act..."

Mickey hesitated.

"We're allowed to be in love without worrying whether or not we'll be judged for it or fucking get told to stop." He cast his eyes downward. "We've had enough of that shit already."

It wasn't silent for long, but Mickey's words rang loud in Tami's ears.

She didn't know a lot about Ian and Mickey during the first years of their relationship—she had only met them after fucking ten years of being together, after all—but she knew enough to be able to say with confidence that it couldn't have been easy. And knowing that, she could easily tell how she was being somewhat of a nagging bitch.

"Don't worry," Tami said softly. "I'm not judging you. Just," She sighed loudly before continuing, "admiring the way you're just completely enamored with each other. It makes you wonder, you know? What you could have."

The two seemed somewhat eased with that, smiles appearing on their faces as they looked at each other, like they knew that what Tami was giving them was a compliment, not judgment. But then, Tami's words set in.

All eyes went to Lip.

Tami's own widened.

"I did not mean it like that!" She defended immediately, shifting so she could look at Lip who was more than hurt by the look in his eye. Tami spoke to him as she said, "It's just that, today's fucking Valentine's day, and—"

"Today's Valentine's day?"

It was Ian who asked out of the blue, and she turned to look at him, wondering what he was talking about. He was looking at Mickey who seemed just as confused.

Of course it was Valentine's day. Tami had been bitter the entire day because it was fucking Valentine's day.

"It is?" Mickey said, eyes going warily towards Ian.

"So, we just, uh, forgot about it?"

Mickey nodded, a weird look on his face like he had forgotten their anniversary or some shit. "I guess so."

Tami was just about to open her mouth. Just about to ask if they really didn't spend the day being lovey-dovey with each other since it was Valentine's day, but rather because every day was obviously Valentine's day for them, when Lip spoke.

"Today's the thirteenth, Tami, for fuck's sake. Valentine's day is tomorrow." He smiled at her, seemingly catching onto why she had been so inquisitive in the first place. "Don't worry, I didn't forget."

Tami's mouth fell open and she only managed a simple 'oh'. Lip seemed content. Not at all caught by surprise at her statement. Maybe he really hadn't forgotten.

"Well, uh," She stammered out, heat crawling up her neck. "Good."

Lip smiled at her.

Ian's voice interrupted their staring contest.

"Wait, so you forgot Valentine's day?" He asked Mickey, an incredulous look on his face.

"Um, excuse me bitch, you forgot it, too!"

Ian scoffed. "So, you're telling me we'd wake up tomorrow and what, just continue on like always?"

"Well, you shoulda had something planned then, Ian!"

"Me? Why me?"

Mickey made a 'duh' face. "You fucking forgot it, too. Why would it be me?"

"Well, I'm sorry for having a million things going on right now."

"What million things, Ian? I'm literally with you every second of the day. What things?"

"Well," He started in a tone that didn't bode anything well. "you see, some of us—"

"Oh no, you fucking won't with that sentence."

Tami watched as the it couple fought over forgetting Valentine's day.

She laughed at the sight of them, bickering and shouting, not really angry but enjoying the fight.

They'd still be sappy as fuck the next day. They'd still be lovey-dovey, making kissy faces at each other.

This was what she meant.

They were best friends. Lovers. Partners. Always by each other's sides.

Tami looked over towards Lip.

Maybe she had one too.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #shameless #shameless us #fanfic #fic rec #ian x mickey #ah yes the beauty of nor knowing what to wrote whatsoever #pov outsider my beloved #outsider pov #hope you liked it :)#ask and answer #emina answers #thank you for the ask twisha <3 #*ficlet

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simonalkenmayer · 2 years

Text

Bullies choose to be bullies. Everyone deals with difficulty. Some even deal with abuse. Bullies choose to wrap their entire identity in hurting people who could actually be their allies, if they put aside the insecurity that makes them lash out. By bullying, they aren’t helping anyone, least of all themselves. Instead they are building huge architectures to explain why their hypocrisy isn’t. Why it’s alright for them to treat people in a way they’d never let people treat them, to ignore their laws, their faith, their stated purposes.

Is it really that bad, or do you need it to be that bad to justify how you treat people? That’s the question that the victim asks, that the bully cannot answer. To them shame and humility are the same. Humility is to be feared. Everything has to be a battle, especially the battles they can easily win, so that they appear to be bigger and stronger than they really feel. To the point that it becomes painful to watch. I see it again and again and again and again and they never see their own patterns, because they’re too busy being imprisoned by them. You can’t explain the pattern because that’s an attack. So they simply continue to live in it, alienate people, hurt people, break down groups, destroy communities, be either feared or ignored. And the saddest thing is, they almost never actually disagree with the people they target. They’d be on the same side. But everything has to be a battle, and no one can be trusted, and everything is a plot, and all defenses are acceptable.

Bullying is a disease. It destroys people. Like a carcinogenic chemical. Like acid. Even if they always win, they won’t win. Because people just let them win, so that they can walk away. They make themselves irrelevant and hated. They become ignored. And because no one will acknowledge them, they have to continue to burst into spaces they aren’t welcome, and bully.

It’s extremely sad. Just terribly terribly sad.

The internet is a limitless space. People can be who they are, without having to obey the laws of physics. And yet, the insecurity pulls itself out of the mud and rears its ugly head, and the disparities and trivialities of the real world, duplicate and replicate in this sterile space. Only it is much much worse. Trolling becomes a fun game. One person’s narcissistic pleasure becomes the goal of a group. People invert their weak and strong actors and take serious cues from people with only the barest of ideas of a plan built around control and causing suffering. The internet has done good things, but if you want to survive this century, you need to build etiquette online. Trolling, bullying, drama farming, all of that nonsense…it has to stop.

You will tear yourselves apart.

You can’t create spaces where learning is canceled and changing is a gotcha. You cannot create spaces in which bullies become leaders because of how well they tell you who is to blame. What I’m saying to you is, the way online discourse refines and rarifies communication, you construct the exact type of mind most susceptible to misinformation and manipulation.

You cannot let this happen. Right now it is literally at a tipping point to destroying the world, when a president can bully a child, or a senator can get play picking on a puppet and gain platforms.

Back when DNA sciences began to become very easy, I realized something profound. There were no laws forbidding a man from buying a PCR machine. There were no laws regulating what people can do in their garage. A person with enough knowledge can still to this day, but the machines needed to craft a deadly virus and release it into the world, and not one single law exists to stop them. But this is true of social media too. Memes and the way they replicate across minds tells us this quite easily.

I didn’t plan for the pandemic, but it became an organic experiment testing precisely what I have been worrying about. It became a catalyst for the exact kind of online activity that started me on this. The leader of the opposition to fascism posts selfies of his face dyed green by the caustic chemicals thrown in his face and gains marchers. Fascist uprisings and propaganda bred on Facebook by a company so corrupt it removed the failsafes to its algorithm to get engagement. People making social media posts to organize abortions for those who cannot get them because the Supreme Court wants likes from Trump’s Twitter rip-off parlor. We have wars being advertised alongside pharmaceuticals that health insurance won’t pay for. Climate change activists climbing coal cranes and posting videos to TickTok. A video of a man being murdered goes viral and triggers mass protests, and the opposition uses their hashtags to sow discord. People storm the capitol building for the first time in two centuries, and the FBI uses their own facebooks to hunt them down. People literally defy a deadly disease by advertising the ingestion of horse anti parasitic and toxic mud on tiktok. Elections being compromised by misinformation think tanks PAID FOR by revenue-generating farms like Five Minute Crafts. History being rewritten in cute memes and alpha male indoctrination. All online. All in your brains. All the time. In the palm of your hand. And one thing we’ve proven time and again is that the more a person sees or hears something, the truer they think it is, especially if it fits their latent bias.

This is not a joke. This is serious. Deadly serious. The human race ran out of battlegrounds, so it recapitulated them in metaphysical space. You can’t continue to treat it like it doesn’t matter, as if what happens here stays here. The bad guys certainly aren’t.

Online bullying is a gateway to extremism. It’s a precursor for programming the worst kind of people using the tiny computers in their hands.

Ask that question: is it that bad, or do I need it to be so I can justify how I treat them. Be honest. Don’t fight any and every battle, because the space is too large. Find the one you know how to fight and focus in. Understand what manipulation looks like and identify it openly. Identify the behavior. Target that, not the person. Let people change. Give them freedom to. Stop playing discourse.

TL;DR This isn’t a game. The internet is not a playpen anymore.

#the NSA has an entire department to study social media #that ought to tell you something #long post #text #essay #bullying #group dynamics

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7-wonders · 3 years

Text

The Trouble With Wanting

Summary: Though life has changed for you, for the rest of the world, everything remains the same.

Word Count: 1.3K

Author's Note: Hello yes it's the beginning of Act II of Mad Love. Buckle up. Special shoutout to @mrslangdonn for being so pumped for this and making an actual meme. Really hope I didn't let you down with this.

Mad Love Act I here!

In the grand scheme of things, life has been oddly normal lately. Since being kidnapped by witches, saved by your Antichrist husband, admitting that you actually do love said Antichrist husband, and realizing that you’re potentially the only thing that can stop the end of times, the world continued turning and the days marched on. Michael did what he normally did during the days (you don’t really know what it is he does, to be honest. Probably just talking to rich people all day), and you did too. Life continued as it had been, even though it felt like your world had been changed numerous times lately. Honestly, you had expected things to be a lot more dramatic.

But no, life was almost boring now. Mallory had gone back to New Orleans to handle being the Supreme and running her coven, so besides the texts and phone calls with her to try and figure out how to convince Michael that ending the world wasn’t the right course of action to take, the vigilante talk was almost non-existent in your day-to-day life. That was also because neither of you had any idea how to actually put this plan into action. There had been ideas, of course, but none that held any weight. That may be because the best idea either of you had had was a Powerpoint that showed all of the reasons why ending the world was a bad idea, but in your opinion that was still an idea that was on the table.

Also, you assumed that professors wouldn’t take “preoccupied by your husband’s plans for world domination” as a proper excuse for you not completing your work or showing up to class. At the very least, with how turbulent your life had been, you had expected far less homework than what you’re staring at right now.

You’re sitting in your room, doing some reading for class. Surprisingly, the reading isn’t that boring. It’s certainly not fun to do, which is probably why you hear the music right away; your attention absolutely is not all that focused tonight. It catches you entirely off-guard, considering that there’s no speakers in your room and you definitely did not have any music playing from your phone. You listen for a moment, trying to place the melody.

“Is this Frankie Valli?” you question, standing up from your bed and trying to find the source. Opening up your door to see if this is an isolated incident, you find that the music is drifting throughout the house. ‘Drifting’ is probably the wrong word, since it literally sounds like there’s speakers playing “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” that are installed in every room and hallway.

“Hi,” you say, finally coming across Michael in the living room. He’s standing there nonchalantly, which you automatically know means that he’s involved in this.

“Hi,” Michael says right back.

“Uh, what’s with the music?”

“Well, I was on my phone earlier, and I came across an article.”

Smiling, you step towards him. “You did?”

He nods. “I did, and it was extremely informative. Did you know that married couples typically have a reception after they officially get married? Apparently, they share a first dance at the reception.”

“And you believe everything you read on the internet?”

“Sometimes, if there’s some truth to what I’m reading.” You stare at him, biting back a laugh. “We’re married.”

“We are married.”

“We didn’t have a first dance when we got married.”

“No, we did not.”

Finally, Michael sighs, tired of you playing dumb. “(Y/N), may I have this dance?”

You grab Michael’s outstretched hand, letting him pull you towards him. One hand goes onto your waist, the other intertwined with yours. He begins to lead you in a simple waltz, and you’re thankful that he knows how to dance because you sure don’t. “I didn’t know you knew this song,” you comment when you realize he’s humming.

“I enjoy the classics.”

“There’s this scene from a movie, where one of the main characters--”

“You’re talking about 10 Things I Hate About You, right?” You raise an eyebrow in questioning, and he chuckles. “Madelyn loved ‘90s rom coms, and sometimes I was bored enough that I would watch them with her.”

“I’m a little impressed.”

Michael spins you around. “You should be.”

The romanticism of the whole situation is almost overwhelming. It doesn’t matter that you’re in your living room instead of a reception hall, wearing sweatpants instead of a wedding dress. You’re here with Michael, and just that is romance enough for you. You could stand here like this, with him, forever if he asked you to do so.

“What if we had an actual wedding?” Michael asks.

“We did have an actual wedding.”

“I mean one where you actually have a say in it.”

“Well that’s sweet of you, Michael, but you still haven’t taken me on a proper date.”

“My apologies.” He dips you, kissing you before bringing you back up. “How’s Paris for a first date? Maybe Greece?”

You gasp. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely. Wherever you want, whenever you want, however you want.” He punctuates each scenario with a kiss, making your body melt into him. The song ends, the house falling into silence before the music begins to repeat. But neither of you are paying attention to that any more, not when he’s staring at you in a way that makes heat pool in the bottom of your stomach.

“Michael,” you whisper, tilting your head up to kiss him again.

He reciprocates, trailing kisses down your jaw and onto your throat as his hands move up and down your sides. All too soon, he pulls away, making you groan in disappointment. “We shouldn’t, you know…”

“I know,” you lean your head against his chest with a sigh.

Of course. The main issue that’s been prevalent on both yours and Michael’s minds for weeks now: you’re married and you love each other, but sex is...not going to happen for the time being. You both absolutely, 100% want to, but, as with most things in your life, Satan seems to be the major roadblock. You just never thought that your father-in-law (who you’ve still never met) would end up cockblocking you.

Just because Michael made sure that you wouldn’t be under Satan’s influence, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t stop trying. If anything, he’s going to try even more now that both of you had openly defied his will. And what was the one thing that Satan wanted besides the end of the world? For Michael to have an heir. And you didn’t trust any sort of contraception when it came to the supernatural powers that you had been married into. Michael completely agreed with that, especially since he knew first-hand just how easily material things (like condoms and all of the various forms of birth control) could be manipulated. So for now, until you could figure out a way to safely get it on, sex was off the table. Unfortunately.

“I’m going to go finish my reading, then.” Slowly, because neither of you particularly want to, you disentangle yourself from him.

“And I’m going to...take a shower. A cold shower.” You laugh at him, but you’re really in the same position that he is.

“Have a good night,” you say, bounding up the stairs before you can stop yourself.

“You too.” Michael also goes up the stairs, and you shut your door before you have to say something to him again. You still keep separate bedrooms, partly because you really enjoy your space and partly because you know that, given the opportunity to be laying in a bed with Michael when you’re both horny, you would totally let him fuck you.

Sliding your back down the door, you groan as you hold your head in your hands. Saving the world from the apocalypse is definitely difficult. Having to stop yourself from having sex with your incredibly hot husband? Well, that feels impossible.

Tag List (starting from scratch because I need a new tag list so message me if you want to be tagged!): @michaellangdon @trelaney @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @blakescoven @we-did-it-joe @thatonehumanbeing05 @michaellangdonstanaccount

#mad love #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon imagines #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story apocalypse #ahs #ahs imagine

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lunarrwolf · 3 years

Text

prompt #21: “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” *gets killed* “Oh.”

word count: 1,061

summary: you just wanted to play drunk among us

prompt list

—

With the process of moving hundreds of miles away from home and needing to settle into the new apartment, you hadn’t been able to play (let alone stream) Among Us for at least two weeks. The gaming community was riddled with mentions, tags and memes about how long you were away and what in the world it was that kept you at bay from posting or recording. Scrolling through it all one day, you realized it really had been a while. All that time spent unpacking and making sure everything was set really took longer than expected.

It felt like way more than fourteen days passed before finding yourself in the computer chair, systems on and accounts logged into. Out of the many texts received from friends about joining lobbies or multiplayer games while they recorded for their own channel, you were finally able to agree to one sent earlier that morning.

Corpse Husband began drunk run-throughs of the mobile and computer game not too long ago, and you’d been dying to take part ever since watching the first video. It took a few extra days of tying up loose ends in your home state before being able to let him know you could finally do a few rounds, and by then you were raring to have your little astronaut play survivor or murderer. Especially taking into consideration the lack of practice that was able to go into it lately.

“Look who’s finally among us! Miss YT/N herself!” The sound of groans was clear in your headset as the man made his pun, including emotes dropped in by your stream’s chat.

You gave a short laugh. “Oh man, Dream. I didn’t know you longed for my presence that much.”

“Of course I did. Who else am I gonna gang up on?”

“Wow—mental note for game time.” You stated, earning a weak comeback from the faceless YouTuber as he struggled to find something clever. Everyone spent a few more minutes waiting for the last couple of people before Corpse started the countdown, resulting in the group already guessing who was going to be the impostor.

CREWMATE

“Aw, man..” You muttered, disappointed that the revenge on Dream’s joke would have to wait. The only thing left to do was run around, find allies that hopefully wouldn’t kill you (even more so during one of the long tasks) and weed out the fakes.

Thanks to proximity chat being another factor, you took great advantage every time the lights were turned off during the first three rounds. Even with the dark screen, the dimmed figures of the other characters running around were always visible enough for you to avoid them. Not that it mattered when you had no idea who was deemed as either impostor, but you planned on hiding around the ship to figure it out.

It was already the third time someone shut off the power after the last voting session, which fueled a lot of sarcastic remarks from each person you passed about how often it was happening. And with the eject confirmations turned off, it was that much harder to know who was left to expose in the final five. Ethan and Sykkuno were hanging out in the back of the cafeteria this time around, and out of curiosity you trotted up to eavesdrop, being grateful you stole the color black from the deep voiced gamer. Parking yourself in the corner closest to them, you listened closely. “I think Y/N is one of them. I haven’t seen her the whole game and every time I do she’s a freakin’ jet plane.”

After an involuntary gasp, the guys stopped talking, Ethan’s blue space boy now facing your direction along with Sykkuno’s dark green one. “Oh, sorry, did I interrupt something?”

There was a short second of silence before one of them spoke up. “Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you, uh, doing on the vent?”

You could only stare at the two young adults’ astronauts dumbfounded as it set in that you actually were standing on top of a vent. Clearing your throat, you took another swig of your drink and hovered your hand over the buttons that helped you as impostor in case you had to prove yourself. “I know what this looks like, but I can explain.” You began, taking the silence and still animations as the signal to continue. However, any planned words got caught in your throat, resorting to nothing but a very broken sentence. The small giggles rang so clear in your headphones they caused a pout that surfaced many comments from the chat. “Can’t an astronaut take a nap in the cafe of their spaceship anymore?”

“Maybe in the lobby? That way you don’t get killed.” Sykkuno suggested. Being one of the only ones not having anything pertaining to the drunken aspect of playing tonight, he was completely sober and wanted to keep you from becoming a ghost. A fact that went over your head seeing as—even though you weren’t fully drunk, just a bit tipsy—you were less responsive than usual.

It didn’t even occur that he was trying to help when you went on a tangent about how tiring moving day is when it turns into a moving month, and how you would stay up to binge a new show you found that would have otherwise distracted you from working if you played it during unpacking hours. The lights turned back on while you went on and on for the next few seconds, just for you to be interrupted by Ethan. “Just go to sleep, dude.”

“I refuse, Ethanol.” You countered, grinning when exasperation could be heard from the other end at your nickname for him. A small purple sprite with cat ears ran up beside you, and you all took a second to greet one another before you continued. “I’ll have you know that I am committed to finding the culprit. I’ll sleep when I’m dead, and that’s final.”

“I got you.” The low voice chimed in.

“Shit, wait. H-hold on a second.” Your eyes widened as they snapped to the one standing next to you, turning into slits as they narrowed. “Corpse don’t you dare—”

He did dare. And out of all the profanities and insults swimming through your slightly jumbled brain, the only thing that came out was:

“Oh.”

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse among us #corpse imagines #youtube #youtubers #corpse x you #ethan nestor #crankgameplays #sykkuno #among us #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #reader insert

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ayybtch · 3 years

Text

Psychotic

Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: You really love animals, Bucky not so much. A random TikTok brings to light exactly what Bucky thinks of you.

Word Count: 1,776

Warnings: Being told no to getting animals, a couple swear words here and there, blink and you miss it suggestiveness, and a very strange TikTok

A/N: Happy Valentines Day everyone! I watched this TikTok months ago and absolutely lost it when I saw it, so definitely give it a watch! Dividers made by the lovely @firefly-graphics

A Mutual Weirdness Masterlist

Days off were a rare occurrence for Bucky. Rarer still were days off that coincided with yours, and it practically required cosmic intervention for both of you to be off on a weekend. This was the first Saturday Bucky had off in almost two months and he planned on spending it doing absolutely nothing.

He made a point to sleep in and stay in bed as long as he possibly could. Once the grumbling of his stomach finally won out, the day would start off with a giant breakfast followed by a long, hot shower. The remainder of the day would involve him sitting on his ass while enjoying a good book or watching TV. He’d stay where he was until he needed to eat and that’s the way he liked it.

Today, he wanted to make some progress on the strange Romanian murder-mystery novel Wanda had recommended. She swore up and down that it was one of the best she’s ever read, but so far Bucky was not impressed. The pacing was too slow, the characters were too dull, and the murder itself was not all that intriguing. He would have stopped already if it hadn’t been for Wanda pestering him about it.

He had been laying on the couch completely immersed for almost an hour trying to solve the case before the lead detective when you came rushing into the room. You climbed into his lap and sat there staring at him, eyes unsettlingly wide. Bucky peered back at you over the top of his book, suspicious as to what could possibly be running through your head. A small smile started to appear on your face, but you remained silent.

“Can I help you?” Bucky asked after a few minutes without any change to your expression, which was growing more and more manic-looking by the second.

Your eyes seemed to snap back in focus as he spoke and the rest of your face became serious. “So I had an idea…” you said cautiously, suddenly far more serious than he had ever seen you look before. “What if we got chickens? Not too many, just like three. I think three is a good number.”

Bucky stared at you in disbelief. “We live in an apartment. Of course you can’t have chickens,” he said flatly. You rolled your eyes at his response.

“Obviously not right now, but in the future when we’re not living in an apartment. You know, after you and I get hitched and find a house we like.”

All of the confusion and concerns Bucky had were thrown out the window as he processed what you said. You want to buy a house with him? You want to marry him? The thought of being with you forever made his heart skip a beat and filled him with an overwhelming urge to kiss you. He realized you were still watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer. “S-Sure, I guess. I never really liked chickens though -”

He wasn’t even able to finish his sentence before your lips were pressed against his.

“You are the best! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” you yelled, kissing him all over his face between thank you’s.

When you broke apart, an excited squeal left you that had his ears ringing. You laid down fully on his chest and started rambling about how nice it would be to have some land so you could have a nice big garden filled with every fruit and vegetable imaginable, a decent sized back patio or porch for friends to come over, and plenty of space for the chickens to have a giant coop. You even started listing out possible names for the chickens. Your seemingly endless ramble ended unexpectedly as you trailed off mid-sentence, gasping slightly after a moment. You picked your head up just enough off his chest to look him in the eyes.

“If we have enough room, can we also have goats?”

Bucky groaned, “Don’t push it, Doll. I’ve barely agreed to the chickens.” He pulled you back down onto his chest and placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head before he continued reading.

It was almost a week later before Bucky had his next day off. He decided to plan a long-overdue date night. It was nothing fancy, just a casual dinner at a restaurant you liked followed up with dessert. After you left the restaurant, the two of you made your way through a stretch of Central Park. He had intended for it to be a romantic walk, full of hand-holding and kissing that maybe could lead to something else once you were back at the apartment. Instead, it quickly turned into one of the worst decisions of his life.

Everything was going according to plan until you spotted the raccoon family of three hanging out in the tree not far off the path. Bucky didn’t even need to look at you to know you were staring at them with the same heart eyes you always stare at animals with.

The raccoons were in a relatively low tree branch, each snacking on some food they had scavenged from a nearby trash can. You pulled Bucky off the sidewalk and into the grass. Your excitement grew with each step you took towards the tree.

“Bucky look at their little hands! How cute are they?” You whisper yelled, practically jumping up and down with excitement. You were so focused on them that it gave Bucky the chance to watch and appreciate how enamored you were. While it drove him nuts sometimes how many animals you wanted, it never stopped being adorable to him how passionate you were about them. Bucky had no doubt you’d manage to sweet-talk him into more than he’d care to admit, but if it meant seeing you smile like this every day then it’ll be worth it. He was so lost in his thoughts of what your future may hold that he hardly heard what you were saying to the raccoons. It wasn’t until you finally turned to look at him that he tuned back into what you were saying.

“Do you think raccoons would make good pets?”

Without a word, he picked you up and slung you over his shoulder before turning to walk away, shaking his head as he did.

“Oh my god, babe! Look at this baby cow!” you gushed, bursting out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where Bucky was making breakfast. “It’s so fucking fluffy, I need it.” The emphasis on need left Bucky scoffing as you shoved the phone into his hand. You stood there and stared at him, grinning ear to ear as you continued to ramble about the baby cow.

He eventually had to cut you off, “Doll, we’ve been over this a dozen times. You don’t actually want a cow, you just want a cow you can hang out with. Now sit down and eat your eggs before they get cold.” He scooped out some scrambled eggs onto a plate before placing it at your usual spot at the counter.

You grumbled slightly before sitting down on the barstool, stabbing your eggs harder than necessary with your fork. “You didn’t even acknowledge how cute it is.”

“It’s very cute. But I’ve already agreed to quite the menagerie so I have to put my foot down somewhere. I’ve already said yes to the chickens and it’s at least maybe on goats, and possibly a pig if we have enough room.”

“I’ve already said yes to the chickens and maybe on goats and pigs,” you said mockingly. “What difference does a cow make if we’ve already got all of those?” you asked, mouth full of food.

Bucky stared at you, shaking his head and sighing. “You’re lucky I love you, woman.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and sat down to join you for breakfast.

It was almost a month later before the two of you finally were able to have a quiet night together. The evening had been spent cooking dinner, making a mess in the kitchen as you did, followed by making a different kind of mess in the living room not long after. Now, the two of you were laying in bed together winding down for the night. Bucky was reading while you laid there scrolling mindlessly on your phone. You giggled from time to time, pausing to show him a funny meme here and there, but for the most part, the room was quiet.

It wasn’t until you were in full-on giggles that Bucky leaned his book against his chest and stared at you waiting for an explanation.

Once the giggles died down, you rolled slightly to be closer to him. “You have to watch this wack ass video.” Your laughter started up again before you even hit play.

Bucky watched as the guy in the video kept pulling out stranger and stranger animals. He chuckled throughout the video, but it wasn’t until a thought struck him at the end that he really burst out laughing.

“That’s going to be you in five years if I haven’t already married you and kept your psychotic ass from getting an unreasonable amount of animals.”

Your laughter died and you stared at him reproachfully. “Bucky, baby...do you think I’m psychotic?” Somehow you managed to sound unconcerned by the possibility of being psychotic. If anything, you seemed almost amused.

“Honestly? I think you’re on the brink of snapping sometimes,” he said with a slight shrug.

You stared back at him, not fully sure if he was joking or not. The serious look on his face confirmed he wasn’t joking and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Good to know you think I’m one mental breakdown away from snuggling with a possum, you jerk,” you teased, placing a quick peck on his cheek.

Bucky turned to fully face you, looking you dead in the eyes. “Be honest with me, if the possum was replaced by one of those raccoons we saw a couple weeks ago, how unreasonable would that seem to you?”

Your face felt hot and you stuttered for a moment before going quiet. “I guess that’s fair,” you mumbled, eyes rolling slightly. “But raccoons are cuter, you can’t blame me for wanting to snuggle one.”

“I know, you fucking weirdo. Now come here,” Bucky said, grabbing you and pulling you into his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and a comfortable silence fell over you. A few minutes later, Bucky spoke again.

“For the record though, possums and raccoons are both firmly on the ‘no’ list.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #a mutual weirdness

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ghost-party · 3 years

Note

congrats on 200! i'd love to see Erwin x reader where they are both professors! looking forward to what you come up with, anything fluffy involving fumbling academics would be fun <3

This request... YES. ❤️ I have a huge weakness for this type of AU. (I used to teach college English classes.) And the idea of Erwin as a professor? Perfection.

Warnings: alcohol A/N: So much awkward, adorable fluff. This ended up being longer than I expected, and I still felt like there was so much more I could write. There’s a very good chance that I’ll end up turning this into an actual fic... 😅

• • •

Erwin + Professors

It’s a few days before the fall semester begins, and you’ve just finished settling into your office. It’s small, but unlike the communal space you shared with the other TA’s back in grad school, it’s all yours. The wall-mounted shelves have been filled with books, your desk is stocked with sticky notes, highlighters, and your favorite pens, and you even managed to bring some small plants from your new apartment.

Feeling satisfied, despite the constant hum of nervous energy you’re sure will stick around until the first week is over, you sit back in your chair and rest your head against the wall. That’s when you hear it.

Sometimes I wonder, how I spend The lonely night dreaming of a song...

It’s music, coming from the office next door — an old song you swear you’ve heard before, but you’re not sure where. When you tilt your head, listening more closely, you hear someone moving around.

When stars are bright, you are in my arms, The nightingale, tells his fairy tale Of paradise, where roses grew...

You’re curious about your mystery colleague. After all, it’s nearly seven o’clock on a Friday evening, and you suspect you’re the only two crazy enough to still be here. While you’ve met the department chair and a few of the other professors, you have yet to meet everyone. And nobody so far has mentioned having the corner office right next to yours.

But then your phone vibrates, reminding you that if you don’t hurry up, you’ll be late to dinner with an old friend who’s passing through town. You grab your bag and keys and quietly shut your office door behind you. The door to your right is closed, but you can see light spilling out from beneath it.

Before you walk away, you take note of the name plate: Erwin Smith, PhD

• • •

The first day of classes is a whirlwind. You barely have time to eat lunch, and you empathize with your students as you, too, struggle to locate your various assigned classrooms on a still-unfamiliar campus.

By the time you return to the English department for office hours, you feel frazzled. Carrying a lukewarm coffee in a to-go cup and an armful of student info sheets in labeled folders, you quickly round the corner — and walk straight into someone.

“Oof.” Your folders tumble to the floor, and coffee splashes onto your shirt. The only reason you don’t lose your balance completely is a large, warm hand at the small of your back, preventing gravity from wreaking even further havoc.

“Are you alright?”

When you look up, you have to remind your brain that words exist and you should use them. Because the man in front of you — who, much to your embarrassment, is holding you rather close — is very, very handsome.

Golden hair, carefully combed back. Bright blue eyes that reflect a concerned warmth. Strong features, sharp cheekbones, a smile that would make anyone melt...

“Y-yes! I’m fine!” Once you’ve found your footing, you glance down at yourself, and then notice you’re not the only one who’s now coffee-stained.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, kneeling down to collect your folders and the many papers that slipped out of them. “I need to be more careful.”

“No, no, it’s my fault,” the man assures you, squatting down to help. “And I keep a spare shirt in my office. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve spilled coffee on myself while grading papers.”

Your fingers brush against his when you both reach for the same folder, and you feel your cheeks grow warm. “Still, though, I’m really sorry.”

You both stand, and he smiles kindly. “Please don’t worry about it. Can I help you carry these? It’s the least I can do.”

You nod and walk down the narrow hallway, with him trailing close behind you. “I’m going to take a guess and say you’re the new hire,” he ventures.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask with a small laugh.

“I’ve been here for a while now, so new faces stand out. Keith said you moved here for the job?”

You’re so flustered, it takes you a moment to connect the name with the stern but friendly department chair. “Yeah. New city, new job, new everything...”

“That’s a lot to be dealing with.”

When you reach your office door and retrieve your keys from your bag, the man behind you chuckles. “So it is you. I wondered, but they haven’t put your name plate up yet.”

“Hmm?” You turn to find him grinning and pointing at the door next to yours — the office of your mystery colleague.

“This is me. Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself — Erwin Smith.” He goes to offer his hand, then realizes your arms are full. You both share an awkward laugh.

You unlock the door and gesture for him to come in. “I’m beginning to think that we both apologize too much,” you tease, dropping the folders onto your desk and tossing the now-empty cup in the trash.

“Only when I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself and made a questionable first impression.” Erwin hands you the remaining folders and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“No, you’re fine! Really, I appreciate the help.” You offer your hand and return his smile. “Let’s try this again. I’m Y/N.”

You notice that his hand is lightly calloused as it closes around yours. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” And you can tell from the look on his face that he means it.

• • •

Over the next few weeks, you see more and more of Erwin, as you both adjust to your respective schedules and learn when they overlap. He holds office hours at the same time as you, and since it’s still early in the semester, it’s unusual for students to actually show up. More often than not, you end up in his office. It’s larger and more comfortable — “lived in” he joked the first time you saw it, telling you about the evenings he’s inadvertently fallen asleep on the small sofa, reading after a late grad class.

There are twice as many shelves as there are in yours, all of them absolutely crammed with books. You could spend hours perusing them all. Sometimes, after you’ve finished grading papers, you pick one at random and page through it.

“Where are you?” Erwin will ask, in the midst of his own grading, and you’ll read a line from whatever book you’re holding, playing a little guessing game with him. More often than not, he knows the title and author from the smallest of clues. It’s obscenely attractive.

Then again, everything about him is attractive. You often feel guilty for sneaking glances at him while he’s preoccupied, watching how his brow furrows while writing an email, noticing when he rolls up his sleeves, revealing hard, lean muscle, thinking that he has no right to look so good while wearing reading glasses. On the few occasions he’s caught your gaze, always offering a small smile, you mentally berate yourself. He’s a friend — your first real friend here. But he’s also a colleague. Keep it professional, Y/N...

You meet his friends when he invites you to join them for weekly trivia nights at their favorite bar, the Garrison. All of them teach at the university, and they’ve formed their group slowly, over years of faculty get-togethers, awards ceremonies, and one terrible team-building camping trip. Hange, who teaches chemistry, immediately adds you to their group chat, which mostly consists of them spamming everyone with memes and Levi from the history department colorfully (but also endearingly) insulting everyone.

By the time midterms come around, your office hours have become much busier. But you still make time to talk with Erwin, and you’ve even spent time together off campus, when he offered to give you a tour of his favorite museum. When you mentioned it to Hange, they nearly spilled beer all over the table, gasping, “You two finally went on a date?!” Erwin choked, coughing as Levi pounded a fist against his back, and you were positive your face was so hot, it would spontaneously combust. Neither of you mentioned it afterwards.

But that hasn’t changed the fact that you have the biggest crush on him. And you’re not sure what to do about it. His friends — now your friends, too — haven’t exactly been subtle about trying to make something happen between the two of you. But neither you nor Erwin has made a move.

This evening, you’ve both stayed late, in an attempt to catch up on paperwork. You notice him stand and walk to the old turntable in the corner, changing the record. The song that begins to play makes you lift your head from the pile of tests sitting on your crossed legs.

“It’s that song.” When Erwin looks at you, puzzled, you explain, “You were playing it, the first time I was here — before the semester began.” Your face heats up as he continues to stare at you. “Sorry, that’s weird, right? I just... didn’t know anyone else was here, and it was a nice song, and —”

He laughs, raising his hands as he approaches you. “Whoa there. It’s okay, you just surprised me. It’s a favorite of mine — ‘Stardust’ by Hoagy Carmichael. My parents used to dance to it sometimes, when they stayed up late drinking wine, thinking I was asleep.”

“Let me guess,” you say, propping your chin on your hand. “You pretended and then read books beneath the covers.”

Erwin smiles. “Guilty.” He stands there for a moment, seeming thoughtful. And then he asks, softly, “Did you think it was a date?”

You blink up at him, setting your papers aside. “Oh. I... Um... No.” You’ve grown close enough to him that you can now read the subtle shifts in his expressions, and when you see a flash of disappointment, you blurt out, “But I wanted it to be.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I’m just... not great at things like this. Especially with a coworker. I didn’t want to make things complicated.”

Your gaze is fixed on the floor, so you don’t notice him sit beside you until the sofa cushion dips. When you turn to look at him, he smiles. “I’ve been feeling the same way. And I didn’t want you to think we’re only friends because of that — like I had an ulterior motive or something.”

He reaches for your hand but hesitates, allowing you to meet him halfway and entwine your fingers with his. There’s an almost imperceptible sigh of relief before he murmurs, “I like spending time with you. I’m sorry I’ve wasted some of it trying to figure out the best strategy, when I could’ve just... told you that.”

You squeeze his hand and smile. “That sounds an awful lot like an apology, Dr. Smith.”

Erwin chuckles. “Well, then, instead of ‘sorry,’ I’ll go with, ‘Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night?’ And to be clear, this would definitely be a date.”

“Hmm...” You glance at the clock on the wall. “It’s only eight. Is tonight too soon?” When his eyebrows inch upwards, you remind him, “You said you didn’t want to waste any more time. And if you do any more work tonight, you’ll end up doing that thing where you pinch the bridge of your nose over and over.”

He lets out a loud laugh. “Someone’s been paying attention.”

“You make it hard not to.” You stand, pulling his hand to your lips and brushing a soft kiss across his knuckles. It’s worth it, to see his blush deepen. “So... Where to?”

#200 followers event #attack on titan #aot #erwin smith #erwin x reader #erwin smith x reader

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qitwrites · 3 years

Text

growing pains

Fandom: Boku no hero academia

There’s an absolutely atrocious, disgustingly gooey feeling curling around Bakugou’s chest.

He wonders if Recovery girl has any medicine for feels.

5 times the Bakusquad tells Bakugou they love him + the one time he says it back

(AO3)

Ashido is many things. Book smart isn’t one of them.

No really, she’s got so much going for her with her dancing, her strength, her versatile quirk, her perky attitude and even her distinctive appearance, but she’s not one for the books. She doesn’t like them, and they clearly don’t like her back.

Her grades thoroughly reflect this hate-hate relationship.

Ashido tries though, she really does- even if it’s just cramming a few days before the exams, she tries to study. Yao-momo had even gone out of her way to help, but it just doesn’t do the trick. She knows she needs to get her act together and figure this out because she can’t be a hero with a failing grade, and the anxiety and fear starts taking its toll, leaving her restless and upset.

So, when Bakugou sees the pink-haired, pink-skinned pain-in-the ass sulking in the common room, he’s horrified by the words that leave his mouth-

‘Want my help?’

Ashido doesn’t even glance at him at first, choosing to stare at the wall forlornly. She slowly looks up to catch his eye, looks around, realizes that they’re all alone, snaps her eyes back to his and her jaw drops.

‘Me?’ She points a finger at herself. ‘You’ll tutor me?’

‘What did I just say dumbass?’

‘I just- BAKUBRO, THANK YOU!’

‘Shut the fuck up and get your shit. We’ve got our work cut out for us. And raccoon eyes?’

Ashido turns to look at him, eyes bright and shiny.

‘Tell anyone about this and I’ll kick your ass.’

Ashido beams. ‘It’ll be our little secret!’

To her credit, he sees her try. She’s distracted and constantly jumping up and down, too jittery to be in one place, but she also pushes herself to focus, to really absorb the material. Bakugou’s rough with her, the way he is with Kirishima, but he’s generous with the praise too, or as generous as he’s capable of being. It makes him feel all kinds of gross, disgustingly soft and gooey things when Ashido’s eyes go warm with pride when he pays her the smallest compliment.

They work hard for the two weeks leading up to the exams. Kirishima joins them for every session in addition to the stuff he does with Bakugou separately, and between the three of them, they manage to cover most of the syllabus quite thoroughly.

The day before the exam, Bakugou sees the nerves rolling off Ashido.

‘Oye!’

She flinches and turns to look at him, throwing him a sheepish smile. ‘Yes, Blasty?’

He bristles at the nickname but recognizes that there’s no malice, no intention to mock, nothing really- just a nickname meant for a friend. She isn’t provoking him- she’s just nervous and falling back on old, comfortable habits.

He grunts, ‘You nervous?’

Ashido chuckles. ‘Course I am! Don’t wanna let you down, you know?’

Bakugou smacks her lightly on the head with a roll of practice sheets.

‘Who do you think tutored you? Don’t underestimate our sessions. Get in there and fucking obliterate those stupid tests.’

Ashido’s smile grows more confident, and she gives him a huge thumbs up, bumps hips with Kirishima and jogs over to her seat. The bell rings, and the exams begin.

The tests are not bad. Bakugou notes that a good majority of the papers contain material that he’s covered with the two properly, and works his way through the problems, the equations, the literature, all of it. In the very back of his mind, in a place he barely refuses to acknowledge, he hopes that they’re doing ok.

A week after their final exams, Bakugou is walking back from the training centre when he sees a ball of pink approaching him at an alarming speed.

‘BAKUBRO!’ Mina hollers, arms raised over her head as she outright sprints at him.

Bakugou furrows his brow, chest expanding as he gets ready to yell at her when she interrupts him-

‘I passed EVERYTHING!’ Her smile is humungous, wide and warm and genuine to its core. ‘AND I ACTUALLY DID WELL!’

Bakugou doesn’t even realize he’s smiling back, that feral, triumphant grin he has when he beats someone during training or takes down a villain. He’s proud of himself, and he realizes, with a surprising amount of acceptance, that he’s proud of her too. Really damn proud.

He’s a bit slow to realize that she hasn’t stopped barreling towards him though.

‘RACCOON EYES, DON’T YOU DA-‘

Ashido collides right into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Bakugou curses the entire way, but Ashido out-laughs him, her body shaking with joy.

‘Thank you!’ She beams down at him, pulling him into a warm hug. ‘You have no idea what this means to me.’

Bakugou wants to push her off, wants to stand up, spew out some curses and stomp away, back to his room.

But he’s also proud. He’s also happy for her. He’s also glad she did ok. That she worked hard and was determined to make him proud and that she isn’t going to get held back or expelled or something.

So, he blames it on the summer heat when he not only doesn’t push her off but rests a hand on her shoulder, gives her a quick pat, counts to 10 and THEN shoves her away.

Ashido pulls off easily enough, still laughing. She bounces back to her feet, dusts off her track pants and offers him her hand. The blonde looks at it, huffs, and takes it with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Ashido yanks him to his feet with a strong, firm grip and her eyes go soft and warm and radiant.

‘Thanks again, Bakugou.’

‘Tch, whatever. Fuck off.’

Ashido giggles. Her phone suddenly starts ringing and she pulls it out of her pant pocket.

‘Oh, it’s my parents, I gotta take this!’ She starts walking back to the dorms. ‘Let’s go out this weekend, get some food at the mall. My treat!’

‘I don’t want to fucking do-‘

‘Bye babe. Love you!’ And with that, she’s gone, her laugh echoing around the courtyard.

There’s an absolutely atrocious, disgustingly gooey feeling curling around Bakugou’s chest.

He wonders if Recovery girl has any medicine for feels.

---

Bakugou knows for a fact that Sero is 90% memes and 10% tape.

He has no scientific evidence to back up this claim of course, but he’s definitely right.

The thing about Sero is that the longer you spend time around him, the more you can appreciate his stupid sense of humour, his great taste in mangas, and his ability to make the people around him smile.

Bakugou hates him completely, or so he tells himself. There’s no scientific evidence to prove on the contrary either, thank god.

So, with his shitty sense of humour and his easy-going nature, it’s natural to find Sero with a smile on his face. Not the kind of sunshine happiness that Kirishima has, but more of a mellow, easy joy. His body language exudes a relaxed vibe, immediately making the people around him lower their guard, and he shares a love for healthy food with Bakugou, earning him the blonde’s begrudging respect.

Bakugou finds the tape hero sitting at the kitchen island on a Tuesday night. It’s past Bakguou’s bedtime, but he’s hungry enough to warrant a midnight snack, though he’s not expecting any company. Turns out, neither is Sero.

‘Oh, hey.’

Immediately, Bakugou’s shackles are up. Because Sero isn’t smiling. He isn’t teasing him, there’s no humorous lilt in his voice, no mischievous glint in his eyes, nothing. He’s hollow almost, his skin pale and his eyes sunken in. Even his breathing seems off, too fast and too shallow all at once.

‘What are you doing up?’ Bakugou asks, quirking a brow.

‘Could ask you the same.’

Sero is barely looking at him. He has his phone in a vice-grip, and he looks like he’s going to throw up.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

Sero jolts at that, eyes darting all across the room, and he can’t seem to look at Bakugou. Can’t seem to sit still or calm down. Bakugou can taste his anxiety, and it’s making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He feels protectiveness - strong and vicious and ridiculously overpowering - all the way in his toes.

‘Nothing, ha, I’m fine.’

‘Tapeface, I’m not fucking blind. If you don’t want to fucking talk about it, fine. Just don’t lie to my face.’

Sero finally looks at him, and he looks lost and scared and helpless. Bakugou’s never seen him like this, and the protectiveness surges.

‘I- I didn’t expect anyone to be awake. I’m not sure, you know, how to talk about it. I don’t even know what to do.’

Bakugou grunts to show him he’s listening before turning around and slowly pulling things out of the fridge. He remembers Sero’s love for fruits and soy and all things healthy and decides to make some Mapo Tofu. Not because Sero will like it or anything, the blonde just really likes Mapo Tofu, ok?

Bakugou begins the task of pulling pots and pans out of the cabinets and gets to prepping the ingredients. He keeps himself busy and fills the space with the comforting sounds and smells of food because he is an expert at being unable to talk about his feelings. To articulate his thoughts sans anger and rage and panic. And he finds that it's easier, even if only a little, to talk when the focus isn’t just on you. When there’s stuff going on, when there are other focal points. It’s less scary.

‘My mom is getting surgery.’

Bakugou pauses in his movements. He stays still long enough to indicate to Sero that he’s listening but goes back to work so the focus is still on the food, so Sero will continue to speak. His voice is uncharacteristically soft and so pained, and something in Bakugou churns horribly. He works more softly, so he can hear everything.

‘She’s had medical issues all my life, so it’s nothing unexpected. She gets surgery pretty often, but it’s never any less scary.’

Bakugou can’t even imagine what that’s like, to have a parent regularly undergo medical treatment and surgical procedures.

‘It’s the first one since I got to the dorms. I’ve never been this far away, and I can’t-‘ Sero’s voice chokes. He breathes deeply and continues ‘-I can’t calm down. I begged them to let me come home but they refused, said I need to see this UA thing through, do my own thing, all that.’

Bakugou continues to cook. The kitchen smells warm and spicy, and the sound of sizzling spices saturates the space between them, and he thinks he can sense Sero calm down a little.

‘I get it. I do. They're right and logically, I can accept that. I just. Fuck, this is horrible.’

Bakugou doesn’t offer any words of comfort or advice because what does he know? He has no idea what Sero is going through, and anything he says might sound insincere or plain insensitive. So instead, he cooks. He cooks the meat, mixes in the spices, and tastes the broth. He works fast and efficient, his movements practised. When it’s done, he plates up two bowls, and sets one in front of Sero, taking the seat next to him. Sero’s at the head of the table, so Bakugou ends up on his right.

Sero stares at the bowl and then looks up at Bakugou.

‘Mom makes me Mapo Tofu when I’m upset,’ he grumbles by way of an explanation. The blonde proceeds to douse his serving in extra chilli oil and peppercorns because he made the overall dish at a much more tolerable spice level. NOT for Sero or anything, just because. You know. For the fuck of it.

Sero stares at the bowl of food silently before picking up the spoon.

‘I haven’t told the rest because I couldn’t find a way to talk about it.’

Before Bakugou can figure out a way to respond to that, Sero continues, ‘I’m glad you know, is not so bad to have someone to talk to. Or at, I guess.’

Sero digs in, and after the first bite, his eyes light up.

‘Holy fuck,’ he breathes, ‘this is so good.’

Bakugou smirks, digging into his own bowl and humming in agreement. It’s probably the best Tofu he’s made so far.

‘Shit man,’ Sero says in between big bites, ‘I freaking love this. And you. But mostly this. But also, you. Like 65-35? Maybe 60-40.’

The blonde snorts and Sero’s grin gets wider. They eat in relative silence, with the occasional comment from Sero and the sounds of them kicking each other playfully under the table. When they’re done, Bakugou rinses the bowls in the sink and joins Sero on the couch in front of the TV. It’s gotten ridiculously late, but he doesn’t want to leave him alone.

Sero rubs the back of his neck. ‘I uh, I don’t want to go to my room right now.’

Bakugou leans over the couch, grabs two throw blankets from a bin nearby and flings the yellow one at Sero.

‘Play that cool documentary on speedcubing,’ he barks out, tucking himself under his own red blanket. Sero gives him a wide-eyed look before navigating to the right piece on Netflix. He gets comfortable under the throw, and they fall asleep to the sound of people solving Rubix cubes at inhumane speeds.

Shoji finds them like that in the morning and gently shakes them awake. Sero’s phone has a message from his parents, telling him everything’s alright, and that’s the only reason Bakugou forgives him for gathering the blonde in a big, warm hug before the sun is even up.

He crawls into his own bed 5 minutes later, and his heart feels lighter than ever.

Maybe an antacid will help with all of these stupid, horrid feels.

---

Bakugou doesn’t like people.

As a general rule of thumb, he dislikes them almost instantly. People are loud. They’re invasive, annoying, clingy, and they never smell good.

People are also cruel and selfish and use you as they please.

Bakugou doesn’t like people; until he comes to UA.

Because the people in UA are loud, invasive, annoying, clingy, and never smell great either.

But they’re kind. They’re smart, driven, capable, funny. They work hard, they play hard, and they’re mostly selfless. They don’t flock to him simply because he’s got a great quirk or something. Truth be told, they’re all pretty formidable themselves. Grossly underdeveloped and years away from being at his level, but Bakugou knows that with time, all of his classmates will reach insane heights. They wouldn’t be in UA otherwise.

So Bakugou tries. Mostly because his stupid squad won’t leave him alone, but he tries.

When people hang out in the common rooms, he’s downstairs with them. If there’s a stupid Christmas party, or it's someone’s birthday, or the class wants to go out shopping or to play in the pool, Bakugou tags along with them more often than not.

There is a compromise though. With a social battery as small and easily drained as his, it isn’t uncommon for the class to find Bakugou chilling in a corner with his headphones in, simply taking in the vibe rather than actively participating. There’s no bad blood over this though- they kinda get it. Not everyone is as friendly or as vibrant as Kirishima or Kaminari. They’re honestly just glad he’s there at all, so they do their best to make sure he’s included while letting him set his own pace.

Bakugou’s in one of his recharging phases when he spots Jirou.

The earphone jack hero is wandering around, looking a little worse for wear. There are people from both 1A and 1B milling around, talking and laughing in the common areas, and the energy in the room is almost stifling. The blonde doesn’t miss the way Jirou covers her ears at one point.

From what he can tell, Jirou is an ambivert. She enjoys the company of others often, but she’s also perfectly fine being on her own, with a book and some music to keep her company. Right now, she seems exhausted, her own social battery running dangerously low.

Bakugou catches her eye. She gives him a small wave and he sticks his tongue out at her, pulling the skin under his eye down on one side. It’s petty and dumb, but he sees her huff a laugh and slowly meander towards him. Bakugou goes back to closing his eyes and tipping his head back, enjoying the familiar texture of the common room couch and the sound of the music in his ears drowning out everything else.

He feels the couch dip next to him, close but not too close. Jirou doesn’t touch him, doesn’t bother him, doesn’t shake or poke or otherwise engage him. She just sits there, stock-still.

When his eyes slip open again, Bakugou sees that she’s got her hands in her lap and she’s mimicking his posture, comfortably seated on the couch with her head tipped back. Her signature headphones are nowhere in sight though, and her eyes are open and red.

Distantly, Bakugou wonders if she’s forgotten them. That would suck ass- he’d be lost without his own pair. And Jirou’s relationship with music is on a level no one else can fathom- it’s literally part of her DNA, her quirk, her identity.

Bakugou isn’t sure what compels him to do it- maybe it’s because they both like bugging the hell out of Kaminari. Maybe it’s because Jirou is no-nonsense when it comes to hero work, which he can respect. Maybe it’s because, beneath all the teasing and smart-ass comments, Jirou has often looked out for him, advocating for the need for personal space when the idiot brigade drains him.

Whatever the reason, Bakugou finds himself pulling out his right earbud and holding it out for her, a silent invitation.

It takes maybe 4 seconds for him to feel the bud lifted gently from his fingers. Jirou is careful to not jar his own earbud when she adjusts his in her right ear, and Bakugou moves to raise the volume a little.

It is a bit annoying, yes, to have one ear open to the noise around them, but it’s not unbearable- far from it. He’s got some reggae on right now, a genre he indulges in when he needs to calm down and just relax his body.

When he turns to look at her, Jirou’s got a smile on her lips. Her feet are tapping to the beat effortlessly, and her fingers are mapping out the tune on an invisible fretboard. She opens her eyes and looks over at Bakugou, and her smile widens, crinkling the edges of her eyes.

Thank you, she mouths, flashing him another blinding smile. It makes Bakugou huff.

‘Whatever,’ he murmurs under his breath. The look in her eyes could not be mistaken for anything else- unadulterated gratitude and a heavy dose of love.

These gooey feelings are going to give him an upset stomach, Bakugou’s calling it right now.

---

Bakugou doesn’t even notice the pattern till Kirishima points it out to him.

It goes a little something like this- Bakugou feels off during training, or maybe doesn’t do as well as he’d expected on a test or project, or something just doesn’t go right. So naturally, he’s in a piss poor mood.

The squad’s antics don’t do much for him then, doesn’t really raise his spirits or anything, and he usually goes back to his room, slamming his door shut and pacing around like a caged tiger.

And that’s when his phone rings. The caller ID reads Pikachu.

‘What the fuck do you want?’

‘Bakubrooooooooo,’ Kaminari croons, and Bakugou wants to break something.

‘Fuck of-‘

‘You ever wonder if cereal is soup?’

All the fight drains out of Bakugou, leaving only confusion in its place. ‘What?’

‘Yeah, I mean, is cereal like a sub-category of soup or something? Wouldn’t that make sense?’

‘Dunce-face, what the fuck? That doesn’t even make sense? You don’t cook cereal?’

‘Yes, but you could eat it with a soup spoon. That should count for something.’

‘I hate you. So much.’

‘Aww, love you too bro. Ok, gotta go, byee~’

Bakugou stares at his phone, shocked and confused and annoyed.

But no longer angry. No longer pacing about, no longer in a foul mood.

Another time, after a particularly bad bout of training, ending with aching forearms and snarls of frustration because he needs to get better but it’s not happening fast enough, Bakugou wants nothing more than to scream into a pillow and maybe eat some hot sauce.

Again, he gets a call from Kaminari.

‘Wha-‘

‘Do you ever just think about pizza and cry?’

‘Huh?’

‘Yeah, I mean, I think humanity reached its peak when it invented pizza, you know? And that makes me cry. Such perfection.’ He can picture Kaminari making a chef’s kiss gesture, and it pisses him off.

‘This is why you called me? Are you fucking with me?’

‘It’s really an honest question Bakubro. Don’t you ever tremble at the sheer magnificence of pizza?’

‘Delete my number.’

‘No can do. Gotta go, love you, bye!’

And again, he’s gone, just as quickly as he arrived. And again, Bakugou is left feeling baffled and miffed but no longer angry, no longer itching to scream and claw and break something.

He still eats some hot sauce though.

Kirishima is with him after one of his bad days, sitting on his bed and trying to pacify him.

‘It’s ok, it-‘

‘Shut up, Shitty hair! Fuck-‘ His hands tremble with the need to just do something, vent somehow, to break the tension in his spine. He doesn’t want to snap at Kirishima, which is why he never lets him tag along when he stomps away to his room after a bad day, but the redhead can be ridiculously caring sometimes and Bakugou doesn’t want to hurt him.

He doesn’t know what else to do though.

‘Shit, I- you need to leave, get out before I-‘

His phone rings. Pikachu, it says.

‘Dunce-‘

‘I’ve decided that, in the event of an apocalypse, you and I are teaming up together.’

‘Wha-‘

‘I know you’d much rather team up with Kirishima, cause he’s so strong and handsome and he’s your best friend, but he’ll be fine. I, on the other hand, will die immediately. So, it’s just you and me Blasty.’

‘Fuck right off, why would I-‘

‘We could name ourselves the atomic blondes.’ Kaminari suddenly makes a whooping noise. ‘Damn, that’s perfect Bakugou! I gotta print tee shirts right now, we’d look amazing.’

‘I am not wearing anything that matches you, miss me with that shit.’

‘I promise it’ll be black, and like, soft, with skull patterns or something.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘I gotta go anyway, but you’re stuck with me Bakubro. Anyway, bye, love you!’

They end the call, or rather, Kaminari cuts it before Bakugou can get an insult or two in there, and when he looks back at Kirishima, he sees a big, goofy smile on his face.

‘What?’ he grumbles, tossing his phone on his bed.

‘He does that often?’

‘What, call me and say really random, really stupid shit? Yeah, all the damn time. I need to block his ass.’

‘Kinda sweet though, huh?’

Bakugou cocks his head. ‘What’re you talking about? It’s a fucking pain.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t seem as mad anymore.’

‘I-‘ And yet again, Bakugou is disgruntled and confused and irritated at himself, for getting swept up by Kaminari’s pace, but he’s not angry. All the fight has mostly bled out of his limbs, and he feels more or less normal if only a little on edge. Nothing too difficult to deal with.

‘Son of a bitch,’ Bakugou breathes. Kirishima’s smile is a tad wider, and he scoots over on the bed, making some space for Bakugou while he pulls out his laptop, ready to load up some shitty videos.

‘Tell him about this and I will never speak to you again,’ Bakugou grumbles finally, settling in next to Kirishima, leaning most of his weight into the redhead.

He feels Kirishima’s chest rumble with laughter.

‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

Bakugou wonders if anyone’s ever tried to harness the power of feels to run turbines or some shit, because this stuff’s turning out to be overwhelmingly powerful.

---

In terms of quirk compatibility, Bakugou has found his perfect match in Kirishima.

The blonde’s quirk is perfect for offence. Granted, it’s exceptionally versatile and he can handle his own just fine, but with Kirishima, he feels invincible.

Red Riot is unmoving, unabashed, and utterly unbreakable. He knows Bakugou inside out, knows his moves, his tactics, his signals. They fight like a well-oiled machine, adjusting and improvising with ease. Fighting alongside Kirishima, alongside Red Riot, is like breathing. They almost dance around each other, and between taking down villains and conducting search and rescue, they’ve made themselves a formidable hero pair even before graduation.

So, it’s not uncommon for them to be paired up even when they’re working and interning under different heroes. They’re that good.

They’re on a mission together when things take a turn for the absolute worst.

Most of the pros are down, caught in the crossfire or too busy protecting the civilians to engage in combat. There are fires blazing everywhere, smoke congesting the air around them so much that Bakugou can barely breathe.

Riot stands next to him, breathing slightly laboured but otherwise unhurt. Bakugou has a cut on his forehead, blood running down his face, but he feels ok. Good enough to rush into battle and do his part in subduing these shitty villains.

But experience has taught him better than to run in with no plan, even when he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager to rush into the action. Experience has taught him that without a moment to catch his breath and restructure the plan to achieve their goals, he’ll be doing a lot more harm than good. It’s frustrating as all hell, but he’s a hero in training. You learn this stuff on the job.

‘What do you think?’ He asks the redhead.

Kirishima straightens out his back, hands on his hips. ‘The elemental quirk user will probably be the biggest pain in the ass.’

Bakugou nods. ‘It seemed like a water quirk. We need to get her away from the buildings, away from the piping. There was also that shitty smoke user, he’s the reason the air is barely breathable.’

‘Yao-momo’s masks would’ve come so in handy right now,’ Kirishima muses with a smile.

Bakugou grunts in begrudging agreement but doesn’t comment further on it. ‘There should be three other villains, all with high-level quirks. I’m not sure which other pros will free up to help, but we have to isolate them, move them towards the construction site,’ Bakugou points somewhat East of their current location, ‘as per the plan.’

Kirishima nods in agreement and catches Bakugou’s eyes and the blonde’s breath hitches.

They don’t talk about it, but here’s the other thing- they’re probably going to get hurt, maybe even fatally. Not because they’re weak or they want to or anything, but the villains seem endless. They’re fucking strong too, and even with an army of heroes, the villains seem to come at them harder and faster the longer this battle goes on. Bakugou can feel his own stamina start to vain, and he knows Kirishima will hit his limit too, slower than the blonde but still. There will come a point when Kirishima’s skin won’t harden and Bakugou’s blasts will lower in intensity till all he can manage are sparks.

And even then, he knows they will fight with their fists and their bodies and their teeth. That’s what heroes do- they put everything on the line, for the people and for justice.

More often than not, they lose their lives for it.

Well, for what’s it worth, Bakugou could not have asked for a better partner by his side in such shitty, dire times. Kirishima’s soft smile seems to reflect his sentiments.

‘Hey, Katsuki?’

The hero code of conduct frowns upon the use of personal names in costume. You have a hero name for a reason, and it helps preserve your sense of anonymity and privacy, even if it’s pretty useless at its job.

For Kirishima to name him, and first name him at that, just goes to show how serious the situation is.

‘Yeah, Ei?’

‘Make me some hotpot when we get back, ok?’

Bakugou inhales deeply, coughs because of the stupid smoke, and his fists clench tight enough to leave crescent moons in his palms.

‘Only if I’m in the mood, Shitty Hair,’ Bakugou retorts, his voice far too soft for the King Explosion Murder hero. But that’s ok- here is only Eijirou, Katsuki, and the world burning around them. Soft is ok here.

Kirishima’s familiar belly-deep laughter gives him a boost of energy.

‘Let’s kick some ass.’

Bakugou feels, for one glorious moment, like he can take on the entire world.

They take their first few steps before Kirishima steps in front of him, blocking off his path. When he looks up to catch his eyes again, the blonde’s protests and insults die in his throat.

Kirishima’s gaze is trained on him as he slowly reaches forward and grabs Bakugou’s right forearm with his right hand, fingers digging into the muscle. It’s a firm, solid grip, reassuring and warm and so very familiar. His eyes are bright, bold, and wine-red. And they’re so full of love, brimming with the kind of affection, respect, and adoration that Bakugou never thought he’d be subjected to. Kirishima opens his mouth as if to say everything his body is already telling Bakugou.

‘I know,’ Bakugou interrupts, voice hoarse. Because he does know. The redhead is his best friend in the entire world, his person, his rock. ‘I know, Ei.’ His own fingers wrap around Kirishima’s wide forearm, gripping tight with calloused, too hot fingers.

Kirishima flashes him another soft smile past his headgear before letting go. He waits for Bakugou to catch up and they walk together, side by side, equals.

When they see the first villain, doing her best to uproot an entire building, Bakugou casts one last look at Kirishima, sees his positively feral smile, and charges with the force of a wild beast.

There are no feels there, just adrenaline, rage, and trust so thick, even concrete would crack under its weight.

---

When you’re training to be a hero, things can go wrong.

Accidents happen. People don’t move out of the way fast enough, or there’s a domino effect of some sort, or the aftershocks of one attack reaches a place it shouldn’t.

Bakugou’s switched up his training partner, choosing to train with Iida to fine-tune his aim and work with a fast-moving target. His blasts hit the mark sometimes, but not always. The gym is huge, so they aren’t really risking anyone with their training; at least, that’s how it is for a while.

But then, Bakugou takes aim and blasts at Iida, Iida dodges swiftly, the attack takes out a portion of the rock formations in the gym, and suddenly there’s a landslide headed right at Hagakure and Kaminari.

Bakugou doesn’t even think about it; his body moves before his brain catches up, and he’s suddenly in front of the two, arms raised to obliterate the debris when he realizes that a portion of the mountain had been laced with explosives for someone else’s training, and his quirk would make things exponentially worse. With the last few moments he has, Bakugou shoves Chargebolt and Invisible Girl away roughly and gets buried under the avalanche of debris.

The last thing he thinks he hears is a chorus of voices yelling Bakugou before his vision goes black.

---

And that’s what Bakugou remembers when he wakes up to white. White walls, white curtains, white sheets.

Unfortunately, the noise isn’t white. It’s annoyingly and stupidly loud.

‘There are too many of you here,’ Recovery girl says, sounding exasperated. ‘He will be fine, he just needs to regain his strength.’

‘Sensei, a whole section of a mountain fell on him, how can he just be fine?’ Jirou questions, sounding severely distressed.

‘Plus, this happened while he was saving me,’ Kaminari chips in. ‘I’m not leaving him.’

‘I have a secret healing quirk of my own,’ Ashido bullshits. ‘He’ll feel so much better when he hears my voice. I have to stay, it’ll be a crime for me to go.’

‘I can tape his wounds?’ Sero offers sheepishly.

He can hear Recovery Girl’s sigh from the other end of the room. ‘And you?’

‘He’s my person.’ Kirishima says it like it’s enough of an explanation.

Recovery Girl clicks her tongue. ‘Overdramatic, the lot of you. Play rock paper scissors or something, but I’m only allowing one of you to stay. The rest of you are going back to the dorms.’

The room bursts into noise again and Bakugou’s head feels like it’s splitting open.

‘HOLY FUCK, SHUT UP!’ The blonde roars from his bed. ‘I LOVE YOU GUYS, BUT IF YOU DON’T STOP YELLING, I WILL BODILY THROW YOU ALL OUT THE DAMN WINDOW.’

His own yelling does more harm than good to his throbbing head, but the noises stop completely so at least it did its job.

He’s alone for a blissful second before a crowd of five idiots surroundS his bed. Kirishima’s face peers into his, smile wide and eyes crinkled around the edges.

‘Hi, how you feeling?’

‘Like someone ran me through a garbage disposal and then put me in a microwave.’

‘Such details, much prose,’ Sero quips, earning him a chop from Ashido.

‘Blasty my love, can we do anything?’

‘Yeah, shut the fuck up and let me sleep.’

Jirou squeezes his calf from the foot of the bed. ‘You gave us a real scare there.’

‘I’m fine,’ Bakugou grumbles.

‘He will be,’ Recovery Girl reiterates, pushing them away and standing next to him. ‘I’ll do another bout of healing once you’ve recovered some of your strength. You can go back to the dorms before bed.’ She turns to his classmates. ‘Only one of you.’

They look at one another and everyone but Kirishima starts shuffling away reluctantly.

Kaminari lingers behind before quickly giving Bakugou a gentle hug. ‘Thanks,’ he whispers into his ear before pulling off and following after the others. Bakugou rolls his eyes and curls onto his side, yelping when he puts some weight on his tender side.

‘Easy,’ Kirishima mumbles, easing him onto his back. When Bakugou is finally comfortable, Kirishima drags one of the chairs lined up against the wall next to the bed and plops down, exhaling. Bakugou opens a tired eye to look at him and sees Kirishima with a stupidly smug smile on his face.

‘What?’

‘You love us, huh?’

Bakugou had hoped they hadn’t caught that, even though he’d screamed it loud enough for the entire building to have heard. Apparently, a cliff falling on you doesn’t stop you from blushing.

‘Fuck off, you were hearing things,’ he says anyway, because what is Bakugou if not in full denial about so many things?

Kirishima’s laugh is loving not mocking, and he puts his hand on Bakugou’s elbow.

‘Good to have you back Kats.’ He gives it a gentle squeeze. ‘Get some rest huh? I’ll be here when you wake up.’

Bakugou gives him a weak glare, but he can’t muster enough rage and anger because the absolute worst part is, he meant it. Because apparently being a rage-filled hero in training doesn’t make one impervious to feels.

Bakugou feels so betrayed by his own thoughts and emotions.

But right as he loses consciousness, he finds himself wondering if he minds all that much and he decides he doesn’t, almost not at all. The answer doesn’t really surprise him either.

He falls asleep to a cool breeze brushing over his skin and the sound of Kirishima humming under his breath.

37 notes · View notes

sparklingpax · 3 years

Text

A Different Side (2/2)

Summary: Optimus comes back from an unsuccessful mission and seems to be out of sorts…but there’s more to that story.

///

A/N:

-Part 1 arguably where I should have ended it :’)

-Literally been a year and I apologize so hard sdjdj ;w; also this part is too long asfsksdjfl aaa

-BEFORE YOU ATTACK ME, this is not “the first time optimus ever makes a joke!!!” kind of story, despite how much it looks like that. It’s just. something,,,

-as usual, there are definitely typos and mistakes; hopefully I get around to fixing them aha ^^’’ Also please don’t mind the weird spacing, for some reason the way I type things out never seems to translate well to when I put it here so,,,

-please I’m literally not funny, my humor is broken 😀 Like, I didn’t quite know how to continue or conclude this, and it’s not creative or interesting at all and it highkey doesn’t make sense tbh?? so aaa qwq I just hope it’s not too cringe,,,,but I did say I’d finish it so rather than keep y’all waiting any longer than I already have, here it is....part 2....

-I just. wanna apologize again that it took so long and this scrappy second bit is all I have to show for it. hh.

///

“At last…” Ratchet sighed contentedly to himself.

He carefully placed two pieces of metal together and wielded them to one smooth shape.

Stepping back to admire his work, smiling a little, he then picked it up and started towards the supply room.

After a long day of work, Ratchet was pleased to finally be able to place the repaired tool back on its shelf and retreat to his room for a few hours of quiet reading.

Maybe three at the very most, he wagered his bet with a slight grimace.

After all, it was commonplace for commotion to interrupt his every attempt to enjoy himself quietly.

Such is my fate.

However, hearing a familiar set of footsteps thumping slowly down the halls, Ratchet paused.

“Optimus? Is that you?”

He leaned to the side and peered down the hall.

Said mech emerged from the corridor and into the medic’s view. He had a funny look in his eye as he came to a stop quite abruptly.

He placed his hands on his hips and regarded Ratchet for a strange few moments of….awkward silence…before speaking.

“Ratchet,” his voice tremored almost imperceptibly, “Would you consider me…humorous?”

The medic blinked at him. He was officially more confused.

He had been just about to ask what had happened to upset him so much earlier, or if there was anything he wanted to talk about, one-on-one.

After all, from time to time, Optimus would reach a point where he could no longer bear whatever was troubling him. And of course, Ratchet was right there for him, ready to listen and help. In the end, he was able to get Optimus to say what was troubling him, and they would talk about it or they wouldn’t. But something about the way Optimus walked away each time told Ratchet he’d done at least something to help.

“…Ratchet?” Optimus prompted him gently, eyes showing a little concern.

Scrap, I still haven’t answered his question—Ratchet, focus!

Still, the thought drifted through the recesses of his mind: had Optimus…not been upset in the first place?

If so...what had it been all about?

Or was he simply reading too much into it?

At a loss as to how to answer, the medic fumbled for a word to say in response.

He actually didn’t know, now that he thought about it.

Optimus—or Orion, even—had never really attempted to be funny before as far as Ratchet knew...which Ratchet was well aware that he didn’t know everything. It couldn’t be a yes or no. Of course, there were moments Orion was humorous, everyone has their moments.

No, he means funny—as in, on a regular basis, as something part of his personality, even. And to that....

A more appropriate response was ‘why?’

But Ratchet knew better than to snark at Optimus like that. It was uncalled for, at the moment.

Perhaps Megatron would be more likely to know.

After all, it had been him Orion had spent the most time with back in those days.

As if I could just call him and ask!

“W-well, Optimus, I wouldn’t really know that!” Ratchet paused, feeling slightly guilty for his tone of voice just then. “You’ve never tried to be…that I knew of, anyway…”

Optimus just nodded slowly. That weird glint in his optics remained. It hit him that something seemed….different. Like the Prime was planning on...doing something.

Just then, footsteps alerted the two of Jack’s arrival. He came into view, leaning against the wall and panting. He pointed wordlessly at Optimus for a second, trying to catch his breath. Ratchet stared at him, somehow growing more confused as the seconds passed. Then, finally, Jack straightened, managing to say what he’d wanted to.

“Optimus was…not upset…”

“What?!” Ratchet practically squawked. “What?!”

Optimus glanced from Jack to Ratchet, looking surprised for all of a moment, then simply nodded. Just then, Arcee, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead returned to base. Their engines could be heard from all the way down the corridor. They skidded to a halt in front of Optimus and Ratchet, transforming a backing up a bit.

“Oh no,” Bulkhead murmured to his teammates. “Cue pissed-off Ratchet.”

And pissed Ratchet was.

He had been worried for his friend.

“Wh—then—why on earth did you go off to your room in such a huff?!” The medic exclaimed, setting down the newly-repaired tool not-so-gently.

“That is—”

“AND WHY WOULDN’T YOU OPEN THE DOOR?!”

“I—”

Just as Optimus was about to answer, a proximity alarm went off. Everyone gathered wordlessly around the main computer screen as Ratchet pulled up the video feed. He rolled his optics, sighing heavily.

Instantly everyone knew it could only be Agent Fowler.

Jack took this opportunity to attempt to get Optimus’s attention and pull him aside for a second. He waved and whispered the Prime’s name.

When Optimus finally heard him, he departed from the group and made his way over to Jack, kneeling down when the human motioned for it.

“Hey, Optimus,” Jack started, a bit awkwardly. “Sorry—uh……so....I saw what you were watching…”

“Oh…” Optimus instantly looked kind of embarrassed. “Well, I was….admittedly….curious.”

Jack tilted his head.

In the background, their liaison to the government was shouting something about Bumblebee and a burger joint parking lot, to which Ratchet was defending his teammate and annoyedly asking how it could be his fault or problem.

“After yesterday,” Optimus began to elaborate quietly, “Miko said...something to Ratchet. It dawned on me that Earth humor is much different from Cybertronian humor—which, in honesty, I never knew much about anyway.”

“You mean when she yelled ‘in this world, it’s yeet or be yeeted’ to Ratchet after he asked why Bulkhead decided to throw that guy he was fighting?”

“Yes.”

“So…” Jack sighed. He looked so confused. “You looked up vines?”

“No, Jack,” Optimus responded rather seriously. “I used the Google Engine program you children seem to enjoy so much—”

Enjoy…not when you have friends like mine, Optimus. I’ve seen some things...

“—to find the meaning of ‘yeet.’ Through my research, I came across the concept you humans refer to as…” his optics flicked to the ceiling for a second as he held up a hand and air-spelled the word, trying to remember the pronunciation. “…Memes.”

“You…you found memes?” Jack repeated, as if he couldn’t process this.

“Yes, Jack,” Optimus affirmed, looking very pleased with himself. He had that same sparkle as when he watched his teammates laugh, when he was tired but relieved everyone returned from a mission alive.

Except. It was for memes he found. On the internet.

Jack was about to ask another question when Optimus abruptly stood up again. He put a finger against his lip in a shushing motion, smirking ever so slightly. A twinkle in his eye told Jack all he needed to know.

“O-Optimus, which videos did you exactly—”

“Vine is no longer dead!!” Optimus whispered a little too excitedly.

And then he winked.

“This is a dream,” Jack murmured in disbelief as he heard Optimus walk away.

He was apparently going to try to make vine jokes.

Jack knew it would be hilarious, but he was also worried for the Prime’s dignity.

Oh, Lord.

///

“Oh, YOU want to hang up on ME?!”

“THAT’S DAMN RIGHT,” Ratchet hollered back, “YOU CAN TAKE YOUR COMPLAINTS AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR—”

‘Ratchet!!!’ Bumblebee cut in, looking rather uneasy. He hated it when people were shouting at each other like that.

The medic whipped around and Bumblebee flinched a bit. The older mech was fuming.

He had been in a generally awful mood after the events of the day, and as the seconds of silence passed, he realized just how angry he was—or at least, how he seemed to everyone else.

Can’t vent frustrations like this, Ratchet—you have to talk it out. He stared back up at the computer screen and watched Agent Fowler straighten his tie as he started up again.

“Now you listen to me, Ratchet. Neither I—nor my superiors—will tolerate your—”

Ratchet decided he’d had enough of dealing with others’ foul moods, because they were only making him even more upset.

“Agent Fowler, I’m frankly not the bot you want to talk to right now. These are not my doings, you in fact have no qualms with me. All you do is call us up and gripe at us, and no one here appreciates it,” he hissed at him, having toned his voice down to a mild stern one.

“HEY!! DON’T YOU DARE—”

“Goodbye.”

And with a simple tap, the base fell silent again.

“Well….that’s that,” Arcee said.

“Yup,” Bulkhead agreed.

‘Why is Fowler so aggressive all the time?’ Bumblebee buzzed, annoyed. Arcee shifted her weight and shrugged.

“He wants what’s best for humans, and he’s concerned for the planet. I mean, yeah--he has the right to tell us to be careful and all,” she made her guess. Then her optic twitched as she, too began to look rather irked. “But he’s so….”

“Insufferably rude,” Ratchet finished for her. Arcee nodded.

‘And…loud.’

After a moment of attempting to compose himself, Ratchet turned to Optimus, who had discreetly drawn up beside them.

The medic was about to ask him what the scrap he’d been doing and why he left Ratchet to fight with Agent Fowler on his own. It was usually Optimus who took the calls, and that’s why there wasn’t always an argument like this. Fowler would yell at Optimus, but not for long.

They had some kind of interesting mutual respect for one another. Of course, all the bots respected Fowler—even when he was being overly aggressive—but Optimus seemed to even get along with the government agent in a special way.

Even more of a reason he should have been the one to talk to him.

So, Ratchet was annoyed. Or he was.

It was then he noticed the grin on his leader’s face. His first question was understandably, why.

Before Ratchet could speak, Optimus put up one digit and tapped it against his lips, as if to signal for quiet.

“I apologize,” he said solemnly, leaning a bit closer to Ratchet. The medic felt his spark begin to pound, and was sure that some color was heading to his face. He swallowed.

“That’s alright….but, uhm…what were you doing instead?”

“I was discussing with Jack a rather important finding…” he responded quietly. Ratchet tilted his head at Optimus.

Arcee and Bulkhead exchanged confused looks. Bumblebee debated leaving the room or asking what exactly he was talking about.

It was at that moment, Optimus bit his lip, visibly trying to hard not to laugh. He then took a shaky breath and stood straight.

“Ratchet, I have but one question.”

Tentatively, Ratchet moved the conversation forward.

“…yes?”

Optimus pointed to his tools lying on the metal surface behind the two, and with the most level tone, spoke.

“...What are thoooooose?”

There was silence before Ratchet slowly and rather confusedly glanced back at the desk. He answered Optimus just as slowly.

“They’re.....my…reparation tools….”

And with that, Jack lost it laughing so hard from the corner. Optimus looked on the verge of bursting into laughter himself.

But Ratchet wasn’t laughing. He just stood, blank.

Very quickly, Optimus realized no one else was laughing either—except for Jack, of course—because they also looked like they were trying to process this.

He felt a pang of worry.

Even if gradually, Optimus had been hoping for a long while that he could show his teammates that Primes do laugh, lose their cool, cry, and party. It was a silly notion, he would often chide himself. Nonetheless…it was a hope.

After all, it was the only reason he had gone to the Google Engine and decided to try and figure out what exactly humor entailed.

But…I might have approached this incorrectly.

Now looking just a little annoyed, Ratchet backed up and picked up his tools. He had no idea what had just happened and wanted some time alone in his quarters.

Optimus gently grabbed his shoulder, causing him to stop and look at him again. The Autobot leader looked rather abashed, obviously regretting the last five minutes of his existence.

In the background, Jack had gone over to the other Autobots and started explaining what had happened, the vines, the context of what Optimus had just pulled…

“I…apologize, Ratchet…” Optimus looked away for a moment. “It seems I…lack the ability of timing…”

Ratchet blinked a few times, then setting down the tools, he sighed.

“Optimus…”

“I know now that it is not my place to attempt humor.” He looked quite sad, but at the same time, resigned to it. Ratchet was about to tell Optimus that not everyone was cut out for everything, and that he was rather amusing in his own way.

But he was interrupted for a second time by laughter. Ratchet and Optimus instead turned to see behind them, the other three team members absolutely losing it.

Optimus was taken aback.

He wondered briefly if they were laughing at how pitiful his attempt at humor had been. Then Bumblebee spoke up.

‘Jack just told us what that actually meant!’

“Yeah!” Bulkhead chimed in. “And now I wanna know what vines are!”

Arcee, giggling, added, “Yeah, and what crocs are.”

Ratchet felt Optimus next to him, struggling to contain his pride, and himself began to laugh. At this, Optimus let a little of that joy show, smiling and standing straight again.

What a funny thing to be proud of…

But, then again, that had been the Prime’s intent.

///

*dies* I’m sorry I even wrote this please forgive me--

37 notes · View notes

arvandus · 4 years

Text

Touch (Pt. 8)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please! Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi terrified you. Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it that way. That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Chapter warning: Another long chapter, clocking in at 10k words and 27 pages. First half is a bit heavy, so... Trigger warnings: physical abuse, verbal abuse, childhood trauma flashbacks

Chapter Songs: When The Truth Hunts You Down by Sam Tinnesz/Make It Rain by Ed Sheeran

Part 1 Part 7

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 8 - Memories

Dabi stared at his desk, now positioned in front of his bedroom door. He did it as soon as he’d returned to his room and swallowed the pills you had given him. He wasn’t sure what to expect for the evening, but whatever happened, he wanted to make it through it without leaving his room.

That was a decision he had made before he even showed up at your door with dinner, as evidenced by the plastic bags currently occupying the surface of his makeshift barricade. Ramen wasn’t the only thing he’d gotten while he was out. The bags were filled with a variety of items - more snacks, a pack of cigarettes, electrolyte drinks, over the counter medicines. Anything and everything he could think of was in those bags, the collection curated from multiple experiences of past detoxes. Granted, this wasn’t a full detox, but that just made it that much harder to anticipate what exactly his experience was going to be.

Next to the lineup of bags was a bottle of high-end whiskey and a far less fancy plastic cup. That part wasn’t exactly planned… it was a last-minute decision, swiped from the bar downstairs after he’d returned from his shopping spree. He knew you wouldn’t be happy about it; no doubt you’d grill him on the risks of mixing alcohol and drugs. But it was his safety net without the risk of leaving his room in search of something stronger.

The night dragged by slowly, painfully. Every inch of Dabi was restless and aching. His scarred legs screamed a discordant song through his veins, muffled under the influence of the pills you had given him. The aches he still felt were just annoying enough to make sleep impossible, despite the exhaustion that pulled at him. There was no comfortable position, nothing to ease the physical stress.

Still, the pain was bearable. Your treatment was working.

It had its limits, though. Despite the pills you’d given him, he was still functioning on an opioid withdrawal. A jittery energy consumed him, forcing his leg to beat like a jackhammer, while his mind raced. Dabi could never stay in one spot for long, switching between his bed to his desk chair, to his bed again. Sitting. Lying down. Standing. Sitting again. It hadn’t taken him long to break into his cigarettes, dragging long puffs into his lungs to ease his tattered nerves. It helped to ease the physical distress, but his mind continued to jump from thought to thought, no longer encumbered by a drug-filled haze.

The headache relief you’d provided him was proving to be a double-edged sword, allowing his sporadic thoughts to come through clearer without the sharp, throbbing ache as a distraction. Your conversation hung over Dabi like a vengeful ghost. He tried to run from it, distracting himself with various forms of entertainment on his phone. Music videos, books, TV shows, memes…

Did you like memes? Of course, you did. Who didn’t?

Damn it, there you were again, in his brain.

He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about you.

But he did anyway. Obsessively.

It wasn’t long before Dabi was sitting on his bed, his phone forgotten in his hand while his mind turned over every nuance of what was said, every detail of body language. It honed in on the fear in your eyes, the way you had wrapped your arms around yourself, the way you had frozen against his harsh tone. His mind chewed on it like a dog with a bone, a dog he couldn’t fucking train.

It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t fucking matter.

So, you were scared of him. That was to be expected. It wasn’t like he needed you to like him. This was all temporary anyway.

So, he had grabbed you. Big deal. It wasn’t like he really hurt you, right? It could have been so much worse.

The thoughts the did little to comfort him, his new-found conscience finding little of value in his weak excuses. The guilt sat in him like a stone, too heavy for him to move.

It mattered. It mattered a lot.

And he hated it.

Dabi still couldn’t remember actually grabbing you, but his mind filled in the blank space regardless, taking what he could remember and embellishing it into a brightly colored oil painting. It hung front and center in the castle of his mind, joining the tapestry of memories that wrapped around Dabi like a cage. And from it, it forced him to follow the threads of his life, drawing parallels to past wrongs, to things said and things done…

…To things better left buried.

“I hate you.”

The words echoed in Dabi’s mind, an old memory with his voice attached. Young, hot-headed, angry. He closed his eyes tight, resting the bridge of his nose on his interlaced fingers as he tried not to remember. He didn’t want to remember. But his mind was freed now, healing from the poison he’d been feeding himself for years, and it didn’t give a fuck what he wanted or didn’t want.

“This is all your fault.”

So, this is where his mind wanted to start first. He knew this memory, and he knew where it would eventually lead.

The memory came into focus with such clarity that it was as if he were there again. He could see her, clear as if she were there in person, white hair framing broken eyes as wet tears trailed down her hollow, pale cheeks. He could see himself too, younger, around thirteen years old, with red, wild hair like his father, his blue eyes filled with angry tears.

He watched, a prisoner in his own mind, as the memory unfolded before him.

His head hung low as his eyes stared ahead of himself, unfocused. Why? Why was this happening to him? His father’s harsh words wrapped around him like chains, restricting him, choking him, forcing him into submission.

‘YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A FAILED EXPERIMENT.’

Why was he cast aside so easily, as if he didn’t MATTER?

His father promised. He PROMISED that he’d help him become a hero. He’d trained every day, no matter how hard his father pushed him, no matter how much his quirk burned him. His father had called it the cost of greatness. It was all meant to mold him, to beat the weakness out of him and make him stronger, to prepare him for the greatest test of his life, the UA entrance exams. It was the ONLY path to becoming a pro hero. Not just any pro hero, but the BEST. His father insisted on it.

But now, with less than a year before he would apply, his father abandoned him.

“I tried so hard, mom. I did everything he ever asked, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much he… he…”

His mother wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. “I’m so sorry Touya.”

His voice shook with the force of suppressed sobs. “If I’d been strong enough… if I was more like him, then maybe he’d have been proud of me. Maybe… maybe he would have wanted me.”

“Touya…” his mother whispered consolingly.

He stared at his bandaged hands, watching through blurred vision as his tears broke free and fell onto the strips of cloth. They soaked in, exposing the red blood beneath. He stared at it.

His fathers voice echoed in his mind. ‘You’re WEAK! Just like your mother!’

Tainted blood.

HER blood.

His father was right.

Touya’s pain transformed into anger. “This is all your fault.” He whispered.

Her embrace vanished as his words smacked her. Her eyes began to fill with tears. “What…?”

“This is all your fault!” He repeated, pinning his angry eyes on her tear-filled ones. “I HATE YOU!”

Dabi rubbed at the bridge of his nose, unable to get his mother’s facial expression out of his head. He had been such an idiot. A young, stupid kid. He’d destroyed her with those words. Maybe… maybe that was the start. The first crack in her mental fragility.

Her face faded away, and now he was in an office. His father’s office.

“I’m going to apply to UA.” He announced.

His father looked up at him from the newspaper he was reading. “No you’re not. I forbid it.”

“You may have given up on me, but I haven’t.” Touya said stubbornly.

Enji put the newspaper down. “If I thought you were capable of getting into UA, then we would be training right now instead of having this conversation.”

“But dad-“

“I FORBID IT!” He shouted as orange flames erupted along his face and shoulders. “I’ll not have you bring shame on the Todoroki name all for a childish dream.”

“It’s NOT a childish dream!” Touya shouted.

Dabi scoffed at the memory, noting his father’s hypocrisy about “childish dreams.” He knew the rest of this story… He’d applied behind his father’s back and failed the exam. His father was furious.

As if summoned, the memory burst forth, tying together with the previous.

He lay in the hospital bed at the UA Health Center, wrapped in bandages, nursing his failure. He’d lost control of his emotions during the exam, consumed by anger and a desperate desire to prove his father wrong. In turn, he lost control of his quirk. Not only had he injured himself with his recklessness, but he’d accidentally injured two other applicants with his wild flames – an automatic disqualification.

The school nurse, Recovery Girl, was treating the other’s wounds first, and then she would treat his.

Or so he thought.

Just as she was about to use her quirk to rapidly heal some of his injuries, his father burst through the door in a cloud of barely contained rage.

“Don’t treat him.” He ordered.

“Excuse me?” She replied.

Touya stared at his father, realization starting to dawn on him. He wouldn’t...

Enji narrowed his eyes. “I said don’t treat him.”

“But Mr. Todoroki, if I don’t use my quirk to help him then he’ll be left with scars. Worse than the ones he already has.”

“I know.”

“It will take him many weeks to heal. He may feel pain for the rest of his life.”

“He must suffer the consequences of his actions.”

“But sir, if I may-“

“You may not!”

“…very well, sir.” She mumbled. She left the room, muttering her disapproval under her breath.

After she was gone, a cold fear gripped Touya as his father stared at him with fury in his eyes. He waited for his father’s barrage of insults and accusations, waited for the lecturing on family honor and being a ‘man.’

But the attacks never came. Instead, his father cooled his expression, fixing him with a cold, emotionless glare. “You brought this on yourself.” He turned on his heel to leave, but paused to glance at him over his shoulder. “Remember this day, Touya.” Then he left.

Tears streaked down Touya’s face as he sobbed alone. No one could hear him. No one came.

Dabi stood up and made his way to his desk, pulling out another cigarette before sitting down in the metal chair. He lit the cigarette with the blue flame dancing on his finger and took a long drag of it as his free hand slowly spun the whiskey bottle in circles in front of him.

He didn’t want to think about this. Any of this. There was no fucking point to it, nothing to be gained. It only brought up the same pain he’d lived with for years, the pain he’d learned to ignore in place of vengeance.

He wanted to drink the entire bottle. He wanted to move his desk aside and seek you out, have you turn off his emotions like you’d done before. He could do it… the desk wasn’t really going to stop him.

But it served as a reminder. A reminder of what he had committed himself to. Why did he decide to go through with this? What the hell was he thinking?

He thought of you. He thought of the past few days. And once again, he was back on his thread of memories, following the tapestry down to its source.

The source of what?

He wasn’t sure. But it was as if someone had strapped him down and was forcing his eyes open. It wouldn’t stop. His thoughts continued unfettered, memories organizing with a clarity he hadn’t felt in years.

Touya sat alone in his room watching the rain pour outside as he nursed a black eye. Outside his second-story window, his father trained in the courtyard with his youngest brother. His quirk had manifested earlier that day – a perfect combination of fire and ice. Enji had been ecstatic.

Touya had punched the wall in anger.

Now he sat here, alone, watching his father train his replacement.

His replacement.

No wonder his father had abandoned him when Shouto was born. He was placing all of his chips on him once he realized that Touya’s body would never be able to handle his quirk.

A knock at the door interrupted his brooding, and his mother stepped in, disappointment already on her face.

“I heard you got in another fight today.” She said, as she closed the door behind her.

“They were picking on Natsuo.” He said. “I couldn’t just let that happen.”

“They’re talking about expelling you.”

He looked away from her, his eyes looking back out the window. “So what.” He replied. If anything, he welcomed it. Anything to thwart his father’s plans of making him go to college and get a business degree, only to work under his father’s thumb at his agency for the rest of his life.

“You can’t keep doing this, Touya.” She said, concern heavy in her voice.

“Doing what?” He looked back at her.

“Destroying your life like this.”

He glared at her accusation. “I didn’t destroy my life.” He looked away, watching the courtyard again. “He did.”

His mother walked over to join him at the window. A gust of wind blasted raindrops onto the glass. Outside, Shouto’s flames died away on his skin as he collapsed to his hands and knees. Enji grabbed him by his small arm, forcing him back up to his feet. She watched it with a sadness in her eyes.

“He’s too young.” She said quietly.

Jealousy soaked into Touya’s heart. “And I wasn’t?”

His words stabbed her, and she hung her head in guilt. “I’m sorry, Touya. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

Now he was confused. “Like what?”

She didn’t respond, and he looked at her to see her eyes glazed over in silent introspection. She’d mentally retreated within herself, to a place that Touya couldn’t follow. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her do this. If anything, it was happening more frequently lately. Normally, when this happened he wouldn’t press it, allowing her to escape within herself, to protect whatever part of her she felt needed protecting.

But now her words trapped him, and his heart began to pound at their unspoken meaning. “LIKE. WHAT? How was it supposed to happen??”

His words cut through her mental isolation, and she stared distantly at the floor as her eyes began to brim with tears.

“If only one of the others had been strong enough… of only I’d given them better quirks…” the tears broke free, landing on the hard floor. “Then maybe… maybe you wouldn’t have had to suffer so long. I’m so sorry, Touya. It’s all my fault. Everything is all my fault.” She covered her face in her hands.

Given them better quirks? Who?

His body went cold. Suddenly he was outside of himself, watching the history of his life fly by.

The birth of Fuyumi. Then came Natsuo.

Now Shouto.

Touya did the math in his head. He was 17 now. Fuyumi was 14, and Natsuo was 9. Shouto was 5. A four-year gap between each of them.

He’d always thought that his siblings came along as a natural process of a growing family, born from love despite his father’s harsh, obsessive nature. Why else would Rei have stayed with him all these years? But the age gaps were too uncanny, too similar. It was just enough time for each of their quirks to manifest.

Shouto wasn’t the only one who was intended as a replacement.

Which meant his father had given up on him long before he’d ever let on.

Touya’s chest heaved, as his world was up-ended. “It was all a lie…”

The intensity of his tone forced his mother to come back to the present, her hands falling from her face to stare at him. “What?”

“It was all a lie!” he repeated, his voice raising. “All these years…”

He stood up and began pacing his room, his hand in his red hair. “Tell me it’s not true.” He demanded. “I already knew that Shouto was meant to replace me. But Natsuo?” He paused and stared at his mother.

She looked way shamefully.

His breaths began to come out in ragged gasps as he fought the tears coming to his eyes.

“Fuyumi?”

“No, not Fuyumi. Not initially, at least.”

Right. Because his quirk had just manifested when she was born. His father didn’t know yet how weak and limited his body was; he’d still believed it was something that could be worked past, that it was something Touya could control. Which meant that Fuyumi was wanted. Lucky her. No wonder his father seemed to favor her over everyone else.

He sat on his bed, his head in his hands. “What the FUCK.”

All these years, he’d assumed his father had believed in him, and only gave up on him right before he was set to apply to UA. Even then, he’d thought that his father only abandoned him as a way to protect Touya from hurting himself, or even worse, killing himself. That was why his father hadn’t let him get healed back then, right? That was the lesson he was supposed to learn? To accept his weakness and take his mortality seriously? Sure, there was the whole thing about ruining the family’s reputation, but he’d always hoped that deep down, there was more to it than that. There had to be.

But no. None of it was true. It was all about HIM. His father and his stupid, obsessive goal to beat All Might, even if it was only through his progeny. Touya was nothing but a tool to him, a means to an end. And when he couldn’t meet his father’s needs, he became nothing more than a contingency plan. In the meantime, his father kept trying to make the perfect hero. The perfect quirk.

And he’d finally succeeded.

Touya stared at his scarred hands. “Did… did he ever even love me?” The words fell from his mouth, a forbidden, broken whisper.

His mother’s arms were around him then, cradling him to her chest. “Of course, he loves you. I swear it.”

The warmth of her embrace made him turn his attention on her, and suddenly a revelation hit him, cutting into him like a thousand knives. His body went rigid, his eyes wide.

“You knew.” He whispered. He forced her arms off of him and stood up, towering over her with his height. She took a step back, her eyes wide. “You knew and you never told me.”

He turned his back to her, unable to look at her.

“Touya, please...” she begged, her voice quivering.

He didn’t want to hear it. There was nothing she could say that could fix this. His father was one thing… he’d accepted that he was an abusive, shitty father. But his mother? His mother who he’d confided in? His mother who was supposed to protect him? His mother… who he trusted? Why didn’t she ever tell him?

The betrayal was too much. It cut too deep. His entire childhood was a lie, years wasted by those who were supposed to love and support him.

Disgust filled him. He wanted her gone. Out of his room, out of his life.

“Touya!” she said desperately. She reached out to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at bridging the growing chasm between them.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” He shouted.

Flames erupted across his body, uncontrolled, as his arm shoved her away from him. She stumbled back with such force that she collided into the wall before slumping down against it. She didn’t get up. Instead, she sat there with her knees drawn up like a child, her body wracked with sobs.

He stared at her, horrified, as his blue flames died away on his skin. He wanted to go to her, to reach out and help her, apologies falling frantically from his lips. He took a cautious step forward, one hand outstretched towards her. But she shied away from him, her arms wrapping protectively around her head.

“No! Enji, please!”

Her words stopped him in his tracks. Slowly, he lowered his hand and stared in stunned silence as his mother babbled incoherent apologies. Something shattered within himself, sinking away to leave a hollowness in its place.

He ran.

Dabi was drowning, as the weight of his past washed over him, choking him.

That was the longest one yet. And the most painful. It ripped at the exposed tender places in his heart, places he’d thought were long-since dead.

Dabi’s vision blurred and he wiped at his nose. This was what he did. He lashed out, hurting those close to him, those who didn’t deserve it. It was the same with you. It was who he was, it was who he was made to be. It’d only be a matter of time before it happened again.

He lifted his cigarette to take another puff but stopped when he realized that it had burned down to the filter, leaving a trail of ash in its wake on the desk.

He unpacked another cigarette and lit it. His hand began to unscrew the whiskey bottle.

She had avoided him after that, and he avoided her. It wasn’t long after that rainy day that his mother had her mental breakdown, scalding Shouto in an attempt to burn away the image of her husband. Or was she trying to burn away the image of Touya? Was there even a difference in her mind?

The news had shocked him, and he ran as fast as his legs could take him. He burst into Enji’s office, forcing himself into his father’s presence.

“Where is she?” Touya demanded, his chest heaving from exertion.

Enji frowned at the intrusion, looking up from his paperwork at his desk. He was dressed professionally, in a white button-up shirt with a blue tie.

“Who?” He demanded.

Touya clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ground together. God, did he hate him…

“My mother. You know, your wife. The one you knock up every four years and the ignore.”

Enji menacingly rose from his chair, his blue eyes carrying the threat of violence within them. He towered over Touya, his presence casting a shadow from the wall sconces behind him.

“You watch your tone with me, boy.” Enji said coldly. “I will not be disrespected in my own house.”

Touya knew if he pushed it, he’d never get what he came here for. So, he sucked up his anger and pride, bowing deep in apology. “Yes, sir.” Touya muttered with downcast eyes. “Forgive me. I just want to know where she is.”

Enji paused for a moment, staring down at his son before returning to his seat and picking up his pen. “She’s been admitted to the Musutafu Mental Institution.” He replied as he marked his paper.

A pause filled the space before Touya asked his next question. “Can I see her?”

“No.”

Touya’s breath stopped, his mind unable to wrap around the simple word that fell like a judge’s gavel. His father’s answer was cold and final, said with such heartless ease. He stared in disbelief.

He thought he had time to mend things, to finally overcome his cowardice and atone for his actions. But there was no atoning now. He’d lost her. Tears began to sting in the corners of his eyes, but he fought them back; his father always hated it when he cried.

“So that’s it…? She’s gone?”

“It was for the best.” Enji replied. “She attacked my son, almost made him useless. Now I can train him without her interfering.”

“Is that all you care about?” The words fell from Touya’s mouth before he could stop them, covered in bitterness.

Enji’s pen stopped scribbling. An agonizing ten seconds passed before he set it down and looked up at Touya, pinning him with his sharp eyes, dark eyebrows pulled down into an angry frown. “Excuse me?”

Touya steeled himself against his father’s wrath as the rage he’d been keeping to himself burst forth against its creator.

“Is that all you care about?” he repeated. “Your wife is in a mental institution and your son is scarred for life, but all you can think about is surpassing All Might?”

Enji pinned him with a look that was almost akin to pity. “How small-minded you are. This was always your problem, Touya. Your mother too. You both lacked vision, an inability to see the bigger picture. That was why you were never able to push past your limits. But Shouto… Shouto will be different.”

Enji’s accusations made Touya’s lips curl into a snarl. “Do you even hear yourself?” he spat. “No wonder she went crazy. She wasn’t attacking Shouto, she was attacking you! This is all your fault, and you don’t even care. You’re a shit father, and a worse husband.”

The pity in his father’s eyes turned to ice, and the man quietly set his pen down before standing up from his desk. “Shouto said the same thing.” He grumbled. “I excused it coming from him, because he’s young and doesn’t understand yet. But you… you should know better.” He loosened his tie and began to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’ve been too lenient on you. It looks like there are some lessons I still have yet to teach you.”

Touya took a step back at the obvious gesture.

Enji stared down at him in disgust. “Look at you. Already scared. You’re just as pathetic as before.”

Touya went into a defensive stance, his blue flames igniting across his skin.

His father scowled. “You dare raise your flames against me, boy?” His own flames erupted along his body. “Very well. If you’re going to talk like a man and fight like a man, then you will learn to accept your consequences like a man.”

Dabi took a drag of his new cigarette, already burned halfway from neglect. He inhaled deeply, wanting the toxic fumes to fill the gaping hole in his chest. It didn’t.

He picked up the now-open whiskey bottle and poured it to the halfway point of the plastic cup. There was no ice to chill it, but it would have to do. He took a swig, letting the fiery taste coat his tongue, burning away the taste of ash.

Enji had taken him outside into the courtyard, where he received the worst beating he’d ever gotten. His father’s blows lacked the restraint he typically exercised, fueled by a dark rage. It had left Touya gagging and coughing, crumpled on the floor in a heap. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, it hurt to think.

The beating may have been five minutes or it may have been five hours. He couldn’t really tell. All he did know was that no one came. Just like all the times before, no one came to say something, to stop him, even though the sound of their conflict shook the Todoroki grounds, incinerating nearby bushes and damaging the exposed framework of the surrounding buildings. And after his father had left, removing his tie and his shirt to clean the blood from them, Touya had laid there alone in the dirt, staring up at the cold, lifeless, star-studded night sky as an unforgiving universe stared back. He wanted to die.

It felt like eternity had passed before two sets of hands gently grabbed him and helped him up, each of his arms going around familiar shoulders. His siblings had finally come for him, now that his father was out of sight and they knew they were safe from his wrath. They had helped Touya to his bed, where Fuyumi tended to his wounds in silence and Natsuo sat beside her, his mouth pressed into a thin, angry line.

Dabi took another couple of decent gulps of his whiskey, resisting the urge to down the entire contents and pour another cup. How much did he pour? Four shots worth? Five? He needed it to kick in. If he was going to be forced to relive every bad memory he ever had, then he’d be here all night.

His body was worn down, his spirit tired. He really didn’t want to feel anymore.

But the alcohol wasn’t working fast enough; his brain wouldn’t stop.

It was late at night, the moon high in the sky, the air cold with the hint of rain as clouds rolled in from the distance. It had been a few days since Touya’s beating, but despite his sister’s protests, he decided to leave the confines of his room and take a walk on the family compound.

That was how he ended up here, six feet away from the training room. The light was off, but he could hear the sound of fists hitting, and every now and then the room would light up with bright orange flame. But there was no lecturing, no young voice crying. Touya knew Shouto wasn’t in there this time. He was still in bed, recovering from the burn his mother had inflicted. Enji was furious, pacing the grounds like an angry bear, snapping at staff and family and locking himself away in his training room to work out his frustrations, constantly striving for a goal he’d never be able to achieve.

Touya inwardly scoffed. If anyone should be admitted to a mental institution, it should be his father. The man was literally driven insane by his inability to surpass All Might. But of course, that would never happen. His father was the number two hero. He was “untouchable.” There was no one brave enough or strong enough to make that man face his own demons. It made Touya curl his nose up at the hypocrisy.

An odd silence drew Touya out of his thoughts. The sounds of fists impacting dummies and training equipment had stopped, the flames no longer bathing the ground in light through the open door. Then he heard it – an unfamiliar sound, one he’d never heard before. He furrowed his brow in confusion and inched closer to the open door before risking a peek inside.

The moonlight spilled in just enough for him to see the hulking form of his father, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. His great shoulders shook, and finally Touya realized the sound he was hearing.

His father was crying.

Disgust filled Touya, sour and bitter. For all of his father’s posturing, for all of his grandiose lectures about strength and commitment, here he was, sobbing like a baby. And for what? For his inability to reach his dreams, while his family fell apart around him?

Or was he crying FOR his family?

Touya pushed the possibility away, burying it deep, deep down where he refused to give the idea any chance of blooming into a belief.

No. This man didn’t feel for his family. He wasn’t ALLOWED to feel for his family. He was the reason his family was as broken as it was, every single one of them able to tie their scars back to him and his selfish actions.

Touya hated him.

And yet he loved him. How fucked up was that? He could feel it in his irrational urge to go to him and offer support, a support he’d never once received. And that just made him hate him more, because despite all that his father had done to him, Touya still fucking cared.

His father wasn’t worthy of it. He didn’t deserve Touya’s love, or his mother’s love, or anyone’s love for that matter.

And he certainly didn’t deserve to cry.

Touya fled. He fled from his feelings, he fled from his fears, taking only his righteous anger with him and riding it like a hellhound. He ran as fast as he could, ignoring the pain that sliced through him from his father’s abuse. His lungs burned. His ribs ached. As he ran, his thoughts followed, chasing him and swooping on him like a flock of crows, pecking at his sanity.

He ended up in an abandoned warehouse, a quarter mile from his house, across the railroad tracks that marked the separation of ritzy upper-class life and industrial city complexes. He fell to his knees, his palms landing hard on the dirt-strewn floor inside the old building, as sobs ripped lose from his throat, harsh and painful.

He hated him. He hated him more than anything. How could he have ever idolized him? How could he have ever loved him? His father was selfish. He was destructive. He was cruel. And now his father cried like a baby, as if he were a victim in all of this.

He wasn’t a victim. And he certainly wasn’t a hero.

What kind of hero saved civilians while simultaneously destroying his family behind closed doors? That wasn’t a hero. It was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

And it was devouring his family. His helpless, innocent family.

They deserved justice. They deserved saving. Where was hero society in all of this? Lining his father’s pockets, placing him on a pedestal to be worshipped. His father always preached about Touya accepting the consequences of his actions. So where were Enji’s consequences?

As long as his father continued to reign supreme, his family would never be safe. His family would never heal. His mother would never recover. Natsuo would never be freed of his anger. Shouto would never get to decide who he is and who he wants to be. Fuyumi would be weighed down by her obligation to her family, foregoing her own dreams to take care of them all.

His father needed to be gone. Permanently. Only then would his family be safe. Only then would they be free.

But Touya… Touya would never be free. He understood that now, even as his hatred and anger consumed him. He was just like his father, a proverbial chip-off-the-old-block. He’d managed to take all the worst parts of him and make them a part of himself. His obsessive nature, his anger, his jealousy… his violence. He could feel it in his blood.

If his family wasn’t safe with Enji, then what made Touya any different? He’d already played a hand in his mother’s mental demise. How could he be sure he wouldn’t hurt the rest as tie went on?

He was just like his father.

He hated his father.

He hated himself.

He wanted to die.

So then, who better to take on the Behemoth? Who better than his father’s son, the monster he’d made?

Touya had to kill Endeavor. He had to kill his father. His father, who he couldn’t even beat in a fight. He was stupid. A fool. But there were no other options. No other paths to justice. And Touya was tired of waiting for justice.

Touya’s sob turned into a dry laugh. Was this what it meant to be heroic? To bear the weight of this responsibility, even if it cost him his soul? Even if it killed him?

His dry laugh grew into a series of laughs, wild and hysterical, as tears ran down his face, while the reality of what he was committing to tore him asunder. As he heaved and coughed, a heat began to overtake him, building so quickly that by the time he realized what was happening, it was too late. Searing, blue flames blasted out of him in such magnitude and such intensity that the windows of the abandoned warehouse exploded, glass shards melting from the intense heat as they rained down. The flames roared outward, reaching for the night sky through the now-glassless windows, groping and writhing, their fierceness never waning.

Touya couldn’t stop it. The flames scorched through him and consumed him, the sound of it raging in his ears, his body devoured by agony as his quirk ate at him, destroying him from the inside out. Above him, the heat of the flames began to melt the structural metal beams.

But his hysterical laughter and tears couldn’t stop, even as smoke left his scorched lungs with each exhale and his mouth tasted ash. A screeching sound filled the space, the sound of metal bending and breaking. The beams gave way, the roof caving in as destruction rained down around him, silencing his laughter.

…..

Nothing but bright blue fire and broken remains filled his vision. Slowly, a dark form began to take shape amongst the flames, tall and towering. It was him. He’d come for him.

The flames parted, and he saw himself as he was now: black hair, dark scars, staples glinting in the firelight. The sound of a funeral bell tolled and his mouth opened, forming a single word. A name.

A gentle knock caused the image to begin to fade away like mist, even as the funeral bells still rang in Dabi’s ears.

“Dabi?” He knew that voice. It was you.

Groggily, Dabi opened his eyes to find himself still in his chair at his desk, his head resting on his arm. His forgotten cup of whiskey sat unmoved, inches from his fingers. It was a dream. He’d fallen asleep.

Another knock at the door, slightly louder, made him sit up.

“...Dabi?” you called again.

“Yeah.” He grumbled. He rubbed at his face. “Yeah, yeah.”

His body felt stiff and his neck had a horrible kink in it. He checked the time on his phone. 5:45am. Why in God’s name were you up so early? And why were you knocking on his door?

He stood up and stretched his back, and that was when he felt it – a sharp itching pain that ran along his spine, chased by the agony in his legs. It was worse than he remembered it being before he’d passed out. Your quirk was starting to wear off.

It looked like you were right on time.

He grabbed the end of his metal desk with one hand and pulled, dragging it slowly away from the door. The sound was grating, like nails on a chalkboard. If people weren’t awake before, they definitely were now.

As if on cue, three harsh bangs resonated from the wall next him. “What the hell, Dabi???” Spinner’s voice yelled through the wall. “People are trying to sleep!”

“Bite me.” Dabi snapped back before opening the door for you, and stared, giving you an obvious once-over. You were completely dressed, in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, as if you’d been up for hours. Dark circles framed your tired eyes. “Hey, doll.” He greeted.

Your heart did a flip before you even knew what hit you, leaving you standing there like a deer in headlights. It’d been a cool minute since he’d called you that; you didn’t realize how much you’d grown attached to it.

It took you a moment to realize that he was holding the door open for you, inviting you in. Once you were across the threshold, Dabi closed the door behind you.

“Sorry… did I wake you?” You asked, as your eyes took in the room. His desk was haphazardly pulled away from the door, covered in plastic bags. The room stank of cigarette smoke and alcohol. A bottle of whiskey sat incriminatingly on the desk, some of its contents missing. You picked up the bottle and stared at it before pinning Dabi with a glare. You knew he knew better. For someone who was so experienced with drugs, he certainly did do some stupid shit.

“Really?” you scolded.

“Don’t start with me.” Dabi grumbled as he rubbed at his neck. He pulled out an electrolyte drink and downed its contents, wiping his mouth with his hand once it was empty. “There, you happy?” He moved on to a bag of chips, crunching loudly as he chewed in annoyance.

Normally, you would have been more diplomatic, navigated the waters a little bit more when you saw them getting choppy. But you slept like shit again last night, waking up repeatedly from bad dreams only to worry about this idiot while he decided to try to self-medicate by drinking his problems away.

“Don’t get mad at me for calling you out on your bullshit.” You replied. “If you act like an idiot, then I’m gonna treat you like one.”

“How’s it look up there on your high horse?” Dabi retorted.

“What?”

“It must be exhausting being so fucking perfect. Makes everyone else around you look like such fucking failures.” He turned his angry eyes away from you as he sat down on the end of his bed, running a hand through his messy black hair.

His words slapped you, and you stared at him for a long moment, taking in the sight of him. His eyes looked tired, his cheeks sallow. His hair looked tangled and unwashed. When was the last time he took a shower? His hand kept rubbing at his neck, no doubt nursing a sore spot. He must have fallen asleep at his desk after a rough night. You recalled the night you’d helped him through his withdrawal, and the breakdown it had culminated in. No doubt he was up all night battling his inner demons. Alone. Without your help this time. Guilt soaked through your frustration.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered. “You’re right, I shouldn’t judge. It’s just…” You sat down in his desk chair. “I’m trying so hard to help you. And… well…”

“What?” Dabi prodded. “You think I’m not trying?”

Your eyes fell on the desk, which sat askew in his room, and the bags full of various items that were obviously intended to help Dabi get through the night. “No…” you replied. “I know you are. I just wish you took better care of yourself.”

“I take care of myself just fine.”

Your brow furrowed. “I mean it, Dabi.” You rubbed at your face tiredly, letting your fatigue finally show. “I’m worrying about you, probably more than I should. I’m pushing my body to its limits, I can’t sleep, and when I do, I dream about you. Then I wake up, and I worry even more because I can never be entirely sure that you’re okay.”

You felt your body flush with heat at your sudden confession, and you looked at your hands in embarrassment. You weren’t supposed to say that. You weren’t supposed to say any of that. Stupid, no-good, tired, foggy brain.

A shit-eating grin spread across Dabi’s face, his eyes lighting up in amusement. “You dream about me, eh?”

“Shut up.” You grumbled. You grabbed a crumpled-up napkin and threw it at Dabi’s head. It fell pitifully to the floor, three feet from where he sat.

Dabi stared at the failed attack and gave a laugh. “That was pathetic.”

You tried to suppress a grin. “I said shut up. God, you’re such a brat.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you before Dabi finally spoke. “Gotta solution to your problem… Stop worrying so much.”

You gave a small half-smirk. “Sorry, not gonna happen.” You replied. “I worry about my friends. That’s just how I am.”

Something did a flip in Dabi’s chest, and he averted his eyes. “Friends, huh? You don’t even know me.”

“I know you better today than I did a few days ago…”

He gave a dry laugh. You weren’t wrong…

“If we’re not friends when this is all over, then I will be greatly offended.” You teased. “Besides… like your company.”

Dabi stared at you like you grew a second head. You liked his company? For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. Most of the time you’d spent together so far was him either feeling like shit or being an asshole.

But he liked your company too even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, and for the moment he didn’t feel like fighting it. He’d argue with himself later over it for sure, but for right now… he enjoyed feeling your presence, enjoyed how your words wrapped around him like a warm blanket, safe and secure. His memories still sat upon his shoulders, lurking like crows, but they were silent for now, and he was pretty sure that it had something to do with you being here.

Your voice broke through his thoughts. “Let’s change your bandage. Are you okay waiting until I’m done treating you to get your pills?”

“Why, are you punishing me for drinking?” he replied. It took you a moment before you caught on that he was teasing.

You grinned and raised an eyebrow at him. “No, but now that you mention it, we should probably wait until after we’re done since I don’t know how long ago it was that you drank.”

Dabi narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously. Now you were just doing this on purpose…

You sat behind him on the bed and began unpacking your materials while he removed his shirt. When you removed his bandage, you stared at the healing burn for a moment.

“How’s it look?” He asked, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“It’s healing okay, but it’s still going to take some time until you don’t need the bandages.”

Regardless of the status of his burn, he still needed to see you twice a day for your quirk treatment and pills. It was exhausting, and you were grateful that so far the others only returned with minor injuries. But that could change at any moment, and you needed to be able to handle it; otherwise, Shigaraki would start to question your value.

You could only hope that your seller could find a way to expedite Dabi’s medication. And your own too. You’d counted what you had left before you’d arrived, and you were getting low. Dangerously low. You could get through today and tomorrow morning, but if you didn’t have your refills by then…

You tried not to think about it.

You changed his bandages easily and began applying your quirk to his scarred skin just as you’d done the night before. When you adjusted your position to handle the scars on his front half, the fear crept up again. But this time, you were able to wrangle it successfully, only hesitating for a moment before you continued. You broke the silence with words, a helpful distraction from your increasing discomfort and wandering thoughts.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” You commented.

He eyed you for a moment, waiting for another lecture. But it never came and when your eyes met his in a quick glance, there was no judgment in them.

“Only once in a while.” He replied.

You read between the lines of his answer. “Does it help?”

“A little.”

Silence fell again as you became increasingly focused on your quirk. Your back was itching painfully again, and your heightened senses were making the light in the room seem far too bright. Still, your fingers traced along his neck, taking special care to make sure no space was left untouched. Dabi watched your face, inches from his own. That was when he noticed it. Something was wrong. Your smile was gone, your lips now pressed into a firm line. You took your breaths in through your nose, and your brows were pulled together as you focused. Your hands were starting to shake. Were you scared again? Or was it something else?

Just as your hands began to reach his face, he grabbed your hands in his own and pulled back slightly out of your reach. “Stop.”

Your eyes focused on him. “What? Why?”

“Your quirk. Does it hurt?” his tone was stern.

You stared at him, your expression caught like a deer in headlights before looking away abashedly.

“Yeah, sort of.” You replied.

Dabi held your hands, as he waited for a better answer than what you gave him.

Finally, you slowly pulled our hands out of his grasp, his touch leaving electricity on your skin, and sat on the bed next to him with your hands clasped together.

“So, you know how when I use my quirk, it numbs your pain?” Dabi waited silently for you to continue. “It sort of has an opposite effect on me. The more I use it, the more heightened my senses become. And if I use my quirk too much, then it becomes… uncomfortable.”

Dabi stared at his hands as you spoke, his brow pulled down into a dark frown. All this time… he knew you were pushing yourself to your limits; hell, you even said so earlier. But he had assumed it just caused fatigue. He never knew that it caused you pain. How had he never noticed? How many times had you treated him?

How much did you use your quirk on the first night of his withdrawal? How far did you really push yourself?

A car alarm went off outside of his open window, and your hands immediately flew up to cover your ears against the assault, your heart pounding. Once the pain and panic dissipated, you lowered your hands, embarrassment hot in your blood. It was the first time Dabi saw this part of you, and it made you feel weak and vulnerable.

“Sorry.” You mumbled.

Dabi hated those words. He especially hated hearing them from you. What the hell did you have to be sorry about? Anger bubbled in him, old and familiar. But he forced it down, aware of what his anger did to you as the memories flitted across his mind like a warning.

“It’s fine.” Dabi replied, keeping his voice even.

Dabi’s mind began turning over this new piece of information, fitting the missing puzzle piece into what little he did have. He became acutely aware of how little he really knew about you.

“Is that what those drugs are for?” he asked.

You paused for a moment, contemplating if you should spin your truth to fit his theory. But it didn’t feel right. Earlier you said you considered him a friend. Did you keep secrets from friends?

How much did you really trust him? How much did he trust you?

He was already trusting you more than you were, letting you help him through something very personal. You’d seen him vulnerable far more than he’d seen you vulnerable. So how would he feel if he learned you were keeping the truth from him?

You wondered how he’d react. If anyone would understand the pain you went through, it’d be him. If anything, it might make the two of you closer. You couldn’t deny that the idea of that resonated with an unspoken need within you.

“Sort of.” You replied, as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. “I can’t use them for my sensory overload. It’d take too many to really have an impact, and I’d probably O.D. if I tried.”

“So, what are they for?”

Wow. He really wanted to know.

Your heart pounded in your chest, as your words got stuck somewhere between your mouth and your insecurity. It’d been so long since you’d talked about it, since you’d acknowledged it with another person. What if he laughed? After all, how ridiculous did you look complaining about a single scar compared to Dabi?? Or worse, what if he didn’t care at all?

But he’d asked, and now he was waiting for an answer.

The words still wouldn’t come, so you positioned yourself with your back facing him and lifted your shirt slightly, exposing the damaged flesh beneath.

Dabi’s eyes widened. He knew a burn scar when he saw one. And not just any burn scar. There was a pattern to it, a story in its twisted, marred flesh. This was done by a quirk. It spread across your lower back, the edge of it dipping beneath the hem of your pants. His hand began to reach out, fingers twitching with the urge to touch it, as if his touch could take the hateful mark off of you. But he caught himself, his fingers inches from your skin, and clenched his hand into a tight fist.

A long, heavy silence begin to fill the space between you while a thousand questions perched on the edge of his lips as he grappled with this new information and the emotions that erupted from it.

The silence dragged on, and you lowered your shirt, as heart-pounding anxiety smothered you. It filled the dark spaces in you, the weak places where confidence had abandoned you. It settled into a could dread that made you unable to turn around and face him. Why wasn’t he saying anything? You squeezed your eyes closed as tears pricked at the corners.

Did you make a mistake? You shouldn’t have shown him. You should have just brushed it off or lied when you had the chance.

Tears began to slip down your cheeks, and you struggled to stop them. But they wouldn’t stop, and you wiped away at them angrily, sniffling as you struggled to contain yourself.

The sound of your distress snapped Dabi out of his obsessive thoughts. You were crying. Why?

Was it something he said? But he didn’t say anything.

Was it something he did? But he didn’t do anything.

What the hell was he supposed to do? He had no words of comfort, and he certainly couldn’t hold you, not without crossing a boundary he’d set for himself. You had called him a friend. How did friends comfort each other? He had no fucking clue.

He scratched at his head awkwardly before standing up. He bit his cheek from the pain in his legs. Your pills had worn off, and they were in desperate need of attention. But he forced it into submission, instead making his way to his desk to retrieve a clean napkin and handing it to you.

The small gesture seemed to help, as you gave a small chuckle and accepted the gift, wiping at your eyes as you averted your tear-stained face from him.

“I’m sorry.” You said with a sheepish laugh.

There was that fucking phrase again.

“Don’t be.” He replied.

That answer seemed to help, too. You finally turned to face him, a sheepish smile on your face.

“I know guys typically freak out when they see a girl cry.” You commented. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Your emotional reaction embarrassed you, and now you were struggling to save face.

“It’s fine.” He grabbed the bag of chips from earlier and grabbed a couple for himself before holding the bag out to you in offering. You shook your head, keeping your eyes on your lap.

“It’s just… it’s been a long time since I’ve shared this with anyone.” You tried to explain. Not entirely truthful, but not entirely a lie either.

“I shouldn’t have asked.” He replied.

“No, it’s fine.” You replied. “I understand why you wanted to know.”

Silence followed for a moment, filled only by the sound of Dabi’s crunching. It grated on your ears, but you didn’t want to say anything, glad that he was at least eating something. Instead, you tried to cover the noise of his chips with your voice.

“It doesn’t hurt all the time…” you explained. “Only when my quirk gets overused. That’s what the pills are for.”

“What about your sensory overload?” Dabi asked.

You were grateful that the conversation was progressing forward, leaving your mini breakdown in the past.

“Usually it’s a matter of reducing exposure. Turning off lights, quieting noises, that kind of thing.” You replied.

As you spoke, Dabi watched you. He watched the way you never seemed to look up from your lap for very long, your eyes avoiding the light of his lamp. Your shoulders were hunched against the cold (or was it the pain?), and he recalled how the car alarm before had made you cover your ears.

He grabbed another chip as his mind analyzed all the things that he’d missed before. As soon as it crunched under his teeth, he saw your hands squeeze tightly on the hem of your shirt before loosening again.

He stared at the bag, before holding it up to you. “This bothers you?” he asked.

You averted your eyes, embarrassed. “Just a little.”

He slowly put the bag down on the desk, careful not to have it crinkle too loudly. “Why didn’t you say something?”

You shrugged. He scowled. Then, he stood up with a wince, and closed his open window, drawing the curtains closed to block the brightening daylight. As he walked back to sit on the bed next to you, he turned off his lamp, plunging the room into darkness that faded to a comfortable dim light once your eyes had adjusted to the change, morning light seeping into the room at an acceptable level.

You could feel the relief immediately, and you stared at him, bewildered not just by his kindness, but by his awareness. Was he really paying attention to you that closely? It made your blood rush in your ears and your heart do somersaults.

“Thank you.” You said softly.

“It’s not a big deal.” He replied as he leaned back and stared at the light dancing on the ceiling. It was the least he could do, he thought. This discomfort you were feeling was because of him, after all. Besides, after all you’d done for him – were still doing for him – he figured you’d earned a little bit of kindness in return.

But only for you.

Dammit.

He really was a lost cause.

“I’m feeling better now…” you said. “I can finish treating your scars.”

“It’s fine.” Dabi lied.

You stood up and faced him. “Let me at least treat your legs. I wasn’t able to get to them last night.”

“I said it’s fine.”

“Dabi…” he looked at you and was met with a knowing look on your face. “Trust me. I know my limits. Besides, this is literally my job.”

Dabi frowned at you. “No, your job is to treat injuries, not help drug addicts.”

“My job is to make sure everyone is able to function to the best of their ability.” You countered. You crossed your arms with a smug look. “Don’t make me go tell Shigaraki that you’re being a bad patient.”

He scowled and looked away. You took that as a surrender and sent him into the bathroom to change into shorts to make your job easier. When he came back out, he was still frowning.

“You play dirty.” He complained. “And not in a fun way.”

You grinned but didn’t respond as you focused on running your hands along his scarred legs, starting at above the knee. By the time you were done, your quirk was riding the brink, your back on fire again. But you gritted your teeth and bore it, even as sweat beaded across your face.

You went to your bag and began to rummage through it, wincing as you bent over. Your back was facing Dabi, your butt in the air, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the view. A subtle smirk tugged at his lips. But the grin was short lived; it fell as soon as you stood up, holding the familiar pill bottle in your hand.

“No.” Dabi said adamantly.

“Give me a break.” You replied, as you opened the container. “What other options do we have?”

You held out the three pills towards him, but he stared at them. “I can’t take these.” He said.

You took his hand in yours and placed the pills into his palm, closing his fingers over them. “You can, and you will.” You replied. “Besides, it’s temporary, remember?”

He opened his mouth to protest, but a ding sounded within the room that made you nearly jump out of your skin with your sensitive hearing. You clumsily pulled your phone out of your bag and opened up your text messages. Your eyes lit up, and a smile spread across your face before you put the phone away in your bag.

“Good news,” you said. “Looks like the refills for my pills will be ready for pickup tomorrow.”

“What about mine?” Dabi asked.

Your expression fell slightly. “He didn’t mention them, so I’m guessing they’re not ready yet.”

“Well that fucking sucks.”

“It’s not all bad… once I get my refill, there will be enough for both of us. I asked him to double up the pills so there’d be enough. Then I can really start treating you properly until your pills arrive. See? I told you it’d be temporary…”

Dabi looked up at your happy face and couldn’t deny the relief he felt knowing you weren’t going to be hurting yourself for him for much longer. “Fine.” He replied. He swallowed the pills before he could change his mind.

You picked up your bag with another wince and made your way to the door. Dabi stood up to follow you, relishing in the painless effort of walking. He felt like he could run.

Before you opened his door, you half-turned to him. “Get some more rest.” You wrinkled your nose at him. “And maybe take a shower. And brush your teeth.”

Dabi rolled his eyes. “Yes, mom.”

After you left, he paused for a moment before sniffing his armpit. He didn’t really smell that bad… did he?

________________________________

Part 9

________________________________

Taglist (always open!): @lemonfvck @vs-redemption @inanabsentia @sheedaabee @toshiuwuu @marydragneell @chillinwithmybakubros @genuinelytodorokisbitch @sam-i-am-1025 @redflannel @axerrri @necccomancy @miadraws0 @hot-pocket01 @hopelessdisasterr @dummythiccwitch @villainsdeku @aquzairus @officialtrashbusiness @hemdem018 @purplesweethart @doebopeepeebbod @ghost-of-todoroki @marvel-philosophy @lysawayne @udontneedtokno @citrussaurus @littleladdty @starsforannie @zunmieh @mae-rd @mrsreina @ohh-takuuu @ih8beefnoodles @kellyyween @jojoniles @steale24 @peach-tea-0 @orenjineki @diobrandoatemykids @minionsexuall @liitlesushi @jojoniles @bilalbambi @tinitimesims125 @emmappelle @babayaga67

#dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x you #mha #bnha #touch #dabi touch #soft dabi #angst #TW: verbal abuse #TW: physical abuse #TW: abuse #TW: childhood trauma #tw: alcohol

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woozisnoots · 4 years

Text

modest jeon wonwoo

° pairing: wonwoo x reader ° genre: university!au, host club!au, fluff ° word count: ~1.7k ° warnings: none! ° a/n: this had no business being this long and idek if i like it lol but I want to specifically dedicate this piece to @wonwoosimp bc she’s literally the sweetest, best bean in the world [insert uwu meme here] thank you for gifting me my very first photocard, I literally cried opening it! I love you so much, I hope you enjoy!

welcome to the svt host club!

masterlist!

you entered university with a certain goal, a purpose. eventually, you were going to be the pediatric surgeon that the 13 year old you ushered you to be.

…let's just hope the knowledge of your brain was enough to get you through the first four years of pre-med. with your 3.7 high school GPA, you were lucky to get into your first choice college, let alone your current major

from the start of the semester, you dedicated yourself to studying the anatomy and physiology of the body until you knew every nook and cranny there was to know. and the library was the perfect sanctuary to get your shit together

as much as you loved your roommates, their constant fights over closet space and boy toys gave you no peace of mind what-so-ever

bless the library for being opened 24/7. If your roommates found you sleeping on their only working desk, you would find yourself waking up to the sound of tripping freshmen trying to get to their first 8am class right in the middle of the hallway

but the lone table in the corner of the library just on the third floor did you good at staying focused. even provided some good naps in between every now and then

the day before your first anatomy test, you LOCKED yourself in the library. no one was going in OR OUT of the premise just to sit across from you on YOUR table until you fully memorized the different layers of epithelial tissue >:(

gosh, you even scattered all your notes across the table just so people got the memo that this seat was: [OFF LIMITS]

yes, off limits to everyone except a certain jeon wonwoo.

the way you met was abrupt to say the least

besides your table, you had a pretty good view of the entire campus — from the main health science building all the way to the student parking lot

and just below you, an astonishing sight of a mob of screaming girls chasing after a mouse guy in glasses. not to be inconsiderate and heartless, but unless you heard someone scream bloody murder, diving back into your flashcard you go

tissue after tissue, you start to get delusional because at this point, everything is starting to look the same

slumping down into your chair, you take a second to mentally recharge, drinking the water you’ve neglected for the past three hours

you time yourself for a five minute break, going through the notifications on your phone

before you could read your roommate’s ongoing ramble on the latest update of the “crazy good looking, god-like, elite host club that the university has to offer”

a ‘club’ that you didn’t even know anything about nor cared for

you hear a loud ‘thud’ coming from the bookcase in front of you

from the side the tall, lean guy with glasses that you saw earlier emerged with his hands gripping his tricep

you try not to draw too much attention to him. half the reason being you didn’t want to embarrass him by laughing at the fact he ran into a 10 feet tall bookcase

and you did not need this man distracting you. it’s your eight week streak being this productive, a new record for anything you’ve done in your entire life and your pride wouldn’t let you have it if you lost it just because you saw an attractive man on sight

you scribble down a decent guess to the tissue identification question that you’ve been stuck on for the past few minutes, not bothering to look up

“that’s actually dense connective tissue, not smooth”

jolting up from your seat, you look up realizing the guy 5 feet away is now right in front of your face looking down at all your papers

“you can tell because they’re striated”

you stare at him in disbelief wondering how he could have gotten so fast with just looking at it for a few seconds. eyeing him up and down, he definitely looked around the same age as you but he wasn’t someone you’ve seen around the science buildings. and you would know since you took the liberty of familiarizing almost everyone within the department

“do you mind if i sit here?” his hands already on the edge of the chair ready to pull it out from underneath him

“...yeah sure”

“oh i’m wonwoo by the way,” he says as you both exchange awkward stares and knowledgeable nods

okay well since he’s proven that he might be of help to you, you might as let him stay. from what you’ve gathered, he didn’t have any stuff on him aside from his phone that you watch him get out of his front pocket, getting ready to play pacman

forget how attractive he is, this guy has some brains.

for the rest of the day, as you guys sat across from each other, wonwoo would occasionally bounce back and forth between giving you study tips and playing whatever game he decides to play at that moment in time

he was surprisingly really good at this? he knew more things about the subject than your professors did, and that’s saying a lot. like you’ve been looking at cells for WEEKS and you were lucky to get at least half of them. which begs the question:

“how do you magically know all this?”

the blank expression on his face tells you he wasn’t expecting that question but he quickly shrugs it off. “i just know a few things from my parents that’s all”

you would have questioned him further but the time on your phone read “22:57” and you already broke your number rule about sleeping early before a big test

as you pack up all your stuff, wonwoo pushes his chair in, bidding you farewell

“good luck on your test tomorrow!”

you appreciate the gesture, mentally thanking him for his help and proceed to go back to your dorms, preparing yourself to tell your roommate all about the exciting? day you had

“YOU MORON. JEON WONWOO?”

laying flat on your back on your bed, you cover the bottom half of your face, quivering under your sheets as you stare at your roommate’s outrageous outburst

you explain what happened and who you met today at the library. when your roommate asked to describe him in more detail, all you said was that he was pretty smart for someone who wasn’t particularly in your major

your roommate lets out a loud scream into their pillow, gripping the bed sheets before giving you the earful of the century

“he’s just being modest. he’s a korean lit major but he’s one of the uni’s top students since both his parents are the head of the science department.

…AND he’s one of the most requested host club members. so you caught yourself one big fish today bud.”

top student? science department? HOST CLUB? none of that was processing in your brain. the one club that you wanted nothing to do with and you just happened to meet their top money maker

grand.

the thought didn’t keep you up at night only because you thought that today’s encounter was just coincidence and you probably would never have to see him again.

(sad though, your roommate was right. he is rather good looking.)

the time that it took for you to take your test the next day flew by so fast that you questioned if it even happened. the first step you took out the classroom, you start to second guess all your answers, regretting that you didn’t check a third or even fourth time before submitting

your train of thought halts when you see jeon wonwoo standing in the empty hallway

“i’m sure you aced it”

and just like in a netflix original romance movie, he reveals a bouquet of pink begonias from behind his back while shyly adjusting his glasses

“these are for you. to congratulate you”

weird way to phrase it but you were still gonna take the flowers. “host club tendencies?”

“so you found out?”

from a distance, you can hear the rushing footsteps from downstairs followed by a sense of purpose. “i think i was bound to” :/

you didn’t know how you felt about the current situation. you had no idea what host club was until you got here and you still don’t know what they even do. for all you knew, this could just be a gesture to get them more clients

but if his actions were genuine… you wouldn’t mind seeing him again

“i have to start learning muscles for our next exam. heard it was one of the hardest ones. i’m not sure if you have more studying tricks up your sleeve?”

“i might.” a cocking little grin now appearing on his face

“good. same place at the library tomorrow then. and this time? try not to bring your dedicated fans wherever you go”

so these study sessions continued. you guys occasionally had to change spots - from cafe to an empty bio lab - if the mob ever saw a single hair follicle that might be his

but each time, wonwoo brought something more just himself. one day it would be coffee, others days it would be food. things to keep you motivated.

for a korean lit major, he was taking a lot of time out of his day to help you, being attentive to all the strategies that help you study and such

possibly making your assumption from months back, true.

by the time finals rolled around, aside from the spursts of review here and there, study sessions became more casual. you didn’t feel the need to overwork our brain since you already knew all the information (something you actually learned from wonwoo himself)

possibly the last meeting you’d have with him was similar to your first: just you two together but him playing on his phone. and yet before the night ended

“i have a proposal.”

“i’m not giving you money for your dumb club.” bold of him to assume you would-

“no but i really appreciate the thought :)

why don’t we turn these study sessions into… study dates instead?”

your assumption after 6 months later: finally confirmed

“but that’s only IF you ace your finals.”

well let’s just say at the very end, you had a successful first semester and are now one step closer towards being the surgeon of your dreams.

plus, you even landed yourself a pretty cool boyfriend in the process

let’s hope his parents put in a good word for you when you apply to med school!

#seventeen #wonwoo #caratwritersclub #seventeen imagine #wonwoo imagine #seventeen scenario #wonwoo scenario #seventeen au #wonwoo au #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #seventeen series #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo x reader

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obx-saltlife · 4 years

Text

Do I Wanna Know?

John B. x Reader; phone sex?

Summary: You take some photos, they’re meant for your dumb boyfriend; you accidentally send them to John B.

Warnings: Smut, graphic language, phone sex, don’t send n00ds (okay do but be responsible, always!), maybe cheating implied so if you’re not comfortable with that then don’t read.

A/N: I don’t even know how this came about. Take awesome photos, do you, queens; but always, always be responsible and don’t just send them to anyone bc guys are assholes sometimes (all of the time).

“Text 6969 now and stay completely satisfie-...”

The rest of the commercial was cut off as you rolled your eyes and switched off the television.

Leaning your head back against the sofa you sighed softly. The house was silent and you were alone once again. This was the third time this week that your boyfriend ditched you for the night and although he had offered plenty of times to take you with him, you declined knowing that you had plenty of other things to do back home. At this point, your relationship was definitely changing and aside from missing maybe the idea of him terribly, there was absolutely no denying you were undoubtedly missing the physical aspects of your relationship as well.

You and your boyfriend hadn’t been intimate for a while, and although you were mostly okay with it for a while, there were times when you’d find it incredibly difficult to admit that you were, indeed lonely. It was definitely frustrating being in a relationship with someone who was more focused on working or whatever than spending time with their girlfriend. Honestly, you didn’t mind the space as much but even when you did get together, your boyfriend was always somewhere else, mentally. However; you would never call him out on any of this. It would definitely end in him telling you that you were being “clingy” and the move on to talking about something else. And what girl wants to go through that shit?

While going through some old magazines, you came up with an idea. Instead of siting at home wondering if your boyfriend missed you as much as you missed him, you decided that you were going to make him miss you.

Leaving the couch and the magazines behind, you walked into your room stripping out of the simple clothes you had been wearing around town earlier in the day, revealing a matching bralette and lacy panty set. You looked at yourself in the mirror, slightly thankful that the set was actually matching, a rare and almost unusual occurrence.

You weren’t sure how to go about this. You had never ventured to the dark side of technology like this, you hadn’t needed to. You would never have thought of taking these types of pictures of yourself before, and you weren’t all too sure what your boyfriend Jason would think of them. However; you expected him to like it, because who didn’t like seeing their significant other half-naked?

Moving over to the bed, you took your phone and started taking pictures. To be completely hoenst, you were mostly just playing it by ear. Having no idea what was actually considered “sexy” since you often saw yourself as the exact opposite of the word. The rush of adrenaline boosted your confidence as you realized that hopefully, in a matter of minutes, Jason would be as turned on as you were.

You picked a few photos that you thought Jason would like the most and hastily pressed the send button. However, before you put your phone down, it beeped and a message appeared.

Sent to John B. Routledge

“Shit, Shit, Shit!” You screamed out loud, “This would fucking happen to me!”

You couldn’t believe that you had just sent her racy photos to your best friend of ten years instead of your current boyfriend.

Panicking, you typed a message to John B: “Sorry! Those were definitely not for you! Disregard! Actually don’t even look at it!”

To say you were embarrassed was an understatement. You had no idea what to do, and you knew how awkward it was going to be once met up with the rest of the Pogues for surfing tomorrow morning.

“What is he even going to think when he sees those pictures?” You thought out loud, “What if the other boys see them? I'm a fucking idiot.”

Putting your face in your hands, you groaned and tried to think of ways to overcome this situation. However, the very familiar ring tone quickly interrupted your thoughts. Looking at the caller ID and inwardly groaning, a clear embarrassed flush on your cheeks.

Call from John B. Routledge

Sighing, you picked up the phone.

“H-Hey John B,” you began to stutter.

“Well, well, that text I just received is definitely different than your quirky meme of the day.” The voice said over the phone. You could tell that John B was smirking and you were even more embarrassed than you were before.

“John B that was meant for Jason! I didn’t mean to send those to you. I’m so sorry!” You rushed. You were never going to get over this. The embarrassment was literally mortifying.

“Why are you sorry? I’m definitely not complaining.”

“Come on, JB. Can you just delete the photos? We can pretend it never even happened”

“You know it’s funny,” He started, “I'm pretty sure red isn't your favorite color but it looks good on you.”

You were definitely mortified. Actually, mortified was an understatement. You couldn’t believe that he was acting like this! All you wanted him to do was to delete the photos and then that way; he could go on with his life and you could continue with yours as well.

“John B, just do me a solid and delete them okay? I already feel bad enough.” You sighed.

He didn’t say anything and now you were getting worried. Was he really that repulsed by you? Maybe, you were muted and he was showing your pictures to the other guys.

“God, I’m such a fucking idiot.” You huffed, “I don’t even know why I thought this was a good idea anyway. It’s not like Jason would have even liked them.”

“Why would you even begin to think something like that?” He questioned.

“I don’t know, I-I- John B, can you please just delete them?” You pleaded.

“Hey, why would you think that?” He repeated.

How were you supposed to tell your best friend that your boyfriend was awful? You knew John B already didn’t like him to begin with and that he only tolerated him because you would beg him, Kie, Pope and JJ to. But, if they knew how he treated you, you wouldn’t hear the end of it not only from John B but from the rest of them as well. They liked treating you like one of the gang. Regardless, you knew there would be countless amounts of “I told you so’s” and even more lectures about why Jason wasn’t a good guy to begin with.

“I don’t know, JB. He’s just been really busy, apparently. I don’t even know. We haven’t really spent much time together and every time I try to do something for him, he just shrugs it off. It's discouraging and awful.” You said hoping this would get him off of your back.

You were wrong. Questions continued to come, and that's how you told your best friend absolutely everything that was going on with you and no-good Jason. Even though you knew that John B would probably be upset, you felt as if a giant weight had been lifted off of your shoulders.

“Can I tell you something?” John B asked.

“Anything.” You said nodding; quickly realizing that he couldn’t see you over the phone.

“Well, I- Honestly-If-Well, If you and I were in this position that you and that idiot Jason are in, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” John B admitted sheepishly, “Specially if you took pictures like that for me.”

“Shut up, JB,” You laughed, “I know what you’re doing and it’s not working.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better, and you’re doing a really shitty job.” You pointed out.

“I’m being honest!” He exclaimed, “Seriously, though. You’re beautiful.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes at his comments. You weren’t interested in talking about this; all you wanted him to do was delete the photos so you could carry on with your extensive plans to do absolutely nothing the rest of the night.

“Can I do something?” He asked knowing that you probably wouldn’t say anything anytime soon.

“Um, okay?” You questioned, now worried of what he was planning on saying next.

“I want to make you feel good.” He said his voice just above a whisper, “Will you please let me do that for you?”

“John B…”

“Just let me show you,” he said, getting back to his point, “Go upstairs, and get on the bed.”

“John B, can you please just delete the photos? It’s late and we have surfing early tomorrow morning.” You said changing the subject once again.

“Let me take care of you.” He said ignoring your pleas to delete the photos.

You couldn’t believe what he was doing. He was obviously aware of the fact that you had a boyfriend, and although you did have their issues you loved him very much and wouldn’t dream of hurting him. You looked over at the bed, contemplating granting his request.

“I love Jason.” You said, “I don’t want to cheat on him. I’m not sure if this is right, JB.”

“Do you trust me?” He asked.

“…Yes” you hesitated, of course you trusted him. He was your best friend, but at this time you weren’t really sure where he was going.

“You also know that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, right?” He asked, “That I wouldn’t do this if I thought you would be putting your relationship in jeopardy?”

“I know, JB.”

“Okay then.” He confirmed, “Get on the bed for me.”

You nodded, still realizing that he couldn’t see you and made your way toward your bed like you were told. After all, he did say that this wouldn’t hurt your relationship with Jason, right?

“God those pictures are driving me absolutely crazy.” He whispered, “I wish you could see what you’ve done to me. I keep thinking of what I’d do to you if you were here right now.”

He went silent. You listened carefully and heard a zipper in the background, seconds later you heard a soft thud proving that he had taken off his pants and they had hit the ground.

You silently gasped, realizing what was actually happening. You wanted to stop it, you really did. However; you were too curious to see where this went. You would be lying if you said that you weren’t turned on. You felt as if you were finally getting the recognition you deserved and you loved it.

“Let me ask you something” John B asked, his voice still quiet, “Does your boyfriend ever play with you like this? Does he touch you how want you to be touched?“

If you weren't turned on before, you definitely were now. You couldn’t believe that you were seeing this side of John B. A side of him, you had only ever heard about from the other two boys and gossipy girls in your group of friends. You were used to the little shy, somewhat awkward boy you met when you were 10 and he was only 8. Not the persistent, demanding man you were on the phone with now.

“No” You whispered, “He doesn’t.”

John B groaned, “I can make you feel so good, all you need to do is let me. Tell me what you want.”

Now noticing that familiar feeling in between your legs, you knew that you had finally cracked.

“Play with me, John B.”

“I told you I was going to make you feel good didn’t I?” He responded.

It was like you could feel his presence, and you knew that he was definitely giving some sort of smirk at the end of it. However, you were too turned on to laugh. You wanted him, and you wanted him now.

“Close your eyes for me, imagine me there.” He was back to his husky voice, “You’re going to touch yourself exactly as I say, and I don’t want you do anything unless I tell you to. Do you understand?”

“Please, John B.” You whimpered, “Tell me what to do.”

“I’m going to need you to take off what you’re wearing. Can you do that for me?” John B asked.

You slowly began taking off the red bralette set you were wearing earlier, waiting for John B’s next move. The line was silent; the only thing you could hear was his heavy breathing and a quiet groan, which signaled that he had just started touching himself.

“Fuck, I bet you look amazing right now. I wish I was with you, I wouldn’t waste any time getting your clothes off of you. I bet your skin feels amazing. You look so good in red, babe.” John B groaned.

“My clothes are off,” You whispered interrupting his thoughts, “Tell me what to do, JB.”

“Touch your breasts. Instead of your little hands imagine mine cupping them, rolling them around with my palms.” He instructed.

You did what you were told, you began touching your stomach gradually moving up as you began touching your breasts. Softly kneading them with your palms until you gradually gained more strength imagining John B’s hands touching you instead of your own. You let out a small whimper to let know John B that you were doing it, and every time you did you felt the feeling between your legs increase.

“Do my fingers feel good, rolling both your nipples between my thumbs and forefingers?” He questioned.

You gasped and let out another whimper as a response, still afraid of what your voice would actually sound like.

“Answer me.” He spoke.

“Your fingers feel good on me, JB.” You answer, “Your hands are so big.”

“Spread your legs for me,” He asks softly, “Can you feel the air against you?”

You spread your legs, feeling the air against your clit and gasped, “Fuck, John B.”

“Open yourself for me. Tell me what you want”

“Your mouth, I want your mouth.” You whispered, “Please, John B.”

You weren’t sure how long you could last without touching yourself, the way he was talking to you was driving you absolutely wild and you couldn’t handle it anymore.

“My mouth?” He questioned, “You want my tongue inside of you?”

“Yes!” You whined.

“Do you want to touch yourself, babe?” He asked.

“Yes, please let me, JB.”

“Do you still feel the air on you? Do you feel me licking your slit?” John B asked completely disregarding your cries, “God you taste so good.” The fact that you could now hear him touching himself clearly made you moan.

“I need you to touch me, John B. I’ve been doing what you told me to do, please.” You pleaded again.

“Are you turned on?” He asked.

“Yes”

“Are you wet?”

“I’m so wet- soaking.” You pleaded, “Please let me touch myself. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” He questioned.

“Mhm” You moaned pressing your thighs together. You were hoping that this would help you calm down, however it was just the opposite.

“I want you to put your hands on your slit, and then I want you to tell me what you want me to do.” John B commanded.

You didn’t waste any time moving your hands down and started rubbing yourself sighing with relief.

“Fuck me, John B.”

“I can’t think of anything else that I’d rather do.” He responded, “Now, I want you to do whatever feels good for you, okay? Feel free to slip in now.”

You continued to rub yourself as you left your finger slide inside of your while putting your other hand on your breast. You sighed as you moved it slowly. You closed your eyes as you imagined John B giving you the pleasure that you were giving yourself. You pushed another finger inside of yourself and raised your hips just slightly as you pretended that they were his.

“One or two?” John B asked groaning.

“Two”

The slapping sounds against his flesh became very noticeable now and that just encouraged you to keep doing what you were doing.

“Fuck yourself faster,” John B grunted, “Fuck, you feel incredible.” Something about hearing him utter those words made you ache for him more.

You did what you were told and moved your fingers faster, still bucking against them. Your fingers twisted and turned inside of you, finding the spot that you were desperately craving to find.

“Keep going, let me hear you.”

For the next few minutes the phone was filled with moans, gasps, grunts, and sighs. The two of you were pleasuring yourselves to no end, each of you wishing they were with one another to get your release. You could feel yourself building up as you continued to push your fingers inside of you. Biting your lip, you almost forgot that John B was on the other line until he spoke again.

“Play with your clit.”

You moved your fingers faster against yourself and moved the hand that was on your breast so it could pay full attention to your clit.

“J- So- You feel so good- Shit, John B!” You exclaimed moving your hand faster against your clit to drive yourself further. You began to get that feeling in the pit of your stomach and started to tighten around your fingers.

“I wish I could see you right now” John B started, “Watching you as you’re doing this. I bet you’re beautiful right now.”

“Close,” You whimpered.

John B let out an unreadable grunt and continued pumping himself through the phone. Along with the other sounds he was making, you could tell that he was close too.

“Make me cum, JB. Please.” You said still moving your hand against your clit.

“Together, just-not long now,” His sentences were getting choppy, his breathing ragged and erratic.

You were trying so hard to hold out for him but you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to do it. Just as you were about to let out your release, you heard a small, “Now”. You let out a small scream as you released and listened as John B let a small string of curse words as he came.

The two of you spent a few minutes in silence trying to catch your breaths after everything you had just done. You smiled to yourself finally feeling satisfied for the first time in a while, and weirdly you honestly couldn’t wait until you saw John B tomorrow morning, to talk about what had just happened. This newfound confidence told you the conversation would go well. You knew that right then wasn't the right time to say anything; especially after the moment you just shared.

“See you tomorrow?” You whispered.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He said, “Bright and early?”

You continued to think. You knew that this whole entire experience was wrong, but everything felt so right. Although you loved Jason, you knew that you wanted to at least try and talk to John B about what happened.

You heard him yawn over the phone, realizing that between his busy day and everything else he must have been exhausted.

“Yes, definitely.” You smiled over the phone, “Get some sleep though, okay?”

“Call me some other time.” He said, his voice mixed with a lazy smile and exhaustion, “Goodnight.”

You knew exactly what he meant, and although you were still having mixed emotions you couldn’t wait to maybe call him again.

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