I think Deku has a bit of a mean streak, actually. he’s no Bakugou—that’s for sure—but he’s not this innocent, sweet angel baby that the media has painted him out to be. but you only catch it when you least expect it, when you’re pushing his nerves, when the stakes to everything around him are high, when he’s tired of endless sleepless nights and just—snaps.
“Oh?” you go, grin unfurling like some grinch, chin resting on your hands as you leer at him from across his expansive desk. “You’re mean.” your words are teasing, a snarl that curls your mouth up. Deku stutters, eyes going wide, jaw snapping shut in surprise as he tries to think back on how rude he just sounded.
“No, I’m not—I mean, you wouldn’t stop and I just—there’s a lot on my plate right now—and you just—you keep on—I’m not—I’m not mean.” He’s sputtering, hands all over the place, the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose falling even lower with how he jabbers on and on. it’s endearing really, to see how he tries to upkeep his image of being so kind and understanding, even though his nostrils just flared at you. and his eyebrows turned down and he gritted at you, his hands were balled into fists, his words were so nasty, so ugly, so unbecoming for Deku.
you liked it. loved it even—vowed to get him like this every single fucking second that you could.
you pick and poke at him whenever you see him, teasing him and pulling at him. pushing him around even though the hero is so much stronger than you, so much bigger. and he lets you, tries to defend himself but—that’s not what you want. you want the ugliness, the snark, the mean.
he snaps, eventually, when you least expect it. grabs you up in black whip when you go to push him against the wall for the third time in only a minute, his eyes suddenly dark, the aura of the room suddenly charged.
“That’s what I was looking for.” you whisper to him, the grin spreading your face quickly dissipating in only seconds when you become the prey. when you become the one pushed up against the wall with teeth at your neck, a hand in your underwear, bullying your hole with too thick fingers.
“Why do you want me to act like this? Be so mean to you, huh?” he sounds so frustrated with himself, with you, growling and nipping and licking when you don’t answer quick enough. but your breath is caught in your lungs because finally—finally, did you get what you wanted. it just took a little bit of pushing, you suppose.
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and I hear him begging someone named god
tw/cw: non-graphic depiction of death/character death
There’s a distant kind of pain registering in Mako, but he’s not sure where it’s from. It really, really hurts. He’s not really thinking about much other than that, so he doesn’t spare much attention to the clogging in his nose or the dripping from his eyes. Something in that burns in a way he doesn’t think tears and snot are supposed to.
Mako finds he’s too exhausted to really care. He’s sniffling and crying like he hasn’t in years. Something in his subconscious tells him to move his hands, hide his face and wipe away the evidence, but gentle hands are already reaching for him with soothing cool and twitching his arms makes the distant pain much closer. He doesn’t like it.
Mako’s thoughts drift to his life. He thinks about his first eight years.
He realizes he might be dying. He can’t seem to pull himself away from the memories to worry about it. Bolin is in almost all of them. Mako thinks he will miss Bolin, if he’s not able to wait up. He’s sorry he has to hurt his brother, but he hopes Bo won’t feel rushed to join him. Mako is patient.
Toza is there, too. Mako kind of misses him. He knows he owes him a lot for how Toza helped him and Bolin out. He hasn’t seen him in a while. He wonders if Toza might be waiting.
Then there’s Korra, and Asami. Korra, brash and proud and present in a way that made him present too. Korra who’s saved his life a thousand times over. He feels a little bad her efforts are going to waste. He’ll have to wait up for Asami, too. Hopefully she lingers with Bolin if Korra isn’t able. They could be like Avatar Aang’s friends—meeting two avatars in a lifetime. How incredible.
Mako can’t quite remember what brought him here. He—he’s a police officer, that’s right (Chief Beifong). Something must’ve happened with that to bring him here. Mako wonders if the Chief is mad one of her detectives got himself killed. He knows she can’t afford any more hits to her narrow ranks.
Maybe she’s even worried. Mako tries to scoff at the thought, but he only summons more too-thick tears. The hands move frantically to shush him, but Mako really misses his mom and dad and Chief really reminds Mako of his mom. It hurts just a bit, through his idiotic attachment, to think she might not care at all.
The vague lights Mako’s been seeing are getting more tinted. His eyes are burning, though he’s not sure if from his wrong-tears or the too bright lights. He lets his eyes slip shut.
Muffled sound filters in as his sole point of focus. It’s a strenuous task to process the information his brain is receiving, but Bolin’s voice is frantic and Mako needs to know his little brother is okay before he can let himself sleep.
He’s almost certain Bolin is begging for something. The person’s name sounds almost like ‘God’. Mako hears his own name, but he can’t summon the energy for a grunt of acknowledgment. He hopes Bo knows he’s trying to listen anyway.
He’s promising to stop running away from his problems, to take care of every street kid and orphan he can find—as long as. Mako can’t figure out what he wants for such a promise.
He laughs, but it comes out more like a choke. His throat burns like someone’s breathed fire back down it and his lips are crusted in something metallic when he wets them with his tongue.
Mako tells Bolin not to be silly, in as few words as he can manage. Whoever this God guy is has better things to be doing, and there’s no way Bolin can make good on his promise.
The snark takes more out of him than he thought. He ends up sounding more worn than anything. He realizes absently that he’s still crying, which isn’t helping add levity to Bo’s distress. He feels bad for crying in front of him, but it really is just all too much to stop.
Someone screams when his breaths even out. Mako isn’t awake to hear it.
His chest stills. Seven minutes pass, and Mako sees all the best times of his life. His eyes fall shut one last time and his spirit fades.
The spirit world is just across the valley where Mako lays, he knows somehow. But he is content to wait until his family is old and withered and can walk the threshold with him in the forms of their youth.
Mako will wait as long as they need. He hopes they know they were in every single minute.
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